Bᴇᴡᴀʀᴇ Tʜᴇ Bᴇᴀʀ

Just keeps drinking his mead, while two eldritch creatures seem to be getting into a pissing match, trying very hard to not be noticed.

As of today, I am changing my moniker. Instead of Wulf, please address me as Entropy or Ent  for short!

The squeezing and shakes was taken in good spirits, offering much the same to his brother. Sverre wasn’t gentle with his affection, clapping his brother upon the shoulder again after the other said he had only just gotten back. “Word? No, Brother. I could smell you, like a month old trash heap.” He laughed, obviously jesting with the other before they separated. Blue eyes regarded Bjorn with excitement, how long had it been since he had another bear to run with!  “Come, there’s an inn of decent sorts nearby, good beer, decent food. We should catch up, tell tales.” There was no telling how long the two of them were going to be able to enjoy their company, they had their own paths and goals. Perhaps they would stay together for awhile, but there was never a promise for how long.

Tumblr, no. Please don’t make changes to the post editor. It’s going to be garbage, just like the rest of the changes you make.  Pls no.

“My hands...huh?” He had heard compliments over his eyes before, clear and blue, striking especially when his face was dirty with blood and mud. But his hands were something different. Perhaps some would think them strong, powerful even. Steady and, perhaps, rough? He wouldn’t have considered someone to find his hands attractive, especially if they had known the things these hands had done. He wasn’t particularly ashamed of his past or anything, but many would avoid hands drenched in blood, as his was. A kind woman, Niamh was, to find such bloodied things alluring. But she didn’t know, did she? “Kind of you.” He gave a smile as he said that, though he didn’t believe the sentiment she held would hold. But, despite that private thought, he held out his left hand for her to take, if she so pleased. But at the same time, he hoped she would take it so he could focus on her hand this time. If she was focused on his hands as a thing of attractiveness, he wanted to see if her hands were really so different from his own.

“Oh?” The tone of his voice clearly showed his delight in her answer, eyes meeting hers after a moment, that delighted smile still upon his lips. “I’d say the same to you.” Sverre’s words tinted with the previous laughter, but he was being quite sincere. If she was going to tell him what she found most attractive about him, he might as well return the favor.

This wasn’t the first time Sverre had pondered such a question, why did his morals matter if in the end, death was the same. What he had come to, was a rather simple answer, and it rather depended on the type of person one was to believe such a thing. But Sverre did, and he liked how it worked in his head. Raising his lips to his glass, he drank but for a moment, enjoying the chilled mead while his eyes remained on Diana. “How do you want to be remembered?” He offered in return as the mug left his lips, though he didn’t set it down quite yet. “If that matters to you. But how you are remembered is something a lot of people but stock in. If you want to be remembered well, you don’t burn down the church, yada yada.” He pretended to ramble on, his example more of a joke than anything purposeful, a smile curling at his lips while he looked to her. “It doesn’t need to be so complicated, more selfish than most would expect. Your legend. How your descendants will look upon you. It’s effectively immortality if you can have your name spoken a thousand years after you die.” 

“Most people would be willing to stick a man to defend what was theirs, unless it was something they could do without.” A shrug came from him, as if the statement was a useless addition. And it mostly was, merely saying that human beings were hoarders, and some only figured it out when it came to stop others from poaching what they claimed. “I don’t think I have anything of the sort.” He added one final time, though his words were spiked with mirth, and his smile seemed a little too eager for a fight.

“Do tell me, what parts are so humorous?” Came the question in quiet tones, no need for anything louder than that when it was just the two of them at a private camp. Those blue eyes regarded her with a measure of curiosity, if only because he wondered what she found funny about his fate. He wasn’t foolish enough to think that all sentient beings had a similar outlook on life, or things that happened within it, so there was honest curiosity in his question. What was it that she saw as funny in his fate?

“Perhaps it will come to that.” His tone was low, unhappy but accepting. “Just do me a favor, say something before you pay.” And he made a joke out of it. Of course he would, what else was there to say in such a situation. If she was so determined on giving her life to see her goal met, he wouldn’t be rude enough to stand in her way. It wasn’t his play to pry, either. Whatever it was that was worth her life, she would share it on her own terms. There would be no asking, It wasn’t his place to know. 

“Don’t fret.” His words were soft, as the night was quiet for now, save for the gentle rumble of thunder. There was no need to even speak up to get her attention, especially as they stood side by side. Glancing up, his fingers gently touched upon her own, intertwining for the moment. “I know a good way to pass the time. The storm shouldn’t be long...” Already, he was pulling her toward the line of trees that ringed the field they had chosen, seeking to hide beneath their boughs. All the while, he spoke gently, telling her of his plan to sit beneath the nearest one, leaning against one another and watching the lightning until the skies were clear, hopefully in an hour or so.

“More than I care to count.” His words were soft, his gaze still bound to the fire as he spoke. It was the truth. He didn’t like to think how...bloody his hands were. There was an enjoyment to battle, true, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed the death. He hoped that he might be able to take a seat in Odin’s halls so he could enjoy the endless war, but who knew if he would be worthy. “Most of them were just someone on the other side. Some deserved it. Some didn’t.”  There was some measure of regret to his words. As he aged, sometimes his life of blood seemed...odd. Not bad, for such things were necessary, lest others merely overwhelm you. 

With the fish offered, the bear leaned in, maw opening to show a row of fangs as they closed around the fish carefully. But rather than biting through the skewer that held the fist over the fire, a claw carefully came up to trap the wood between two of those curved nails, and slowly slid the fish off of it, only to snap it up as if it had been leaping from a river the moment it was free. A grunt of satisfaction came from the mountain of a bear, removing the claw from the skewer she had held for him to eat from. 

Gotta love me an excuse to shitpost.