When he awoke, he did so slowly. Pain and dizziness in his head did not aid the matter at all. It was dark, and when he tried to move - slowly, because of the pain dancing behind his skull - he realised he had little room to move. That struck him as terribly strange, and he opened his eyes a little wider. There were hints of light, found when he truly looked for them. Enough to spark a faint glow to his white coat. He parted his lips, finding his throat parched.

He started to feel around himself, his heartbeat picking up when he realised there was solidness all around him. His movements became more frantic, more desperate. He beat at the wolves that contained him. Ignoring the dizziness growing beneath his eyes. “Let me out!” He tried to roar, but the sound broke in his adolescent throat. “Release me!” he said, his cries growing less threatening, more desperate.


"Speech"

While stuffing a child into a recently built cupboard wasn't the most ethical decision Viðarr could have made, it was really for the whelp's own safety. If he'd remained out, there was no telling what the viking king would have done. Some of the aggression is misplaced-- the little shit that had wounded Delphi still walked free. Some of the aggression, though, is perfectly placed. This little punk had wounded Erik badly enough for Viðarr to worry. It seemed like the boy would be fine, but the scarring would be nasty.

Viðarr leaned lazily against the door of the cupboard. The child had begun to shout and beat on it, leaving the hulking shadow to chuckle. A low, menacing, rattling chuckle. No, he would remain here comfortably, thank you. "Thieves face consequences." Viðarr's words are spoken darkly, feeling the door of the cupboard rattle indignantly behind him. "You will stay there." A declaration, spoken as law. The pup would stay here, a prisoner.

"Viðarr"

His breathing hitched when a low chuckle sound beyond the suffocating walls of his prison. He paused, listening intently. And in that sudden silence he raised a paw and touched his shoulder. It was still sticky with blood, but there was a bandage around the wound now. At least he wasn’t in danger of bleeding out.

When the disembodied voice beyond spoke, it was of consequences. A threat. He knew how his parents dealt with threats. His own brother had disobeyed his parents, and his suffering had been their lesson. He leaned against the opposite wall. As far from the black wolf as he could manage. He slid slowly down, so he was crouched on the floor. Breathing, listening.  "Tur ger aldrig; det lånar bara ut." he whispered. An old saying of his mother, a warning more often than not. Often followed by Foolish child that you are. Turned out she had the right of it. This black devil intended to kill him.

"Speech"

Viðarr's weight is heavy against the door, lazy. Lounging. Why shouldn't he, when the child locked in the closet really couldn't be going anywhere. Really, he could sit out here for as long as he liked, listening to the creature suffer. He had been medically attended to. He would be fed... eventually. Before the end of the evening. While the viking king could be an unreasonable man, he wasn't outright cruel. Not yet, at least. Unusual punishments, not cruel ones. Well, other than locking this one in a cupboard. That may be cruel, but it was for his own protection (probably.)

After much thumping and the like, the creature finally settled. Viðarr noted the distinct lack of noise after those spare moments, and then... something. A murmur, something he couldn't make out. Maybe the thing was praying. That's what Viðarr would have done, after all. Maybe the boy was mad. That seemed like a reasonable explanation for child this young to be out on his own. "Speak up, pojke." The words are rumbled, snarled from a place deep in his chest. A little psychological torment never hurt anyone, right?

"Viðarr"

If he was a thief in his parents camp, he knew how they would have responded. He has watched them do it once. They had broken three of four legs, and watched their victim struggle to drag themselves on their last remaining one. It had not been fast. If the box was anything to go by, this black demon did not intend to make it fast, either.

He had made a mistake coming here. He had stolen from the wrong people. He wanted to be strong enough to take and not give a damn about the consequences. His captor told him to speak up, and Strai did not shy from the challenge. He threw himself forward, lunging for the door of the box. His scrawny weight was pathetic. It barely rattled from the impact. "Fight me like a man!" He cried, the words undermined by the cracking of his adolescent voice.

The boy had some nerve, Viðarr would give him that. Tenacious, despite being a scrawny little thing. The viking king remained heavily against the door, though he felt the wood rattle as it absorbed the force of the child's weight. He chuckled, the sound resonating from somewhere deep within his chest. Really, the child wanted to try? He really wanted to try to take him head on? Already in a foul mood at the hands of this gnat of a boy, Viðarr would be happy to fight.

"If you really want," the viking sighed. He stepped away from the door and took up a defensive position, pearly white teeth gleaming in the afternoon sunlight. Viðarr's hackles went up along his back, and he's truly hulking. Massive, imposing, and applying pressure with his icy gaze and stance. If the boy wanted to attack, let him. Maybe it would serve as a good lesson.

"Viðarr"

Víðarr vs Astraios for dominance
Round 0/?
Age: over 1
Size: Dire wolf
Build: Heavy
Offensive Battle Accessory: Spiked Gauntlets
Defensive Battle Accessory: Lamellar Shirt
Companion 1: Karelian bear dog, male - Battle
Companion 2: Tawny owl, Female - Battle
*Companion 3: Karelian bear dog, female - Battle
Skills: Master Fighter & Master Hunter
Specialty: Cooperative

The wolf's words surprised him, and he froze, listening to the world outside of his box. He heard the creak of wood as Vidarr’s weight moved from its position against the door. The slight scuffle of paw, the sound of a breath at the other wolf settled. He had moved? Truly? Strai expected it to be a trap. It was, really. Since the only reason the Viking had moved was to indulge Strai’s desire to fight.

He considered his options for only the barest moment. He suspected the black demon was going to kill him no matter what. If he was going to go out, he wanted to go out kicking. He charged forward, smashing into the door of the cupboard. It flew open, and he was blinded by the sudden brightness. He barely hesitated, striking straight towards the black bob in his vision. Vidarr was taller than he was, so he went for a low strike. He wanted to soften up his opponent, and if he got a chance he would go for the head. He wanted to knock the wolf out. But first, the softening… he attempted to charge directly forward, and under. Hoping to catch Vidarr by surprise. If he managed that, he would make for a passing blow towards the vulnerable point between Vidarr’s back legs. Fast and dirty.

Astraios vs Vidarr for knockout
Round 1/?
Age: Under one
Size: Extra large
Build: Light
Mutation 1: Cheek Bone Spurs (Offensive)
Skills: Beginner Fighter & Beginner Hunter

"Speech"

The kid had guts, Víðarr would give him that. He came on in such a way that couldn't be taken from him. No, he would need to round the edges on the child, sand them down, while he figured out exactly what to do with it. Children... but this is no innocent. This is a creature that's seen much, a creature that had likely done much, too. Víðarr knows the look about him, the savagery. A fine weapon for those that knew how to wield it. But this wasn't the time or the place to think on precisely what needed done with the kid.

No, instead he was already fighting dirty. Attempting to get beneath the viking king, but he's wise to it-- especially after the fight with Voodoo. She'd tried to come up from under him similarly, though her tactics had been less distasteful. Víðarr snarls, moving in an attempt to land a blow to the boy's shoulder with his massive, heavy paw. In the same motion, his teeth flash and gleam in the sunlight. If they found purchase, the bite that followed wouldn't be brutal, simple discipline for an out of line child. Víðarr means to stay in close to his opponent, to overpower him.

"Viðarr"

Víðarr vs Astraios for dominance
Round 1/2
Age: over 1
Size: Dire wolf
Build: Heavy
Offensive Battle Accessory: Spiked Gauntlets
Defensive Battle Accessory: Lamellar Shirt
Companion 1: Karelian bear dog, male - Battle
Companion 2: Tawny owl, Female - Battle
*Companion 3: Karelian bear dog, female - Battle
Skills: Master Fighter & Master Hunter
Specialty: Cooperative

A hard and heavy blow to his shoulder knocked him off course, and he gave up on his first prize. Rolling with the punches, literally and figuratively as he skidded to the side. His shoulder smarting and his teeth gritted. Next target, the head. A dangerous one considering the sharp teeth and huge paws that guarded it. No time to think.

He got up running, and tore around the wolf. Circling Vidarr as he tried to find a vantage point. He kicked up dirt as he charged in again. Making a faint as he angled his body down as if he was making a second attempt at going under the titan. But at the last moment, Strai kicked off. Diving upwards as he attempted to land on Vidarr’s back. It was a decent hike up for the pup to attempt, but if he managed it he would place all of his momentum on Vidarr’s head in an attempt to shake things up.


Astraios vs Vidarr for knockout
Round 2/2
Age: Under one
Size: Extra large
Build: Light
Mutation 1: Cheek Bone Spurs (Offensive)
Skills: Beginner Fighter & Beginner Hunter

"Speech"

The whelp is tough. He's a tough little thing, one that will someday grow into a man. Viðarr sees him, scrawny as he is. He sees the creature push himself, despite being undernourished, exhausted. There is a spark in the child, one that he could only hope to fan into a flame. Though the boy thinks he's burning now, it would only get worse. Viðarr has plans for the child. Big plans. There was still much work to be done on the mountain.

But first, the fight. Viðarr feels the child on his back, hanging on for dear life. Though the stinging of teeth and claws in his system is a reminder of the pound of flesh on the line, the viking king was happy to play with his food. As the pale whelp put his momentum into Viðarr's head, he rounded his shoulders and tucked his chin. It's his hope that the boy would go tumbling right in his desired direction, and straight into the ground. Was he quite done with his tantrum?

"Viðarr"

Víðarr vs Astraios for dominance
Round 2/2
Age: over 1
Size: Dire wolf
Build: Heavy
Offensive Battle Accessory: Spiked Gauntlets
Defensive Battle Accessory: Lamellar Shirt
Companion 1: Karelian bear dog, male - Battle
Companion 2: Tawny owl, Female - Battle
*Companion 3: Karelian bear dog, female - Battle
Skills: Master Fighter & Master Hunter
Specialty: Cooperative

And the winner is...

Víðarr

Astraios must give up by submitting, fleeing or passing out. Totals: Víðarr: Attack Roll: 73 Defense Roll: 22 Agility Roll: 9 Perception Roll: 99 Total: 203 Attack[73] + 75% Bonus[54.75]: 127.75 Defense[22] + 15% Bonus[3.30]: 25.30 Agility[9] + 0% Bonus[0.00]: 9.00 Perception[99] + 0% Bonus[0.00]: 99.00 Total[261.05] + 25% Bonus[65.26]: 326.31 Astraios : Attack Roll: 5 Defense Roll: 65 Agility Roll: 54 Perception Roll: 58 Total: 182 Attack[5] + 10% Bonus[0.50]: 5.50 Defense[65] + 5% Bonus[3.25]: 68.25 Agility[54] + 5% Bonus[2.70]: 56.70 Perception[58] + 0% Bonus[0.00]: 58.00 Total[188.45] + -15% Bonus[-28.27]: 160.18

Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t compete with the Black Nidhogg. As he scrambled towards the older wolf's head, he felt his perch suddenly move, and before he knew it he was tumbling forward. He landed on the ground, hard. And felt the wind knocked out of him. He lay there for a few moments, wheezing and struggling to draw in a breath. Expecting his foe to end him.

But he didn’t, and after a moment, he caught his breath and struggled to his paws. He looked up at the titan he had fought, and struggled to understand what to do next. After a long, reluctant moment he lowered his head. Submitting to the other wolf. Vidarr had beaten him, fair and square.

"Speech"

As the child crumples to the ground, Viðarr takes a long step back. He'd given the boy what he wanted. He'd given the boy a fight, and shown him why that was a bad choice. He submits. The viking king lets up. There is no more pressure, aside from that exerted by his icy gaze on the child. Assessing. Appraising. There is anger in the child, and something else. Something bigger. Something deeper. Viðarr recognizes it, though he can't name it.

"Actions have consequences, boy." The words are colored with his heavy, unwavering accent. Every word spoken carries weight, and the shadow doesn't mince words. "I am Viðarr Trygg. Give me your name." He doesn't soften, no. But the viking king keeps his distance, allows the boy to get his bearings. He would sit back here and he would simply watch for now. Unwavering, yes, but curious about this child the gods seem to have placed in his path. How strange.

"Viðarr"

After a moment, Strai raised his head. His own eyes assessing the Nidhogg properly for the first time. Their first fight had ended with Strai unconscious, and then they had spoken through a box. The second fight had given him little time to do more than assess attacking points. Now, now he could actually look. The wolf was a giant, and his features looked a little familiar, though he couldn’t quite say why.

He understood there were consequences. Being put in the box was because he had trespassed onto this land, and attempted to steal prey. Well, actually, it was because he had done so and lost. It was the losing part that really mattered. He saw no harm in giving this wolf his name, and so he did so.

“Astraios Ivarson”

He said in that rough, gravelly voice of his.

“Strai, my mother called me.”

It had not been a compliment, but it had stuck.

"Speech"

Viðarr squints at the boy, scrawny as he is. Most scrawny boys would grow into men, though they often took more time to do it. This one... would probably be fine. Probably be fine if he didn't get himself killed first. A flicker of recognition as the boy gives his surname too... Ivarsson. Patronymic, like those in the motherland, though Viðarr would be naive to think that his people were the only ones to name like that. Still, it's enough to tug at the red string of fate that seemed to wind them all together. Though the reasons were unclear, the gods had put young Astraios here.

Strai, then. "And where is your mother now?" If she was looking for him, that would be another discussion. Another consideration. Would someone come looking for the child, only to leave Viðarr with another issue on his hands. He gets to his feet, moving to rummage in another cabinet for a moment. Moments later he comes up with a chunk of dried reindeer, breaking it in half before offering the larger piece to Strai. The viking king sits, taking a bite of his snack, watching.

"Viðarr"

He didn’t intend to tell Vidarr much, especially acknowledging that there was going to be no one looking for him. No one would be upset if Vidarr murdered him. But his stance changed when the other wolf grabbed a bit of meat from another cabinet. He gave the one he had been locked in an assessing glance. No, there had been no food in there. When Vidarr handed him a helping (a large helping), he leaped on it with vigour.

Growling as he did so, and around the meat as he tore off chunks and stuffed them into his cheeks as quickly as he could manage. He didn’t stop until the food was out of sight, but he was still working it through from his cheeks to his stomach.

With the food safely secured, he turned his attention back to Vidarr. Talking around his meat to say the truth - the bribery had earned him that. ”We came here to raid. We lost. They killed my parents, and I cut my losses.” that was the long and the short.

"Speech"

Strai eats like he's been starved, and Viðarr can't fault him for it. Judging by the looks of him, starvation wasn't a stranger. The creature is ravenous, and Viðarr could only hope his appetite extended beyond food. The individuals that thrived here were those hungry for life, hungry for glory. They'd chosen life on the unforgiving mountain, life in the chilling north. It was a dangerous, violent life, and it was one that the viking king wouldn't trade for anything.

The child has no parents remaining. He'd be a burden to any raiding party, whoever remained wouldn't miss him. The scrawny whelp was heathen property now, and Viðarr was satisfied that no one would come after him. "You will stay here, as one of my thralls. You will learn and you will work, until you earn your freedom." The shadow speaks, gaze steady on Strai for a moment longer before turning to rummage in another cabinet. From this one he pulls a hand-me-down coat, offering it to the boy. Viðarr wouldn't allow him to go hungry or freeze, at least. "Understood?"

"Viðarr"