So this is a somewhat historically based fiction based on Olaf Triggveson who was King of Norway for his adulthood, but was a slave during his younger years. Just kind of messing about right now, seeing what works and what doesn't.
I am terrible with grammar, so any criticism on that is appreciated.
Very short right now, I'm prolly gonna keep updating it.
We were gathered around a small fire, the heat it provided was nowhere near enough to warm our freezing bodies. Yet we struggled to stay as close to it as possible, for we knew there was no other source of heat for miles around.
We had planned and prepared so much for winter, but nothing could have prepared us for this. A brutal blizzard which had battered our village for weeks. Most of the other villagers were already dead, and those that remained were ill and weak from the bitter cold that never seemed to go away.
My family had taken refuge in a weathered and beaten shack, too afraid to venture out into the snow. My mother did everything she could to keep me and my sister warm, however no amount of blankets could keep out the frigid weather.
My sister Assty’s was wrapped around me, in an attempt to share whatever body heat she could. The room around us was dim, except for the fire which had dwindled down to coals. The hard wood floor provided no comfort, and instead caused our legs to grow numb.
Food was also a distant memory to us, as we had gone nearly two weeks without it, the villainous Eric Bloodaxe had surrounded our village with soldiers, who would kill any hunters we sent out.
We were malnourished, and our bodies had grown thin and weak. It had become a struggle even to stand.
Last edited by BluntArrow; 10-30-2017 at 11:29 AM..