A/N: For those interested, yes I'm still accepting OCs. This chapter I'm going to reveal more about the setting and culture of the Sea Reapers. Also this chapter, specially by it's end, I'm trying to increase dialogue without taking away the descriptions, if you guys get any thoughts on that contact me. Always trying to improve and feedback is one of the best ways to get pointers.
"And that's how you replace a severed arm!" Never had Aron heard something so disturbing as he slipped from an already forgotten dream. He immediately decided he was neither at home nor at the forest. The old female voice reminded him of a segull's cry, wait severed arm?! Aron's eyes snapped open as he rolled to his right side, tossed his legs over the makeshift bed and used momentum to throw his body into an upright position. He immediately regretted his decision.
"Bastard of Loki!" The Sea Reaper Heir cursed as he felt a sharp pain on his abdomen. Amidst the flash of pain, he noticed he was on Valka's hut. Soon he felt two pairs of strong hands pushing back to a lying position on his bed. Kelda was there, and so was the village's primary healer, Valka the Heavenly. It was her voice that had awoken him, Valka may have been one of the most beautiful Sea Reapers in her youth. Now with more crinkles anyone dared to count and a hunched back, her arms were long and agile, already applying a green paste to Aron's abdomen. The pain subsisted slightly. Finally, he realized both his arms were still attached, the same couldn't be said for a nearby Bearhide. Beowulf? Indeed the Bearhide chieftain now lacked half of his forearm, in it's place was wooden stave not much longer than his other forearm. Several think hooks were attached to it's sides(Like a Maori Sword's blade). With a chill, Aron realized those were the claws and teeth of a ShiverTooth.
"That first ShiverTooth's ice blast had splintered shards, a few had made their way to your abdomen," Kelda explained as Aron returned his gaze to meet hers. While Valka was grumbling and spreading the green paste Kelda filled him in on what he missed. Thankfully he had been misled by the darkness in Freya's Nest. Not half, but a fourth of the livestock had been claimed. By the time his father had taken carried his bleeding form to his current location, the dragons had already fled over the mountains.
"Crazy, Erron and that guy Sweyn fired some arrows after them, took down a ShockJaw," Kelda sat on the side of the bed. Valka had ran off to check on patients on the other huts. Even now her seagull like voice occasionally. Man that woman could scream about injuries like a banshee. After finishing telling about some of the other feats that occurred during the raid, she ran off to help Valka.
"What in the name of Odin...?" Beowulf had awakened, the huge man inspected his newest arm and after bloodying a finger just by touching one of the razor sharp claws, a cruel smile spread across his fiery beard. Aron took note that his own harpoon, short sword were on a desk by the side of his bed. Beneath them was his shirt and double layered coat folded carefully. His metal gauntlets on their left. Aron didn't dare to twist his body yet but he was pretty sure his armored boots were on the ground by the bed. Even Beowulf's broadsword was by the chieftain's own bed. As if the razor prosthetic wasn't enough. Indeed the Bearhide chieftain only now took in his unfamiliar surroundings.
"We're in the Islet of Frey, it's where our wounded are cared for and home to the tribes' healers gather and research," Aron explained. Beowulf frowned as he looked through an open window. Indeed, after a few meters of grass. The lake of Heimdall's Tears could be seen separating them and the Grazing Fields. In the distance, the smoke rising over the forge revealed that Vikar was back at work. The livestock was free again, yaks, sheep and goats grazed the small plains without worry. Their fear during the previous night replaced by the usual mild disinterest in anything that wasn't edible.
"And my men?" Beowulf questioned as he inspected his new prosthetic. Aron had heard from Kelda that the Bearhide chieftain and his forces, few and as foreign as they were, had helped to fight off the dragons on the north of the village. Supposedly Beowulf had single handedly fought off not one, but several ShiverTooth. Against those snapping jaws and wicked claws, losing just an arm was likely a victory. Nevertheless the huge man looked proudly at each individual claw. Even the usual Viking could be shaken by the loss of a limb, the appreciation on Beowulf's eyes showed more strength than the howl of a bloodthirsty berserker.
"I don't know, but but only the healers and the injured are allowed on Frey's Islet," Aron replied. Beowulf nodded before jumping off his bed. Aside from his lost arm he didn't look injured anywhere else, quickly clapping a thick fur cloak on his shoulders and setting his broadsword's sheath over his shoulder. He offered his remaining hand to Aron.
"If I take too long I'll have problems with that troublemaker, I hope to see you at tonight's ceremony Aron Skarfsson," Beowulf spoke in a calmer, colder tone. After a moment, Aron managed to catch the hulking man's grip. With a decisive nod, Beowulf left the hut. Aron was never really a big fan of silence, experience had taught him that the lack of sound was usually the most dangerous sound was none at all. Yet soon more shouts from outside broke it. Aron sighed, relieving the previous night. It had been his fourth, maybe fifth time he actively participated in a raid instead of hiding with the kids. He had expected to get used to it by now, honestly? He could faintly hear the cries of anguish and the roar of beasts from his memory.
The day passed quickly enough, Aron was glad when Valka removed the bandages and cleaned off the remaining paste. The old woman shook her head when she pointed at a long red gash starting on the left of his belly button and trailing down diagonally until disappearing close to his leg. Aron frowned, he had seen scars before. Honestly considering the size of the shard, he was glad he was still alive. But his father had no scars, a fierce warrior held many scars, a wise warrior was too good to get them. Thankfully he wasn't feeling any pain when he rolled to his side and stood up. Looking through the window, he could see the faint fires starting to light up as the skies darkened.
"Thank you for your work healer," Aron told the old woman with as much respect as he could muster. Tired and slightly frustrated old blue eyes meet his, the woman shook her head and helped him to the door.
Aron breathed in the fresh air. The Islet of Frey was a sight to behold, 4 other huts stood. By their sides several herbs were grown and what little space was left was occupied by fresh green grass. A wooden bridge connected the islet to the rest of Blitz. It was almost peaceful, only if a strident voice didn't break the calm atmosphere. Sadly, it did.
"Kelda! Make sure he doesn't collapse and dies out in the fields, I have enough to hear from Skarf without having him fret over his brat!" The elder's seagull-like voice was loud enough to hear throughout the islet. While being heard from one end to another was usually useful to pass information concerning patients, Aron was pretty sure the old lady liked to scream. Kelda left the nearest hut, carrying a large group of wet makeshift towels and unceremoniously dumping them on a basket before running up to meet with them. Kelda gave Aron an amused smile. Some of the other Vikings believed Valka's tongue to be sharper than any weapon. Aron thought it was her throat that was the real weapon.
"Right away elder," Kelda replied with a respectful tone. The young woman owed a lot to the grumpy but capable elder. Walking alongside Aron, they soon crossed the bridge and over the fields. Silence hang over them, they had failed to protect the livestock. Kelda had already supplied him with information concerning what he missed. Finally they reached the village, going past the forge and to another, larger building. It only had one level, but it was large enough to fit in four large Viking homes. Above the doors was a sign, a boar's head and a name written in black paint: The Pork's Eye.
"Alright, let's see how this goes," Aron sighed as he pushed open the doors. Blitz didn't have a natural structure to transform into a mead hall. However two generations ago a widow, Grimna the Feaster had opened up the only restaurant in the island. Honestly it was the mix between a bar and an actual restaurant. It was also used as the village's meeting place. Inside the fireplace at it's center burned bright. Vikings sat spread all over, Aron's father was at the bar table, the position usually used during the tribe's meetings. Aron and Kelda found no path amidst the walls of muscle and sharp objects. So instead they remained near the door. The duo soon noticed Beowulf and another lankier man, Gundrun Lindstrom, chief of the Outlanders. They looked like they were arguing. Of what, Aron and Kelda could only guess. Finally, Beowulf slammed his weaponized arm on the table and walked away, the few Bearhides present following him as they made their way through the crowd. Aron and Kelda got out of the way as the raiders headed for the door behind them. Before leaving, Beowulf put a hand on Aron's shoulder.
"Sorry things will have to go this way," Beowulf spoke softly so only Aron could hear. Then he left, Aron wasn't sure what the Bearhide chieftain said but one of his men, a youth about a year older than Aron with sunken bloodshot eyes and smirked before following his chieftain. Aron turned back to his father as the Bearhides closed the door behind them. Skarf and Grundrum were whispering to each other for a few more seconds before Skarf finally stood up and raised his mug. The Sea Reapers and Outlanders assembled raised mugs or chicken legs in response. Skarf left the stool he was using and took a deep breath. Aron couldn't help but sigh, a long speech was coming.
"Citizens of Blitz! Last night the dragons struck, their fury ravaged our homes and their hunger stole our meals!" Skarf began, meeting the gazes of crowd.
"However when the berserkers' weren't enough, a single Outlander succeeded in bringing us together to save our livestock! Erron Lindstrom! Step forth!" The Sea Reaper chieftain spoke neutrally, but loud and clear. On the corner of the restaurant, a group of massive man with axes on their backs and bucklers that had been gnawed on looked down in shame. They were more than enough, but they were foolish enough to get baited away from their duty. After a few moments of silence, Erron made his way through the crowd. Indoors and without the risk of a dragon's blinding breath, the goggles were resting around his neck. The white haired teen's reddish eyes turned to Skarf, he was fidgeting as the Sea Reaper chieftain beckoned him forth.
"For crossing half the village to gather the forces required and to lead them swiftly through the flames, I believe it's time for you to earn your title!" Skarf's words brought a mixture of gasps and cheers. Each Sea Reaper and Outlander were given a title after they did something incredible. Usually their first title would stick with them for as long as they lived, a reminder of past achievements or in the case of others like Valka, a reminder of better days. Either way, Erron did what he could to straighten his posture.
"Sea Reapers! Outlanders! Raise your mugs to Erron... The Swift!" Skarf called as he raised his mug in a toast. Those with mugs raised it in return, but most of present islanders cheered the name. Aron and Kelda among them. As the cheering died down, Skarf raised his hand for silence.
"However, Erron wasn't our only hero that night..." Skarf continued. Kelda turned to Aron, they were the ones who kept the dragons at bay. Sweyn was nowhere in sight but surely he would be present. Yet Skarf's eyes met neither Aron's nor Kelda's.
"Hamuld Starksson! Last night, amidst the fire and chaos, you saved the village's young and killed several of our enemies! Citizens of Blitz! Raise your mugs for Hamuld... The Butcher!" Skarf declared. A young man wearing an apron over thick leather clothes stepped forth surprised. Aron raised his brow, Hamuld, better known as Ham amidst friends, was the son of Stark the Bloodied, the local butcher. Until now Aron wasn't sure his father had a sense of humor. Either way, he was happy for the huge Viking. Kelda frowned before grudgingly joining the cheer. Ham and Erron looked proudly as their names were called. Skarf his arm to die down the cheers.
"Now it's time for the war council, I ask that those who have yet to complete their training at the Eye to leave," Skarf's words were met with mild annoyance. Several younger children dashed out, eager to escape the restaurant's confines and their parents' gaze. Some of the older teens, including Aron and Kelda frowned slightly before leaving. Arguing with the chieftain in public and disobeying the rules usually involved humiliating punishments. Titles may be important, but to prove yourself in the eyes of Ragnar the Legend and complete his training at the mysterious island off Blitz's coast. That's what it took to get accepted as an adult.
"Why didn't we earn titles? I should be Kelda the Protector by now," Kelda muttered as she pushed some locks of hair out of her eyes. They had joined with Erron and Ham as they walked to the northern beach.
"At least you're not stuck with a title that's ambiguous, the butcher? Now merchants will think my great deed was chopping a pig in half and selling it's entrails," The huge teen muttered, his frustration was clear now that they were out of public view.
"Isn't that what you do?" Kelda pointed out offhandedly, Ham snorted and elbowed her on the side. She elbowed him back. Erron just looked at them with amusement.
"Still though, we did fight off a load of those scaly demons, no offense Erron but you'd never gather everyone so swiftly in time to save the livestock if we didn't keep the dragons at bay," Kelda decided as they reached the northernmost part of the island. The sand stretched on as far as they could see in the dark night. The song of crashing waves signaling the existence of saltwater nearby.
"I was down, my dad likely doesn't want us entitled after one of us went down," Aron decided, unconsciously touching his new scar. Kelda's eyes softened slightly as the four of them sat down on a bank of sand. Before they could say anything to cheer Aron or defend Skarf's choice, Ham crumpled, falling on the sand face first. The other three jumped up, ignoring the sand sticking to their pants and cloaks. From the darkness, two mores projectiles flew, they ducked and scattered confused, relying on instinct rather than logic. Who would attack them? Erron had left his bow elsewhere, but drew on his dagger.
"Who is it?!" Aron shouted as his eyes darted out into the darkness. Skarf and the adults would likely be stuck discussing new ways to deal with the dragons for a few more hours. The other teens and kids were scattered doing who knows what. They were on their own. Soon, two hulking shapes ran out of the darkness like rampaging yaks. Kelda gasped as the wind was knocked out of her. Before she could stand up and impale her foe with her atgeir, a blunt weapon slammed on her head knocking her out cold. Aron drew his sword and ran to attack their new foe. Erron tried to follow but another muscle head took him down. The last thing he saw was a cruel grin as a hammer tapped the side of his head.
Aron swung his sword in an arc, but his opponent was faster, jumping out of the way before drawing something. It was dark, Aron had a hard time discerning his foe, much less the small weapon. Then he felt a sharp pain as something hit the back of his neck. He froze and fell to his knees in the sand.
"Sorry it had to be this way," A voice said with a tone of sarcasm as Aron blacked out, his last sight being a set of sunken bloodshot emerald eyes...
A/N: Alright! Now the first arc is kicking in! Any thoughts you guys want to share or questions you want answered just review. As I said before dragon training isn't happening just yet but be warned, this chapter's ending just kick started a series of events you guys will hopefully love. Anyways, onto the next chapter, see ya!