Are
The little quip caught him off guard, as told by a cocked eyebrow and a quizzical few moments looking at the pierced sack. A realization and a huff, sure seemed like he had made himself another tab to fill before he could rest. Another one on the pile that never seemed to fully go away before being stacked high again. And defeatism aside, he knew better than to shrug off a debt towards a man of his position, even if he didn't see eye to eye the one time they met.
A question shot his way had him rouse from his little lapse of attention. He's been promised a proper tussle, and it seemed like he was finally up for one. A true test of what he was meant to be waging war against, not exchanging pleasantries and training tips with. No, in this land he was the closest thing to Væringr they'd ever see, a man sworn to a ruler not his own. Beckoned by gods of another world to do their bidding, but he was glad to serve, to fight the good fight. And fight he would. Shield on ground, and on it he piled high the hard parts of his armor, leaving him more mobile and able to use every ounce of strength, gods knows he's probably need it.
Finally they where entering his realm though, no warrior-born, but wrestling still had not been something you had a choice in. Hard for a young man to keep respect if he couldn't through his weight around, especially coming from a line of big lads known to not shrug off a chance to prove themselves.
A chance to prove himself. Exactly the reason he rolled his shoulders a few times and sank down low. Weight on the balls of his feet, body tense and ready to strike the moment an opening appeared. "One cannot make shoes all day, and with no one but me it gets boring, so I apply myself." he said, it sounded far better than admitting he only did it to keep himself from going crazy with the loss of all he ever knew.
A question shot his way had him rouse from his little lapse of attention. He's been promised a proper tussle, and it seemed like he was finally up for one. A true test of what he was meant to be waging war against, not exchanging pleasantries and training tips with. No, in this land he was the closest thing to Væringr they'd ever see, a man sworn to a ruler not his own. Beckoned by gods of another world to do their bidding, but he was glad to serve, to fight the good fight. And fight he would. Shield on ground, and on it he piled high the hard parts of his armor, leaving him more mobile and able to use every ounce of strength, gods knows he's probably need it.
Finally they where entering his realm though, no warrior-born, but wrestling still had not been something you had a choice in. Hard for a young man to keep respect if he couldn't through his weight around, especially coming from a line of big lads known to not shrug off a chance to prove themselves.
A chance to prove himself. Exactly the reason he rolled his shoulders a few times and sank down low. Weight on the balls of his feet, body tense and ready to strike the moment an opening appeared. "One cannot make shoes all day, and with no one but me it gets boring, so I apply myself." he said, it sounded far better than admitting he only did it to keep himself from going crazy with the loss of all he ever knew.
