The reaver paused, glancing back over his shoulder for a moment before continueing. Kvasear may have been young, but he had been training his entire life. Always serious and well aware of the weight of his ancestors and the expectation placed on his shoulders, Kvasear had orked hard for his rank. Reaver at adolescent wasn't entirely unheard of, after all their current Warlord the lioness Svana, had done the same thing. And she was his Aunt. How could he do any less than she had? Not only that, but he was the decendant of the old Warlord Aesir -his great-grandfather, a lion whose bloodline was still a large influence in the pride. Kvasear felt the weight of that linage heavily, but not as a burden. They were the standard by which he measured himself, a goal to aim for and a reminder that he came from a strong and powerful line of Stormborn.
Huffing slightly he glanced round once again. So, he was a reaver, and hoped to make Captain. In the mean time, he had to prove himself and gain practical experience both as a reaver and more specifically, in combat. Which was why he was going out on every viking he could manage. Today he was out with a ragtag group of older stormborn who seemed more intent on finding mint and fermented elephant fruit than on doing any actual work. Shaking his head the tall, if slightly lanky, male continued along the path, scanning the area all around for any sign of.. well, anything.
Peppermint Coffee
He grew!!!
