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Kyrrein brought back firewood gathered in ruined homes on the back of his black horse - which was accustomed to gore but at this strange death balked and bit at its reigns.

The hunter looked no more into the carnage; he had his answers. A cold bile churned in his chest, and he knew it to be the desire for revenge against they that'd done this. Not just for his family, but for all fo the corpses here that stood no apparent chance agaisnt the invaders. Blood for blood, as it were.

After laying the wood around the pile of bodies and the debris that others gather to burn, he steps back away.

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Leita has finished conemplating the bodies, herself; a crouched mass of fur and cloth beside the dead. She murmurs to herself and rocks the bag of seer's bones once more between her wizened hands, standing asside as the preparations for the pyre are complete.

The kite descends through the air, comming to rest on the witch's shoulder and hissing to itself at the stench that yet lingers.

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Click the little hatchling to help him grow! (Opens a new window, no worries!)

Speyr walked back up through the village, paying as little heed as possible to the scenes of death around him. The men who'd returned to the village were all busy, moving bodies as piling wood for a pyre.
"Somebody bring me a torch." Speyr ducked inside the nearest house, more scenes of death, destruction and blood. He stopped in the hallway and looked around for something that would burn easy. The Rug.

it was a threadbare thing that'd been much worn down over the years, the design wasn't even visible any more, though speyr was sure it would've been very ornate when it was first made. He crouched, took his knife out and cut a long strip from it. Then Speyr went to the kitchen and looked around, the house broom was lying in the corner, snapped almost in half, that would do. Walking back out of the house he tied the slice of rug fast around the broom handle and walked over to where Ekkill was.

"I have you a torch, though i have no way of lighting it myself." He handed the thing to Ekkill and looked at the devastation all around. "Is there no sign of who done this to us? I cannot see a single corpse that is not a villager of ours. A force of raiders cannot simply come and bring this much death and destruction without loss or leaving some clue behind. At least, no force of this earthly realm." He spoke with a tone of sadness, something not willingly portrayed by a Viking.

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Inquisitor Lord Fyodor Karamazov
"There is no such thing as a plea of innocence in my court. A plea of innocence is guilty of wasting my time. Guilty!"

Lunthor had been travelling for days on end. His feet ached him. He was sweating beneath his helmet, too. His dream of dying in battle as a worthy Warrior had never been fulfilled. He wanted to go to Valhalla to see his family again, he missed them. His parents had died for no reason and his siblings went missing. The very thought angered him.

His shield was tied onto his back, and it was covered at the top by a bit of Lunthors blondy brown, long hair which draped down scruffily. It did it's best to cover the broad Warriors body. His axe, sheathed at his side was a finely crafted family heirloom. His Father had used it in many battles, and it had a great deal of history extending even beyond his Grandfather!

With every mighty step he took with his large, mud covered boots, the ground below him would make a funny cracking noise. He was weighed down by the armour he wore, which was only a Helmet and strong, vigilant chainmail, and the extra layers of fur he wore to keep off the cold. Now that's not even mentioning his wealthy tunic.

Eventually he reached a village. He gazed in a mixture of shock and horror at what he saw. Corpses, and quite a few of them, too. He untied his shield quickly and held it strongly in his left hand. It's golden trimming and decorations glinting brightly. Then he drew his Axe, and weaved it about in the air as a lucky omen.

"I challenge whoever has wrought such havoc here to a duel to avenge the lives of the innocent who perished at their whim!" And his loud voice echoed into the air.

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Tensions suddenly rose, not least for the fact that a warrior had suddenly appeared in their village and had partially accused them for perpetrating this horror and the fact that he could well be one of the men that had done this to the village. Speyr dropped the makeshift torch and turned to the man, swinging his blade off the holding clasp and walking towards him.

"Who are you to come here and accuse us of this!?" Speyr stopped a fair few feet from the man and stood in defiance, his sword inverted, the point dug slightly into the damp earth, his hand firmly clasped around the handle ready to swing the blade up into action at any second. He knew this man would be mad to attempt to take on this many Vikings single handed, regardless on their deeds, but Speyr made no obviously aggressive moves towards the man; Strangers if this kind were often very dangerous.

"This is our village, our families and friends who have been slain here! So speak your name and purpose before you are struck down for speaking such as you have!" Speyr's tone of voice carried the anger he felt and his eyes bore down on the man watching every move this stranger made.

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Inquisitor Lord Fyodor Karamazov
"There is no such thing as a plea of innocence in my court. A plea of innocence is guilty of wasting my time. Guilty!"

Lunthor turned to the man. He realised he had said wrong, and with his sense of honour he sheathed his axe, then bowed.
"I am wrong to have accused you, then," He spoke, "For earlier i came across faint tracks. They led me here and this scene is horrific. Excuse my rude manners. I am Lunthor Rhavil. I come from the east, and after the passing of my parents and siblings i seek only to make them proud by going on worthy quests." Again he bowed, but kept his shield in his hand. The anger in this mans voice was such that he'd have to be aware.

He gazed around him. The scene was gory, and it did not please him. He was seeking a band of adventurers to join, in the sense that he may help a worthy cause to achieve their ambitions, and perhaps die doing it. He was a skilled Warrior, and anyone to have him were not going to regret it.

He stood his ground, glaring at the other Viking long and hard. He had his hand rested upon his hip, and a quick movement would enable him to draw his axe. Lunthor was pleased that he knew what he was doing. But however malicious this other man may sound, he'd have to keep his axe resting until he found out the truth of this... nightmare.

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While heading back to the main pyre with the final burnable planks from his old home when he heard the newcomers challenge. He stopped his slow trot and broke into a run, letting the planks fall beside the pyre that was being constructed as he ran past. He saw Speyr approaching the man - who looked impressive, even from this distance.

The viking prepared himself for battle, placing his blade against the earth and spoke to the axe wielding vigilante. The newcomer then stood straight, sheathed his weapon and bowed slightly. By the time he started to reply to Speyr Leif was within ear shot and caught the end of the exchange.

Leif stepped in beside Speyr and noted the traveling man's pose. He would easily be able to engage if he so desired. The young warriors hands fell to his hips where his throwing weapons shimmered in their belt loops. His gaze fell on the challenger - who had now withdrawn his challenge, but not his menace. As an armed man who looked battle ready he was a threat and Leif had just about enough death for one afternoon.

Leif turned his head back towards the group of Vikings who were beginning to mass up at the sounds of commontion and hollared, "Ekkil, we have a situation that requires your presence."

He turned back to the newcomer and eyed him suspiciously.

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Ekkill thundered towards the source of conflict upon hearing the words of Leif. If something were to tear him away from the amassing of wood for his pyre, it had better be good. He wouldn't be altogether disappointed.

As the chieftain approached the newcomer, he could feel the tension in the air. This crazy bastard was considering trying to fight off a pissed-off hoard of vikings who had just had everything they'd ever know torn out from under them if he needed to. The fool would have been much better off watching from a distance, rather than coming down the hill and presenting a challenge. Foolish as he was, one other thing was certain; he was brave and confident. He might even make a worthy addition to Ekkill's men.

As Ekkill approached the group from behind, he placed a hand on both Leif and Speyr's shoulders, letting them know he was there as he stepped between them. He studied the lone warrior, who was clearly no savage. The man looked much like one of his own. Perhaps he was from the very village he had planned to take his men to. Suddenly, the situation was looking up.

"I am Ekkill, chieftain of this village. State your business, and where you hail from," Ekkill commanded.

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Gu n f i g h t (For no reason)

Lunthor now saw three men coming up against him. The one at the front whom had presented himself as Ekkill didn't look as if he wanted to fight like the other two who had taken up the challenge with open hearts. He surveyed the man, he was quite tall. He would surely be a worthy enemy, or the most trusted ally. Lunthors face crept gradually into a smile beneath his helmet.

"I am Lunthor. I am from the East, and I was a noble in a mighty village. Unfortunately, illness spread and a quarter of the population died, including my entire family. Fortunately all apart from my mother have gone to Valhalla. Since then i left the Village, appointing a friend to watch over. My Parents always wanted me to become a well known Hero for a great feat, and i now search these lands for one. I am a veteran of a great many battles and i have saw many full moons in my time."

His hand was still on his hip. By all means he knew the two men flanking Ekkill were not to trust at this point. He was only thirty, but he had grown up in a fierce and proud village. Under no circumstances was he to be underestimated. Scratching his beard, he awaited his reply. If this was true, and it was indeed their very own village that had been attacked, perhaps he had found the start of a great quest. However, that seemed extremely unlikely. He realised they were thinking that he was crazy, presenting a challenge to all of them at once. He couldn't help but smirk at that, he had unwavering courage, that was one of his attributes. He was determined to become a legend upon legends and nothing was taking that away from him.

His noble appearance would also benefit him in this situation. He was a man from high standards, and that was proven by the quality of his gear. His shield had golden decorations, and his Axe Handle had strings of pure gold lapping around. Perhaps they'd realise this and consider not mistaking him for some random peasant warrior.

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Feeling Ekkil's hand on his shoulder Speyr relaxed a little, listening to the exchange between the two men. He seemed, on second impressions a man of good intentions. But whether this man was brave or stupid he couldn't tell just yet. Still, he could well be a great ally. Speyr didn't doubt the man had seen a great many battles, his raiment suggested he was well used to heavy combat, the odd battle scar across his armour did nothing to disprove that fact.

"If you are of noble intention as you speak, remove your helmet so we might see your face and judge your words based on the truth of your eyes, rather than the cunning of your wordplay."

Speyr didn't really doubt this man or his words, truth be told. His challenge had ruffled him the wrong way in the heat of the moment and deep down he didn't feel that need to come to blows would arise, even if his actions and body language showed differently.

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Inquisitor Lord Fyodor Karamazov
"There is no such thing as a plea of innocence in my court. A plea of innocence is guilty of wasting my time. Guilty!"