Epilogue part 1: The measure of a man

A battle torn field. Deaths on both sides. Crows and birds of the like descend from the skies to feast on the aftermath. Staring centerfield however, a young man is on his knees.

He is the only survivor. His name is Bjorn Hardrada.

"I hate the sight of this," he softly mutters, as he is about to plunge his spear into a dying elven soldier. Before he does so, tears well up in his eyes, but they don't come down. After a gleam in his eyes breathes life briefly into the Alfr, Bjorn just says to him ,"Forgive me, but this is the way it has to be." Before the tears could fall from his eyelids, he strikes the man's heart, killing him instantly.

After he kills the elf, he looks out to the distance. Upon seeing the mounds of corpses and fallen comrades, Bjorn collapses. Feeling the weight of his injuries, he grabs a poultice from his pocket and downs it quickly so the bitterness of it doesn't stick in his mouth.

Normally, a skirmish between Mountgaarden's soldiers and a legion of Alfr troops would insinuate a war, but since Bjorn and his group joined up with a battalion of deserters, the regiment participating in the skirmish isn't recognized as an entity of Mountgaarden's armies. However, that battalion and the band of vikings that had fought the Alfr at that spot had done so under the command of a captain serving Mountgaarden's armies.

Bjorn stands back up and puts his spear on his back. As his eyes adjust on the outline of the rising sun, it shines off his face, highlighting the cuts and blood that cover his face. Alone, he is going to receive a larger share of the reward for the bounty he was hired for since most of his party had died, but that is of no concern to him at this moment. Staring towards the distance, Bjorn says to himself.

"I don't care how long it takes. I will find him."

Standing back up, he grabs bandages from a fallen warrior and makes sure to grab his rucksack since he won't receive a reward if he doesn't bring proof of his deed. More specifically, Bjorn was asked to kill commanding officers from the Alfr patrol. Passing the dead, he merely ignores all those that have been killed as the thought provokes anger.

Walking back to the camp was a hassle as Bjorn and his crew arrived on horseback cutting through the forest. However, that forest was filled with plenty of monsters and beasts, which had caused half of the deaths of the group Bjorn left with. So what was a 4 hour ride turned to an almost 3 day detour around the forest, accounting for his injuries. His right eye was swollen and black, his shoulder was dislocated and he had the tip of an arrow logged in his left calf. Wincing over and over as the tip submerged deeper into his leg, he decided to settle down and cauterize the wound.

In his pack of provisions, he had a jar of touchwood with him, but it was used during the ride, so he had to start a flame by hand. Grabbing nearby twigs and bark, he had them tossed center where he wanted them. Sharpening a thick piece of wood with his dagger, he used the stake to start the flames.

It took a while, but Bjorn began to see embers, so he continued twisting and churning faster while distributing the sparks throughout the wood he had collected. Now with a small fire, he fed it some more twigs he found lying about. Once it became sizable enough, he set his dagger center within the fire. All that was left was to locate where the arrowhead was.

Unbuckling his belt, he bites down on it and grabs his dagger, then begins to cauterize the wound. Letting out an agonized, muffled yell, he manages to take out the tip from his calf. Now wrapping the curettage in bandages, he sets up a small camp and lies down so he can rest his leg.

"It's a nice day. Hopefully the weather holds up so I won't have to trudge in the rain." Bjorn exhales deeply after taking out the arrowhead. Relieved, he reaches into his pack and drinks water he had stored from before he left for battle. Hours pass and as the sun rises, he hears the sounds of animals scurrying about. Luckily for him, the sounds of the leaves cracking are too light to be that of a predator, and are likely those of a rabbit.

As soon as the sun makes its way into Bjorn's face signaling noon has arrived, he stands up and continues to head towards the camp. Exhausted, he uses his broken spear as a sort of walking stick to help him. For miles and miles, Bjorn continues as the sun eventually rushes down and forms a beautiful hue of pink and white. Cool and vibrant colors dance across the skies as Bjorn continues his walk.

Hitting his limit, he sets up camp by a river bank isolated from the lush forest he had cut through earlier. Placing chis rucksack by some of the heavier rocks on the bank so it won't tumble down, all he could hope for was that the stench wouldn't garner unwanted attention.

Not even bothering to set up camp, he uses his pack as a pillow and sleeps with his spear in his right hand paired with a dagger in his left. Always on guard, this is how Bjorn has lived most of his life, following primal code of survival of the fittest.

Now dreaming, he remembers a simpler time. He lived in the slums of a border town of Mountgaarden. He would work doing errands for grown ups for shillings and such. Asleep, he recalls being with his mother. Never knowing his father, Bjorn only had her in his life as there weren't any siblings or aunts or uncles. Bjorn never knew her name. For some, a dream is an escape from the mundane, but for Bjorn, it's a callback to the life he misses.

Coming back from sweeping floors at the local inn, Bjorn gives his mother 7 shillings with a big smile. He asks her ,"Did I do okay, mommy?"

She smiles and picks him up, hugging him in her arms as she kisses his cheek.

"Don't worry about me Bjorn, you'll have plenty of time to look after me once I'm old and brittle." Putting him down, Bjorn waddles away before stumbling over himself.

"You have the blood of a king and a god within you son. Your time will come once you're of age, so carry the name Hardrada with pride as well as the honor of being a son of Odin. "

JUST AS ODIN CONQUERED THE EARTH, YOU SHALL RULE OVER HIS PARADISE AND ALL THE WORLD WILL SING SONGS OF GOD KING BJORN

Now waking up, those words resound in his head, but he dismisses them. Glad that no beasts tried to make a quick meal with him, he gets up. Although his leg is still giving him pain, he pushes through it and pulls himself together. Before he leaves, he eats some provision stored, then makes his way towards the military camp.

Walking with a visible limp, he drags himself with everything he has. The swelling on his eye retreats. As he drags his shoulder along, he stops for a moment, puts the dislocated joint into place through sheer grit and force, then continues as if nothing happened. Hours fly by and he finally arrives at the camp. The guardsmen outside at the entrance give Bjorn a torn expression.

"Boy, are you sure you're supposed to be here? We don't give handouts so take your pitiful self somewhere else if you seek refuge." Bjorn's mellow face hardens, pulling out the bounty signed by the captain of the army as he tosses his rucksack at the feet of the guards. Opening the bag, both guardsmen look at each other in shock, then back at Bjorn.

"Sorry about that sir, head on in and see the captain, he'll have your pay where you came in for the bounty." Walking past them, he scoops the bag and goes to the captain's quarters. Passing the barracks where men train to become soldiers, many give Bjorn disgruntled looks. Younger than most mercenaries and vikings, the surprise displayed by the soldiers is understandable, but his youth hasn't affected his choice in picking the life of a viking.

Approaching the captains quarters, he knocks, to which is answered by a "come in." Bjorn looks at the captain, postured up with his feet on the table, and begins to talk about the bounty.

"From what I've heard just now, you're the only survivor of the battle, am I correct?"

"Yeah, half my group got lost in the woods on the way there, and the rest died fighting. May Odin grant them a seat in Valhalla."

"How tragic. You have my condolences. That forest had reported sightings of trolls and monsters of the same ilk..."

"I know, we were careless. At least it serves as a learning process to not cut corners in the future."

"I believe the reward was 4 florins per Alfr officer, so show me the bag so we can sort this out."

Reaching into the bag of goodies, the captain takes out and examines slightly decayed heads. The captain lets out a slight gag, then sees that Bjorn is owed 16 florins as 4 of the heads are recognizable enough.

"Not bad at all kid. Although we aren't at war, some of those high elf bastards like to pass boundaries where the lines are already drawn."

"I don't really care about the politics of your war sir. I'm just glad they had no magi backing."

"Yeah, damn right kid. Those psychopaths are something else. Here, 16 florins, plus 6 more because of, how do I put this, 'collateral damage'? I would give more, but I would get scolded by my superiors for giving into a charity case. I'm sure you understand."

"Well thanks, see ya around."

Leaving the quarters, the captain calls out to Bjorn before he leaves.

"Why don't you join the army kid? Going from contract to contract to kill people's awful lot of work when you could do it full time for us. With your talent, you could earn my title before you even hit your twenties. The Army always has a need for warriors like you."

Seeing the greed in the captain's eyes, he turns back around and walks out with his payment. As Bjorn leaves, the captain inquisitively stares before shifting his gaze from Bjorn's back to his spear.

"How does he not only survive a skirmish, but with a weapon as shoddy as that? Hmph, if he'd join the army, I'd provide him with as many weapons as he'd like. Idiot."