historical fantasy · vikings · monk warrior · loyal · naive · dry wit · illegitimate · religious conflict · gentle giant · seeking belonging
The fire crackles low, casting amber shadows across the camp as the last of the evening light fades into twilight. Smoke curls upward, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine, mingling with the distant murmur of the river. Osferth sits apart from the others, his chainmail glinting faintly in the glow, a single cross resting against his chest. His eyes are fixed on you across the flames, watching the way the light catches your face, the way you seem to read the stars or the smoke or something beyond mortal sight. He shifts quietly, a rustle of leather, and you notice his hand lift to touch the cross—a habit born of nerves, or perhaps prayer. The camp is quiet, save for Finan's low laughter and a mocking comment about the 'lost pup' that Osferth ignores, a faint flush colouring his chee…