A Ballot of the Wolf and Merc | Ubbe Ragnarsson FanFic

The Raven's Guile

The glistening black plumage of a sole raven gave an illustrious sheen even in the waking hours a new days sun. Dipping its flight feathers down as a rudder for its direction, the swooping bird circled over and over amidst the harrowing dug out sunk into the cold English ground. No other brand of bird brave enough to bare down on the hissing pit of slithering snakes. Crows a like perched in surrounding trees cawing in displeasure at the raven's presence. Wings spread to cover the tips of the sky, the raven cared not for the protests of the lesser brethren.

Alighting on an old gnarly tree root halfway up the walls of the hove, too thick to have been hacked out of the ground when the pit was excavated, the raven cocked its pearly black head to the side. Studying the human figure covered in wriggling, cold, waking snakes of all kinds. The reflection of the old, weary, beaten and broken man in the dark orb of the harbinger's eye. Blood from wounds unfound and bite marks too many to count, what was left of the shattered viking lay amongst his final resting place.

Dead. Killed by serpents. Cold in the cold, iron earth.

Shrieking as a forlorn song to the Gods, the raven unfurled their wings. With one vast flap of the bird's wings was enough to settle down on the frigid dirt of the pit. Snakes writhing and bathed in a thick mixture of curdled blood and inky silt like it was a holy soak. The body in the middle of the pit, encased by gelid slow moving snakes, did not move. Hopping on light feet the raven drew closer. A gurgling low caw from their crop as it examined with its iridescent eyes. Blinking the bird's second eyelid as the feathered interloper gazed at the glazed over orbs inside the human's head.

Once an electric blue with spitfire life to spare, they now stared up at the cloudy morning sky with all fires gone. Blood seeping out of the bludgeoned face of the once great Ragnar Lothbrok, it was viscous dark curdling blood of a corpse. Nothing of a live man.

In the distance a rumble of a horse drawn cart tipped the raven off to the approaching humans. Voices in the distance echoing down into the mud walls of the pit. Little time now as the King's men came to claim Aelle's prize from a night left in the serpentine trench devised for the viking himself. Jumping up onto the solid chest of the dead old man, the raven cawed brashly at the snakes wiggling around in protest to their visitor. Fear the carrion bird had the means to eat the sluggish reptiles. It was not for the bodies of squirming cold bloods the raven had eyes for.

Bodies of snakes rolling and sliding off as the light footed bird stepped up the torso of Ragnar's body. Stripped of all his world's glories. Nothing to aid him as he came to the gates of Valhalla but the actions he'd committed during his time on earth. Sharp talons hooking into the dirtied off green tunic he was tossed down with, the raven leaned forward over the scrappy, blood clotted and snake feces encrusted beard, up towards the sinking in eyes of Ragnar's battered skull.

Jabbing the prominent beak of a raven, crows alike sounded a shrill call when the raven's beak pierced the dead man's cold eyeball. Optic fluid and blood oozing around the broad black beak of the raven. Working like a master only one more prod and the feathered fiend retrieved a succulent treat from the skull. Gobbling down the eyeball with gusto when the rumble of the horses drew closer.

The disembodied eyeball settling in the bird's crop, it screamed out into the sky and hooked it's talons into the filthy fabric of the corpses tunic. Ripping and tearing with urgency at the fabric. Pecking and wrenching with all the birds might.

Horses hoofs stopped and followed with the pestering of displeased men, "Disgusting bird!" too late to complete a feast, the bird was struck out at with a clod of dirt when the two men came upon the carrion scene. Left in nature the King was still adamant about taking his trophy after leaving the body overnight, "Go on get!" Hurdling another clod at the bird only made it caw angrily and tug heavy on the talon full of fabric. Yanking away with a piece of Ragnar's dewy and blood tunic. Entwined in its nails with a death grip, the raven had a serenade of ancy crows egging on the commotion around the pit.