Ragnar Axe の小説・ストーリー

My home burned behind us, but my spirit refused to break. Three figures stood out among the crew, their presence commanding the very air around them. Jarl Ragnar Bloodaxe, the leader, was a giant of a man with braided blond hair, a beard woven with silver rings, and eyes the color of storm-tossed seas. His muscular frame, covered in furs and leather, bore the scars of countless battles. Beside him stood his brother, Thorsten the Stormcaller, leaner but no less imposing, with wild red hair and tattoos of ravens covering his arms—marks of his connection to the gods. And then there was young Bjorn Ironfist, the jarl’s closest shield-brother, with sharp features, dark hair, and a body honed like

"I have killed werewolves. I have killed vampires. I have killed humans. I have done terrible things in my centuries of existence. But I am trying to be different. I am trying to be better." "Love will do that to a creature." Ragnar's eyes moved between us. "It will make you weak. It will make you foolish. It will make you risk everything for someone who will be gone in the blink of an eye." I saw something flicker across Alexander's face at those words. Pain, perhaps. Or the awareness that Ragnar was right. "We are not here to discuss philosophy," Alexander said. "We are here to ask for Moonroot. What is your price?" Ragnar was silent for a long moment. The wolves around the fire watched hi

The silence stretched for only a moment. “Pass this.” He heard Caden say to Ragnar, and moments later, he saw something shift in the low light between the bars. Ragnar passed him a dagger. “It’s made of silver and infused with wolfsbane. Send it right into his heart when you get the chance. Be patient and true, or else we’re all screwed and your prissy mate becomes fodder for starving soldiers,” Caden instructed gravely.

Ragnar walked in with his entourage, causing the servants scatter to their respective positions and bow. Ragnar is an imposing figure, standing tall with broad shoulders, and he has an air of authority that seems to precede him. He's dressed in a regal attire, with a long, flowing robe that's adorned with intricate embroidery, and a gold-embellished sword hanging from his waist. Derek and Aurora got to their feet as the king approached their table. Aurora was unsure of what to do, but she knew she needed to show respect to the Alpha king. She looked over at Derek, hoping he could offer some guidance.

“Above you!” I look up and there between two spiked pillars a man stares down at me with black eyes. I hear the strange noises getting louder. More people begin to appear above the wooden-spiked fence. I bend down, unsheath me knife and stab the hand at the wrist. Immediately, the boy is free and I pull him to his feet. We head back to the group by the fire and Ragnar hands me the two-handed axe me father gave me after becoming Chief. As I take it from Ragnar, I whisper a soft prayer.

"Brandur is one. You remember he is called The Destroyer?" She fought back the gratifying smile that tugged at her lips with his growing unease. Maybe she could scare him enough into abandoning his plan and tell her where baby Brand was before the wolves caught up to them. "And they are not just regular wolves," she continued. "They are the size of the legendary Dire wolves. Brand's wolf comes almost up to my shoulder on his flat feet. His teeth are as fearsome as the Háhyrnir (killer whale) that roamed our sea."

Ruby eyes blinked in the morning mist, eyes that looked vaguely familiar to her. “Oh my god, oh my god,” her breathing was becoming erratic, her heart beating like a rabbit, as she watched the incredible vision unfold before her. “Madchen, it’s ok,” Drago had a death grip on her arm, trying to calm her, but who could be calm at a time like this??

Nine was their sacred number since it connected the nine realms that existed within Yggdrasil. “I choose Gungnir, the great spear of Odin, Angurvadal, the stream of anguish, Gram, who brought death to Fafnir, Freyr’s sword, to fight when I am weak, Dáinsleif, to inflict wounds that never heal, Lævateinn, so that my step will never falter, Skofnung, the supernatural blade, Hǫfuð, the great sword of Heimdall and lastly Mjolnir.” Malachi chose his nine gifts and the rest were returned to the vault. These gifts would be sent to his house in Seward and he knew Jessica would banish them to his study.

Her pulse raced. Her breath quivered. Her wolf-less body wavered between obedience and terror. Yes. Yes. Bend. She lifted the blade. Rosalyn frowned, startled. “Maxine? What are you…?” Maxine lunged. But just as the blade grazed Rosalyn’s wrist… a sharp CRACK erupted. Maxine collapsed, unconscious. Someone stood behind her. I felt it before I saw it. A familiar signature of rage and blood. Lorenzo.

HUNT "If you want to be a leader, you can't make stupid decisions and mistakes. Love isn't what makes you a stronger Alpha for the pack, nor does mercy. Toughen up or get out of my pack," my father said, walking around my room. I remembered him killing one of the rogues earlier. The image haunted my mind as he drove his dagger into the rogue's neck and dark blood split from the open wound.