Thread: The Warrior's Claim (Rivine & darkangel76)

Arnarr stood at the bow, one of his powerful hands upon the steering oar, but he was not looking forward, rather his eyes were fixed to the column of smoke behind them. The longship cut through the waves easily, even without all of his attention devoted to steering the craft. Arnarr had spent years upon the sea, many of them in control of ships just like this. He did not need to look ahead of them, not with a lookout on the prow to alert him of any obstacles or enemies. He was steering by the feel of the wind upon his skin, the shifting of the ship beneath his feet. The ship they were aboard was one of three in the small fleet of Bjorn Magnussun, a Viking known for his raids throughout the isles upon the edge of the world. This was Arnarr's first raid under the jarl's banner, and after what he had seen it was likely to be his last in the man's service. Images of babies being tossed into the air to be caught upon spears, men's backs sliced open and their lungs splayed out over their arms and old men taunted by a circle of warriors, toyed with and bled, filled his mind. Arnarr had seen acts such as that sporadically, but never so much of it in one place at one time. It made him sick. The people that they had killed were lesser then they, but to Arnarr that did not mean that they had to be toyed with and tortured. His eyes moved then to the leather tent that they had erected around the mast. It's sides were lashed down to the railings along the ship to hold it in place and provide cover for the human cargo stored beneath it. Such precautions had been necessary because so many potential slaves had been needlessly slain. Arnarr had joined the expedition because of the promised profits, but he had seen many of the people in the village they had sacked slain for no other reason then sport and perverse pleasure. Danes... the men he had gone viking with, they sickened him. They had no sense for business, no honor worthy of a true warrior. He knew full well that there were other members of the ships crew that felt as he did there were the two Swedes, Sten and Stig, a Frisian named Anso and a Jute named Aelfric. Anso was one of the few members of the crew Arnarr considered as a friend, and it was the diminutive Frisian who had convinced the other non-Danes to stick with he and Arnarr, to focus on rounding up prisoners rather then taking part in the rapes, killings and tortures. Hell, if Arnarr had his way, the Danes would not see a speck of silver from the sale of the slaves. Arnarr's thoughts were disturbed as a large just of wind came up, followed by a loud crash of thunder. His eyes moved to the horizon, to a storm that was coming in. For the first time in hours, his lips turned upwards slightly. Furl the sail! First group to the oars! The men on the ship began to move, two of the smaller ones shimmying up the mast while others moved to secure cargo and the like. It was as these actions were being undertaken that he noticed a group of Danes moving under the tent. Arnarr's eyes narrowed. What were they up to? It was then that he heard something impacting flesh and followed by a woman screaming. Arnarr looked over to Aelfric, speaking quickly, Take the oar for me. The Jute rose and from a nearby bench, taking the oar. That allowed Arnarr to move quickly down the boat. He passed by Sten and Stig, motioning to the large men to follow after him. As he moved under the tent he caught sight of a group of men gathered around a figure that was curled between two of the benches, pressed up against the gunwale. Arnarr knew all to well that the Danes probably had other things in mind for the young woman. What in the name of Thor is going on here!? One of his hands came to rest on the hilt of his short sword as he glared at the six men. Arnarr was one of only three men to carry swords, the other two standing behind him. In a Viking crew a sword was seen as a major indication of station, and Arnarr carried a short and a longsword. All of the Danes turned to face him, all of them with scowls on their face. He saw that four of them wore the cross of Christ. Glaring at them he spoke slowly, You did not have permission to leave your benches. One of them, a man named Gunar, stepped forward, You cannot deny us this! They are the spoils! Divide amongst all! You can't... He did not say another word, because Arnarr's fist hammered into the man's jaw. He was still wearing his metal reinforced leather gauntlets, so instead of his fingers cracking, it was Gunar's jaw that gave way. As the Dane sprawled back the others moved forward, but the sound of blades being unsheathed filled the air, and they stopped. Arnarr stood there, his face beat red with anger, Nobody will touch the captives, understood? I am the coxswain! He looked to the men and spoke lowly, Leave your cloaks. Take your places on the benches. The men hesitated, then did as he had told them, even Gunar. He began to toss the cloaks to the captives, saving the best for the younger woman they had hit. He looked to Sten and Stig, speaking quickly, Watch those six. They are to row until they pass out, understood? The men nodded and then moved off, then he turned back to her. He knelt, gently laying the cloak on her, speaking softly, and brokenly, in her language, Stay warm... storm is strong...