In a hall made of marble, decorated with golden symbols that seemed to hold special meanings and tapestries with Jotun History on them, a Jotun sat on a throne made of bones, etched with gold markings and covered in treasures. The Jotun on the throne was Ijoss Helvig. First of his name, King of the Jotun, The scourge of humanity, The pride of Jotunheim! He had brought a whole country of humans into the shackles of slavery. Throughout his long life, he had fought on many battlefields and achieved countless glories, too numerous to name. He was a mountain of muscle, he radiated power with each movement he made, and his mohawk-styled hair was unkempt as always, giving him an unbothered aura. His eyes shone a murky blue as if they hid centuries of experiences. He had chosen to remain in his harem pants and go to the council meeting bare-chested. His face held a frown as he sat on the uncomfortable throne.
He stared out into the hall, gazing at the 6 Elders in the hall. He downed the horn filled with mead in a single gulp, letting the Ichor burn his throat. He adjusted himself on his throne. "What's the problem now?"
"The world is in unrest, your majesty." Harald, a giant even for a Jotun, spoke up. He had horns coming out from the back of his head and wore his armor even though he wasn't required to do so. "The fortresses those damn Anguls used as refuge have begun to spark to life again. Our invasion was left incomplete, and now they have had time to build multiple strongholds within our territory. Our position isn't stable. If another country were to invade now, there is no chance that we could hold our position fighting on 2 fronts."
"Raise an army quietly and go and raze these fortresses to the ground. Bring back their riches and enslave them for the people." Ijoss commanded with a relaxed tone. He was aware of the Elders' habits of exaggerating things. "You have 5 summers, then you'll set off."
"My king, won't you lead us?" Herald asked.
"If I head out, the people will know something is wrong. The people must not know that the Anguls haven't been brought to heel completely. That's why I told you to do this quietly, Earl Harald. This is a time for peace, not a time for unrest." He indulged. "The king will be the last piece to move."
"Yes, my liege," Herald said quickly, dropping the matter.
"My king, another halfling is about to be born. The men seem to be unable to control themselves around their slave women." Another general spoke up. Ijoss turned to the man. Earl Ragnar Berg. He was tall but lean. Brave but cautious. Easygoing but intelligent. He was a man of many contradictions. His dirty blonde hair was styled into a single braid, and the sides of his head were clean-shaven. The markings riddling his body looked like ritualistic symbols; they glided across his skin, never sitting still. He had a constant smirk plastered on his face, giving him a rustic look. He wore a simple black robe and black boots.
"Have them all disappear," Ijoss said offhandedly. This was not the first of these commands he had decreed, and they wouldn't be his last.
"My king, if we continue to 'disappear' our men, we might not have any left by next summer." Earl Ragnar spoke sarcastically. Ijoss narrowed his eyes.
"And what would you have me do, Ragnar?" Ijoss asked, irked by this general and his disrespect.
"Well, a Royal Decree would get a message across perfectly." Ragnar immediately responded as if prepared for the question. Ijoss scoffed at the suggestion, resting his head onto his hand.
"You expect me to tell my men who and what they can hump?" People were already complaining about the number of Royal laws being passed every year as the country became more and more civilized. What would they say if Ijoss passed a law about not being able to hump your property, "What do you expect from your king, Ragnar Berg?"
"I expect for their to be fewer deaths in this time of 'peace' than in our times of war. Not only the halfling families but those conducting pagan rituals-"
"ENOUGH! Do I need to remind you that I am your king, Earl Ragnar?" Ijoss said, determined to put the man in his place. His eyes shone with a blue light, and pressure descended on all those present. But most of the pressure was placed on Ragnar's shoulders.
Ragnar bucked and fell to his knees. The sound of his bones cracking echoed throughout the room as his knees slammed onto the ground. His body shuddered as the power washed through him.
Seeing no response from the man, the pressure increased, forcing the man's back to bend. Ragnar struggled to no avail as his forehead slowly kissed the floor. Even his markings seemed to sit still for the first time under the pressure.
After a moment of silence, a figure strode forward swiftly, ignoring the pressure as if it didn't exist. He dropped to one knee with a flourish, his robes fluttered as he moved and descended. "My liege, I doubt any of us will need a reminder of who you are. Please calm yourself," a new voice had entered the stage. Lief Erickson: The man of a bygone era, the first and last Jarl, the man second only to the king. Ijoss had always hated him; the way he spoke to him, the way he slighted him, the way he disrespected him. If he could kill him, he would. Ijoss stared at the man, rage passed through him as he glared at the calm smile Lief always wore. He wanted nothing more than to give in to his base instincts, but there was a balance to be maintained. Ijoss let the power he had been releasing dissipate into the air.
Lief's smile didn't so much as twitch as he said. "Thank you, my king. I was happy to hear that your heir is old enough to begin his training." Ijoss stared the man down, choosing not to respond to his comment. He didn't know how the man did it, but he seemed to always be aware of everything that was happening.
Before any one of his generals could make another snide comment, the doors to the council room slammed open. "Her majesty, the Queen Sigurd Hanga!" A servant hurriedly shouted.
Ijoss stared down at his first wife as she glided into the hall. None of his wives were allowed to enter the council room; he had made this clear to all of them, and like always, Sigurd had to break the norm. Centuries ago, she had been a warrior respected by all, but she decided to settle down and marry Ijoss. She had fought in countless wars alongside him. They had called her The Valkyrie on the battlefield.
He had been trying to have kids since he first sat on the throne. For centuries, he had gone through different women and achieved nothing but headaches. But then she came along and announced she was pregnant, surprising everyone, ending all talk that Ijoss's seed was dry.
He could never get a read on the woman. He didn't know why she married him; she had no reason to. Her dress trailed behind her, making her look like she was floating across the floor. She ignored every council member, stopped at the center of the room, and kneeled with more flourish than even Jarl Erickson, "My liege, this lowly woman requests an audience with your nobleness."
Ijoss frowned, "Stop with the theatrics. Everyone out." Sigurd stood up and glanced at Ijoss, and bit her lip.
All the council members began to exit without protest. Two figures stopped in front of the Queen, "Greetings, your majesty." An old male Jotun said with a grandfatherly smile on his face.
"You look amazing as ever, my queen." An old female Jotun said. Her hair was red with streaks of white in it. She had markings across her face and chest, almost hidden by the elder robes she had on.
"Greetings, Elders Vidran and Gudrun." Sigurd smiled at the sight of the 2. Ijoss hadn't seen her smile like that in years. The 2 were the Backe twins. The Twin Flames. The thousands of battles and their teamwork in fights had earned them great respect and honor. They finished up their greetings and filed out of the room.
King and Queen stood alone in the room. Except for one figure who watched on. The Scald. An old man with his eyes sewn shut, marks swallowed up his form, all unreadable. As if they held hidden secrets the world wasn't meant to hear. Ijoss and Sigurd looked at each other, neither breaking the silence.
"I just saw my son," Sigurd began after minutes of silence. Ijoss' anger flared up at the mention of Ragor. "Your heir. Do you understand how you left him?" She asked. Not waiting for an answer, she continued, "He was on the verge of death."
"He will be fine. He is a Jotun."
"He is but a child barely off the teat," Sigurd tried to reason.
"He is a prince, and he will be a strong king."
"The boy doesn't need strength; he needs wisdom!" Sigurd strode forward, hands holding up her dress.
"He will have teachers who will guide him," Ijoss said, getting up. He poured himself more mead. His hand tightened around the horn as he glanced at Sigurd. She had fallen to her knees. Hands slamming onto the marble floor. Her frame was shaking.
"I.. miss my son, Ijoss." The words came out as a whisper, but he heard them. "It was mere summers ago that I had changed his diapers. Where I had held him in my hands as I slept. But now everything has changed. I hardly see him, and when I do, he is passed out."
Ijoss could only stare at her… "Why have you come here, Sigurd?" He walked back to the throne and sat upon it again.
"What have you done to my son?" Sigurd asked as tears streamed down her face. She sprang up and appeared directly in front of Ijoss, eyes meeting his. Her hands leaned on the armrests of the throne. It shook from the force of her abrupt movements. The speed at which the sequence was completed reminded Ijoss that she was a warrior.
Her eyes shone with green light as tears streamed down her face. "GIVE HIM BACK TO ME!" She screamed into his face.
Ijoss turned away from her gaze and sipped from the Ichor. "You have gone insane." Sigurd broke down into tears.
Her sobs echoed throughout the room. "please," she whispered between the sobs. Ijoss didn't respond; he continued to sip on the Ichor. The burns in his throat grounding him. For a while, the sound of sobs was the only thing sounding out in the room.
Sigurd stood up, wiping the tears as she went. Her expression slowly became one of anger. Her eyes shone a bright green as she met Ijoss's gaze. "I hate you." She turned away and began to leave.
Ijoss's hand shot forward and held her back from her arm. He turned her back to him and stared into her eyes. "You don't," he whispered, his gaze deepening.
"You've changed," Sigurd wrestled out of his grip and exited the room as quickly as she came.
The horn filled with mead shattered. Ijoss sat on the throne alone. His gaze stuck to the door. He let out a dry laugh.