Warrior - Lokixreader

The Past - Y/N

The thick, rancid, stench of the dead, horse shit, piss and whatever other delights that were in the air, filled my lungs, burning my throat as I drew another deep breath. My chest ached from breathing so heavily for the past, what seemed like hours of battle. My boots clung onto the ground as I squelched through, trying to step forward, it sapped my energy even further.

This was hard, this was draining, but it was all for glory, all for the win and rewards. That sweet sweet gold we were always promised and the thought of more slaves to help back home, drove us onwards. Through the shit, and the piss, and the blood, to that sliver of hope on the horizon of more gains, more victories and glorious death in battle.

We were a formidable force.

The screams around me of the dying, made the air tremble with the sounds. I would have slowed to ease their suffering, to take that final blow for them, but we had to push, had to keep going. I would come back, I always did after, to assist their passage where I could.

My arms felt heavy from fighting. My sword, thick with dried blood and mud as I again trudged forward. The straps I had added to the hilt made sure I never lost my weapon as it was wrapped tightly around my wrist, but it did make it rather cumbersome at times, especially now.

Once my sword was out, it stayed out, like the shield strapped to my arm. All for that sought after chance at Valhalla, if Odin deemed me worthy to fight in his army.

That's what I wanted, that's why I came, time and time again. I had lost everything, but still had everything to gain in death. To be chosen for Odin's army, for that honour. Perhaps he would allow me to visit my family in Niflheim or if not, I could choose to go there instead. It is what I dreamt of at night, when I could get any rest that is.

The shouts came thick and fast to search the town, take what we came for, to raid and pillage this place of its treasure's. The length of battle was unforeseen due to the soldiers stationed here, but that didn't stop our hoard from annihilating them. They may have been well trained, but they weren't ruthless - not like us. We longed for battle and welcomed death, not fearing it. Their fears are what made most hesitate at the charge when they saw us. Our reputation always preceded us and our foes would often tremble in fear or turn and run.

Looking ahead, I weaved through the sea of bodies on the floor, the same as everyone else, the victors of battle, we pushed onwards. A mist rose from the cold ground as the warmth of blood heated the air around it. It seeped and mixed into the mud making a sort of sloppy red broth. The clots of blood, glinting in the sunlight that broke through the clouds, making them look like dew on the morning grass, were squashed into the mud like marrow jelly as I trudged on.

We stormed through gates of the town, slaying whoever stood in our way, a few remaining soldiers and men who were the last defence inside their walls. I drew the line at women and children though. That was not a path I chose to honour, to slay the innocent.

In battle however was a different matter, but these Saxon women were never in battle, nor did they often try to defend themselves. They would just cower in corners, or try to hide away to protect their children. I didn't blame them. They seemed like they were never trained to fight, which I found odd. The very few that did stand with weapons, never lasted long and hardly ever took a life unless they surprised their opponent and stabbed them in the back.

Screams from the terrified people filled the air again as their homes were ransacked. The noises of breaking wood and pottery clattering drowned some of it out. My fellow kinsman, Ulf's laughter rang through the air as he stood in front of a man, pissing himself in fear as I went passed him. He called out to me as I went by.

"Look at this coward... He's pissing himself and crying from just looking at me," he howled out laughing loudly before drawing his sword and plunging it into the man's neck.