Weoulf, Ingvar, Orm and Sigfurd all rowed with every muscle they could spare. Back and forth the oars moved for what seemed like an eternity. It wasn't until that no good son a bitch Gilliok stopped cracking his whip at them, that they could finally relax.
Take a rest lads! There will be plenty more rowing and whipping if this wind don't pick up soon!
Gilliok dissappeared up on deck and a sigh of relief echoed through the hull of the Viking warship "Ice Breaker".
There were 50 men in total aborad the Ice Breaker and 40 of them would be forced to row when called. The stink of blood, swet and ass lingered in the air. The hull was overcrowded with Viking oarsmen. The wind had all but died three days ago and the Ice Breaker's sails were flat as the kegs of ale they had carried all this way. The wind had died three days ago and Captain Gunnhar was displeased with their progress so he had ordered his gods be damned bastard Gilliok whipmaster to discipline his men to row faster. Gilliok, that son of a stinky whore, was all too happy to take the whip to his own men, a practice usually reserved for slaves.
Weoulf sat with Ingvar on one oar and Orm sat with Sigfurd on another. All four men had just campaigned in Britain, slaughtering the prissy Brits and setting spark to a life long friendship. The four had realized long ago that in order to survive these long, hard campaigns, they had to stick together. Sigfurd collected all their mugs and filled them with ale, passing them out to his friends. He slapped Orm on the shoulder, knowing full well what muscles pained him.
For all this damn whipping, at least the Captain keeps the Kegs full to the tits! Gilliog...That bloody cunt!
