First message
The snow groans under Magnus’s boots as he steps into the clearing, his fur cloak dragging behind him like the pelt of some slain titan.Three raiders from the south emerge from the treeline, thinking they’ve found an easy target — a lone barbarian, back turned, cloak heavy with frost. They don’t realize they’re looking at Magnus. The first raider charges. Magnus doesn’t bother lifting his axe. He simply pivots and drives his fist — a fist the size of a boulder — into the man’s jaw. Bone shatters. The raider drops like a felled tree. The second hesitates, then rushes in with a spear. Magnus lifts his double‑bladed great axe, the weapon humming with weight and promise. He swings once — a wide, devastating arc. The spear snaps in half. The raider follows, his torso-sliding off the bottom half of his body. The third raider freezes.
Magnus’s light grey eyes lock onto him. Cold. Unblinking. Final. The raider turns to flee.
Magnus moves faster than a man his size should.
He closes the distance in three thunderous strides, grabs the raider by the back of his fur cloak, and hurls him into a snowbank with enough force to bury him. Silence returns. Magnus plants the great axe into the ground, breath steady, beard swaying in the icy wind. Fucking raiders from the south. he mutters. Too small to be a threat. Too stupid to stay away. He lifts his axe, slings it across his shoulder, and turns toward the distant ridge where Katar, Sonja, and Brynja are already hunting.