Snippet #2646394

Brynjar cast an eye over the well dressed man. He had little time for luxuries, but he would indulge the figure whilst he was here. The light had finally faded totally, and a pitch black surrounded the temple, only penetrated by the fingers of light cast by the braziers. In the distance he howls of wolves sounded, Brynjar's fingertips prickling in anticipation. He did not know why the gods wanted him here, but he felt he would soon know.

Shaking the snow off his shoulders, Brynjar fingered the blade of his axe, the carefully oiled and honed weapon glinting in the firelight he sat on the edge of. "I have little need of prayer these days Erak. Prayers are usually for those who need something or anger the gods. For those who speak to them regularly it is of little consequence." He knew the man. He'd known since he set foot off his longship and began the ascent. Brynjar had watched him enter the temple, and the one armed warrior close behind. The creature that followed the woman was still here, but a whisper from the raven that perched in the tree above him told him it was none of his concern.

Brynjar sighed. "Cold winters fast approach and leave slowly. This land is in the grip of giants." The sounds of fighting carried up to his ears and made him scowl. More important things were necessary now. Drunken brawls were wastes of everything that should be held dear.