Born of the blood of giants and gods.

Viking Sigurdr · 01-20-2011, 03:59 AM

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642 words.

The warrior of lands far beyond watched and waited, with an expressionless face into the frosty ashen darkness. It was the same expression 'King had on when he occasionally watched the seas, as if expecting the massive dragon ships to come from his homeland. But they never did, and they never would return for him, though the proud warrior held fast to their ways. What else could he do? He was born into it, and all he knew. Now he was on his own, and without a brother to fight alongside or leaders to protect, there was virtually nothing the strong, stoic-faced warrior had to live for.

His red-violet eye watched steadily as an angel, or even a goddess, faded from the mist in the distance - and out emerged a white wolf, standing a ways from the bone furred warrior. This did not surprise the male at all, his appearance seemed to make those in the lands of 'Souls wary. Viking had been here for over a year's time, then, but spent time only near the high mountains and the low valleys, still putting his muscles to use in training. Briefly did the warrior's mind wonder about the chocolate and caramel fighter he met and taught his techniques to, realizing it had been moons since he had seen the lithe shadow approach him in the lush valleys, asking to train with the giant.

But thoughts of her faded with the remaining gust of wind that now stirred between the two shadows, standing feet apart from one another. They were not so far as to have to howl at one another, as the wind did as it sailed through the small caverns in the high cliffs. He watched the phantom colored female's straight shoulders, as she held them level when approaching him. 'King knew only one type of standing this woman had, for a demeanor as strong and as tall to match his own was no comparison. She was the queen, the ruler of the lands that she graced, and which he thundered into like the misplaced beast he was.

Ruby eye peered out from its bone colored socket, staring back with the same intensity that the female before him gave. She was rather tall, and rather big, and looked similar to the warrior's former female leader. She spoke into the wind, and it buried itself deep into his scarred ears, as they moved atop his head in response. Anathema.. it was a strange name for a place. 'King grunted in response, telling the female he understood, and what the warrior did then was nothing uncommon. With a quiet grace that seemed unfitting for the large male, Viking hefted his axe so that it was center to his body, turning the hilt so it kissed the cold ground. Gripping the object just below the worn blade, the giant went down to one knee, braided hair falling in waves across his massive shoulders. His head bowed in respect to this female, already knowing she was the matriarch without her having to say so.

"My queen," he said in a gruff voice, cracked from lack of use. The male's head remained bowed, his free hand on his bent knee on the dirt. Born and raised in a world where the king and queen were dominant, the massive male put himself in a position where he did not feel worthy to be among her presence. It was not his queen, the warrior was not part of the lands he traversed, but the customs were as natural as the blood in his veins (well, almost). Sworn was he, the Guardian of Victory, to protect his leaders, though he did not directly answer the white phantom's question. The male hoped, as he knelt in the dirt and stared hard at the ground, that this would be enough.

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