Board Thread:Off-Topic/@comment-5354667-20140720164201/@comment-25178962-20140721035818

Lying in the modest grasses of a small island known as Flax, there was a young raider resting in the relaxing rays of the sun. The boldness that allowed the handsome youth relax unprotected against the elements and possible enemies were inspired by a small armory of stone spears and javelins that were lying next to him in a leather sling. This crude plethora of weaponry had served well enough in cutting down the fishing village that was here before he was, no more than an unarmed couple, who were too innocent and weak to consider the idea of killing.

"I saved them." He said to himself not even an hour before, rolling the corpses off the island. "I made sure it was quick enough for them not to be hurting for long. Other people would have made them hurt more." And that was his defense from guilt while he ate their fish, stuffed their iron into his satchel, and burnt their huts. And he was still muttering that in his sleep, only cut off by the heavy club that crushed his head into an unrecognizable example of devastation.

Nobody flung himself back from the dead warrior, the club lying discarded only a few feet away where he had thrown it in horror. The scent of blood was already there, lingering from the raider's victims. But it flooded his senses, the coppery tang scented the air so powerfully, he had no choice but to empty his stomach on the ground, only taking up bile and the water he drank before finding the raider.