In ancient Britain's realm, Liv stands,
Hurled back through time by enigmatic hands,
Amidst customs of the 9th century's reign,
She yearns for her era, yet finds solace in pain.
In Northumbria's realm they tread,
Uhtred's home, their hearts ahead,
W...
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⋅───⊱༺ 𐂃 ༻⊰───
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THE AFTERNOON SUN blazed down harshly and mercilessly upon Liv as she toiled her way across wet grass and soil, searching for a sign of life amongst those slain on the killing grounds beneath. The smell of death was overwhelming as she walked, the cadavers of fallen soldiers, Saxon and Dane alike, strewn across the battlefield without mercy. Liv felt a heavy weight in her heart as she surveyed the carnage, the sun's relentless heat doing nothing to distract from the grim reality that surrounded her.
She, and two companions, Ulrik and Björn, were journeying back from a trip to Wiltunscir, when they happened to come across this field of slaughter. Ulrik suggested they quickly assess the carnage left behind, she would look for survivors and he would salvage any items that may have been overlooked prior. Björn, barely fifteen years of age, would stay with the horses.
Liv lost track of how long they had been out there searching in silence, a silence that was soon broken by Björn who stood several feet behind her. "I don't know what is worse, the sight or..."
A small smile tugged at the young woman's lips, she could almost hear the boy sniff the air from where she stood.
"...the smell."
For someone who had little experience with the dead, and even less experience on a battlefield days after blood had been shed, it seemed an appropriate statement. Oftentimes, the sight of the dead was never the hard part, something she, herself, had learned from years of experience. Her stomach churned instead from the putrid, almost sickly-sweet smell of rotting flesh intermingled with the stench of blood, piss, vomit, and shit that permeated the air.
"It has been said that the smell alone can drive a man mad," Liv spoke, sweat trickling down her forehead as she squinted against the blinding light, surveying the mangled bodies before her.
Björn's mother had done her best to protect the boy from the horrors of war, but now, upon his father's orders, there he was, looking at it up close. He nudged one of the bodies with his foot; his stomach twisted in knots as he looked down at the barely distinguishable face, the eyes having bulged through their cavities in the flesh. The mangled limbs strewn across the ground like discarded toys, a testament to the violence that had occurred there. He could see the wounds that had been inflicted, the deep gashes that had been cut into the skin. He felt the bile rise in his throat, and before he could stop it, he bent over as his stomach heaved, the putrid smell of death and rot assaulting his senses. He felt his breakfast come back up his throat as he retched until his stomach emptied and all that remained was the taste of bile lingering in his mouth.
