Cornered Wolves [Closed]

[Green Shoes]

The large man ran his eyes along Alfrain's knife, studying the stranger up and down. The heat of the moment had passed, and now there was an ominous silence as those gathered waited for his response. The sound of merriment still filtered in from outside, though all present held their breath. Slightly swaying, he slurred heavily, bracing himself on one of the tables. Though outwardly he still looked the defiant brawler, his words betrayed him. Shifting gaze from Alfrain to Lancry, Aslak and Eiya, he spoke slowly and surely, his fists still bunched.

"You're all weak as piss anyway, the house of Kveldulf should be ashamed to -"

As he spoke, Gwyle had been garnering the encouragement of those drunken revelers he had sent into a frenzy of dance. Hopping and spinning, the metal goblet slammed into the mans head, bending slightly and sending him crumpling to the ground. The wound opened up and he began to bleed heavily, while three men nearly fell over themselves in their frenzy to grab Gwyle. Grabbing him by the wrist, they threw him hard outside, all the while shouting to try and wake their friend.

"Gorm! Gorm wake up!"

"That little shit, I'll kill him!"

"Someone get Gorm a bandage!"

Gwyle hit the turf outside and was sent tumbling down a small hill, stopping short of the tents and campfires. The people were still feasting and singing outside, with little knowledge of what was happening in the household. The three men burst out the door, immediately charging after Gwyle.

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Eiya watched the scene with the adrenaline still coursing through her. Relieved when he seemed to back down from the combined warning of Alfrain, Aslak and Lancry, she was near horrified when the strange Celt spun into the scene and knocked him down. However impressive the strike was, it left Gorm unconscious and bleeding, and the cup bent and unusable. Seeing Gwyle get thrown straight out, she huffed and hoisted Gorm up and outside, laying him on a nearby bench and calling to Lancry, who offered her services earlier.

"I would really appreciate your help; he doesn't deserve to die, and I don't want a death at the festival."

Sighing, she sat by him as the three chased Gwyle. She felt bad for the young charmer from Ireland, but fights were a reality, and he had sprung out of nowhere to bring down a stranger.

Still. He was defending me...

Looking back inside, she called after Alfrain. Gwyle didn't deserve the beating that was sure to follow.

"Could you give him a hand? Poor boy won't last a minute."

As she continued to tend to the mans wound as best she could, Eiya looked out into the forest that bordered the estate. Her brother had left not long ago, and already his lamplight was lost in the densely packed trees. She thought she could hear the sound of faraway battle and yelling, though that would be easily confused with the tumult of noise surrounding her previously quiet home. As she waited for Lancry, her thoughts drifted to her boat, that was sure to be rocking gently at the small harbor down below.

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After Gorm went down, Aslak was left standing next to Alfrain. His stature didn't go unnoticed, and a small, dark-haired girl with multiple earrings and piercings quickly took notice of him. She was dressed in a strange, patchwork robe of brows and reds, with her curly hair tied back in a red scarf. Tugging on his hand, she motioned outside.

"Come for a drink, won't you!"

Her voice was thickly accented with the strange annunciations of the Nomads from the South; perhaps even a Laplander, though she was certainly pretty enough to be considered by him.

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As Alastar backed away, he found himself immersed in the conversation of the few people huddled away in the corner. They spoke in English with a scottish accent; a language he was familiar with, if not well-versed. They appeared to be warriors, though their weapons were either hidden or missing.

"I don't know what Harald thinks he'll do with the southerners. A place like this? Could hold out for days."

"Aye, I don't want to stick around. Meant to be coming down soon. Have you heard from Erik?"

"Yeah, he's calling us all back. Meant to pick up some Danes on the way if we can; the more the merrier. We'll be paid our weight in gold."

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Jomar noticed that the merchants who were previously discussing the foreign dagger had focused their attentions upon the scene unfolding, and the man that was left holding it was distinctly drunk and heady.

 

[DarkRawen]

More people gathered, standing up or showing their support another way, Aslak hoped this was enough to hinder a fight. However, the man didn't seem as if he was about to calm down soon.

"You're all weak as piss anyway, the house of Kveldulf should be ashamed to -"

Before the drunkard managed to finish his sentence, a strange man who had introduced himself to the hostess earlier, slammed a metal goblet into the guy's head. The large man fell instantly, head bleeding, it was clear that it was a serious hit. Then, things took a turn for the worse, when the friends of the man on the floor reacted, dragging the man called Gwyle outside to take revenge.

Wonder why they didn't do anything while their friend was trying to take advantage of the hostess.

Either way, it wasn't his problem anymore. Eiya quickly took control of the situation, and things calmed down. For what it was worth, he didn't want anyone to get killed tonight, so he hoped nothing worse happened. Before he got down from the bench, a small woman dressed in a strange fashion tugged on his hand.

"Come for a drink, won't you!"

She was rather pretty, with dark hair and those clothes, especially the piercings and tattoos stuck out. Her accent was different from what he was used to, though she seemed to be a Nomad. He smiled, blushing slightly, though that could easily be because of the alcohol.

"Sure!" He jumped down, and glanced over at the silver goblet, though, he didn't bring it outside. There had to be enough cups outside, and he doubted Eiya would appreciate him doing so. "Who in the world would refuse an invitation by a pretty girl to drink?" he asked, though he wasn't actually expecting a reply on that. Letting her lead the way, he wondered how things was going to turn out with this whole racket, it'd probably be just fine.

 

[FalloutJack]

So, there was what appeared to be the makings of an angry mob and dogpile situation, when someone suddenly spoke out to the masses.

"Hold, friends! Good people! Do not be so quick to anger and draw steel-"

"Too late."

Morton's snarkery in the 20th century would have labeled him a professional heckler. The speaker continued.

"Let us not dishonor our host with needless blood spilled and ill spirits! This man's shame is not born of a sinful nature, but of illness! Simple madness! And while our beguiling lady may not wish to ply her trade, perhaps she'll allow me to work in her stead."

"Do what gives ya pleasure, boy."

Because the beguiling lady most-assuredly knew what was going to happen next.

"For I know the cure, good friends! It is simple and ready at hand. This man needs not but one more goblet of wine!"

One sharp swing of the goblet later, your man is out like a light. 'Course, Lancry and all who were paying attention heard what he had to say. Perhaps one of the only people suspicious of the statement he made was the woman herself. Well, perhaps Eiya, but then she would have good reason, wouldn't she? Still, yon goblet-swinger was thrown out by the friends of 'Gorm' here, who proceeded to fuss about him and then charge outside to make him pay. The party was now officially rowdy. Hauling the thick man up, Eiya called to her.

"I would really appreciate your help; he doesn't deserve to die, and I don't want a death at the festival."

"As you say, Miss Kveldulf."

This got on Morten's nerves.

"Ya should let 'im, just like you said! Stupid mistakes ought to be paid for."

"Nay, she's right. It wouldn't do to have a man die on such an occasion. It'd be an ill omen. Now, I need water and a cloth in it to clean 'im before the bandage. Arthur?"

"Yes, Miss Lancry?

"Go out and see which one of 'em next will be needing my services."

With that, she headed outside and knelt down to the man called Gorm. In another time, he'd be called a 'poor gormless idiot' and poked fun at alot. For now, he was just a thick-headed man whose head had bent a silver goblet. Morten returned with the water as she undid her pack. She then proceeded to clean the wound with the soaked cloth and look at it carefully. If it was small, he could be bandaged and be done with for now. If it was large, he would need stitches...which she could apply. The truth is...she wanted to know what was on this man's mind before it was konked over the head like that. Chances are, she could pull him through for that very thing.

 

[Lotus_Gait]

Alfrain watched the scenes unfold without expression, sheathing his knife indifferently. The Celt was nine shades of crazy mixed with courage, leaving little room for sense, and Alfrain watched the man be tossed bodily from the tent by three of his victim's lackeys.

At Eiya's call for him to helf the strange defender, Alfrain nodded grimly and hefted his enormous bow. He didn't want to kill anyone today and a show of strength should be enough to deter then men, besides. Standing atop the small hill that Gwyle had been roughly tossed down, Alfrain watched the scene below, shaking his head.

The Celt was running the three bruisers a merry chase, seemingly unconcerned with even a flicker of being caught. His three pursuers slipped and tripped after him as he danced around poles, under washing lines and over piles of firewood. Alfrain was beginning to wonder if the young Celt needed any assistance. After a time though, he decided to speak out.

"Leave the lad, men!" He called, a deep rumbling that caused the men below to stop their pursuit. The young Celt had paused too, although was slowly backing away with a wary eye on his pursuers, a slight smile on his face. "Can't you see the lad's suffering from a sickness of the mind? All his manic chattering and fool's capering points to an afflicted head." The men hesitated and stared suspiciously at Gwyle, wondering if what Alfrain said was true.

"He smashed Gorm's head!" the centre man shouted up, "now I want to smash his!" He raised a fist to prove the point. "Who are you to tell us what to do!?" Despite the man's anger, Alfrain could see an uneasiness in him about confronting a man so large and casually holding a bow of such remarkable size. The big hunter merely fixed the man with a level, unblinking gaze.

The fellow on the angry man's left leaned in to him, giving a little nidge with his elbow. His voice wasn't quiet, but low and somewhat reverential. "That there's the Mountain Man..." The angry man's eyes widened slightly. "Look at the size o' the bloody bow. And the great bear's head hangin' over his shoulder."

The fellow to the angry man's right leaned in as well, worry creasing his lumpy face. "He'll rip yer throat out and eat yer heart!" His voice was strained and he looked poised to run at any moment.

The man on the left piped up almost on top of the other, his voice creaking, his eyes darting away from Alfrain's face. "And he'll steal yer soul with those eyes. I'm tellin' you, we should do as he says."

The angry man barely paused before changing his face from leashed anger to oily deference. "I'm sorry, good sir." He gave a quick bow and knuckled his forehead, quickly mimicked by his comanpions. "We had no idea of the boy's... nature. We'll go in peace." With further murmured apologies, the men hurried away from Gwyle, throwing agonised looks over their shoulders at Alfrain before disappearing behind a hut.

Alfrain watched them depart without expression. Sighing heavily, he gave a fleeting look to Gwyle before heading back to the feast. It was definitely past time he was gone, but there was still the talk with Kveldulf to have. Alfrain could feel impatience slowly creeping into him. Where was the old man, and what could be holding him up?

 

[IFS]

Jomar was about to volunteer his own services to aid the now unconscious man, but it seemed Lancry had that more or less covered. He shrugged and turned his attention back to the dagger, the other merchants were distracted and its owner was rather drunk. An opportunity for a thief, but the dagger isn't as important as what its supposed to prove. He moved past the other merchants and sat down next to the drunk man leaning forward to examine the dagger closely.

"Pretty thing," he commented, nudging the drunk man to try and get his attention "Where'd you say you got it? Don't suppose you made any charts from the trip, I'd love to see them. I'm sure you've got all manner of heroic tales about the trip!"

His motives were rather transparent of course, but hopefully the man was too drunk to be able to tell. Jomar was not about to stoop to thievery but the potential of such a trade route was not something he was about to pass up. If it was legitimate of course, he was still inspecting the dagger to try and determine if it was genuine, though he didn't see any reason to doubt the man's earlier claim yet.

 

[Green Shoes]

Aslak

The pretty yet curious girl led him to a group of patchwork tents, set up not far from the home. Seated by fires, laughing and singing in several distinct tongues were others dressed like her; wanderers and vagrants; vagabonds and nomads, easily identified collectively as Lapps, though there certainly was some overlap with a small group of Slavs; recognizable by their impressive bear-pelts and strange hairstyle.

Whipping up a small cup of opaque, milky liquid, she thrust it into his hands, before tugging at his clothes, beginning to dance around the fire, clapping her hands. In the tent behind her, voices filtered out, snippets of which could be heard by Aslak.

"The old man is probably dead by now..."

"The Slavs know; heard it from Northerners..."

"Should we tell someone..."

The girl danced forth and tipped his cup, still in his own hands, into his mouth, before catching his fingers and pulling him to dance, shouting above the music.

"My name is Riya! What's yours!?"

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Alfrain

Leaving the three men suitably humbled, he returned to the feast as Grim burst through the door, covered in blood. A tear in his coat revealed the head of an arrow stuck in his shoulder; the shaft had clearly been snapped by the man with purpose. The hall had grown silent, though the music from outside carried on; the guests unaware of his return. A return marked by the fact that he was, in fact, the only one to return.

Of average height and somewhat unattractive, blunt features, Grim held his fathers keen eyes and dextrous hands. His bald head, however, was bleeding from various cuts and scrapes; his axe, hanging low by his side, was red.

"They're coming! Harald and his men! Coming here! Everyone needs to run, right now! You, and you!"

He pointed to Alfrain and a small group of men, some of whom were known as extended kin of Kveldulfs.

"Help me board the house up! I wont have this hall burnt without a fight!"

He instantly began shooing people out, flipping tables and pressing them against the doorway.

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Jomar

The drunk mans eyes twinkled at the questions, and he cleared a space on the table before throwing down a crumpled piece of parchment, smoothing it out with his forearms. Visibly excited, he spoke boisterously, drawing a small crown of curious merchants.

"Aye, that I do! I met the trader halfway, so from here down is the path he has drawn!"

He slammed a moist, stubby finger on a small circle on the map, at the gulf between Greece and Turkey. The trail leading there started from Denmark, travels to England and then down through France, Germany, the Bulgar lands and the North of Macedonia. The path from there travels North on the Pontic coast, before diving rather suddenly to the cities of Antioch and Jerusalem. The map itself seemed well-drawn and up-to-date, as far as Jomar was aware.

"I'm telling you! The East is the future! The man I met had a whole retinue of people behind him; strange perfumes, gold-plated idols, wondrous things!"

As Grim burst in and started scattering the less-able of his friends, people began to throw the drunk merchant offers for the map in a desperate bid before they were evicted.

"20!"

"25!"

"28!"

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Lancry

The wound was large and required stitches to heal properly, though without he would eventually pull through. Judging by the commotion that erupted in the hall, however, he may not have the required time. His eyes seemed to flutter slightly as she cleaned the wound; Gorm was conscious, though only barely. One eye slowly opening, he only managed one word, his tongue still limp from the strike.

"Irish..."

Slumping back, she was quickly met by her attendant Arthur, who was somewhat out of breath and frightfully nervous.

"It's Harald! He's coming here, now! What should we do?"

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Eiya

The arrival of Grim sent a spark of both energy and terror through her, though she responded with swift action and hard words. Nearly throwing people out of her home, she motioned for her close friends, to fetch the weapons from the store house, and begin to spread the word that the festival would have to be...postponed. The first row of tents that were reached quickly packed and fled, though it would be some time before everyone could leave.

Judging by the torches in the distance, not time enough. She quickly grabbed her travel bundle; an axe and assorted gear; and kicked it near the door, for emergency access. She then shrieked at those still left in the hall.

"Get out if you don't want to die! Those who stay must fight!"

Her father had often warned of Harald's insatiable green, mourning the day that he would come and claim the Vestfold for his own. She never thought it would come though; and certainly not on a night like this. And if Grim had returned alone, what did that mean for Kveldulf?

Worry about that later.

She pushed it down and gritted her teeth, starting to hammer tables against the door with expert efficiency. Those lingering in the halls began to string their bows and knock out the small windows that lined the walls. Others ran their swords along whetstones, strapping small pieces of armor to their arms and legs; there wasn't enough to go around.

 

[Lotus_Gait]

At sight of the blood soaked Grim, Alfrain hurried to his bow and hefted it purposefully. He walked back to the injured man just as he was shouting orders. With Harald's men on the way, there was no doubt he would be needing his weapon.

"Help me board the house up! I wont have this hall burnt without a fight!"

Without acknowledging the man's hurried attempts at fortification, Alfrain gripped his arm and held him with a cool, steady gaze. "Where is Kveldulf, boy? Where is your father?" Knowing that Grim had returned alone, Alfrain feared the worst. There was still a glimmer of hope, but it would be smothered if Harald's men overran them here.

Setting his jaw grimly, Alfrain gave a deep sigh. He had never liked coming to these feasts - mainly due to his awkwardness in social situations - but Alfrain was definitely beginning to regret staying at the feast. He should have left as soon as he'd delivered the meats. But Kveldulf was a friend, of sorts, and is Harald's men had killed him, then vengeance would be wrought.

 

[EnigmaticSevens]

The drunkard's friends made for healthy enough sport. Farmers were hardly proper fighters and hardly fear inspiring, but what they lacked in clever tongues or clever feet, they made up for in glorious, dumb tenacity. That suited Gwyle just fine, he'd always been the sort to play with his food after all. The plan was a simple one, lead the three louts on a merry enough chase until their frustration peaked, then veer off into the crowd and let the three close the gap. Flailing fists and dancing revelers dancing about meant a good and proper brawl was inevitable. In the thick of a good brawl, Gwyle could handle the three one at a time, properly and cleanly. Again, farmers were hardly fighters, but three on one simply weren't good odds. If it came to that, Gwyle would have to draw steel. While he didn't quail at the thought of a little bloody play, it rather defeated the purpose of silencing the drunk in the first place.

Act 1 of Gwyle's current play was going smashingly well, but before Act 2 could commence, an odd sort of interloper put a stop to the lot of it, a giant of man, wrapped in a raw medley of furs and full of a presence that seemed nearly... feral. He cried out after the men, something about sickness. Gwyle was less familiar with the northern dialect of Norse these fellows spoke as opposed to the Danes in the south, it was a difficult thing to make out if Gwyle wasn't giving it his full attention. The effect of the words was clear enough though. It was quite a sight to behold, really, watching the anger bleed away from the men to be replaced by a palpable dread. Whoever this towering hulk of flesh and fur was, he had no small reputation among the small folk, that much was clear. Gwyle smelled the makings of a story though. The drunkard's fair weather friends slunk away almost bashfully. The young bard couldn't catch a great deal of their chatter, but the snippets were telling. Talk of bows and bears and bloodshed, graphic stuff. Of the Mountain... Hmm... now there was a thing worth investigating. Gwyle caught the flicker of the massive man's gaze, and offered a grin and slight nod in thanks. The face on that... ayah, Gwyle had seen mountains and oaks less weathered.

Yes, there was a fascinating story there, like as not, and Gwyle would've loved to weasel it out of the giant, even though he suspected he'd have more luck squeezing blood from a stone. The thought danced about in the young man's head as he sauntered back up the hill and into the hall, quite satisfied with the prospect of this new game. The day's play seemed fit to come crashing to a sudden halt though, another man bursting into the hall all a bluster right at Gwyle's heel. The man, bellowing and bloody, set the hall into a mad frenzy. His words were clear to all, the enemy was at the gate, so to speak. Many flooded from the hall, the festivities breaking down all across the estate as men and women scurried off to safety. Hardly honorable to abandon one's host so readily, but Gwyle couldn't fault them much, he'd tasted open battle only a handful of times, but the taste was always a bitter one. His role in this was clear enough though, he'd not abandon a tale in the making. He would live to see this through and sing its song, whether that was a song of the brave Kveldulf family's bravery or King Harald's might remained to be seen....

In battle...

Those that remained were picking through a somewhat meager collection of armor. Gwyle fished out a coat of plates from the pile that seemed a well enough fit as any, and set about aiding the lady of the house with her efforts to shore up the hall's defenses.

In battle, a place with but one entrance, one exit...

Gwyle gritted his teeth as he braced himself against the table, shaking slightly with each blow of Eiya's hammer," Mistress, twenty men in the dark of woods they know, are worth two hundred, two thousand in a good fortress.... Who knows these woods better in the night? You and yours, or this invader? Could you conjure twenty such men, a raiding party? Fit to strike from the woods and melt back into them, then fall back here. It might buy you precious time, give your foe pause. Best he not lay siege to this place unbloodied, yes?"

In battle, a place with but one entrance, one exit, is a trap.

The tactics were simple enough, but not without wisdom. Gwyle was not the sort to lead men into battle, but he was the sort to keep his breath in his lungs and his blood in his body when others wished otherwise. Besides, this was not a first, really. The tales surrounding Gwyles list of titles were often exaggerated, but the titles themselves were not entirely without merit. An ethnarches was a leader of foreign mercenaries in the court of the Romans to the east, and Gwyle had earned it for a small part played in fending off raiders in the small villages of the steppes. Not real open warfare, but good bloodsport nonetheless. Gwyle wondered how this would compare. What size host marched on this family's holdings? Dozens, hundreds, or thousands? That would be thing worth knowing.

 

[DarkRawen]

Aslak was brought to some patchwork-tents close to the home, where a lot of people were, partying, wearing the same kind of clothes as the girl. From what he could see, the people appeared to be Lapps, or, most of them anyways. They seemed to have a great time, and it was a little easier to relax here, while he had certainly enjoyed the conversation with the hostess at first, the incident with the goblet, as well as the drunk, had left a less than comfortable atmosphere. Besides, here people were dancing and enjoying themselves a lot, rather than sitting on benches, waiting for food to be served. The girl put a cup in his hands and started dancing as well, around the fire. She really was something different, he wasn't sure what, but it had a certain appeal, an undeniable charm.

She's pretty, that's for sure. I wonder what her name and story is. Who she is, and all that.

They had probably wandered far, further than he ever had, and that made him curious, though he couldn't help but be quiet, smiling as he watched her dance, the lights from the bonfire lighting her up in a way that made her dancing seem even more alive.

He drank some of the liquid he'd been given in the cup, his eyes wandering slightly but always returning to her, as he half-way listened to the conversations around him. Something about someone being dead, and the Slavs knowing, although that was no worry of his. After all, people died all the time, and he was sure there were stuff the Slavs knew that no one else knew, hardly something he'd be interested in.

I'm only here for the free stuff either way, so it's not like the talk of some nomads should worry me.

Aslak was very content with just being there, enjoying himself in the company of people who knew how to party.

Besides, it's not like I could do anything, even if it did concern my business. I'm just a simple wanderer, sometimes I'm for hire, sometimes I'm just a thief.

Suddenly, the girl got closer and tipped his cup into his mouth, either he hadn't been drinking fast enough, or she was just teasing him. Probably both. She then grabbed his hand, leaving him barely any time to put down the cup as well as his other stuff -he always kept the most valuable stuff on his person, though- and started dancing with her, following her lead rather than trying to lead himself.

"My name is Riya! What's yours!?"

"I'm Aslak!" he replied, and watched his feet, making sure he didn't step on her or on something else. He then looked up at her again, and smiled again. "I'm sorry I'm not as good at dancing as you are, though!" They danced for a while, Aslak having both fun and feeling somewhat bothered about the fact that his dancing-skills probably didn't match what she was used to. After all, he was just a farmer's son, and only the third, it wasn't like he had been taught how to dance as a child. However, the music suddenly stopped as people started packing up and leaving. Aslak let go of Riya, reluctantly, and looked around, confused.

"What's going on?"

 

[FalloutJack]

Hmmm... Looked to be heavy enough wound that she would have to break out the kit after all. He was going to have quite a scar to talk about afterwards, if there was indeed an afterwards for him. Chances are, an overbearing man such as Gorm would make up some horseshit story about how he got it in a nasty brawl, ten men against him and one of them wielding a battleaxe. Aye, and certainly not that of a fast-talking fellow with a silver goblet wonking him one for causing trouble. While she cleaned, the man awakened and said a single word.

Irish? Or was it slurred speech? He might've meant to say Iris. Either way...

"Let's not be saying anything more we'll both regret, Gorm. Lie still or it will hurt more."

Of course, naturally, her ears were peeled to the surrounding uproars, but they were all sort of melded together and hard to distinguish. Only that 'something' was up around here. It wasn't until Arthur came back in his panicky state that Lancry was about to get better information. Harald Bluetooth was coming HERE? He himself or his envoys? Or his army? Well, it would be one of those, enough to cause this sort of an uproar. She stared for a moment, as though lost in thought, and then refocused.

"How do you know?"

"It was Grim Kveldulf! He came back alone and wounded, and that's where the talk started!"

"I might've known that rotter couldn't hold himself back much longer... Well, if he wants a fight, he'll get one!"

Morten's words aside, Lancry had to get to work. She looked over at the two men.

"Well, it seems as though I'm going to be needed now especially."

"Well, it'll have ta' be without us, Lady Lancry."

She looked up at the older man with the hammer.

"Sometihng wrong, Morten?"

"It was nice doing a bit of escort work with a fine lass such as yerself, but this is a bit more serious now. We have to go back to our village and protect it with the rest of the men, and no amount of coin can change that."

It DID make sense. After all, it WAS their home they were talking about. She gave the man a nod and said...

"I can't say I like it, or believe you'll even make it, but I've no power to stop you. However, if you'd just help me get this Gorm inside, you can be on your way like a thief in the night."

Arthur seemed to find this reasonable and immediately helped with the picking up of the brute, followed by Morten with an exasperated sigh. Between the three of them, they were able to get the big man inside the house where everything was being fortified. Once that was done, those two were out the door and Lancry would not be surprised if they were never heard from again...except at the end of two swords and Harald Bluetooth's grin. She now got to work on Gorm's stitching.

"When ya get the chance, could someone send Grim Kveldulf my way? I'm thinkin' that he's next on my list here."

 

[IFS]

"I'm telling you! The East is the future! The man I met had a whole retinue of people behind him; strange perfumes, gold-plated idols, wondrous things!"

Jomar struggled to hide his excitement at this, such a place sounded fantastic, who knew what wonders lay out there? nevermind what wealth could be gained, such a thing could not be passed up. Unfortunately it seemed many others had similar ideas, and a frenzied bidding process had already begun. The poor man's probably too drunk to hold onto the route, nevermind what profits it could bring him. I'll have to outbid the rest, if he wants it back afterwards then arrangements can be made.

"35," he said loudly, he wasn't certain how much the others would be willing to pay but he wasn't about to let them take this opportunity from him. He scanned the others trying to gauge their reaction to this, he smirked at them, practically daring them to try to make a better offer, trying to intimidate them into backing off.

 

[Green Shoes]

Alfrain

Grim turned, his breath ragged and his eyes wild and darting, Somewhat calmed by Alfrain's steady voice, he pried his giant hand from his arm and spoke, as he turned away to keep clearing furniture. By now, the windows were knocked out, and the doors somewhat poorly barred. The tents had begun to fold away and disappear in the night; campfires left glowing in the field.

"His escort never made it through the forest! There were too many bodies, it was too dark. He's dead though. I know it in my heart."

The words seemed to summon forth a tremendous wave of rage. With a swift twist, he roared and hurled a chair at the wall, smashing it to splinters. The fabled rage of the household burned strong, and he released another howl of pain, before returning to his duties. There were three swords and an axe left amongst the supplies; to these he pointed Alfrain.

"You are welcome to one; stay or go, you may need it."




Aslak

Riya's dancing came to a slow stop as those around her began to pack up and leave. What appeared to be her mother emerged from the thick of the travellers; shouting in another undecipherable language, pointing at both her and Aslak. The lights in the forest drew nearer to the field; men could be made out, armed and loosely arranged in formation. Riya gripped Aslak's arm.

"We have to go!"

Turning to join the crowd, her hopes were dashed as the forefront began to be cut down by the enroaching horde. Turning again, she began dragging him back towards the home, walking against the tide of travellers.

"I know a back way to the port! Can you sail?"

Spoiler: Shiny things!

Among the objects left or dropped in the evacuation, several small necklaces of silver could be picked out among the grass, as well as various wooden cups and cutlery"

Lancry

Grim's fit of anger further exacerbated his wounds. Gorm had returned to unconsciousness, though in far better shape than when she had found him. As he began to pace, Grim looked at her, pointing at his wounds.

"These can wait. You should get out of here; it's no place for a lass like yourself."

His words seemed kind and genuine, though behind him two men were whispering, the words "spy" and "traitor" standing out amidst the hushed conversation. One of them caught her eye, and he subconsciously thumbed a dagger, thrust hastily into his belt.


Jomar

As people fled in their hurry, the drunkard looked from the map, to the small purse of coins dangling in front of him.

"Sold!"

Snatching the money, he blended into the throng of people fleeing, leaving the map on the table. An armed man quickly lumbered up to Jomar and held out a shoddy looking helmet and sword, motioning to those leaving.

"Staying?"



Eiya

Eiya considered Gwyle's words as she finished bracing the door. Her thoughts seemed to fast to track, though the promise of saving her home offered her some focus. Wiping sweat from her brow, she looked from the Celt to the warriors, not far away. A brief survey of the men in the house revealed there would only be about 20 of them here, and she could hardly leave her home undefended. Grim's news of her father was hastily suppressed as she tried to think clearly.

"Not twenty, but a good plan. What about ten? There's a window out back you can get in and out through. Hidarr and his company would be a good pick."

She spoke loud enough for the one named Hidarr to here; a somewhat smaller man, whose impressive beard and grey hair gave away his age. He and his men were armed in rough furs and leather, with swords of various lengths strapped hard against their backs. About half of them had shields; they looked the part of an ambush group.

Leaving Gwyle to mull it over, Eiya caught a glimpse of Aslak and Riya, running towards the home. Failing to grasp what deluded logic sent them her way, she called out to them.

"What are you doing!? Get inside or run!"

The front line of Harald's men had begun to emerge from the woods; thirty or so men, there could be no telling how many of them were behind. Although they were armed, they seemed somewhat bloodthirsty and undisciplined; poorly trained, it gave Eiya hope; her fathers friends were mostly from raiding parties, if not somewhat unsavory characters from the harsher parts of Norway.

 

[IFS]

"Sold!"

Jomar grinned and snatched the map up off the table, if it was real as he suspected it was then it could certainly lead to a great deal of wealth and maybe even fame. Besides who knew what tales the people down there had, and even if it proved to be a fake then at least he might be able to get someone to fund his trip, and make off with some money in that way.

"Staying?"

Jomar shook his head and started to leave when a thought struck him, Eiya might be able to fund such a trip, and she was interested in doing business earlier... He glanced about, unsure as to whether or not staying would be a good idea, he had jumped to her defense earlier but he knew he wasn't much good in a real fight. If I can get a bow and hang back I should be fine... He stuffed the map securely away and grabbed one of his charms holding it tight for a second.

"Get me a bow and I'll help fight," he declared "don't expect any miracles though."

 

[DarkRawen]

Almost as soon as he had asked his question, armed men could be seen coming through the forest. Someone of the strange nomads, probably Riya's mother, said something, but he had no idea what. Everything was chaos all of a sudden, and Riya grabbed his hand.

"We have to go!"

He nodded, and was about to run, following her. However, they were too late, the attackers were already too close for them to safely join the others. Instead, she dragged him in direction of the house, the opposite direction of everyone else.

"I know a back way to the port! Can you sail?"

Aslak shook his head, while he certainly had been in a boat a couple of times, watched as his uncle sailed, he didn't know how to do that himself. His eyes lingered on the different items in the grass, he even took the chance to take a silver necklace when Riya looked away. His answer was therefore in a tone that made it clear that he wasn't completely paying attention to her at the moment. "No, I... can't, I've never done it before!" They continued to run, only to be met by Eiya.

"What are you doing!? Get inside or run!"

"The port;" Aslak replied. "We're heading for the port!" When they got closer to Eiya, he continued. "They cut us off from the others." He looked at her, though he didn't stop going at the same pace as Riya did, not wanting to be left behind. Staying to fight never even occurred to him, Aslak never dealt with situations like that, he just ran.