1 One-Shot

    It was a cold night in the icelandic sea whereby several large pieces of ice floated. Several ships were afloat with serpent figureheads upon them. Shields lined the sides of them, painted in different patterns. The wood of the ships were spruce, along with the masts. Their sails were made of a thick cloth, handwoven by many maidens.

    A tall, very built man walked around the deck. His eyes seemed to be red, and his long black beard went over his armor. On his head was a wolf's head. On his gauntlets were bear claws. His armor was lined with the fur of many animals. There were patches of visible chainmail here and there. He waved at another man on the front of the ship by the figurehead. That man wore chainmail plate armor lined with cat fur. He bore a wicked grin as he approached.

    "There be land yonder!" the approaching man exclaimed with glee.

    "Oh..?" the Jarl stood there, skeptical.

    "If you do not believe me then…" the man with the cat lined armor grabbed the Jarl and walked him to the front of the ship, and proceeded to vigorously point at the faint light coming from the shore, just barely in view.

    "O has Odin blessed us with bountiful loot?" the Jarl started to get excited.

    "O Jarl we should be there by the awakening of Sol." 

    "Very well…" 

    And so the Jarl retired for the night in his cabin aboard the ship, awaiting dawn.

    Dawn came. Their ships were close to the shore. It was close enough to see the people in the village. They were celebrating something. 

    The Jarl awoke and walked onto the deck, his fur cape billowing in the wind. "By the Gods, they appear to be having a festival of sorts."

    "A festival is the best time to pillage, m'lord." The cat armored man bowed mockingly while snickering that evil laugh of his.

    "Indeed…"

    The vikings set foot on the soil of the village, towering over its inhabitants. Not a single villager suspected them. They had thought they were a friendly clan, but the Serpent Clan was not so. 

    The Jarl casually walked up to the chieftain of the village. He was quite drunk as he looked up at the ominous man that had seemingly materialized in front of him. That man's hair was as pitch as night and his eyes seemed to be forever stained in a sinful crimson. The eyes of the wolf head upon his seemingly stared into the chieftains soul. There was a sharp pain in the chieftain's neck.

Suddenly he was flying, but he couldn't feel his body. There was a thump as his body fell to the ground, headless and squirting a fountain of blood out of the stump of his neck. His head hit the ground, yet he was still barely alive. And then he was not.

The vikings had started to surround the village, torching many buildings in their wake. They killed, violated, and pillaged this solitary settlement in search of loot.

The Jarl looked melancholy as he was slaughtering some children. The feline armored man saw this and walked over to him. Both of them were soaked in blood.

"M'lord, what appears to be the matter?"

"This is droll, very droll."

"What do you mean by that?"

    The Jarl casually grabbed a child and tore them in half with his bare hands. Entrails decorated the burning buildings like tinsel on a christmas tree.

    "It's all the same thing."

    "What do you mean?" the cat armored man absently ran an unprepared villager through with his sword.

    "I mean…" the Jarl kicked the halves of the kid he just tore in two around like a soccer ball. "All we do is pillage and let some people go."

    "Are you stating that we kill everyone?"

    "Why the fuck not?" the Jarl walked around, viewing the carnage as he approached a church. It hadn't been lit ablaze yet. One of the other vikings handed him a torch seemingly knowing what he was going to do.

    "Oh dear! That is barbaric by a longshot!" the feline armored man said, as he was covered in blood, bone shards, and flesh.

    The Jarl waved him off and pulled a different viking aside. "You there."

He pointed at a blond man that was decently built, wearing chainmail armor. "Have you spotted any survivors?"

    The viking kneeled. "No, M'lord. It appears they've fled into the forest with the unviolated women and children."

    "So there's not a soul in this church?"

    "I searched the whole thing. I didn't see anyone except a priest that I beheaded on sight…"

    "You appear to not be telling the whole truth." the Jarl inquired.

    "Well… there was a floorboard that sounded pretty hollow underneath. It was up a little bit, but i didn't remove it because the space beneath must've been too small for anyone to fit."

    "Any loot?"

    "Just some gold and silver as religious objects." The viking held up some items made of gold and silver. There was a sheathed dagger, plated in gold. He handed it to the Jarl.

    The Jarl inspected the dagger. It's hilt was made of gold, set with many different gems. It's pommel was the golden head of a serpent whose eyes were ruby. He unsheathed it, revealing it's blade which looked to be made of undeniably precious platinum. It's edge was impossibly sharp.

    "Everything else is worthless to me." he turned the dagger around in his gauntleted fist. 

    "M'lord?"

    "I shall take this loot as my own." the Jarl looked distastefully at the pile of gold and silver that his comrade had gathered. "Distribute that among our clan once we finish." He sheathed the dagger.

    Sol burned disdainfully as a massacre was orchestrated upon the shoreline. The clouds rumbled as the very heavens wept for the loss of the villagers. The ashen buildings crumbled to cinders and dust from the relentless downpour. 

    The vikings wandered around the proximity of the ruins, searching for any survivors in their hopeless struggle to flee. Finally they found them. It was a caravan of elderly, women, and children being pulled by a solitary ox. When they saw them approaching, they seemed to cower in fear while pushing that ox to its limits. They were on the run as these inhuman giants bore chase. 

    After some time, the ox collapsed from exhaustion as the Vikings caught up with them. It was a second massacre. The women were violated and whipped them brutally murdered along with the tortured elderly. They devoured the ox as it was paralysed from fatigue. The children were shackled and brought back to the shoreline.

    "Well…" The Jarl stood there with his great axe over his shoulder and sighed in a tired sigh. "Let's call it a day."

    The loot was distributed amongst the clan. The captive children were separated among the different ships. They went upon their ships and sailed off, never to be seen again...