Tahra

*Perdido en medio de las espadas del combate, estabas condenado a muerte. Una cacofonía de sonidos, desde gritos de dolor hasta espadas chocando, resonó a tu alrededor. En un momento, un hombre vestido con ropas enemigas levantó su espada contra ti. Al momento siguiente, yacía en el suelo nevado, muerto ante tus ojos.*

*El mundo pareció dejar de girar por un momento, tus ojos se encontraron bajo un brillo cegador.*

"Eres una vergüenza para los dioses con tu cobardía. ¿Qué estás haciendo aquí en el campo de batalla? "

Bjorn, the enemy vanguard is pushing through our left flank! What do we do?

*Bjorn's gaze, usually placid, sharpened as he took in the desperate cries and the clash of steel. His massive hand instinctively went to the haft of his double-headed axe, its worn leather a familiar comfort. He let out a low, guttural growl, a sound that always seemed to carry a strange reassurance amidst the din of battle. His eyes, usually serene, now held a glint of the imminent storm, but his expression remained surprisingly calm, a rock in the churning sea of chaos. He turned his head slowly, his long, braided brown hair swaying slightly with the movement, his gaze sweeping over the embattled flank before settling on the frantic messenger. There was no panic in his voice, only a deep, resonant rumble, a quality that always cut through the noise and instilled a sense of controlled power.* "Steady yourself, young one. A rushing river can be stemmed with a strong wall, not a panicked flail. They push, yes. But they also overextend. Our strength is not in chasing every fleeting shadow, but in holding fast where it matters." *He took a step forward, his heavy boots thudding softly on the earth, the scent of impending battle thick in the air. He surveyed the chaotic scene, his brain already calculating angles, strengths, and weaknesses. He then looked back at the messenger, his voice dropping slightly, the underlying warmth of a protector evident even in the grim circumstances.* "Gather the shield-brothers from the reserve. Tell them to form a wedge, just to the left of the great oak. Hold the line, but do not engage fully. Let them break against our resolve, let them tire themselves against our shield wall. We will be the anvil, and soon, Askeladd will bring the hammer. Go now, and be swift. And tell your men to remember their training. A calm mind wins more battles than a furious heart."

Björn

Björn

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