As his first step touched the bound, his eyes adjusted to a scorch of light before the echo of children filled his ears. "Come on, come play with us!" called a small gathering of children, running outside the village's longhouse. "Am I… In Kopvagr?" he asked, looking down at his own form. He was no longer the Knight but a child dressed in expensive furs, he stood puzzled till he head jerked aside as a hand rested on his shoulder. "Go ahead." replied the bolstering teenager aside him, a barrel chested boy the size of a man. "Hjalmar, your-" he began before being cut off. "You won't have too much time to play coming soon, go ahead Smár bróðir." The Knight looked up puzzled, unsure until the calls of glee from the children echoed out once more. As the boy stepped off the porch of the LongHouse, the Knight returned to the path.
He gave a pant as he looked around, covered in the blinding fog yet he remained on the path but not where he was. "Damn this place. Where am I?!!!" he called out once more to no answer. He let out a heavy scoff, stepping back on the path.
With his next step, he found himself in a large longhouse on his knees. His head bobbled side to side as he was surrounded by grizzled men, warlike with their arms and armor. Before him stood several wolf carcasses, freshly done in. He flinched as he heard the heavy footsteps approach him. The teenager's heart pounded with fear as his eye's narrowed on the monster of the man coming nearer, a sword in his hand. He clenched himself as he lowered his head, his heart beating in his ears as the blade rested on his left shoulder softly then his right. "A good hunt, worthy of a man at arms." As the teenager opened his eyes, the Knight was on the path.
"Why do you toy with me! Show me where I stand, whoever tugs my heart!" he echoed out once more into the fog. As he stepped out once more, he felt the heat of the sun hit him.
When his eye's opened once more, the knight faltered under the heat as the roar of cannons ripped into the air. He glanced around at the sandstone formed buildings, the screaming of men at arms as their sweaty forms rushed into the breach. " Shaaq-Turnaal" The Knight mused, his eye's fixating on the Songaskian levy men forming up. He glanced downwards at his sweat covered form to see his longsword in his right hand, axe in his left. He let out a gods fearing howl as he charged towards the ranks, at the first swing of his blade he the vision of the Songaskian elderly kneeling acceptingly to their fate flooded his mind. At the swing of his axe he saw mothers begging in Sofaal for the lives of their babes. At the final step of the charge the Knight returned to the path.
His visage clenched as he screamed into the fog, "Stop this madness, please- I wish to see no more!" He bawled for the moment, collapsing to a knee on the hard soil of the path. The Knight wept for a moment. As he collected himself with a thunderous rise, he stepped once more.
With this step he found himself on a stone walkway. His nostrils flared, smoke. As he turned to face the smoking wreckage of the shipyard before him, it set in. The screams, the salt of the knights around him. It was intoxicating in a sickening way until a soft, feminite voice echoed behind him. "Be honest with me… Did we do the right thing?" The Lionpelt asked.
Another step and he was on the gray shores, untouched by the will of man in centuries. Another step he was deep under the waves, the crackle of thunder echoing above him as he floated in amongst the burning ship.
Another step he saw the face of his friend, the Owl called out to him. "I need you here." His tone, weeping "Please don't leave." The Knight, called back sharply. "I have made up my mind, it is time for atone for my fall in honor."
Then he found himself in a prior home, he grieved a tired sigh turning his head to the vampiric Nordhjem. His form was covered with spit and blood, the Knight's sword lodged in his chest.
Within a blink he felt the quiver of pain echo in his body, snapping the arrow lodged into his bicep as he stepped into his final battle.
He surged forward into his next vision, his sword stabbed into the chest of a random sanguine, another biting into him and one more grappling his rear. The Knight gave a heavy call of pain, as others surrounded him. His form was bloodied, his armor battered, this was it. His atonement. In another step, he stood before a crimson blob. The Knight raised his mangled arm to wipe the blood from his eyes to peer upon the form of the Lich Lord before a snap ringed through his body, he fell into darkness.
His eye's opened once more to see the blacksteel skagger axe, the ringing of his ears deafening him before his gaze closes for the last time.
Markus Haagenvig opened his eye's for the first time, at the trail's end. The fog disappeared in a slow arch as the sound of running water. He turned about to see the opening of the valley, a single log cabin resting next to the shore of a rushing river. The once noble, once Knight offered a smile. "Et Liv Med Eventyr is finally over is seems… I guess I can rest for awhile."
