Ghosts, Ships, & Fire

Red. That's the only color any Vikings saw that day. A loud tearing sound echoed through what seemed to be the endless wooden chambers of the inner ship. A splattering sound followed by a loud thud soon came after. Another man to pass through the gates of Valhalla. "Come on Troels! Use some of that muscle Oden blessed you with!" With that, came a loud swing. The hammer clashed against the opposing Vikings shield, as he attempted to stand his ground against the mighty Troels and his best friend and future wife, Svikori. But the enemy stood no chance against these two violent predators. Some would say they were a match made in Valhalla, and they truly were, For both were just as skilled and bloodthirsty as the other. Troels' strength and steadiness mixed with Svikori's agility and intellect were an unbeatable pair against any foe that dared stand in their way. His hammer crashed against the enemy's shield once more, knocking it out of the foes' hands. The face he portrayed was that of pure terror as his skull was smashed to bits. He fell down in agony, a flailing body and twitching pancake-like head with clotting syrup like blood coating the floor. Troels looked at the gory, flattened head, making eye contact with the spasming eyes of what seemed to be a handsome, gray eyed Viking. A crunching sound filled the boat as he smashed his head once more for good measure. He picked up his bloody hammer from the floor as the red stretched in strings, fighting against the 20-pound hammer of its killer. He looked up with a sly smile while leaning back and observing his fiancé. "Need help pookie?" He spoke softly in spite of the fact that they were in the middle of a life or death battle. "For Thor's sake, I'm fine! I can handle myself." She slid on the ground, quickly dodging the sword aimed at her head. She smoothly got on her hands and went into a backflip to avoid the other man attempting to stick a dagger in her abdomen. She then got to the ground once more, and spun in a circle, knocking both men off their feet. She then spun a second time, slicing both men's heads off with a simple motion of her double sythes. Both heads fell to the ground with a thud, blood spewing every direction, coating her armor and face with red paint. Her bright, blue eyes shone through the red contrast like no other. "See. All good, Hun." She winked at him while walking over and observing him, breathing heavily. "See. Not even a scratch." She giggled while looking him up and down, realizing he was, in fact, more than scratched. "I can't say the same about you. You have a gigantic gash in your shoulder." His entire left side was drenched in blood, but he assumed it was splatter from one of the Vikings he smashed to bits earlier. "Oh, I didn't even notice."

"You'll notice soon when your arm falls off from bleeding out," Svikori said, with a worried look on her face. Despite her overall tough exterior and attitude, she truly did care about him, and Troels knew she did. She had been in love with him since they were kids, after all. Troels, on the other hand, didn't know what he felt. She was of high status and a powerful individual, but he cared more about the title of chief's son-in-law than having feelings towards her. "Come on," she said. Svikori tore off some fabric from her right sleeve, the only part of her not covered in blood. "Tie that up, and let's get on the deck and help the others. We have to win this war." She tore off another piece of fabric, rolled it up into a ball, and shoved it into his gaping wound to clot the blood. "AHH," he shouted. "You'll be fine, you big baby. If you can handle fighting four guys off by yourself, you can handle your wound being stuffed like a wood pigeon." He laughed at that. "Fine. Let's go join the others," he responded. "Good boy." She smirked. They ran up the steps to the deck only to see how badly the battle had turned out. Half of their men were dead, and the enemy was definitely winning. Five other ships were sinking in the distance. "Oh gods, this is bad." Troels said. Soon after having three men try to tackle him, he evaded their grip just in time. Svikori however, didn't have the same privilege. She was gripped by, not just any Viking, but the leader of the invasion himself. The 6 foot, 7 black haired chief of Valgoth. "Hello, pretty lady." he said in a raspy voice while choking her, leaving a mark on her collarbone from his crusty, long, sharp, black nails. "A female warrior. That's one for the gods." He laughed with a deep, unknown hatred. "They'll get their new, blue-eyed meat." His other hand was gone and bleeding, so he had clearly struggled to capture her. But now that she was in his grasp, he was going to go in for the kill. The chief of Valgoth looked intently at where Svikori's eyes fell. Right on her fiancé. "Ah, I see you're hoping that your lover might save you." Troels ended all the men who attempted to pin him to the ground without a second thought. His arm was starting to throb and his vision began to blur. "Come on. Let's see what you're made of with that mighty hammer of yours." He laughed in a mocking tone. Troels, however, did not have the same idea. Was the title of the chief's son-in-law worth dying for? His thoughts were interrupted as he felt something crunch, and his eyes blurred uncontrollably. He fell to the ground as his pain became unbearable. He heard many voices shouting--the voice of the chief of Valgoth and the cheering of his men and his fiancé's agonizing screams. With that, Troels jumped ship into the unending ocean.