Beating drums. Fiery skies. The aching of heaven.
Boats rocked beneath howling wind, and the earth quaked under iron feet. A Christian monastery, once serene in its prayers, now drowned in screams and flame.
Svidrir Skaldsson stood at the edge of the carnage, his black hair soaked with blood and smoke, eyes gleaming with something deeper than rage—purpose. Bastard son of a jarl, he bore his father's name like a curse and a crown. He belonged to no crew, swore no oaths but his own.
Priests said their prayers and nuns wept like newborn babes, fear drenched the skies, the smell of death was abound, ruthless killing, staining the earth with brandished gore.
As the monastery burned in ashes, priests cried out in prayer, a man barely 20 pleaded before Svidrir. "O, merciful norn, take whatever your beautiful eyes desire, allow me to live yet more."
Once he finished his lamentable plea, Svidir took his axe and cut through his head. Each vein of the throbbing neck burst like a crimson fountain. The axe was smothered in blood: "A coward will not enter the halls of Valhalla." Svidrir muttered.
As the roaring cries of raiders pressed onward, leaving blood and sin in their wake, Svidrir composed a skaldic poem;
"Thy whale road lead us to thee,
O, merciful Odin blessed mine axe,
Sweet raven-harvest, smell so soothing,
O'er north, ere thy achings of thy world serpent,
Plea unto Asgard, and die a warrior."
Svidrir made the site a grim altar of death, a grimaced site under the sun, lamenting filling heaven, dead souls walking in wake, his axe was a bloody declaration unto all who spat at him.
"That glorious bastard, that jarl was a fool for not keeping him around," one of the other raiders conversed,
Svidrir stood alone in glory.
Later in the eve, whilst looting, he came upon a strange relic that shone in dazzling beauty, a pendant glowing with the aching flares of the sun. Svidrir, driven by lust for power, put the pendant around his neck, and his soul felt ablaze. He saw the sun under his reign, and him burning the frosted north. He could smell many won wars and pretty ladies bedded. This was the time, the boy became a man, and swore a vow unto himself;
"No more shall I fear,
For even the nine realms-
Shall fall under my reign,
Glory unto mine soul,
Until Ragnarök comes for me."
After the looting was completed, Svidrir departed from the looting and wandered, searching for warmth.