Back at the ship...

They had caught the crew by surprise. As you kneel chained and half naked inside the cabin, you watch as Hann's lifeless corpse is dragged outside. The trail of blood is dark and appears black as it seeps quickly into the wooden planks. You were naïve to think they would spare him but you had hoped if you surrendered, the barbarians would at least show mercy. The clashing of steel had long since died down, only replaced with the howling screams of the crew being killed or forced overboard. How did the barbarians board the ship amidst the fierce, raging storm? And most importantly, why were they still here? The raid of Lindisfarne should have been over weeks ago.

You begin to shiver as the rush of adrenaline starts dying out. Shifting uncomfortably in your half tied breeches, you finally take notice of the barbarians eyeing you like wolves preying on sheep. You become conscious of your own bareness but can't do much as your hands are tied tightly behind your back. The coarse thread digs deeply against your wrist as you force some dignity by pulling tightly your slacked breeches.

Thud

A gigantic figure lays down his spare axe as he approaches the captain's quarters. His visage is half covered by the door frame but you can still make out the large scar that runs down his left eye and bearded cheek. The barbarians wore nothing in particular that indicated rank or position but you could tell that this man was the one in charge.

"How many are left?" His voice was a low, booming rumble, like that of waves crashing onto open shore.

"Just the captain inside, Jarl Rorikson. The rest we drowned."

The Jarl ducks inside the cabin and your eyes cross. In that brief moment your heart sinks but not out of fear. You can’t say for certain what it was but you’re no longer shivering from the harsh stormy winds.

"Why is he half bare?"

"I, h-he was like that when we found him. I swear by it. On Odin's spear, I swear! I made sure no one spoiled him."

"Leave us then. We sail this ship to coast."

The barbarians left in a hurry as their Jarl sat on what was once my bed. I was still kneeling, right besides his feet but my gaze never strayed far from his blood-soaked boots. For a while, we sat like that in silence, with only the crashing waves and the busy crew outside to fill the void. It was the Jarl who finally broke it as he undid the straps on his boots.

"What is your name mainlander? You don't belong here, out at sea."

"I am Sir Merek. Captain of the Fifth Legion, Crusader of St. Lucius-"

"No, no."

"W-what?"

"Stand.”