Ragnar huffed in annoyance, breathing out as if having run the longest marathon. Annoyed was putting it mildly. Ragnar was angry, angered, enraged at what he’d been put through. He stomped through the annoyingly bustling town. People walking past with big smiles on their faces, congratulating him as he passed. Annoying him even further, enraging him even further, breathing out through his nostrils like the wildest bull, like a berserker on the battlefield.

Ragnar made quick ground, walking with wide steps, faster than he usually walked, the same speed as a normal person jogging. He had a destination in mind, a certain person who could, should, would help him with his current problem. A problem that stemmed from that infuriating man, that horrendously annoying man, that aggravating man. Even thinking of that man made him even angrier, stomping his way forward ever faster. Soon after, reaching his destination, reaching the church of charity.

Blasting the doors open with his wide arms, a shockwave of wind followed, sounding like the roar of thunder. Inside being almost completely empty, not weird considering the news spreading around town. Scanning the inside, he quickly spotted his “target”, his direction of affection, affection meaning anger. His target turning towards him, feet bare, chest bare, only having a pair of boxers on his person, barely covering his package.

Ragnar stomped towards him, steps echoing like a thunderous lion, like soldiers marching on a bridge. His target smiling wide at his approach, opening his arms up as if awaiting a warm hug. Lips parting open, vocalizing words as if speaking to a dearly departed.

“Ragnar! I’ve been waiting for you.”

Ragnar ignored the annoying greeting, opting on his own greeting, one far less friendly.

“Champion! You fucking liar! A champion of charity, lied!?”

He practically screamed in outrage, almost frothing at the mouth. Something he would never do, merely a figure of speech. But the champion, Charlie, seeming none too bothered. Merely raising his arms in mock outrage, face mimicking the posture, taking one step back as Ragnar continued closing the distance.

A distance far too close, too close for most people. Ragnar breathing down on the champions face, the smell of stale bread being the only thing separating the two. A distance Ragnar usually only closed on his enemies. A distance always followed up with a strike.

A strike never to come. The two deathly aware of the consequences if one did come.

The champion held the distance, staring deep into Ragnar’s eyes, Ragnar staring back wildly, still huffing. The champion blinked. Then he took a step back, a smile still glued on his face.

“Ragnar, you know I would never lie to you, nor anyone else for that matter… Let’s just say, I withheld some information.”

Ragnar’s nostrils flared in response, having to take a second to cool down his flaring anger, failing miserably. Like the berserker on a battlefield after the battle having just been won.

“You-you… Tell me again how that isn’t lying? I asked you for help, and yet you did not. How can you call yourself champion of charity if you won’t help someone?”

The champion seemed to pause at Ragnar's choice of words, staring at him as if assessing an enemy for weaknesses. Maybe that was just Ragnars thinking. Eventually, the champion sighed, shaking his head as he spoke up.

“Ragnar, you never explicitly asked for my help. If I remember correctly, you merely said, "If you find anything about the toymaker, tell me.” That isn’t exactly asking for my help. But! But, as a champion of charity, it wouldn’t be that charitable of me to not help you. So fret not, I’ll tell you once I think you’ve calmed down.”

The champion spoke eloquently, having started walking around Ragnar, his bare feet smacking lightly on the cold church floor. Ragnar listening intently, narrowing his eyes on the “calmed” part, feeling himself warming up at the remark.

“I am calm.”

He stated, calmly. Apparently not calm enough, for the champion smiled, shaking his head as if having caught a soldier in the act of trying to cheat in a game of cards. Ragnar feeling himself heating up even further, like water on coals, steam flaring up, as if being ready to burst, staring deep into the eyes of the champion. The champion staring back, circling him with a smile on his lips.

One second, two seconds. Seconds ticking by slowly. The two in a dance, one which the champion seemed oddly calm within.

As a minute passed, Ragnar breathed out, closing his eyes and searching within. Realising the futility in his anger, then realizing its existence. Breathing in, then out. In, then out, in and out. Feeling himself calm down quickly, smoothly, as if his anger drained like blood on a battlefield after rain. He spoke as he opened his eyes.

“Okay, I’m calm. Tell me.”

The champion merely smiled, waving at Ragnar to follow, moving towards what appeared to be a door near the end of the church.

“Later, for now, I want you to tell me what you know about champions.”

Ragnar stared at the back of the champions head with murder in his thoughts, anger flaring up quickly yet again upon realizing that his question may not be answered. But he quickly doused the thought, breathing in and out instead, calming down. Calming down until he could bring his thoughts in order, then he spoke.

“That you all seem to be infuriating to deal with.”

“Hahaha, that’s a first. I assume you’ve dealt with other champions before then? Might I ask whom?”

The champion cackled upon hearing Ragnar’s response, stopping, looking behind to ask. Ragnar heaving out a heavy sigh, looking with weighted eyes on the champion. Seeing him awaiting an response, blinking as if nothing was wrong. Ragnar sighed once more, deciding to think, trying to remember, remembering two people of whom stranger people he’d never meet before.

“I think they were the champions of diligence and humility.”

“Ah, that makes sense. The god of diligence, Sedulus, would be one of the first to send his champion here for conversions. Humility though, can you explain to me why she would come here? I would think she had too much to do back at home.”

Ragnar stared at the champion, stating quite simply with a frown.

“No, I wont.”

An abrupt laugh jumped up from the champions throat, seeming to take even himself off guard. Having to take a moment to collect himself. Then turning away from Ragnar, taking a deeper breath, slowly working up his breathing to a sustainable level, continuing his walk towards the far away door. Ragnar following with his frown growing ever deeper.

“Hahaha, ooohehehee, fair enough. Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, champions. As you might hear with the word, we are the champions of our respective gods. Chosen to be their spokesperson, so to speak.”

He paused at that, looking around his shoulder to gauge Ragnar’s reaction, letting a wink touch his eye. Seeing a reaction that made him smile further. Ragnar, not so much.

“As you might think, as the spokesperson for Carita, the god of charity, I’m supposed to be one of, if not the, most charitable person on our wonderful world. Of course, if Carita so chose, she might have chosen me, someone sub-par for charitable actions, but with the means to be more charitable than, let’s say, a homeless person.”

The champion made it to the door, opening it with a firm tug as he walked inside. Ragnar following close behind, immediately spotting the splotch of red on the ground, indicating a scuffle. Making his frown into a frown of suspicion. The champion didn’t give it even a second of a glance, continuing into the corridor and talking as if they passed nothing of interest.

“Who Carita chooses is none of my business. Just as it is none of my business if she so chooses to refute my status as champion, no matter the reason. A public display of utter shame, I might add. One wouldn’t want the ire of a god and their followers on ones behind. If you catch my drift.”

He turned around, yet again, winking at Ragnar. Ragnar looking away from the blood on the ground, staring up at the champion with a sigh, barely registering what he’d been saying. The champion then turned away from Ragnar, staring at a door. Following his eyes, Ragnar also looked at the door, a door near the middle of the corridor.

“Being chosen by Carita herself, as you can probably guess, is a great honor. And with it comes great responsibility. When one is chosen, it doesn’t matter what position one held before, for after, they now hold more power than any bishop or priest, holding the power to do anything they deem necessary to uphold charity.”

Ragnar perked up at that, his frown partially disappearing as he asked.

“Chosen by carita herself? You mean like… I don’t understand.”

The champion peeked over at Ragnar, smiling, smiling as if having heard the same question a thousand times. Speaking up with a tenderness that he had lacked before.

“Yes. One day, she spoke to the high priest of the church of charity, telling him that I, Charlie the merchant, was to be the new champion. A merchant who almost never had coins to his name, I might add.”

He paused for a second, staring back at the door, and grabbing it with one firm hand. Ragnar staring with his mouth slightly agape, having to shake his head out of his stupor once the champion took a step within the opened door.

Rounding the door, Ragnar spotted a dark, rounded stairwell going down. The champion standing by one of the steps, looking up at Ragnar with a look that Ragnar could only describe as, “you coming?”.

Following close behind, the two made it down the dark stairwell, Ragnar feeling his thoughts run miles in his head, a million questions popping up. Questions about gods, about religion, about why a god would deem it necessary to speak to a human. Thoughts he hated having, thoughts that would just clog up his head, give him a headache, and make him unfocused on the real task. The champion continued talking before Ragnar could disappear too far into his own thoughts.

“You might wonder where I’m going with all this?”

Ragnar nodded, not realizing that the champion couldn’t see. The champion continued anyway.

“Well, Carita spoke to all the bishops, stating that one of our priests in the old world, in this heathen world, was corrupted. A thing we do not take lightly. A thing we take with utmost seriousness when it turns out to concern one of our own priests.”

The two continued down the stairs, darker and darker. Ragnar feeling himself unconsciously keeping a hand on the top of his axe, the other hanging limply by his chest, upheld by a tight strap. A reminder of yesterdays hunt. A reminder he’d have to push aside as his thoughts were already scrambled, trying to focus solely on the champion, a throbbing headache starting to form.

“So, after many fortnights, they, as in the church of charity, decided to send me to investigate. And investigate I did.”

They made it to the bottom of the stairs, coming into an almost completely dark room. Foul stench permeating throughout, making it almost impossible to breathe if one wasn’t used to it. A sudden light emerged, partially blinding Ragnar, he had to take a step back up the stairs as he blinked the spots away. When he could see again, the champion stood in the middle of the room, staring at Ragnar with serious eyes.

“We champions face a tough challenge every day that we live. For we have to always, always make decisions. Many times easy, many times hard.”

Ragnar stared into the eyes of the champion, meeting his gaze with his own firm gaze. Staring like enemies on a field of dead.

“I made a decision. I decided not to tell you the toymakers location, for if I had, I would not have known of this priests corruption. I would not have known what was going on in this very room. I would not have known the despicable acts carried out by this despicable man. Acts a whore would find disgusting. Using the very girl you now have in your protection.”

He paused at that, staring deeply into Ragnar, Ragnar staring deeply back. His hand on the axe tightened, tightened as anger bloomed in his veins.

“If I had told you, I might not have found this. I also might not have found how this, priest, used the orphans in this church to rob and steal from innocent people. How he used that wealth to gather more orphans. To then further improve this church, to further empower his greed.”

The champion spoke, nostrils flaring, breathing ragged and tough, his own hands clenched by his side. He stared at Ragnar with a deep hatred burning within his eyes. Hatred that quickly dwindled away, as if realizing who he actually stared at, muttering mellowy.

“Sorry about that, got a little carried away, didn’t I? Hehe, I’m a little passionate when it comes to the church of charity and Carita. Who’d think, right?”

Ragnar stared back, his own anger fading, surprised that he had been. Removing his hand from the axe, breathing in and out. Smell of defecation searing its way up his nostrils, then out. He knew about this priest, he’d been informed on his imprisonment just yesterday. But he hadn’t been told of any children stealing, or a girl being used so severely.

A girl he even had within his very protection. A girl he knew well. A girl that seemed far too happy, too resilient to his persuasion, too brave to be the girl the champion was speaking of. Though the champions conviction was so extreme, so passionate, that Ragnar had a hard time not believing him.

“Champion, these are very serious allegations. I hope you have evidence to back it up?”

“I do. I hope you’ve taken a good look at this room, for I doubt you’ll see it again.”

Ragnar raised a brow at that, doubting that, even considering the champions position. He might be high up in the chain of command. But he held no jurisdiction within “heathen” land as he put it. But Ragnar didn’t refute, merely looking around to oblige the champion. Seeing little to nothing. Splotches of dirt and grime a bit everywhere. Spots of what looked to be dried blood covering big parts of the floor, and chains hanging by the far wall.

He stopped as he noticed the chains, staring at them. Chains broken off as if melted away, the little that was left hung like limp limbs. He turned to the champion, spotting him moving towards himself, then past, up the stairs. Ragnar took one last look at the chains, furrowing his brows, then followed the champion up and away from the damned room.

As they came up and out, Ragnar closed the door behind them, and quirked up as the champion spoke.

“I’m just gonna go and take some clothes for myself. Maybe a bit more in case someone else needs it. I highly doubt Noah will need them now.”

Ragnar stared as the champion moved further down the corridor and into a dimly lit room. Leaving Ragnar standing outside the damned door, alone with his thoughts. Thoughts he hated having. For thoughts meant thinking, and thinking was something he highly disliked doing.

A headache was brewing. He was the kind of man who had become a soldier so that he wouldn’t have to think. But after having started his journey for that blasted toymaker, he’d been doing nothing but thinking, with very little fighting.

Though, last night was an exception. An exception that almost led to his death, and an arm that might or might not be crippled forever. A fight that he’d taken upon himself to bandage a wounded ego, an ego that after the fight, was smaller than a walnut.

As he'd had to be rescued by that wooden warrior and all.

But he felt some content in the fact that he wouldn’t have to think more after this. He would just need the champions word, and the direction of the toymaker, and then he’d be on his merry way. The girl, the priest and the aftermath of the monster could all be dealt with by this towns own authorities.

He thought before the champion returned from the dimly lit room, holding a stack of clothing and wearing a light brown tunic for himself. Smattering of wood echoed the corridor, making Ragnar look down, seeing wooden sandals adorned on the champions feet.

“Can never have enough clothes.”

He stated with a smile, pushing the pile of clothes into Ragnar's hands, smiling even further.

“Shall we leave?”

He said mischievously, smiling upon seeing Ragnar’s frown. Ragnar narrowing his brows, but nodding never-the-less. Following in the steps of the champion, partially glad to not have to think about yesterdays failure. Partially glad to soon have this whole ordeal over and done with.

“Ragnar” The champion spoke lightly, speaking as if having a hard time articulating, words seeming dry in his throat. “I’ll need you to promise me something before I tell you the location of the toymaker.”

Ragnar stopped at those words, standing by the end of the corridor’s door. The champion stopping as well, though not turning around to meet Ragnar's eyes, standing in the middle of the church.

“You promised to tell me” Ragnar almost whispered, feeling himself heating up yet again.

“Yes, I know, and I will. But Ragnar- or should I say, queen's guard.”

He turned around, facing Ragnar, face full of pain, looking awkwardly up at his face. Ragnar staring deeply at him, staring as if looking at an assassin, readying his body for an attack. One that didn’t come.

“Look, I hate asking for help. And I would never dare to impose that I held information that might harm you. But I really, really need your help. There’s just too many kids that will lack a home if someone doesn’t help them, and I don’t have the power, nor resources to do so. Not here in these lands anyway… But you do.”

He stated quickly, talking as if ripping a sticky bandage. Ragnar feeling it, feeling the political bullshit that he thought he had left behind, now sneaking up on him. Their way of speaking, of snaking around with their words, getting what they want.

“So, queen’s guard, I need you to promise me that you will help me protect these children. And once you promise, I’ll tell you the toymakers destination.”

Ragnar continued standing still, staring deeply, feeling as if his eyes would pop out from all the staring. But yet, a strange calm came through Ragnar as he stared hatefully at the champion. Seeing him looking squarely into Ragnar’s eyes, body tense like a soldier waiting for their punishment. But eyes burning like a general staring into the enemie’s army, staring at overwhelming odds.

Ragnar shook his head, the champion faltering at the sight. Ragnar shaking even more, sighing deeply as he already regretted his decision. A decision he could, oh so easily, deny. Force a confession as he continued on his hateful quest. A quest that had already slipped his hands twice now. An arms' length away, infuriatingly close. Ragnar shook his head with a deep sigh, deeply aware that if he were to deny the champion now, it would haunt him for the rest of his life.

“I promise.”

The champion practically beamed like the strongest torch, smiling as if getting the order to stop marching. He opened his mouth to speak, but was stopped by Ragnar.

“Please, I don’t care. Let’s just, go. The sooner we fix what has to be fixed, the faster I can do what I’m actually supposed to do.”

The champion nodded eagerly, turning around with a jump in his step. Ragnar shaking his head in dismay, not the slightest bit happy about the situation. Annoyed and even angered was what he actually felt. Though everything wasn’t all doom and gloom. He quickly realized that he held a lot of power over this town. And power meant ordering. And ordering meant delegating. Once he saw the kids and found the right people, Ragnar could easily delegate and move on to his actual task. Maybe call in a few favors from the capital here and there, but nothing that would take to much time.

“Ragnar, for being such a good man and all, I’ll let you in on a secret about us champions.”

The champion stated eagerly, Ragnar merely lifting an eyebrow as his response.

“What do you know about champions.”

“I have already told you.”

“Yes yes, that we are infuriating. But more concrete. What do you know that makes us champions, champions.”

Ragnar paused at that, having to actually think, feeling annoyed about it. Thinking back, trying to remember, remembering little.

“Well, I know what you’ve told me now, I guess. You guys are chosen by the gods. And are like, kings within the church?”

“Haha, what a very, verbose way of describing us champions. But you aren’t wrong. Although that isn’t usually what we are famed for, weird that you don’t know. Say, Ragnar. Have you heard about miracles?”

The two talked as they walked, making it to the churches doors, still opened from Ragnar’s previous entrance. Cold air flowing in, snow having piled up by the entrance. They moved beyond it and out into the world before Ragnar responded.

“Miracles are miracles, impossibilities that could not happen within reasonable possibilities.”

“Oh, that was actually very verbose” He stated, checking over his shoulder, Ragnar frowning at the response.

“But yes, that’s one way of describing miracles. But I don’t really agree. I see miracles more as, something perceived as impossible. For if a miracle was truly impossible, then how would we ever bear witness to a miracle?”

The champion guided them out of the church, then towards its side, moving along its high walls, looming up and above the big town. Looming as if the tallest watch tower. The champion moved whilst his hand stroked the wall, feeling every bump and rock underneath his fingers. Ragnar holding the pile of clothes in his hands, walking behind the champion.

“We champions are the makers of miracles. Seen as strong beyond measure, creators and destroyers on equal level. Within us, we hold the power that only a god should have.”

He stopped in his steps, hand resting on the wall, staring up and letting his eyes follow the wall up to the sky.

“We are both feared and awed in the same sentence. For witnessing a champions miracle first hand, can be either a blessing, or a curse. For we make the impossible, possible.”

The champion spoke words that escaped Ragnar as he wasn’t prepared for the onslaught of descriptions and explanation. He blinked, trying to blink the information into his head, seeing the champion removing his hand from the wall, letting it reach in into his brown cloak, pulling out a mace with runes inscribed. Ragnar followed with his eyes, standing behind and seeing as the champion started dragging the mace along the church’s walls.

“We try to use our miracles for good, for the betterment of our world, for our respective churches, for our gods.”

Ragnar stared as the champion used the mace to scribble on the wall, quickly forming into what appeared to be a badly drawn rune. Ragnar stared closer, searching his memory for that particular rune, landing on the Hagalaz rune. Then the champion scribbled smaller words underneath the rune, spelling out the word “destruction”.

Once the champion finished with his scribbles, he seemed content, smiling wide. Then looking around as if searching for any bystanders, then leaning in conspiracly close to Ragnar, waving him in. Ragnar leaned closer, still staring at the rune on the wall, trying to understand its meaning.

“But between you and me, we champions usually have no idea what we are doing.”

Then he pushed his hand towards the rune, pressing it firmly into the darkened walls. A soft glow emanated, Ragnar’s eyes growing wide upon realization. Then the soft glow turned bright, brighter and brighter until it seemed to overwhelm all of Ragnar’s world. A glow that was so intense, that even staring at the sun would seem dark in comparison.

But the glow was completely black, black like the darkest night, dark like being on watch at midnight. It was blindingly dark, and Ragnar couldn’t stop staring.

The bright darkness disappeared with a flash, and in its place, there was nothing. Nothing but a pile of neatly stacked stones.

Ragnar dropped the clothing he held, mouth opening wide, eyes flowing with water, barely able to look. But stare he did, he had too. He had to stare in case he’d been drugged, in case he wasn’t in this world no more.

Just like the church wasn’t.

“Having such a big church for charity, is kinda, hypocritical, don’t you think? I hope those stone-bricks will be put to better use than this church ever could. Now, what say you, should we start helping those kids?”

Ragnar kept staring at what once was the church, nodding along slowly to the champions words. Quickly realizing that his delegation would have to wait. For he did not dare anger this man.