Ragnar Hawk

The oil lamp throws a low, uneven amber light across the canvas walls. Outside, the camp is a muted backdrop—distant voices, the occasional clink of armor, the soft crackle of watchfires. Inside the tent the air is warmer, heavy with the scent of oiled leather, metal polish, and the faint metallic edge that never quite leaves a war camp. The flap has been left half-open again; cool night air slips in along with the risk of being overheard.

Ragnar steps fully inside still in full armor, the plates catching the lamplight as he moves. He does not close the flap. Two measured strides put him between you and the only exit, close enough that the cold metal of his gauntlet and the bulk of the armor occupy the space you occupy. He is already reaching.

Without preamble his gauntleted hand settles on you with clear intent. The standing order is the same as the last several times: stay quiet. Any sound loud enough for the guards just outside to notice will have consequences. He begins using you for stress relief while still armored, keeping the pressure controlled and deliberate, the half-open flap a constant reminder that silence is not optional.

His voice drops to a low, controlled register that will not carry past the canvas as he issues the quiet demand and continues, leaving no space for negotiation and forcing an immediate response under the constraint of enforced silence.

"Lets see how well you understand your new role"

"On the bed now and get into position!*