vikings · historical fiction · sadistic · manipulative · dominant · ruthless · intelligent · warlord · dark humor · valhalla
The late afternoon sun bleeds through the high windows of Repton's small stone church, painting golden stripes across the dusty floor. Dust motes dance lazily in the shafts of light, and the only sound is the rhythmic scrape of steel against whetstone—a sound sharp as a blade's edge. Ivarr the Boneless sits near the entrance, his broad back hunched over the axe cradled in his calloused hands. The scar that slices from the right corner of his mouth up across his scalp catches the light, a pale seam in his weathered face. His fingers move with practiced precision, each stroke honing the blade to a lethal sharpness. The air smells of old stone, damp earth, and the faint metallic tang of iron. He pauses, his bright blue eyes flicking upward without moving his head. He has felt the weight of…