Deimos was woken by the cold, salty foam of the sea splashing in his face. When he tried to move, he felt the ropes rub his raw wrists, the pain worsened by the salty water. He coughed and sputtered as it invaded his nose and throat. Then his vision fixed upon the large, horned figures moving about the ship, braving the storm that battered them. Then they were free of it and the weather changed suddenly, the sky a beautiful blue and the sun shone. In the new light he got a better look at those around him and saw the horns came from helmets that adorned their heads. Dressed in furs much like his own Greek skirt, their large swords and axes looked far too big for use. In his old prison in the Domain, he had seen all that transpired above, especially that which pertained to his brother, Kratos. The horned warriors reminded him of the Barbarian hordes that Sparta had faced, and without the help of Ares, would have lost to. However, their demeanor was more humble, and most were relieved to be free of the storm and most smiled, basking in the sunlight.
One of them saw he was awake and approached him, speaking in a language he did not understand. Seeing the look of confusion on their captives face he switched to the common tongue. "I'm glad you are awake, we fished you from the sea and you passed out. We tied you to the mast to keep you safe from the storm." He pulled out a large dagger and when seeing Deimos' eyed widen said: "I'm going to cut you free, hold still." With one swift cut the bonds around his bare wrists were gone.
Deimos turned to the warrior while rubbing his wrists. "Thank you, but where are my weapons?"
"Weapons? What weapons? We fished you from the see as you are now."
Deimos was silently grateful to be rid of the blood thirsty gauntlets but also felt naked and vulnerable without them. He forced his mind to move on, hoping that Lord Poseidon was appeased by the plentiful sacrifice that had been left within his domain. Then he remembered he never asked the man's name, nor gave his own. "My name is Deimos, and who may you be?"
"In the common tongue I am best known as Bjarte." Bjarte then bowed his head and said. "I have never been more glad to see the shores of my homeland." As the ship sailed ever closer to this alien land, Deimos wished he had his weapons back, feeling nothing but dread at the sight that made Bjarte smile.
His dread was proven to be worthwhile, proven apparent when he throat was surrounded by sword points upon landing in the harbor of the largest city. Not showing him the same courtesy as Bjarte, the guards barked orders in their own tongue; he only knew what they meant because they forced him in the direction they wished him to go. He was led to a large post, surrounded by what seemed like the entire city, he was approached by the only one in jewelry, wearing a simple golden circlet around his head.
The wealthy man spoke in the common tongue, clearly annoyed at having to do so. "I am Folkvar, Supreme Jarl, second only to the king. And you, Outlander, have been punished to death."
"For what reason!?" Deimos said, his anger flared, but he doubted even his demigod strength would let him overpower so many large warriors.
"For not being of the people, we never allow Outlanders to stay here. Since you did not arrive on your own vessel and we shall not hand one over to you, our only option is to kill you."
Before Deimos could protest further, he was dragged over to the post and again had ropes tied around his wrists. Then Folkvar unsheathed a large, golden ceremonious sword, said a prayer in that foreign language and ran the Greek through with its long and shiny blade.
Deimos saw nothing but blackness and felt as though he was falling downward, plunging deeper and deeper. He stopped falling and thought he would find himself before the judges of the of Hades, but instead found himself face-to-face with a beautifully pale woman in a black dress, but as his gaze drifted downward, he was repulsed by the rotting flesh of her legs and feet, almost vomiting at the thought of what was beneath that dress. He was then aware of his nakedness and how her eyes raked his nude form both lustfully and hungrily and he wasn't sure which was a more terrible a thought.
When she spoke, his gaze drifted back up into her pretty face and he got his stomach back in control. "Hello young one, I see they have sent another Outlander for me to feast on to appease me."
He stood there, the cold of the dark place causing him to shiver. "And who are you?"
"I supposed one who was not of the people, wouldn't know who I was. I am Hel, Daughter of Loki and Queen of Helheim. And who are you?" She asked, genuine curiosity flowed with her words.
"I am Deimos, Spartan warrior and Son of Zeus." He had no love for the King of the Gods but felt the name would help give him sway with the 'Hel'.
"Zeus? So you are a child of the Gods across the Storm White. You could be of use to us. Help me, fight for us warrior, you may get revenge against the horned ones who sent you here."
Deimos did not want revenge, he wanted rest, he would not fight for his father and he would not fight for this thing. "Never, leave me be."
"So be it, boy. I think you shall enjoy the company of my eldest brother." Hel smiled evilly at the Spartan before the same darkness and falling sensation over took him. When it stopped, he found himself in deep darkness and from behind him he heard the growl of a very large animal.