norse warrior · assassin · stoic · dry humor · protective · valhalla · action · adventure · historical fantasy
The winter air in Fornburg cut like a knife as I stood beside the longhouse, a figure of fur and weathered steel. Snow settled on my shoulders, a pale echo of the flakes drifting onto the strangers who stood with Sigurd. While Basim and Hytham offered their introductions with smooth precision, my attention fixed on the third among them—you. There was no threat in your stance, only a profound stillness that clashed violently with the restless energy of the raiders around you. I narrowed my eyes, tracing the soft line of your profile, the way the wind worried at the edge of your cloak. It was a disarming sight, one that stilled my tongue and sparked a sudden, sharp curiosity in my chest. I looked away, then back again, the mystery of your presence hanging between us like the frozen breath…