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The distant sounds of howls came from the woods surrounding the Viking village. The sound of a crow echoed of doom, as the horns blew. The howls came closer as the men watched. Women huddled inside their homes, hiding their children and ready to fight. Hearts raced in the chests of men; vapors of breath released from their lips in the cool morning. Their eyes wide as they watched for any movement; their ears listening for the sounds as they seized. They looked around, confused as the forest around them went silent. The crow quiet; as if mocking their eminent doom.
The men looked around at each other. A younger one, learning the rules of war, spoke to his father. "Is its over?" He whispered. An arrow landed in his chest as he flew back and hit the ground. His father shouted as the arrows began to fly at them. Men shielded themselves and shouted, as the howls came back and into view. The men of the woods charged in a hallucinogenic rage. Some men covered in furs, some barely wearing anything. Their war cries sounded over the sounds of swords hitting shields.
Alex the Dead, stood as he watched his men killing the villagers. His hallucinations reigned over any better judgement as he took an arrow to the arm. He looked at it and then turned to the much smaller, young man. A scrawny teenager. He broke the arrow tip off as he pulled it back through his arm. The young man's eyes widened as Alex lifted his sword and attacked. The young man had no chance against him.
The sounds of terror rang through the morning fog. Falling upon deaf ears. The howls of the men echoed over the sounds as the villagers were taken down. The raiders stood victorious as they began to loot and take their stolen offerings. They pillaged, and raped before they burned it down and returned to their village to celebrate their victory.
They joined together in the mead hall as they feasted and told stories of their victories. Sex rampant in the hall as they enjoyed their night. Their hallucinations slowed as their alcohol content rose. A few fights starting as the men still raged on.
Alex the Dead sat as his arm was being mended by a healer. He watched his men, and he drank his mead and ate the food in front of him. A woman coming over, grabbed him by his hair and pulled his head back. She kissed his lips. "Interested tonight?" She asked as he got out of her grasped and pushed her away. He rarely spoke, his aggressive attitude spoke enough for him.
He had a lot of women after him, but he never seemed interested. He was tall, as strong as an ox, covered in scars from his victories. He was rough looking. His dark hair long past his shoulders, often braided back for battle. His ocean blue eyes pierced with anger. The women loved his clefted chin and chiseled jawline. They were crazy for him, but there was no interest.
He was an outstanding warrior. He had no fear and went into battle with sheer rage pumping through his veins. His name was given to him after a battle that left him for dead. No one thought he would survive, but he pulled through even death, becoming Alex the Dead. He was a powerful leader, as his men followed him each time attempting to reach Valhalla.
