Enraged, a young savage released his most bloodcurdling battlecry, charging Ekkill, warrior of twenty winters. Left arm raised and poised to cleave Ekkill's neck, he swung with haste, sloppily flailing about in a blind rage. Sweeping his left leg behind his right and twisting his torso, Ekkill flawlessly evaded the attack, letting the savage's blade pass cleanly by his side, dividing nothing but dingy, humid air. Wasting not a single moment, he plunged his sword into the savage's chest, dead center below the ribcage. Taking advantage of the stunning effects of the impalement, Ekkill fired his arm into's the young man's neck, gripping him like a vice.
Squeezing harder and harder, he began to feel the man's voice box collapse. Within two minutes, the green warrior's face had turned red and purple, blood drizzling from each and every orifice in his face. Still, Ekkill clamped down, until he broke the skin and held nothing but a lump of juicy flesh before a corpse as the skin gently seperated from the neck.
Still, this was not enough. Ekkill began to bring his sword upon the body like a guillotine, dividing the warrior into uncountable meaty chunks. Blood sprayed the interior of his home in blotchy strings, dotting every square foot of the house. His son lied in the next room, beheaded and dismembered, and his rage would not be satisfied until Ekkillson's murderer resembled a grapefruit squashed beneath his heels.
When there was nothing left but pulp and bone, Ekkill returned to his boy's room. Dropping his sword and sheild at the doorway, he fell to his knees before the mutilated visage that was once his fourteen year old son.
"Odhinn, All Father!" he cried. "Was this your plan for my son? It cannot be!"
Cradling Ekkillson's torso and head in his arms, Ekkill wept bitterly, gnashing his teeth. Mustering all of his strength, he rose from the floor, his boy in his arms, and lied him down on the bed. Tomorrow, he would build a grand pyre, and send his son on his way to Hel.
"Ekkill!" a voice called from outside the cottage. "The savages have fled! We are victorious! Hail Odhinn! Hail Thor!"
Ekkill did not feel victorious. As he gazed upon his boy once more, he began to feel rage in his heart. Livid, he released an earthquaking cry, shaking the very foundation of the house. They would all die; every last one of them. And he would have his son back from Hulda's cold grasp, if it meant going to Hel himself.
Sealed in Blood
Deep in the great forest ten miles north of the village, Ekkill laid down his sword and sheild, resting them at the base of the greatest yew he could find. He still reeked of his own son's burning corpse and the bodies of those who had fallen with him the night before. Dried and caked blood still clung to his body.
Nearby, a knee-deep creek flowed gently through the trees. Ekkill removed his clothing and waded in, then began scrubbing away the filth from his body. In the still waters, he saw his reflection. His long red hair and beard were matted with dirt and blood. Old scars from battles long past covered his body. Each of them had a story, all of which seemed like a distant memory to Ekkill.
Once his body was clean, Ekkill returned to the yew, fully clothed. He had been here before, many times. Carved in the tree were the symbols of his gods, Odhinn, Baldr, Freya, and Thor. He knelt before the tree, before the high gods of Valhalla, and began to speak his piece.
"All Father, my son has passed. He was just fourteen winters old, and the last to carry my name. I sent him on his journey to Hel, but this is not the end of his story! Before the AEsir, I swear that I will bring him back so that he may become a warrior, and have a seat in Valhalla!" Ekkill spoke triumphantly, removing his dagger and drinking jug from his belt.
"Odhinn, far-wanderer, give me wisdom, courage, and victory! Friend Thor, grant me your strength!" he cried, taking a large swig from the jug, then pouring a little before the tree. Ekkill then drug his dagger across the palm of his hand, clenched his fist, and let the blood drip onto the ground at the base of the yew. "And both be with me!"
North
"Friends!" Ekkill hollered about the rowdy crowd of merrymakers celebrating the crushing defeat of the savages in the king's hall and the passing of several warriors into Valhalla. "Tomorrow, I leave on a great quest!" he continued between large gulps of mead. "I have assembled twenty men who will ride with me to the savage's home! Those who we did not slay last night will die by fire and sword in agony at our hands! None shall live to speak of the slaughter!" he yelled, laughing rambunciously. Nearly the entirety of the hall cheered.
"From there, we head north to find the gate of Hel. I will bring my son back, so that he may become a warrior and carry on my name! If it be Odhinn's will, he will return alive! Hail Odhinn!" Ekkill preached, raising a king-sized mug of mead in honor.
"Drink and be merry, for we depart at sunrise!"
Before You Post
Please read the OOC thread. This thread will start with my next post, when Ekkill's party is departing. Thanks!