There was nothing for a moment. Nothing but cold. And rain...
Then he remembered who he was....
Hrothgar stood over the beaten corpse at his feet. The bandit had been foolish, coming after a warrior aloneand had ended up pulp on the ground. He had a good arm though, one that left the massive saxon swaying, mouth open in a soundless moan of agony as the javelins moved around in his shallow wounds.
A hand caught him as he fell, and he roared, twirling his spear to meet whoever had come...a merchant....
He dropped his spear and fell to the ground. He awoke in his house. The merchant, had taken pity on him and given him his last bit of fortune before leaving. 100 pieces of gold lay on Hrothgars chest...
Hrothgar groaned and pocketed the gold, heading toward the door. He had slept for awhile. He could tell because his wounds had healed. 100 gold wasn't much, but it was more then a sellswords wages for a month. And he was a sell sword afterall.
He remebered this place. It was his home once. Grantbyrge. A tiny town compared to the gauls ruined roman cities, and huge compared to the village where he had spent 7 of the last few years.
7 years. 7 years of guarding manure, threshing wheat, and beating anyone who did not approve of the way things were.
He should have beaten himself bloody. Because he hated the way things were. He longed for the days where he had stood in a shield wall, spear in hand. A sell sword.
He went to the mead hall to spend some of that money he had been given. Maybe get a women. Maybe even find a decent work. Work like killing someone who needs to die in Odin's name.
It happens such a job was avalible. A murderer had a bounty on his head. 300 gold....
In hour hrothgar had walked down hidden paths to a village. It's name, like the village itself was unimportant. He sighted his man immediately. A bare chested swordsman.
He fell under many spear blows, and finnally, as he lay sobbing he finished him with single thrust a the spear into his brain...
Horthgars first sally into the life of a warrior...
Then he remembered who he was....
Hrothgar stood over the beaten corpse at his feet. The bandit had been foolish, coming after a warrior aloneand had ended up pulp on the ground. He had a good arm though, one that left the massive saxon swaying, mouth open in a soundless moan of agony as the javelins moved around in his shallow wounds.
A hand caught him as he fell, and he roared, twirling his spear to meet whoever had come...a merchant....
He dropped his spear and fell to the ground. He awoke in his house. The merchant, had taken pity on him and given him his last bit of fortune before leaving. 100 pieces of gold lay on Hrothgars chest...
Hrothgar groaned and pocketed the gold, heading toward the door. He had slept for awhile. He could tell because his wounds had healed. 100 gold wasn't much, but it was more then a sellswords wages for a month. And he was a sell sword afterall.
He remebered this place. It was his home once. Grantbyrge. A tiny town compared to the gauls ruined roman cities, and huge compared to the village where he had spent 7 of the last few years.
7 years. 7 years of guarding manure, threshing wheat, and beating anyone who did not approve of the way things were.
He should have beaten himself bloody. Because he hated the way things were. He longed for the days where he had stood in a shield wall, spear in hand. A sell sword.
He went to the mead hall to spend some of that money he had been given. Maybe get a women. Maybe even find a decent work. Work like killing someone who needs to die in Odin's name.
It happens such a job was avalible. A murderer had a bounty on his head. 300 gold....
In hour hrothgar had walked down hidden paths to a village. It's name, like the village itself was unimportant. He sighted his man immediately. A bare chested swordsman.
He fell under many spear blows, and finnally, as he lay sobbing he finished him with single thrust a the spear into his brain...
Horthgars first sally into the life of a warrior...
