My 7 book on the Chronicles of Rachael is just begging for this guy.
Heading Into Battle
The dogs of war are barking
“What do you want, old lady,” asks the warrior in charge of the boat.
It was a 24-man ship with a high bow and stern guided in the back with a long handle attached to a rudder. The warrior in charge of the boat also was in control of the rudder.
It smelled of unwashed men. It leaked, creaked, and crackled with age. Large carvings on the bow and stern completed the signature signs of a Viking war ship.
10 sets of rows, along with two servants' seats. One is in charge of providing food and water. The other is in charge of human waste.
The two servants would switch jobs every day. A third servant was used to remove any water that never seemed to stop seeping through the wood.
“Please, my Lord, don’t whip me! I only want to please your men with my fresh water and bread,” Rachael said in a whinny voice, sounding old and decrepit.
“Well, I’m short one servant, so you are better than nothing,” he said.
“Thank you, Lord, I will not let you down,” Rachael said, relieved.
“Just one word of caution. You so much as complain of the smell, and I will personally cut your head off and use it for fish bait!”
“I promise, my Lord, I will never do that,” said Rachael.
“Good. Take your place.”
Rachael sat to the right of the rudder master. On the left would be power, bravery, and the intense desire to get the show on the road. He was larger than life. Some of his men looked in awe. Some even trembled. His name was Berserker.
Rachael, a living soul and a immortal. Capable of morphing into Freyja when she was ready to do so, was enjoying the amusing thought: You boys haven't seen anything yet.