Bjorn’s body whipped through the air, cutting past the frosted pine trees like a owl hunting for a mouse.
He slammed into a large tree—his shield, slung onto his back, striking first with a mighty crack, the sound of splintering wood echoing through the forest. Snow that once slept neatly on the branches, now falling as though itself was startled from the noise.
Pain laced through his back as he crumpled at the roots, blood dripping from cuts, his vision spinning as a nauseous feeling filled his stomach.
From the silence—
A roar erupted, Deep and ancient. The sound shook the last of the frost from the branches. The birds, understanding the danger, fled, leaving the two combatants to be left alone. From the darkness of the trees, a rhythmic thud and a snapping of wood. A large Bear-like shadow burst forward. Thickly built and primal. Its fur steamed in the cold air, breath fogging like smoke from a forge. Eyes like embers. Large, ridged horns jutted from its brow and arched backward, echoing the shape of a ram’s. Cracked and worn from battles past.
A beast once worshipped by mountain tribes, feared by all who dared climb these peaks, a Tharnok.
Bjorn spat blood into the snow, wiped his mouth, and pushed himself to his feet. His fingers curled around the shafts of his twin axes, runes etched from a time long gone, now glowing faintly. He wasn’t one for the use of magic, but the runes gave him an edge in battle, and that was enough for him not to complain.
Eyes now locked with anger and rage, they both let out a primal roar. They both charged pushing through the snow, angry and ready to kill each other. Swiping its large paws, trying to rip him apart, the Tharnok attacks. Each time Bjorn evades or blocks, looking for the perfect time to strike, until. slipping past the beast’s arm, he strikes its shoulder and drawing blood. The beast roared in pain. The beast Drives its horns toward him. the runes on Bjorn’s axes began to glow again. They shimmered into existence on his hips, allowing for him to grab it’s horns — his feet sliding through the snow to a halt. In pain, Bjorn’s agonized cries were drowned out by his gruff voice, roaring with anger and rage, as though all he can see is red and hatred. He forced the beast’s head down to the ground. Raising his hand, one axe pulsed with light and appeared in his grasp.
He struck down hard, hacking repeatedly into the creature’s neck. Each strike cutting deeper until dark crimson poured from the wound. unleashing an ear-splitting sound. Its head and body hit the floor with a heavy thud, staining the snow around it. Stepping away from the now dead Tharnok, Bjorn leans back covered in the red blood of his kill, his arm behind him, his head lifted up in the air and let’s out once last roar, releasing all of the pressure of rage and hatred that controlled him.
The beast now lay lifeless, its body steaming in the harsh cold air. He strikes with his knife, biting into its tough hide, cutting away at flesh and sinew, with each movement practiced perfectly, cleanly cutting for the hope of coin. Getting deeper into the beast, he notices a gleam. Taking a close look, plunging his hand in, he pulls it out.
An amulet sat nestled among the gore— bone- carved patterns circling into a blood-red crystalline structure in the middle. Surprised by its weight, Bjorn holds it up, the last of the evening sun glistening on the crystal.
submitted by /u/Illustrious-Car-5273
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