After separating himself from the outsiders he breathed in the air that was clean from their influence. Thoughts and feeling warred a bloody battle inside his heart and his head. Working with outsiders...he had made a pact with one, recklessly and without giving thought to what the rest of the strangers were like. The whole group could be Nords and he was sworn, under blood oath, to lend his aid...and suddenly the Reachman felt trapped.
But no mind, there was no saying he had to like them...and if they made a problem then...
No part of their tenuous bargain restricted him from spilling the blood of provocateurs...
He struck two pieces of flint together, the obsidian coloured stones sending wild sparks into a bowl of fire salts, which ignited with great ferocity. The blue glow of hanging taproots was overpowered by the strong orange illumination that cast stark shadows along the floor...
And across the struggling figure on the crude, jagged table that had been carved from the wet, dark rock of the alcoves back wall.
A large deer skull hung on the back wall above the roughly hewn altar, the large speared antlers splaying their huge length across the whole breadth of the wall. The nord who was struggling weakly, tired and exhausted from the days he had been kept here with no food or water, looked emaciated and tired...so, so tired. The hide bonds had rubbed the skin raw on his wrists and ankles, and when his bloodshot eyes fell on Herne's approaching figure, his screams and threats were muffled by the gag.
When Herne growled at and loomed over him with the serrated dagger in his hand, the nord steeled himself in the last attempts to preserve his aryan dignity.
The nord was frightened and confused when the barbaric Reachman began muttering in his foreign tongue and gave one last struggle so as to assure himself that he fought to the end...
Then Herne plunged the dagger into the mans chest, and the nord began to cry.
The Forsworn man slit the torso like he would if he were gutting a goat or deer, and began to disembowel the dying nord - witnessing the lungs still moving and quivering. Herne delved his hands in and began unravelling the intestines, draping them over the splayed horns of the deer like decorations. Then, he pulled apart the ribcage and wrapped a calloused hand around the stuttering heart, feeling the terrified quivers vibrating through his arm.
Then...he pulled the heart free with closed eyes and lifted it aloft with a roar, blood oozing and dripping down his forearm...
He soon placed the heart on the altar and fell his knees, smearing the fresh blood across his face and neck as he began to pray to his Old, cruel, Gods....for guidance, forgiveness and permission...
