Languages Common, Runic, Andøvan, Old Uln, Seagestrelander, (1 Southerner Language), (1 more. Don't have a particular way to have picked up Nûklander)
Current Load: 0 lbs. [Light Load]
Coinage: 35hs)
Ragni was running for his life, his lungs burning with fear and exhaustion. The roars and laughs from behind were getting quieter. Unlike the screams in his head.
He rushed to the forest, the treeline getting thicker and thicker. He tripped and fell, then scampered up as quickly as he can, the cold wind and the smell of pine filling his lungs. Limping forward, he stopped to take a breath, sititng in the roots of a tree. The voices carried closer and closer. He clutched his legs, praying to whatever god was listening.
"The cub can't be that far.", a barely heard voice sounded from the thicket behind him. "Besides, I'm not getting outran by a child!", the voice boasted. "Hrolf, perhaps it's best we do.", a second voice, a higher one, sending along notes of fear. "We're quite deep in the Moors... If we go in much further, the... there's things in here.", the voice reasoned, the two coming closer.
"I'm not an idiot! I'm aware of the things in here. I'm also aware of what Halfsteaders will say when a pup tells them a caravan's been hit.", the first voice replied, leaning on the very same tree Ragni was hiding in. "Although... we're pretty deep.", he added. "If the witches and trolls don't get him, the wolves will.", he concurred with a grumble. "Bah! Hel take him!", he spat out, the two sets of footsteps rapidly moving away.
Taking in a deep breath and a prayer to Wotan, Ragni stepped out of his hiding hole, eyes glued to the direction of the men. Limping as quickly as he could, his footsteps carried him towards the outside. Until he felt his feet give way, the soil under his boots crumbling down in a hole of darkness. "Hel! Don't take me!", he shouted, before his head hit a rock and darkness covered his eyes.
