Original Version
"A sobriquet such as 'Baby-Killer' is not the kind I wanted but it is one I have grown to love." So spoke Hasting Baby-Killer, Eachtrannach outcast who had earned his evil sobriquet in a most horrible way. He had attacked a settlement, killed all the men, captured all the women and then had their infant children thrown from the walls.
Sitting in his camp, he stared at his son Ivar Cattle-Butcher whose sobriquet much like that of his father's was self-explanatory. They both had such farouche cerulean orbs with dark square-cut manes. They also both had hirsute thoraxes and wore loincloths befitting how they had fallen to the state of the barbarous. They were colossal in size, standing at a height of six feet and weighing at one hundred and eighty pounds, but while they were none stronger than them there were those who were taller and of greater bulk. Despite being muscular they had panther-like agility and moved in the way a panther might. Their skin had been made bronze by years of wandering in the sun. Besides the loincloth, they also wore light chain shirts and horned helmets. At their sides hung a great brand, which they used in their evil as an honorable Eachtrannach might use it for good. Their fronts blemished and base with Hasting's face featuring both bristles and mustache. Further more Hasting's voice was deep and powerful while Ivar's was deep and resonant while having an accent most unlike his father's accent but more like his late mother's.
"Might I ask father why you did not give yourself a sobriquet?" asked Ivar.
"And be like the Destroyer?" Hasting laughed long and hard. "I may be evil-hearted but I know that a good sobriquet is given by others not yourself, even if the Destroyer well deserved his. There was one hero who had a better sobriquet however."
"Who?"
"When I was young, Carthach the Hammer strode the Eachtrannach Lands like a colossus! Aye, that mortal son of Thorion, Lord of Thunder, and the water spirit Melusine. He who was the first King of the Carthachs had come along and become the hammer to us brigands and autocrats." Hasting's eyes glared at his son, imaging that Ivar was even now Carthach the Hammer. "He drove me out not long after the event that gave me my sobriquet and I have sworn revenge on his bloodline. I have heard that the Carthachs have been dispersed and diminished by famine, hardship, pestilence and warfare. Sooner or later some descendant of Carthach will have to come in search of his dispersed people in this wide world and by Dun, Dall's evil cousin, when he comes to Dollarhyde, our place for sport, never again will there be a King of the Carthachs. The mortal descendants of Dall, Allfather of the Gods and the God of Battle, will be eradicated one and for all!"
"But Dall smiles upon his mortal descendants and all good-hearted people." Stated Ivar. "How might we win against the those the God of Battle smiles upon?"
"One need not emerged unwounded to win a battle, Ivar." Explained Hasting. "And even then whoever said I intend to fight him one on one or fight him at all? Assassinate him if need be but if he should put up a fight then I'll fight him and I will be the one to deliver his fatal wound. I can die and smile most devilishly while I die."
"He might be younger than you, father." Suggested Ivar.
"What of it?" asked Hasting. "That guard Charles is younger than me and I defeat him all the time."
"And you always spare him." Stated Ivar. "I don't understand, father. Why do you spare him? Why do you not kill him?"
"He interests me. I enjoy beating him down every time. I have not met an opponent with such a fire in a very long time! When that fire is extinguished then I shall kill him!"
"Why then?"
"Do you know what the difference between me and the Destroyer is? He only fights people if they have one hand chained to a post! The rest of the time he slowly riddles them with arrows or gives them the blood eagle! He has no interest in a worthy opponent, I do!"
"Have you ever had one before?" asked Ivar, curious if his father had an answer.
"Once, then his fire extinguished two days later."
"What did you do to him?"
"I tried to flay his face off but I botched it."
"How?" asked Ivar. "How exactly do you botch flaying someone's face off?"
"I'll keep that to myself to the day I die, Ivar." Replied Hasting. "I will never tell that to anyone on the mortal plane!"
"But I'm—"
"Shut up!" snapped Hasting. "Gather the men and go cause trouble in Dollarhyde!"
Minecraft Diaries Version
"A sobriquet such as 'Baby-Killer' is not the kind I wanted but it is one I have grown to love." So spoke Hasting Baby-Killer, Eachtrannach outcast who had earned his evil sobriquet in a most horrible way. He had attacked a settlement, killed all the men, captured all the women and then had their infant children thrown from the walls.
Sitting in his camp, he stared at his son Ivar Cattle-Butcher whose sobriquet much like that of his father's was self-explanatory. They both had such farouche cerulean orbs with dark square-cut manes. They also both had hirsute thoraxes and wore loincloths befitting how they had fallen to the state of the barbarous. They were colossal in size, standing at a height of six feet and weighing at one hundred and eighty pounds, but while they were none stronger than them there were those who were taller and of greater bulk. Despite being muscular they had panther-like agility and moved in the way a panther might. Their skin had been made bronze by years of wandering in the sun. Besides the loincloth, they also wore light chain shirts and horned helmets. At their sides hung a great brand, which they used in their evil as an honorable Eachtrannach might use it for good. Their fronts blemished and base with Hasting's face featuring both bristles and mustache. Further more Hasting's voice was deep and powerful while Ivar's was deep and resonant while having an accent most unlike his father's accent but more like his late mother's.
"Might I ask father why you did not give yourself a sobriquet?" asked Ivar.
"And be like the Destroyer?" Hasting laughed long and hard. "I may be evil-hearted but I know that a good sobriquet is given by others not yourself, even if the Destroyer well deserved his. There was one hero who had a better sobriquet however."
"Who?"
"When I was young, Carthach the Hammer strode the Eachtrannach Lands like a colossus! Aye, that mortal son of Thorion, Lord of Thunder, and the water spirit Melusine. He who was the first King of the Carthachs had come along and become the hammer to us brigands and autocrats." Hasting's eyes glared at his son, imaging that Ivar was even now Carthach the Hammer. "He drove me out not long after the event that gave me my sobriquet and I have sworn revenge on his bloodline. I have heard that the Carthachs have been dispersed and diminished by famine, hardship, pestilence and warfare. Sooner or later some descendant of Carthach will have to come in search of his dispersed people in this wide world and by Dun, Dall's evil cousin, when he comes to Phoenix Drop, our place for sport, never again will there be a King of the Carthachs. The mortal descendants of Dall, Allfather of the Gods and the God of Battle, will be eradicated one and for all!"
"But Dall smiles upon his mortal descendants and all good-hearted people." Stated Ivar. "How might we win against the those the God of Battle smiles upon?"
"One need not emerged unwounded to win a battle, Ivar." Explained Hasting. "And even then whoever said I intend to fight him one on one or fight him at all? Assassinate him if need be but if he should put up a fight then I'll fight him and I will be the one to deliver his fatal wound. I can die and smile most devilishly while I die."
"He might be younger than you, father." Suggested Ivar.
"What of it?" asked Hasting. "That guard Dante is younger than me and I defeat him all the time."
"And you always spare him." Stated Ivar. "I don't understand, father. Why do you spare him? Why do you not kill him?"
"He interests me. I enjoy beating him down every time. I have not met an opponent with such a fire in a very long time! When that fire is extinguished then I shall kill him!"
"Why then?"
"Do you know what the difference between me and the Destroyer is? He only fights people if they have one hand chained to a post! The rest of the time he slowly riddles them with arrows or gives them the blood eagle! He has no interest in a worthy opponent, I do!"
"Have you ever had one before?" asked Ivar, curious if his father had an answer.
"Once, then his fire extinguished two days later."
"What did you do to him?"
"I tried to flay his face off but I botched it."
"How?" asked Ivar. "How exactly do you botch flaying someone's face off?"
"I'll keep that to myself to the day I die, Ivar." Replied Hasting. "I will never tell that to anyone on the mortal plane!"
"But I'm—"
"Shut up!" snapped Hasting. "Gather the men and go cause trouble in Phoenix Drop! I will have no more of your jabbering this day and I'll have my money right now, Cattle-Butcher!"