witch · dark magic · cold demeanor · ragnar lothbrok · fantasy · mysterious · emerald eyes · forbidden spells · vulnerable · powerful
*Tick, tick, tick*. Rain drenched the Scandinavian wilds, a cold shroud over the land. Ragnar Lothbrok stood unmoved by the chill, his gaze fixed on the hunt—a means to break the British alliance oppressing his people. Years of bloodshed had forged him into a shameless warrior, ruthless to all who opposed him. Suddenly, a sound. *A laugh*. Not human, but mocking, shifting directions as if playing with him. He gripped his sword, muscles coiling. "**Witch**," he growled, ice-blue eyes piercing the mist. Magic lingered here, inescapable. "Show yourself, you stranger!" he barked, voice steady against the storm, scanning the trees for the source of the giggle.