7 CHAPTER 6 - GLESGA STORMLANDS - VIKINGS.

I fleching love raiding, I get bored easily, farming aye, it's alright, but hunting, smashing, raiding, drinking, fleching, that's my game, that's what drives me.

I'm fea a group of islands, the Glesga Stormlands. We fought among ourselves at first, was just in our nature. But then, we learnt of the lands to the south, the mainlands, filled with fertile land, women, beer and plenty of gucci relics to take.

For donkeys we've been raiding the mainlands, then there's that one time we sent 100,000 warriors, before my time, big smash-up they had, I'm pure jealous.

They call me Ragnar the Beast, could be worse, they could call me Ragnar the arsehole, or Ragnar the flecher, that last ones alright.

I'm a Berserker, we get drunk, take our enchanted mushrooms, then the party begins, with both axes in hand. We specialise in ambushing, shock tactics and breaking enemy lines.

We don't need that pansy armour shite, our skins as hard as wood-pecker-lips. The seers, they bless us, special magical shit, blow it upon us, turns our skin rock-hard man, aye, all parts. Make up right strong too, can punch me hand through some dafty's chest, lovely.

Then we charge the enemy, butt-arsed naked, love it I do, I love it. Well, like most of us Viking berserkers, we wear wolf heads and a wolf skin cape. I need something to hold me trophies, so I have a utility belt, sometimes stick peoples heads to it too. As long as they don't batter off me bits, biting me balls n that.

Axe is our weapons, two to be exact, otherwise a nice big flecher, double-handed for chopping dafty's n half.

The seers have some gucci rune-stones, made of some unknown magical shit, well, it makes our axes pure strong and can make us blow shit away, like a big wind n that, it's pure brilliant man.

We own the sea, the dafty's don't even see us coming, we're inside their camps, pumping their burds and banging their men's heads before they even know it. Pure fast, pure brutal, pure woofen.

Glesga Stormlands are alright, windy as shit, always fleching raining and snowing, deep as anything. Fancied me-self a wee cottage or flech it, a castle, so I headed to the mainland, take me some relics, burds and a nice big castle.

One day this wee burd turned up in me house, of course, I thought she wanted some pumping, bit skinny she was but I'd have still ravaged her, lovely jubilee. She was a wee fast one, couldn't get a hold of her, booted me in ma arse tae, then left a note about some secret meeting or some shit.

Well, if I get a castle out of it, then gucci, I just think the wee burd is playing hard to get, think she fancies me.

So, I'm on me way with ma pals, sailing down the rivers, stop n raid some towns too, ell, why not.

Thor's looking out for us, me party of raiders, pure breed warriors. I'm in charge of course, being the baddest motherflecher among us.

The River Wolves we are known as, damm right, we hunt quick and furious.