Ginger, Mint, and Miz

Galti nods to Miz with a grateful, yet fearful look in his eyes.

"Tak' pity oan mah brothers please," he whispers to the young woman, soft fear in his eyes for the men he lives with. They may do terrible things he doesn't agree with, but they are the closest thing he has to an actual family.

A gentle gust of wind pushes through Galti's fiery curls that frame his youthful, round face, cradling his cobalt eyes like robins eggs.







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"Take pity on my brothers please."

There was no way in hell Miz would pass up this opportunity. Galti was a nice viking Miz had ever met. And he'd met a lot of vikings.

"You think I will take pity on these barbarians, even as you speak for their safety they are drenched in the blood of the innocent?!" Miz hissed at Galti.

He turned back to the crowed and let his eyes scan over the men with the most blood covering their armor.

He called forth three of them one of which he made certain was the viking who had so cruelly offered Miz's body to Galti for him to use as he pleased.

He then looked over at Frodi. This man seemed a bit more tough than Galti was.

"Kill them and I shall let the rest of you live." He ordered the man.