His body ached.
The climb up the cliff had seemed much easier years ago, but then again, so had everything.
His beard had grown thick and his eyes had grown cold, robbed of their youthful luster. His pelt was crisscrossed with scars and matted with age.
The wind whipped around him, cold like the breath of Niflheim itself as it pushed in between the cliffs, across the icy waters where the mountains met the north sea.
And there, high above the fjords mouth, eyes locked on the horizon... he waited.

He was nameless, his Jarldom renounced over a decade ago.
He was honorless, collecting no fame and boasting no glory despite his many victories.
They called him Jarnthradi, the iron thread that the norns just couldn"t cut short.
Weaving itself in and out of the world tapestry, it told a story that went on for much longer than it ought to have.
It grated on him that he hadn"t found his solace yet.
It tore him down every night, vivid dreams of long lost shieldbrothers and sisters.
Yet it built him up again with every sunrise, a little harder than before.
A little more bitter.

He rolled a broad shoulder, thick with muscle after rowing into countless horizons.
Kingbreaker thumped its head hard into the ice and rock, finally reforged by his own hand in the local smithy, borrowed for a handful of trinkets from distant lands.
Etched with runes of strength, aggression and the end of dark things, it"s edge sang in the wind. He ached to swing it again.
To feel his bload roar in his veins, his heart burn in his chest and lose himself and all his black thoughts amid the crashing waves of battle.
Drown out his guilt, shame and longing, to live true and free of the shackles of his own soul"s making.
It was always short-lived solace. Fleeting and temporary.
But the simplicity of it, the purity, was addictive.

His brow furrowed as he picked out a speck of dark among the winter waves.
He recognized the trio of approahing longships, and chastized his old eyes for not seeing them sooner.
The raven insignia on the sails were well known to him. They were coming to seek the Ironthread for another daring raid, and he had waited for them ever since they set him ashore.
Some of that youthful fire flared back into his cold blue eyes. "Cursed be this body of mine..." he grumbled, although through a toothy smile.
Jotun Jarnthradi swung Kingbreaker onto his shoulder and started the long descent down the mountain.
"But Odin willing, I will leave it behind before long."

---

Raidho is a rune in Futhark, representing nobility, travel, responsibility and freedom from imprisonment.
I felt this was a fitting title for the image, as it represents Jotun at the end of his life.
Heirless, honorless, but oathsworn and eager to find redemption in death among worthy foes, wherever the search takes him.

Also, had this songin mind when commishing the piece in the first place so IT HAD TO BE


Art @ The incredible  Alimika, go give her all of your love and most of your money!