[center][b]Ards[/b][/center]

[b]B) Improve Military Technology[/b]
[hider=A Moonlit Night]The fires roared inside the hall. Seated at the benches and tables around the firepit were near all those that had remained at the village. Half the men were still scouting, yet there was still enough to give the room a raucous air.

As acting chieftain in place of his father, Dag sat upon a dais at the head of the largest table, his throne and the raised platform placing him above the rest of those feasting. From that position of power he saw all, looking down at the other tribesmen as a god amongst mere men, a father amongst his children. Still, it was lonely upon that high spot.

Dag reached for his mug. It was filled with cold water, made from the melting of fresh snow. This was all the Ards had for drink; they had neither the crops nor means to make any brew, and lacked even the basic necessity of a well. The warrior spat on the dirt floor at the thought, then lifted his mug and chugged several wholesome gulps. 

He chewed the last few bites of the hunk of dried meat that was his meal. Once again he guzzled his cold drink down, this time to rid himself of the food's wretched taste. He, like the rest of the tribe, was growing tired of consuming nothing but the same preserved meats that they had been eating since they forst arrived and hunted a few animals. With any fortune the fishers would soon have some success and the Ards gain some variety in their palate. 

After some time Dag grew tired of hearing the chatter and witnessing the revelry that was taking place inside the mead hall. He stood to his feet and slipped out of the mead hall, garnishing no more than a few glances. Upon stepping outside and slamming shut the heavy wooden door behind him, Dag was hit by a wave of cold. While the air did not truly bother the Ards and was even comfortable in comparison to flaying winter winds of their old lands, the nights here still had a way of chilling their blood. Despite what the chieftain Danr had said about this being their new home, the tribe still felt like outsiders in these hills. The recent talk of skraelings lurking in the hills certainly had not helped in that regard. It would take some time before the tribe would truly begin to think of Njor as their home.

Dag looked to the night sky and gazed in wonder at the countless stars, recalling memories of the stories behind the constellations that he saw. A great many of his people's celestial gods were there in the sky: Father Frost whose mere breath was long winter, the Hanged King whose domain was death, the Sea God and his great ship that sailed the oceans in the sky...

Dag's musing were abruptly put to an end by several ear piercing howls, echoing from one of the small woods in the distance, recoiling upon the flats, and finally making its way to the squat hill that was the village. [i]Wolves.[/i] Dag looked up to the night sky and took note of the pallid moon, full and in all its glory. Suspended in the sky next to the tiny stars, its beauty and brightness surpassed them in every way, like the roaring bonfire of the mead hall compared to the lackluster glow of the fireflies outside.

The wolves howled again, the sound closer this time. The sound was both beautiful and irksome. Were the wolves' howls prideful? Fearful? Dag did not know. He knew little of wolves, for they were rare in the land where he was born. In his grandfather's time the wolves had been at large, but the long and harsh winters that had nearly extinguished the Ards had been equally merciless to the animals. Dag struggled to remember what wolves even looked like; he had only seen one in his youth, though the beast had already been killed by a hunter. It had been little more than a scraggly creature covered in grey fur, its ribs visible even through its coat.

Dag stood to his feet as he heard the baying of the wolves. The beasts seemed to be coming in his direction. That was odd, Danr had also told Dag that wolves left men and villages to their own devices, only preying on lone children and the like. The young warrior looked back to the mead hall and the smoke wafting up from its roof, barely visible in the moon's light. The mead hall was farther away than he'd thought, in fact it would seem that in his thoughts Dag had wandered a fair ways away from the longhouses and mead halls. He was alone and in the dark. Most sensible men would have turned and nervously fled back to the longhouses where there were other people, but not Dag.

There was no more howling from the wolves. Only low growls, barely audible, as several figures low to the ground and shrouded in the darkness began to creep closer until Dag could see them. The beasts were alarmingly huge, not like the starved pup that Dag remembered. Though he could not see their maws the young warrior could imagine their slobbering jaws of dagger-like teeth; he had heard many a vivid description. 

Dag gripped the handle of the knife that he had sheathed on his hip, though he did not draw the blade. One of the wolves crept closer, though in the darkness Dag could make out at least two more of the wolves lurking back. He would be careful to deny the creatures the chance to surround him. Dag stepped forward, an action that seemed to unsettle the alpha that had come forward, as the wolf suddenly froze. The chieftain fearlessly locked his sight onto the beast, gazing so intently that he saw the stars reflected in the hound's eyes. After a short pause, the beast began to shift its weight onto its hind legs. Dag allowed himself to relax a bit; the creature was sitting down.

A fatal mistake. The wolf had been preparing to pounce; with alarming speed and force the wolf's hind legs propelled it through the air and towards Danr. Taken off guard, Dag's reflex was to instantly release his grip on his knife and extend his hand outward. He managed to knock the wolf to the side, the creature letting out a soft yelp before backing several feet away. Dag turned to face the wolf. Instantly realizing his mistake, he turned back just in time to see the other two wolves darting forward. A quick kick to the nose startled one enough to drive it back. Bellowing, Dag quickly pulled out his dagger and lunged for the other wolf. The ferocious shouting of Dag sent the two wolves fleeing into the darkness.

Just as he began to feel triumph, the full weight of the first wolf crashed into Dag's back and sent him tumbling onto the ground. With all his strength the young man wrestled the mighty wolf. Though the scrabble lasted not even half a minute, the beast nearly managed to sink its teeth into Dag's throat. Fortunately, the chieftain's son punched with all his might, his fist going straight down the beast's throat and choking it to the point that it could not even bite. After a short struggle Dag pulled his arm out, the teeth rending his flesh in the process, and allowed the wolf to dart away into the darkness after the other two.

Dag returned to the beast hall and thought about what had just happened. Had he been just a bit weaker or less fortunate, that encounter could have meant death. The wolves commanded a new respect in Dag now. The others having grown tired and began retiring for the night, Dag was left to lay alike all night. The dock and fishing rafts were coming along well, some labor could be diverted away from that for a time he reasoned. The next morn, at daylight's first break, Dag gathered the hunters that hadn't left.

The men began making plans. They drew many designs for traps on the ground, and then built small, crude models of the ones that seemed most promising. Then they argued for some time over whether to bait the trap, and if so, what they would use. In the end, the men began the real work that afternoon. A fair ways from the village in several of the small pine woods that dotted the landscape, the Ards began placing their traps and baiting them with scraps of the dried meat that they had in abundance. Dag planned to capture several of the wolves, and keep them live. The wolves had earned both his fear and respect after that encounter, but he would utterly defeat them. He would go beyond merely killing the proud animals; he would break them.

Domesticating such great beasts would be hard, but he had no plans to turn them into meek cattle. He did not want to simply 'domesticate' the proud wolves, he wanted to make them even more ferocious. Even more powerful. They just had to learn not to attack unless ordered, which seemed a simple enough concept. Perhaps Dag and the hunters would have some success, capturing some wolves and training them to be beasts of war, hunters, sentries, or maybe even all three.[/hider]

[b]Summary:[/b]
[hider]
-Dag and several hunters are trying to capture and tame the large wolves that live nearby
-The scouts still haven't returned
-The pier and fishing rafts are still not quite finished
[/hider]