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The elderly-man sat upon a spot which normally was occupied during the day. Between duties as thane, father, and friend Odinkar tried to spend plenty of time 'thinking' at his throne. Peers suggest age may be getting to him, invoking tiredness throughout the day. Close friends know Odinkar better, also understand he tends to mellow out any time both of his sons are away from home. Albeit the faint smile etching his expression never wavered, for Odinkar was always thankful, as rowdy as she may be, for his daughter was still home.

A man entered the great hall, a miner. Covered in dirt and grime, the somewhat short though rather stocky fellow dropped a pickax to the ground, leaning it against his leg. The mess it caused in the hall, brought a distasteful stare from one of the Thane's legendary spear-guards. "My thane, I come to you in request of higher wages for our men." A hand was raised by Odinkar, causing the spear-guard to loosen up grip on his weapon and reduce his negative glare. "Please, friend. Let the man speak." The miner continued his words...

"Less caverns hold ore compared to years ago, prices of Mjors-iron effect our selling of iron. If we don't migrate to Mjors, or get more pay for our iron, our families may not survive next winter...."

Odinkar sat silent for what felt like forever for the miner. A wipe to the brow showed eagerness to hear an answer. Deeply Odinkar sighs and proceeds to speak. "A better idea exists.... Nearby caverns which my advisers know of, could be prepared for use. Meanwhile, I demand a contract from you and your people, the miners and even the smelters or forgers which help you. Our militia will not use Mjors and their 'better deals', along with Agoanes." Obviously the Miner was processing the information explained, also faintly surprised hearing Agoanes was rising in the iron trade as well....

"This contract will promise work for your families, we will talk about a better price as well, since more mines will be of access after this deal is complete. Does this sound fair enough to you?" Odinkar's right brow habitually rose as usual when he inquired another person on anything. The miner chuckled and picked up his pickax. Not sure how the Thane would appreciate hearing his words. "My thane, I thank you for your offer. Though I must return to the others and ask how they feel on the terms." Nodding his head in approval, the thane replies. "Of course, of course. I wouldn't have it any other way. Come back and tell me if terms are agreed upon or not. We will proceed from there." On that note, the miner was sent off.

Odinkar was asked if he would take another visitor to hear their plea or accept their company. Weakly Odinkar waved away his soldier and said. "Not at the moment, give me a moment to think over things. Also, pursue and return any news on Baldur and his patrol." On that note, the soldier scuttled off. Currently Baldur was out traversing the land of Ballara. Giving some comrade soldiers a bit of 'on hands' field training. Along with giving a few Ballara warriors a chance to do a drill or two and gather any new information on the areas which they patrolled. (This was something performed a few times a year by Baldur.)

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One after another, hooves hit the forest floor. Thorbrand's pace was not over-exerting or with great haste, more alike a steady trot or slow gallop. No longer in the mountains, Thor sighs utterly heavily, weight of exhaustion obvious in his voice. "If I never see another mountain again, it would still be too soon." Weak laughter finished Thorbrands sentence. Not far from Thorbrand, A man in their party of travelers brings his horse alongside Thorbrand. Several of the people in their company, were merely travelers and merchants. Who employed Thorbrand and his friends to 'ensure some protection along the road from Mjors to Ballara'.

“Tired of the Mjors mountains I take it.... Say, 'ave ya ever been to Ballara before young man? They say they got trees taller than you can see, more round than a giant can wrap it's arms around.....” The merchant was easily in his seventies, a somewhat remarkable age to reach in this day an age. Obvious glee in his expression as he's telling Thorbrand these 'facts'.

“I guess you could say. I'm finally returning home, old man.” Thorbrand spoke with a hint of meloncholy to his tone. Like always, a stone cold expression was plastered on Thorbrand. Friends knew it was always impossible for Thor to 'lighten up' or 'ease his guard', especially on a mission or job.

Inquiry and curiosity etched the old mans face. “Ah yes. Fate proves to be fickle.” Heavy, yet brief, examination is done, the old man's gaze almost like daggers against Thorbrand. “Yet, the children of Ballara are quite versatile creatures...” Thorbrand lost interest in the old man's words around the time he said child. Thorbrand replaced attention towards surroundings and being on guard.

Thorbrand nodded and waved the old man off, who's attention was taken from another traveler among their party. Someone who was more interested in the old mans words. Thorbrand merely kept his horse moving forward, awaiting for a time for the scenery to become familiar. As it stood now, nothing triggered any memories of childhood.

"And if I hear another note of that abominable din you call music, I'll stick a flaming plank so far up your ass your friends will think you're a dragon!"

With that, the barrel-chested innkeep slammed the door in Galen's face, knocking him backwards into the poorly cobbled road. Galen immediately shot back, "Joke's on you, you fat bastard, I don't have any friends!" The few moments of silence he was left in afterwards were enough for him to comprehend the mediocrity of his retort. He sighed, gathering his instruments off the stairs where the innkeep had tossed them, trying his best to ignore the amused glances of bystanders. To his relief, none of the instruments were broken.

Galen was both comforted and severely disturbed by the fact that this was far from the worst eviction he'd suffered. Two months back, he'd narrowly escaped with his life from a boarding cottage, chased down a steep, rocky path by a band of furious brigands who hadn't even bothered to tip. He chose to believe that the true reason for the general contempt with which he was often greeted was the sardonic nature of his songs, rather than the painful tunes he was accused of producing.

Oh well, he thought. It was an art, and art takes practice, and practice needs spectators. How else was he to tell whether he was playing well or not?

He sighed and began walking down the road, trying not to think about it too much. He had few other options besides being a skald. He wasn't strong enough to mine ore or plow fields, nor brave enough to fight raiders and less tasteful beasts. The dagger he carried was little more than a souvenir; it could probably pass for a tableknife at some of the less reputable longhalls in Ballara. No, his instruments were his greatest assets. If nothing else, perhaps he could play music until his assailants ran away in horror.

The more Galen thought about it, the worse he felt, so he decided to quit thinking and start drinking. He turned off the road to the last inn in town from which he had not already been chased, and pushed open the thick oaken door. It was quiet inside, the dank interior lit by a wavering fire at the end of the room. A bearded old man occupied the bar, where Galen sat down, setting his instruments beside his stool.

"Get me something strong, please. I want to die." The innkeep raised an eyebrow and produced a small battleaxe. Galen shook his head; just his luck that he'd encountered the one bartender in the Shieldlands with a sense of humor. "Ale will do fine, thanks," he amended, and gratefully accepted the heavy flagon the barkeep poured him. The already questionable flavor of the ale was made less pleasant by Galen's reluctant realization that he didn't have enough coin in his pouch for many more. He sighed, sat back, and drank his ale in silence.

Location: Edge of Ballara
Attack from the eastern beach. Break them down from the front as the other half of the fleet move up the Grandol river and break through the woods. Burn key buildings, home, barn, ships. No slaves. No survivors. No problems? Keep thinking...and breath idiot!

Ylva kicked down, her feet hitting the sand as she propelled herself up through the water, her arms pushing out as she rose to the surface, letting go of the large stone that fell into the depths. The cold water felt good against her skin, when suddenly air hit the top of her scalp and she took a deep breath. She gasped, coughing as a wet tongue came up to lick her cheek and forehead.

"Ragnar...Stop..Stop..Ragnar.."

A light laugh escaped her as she pulled herself onto the dock, her tunic crumpled beneath Ragnar's stomach. She put her hand on her bare hips, looking down at him with a quick shake of her head. She clicked her tongue, pushing the great beast off enough for her to grab her tunic and throw it on her body. Fuck it's cold.

She tousled the great dire wolf's head, before moving down the dock, her eyes locked on the large settlement, that seemed too big for only one person. If it wasn't Rollo's property, she probably would have encouraged Bjarg and Alvid's families to switch with her. She eyed Alvid's wife and kids just out near the barn, helping out with daily chores and playing around with the horses. She left them to their joys moving inside her home, where she looked towards the long hearth found in the center of the room. Platform benches covered in linens and pels gained from hunting and raids, were surrounded the sides of the home along with a few carved tables and stools that were filled with everyday items such as linens, bowls, small jewelry, combs, even some charms and wood carvings to dictate the gods. She moved to the largest bed in the house, her leather tunic, furs, gold bands, blue scarf, and boots set out for her. Her mind was awash with new plans for a coming raid, the small lake outside her home usually helped clear her mind, but today she seemed conflicted with her thoughts. Ragnar strolled towards his favourite bench, his canines digging into a deer bone he snagged during a hunt. Ylva got dressed quickly, grabbing her weapons off a few shelves and placing them on her body, before heading out.

"Bjarg. Bring me Damhus and be fast. I have a meeting with Odinkar and I wouldn't be much of a champion if I made him wait."

The older middleweight man nodded,"Of course. Right away."

She watched him move off to the barn, as she whistled for Ragnar and called out to the kids playing too near the lake, "Careful! We wouldn't want you to be a blota to Aegir before you grow up, and learn how to swim."

The young girl stopped shoving a stick at her brother and looked at Ylva with a smile,"Aegir could never take me down! I'm strong."

Ylva gave a small smirk,"I'm sure you are, but leave the big battles to your mother, she has the fierceness of Odin, that one."

Bjarg was back mid-way through her sentence, giving her the reins, and a small laugh, "Here you are M'am. I'll be sure to tell Friya of the compliment, the lady needs it with how many kids shes brought up."

"More then half the thane to be honest. I'll be back before the sun falls, so have my fire lit and leave out some fish for me."

With that she was off, another short whistle encouraging Ragnar to dart past the horse, whilst keeping nearby.

It had been a few days since the early autumn rains had stopped pouring down on them, but the ground was still muddy and from time to time one of the carts owned by merchant or traveller would get stuck in the mud. The steady rhythm of horseshoes on the soggy forest ground usually served to calm Ingrid’s nerves. Today however, it wouldn’t.

Ever since they had left the mountains of Mjors behind and entered the deep forests surrounding the peaks, it had felt as if something was lurking at them, always watching from the trees’ tall shadows. Huddled in her cloak, Ingrid eyed the forest on her left, alert for any signs of danger. She gently petted Ari’s neck, whispering reassuring words in his ear to make sure her own tenseness wouldn’t disquiet the horse.

Their newfound employees did little to sooth Ingrid’s worries. Eight of their fellow travellers hardly knew the pointy end of a knife from the hilt, and even though there were three other mercenaries hired to protect the small caravan, the only ones she would trust in a fight were Trygve and Thorbrand. The gigantic Trygve had joined their band only six months prior but had proven his worth several times with that massive Warhammer of his. Ingrid knew she could count on him to have her back in a dire situation and to a certain extent, she trusted the man. But the only one she considered her friend, the one she would follow into the Frost Lands if he deemed it necessary, was Thorbrand.

Ingrid looked up, spotting him at the head of the company, just as he was telling a joke to light the mood. No doubt the others had shared the uneasy feeling of being watched for the past few days, and Thor being the leader he was, attempted to not let it dampen their spirits. Ingrid couldn’t help but smile slightly, hidden under her cap. After growing up together and sharing ten years of travelling, battling and the losses of one friend after another, Thor had become like an older brother to her, and she felt a sense of pride whenever he performed his small acts of leadership.

Still, Ingrid felt caged by the woods surrounding them and longed to see the sky again. The mountains hadn’t been near that bad. Cold, treacherous and filled with creatures she would be glad to only encounter in her dreams from now on, but still she had been able to see the sky and stars at night, something she missed dearly these days. Even the sea, which she had never learned to love, would be a welcome sight after this place that seemed to swallow her whole…

Ari’s soft neighing pulled her from her pondering, making Ingrid quietly curse herself for spacing out on a job. The birds had grown awfully quiet and she felt Ari tense beneath her. She held him back for a few steps, until she came to ride close to Trygve, who was positioned near the rear of their band.

“Tryg”, she mumbled, obviously upset. “I don’t know what it is, but there’s something dangerous close by, watching us. I’ll inform Thor, be prepared for anything.” She knew the tall man would most likely already be alert as always, but it calmed her to share her suspicions. At his silent confirmation she turned away, uneasily clutching her bow and drawing an arrow, letting the reigns rest on Ari’s manes. She would be much more comfortable holding her daggers, but it was quite possibly a direbeast eyeing them, in which case it would be far too late to defend, let alone attack when it came within her reach. Under the whispered sound of a quick prayer to Vidarr to bless her eyes in this damned forest of his and Magni to give her strength, she spurred Ari on to inform Thor.

Sunne Meldune

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Sunne sat outside the building her father currently occupied, leaning against the front stones and picking at her nails with a small knife. Boredom was etched on her vacant expression as little silver hairs floated out of her loose braid and moved back and forth through her line of sight. A man walked out of the hall that had entered not all that long ago, and the young woman glanced up. Without meaning to she appeared threatening, her natural expression one that didn't invite friendly smiles and gestures, similar to how a panther looks intriguing from far away but dangerous up close.

The man ignored her though, continuing to walk away and Sunne simply watched. Her mind wasn't on the miner though, but instead on other things. She stared into nothing for a few more moments before throwing her small blade into her bag and turning, heading towards the town market. It wasn't far, people browsing and trading their makes.

The daughter of the thane could feel her toes grip the inside of her soft leather boots as she walked leisurely, arms crossed behind her back and short swords swinging in their scabbards by her hips. She mused over the food, slyly stealing an apple and barely trying to hide it as the seller was busy talking and Sunne didn't exactly find herself above theivery. At least when the prize was a small piece of fruit. She swung an arm around and bit into the apple, the loud crunch muffled by talking voices. Normally, Sunne wasn't an eavesdropper, but today a soft, whispering voice made her ears twitch. The hobgoblins are coming

Sunne hesitated, and raised an eyebrow while chewing her apple, slowly looking towards a rather mad looking man, scars dotting his face and talking to one of the town shamans. They were standing between two buildings, and while not hidden, were obviously not inviting anyone into their conversation. Sunne was always fascinated by anything that lived beyond the little free roaming land she was 'allowed' to be on, and tried in inconspicuously scoot closer and closer to overhear some sort of run in the man had encountered with strange creatures deep in Ballara's forests. She tried to appear an uninterested as possible, but to anyone walking by, it was obvious she was not the best actress.

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Trygve rode at a pace with traveler's carts, careful to be gentle with the horse beneath him. They were moving at a fairly quick pace at the moment and Trygve knew the horse would not be able to support his weight much longer without a fairly long rest and a meal. For the most part, Trygve usually walked besides the animal when the carts were moving slowly, sparing the beast for moments like these. He rubbed the animals neck gently trying to soothe the creature as it breathed heavily but carried along at their steady trot. Trygve glanced around at the trees that surrounded them, sniffing slightly at the air. Mjors simply did not smell right, he missed the salty scent of the South Sea along the shores of Hakaskar, the warm sun heating the sand beneath. Here the air was cold with the knowledge that he could not bring himself to go back for quite some time, and the earth was muddy beneath them. He winced as his head gave a dull throb of pain, for even now months after he had entered the Beserker's Rage he could feel its effects working on him. He shook his head, ignoring the pain and glanced around at his fellow travelers.

He had joined up with Thorbrand's group about six months ago in Mjors. Trygve's father had taught Thorbrand the basic techniques of the warhammer when Thorbrand had first arrived in Hakaskar, so Trygve had known him at least casually. When he had heard Thorbrand was preparing to leave Mjors and return to Ballara, he had decided to join with him to see the lands of his mother. He needed a rest from the bays of Hakaskar and the uncomfortable looks of his comrades in arms. While none of them had been killed during his rage, several had been seriously injured. He felt grateful to Thorbrand for allowing him to come with them and work for him for these past six months. Ingrid, a long companion, of Thorbrand's had begun to warm up to him after the first few encounters that required the use of his hammer and seemed to at least respect his prowess if not fully befriend him. Trygve could not blame her for that, he knew he was intimidating to most. He respected her ability in kind, though he knew little about her never having had the opportunity to truly converse with her beyond anything but the events around them.

As he rode next to one of the merchant's wagons, he noticed one of the merchants younger sons. The boy, somewhere between the age of 10 and 12, sat inside the wagon shivering slightly in the cool air of the forest surrounding them. Trygve absently reached into one of the pouches along his horses side and pulled out one of his extra blankets tossing it inside one of the wagons with a small grunt to attract the boys attention. The boy looked up, a somewhat nervous expression on his face as he looked at Trygve before glancing down at the blanket. "Put that on before you fall ill." Trygve spoke calmly and gently, but with a noticeable tone of command in his voice that had the boy covering himself before he was even aware that he was doing it. Trygve grunted in satisfaction and turned his gaze back to the road around them.

Something seemed off about the forest, Trygve frowned and glanced around suspiciously. He was not sure that he would be able to trust his instincts here in an unfamiliar landscape. Was it possible that the had disturbed some sort of spirit that resided in the forest? Ingrid seemed to have noticed something as well as she dropped her position next to his own. “Tryg, I don’t know what it is, but there’s something dangerous close by, watching us. I’ll inform Thor, be prepared for anything. She was obviously upset by the sense of impending danger. He gave her a firm nod and reach behind him and released the small leather clasps that strapped his warhammer to his back. He pulled the weapon out by its head and then let the weapon fall forward at the ground till he had a firm grip on the handle.

His weapon was the only item that he had that could truly be said to be sized for him. His armor was too small, barely held together by several leather straps that made it uncomfortable to move around normally. As much would like to grab his shield and get off his horse to be better prepared to face whatever foe now stalked them, he needed to remain on his horse, ready to move quickly if Thorbrand ordered it. He glanced over at the boy wearing his blanket and motioned for him to keep low in the wagon. He then turned and motioned for the mercenaries to also ready themselves. While Trygve did not speak as often as others seemed to, his meaning was still clear to understand. He felt the pain grow slightly as his body readied itself for the possibility of combat. Trygve set his face in a stone like expression of determination and kept lookout for whatever danger he and Ingrid had sensed nearby.

---

The crumpling of leaves was the only thing foreign sound in the forest, as Anasthyn's boots moved silently across the ground. She knew these woodlands like the back of her hand. She could wind through them akin to a seamstress winding thread through a cloth. The sounds around her - the call of the nearby birds, the rustle of the crisp autumn leaves, the rustle of her sleeve against the tree - all of these sounds called to her. They spoke to her and she often felt like the spoke for her.

The girl moved forward, preying careful on the young doe that she'd tagged earlier that day. She'd sent an arrow through it's right leg, wounding it far too much for it to keep up with its herd. It'd taken half hour, but she'd managed to follow it long enough for it to fall away from the rest of the herd. It now sat whimpering underneath a rock in a small mossy clearing. It was licking and nursing it's bleeding wound, completely unaware of the huntress that lurked, simply yards away.

Presently, Anasthyn had already nocked a goose-feathered into the string of her finely crafted bow. The short bow had been made specifically for her by the village fletcher, and it served it's purpose well. She drew back the string and took careful aim, her eye picking a spot on the doe's neck, just below its skull, a part of the body that had little use to the butcher. She breathed a quiet breath and exhaled, at the end of which she let the arrow fly. Her aim was true, as the arrow sank through the deer's spine, painlessly and rapidly ending its suffering.

The young woman stood and walked to the deer. She knelt beside the carcass, but not before looking to the sky and placing two fingers on her lips, then touching them to her breast, a sign of thanks to Odin. She removed the arrow from the doe and cleaned it, placing it back in her quiver. She unstrung her bow and replaced it in the leather sleeve that hung on her back with her quiver.

About ten minutes later, she returned to the dried-up brook in which she'd left her pack and haul-cart. She loaded the deer and her provisions onto the cart and picked up the prongs, wheeling the car back towards her village. When she arrived, about an hour-and-a-half later, the sun was near setting. She walked past familiar people and buildings, arriving at the butcher's shop.

She walked to the back of the shop and knocked four times on the door. She stepped back and waited, the door opening a few moments later. The butcher, a tall-but-fat man called Horace, looked down at her with scrutinizing eyes. He was almost three times her weight, and his nearly six-and-a-half foot body towered above her not even five-and-a-half foot frame. "Ah, the Mute Huntress returns from a two day hunt with merely one pint-sized doe." He said with a sigh. She blushed, slightly embarressed by her haul (or lack thereof). She swatted her hand like she were scratching like wolf, indicating that a dire-wolf had interupted her hunt.

"I see." Horace said, a slight purse in his lips. He nodded and they took the doe inside. He put it on the butchering table as Anasthyn waited for him to pay her. He stepped into another room, coming back with a large purse of coins. He handed her a sum of ten coins, but she frowned at the small amount. She pointed to the kill-wound at the top of the neck and indicated the large amount of usable meat she'd saved him. Horace sighed and added three more coins to the pile in her hand. While she thought it deserved more, she knew better than to press him. She'd personally seen him when angry and she was not fond of that state.

With that, the Mute Huntress turned and left the shop, ready to sink into her flimsy bed at home.

Skrauti had kept track of the small caravan for a few hours now, watching it pass mid hunt. Luck was on his side as they walked right past him. Deciding that time should fall before approach, and that food was more important, he finished his hunt for a deer. Snares set the day before did the job, as expected. A small pit of berries laced with rope slung one up quickly. Upon discovery, Skrauti slit it's throat to bleed it, then skinned it for the meat to be prepped for cooking. A small fire was compiled of some pitch and scrapped tree branches and the meat was cooked. A fine meal of venison and berries ensured that he was well fed. Wondering what to do next, Skrauti loaded his pipe with some dry tobacco. A few puffs to bring a moments peace; he always cherished these moments. Several minutes pass before Skrauti realized that he was becoming to relaxed.
"Time to get moving again. I highly doubt they caught on to me...I wonder where they are going. Perhaps they know the best route to Ballara."
Skrauti took one last drag off of his tobacco pipe before wrapping it up and storing it. "I miss her" he tells himself, holding the tattered piece of cloth that was his wife's shirt; now but a mere casing for consumables. He walked swiftly closer to the pathway that leads to Skagastrond, wanting to avoid leaving a trail behind himself. He watched studiously ahead of the path, making sure he can confirm tracks in the mud. Small hares and foliage dominated the environment around him.
"About eight individuals on horseback. Four on foot. One wagon at least. I wonder...perhaps traders. The possibility of a guide being present is high but if they are the wrong individuals, it could be a nasty fight. A difficult one to say the least. I better stay back."
The trident doubled as a walking stick, helping Skrauti keep pace. Despite the usual instincts and thoughts that dominated his mind, something didn't feel right. Something ominous pressured Skrauti's body, forwarding his instinct to grip his trident. Seems that his tobacco session did nothing to ease himself. This was a feeling that was undeniable. Skrauti did his best to remain relaxed and alert, half expecting a dire-wolf to spring at him from the brush around him.
"Stay focused...you have a duty to fulfill."

Sunne Meldune

---

Sunne leaned against the building, around the corner from where the two men talked, refraining from eating her apple. She'd sneaked up to the spot so she wasn't about to ruin the twos conversation by making them aware of her sudden presence near them. She instead held the apple with a big bite taken out of one side and turned it over and over in her hand. She appeared absentminded, but she was listening intently while her thin fingers and slightly uneven fingernails tapped at the bright red apple skin.

Along the border of Skagastrond and Mjors... I barely made it out with 8 fingers

The gravelly voice of the scarred man grumbled lowly. The shaman kept silent besides the occasional grunt before the scarred man wrapped up his tale of danger, filled with hobgoblins and even a troll, all which he faced with a sword, shield, and his wits apparently. Sunne rolled her eyes a time or two, stifling a disbelieving cough as well before the shaman finally spoke.

And are yeh gonna tell the thane about this supposed invasion of beasts? he asked.
An' why would I do that? the scarred man scoffed. Bellara's sins will find it soon enough.
Hmm... the old shaman mused. I suppose you won't have to anyway, considerin' his lil' daughter's been behind yeh fer a while.

Sunne froze, tips of her nails piercing apple flesh as she whipped her head around towards the men, dark eyes wide. The mad looking man quickly drew his own sword, obviously enraged he'd been spied on as he turned the corner to face Sunne himself. The shaman simply chuckled under his cloak and turned away, walking to safety.

"Look... I would have announced my presence but well, it was easier to hear your story without looking at that face during the retelling," Sunne said, smirking and tossing the apple right at the man's face when it turned redder from increased anger. Sunne laughed and booked it away from the guy who cried out angrily and began chasing her through the crowded market, sword out and just pushing past people as bits of apple clung to his scars now.

Sunne's quick, light footed steps let her move with ease, but soon she was out of the crowded area and ducked between two homes. There was barely a drop of sweat on her smug face, eyes darting through the opening to see if the man would run right by or see her by chance.

---

The man with the red mane was tired. Very tired. It wasn't just because he had been travelling for more than ten hours since this morning or because he had been repeating this for days, but he was also mentally exhausted. The day was bright, but his spirit was dark. These damn raiders! If it had not been for them, he would never have felt any need to do what he was doing right now.

The way he was going on wasn't the main road. He had deliberately decided not to use that because, if he was honest to himself, he was afraid. What if he was attacked a second time ? He couldn't rule out this, random things did happen, even or especially if they were bad ones. Yngvarr just hoped that using a more remote route that was seldomly used by traders or more noble persons would reduce the likelihood of such a double event.

The incline was steep and his feet were sore. His horse was sweating like he did, though it was only loaded with his supplies. Yngvarr didn't posess a real map of the area, he was just hoping that the distances from one village to the other were short enough for not having to rest under the open sky. So far, his gamble had worked, but he was less and less sure that it would continue to do so as he currently couldn't see any end of this terrain.

(Please excuse/pm me on any errors. This post is subjectable to change within the next 24-48 hours, for the sake of improvements. Thank you all for your patience.)

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A while passed, hearing Ingrid's concern Thorbrand wondered if setting up camp would be a advisable move. Earlier on, Thorbrand had been debating on exactly when their party would settle down for the evening, if not at least a couple hours to rest and feed themselves and the horses. Now Thorbrand needed to weigh a factor, as he always did, of possible threats jumping from around any corner.

"Ingrid, Trygve. Do you propose battling stationary or on the move would be most advisable?"

Upon finishing the sentence Thorbrand pulls the reigns of his horse, thus slowing it down considerably. Along with attention focused heavily on surroundings. Obvious to onlookers, Thorbrand was examining the area for good spots to set camp.
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Ingrid gave herself a moment to consider Thorbrand’s question. The constant need for watchfulness in these lands had taken their toll and thoroughly exhausted her, despite it only being near midday. Even Ari and the other horses appeared skittish and could definitely use a rest. Let alone poor Trygve’s horse, who looked close to collapsing.

On the other hand, the ungraspable feeling of impending danger still lingered in the air and the tall spruces and pines remained tall and intimidating, somehow appearing hostile themselves. Her guts kept on screaming that stopping here would be unwise. And more importantly, any enemies with a better knowledge of this territory could easily sneak up on them if they made camp here.

It appeared as if her mind and guts had reached an impasse, but to Ingrid it appeared rather unreasonable to let the their group go on forever just to ease her troubled heart. After a deep sigh, Ingrid finally spoke up.

“I don’t like these lands at all, and in all honesty I would prefer to keep riding until we reach Ballarra. But in truth, I believe it would be wise to grant both men and horse a rest. We’re all are only mortal after all and I don’t think even Sleipnir could carry all of us to Ballara before nightfall.” At that she couldn’t help but look at Trygve and his horse and smile slightly. Odin’s eight-legged horse would certainly be a better steed for Tryg than the poor old gelding that was tasked to carry the giant. Her smile was followed by a soft cough and several failed attempts to keep a straight face.

---------

Trygve rode up his horse to Thorbrand's looking down at his own poor exhausted animal. He got off immediately and tied the the horse's reigns onto one of the wagons, letting the gentle pace of the wagon allow his horse a rest without his considerable weight atop it. "I think we should slow down and begin looking for an area to rest for the day, my horse is quite tired. However we are still at heavy risk of some kind of attack. Thorbrand I would like your permission to take one of the mercenaries or Ingrid, if she wants, to scout ahead and around whatever area we decide to rest." He glanced at Ingrid uncertain whether she would prefer to scout the area or stay and help guard Thorbrand in case of any attack while he was away.

He brought out his water skin and poured some into the horses parched throat, gently stroking its mane and muttering soft compliments to the animal that had carried him for so long. "If we need to go farther today, I will have to run alongside the horses, I can keep a pace with a slow speed for them for a while I think."

---

Before gaining chance to respond to Tryg or Ingrid, one of the accompanying mercenaries interjected. Displaying concern on the area, knowing of a spot or several, not far off of their current location which they could camp. However this territory was one of the most known for their attacks from dire wolves. Thus wanting to carry onward was the mercenaries goal.

"Our employment is for moments like this. Horses need rest, as do we all. Next spot available, we take up camp. If anyone wants to rest out of the fighters, I can keep watch."

Faint laughter finished Thorbrand's sentence. Yet Thorbrand's focus kept going up, towards the rain-clouds forming. The party continued a little bit longer, until reaching an appropriate area to set up camp. Their location wasn't far from the main road which they traveled. Albeit their position was chosen with idea in mind, 'don't be visible from the road'.

---

After the mercenary had finished sharing his insights, Ingrid replied to Trygve’s proposal. “I’d prefer to tend to the horses before scouting, Tryg. I can imagine you’d rather go scout first, understandably, but if I’m finished before you leave I’ll gladly join up with you.” She nodded in silent approval as Tryg offered to run along with his horse and showed sincere care for his steed, making her feel rather guilty for laughing at him earlier.

---

Trygve leisurely ran alongside the wagons as they moved towards the campground the mercenaries had pointed out. The position was fairly well concealed, though Trygve had little experience setting up a hidden campsite in this kind of environment, he would have to trust the mercenaries and Thorbrand's experiences. He pushed ahead slightly of the wagons, eyes sweeping from side to side alert for any movement not from their own small party. Not seeing anything he relaxed only somewhat, maybe it was the fact that both he and Ingrid had noticed something that they couldn't name. Some manner of spirit could be haunting through these trees passing them by without them ever being the wiser. He shook himself and assisted in setting up the campsite.

The wagons were moved into the center of the clearing and the mercenaries set up their own tents and supplies in a circle around them to better protect the travelers from harm. Trygve placed his traveling pack on the ground took up his shield and began patrolling around the perimeter of their campsite while others took the opportunity to rest.

---

As they set up camp, Ingrid finally allowed herself to relax and leave the task of vigilance to her companions. For now. She swiftly undid Ari of his burdens, placing the saddle, provisions and materials for a small tent near the outskirts of their campsite. She placed her cloak, bow and quiver on the small pile that formed all of her other belongings, but keeping her daggers on her hips. The only time she took those off was when she felt save beyond question… As one could expect, it had been a while since the scabbards had left their spot.

First and foremost, she worried about Ari’s well-being, setting up the foldable bucket she always carried with her while travelling and filling it with some of her own drinking water. She rubbed the sweat off him with some dried grass, softly humming a half forgotten song while working.

Two of the mercenaries remained in the saddle, discussing something about patrols with Thorbrand and the third had simply bound his steed to a tree along with the horse of one of the travellers, not bothering to unsaddle them. The only sign of disapproval Ingrid showed was a stubborn frown forming between her brows and the clicking of her tongue. Ari neighed and shook his head, both a response to her annoyance and a sign of being glad to be rid of his bridle. She left him to graze near the camping spot she had claimed for herself while she herself walked off to tend to the other horses. He knew better than to wander off, which was why she never bound him.

As she was working, she kept on whispering sweet nothings to the merchant’s hazel mare and the mercenary’s old black gelding. She had found that the animals seemed to relax at the sound of the old dialects of both Hakaskar and Agoanes, of which she knew a few words. Perhaps this was the case for all old dialects or possibly only the Eastern ones, and Ingrid told herself to later ask one of the merchants about their knowledge of the old languages. Especially the old man travelling with them seemed keen to share his wisdom and would no doubt make a willing conversation partner over supper.

“M’am, wha’ are ya doin’ to them?” A sudden voice behind her almost made Ingrid jump. She turned around to see a young boy standing behind her, pale blue eyes filled with interest at her caretaking. For a moment Ingrid stood still, unsure of what to do. She had never been that good with children. Then she started explaining every movement she made, as well as the old words she had spoken to the animals. Before long, she was smiling softly, answering any questions the boy had, both enthusing the other more. She learned that he usually took care of the horses, that his mother had died giving birth to his younger brother, that they were going to Ballara to visit his uncle and trade furs at the local market and that he desperately wanted a horse of his own. It didn’t even need to be a large horse, just a pony would do. There was only one thing she didn’t seem to know of his life yet.

“What is your name?” She asked gently.

---

---

Odinkar still poised within the 'Thanes throne'. Grasped a leather-flask proceeding to open and consume the drink within, coughing faintly when finished and fastening the cork on the container. Placing it not far from himself afterwords, the thane looks up to the main entrance due to someone opening the doors.

---

Ylva entered the Great-hall with a somber expression, her wolf as usual entering behind her, his yellow eyes watching Odinkar with mild interest. She walked up to the throne, noting the leather flask beside him and the extra skins that seemed to slump slightly on his frame.
"Thane Odinkar, I am sorry I am late, Mara's have been plaguing my sleep as of late. You wanted to discuss something important with me I am assuming? You usually do not call upon me for advice without the rest of your advisers at your leisure."

---

A subtle nod was performed by the thane. Obvious thinking was done while a brief moment of silence passed the two. Sighing, the old man speaks.

"You are right to think this out of ordinary, Ylva. The miners are getting zealous with their demands. Seems their veins within the nearby caverns are not only emptying. But their competition with Mjors is becoming noticeable. Which means we need to search in hopes to prepare the outer caverns, I feel you understand which ones I am speaking of....."

A faint look of grimace entered his expression, for the caverns he spoke of were rather dangerous. Studies or observation showed, which Ylva would of avidly known, Hobgoblins have been known to live deep within those caverns. Before that threat, typically rests dire-threats. These factors were what caused the Ballara society to rely on closer caverns. In fact, if they did not possess those nearby caverns, their early years would of been a lot rougher in comparison to how past events led to now.

"That means I'll have to request you to gain a sturdy team of warriors and a few miners, to go and perform this task. Or at least, lay out the groundwork to start the foundation of this project. For i trust no other for this job...."

---

Typically Odinkar would not throw a mission like this, or at all, upon Ylva's lap. Ordinarily, despite being thane and 'outranking' her, Odinkar would offer the mission and ask if she wished to take it. However, now was not the case. Yet deep down, Ylva would truly understand, if she denied the job it wouldn't be forced...

Ylva listened patiently, the weight of this raid becoming larger as he continued. She wouldn't deny the job, no one in her family had ever said no to their thane, but aside from this she was undeniably loyal to Odinkar. She wanted to impress him, he was like another father to her, and she would do anything he asked without question. The territories he was mentioning, have been loosely inspected, and the mud-men along with there caves are a whole other story. She spoke evenly,"I understand. I will send out some scouts to do some inspection of the area, while I find the men, and develop a plan. If we have any chance of defeating the hobgoblins, it will not be in their caves. Hopefully most of the hobgoblins are younglings, not seasoned in battle. Regardless, I will see your plans set out."

She pet Ragnar, remaining silent for a few minutes before she looked up at Odinkar, her expression slightly troubled,"May I be bold?"
After a few seconds and a nod from her thane Ylva spoke,"This is one of the first large raids you haven't led yourself, the fact that you are giving such an opportunity to someone who isn't the intended Thane, may send the wrong message. Not only to the men, but to Baldur."

Baldur would want to lead this raid. It was the opportunity to prove his merit to his father and the fact that the duty befell on her would only increase his resentment to her and her advice. She frowned, her scars pulled taut against her skull.

---

Odinkar possessed a look of deep thought, a common look for him in this situation of being asked a question. Especially one that held such magnitude/concern with personal belief/motives. A kind-hearted chuckle escaped his frame upon the ending of this thoughts, just before replying.

"Tactician, a tactician is what I need for this. Your immediate comments following the order or opportunity, only prove my decisions are wise. As for Baldur. He'll learn his tactic must stretch farther than his spear to become a leader, or Thane for that matter."

Odinkar felt Baldur not ready for this magnitude of leadership. Being sent out on patrols are one thing, initiating a raid on hostile and non-diplomatic scenario was a whole new story. The old man drank once more from his leather flask, faintly coughing when finished. He spoke once more.

"Finally, before this conversation ends, make sure the miners which travel with you not only see the inside of the caves for themselves. But survive and make it back. The other miners will not accept word of good cavern veins without being uttered from one of their own's mouth. Is that clear?"

Odinkar was far from lecturing Ylva. In fact, for Odinkar's style this could be considered the opposite thing.

---

Ylva listened somberly, unsure if she should be happy that Odinkar had so much fair in her skill, or if she should be worried about the backlash this would have on Baldur. Another thing that worried her was the coughing. The thought of losing Odinkar too soon could mean hell for Bellara, too many people aching to play the game of leadership, and she knew whether she wanted it or not, she would have her turn at the table. She pushed these thoughts aside, nodding at Odinkar's mention of the miners. She gave a small smile, which was rare for her character, "I of course, trust your judgement among all, I know two good miners, who wouldn't mind risking there tail for some gold. I will call for them tomorrow, along with some traders who might have any new information on the goblin tribes in that area. Rollo made a few friends on his travels that I can contact if necessary. Is there anything else you need from me?"

Ragnar moved silently along the long platforms, sniffing at the household items, and treasured raid items in search for something to eat. Ylva kept an eye on the beast as usual, silently praying for the creature not to insult Odinkar's household by letting loose his liquids.

---

Firstly, Odinkar couldn't think of anything causing the man to shake his head no. Although only a minor bit of time passed before a sudden look of remembrance overcame him. Weakly the old man smiles and informs Ylva.

"I may have forgotten to mention one last thing. Rumor and trusted word spreads of my son Thorbrand returning to Ballara very soon. Within the next several days in fact... Not sure if you are aware of that detail."

A look of uncertainty etches into Odinkar's expression. Another brief pause is initiated as thinking occurs. Ylva could recognize this facial expression from Odinkar to be performed each time the man orchestrated plans.

"Testing mettle and learning the man which he's become, is of high interest to me. Especially due to Thor's large time of absence from Ballara. Including Thorbrand into your plans somehow, could aid in this goal. If you understand what i'm getting at? Also, from the sounds of it. Thorbrand could be of hefty use to this cause, that is if he arrives in time.. Besides that, there is nothing else to discuss for now...."

---

---

---

A sizable distance from the Ballara capitol, Baldur and a squad of soldiers patrolled the area. Fifteen warriors created this band of Ballara Vikings, one of which obviously Baldur. Currently the group traversed a path known to cross a river and possess a bridge. Better roads or 'more straight-forward paths' existed within Ballara, thus this road which Baldur walked upon was less active. However this spot was a deemed a crucial 'strategic point' according to superiors, thus Baldur checked it once in a while.

“The others should be there now.”

Baldur's words broke the silence which cloaked the area, before his words only the men's footsteps and clank of equipment/armor could have been heard. Often Baldur practiced 'being silent' and 'moving as one' when it came to these patrols. Many of the other soldiers thought Baldur to serious or over doing it. Practice and preparation is the keys to unlocking the victory of battle, would be Baldur's response to those men who voiced that opinion. At the moment, Baldur's group traveled alongside the River which it would eventually cross. The others which Baldur referred to, where a group of four which scouted ahead. Once the smaller group arrived at the bridge, two would stay behind while the other two return and inform the bigger group.

---

---

Estimated fourty or fifty yards from Thorbrand and his allies camp, within a small cluster of tree among the many which littered the landscape surrounding this area. A group of individuals gathered and proceedied to unleash the most devious series of actions.

Sounds of branches snaping and cracking echoed throughout the tree-tops. Moments after these sounds were invoked, like comets falling from sky, several wooden barrels came down upon the area which Thorbrand's alies camped. The cart instantly destroyed as a barrel half or three forths it's own size slammed upon it. Several horses (some hosting mercenaries) were also hit by these barrels. Not only did these barrels break, each one bursted and coated nearby areas in oil.

Thorbrand shouted a few words, while he managed to rush Ingrid and Trygve away from the splatters of oil. Before the man even finished speaking, unspeakable chaos unfolded.

“By Odin's BEARD! We face no dire-animals today....”

Streaks of light arched from the enemies location to their own. Fires erupted as flame-tipped arrows struck any spot drenched with oil. Two of the mercenaries and several others screamed and fled as they were engulfed in fire. So far, no enemies invaded their location. Far in the distance, evil eyes peered and watched events unfold.

(Hobgoblins adorned in black armor (Leather/cloth, hardly any metal besides chainmail and maybe helms) will intrude during your posts. However not that many, considering the events unfolding. Fire is becoming a problem, nobody is burnt/injured unless they desire to be. One may wonder, how these large barrels were used in an attack, hobgoblins are not that strong. Nor possess catapults. Nor was this a magical effect/power/feat.)

Ylva raised her head from watching Ragnar and blanked for a few seconds. Thorbrand... All she could picture was a young scraggly headed kid who teased her because she couldn't throw an axe. Friends. Before he left they were friends. She listened quietly at Odinkar's request and gave a small nod,"If he arrives before the scouts return, and wishes to join us, I am sure I can make room for him, and his companions. I am sure Balder and Sunne will be happy to see their brother returning."

She gave a small smirk before whistling her wolf over to her,"I'll go find Olaeif and Svan and send them ranging tonight. I expect it will take them a week to fully scope out the area. If Thorbrand arrives early, send him over to my farm. Your plans are in good hands, my thane."

With that she exited the building, walking over to the local bar where she knew Olaeif and Svan were usually drinking too much. These two knuckleheads were always feasting too much, regardless of the fact that they were some of the best scouts in Ballarra. She sighed before entering the bar, feeling uncomfortable in a feasting atmosphere, which only intensified when the room seemed to grow quiet at her and Ragnar's presence. She looked over in the corner to find Svan and Olaeif surrounded by mugs of beer and giggling women, eager to warm there beds. The barkeep shouted from across the hall, carrying a few barrels of mead,"GET THAT BEAST OUT OF HERE! YOU SON OF A..Lindstrom? Sorry I didn't know."

Ylva looked over at him and gave a brief wave,"No, no. Ragnar's like a shadow, I never think of him. I won't be long. Svan, Olaeif, pay your beers and meet me by the stables. You have a mission. The rest of you! FEAST LIKE YOU'RE IN THE HALLS OF VALHALLA!"

She left a few gold coins on the counter as cheers and whistles filled the bar. She exited, with a somber expression, making her way over to the stables with the two men at her back. She gave a quick run-down of their mission and wished them luck,"Collect as much information as you can and be back within the week, if you are seen or captured tell them nothing of our plans. Understood. I want every single detail, down to the clothes they are wearing and their daily routines if you can get close enough. Be back in enough time, and I will give each of you a bonus from my portion, when the raid is through. Now go, before the sun goes down."

Svan smiled,"Of course, M'am. We will do as Odinkar commands."
Olaeif laughed,"We'll even get their bathroom breaks down to the second my lady."

Ylva shook her head,"Well bowel movements are your specialty Selkollrsson, now get going before I cut you down for looking at me funny."

They laughed, before heading off into the night, whilst Ylva tried to remember a young boy she knew half a lifetime ago.

Skrauti "Jeager" Niadh

Location: Pathway leading to Thorbrand's encampment.

The hunter's pace never wavered below his initial baseline as he footed down the path steadily and progressively. The sun was already below it's peak of the day, passing past mid day and into dusk. Constant tracking of the path from afar allowed him to stay aware of his initial surroundings as they came to him. Quiet wisps and whispers followed his footsteps; constantly alarming Skrauti as he strutted.
"They wouldn't attack me at night...even if I was alone. It's strange though...nobody has crossed me along this path...only beyond me. Perhaps I am following bandits. But I don't think so. No Corpses or signs of fighting."
Skrauti munched on some jerky as he continued his path, sustaining his energy encase further travel is required. If they decided to make camp along the road, he would encounter them eventually. So he didn't stop. The sun continued to fall, darkening the trees and testing the eyesight. A shrewd image of the sky was visible through the mesh of trees and coating of clouds.
"No stars or moon tonight. The beasts are well hid. They have the environment on their side. Damned Dire! They all deserve to have their flesh flayed."
"!"
"Stop! Men. Torches. Patrols. Twenty meters. Encampments of soldiers? No wagon...at least not in my sights. Wisps and whispers...
Whispers...whispers...!"
Skrauti turned around to check the whispers his ears had been telling him all day. Although his senses told him something, he certainly didn't expect this. Beyond the bark and darkness that surrounded his eyes, he saw something he had not seen in twenty six years; the eyes of a hobgoblin. Skrauti stood twenty meters away from the red eyes. They seemed to glow as they pierced into his cornea.
For one second...time stood still.
"F*CK! DIE YOU GODDAMN CRETIN! NO! I WILL NOT FALL TO THE LIKES OF YOU!!!"
One quick dash through the brush pushed Skrauti through to the camps he just observed. Barrels fell all around, spewing pitch and oil with each rupture. Screams. Flames. Fire spreading...old memories recycling in his mind.
A twisted grimace fell upon Skrauti's face as he hurled is javelin violently into a gathering of foes, killing one. A drawing of his sword followed immediately after his throw; fighting the ones alive to recover his weapon. One slash across the eyes and a chop across another's chest allowed access to his weapon; securing two kills in the process. A combination of finesse and savagery pulsed through Skrauti whilst he fought back the hobgoblins. Injuring, killing and executing flowed so naturally within his being. Stabs and throws created constant movement throughout his fight, revolving his style around his trident and sword. The flames danced all among the new found battleground. Bloodcurdling screams erupted from the men who died and shrieks of agony from the hobgoblins that were slain. Skrauti did his best to gather the ones who were alive and command them while fighting the enemy force; knowing they wouldn't trust him. A combat trance fell over the hunter as he entered the fray...

"NO REMORSE FOR THOSE THAT DO NOT FEEL! FALL TO ME YOU BASTARDIZED DEMONS!"

---

One moment the boy had been smiling up at her, about to share his name. The next a sudden roar of flames blew Ingrid to the ground, knocking the kid out of her view. The black gelding hadn’t been near as fortunate, splattered in oil as he was, with the flames already on him. The brown mare was desperately trying to escape from the flames, its screams ringing in her ears. Ingrid slowly got on her feet, disoriented. One of the merchants ran passed her, trying to put an end to the flames with a bucket of sand. She had hit her head on something. Screams filled the air as both panic and flames spread. Slowly Ingrid brought her hand to her head and felt the warm blood seeping through the long strands of hair. The merchant armed with nothing but his bucket suddenly went down, a flaming feather sprouting from his chest. More on instinct than on purpose, she drew her blades and darted away.

Danger, was the only proper thought she managed to keep hold of. As soon as she managed to hold that thought, the next came. Thor… Ari! Panicking, she looked around to see if she could spot man or mammal. Thor’s voice boomed over the roaring flames and panicking screams, a bacon of clarity telling all to get away from the fire. Step by step she tried to reach him, from where she thought she had heard his voice.

Sensing… Something, she turned, as swift as a snake, one of her daggers piercing the soft skin of a man’s neck just before he lifted his axe to strike her down. Thankfully neither her blade nor her speed had seemed to slow as much as her thoughts. Not far behind the man clad in black, a rather ragged looking stranger was shouting all kinds of things. “NO REMORSE FOR THOSE THAT DO NOT FEEL! FALL TO ME YOU BASTARDIZED DEMONS!” More men clad in black were attacking the camp in front of him, and Ingrid fell in beside this tornado of a man. She didn't know the man, but he seemed capable enough and she would dance with her enemies' enemy. Crouch low, an exposed neck, stab, fountain of blood. The gurgling sound of a man drowning in his own blood was the gruesome tune she danced to. Kick, duck, seven, eight. Involuntarily laughter escaped her as panic changed into calmness in this familiar routine of fighting, spiced as always with unpredictability. An armed man stepped in, striking high, attempting to take off her head with his sword. She was too fast, easily changing the course of his sword with her two daggers. She was unstoppable, she was water, she was the ocean, she was wind, she-

A sudden burst of pain in her lower arm brought her out of her trance. Another black-clad enemy had managed to stab her arm from behind, but he was struck down himself before she could take revenge. Ingrid fell back somewhat, it hurt so much to hold her left dagger that she almost let go of it. Most of the enemies that had entered the camp were dead or well on their way. She tried to assess how many of her companions were left. The stranger she had seen earlier still seemed to be alive, but where were Tryg and Thor…

While scanning the area, she tripped over something. Someone. Her mouth went dry as she recognized the small body. The boy whose name she would never know. His legs had been burned badly but the thing that had killed him was no doubt the stab wound in his back. He couldn’t have been older than fifteen, younger than Hjalmar when he died... Feeling defeated, she just sat there in the mud for some time, cradling the small body in her arms, weeping for lives lost. By her own hands and those of others.

---

Trygve was walking the perimeter of their camp, shield and hammer in hand looking for potential threats. He could still sense something wrong with the forest, a sense of being watch or possibly of being hunted. He was unused to this sort of environment, back on the shores of Hakaskar his foes had always been easy to see outlined against the sea behind them. But the forest was a different environment altogether, the trees and shadows of the place provided ample cover for any smaller foes to lurk behind unseen. Trygve stopped and turned around, a flash of red in the treeline had caught his eye. As he was about to approach it, a whistling sound flew past him in the air towards the camp. His gaze shot upward in alarm only to see a barrel almost the size of the wagons themselves slam into one spreading oil over encampment. And then the true threat revealed itself. Flaming arrows tipped with some sleek type of bald feather soared past him through the air striking the oil covered allies and wagons. Fire burst forth like a shark catching the scent of blood. The screams of pain and heat of the spectacle seared their own way into Trygve’s memory, never to be forgotten. There was a pale thud in his back as he stood there. Trygve grunted and twisted to get a better look at his back. Another black feathered arrow had sprouted from his left upper shoulder. His armor had taken most of the force from the shot, but it’s poor quality could not halt the full momentum of its piercing power and a new line of red slowly stain his clothes underneath.

For Trygve, it was a call to action, breaking the hypnotic effect of the despair around him. With a roar he turned around and charged forward with his shield defending him, hammer clutched in his right hand behind him keeping it low to the ground. The patch of red eyes he had seen in the tree what must have been just a moment ago was now clearly visible as a humanoid figure in black, stringing another arrow into a bow. The creature lit the arrow and fired it forward at him. It slammed against his shield with a dull thud, but bounced off leaving Trygve unharmed with the exception of the wound in his back. He let out a savage roar and bashed the creature's weapon and arms away with his shield leaving it open to the massive upward swing of force that was his hammer. There was a sickening squelch as the creature was launched upwards into the air, bones snapping from the force, until it hit a thick tree branch above and its spine snapped, sending it back to the ground dead. Trygve turned with a grunt and looked back towards the camp.

Several more of the creatures seemed to have infiltrated while he had attacked this one. He could see Ingrid fighting alongside some stranger that he did not know, the stranger screaming obscenities at the creatures. They were in the midst of combat with the creatures weapons flashing silver in the reflection of the firelight. Trygve charged again back into the fray of things, his long and powerful legs closing the distance rapidly. From there was the chaos of battle. Several blows fell against his shield, the attackers were soon met by a single swing of his hammer. Their armor and shields were no match for the blunt force that his arms were capable of producing and the crunch and snap of bone quickly became the only sounds he could hear, the vibrations of his blows traveling up his arms. There was a yelp of pain from a familiar voice behind him and he turned swiftly. Ingrid had taken a blow in her left arm and was left momentarily without defenses. He moved with the instinct of battle and brought his hammer down against the creatures skull feeling it shatter underneath the blow.

Trygve moved away from the stranger and Ingrid after noting that there were no more enemies left around the latter. With the help of the remaining mercenaries and Thorbrand the remainder of the attackers were driven out. Trygve began to relax and as he did noticed he had not gone through the battle uninjured. Several blows had scored cuts across his skin and an flaming arrow had left a gash on his cheek as well as a missing patch of beard on his face. The largest injuries however were the arrow from earlier still lodged in his back and a knife buried two inches in his upper thigh just narrowly missing causing a fatal wound. It would take him some time to recover, but he would recover unlike many of his allies who had fallen upon the battlefield today. He sent the mercenaries to tend to the wounded and gather any remaining survivors and bodies of comrades. His heart was heavy in his chest, this attack had cost them dearly.

Trygve moved back towards the stranger and Ingrid, to check and see how they had fared in his absence and maybe find some answers. Ingrid was clutching something to her chest, but the stranger was still there. He had done incredible fighting alongside them, but he was still an unknown factor. He approached determinedly calling out, "Hold there! Identify yourself stran-" Trygve cut off as he realized what or rather who Ingrid held in her arms. It was the boy he had given one of his blankets to early in the day, struck dead. Trygve felt the ice in his veins freeze him in place unable to look away. Then the fire started burning in his core, melting the ice away in his anger and grief. He pulled the remains of the blanket from the burnt cart and gently reached down to Ingrid's arms and pulled the child's body away.

"Ingrid, go check on Thorbrand, I will see to the boy." He wrapped up the body in the blanket and cradled it within his hands. He glanced around and grabbed on of the broken carts still coated in oil and dragged away out of sight. Soon he had lit the makeshift funeral pyre and had the placed the boy before it. The smoke and ash of cremation would carry the boy's soul to its rightful place with the gods, according to tradition. Trygve hoped it would true. He knelt in front of the pure and prayed for the boys soul, damning the creatures that had done this to him and himself for not protecting him. The rage heated as the flames grew higher and Trygve could feel his skin starting to change color as the Beserker's Rage tried to fall around him. Still he prayed, attempting resisting the grief-caused Rage with his willpower and faith, focusing on reaching Odin, the All-Father, with his pleas for the boy's soul.

Ylva sat at her long table, sipping a rich mead out of a horn leisurely as one of her guests, Ofeig Braesisson, the chief miner of the Aldur mines closest to the hobgoblin territory, joked about how one of the miners peed his pants when a few of the men used a hobgoblin skull to play a jab at the fellow. The other two men at her table, Gils Thormodsson and Liut Slodisson were heartily feasting on dire-boar caught by her and Ragnar this morning. It was sweetened by local herbs and honey over an open fire, and served with small potatoes and carrots grown in her own personal gardens by the animal sheds. Ragnar nibbled his own thigh by the fire, and the atmosphere seemed warm and comfortable. Ylva sipped her mead and turned to Liut, the only trader in the group who had some interactions with the hobgoblins. He was fairly close to Rollo and met him on the road multiple times. She spoke evenly her voice breaking through the laughter,"I am happy you could make it here Slodisson, I know you should be on the road, but Odinkar wishes me to obtain information about the hobglobin tribes in the area. What you have provided was incredibly useful. I am indebted to you."

She was indebted, Liut was a great friend and she was lucky to catch him before he left for the season. Rollo always trusted him, and even though her husband was gone, he had a knack for knowing a person by instinct. Liut gave her a charming smile, his green eyes and long braided hair made him handsome, almost too handsome if she had to admit. His mouth was another thing all together, he was witty and confident and he always like to tease her when he had the opportunity. She allowed it, because not many others dared to try.
"Of course, Ylva, and again you can call me Liut. Anytime I get invited into your home is a pleasure, especially when you serve such succulent boar. Rollo married well, when he asked your father for your hand." Liut replied pleasantly.

HA! More like my father begged him to take my ugly mug because no other man would. Plus he damn well knows I didn't cook this boar myself. She gave a wry smile, taking a sip from her horn,"Well he certainly never complained much when he was here. Shame your own wife doesn't get the opportunity to see you as often as she likes, your two little ones must miss you."

Liut frowned, a sadness creeping into his eyes, "Yes, I miss Frigg probably as much as Odin does when he is away. As for my little ones, they are almost full grown. Waltheof will be joining me next season to learn the roads. He is already my height, growing boy that he is."

Gils gave a chuckle beside him,"You'll have to introduce him to mine own, Magnus, built like an Ox and swings a pick-axe like Thor using Mjolner."

Gils was Ylva's favourite at the table, a plump man with six children and a mind that forgot nothing. If anyone knew anything about the territory in the area it was Gils. He was a seasoned hunter with his family lineage stretching over thousands of generations in Ballara. To the common people, he would seem of little importance, seeming as his skills weren't well known, but this man was a trove of knowledge gathered over history and time that Ylva always found invaluable. She never started a mission without speaking to Gils. For example when she last took on a raid across the water, it was Gils knowledge of boat crafting and the level of the tides that helped her defeat some long boats with some well placed pikes. Sometimes he was useful, other times he was just another person she liked to call a friend, or even a mentor.

"I've actually seen Magnus in action, shame there isn't a spear in that hand. It is a good choice for him to become a miner though, I'm sure every maester needs their apprentice. Aside from this prattle though, I must go over what you have all shared and come up with a plan to save our economy. Ofeig Braesisson if you can get me some miners willing to travel with us and are prominent enough for the others to trust, I would be glad to take them. I'll come for the men in a week, and they will be protected. I assure you on my honor I will keep your men safe." Ylva swore earnestly

Ofeig nodded,"I trust your word Lindstrom, even if you're a woman. A jest that Odin put such a strong warrior in the body of a female. Frigg must have forced his hand on that one. Now aside from business have you heard the second one's coming back. Thorbrand I hear?"

Ylva kept her expression calm,"That is what Thane Odinkar has told me. Didn't give me a reason."

Liut chirped in quickly,"Apparently his wife passed. Something about her eating a bad fish of some sort. He has no reason to stay now, so he has decided to return, which is what I have heard from a few traders that reside there."

Gils laughed,"I still remember that little blond haired brat. He was always trying to follow his big brother around. Brave little thing, he was."

Ylva smirked,"I'm sure Baldur will be pleased to recieve his brother, I haven't seen my youngest since he decided to travel to the south and get married."

Gils spoke again, "Oh I'm sure Baldur will be thrilled that he has another contender for chief. Aside from you of course Ylva."

Ylva's smile turned slightly sour, as she poured a few horns of mead and passed them around,"Don't speak such words, Gils. I do not have the right or even the lineage to claim that honor. Baldur has no threat in me."

Liut laughed,"You act as if it is your choice Ylva. If you're chosen, then you must take the throne."

Ylva slumped slightly, hating that he was right,"Let's stop discussing such trivial topics. This is just old people at a table talking about politics. Who are we to know what the people, or even the gods want. The men love Baldur, and he is Odinkar's son, the people will choose wisely, I have no doubt. As for now, it's probably time for you all to be on your way. I have a busy night of planning, and with hope I can come up with some plan to deal with these pesky hobgoblins. Again thank you all for the help. You are welcome under my roof anytime. Now Liut you can take a guest bed if you wish to leave in the morning."

Liut gave her a charming smile,"I'm afraid I wouldn't trust myself with you alone, beauty."

Ylva detested how much she enjoyed his teasing,"Well it wouldn't be just us Liut, Ragnar always shares my room now that Rollo had passed."

Liut looked over at Ragnar who was currently gnawing on his bone,"I suppose its for the best that I should be on my way. I have paid for a room already, I might as well use it."

Ylva almost laughed,"Very well then."

The evening ended quickly, with the men leaving her alone with nothing but thoughts, dirty dishes and knowledge for the future. After helping her servants clean up she headed to bed, crawling under her blankets and skins to get warm, with Ragnar coming up to slump against her feet as he had done since he was a puppy. She couldn't tell you how comforting he was when Rollo had passed. Too many nights, tears had stained her bed, now all that was left was his blue scarf that hung loosely on a hoof by her shield. She kept it in eyes view, as it gave her comfort when the world seemed so complicated. It was also the last thing she saw before she shut her eyes, finally finding some sleep.

---

---

Flames raging, several of the individuals which Thorbrand's party should have protected now lie dead. Before Skrauti charged in, a few of the mercenary followers were slain by the invading hobgoblins. In between defending himself or any nearby allies, Thorbrand had one question in mind. Why attack a merchant cart with such force.... Anything valuable in the cart was no doubt destroyed... Instinct overthrew Thorbrand far before flaming arrows initiated the fires. Both axes in each respective hand. The few enemies which got through any of his allies, met a swift fate of Thorbrand's axes.

"NO REMORSE FOR THOSE THAT DO NOT FEEL! FALL TO ME YOU BASTARDIZED DEMONS!"

Cautious of the ongoing chaos Thorbrand still takes the moment to fully inspect a nearby enemy corpse. Assures himself the units are in fact goblin or mudborn. Looking up he sees the fight invoke and then not long after come to a swift end. Considering the damage they endured, Thorbrand and party could consider this a fatal loss. However no more enemies were pursuing their location, which meant the few hobgoblin left in sight were the only enemy forces left. One would begin to wonder if they actually won, or merely survived round one....

(Only a few hobgoblins remain in sight, no more enemies will be approaching this scenario.)

Thorbrand stood back somewhat, examining the newcomer (Skrauti) as hobgoblins fell by his actions, all the while searching the area for where the massive barrels could have been launched. Yet nothing came into vision, only thing he knew, melee unites were Hobgoblin, and likly the archers. But who else was involved was a mystery. Once the enemies were dealt with, they would gather the remaining living people and discuss next plan of action. Along with get more acquainted with one another.

---

---

Skagrom, the Dire-Boar which carried it's owner, huffed and puffed as it took Grim towards closest civilization. Luckily for the pigs sense of smell, which was the ticket sending Skagrom nearer and nearer to Ballara. Fargrim normally walked alongside his trusted companion of a Dire-Boar, yet today was different. Backside up, Grim's figure was seen laying atop of Skagrom's back. Grim who was out cold had one arm dangling motionlessly while the other was underneath his body holding pressure to his abdomen. Paying close enough attention, one could see stains of blood on Skagrom's leather saddle which Grim was laying upon.

The Dire-boar received more than a handful of glares and gasps from civilians which it passed by. Heading deeper into the capitol of Ballara, currently at it's outskirts, the Dire-boar occasionally emits a loud squeal or snarl. As though the Dire-Boar was trying to gain attention, almost as though seeking help for it's owner, Fargrim.

---

Maevah had been busy lately, helping and healing warriors and villagers of all kinds. She figured something soon would be happening though. Usually it wasn't this crazy to begin with, but she took it in stride as it helped to pay for her living. When she wasn't helping the Thane or others from the area, she would often be out and about near the markets or just inside the forests looking for herbs and plants. Today though, she was simply wandering, listening, and observing the heart of Ballara.

It was then that Maevah's silver eyes caught sight of a Dire-boar carrying what looked to be a dead man on it's back. Without hesitation, Maevah began in a bee line straight towards the boar, curious and always willing to lend a hand. The man had one arm dangling off the side of the boar, the other tucked beneath his body. She could hear people gasping as the boar passed them by, but Maevah was far from scared. She reached down into a small satchel she carried when around the market, and took out a red apple, holding it out to the boar.

"What's wrong?" she asked the boar, waiting, despite she knew it wouldn't answer in her own language.

---

Skagrom the boar accepted the apple offered, meanwhile shifting self to show Fargim to Maevah. Devouring the apple, the Dire-pig hoped mission was accomplished by bringing owner to safety. Observation of Fargim's body would indicate breathing, yet incredibly faint. Far too much blood stained the saddle/ornaments of the dire-bore for all to have drained from the man upon it. Suffering from several battle wounds, Fargrim didn't speak, not to mention he was still unconscious. At this point, the Dire-Boar would follow Maevah to wherever necessary to get aid to Fargrim.

---

Maevah examined the man the best she could where he lay, not wanting to disrupt his arm beneath his chest too much, as she could see blood stained the area around it. She reached out gently without speaking, touching the Dire-Boars nose and turned, heading back in the direction of her home, which was very near to the castle itself. The trip only took a few minutes, and they arrived easily without troubles. Glancing back, Maevah's dark braided hair shifted over her shoulder, the beads and pieces of metal glistening slightly in the light.

Silently she opened up the door to her home, which the main room you walked into was where she did all of her work. Through another door across the room, was the door that lead to her living quarters. Quickly now, she leaned to shift one shoulder beneath the man's dangling arm, propping him up slightly. He was heavy, but the fact the Dire-boar was helping eased the struggle. Moving as one, she was able to get him onto his back on one of the beds, which had clean sheets and a pillow. She moved with ease now, being in her natural surroundings to do her work. Entering into her own mind, she began to examine the man in a much more detailed fashion to determine what needed to be done for his injuries, and what the injuries were. Then initiate procedure to fix the discovered wounds. Eventually Fargrim was left to rest and enter recovery phase.

---

Asleep Fargrim lay, taking time to heal as anyone would after the damage he endured. Skagrom the Dire-boar stood outside, reigns tied up appropriately as to prevent him wandering off. The setting was quiet as normal, evening was drawing in faster and faster. Eventually Fargim would awaken from his comatose state.

Gnawing through the reign which chained him to the present location, Skagrom the Dire-Boar starts wandering off. Onlookers merely gawk or look away quickly, upon seeing the wandering Boar. Factor which stops vikings from attacking the boar, is it's docile behavior combined with being adorned in a saddle and other ornaments showing it was domesticated.

---
Maevah began to sterilize the tools she used on the man, wandering about and organizing, merely waiting for him to wake. She wasn't sure how long that would take, since his injuries were not minor. She hoped he would heal well and heal quickly. Peering out the window, she noticed the Boar break free and begin to wander off, but that didn't worry her much as he seemed fairly tame.

Once her items were put away and cleaned, she sat in an old wooden rocker, resting her head back slightly to simply watch outside, as well as keep a careful eye on her patient. By now though, it was going to start getting dark, and Maevah would have to make something for herself to eat. After pondering about that for a few more moments, she decided to get up and head through the door into her main living area, which was rather large compared to what it looked like from the outside. She left the door open slightly, in case someone came into the 'ward', and headed into the kitchen.
---
Eyes shooting open, body tensing and shooting upright to a sitting postion. Fargrim reaches for weapons, which normally would be at sides or on person. Feeling nothing within his grasps or grabs, Fargrim looks around to see a table not incredibly far off. All of his weapons rested upon said table.

"Where am I?"

Fargrim's focus now examined the room, face incredibly angry. Sadly enough, this 'angry expression' was a natrual one for Grim. Attempting to stand, Grim faintly winces in pain and grasps his side or wound. Eventually strength is mustered and Grim stands upright fully on his feet. Taking a step forward had much harsher results. Loudly a sound of crashing occurs, as Fargrim stumbles across the room and collides with the nearest table or counter. The very same table which possessed his weapons.

Far louder than the sounds of his foosteps and stumbles, Fargrim groans in pain while grasping his side. To be honest, if not for the immense pain rushing through him, Fargrim would of armed himself and put his weapons back onto his person. Yet now, he simply leaned over and supported his weight on the table which hosted his weapons.

---

Maevah had quickly fixed herself and the man something to eat for when he woke, a meal consisting of deer, carrots and potato made together in what would be a stew. Though before she could even bring the bowl into the ward, she heard him ask where he was before groaning and stumbling, though the sounds were fairly loud so she hurried to see what was going on.

"Sir I suggest you sit back down... I'm not sure it's wise for you to be walking quite yet. You've sustained a pretty serious injury," she said, nodding her head as if to point in the direction of his side. "If you're hungry, I've made something you can eat. As for where you are, you're in my ward, in Ballara. Many people come here to heal. My name is Maevah."

---

Deep thought becomes painfully obvious within Grim's expression. Holding his weight by leaning against the counter, he speaks. Words are etched with pain, grunts occurring frequently. "Grrrhg... Goood. I've been... RRrg. I've been trying to reach this damned place for weeks now." A few deep breaths are taken. Eyes shift down to his own body, as though he's examining his status of health or damage. "Nothing ale can't repair. I've dealt with worse."

Grim looked bad no doubt, however oddly enough not as bad as someone should when dealing with the wounds he had. Eyes shot around, he looked for windows, or outside any in view. "Where's meh Boar..." A look of agitation comes over him now.
---

"Your Boar was tied up outside my ward, but he seems to have chewed his way through the restraint and wandered off. I'm sure he isn't too far from here. He will get hungry eventually. As for your health, I really suggest eating something. I can give you something else for the pain also if you'd like. It'll work much more efficiently than ale, I assure you," Maevah said smoothly, the silver of her eyes glistening in the candle lit room as she gazed at the man, still not knowing his name. "What can I call you?" she asked now.

As she waited for his response, she decided standing in the doorway was doing no good for either of them, and brought the bowl of stew over, setting it before him with a spoon. Her food could wait, and she began to mix ingredients together at a separate table that would make up the pain killer she offered him earlier.
---

Weak laughter exited the weakened mans lips.

"That boar will attract death due to being a dire-animal, I need to recover him."

Stumbling back, Fargrim returns to sitting on the bed.

"To be honest, No offense. You can call me Fargrim, or Grim for short. But I'm not particularly keen on the idea of medicines and salves. So i'll have to pass."

Last sentence to his response, was interrupted by a wince of pain. Despite said pain, he still continued on his stubborn way of not accepting anymore assistance.

"If ye could point me to the quickest direction of a pub or inn, I can continue my rest there. Surely there will be others who need your help besides an ol' drunk like myself."

Fargrim stood, taking a few minutes to wait and see how he held up, surprisingly the man upheld himself a lot better than previous time. During this time, Fargrim was also awaiting for the woman's next response.

---

Maevah didn't stop making the medicine for him despite his efforts to be stubborn. She was the most stubborn person she knew. She would give it to him anyway, despite him not wanting to take it. "Well, Grim. I'm going to give this vial to you anyway, despite that you don't want it. You don't have to use it, but I'd at least feel better knowing you took it with you. And by all means, I won't keep you any longer if you don't feel like you need to be here. I'm not busy right now, but the choice is yours. The inn isn't too far from here, take the main square an it'll be on your right."

Before he could respond, she gathered his things into a neat pile, adding the vial to it.

---

Gathering all owned items and the vial, Fargrim nods for a signal of thanks and proceeds to take leave. Faintly Fargrim staggered once exiting the building doorway, yet managed to walk it off. Direction headed for the tavern, or at least where he perceived such a location to be. Another thing Grim looked out for was his 'missing' dire-boar.

Currently Skagrom stood face deep in a water trough. Worried about no passerby which stood with glares or awkared stares. Nobody took negative action for now, due to the obvious signs of ownership adorned on the dire-boar. (Saddle and items) Yet how long this factor would last, nobody would know....