Words of the Constant
What sickness is this?
She has fallen in battle.
A mounted foe!
May her dreams be as foul as the spheres she rides.
She has been thrown from her foul mount!
Surely this came from a giant's backside!
It has been picked through.
Smells like my battle boots.
Why did I cook this again?
Tiny nature bits.
Yes, most practical!
This is not of my ear.
Delicious, slimy snake fish.
Hot eel!
Purple and bulbous.
Food for the weak.
Tiny nature bits.
I sense the spirit of a berserker within you, plant.
Finally the earth sprouts a worthy adversary!
Coward!
It's no Viking longship, but it will carry me.
The wood's ablaze!
Loge took that one.
Chopped by the warrior of the woods!
I feel at home in the woods.
The wood's ablaze!
Loge took that one.
Chopped by the warrior of the woods!
A good, sturdy tree.
Don't get rain in your eye!
Don't point your eyeball at me, foliage!
The eye of the laser god stares into my soul.
An ancient eyeball of protection!
Sewing is not warrior's work...
Serves you right for not growing meats!
I can't grow meat, what's the point?
They're growing stronger.
It wants a turd feast.
The luxuries of camp, on the go.
Seems a bit flashy for battle.
Perhaps I'll pen a saga of my journeys!
The brave birds gift me their swift feathers!
A token from the ravens!
Red as my hair.
Winter's feather.
A feather from Thor's bird.
I will consume you meaty beans!
She looks unhappy upon her throne.
Tis not my kind of fencing.
A tiny replica of Valhalla's gates.