The seven Anglo-Saxon kingdoms and their rulers were :
Northumbria King Oswald. Mercia King Phillip and later King Edmund East Anglia King Harold and later King William Essex King Henry and later King Aethelstan Kent King Arthur and later King John Wessex King Alfred and later King Aethelfrith Sussex King Aelle
Rollo (Lothbrok) First Ruler of Normandy Erik (Thorvaldsson) the Red: Founded Greenland’s First Norse Settlement (father of Leif Eriksson) Olaf Tryggvason: Brought Christianity to Norway (brother to Harald Hardrada) Leif Eriksson: Beat Columbus to the New World by 500 years Cnut the Great: England’s Viking King Harald Hardrada(Sigurdsson): The Last Great Viking Leader
Uppsala is a mystical place where ritual sacrifices are made every year and many of the clans go to take part.
Giant Squids, Megalodon sharks, and killer whales
Name: Character Sheet
Race/Faction: NPC, Christian, or Viking
Age: N/A
Description: A well-constructed description totaling five sentences and a picture. Preferably a realistic one, however, if you can't find one you like animation is tolerable.
"Class": Are you a warrior, a regular citizen, Royalty or a holy man/woman (Ex:priest/nun)?
History: What is your past? What are you running from? What are you trying to prove,save or destroy? Who are you?
Strengths: 3-5 Strengths of your character. Personal, physical, or mental.
Weakness: 3-5 Weaknesses your character possesses. Personal, physical, or mental.
What is the most important thing to know about your character?
What is your character's greatest flaw?
One paragraph writing example of dialogue or interaction with another character plus a second paragraph writing example of combat. If your character is a non-combatant (i.e. specializes in healing) use whatever specialization that character would have for the second paragraph.
This story is loosely based on history and the dates and rulers names are not accurate so you have been notified.
Adventure, wealth, power, glory… every man yearns for it all. A viking’s life is hard and builds the soul as well as the body. It creates a warrior of the Gods. Those that want the power have to take it by force and violence. Raiding and warring is a way of life for many who do not choose the settled life of a farmer. Those that dare will venture out on ships built for speed and purpose to explore and conquer nearby lands and seize the wealth of others. Love and family are usually found along the way.
Name: Character Sheet
Race/Faction: NPC, Christian, or Viking
Age: N/A
Description: A well-constructed description totaling five sentences and a picture. Preferably a realistic one, however, if you can't find one you like animation is tolerable.
"Class": Are you a warrior, a regular citizen, Royalty or a holy man/woman (Ex:priest/nun)?
History: What is your past? What are you running from? What are you trying to prove,save or destroy? Who are you?
Strengths: 3-5 Strengths of your character. Personal, physical, or mental.
Weakness: 3-5 Weaknesses your character possesses. Personal, physical, or mental.
What is the most important thing to know about your character?
What is your character's greatest flaw?
One paragraph writing example of dialogue or interaction with another character plus a second paragraph writing example of combat. If your character is a non-combatant (i.e. specializes in healing) use whatever specialization that character would have for the second paragraph.
Who the Vikings were:
The Danes, Swedes and Norwegians were collectively known as Scandinavians, the north men, or Vikings. They were not a collective group though. They were made up of tribes or clans that lived in a northern harsh climate. They were typically large, strong men that were known for hard physical, laborious lives in horrific weather conditions. Many were farmers, traders, skilled tradesmen and some were even involved in slave trading. They were feared because they were ruthless fighters and their pagan religion was considered a ‘cult’ by the Christians, largely because they made sacrifices to the many Gods that they followed. The Vikings also believed in seers and witches. They were often referred to as heathens.
The Story:
Ragnar Lothbrok is dead. His sons have avenged his death and both King Eckbert and King Aella are dead. Ivar has run a rampant and terribly violent rampage against England as a whole and has retired to the homeland in his old age. Bjorn Ironside, Ubba, and Legartha Lokbrok have died of old age. Their tales of greatness have been told many a time and are still enough to get the fight stirred up in most battle hardened warriors.
At this point in time the Vikings have settled in some of the areas ruled by English monarchs and there is much infighting. They are in the Danelaw territories where York and London are. They have also fought France (Francia) and many other places along the borders. The main hub for these Vikings is Kattegat. Once ruled by Ragnar Lothbrok and his two wives(separately) Kattegat has grown in size and has become a trading capital in the north.
Uppsala is a mystical place where ritual sacrifices are made every year and many of the clans go to take part.
Appearance: Tall, he towers over even the tall Norsemen, Blond, dark blue eyes, a gruff weathered face. Wears 4 silver bands on his arms. Name: Uffr Jotunn (Uffr the Giant) Race: Norse Age: 34 Personality: To his enemies he is the devil, his ship the Odin's Whisper strikes fear into them, but to his friends he is "as soft hearted as a kitten" Backstory: Uffr grew up by the Sea, he learned how to sail, and how to fish, once he came of age he learned the art of killing. Recently he has earned his first ship, The Odins Whisper (Odins þǫgn) He knows the horrors of a shield wall and yet he has not been broken. Equipment: Uffr isn't rich enough to own a sword but he knows that the axe has more versatility anyways, he knows how to pull down an enemy's shield for a friendly to stab the man, he knows how to hit with the back side and how to kill.He has affectionally named the bearded axe Thunderedge. Uffr also keeps a saxe by his side to deliver the "below" thrust. His shield is just a plane wooden shield but it was made bigger to protect his large size. On his head he wears a Nasal Helmet, On his chest Uffr wears a cheap but effective Scale armor over that he wears a cloak of wool. Class: Captain Skills (Strengths): Sailing, axe fighting, Commanding, clear thinking in battle Weaknesses: Size, with his size he presents a large target, Softie, to friends he can easily be used, quick to anger on the battlefield he builds up a rage,
(Note to self Color code = FFA500) Dialogue: Uffr was holding the cowering merchant by his tunic, "Little man, I'm not asking again, now where is your lord?" The man pointed east, "re-returning here" " See? That wasn't so bad, all I have to do now is kill your lord"
Battle: Uffr saw the enemy commander turn and without taking his eyes off the enemy group he yelled "Wall!" With trained precision the men under Uffr's command came together each protecting the man next to him. Uff gazed out across the hillside, he had predicted right, the enemy had formed a wall of their own, but were there archers was the next question. "Second rank" he called the two sides seemed to fold inward and shields went up to protect high. Now came the waiting game, but no! They must advance they were at the bottom of the hill and with the shields above the front line could reach under for the legs. Uffr slowly started walking forward beating Thunderedge on his shield, soon the whole line had joined in the increasing tempo matching the pace that the wall was moving, reaching a fast walk when the tempo evened. Then the walls collided with a force equal on both sides little progress was made, Uffr pulled out his Saxe, and went for a open man, then he felt it, the sword joy, the killing feeling and he knew Thor was smiling down on his men.
Description: Harek is slightly taller than the average man at 5'11" and weighs about 195 lbs. Harek wears no armor as is tradition by Úlfhéðnar. He wears the wolf head that signifies his position with pride. He has long blond hair and a scraggly beard; with deep blue eyes he is the personification of Norse blood. He has scars crisscrossed across his body (probably a byproduct of not wearing armor), though his face is surprisingly unscathed.
"Class": Úlfhéðnar
History: Harek is a Úlfhéðnar. That is all that needs to be said about what he has endured. A personal warrior of Odin, he has gone through endless pain to reach where he has today. His father was a raider, his father's father was a raider, and so on. Raiding was in his blood, so it was natural for him to join a long ship to the west when he came of age. That is where he found himself; the heat of combat made his blood boil, the blood of his enemies was the sweetest nectar, his sword biting into his enemies gave him immense joy. He was in love, in love with war. He only returned to his homeland when forced to, preferring to "hunt" prey in the pathetic Christian lands. After years slaughtering in the British Isles he earned his bearskin. Now a full fledged beserker he was among the elite of the Viking raiders. He enjoyed the promotion because it meant he had more chances to kill. More chances to taste the blood of his enemies. The next part of his life was a blur of constant combat and pain. Fight, heal, fight, heal, fight, heal......... He loved it. Eventually he was chosen to be a warrior of Odin. The hofgothi tested his body, pushing him to his thresh hold of pain and life. Harek emerged from it a changed man, no longer afraid of death he was a true servant of Odin. He was a weapon for the gods to use against their enemies.
What is the most important thing to know about your character?
He is an insane, homicidal, maniac who kills for the fun of it.
What is your character's greatest flaw?
Well...... as previously mentioned he is an insane, homicidal, maniac who kills for the fun of it. So yeah.....
It was always annoying working with a newer raiding party. Of course the skirl was a veteran raider, but it was his first time leading his own raid. That had lead him into making some rookie mistakes, all very minor. Those minor mistakes though have compounded into the raiding party being barricaded inside a small hamlet, surrounded by a large militia made up of the surrounding villages. The skirl had stayed in this area for too long, causing the villages to finally strike back against the raiders with organized resistance.
They had been enjoying themselves in the small village when the militia came out of the woods already surrounding the village. They numbered about three times the viking's numbers. Harek had been eating an apple from the village's food supplies when the militia came out of the woods. That had been two hours ago and the rookie captain had yet to think of a way out of this. Harek was tired of waiting and wanted blood. He had gave the captain a chance, but time was up. Getting up he walked over to the captain and nudged him with his boot.
"Get a fire started and bring me any men with bows. Prepare the rest for battle." Harek began to stretch his sword arm and check his sword for rust. When the fire began to burn brightly Harek waved the five men who had brought bows for hunting over to him. He looked over at the armed peasants over in the woods and had the archers shoot one volley into the woods. The trees blocked most of the arrows, but one managed to land into the crowd of men. The peasant scooted back from where they thought the range of the arrows are. Harek turned around and told the men with axes to start cutting cottages into firewood. Harek couldn't wait much longer, he needed a fight. He needed to make a hole in the enemy and he was fairly sure he knew how.
The formation of Vikings slowly made their way towards the peasants. They were chanting while pressing forward in a shield wall. The peasants were backing up every time the vikings took a step forward. They weren't seasoned warriors like the vikings and most had never killed a man before. The militia had backed farther and farther into the woods. As the vikings reached the edge of the forest they stopped and for a second the world was silent. Harek stepped out of the formation in one hand his sword and in the other a burning plank from one of the houses. As he took a few steps forward he could feel the the dead leaves beneath his feet. It had been a while since rain had fallen. He held the flaming stick out in front of him and looked deep into the fire. He then turned to the right and threw the stick. It spun for a bit then landed in the brush a distance away. For a second nothing happened then a small flame could be seen growing. Harek let out a shout and 15 other torches came flying out of the formation and began to make more small fires.
The fire began to spread and grow quickly. The militia began to back away from the fires, causing a group to be isolated from the rest of their comrades. Harek let out a war cry and charged the isolated group. His fellow raider broke the shield wall and also charged. The combat was brutally short and the vikings showed no mercy. As Harek struck down the last man he looked for another target, seeing the frightened faces on the other side of the fire and began to sprint toward the fire. Right before he reached the fire three vikings grabbed him and began dragging him away. Harek was screaming bloody murder at the vikings telling them to let him go. The Vikings made their escape in the cover of the fire.
For two nights the Leer had sailed, drilling and making good time. On the dawning of the 2nd day, sails were sighted on the horizon. The country the ship belonged to was still a mystery but the sail plan looked to be a Ketch, the ship in question was beating towards them. So the Leer had the weather gauge. In maybe half an hour the ship will be known. The tension rose as the flag had been identified as the French flag. Now White had to make a choice, fight this ship and possibly take it as a prize or attempt to manoeuvre around it. White knew that because he held the weather gauge he had an advantage either way. “Beat to quarters” White ordered calmly After the drills that the Lieutenants had been running, the crew got to their stations in a quick but orderly way. The order was given for round shot to be loaded in one bow chaser and chain the other,a mix of chain and round shot loaded into the 28 9 pounders, and grape into the 6 pounders. Once the Ketch came within range White ordered the Round Shot in the bow chaser be loosed across the bow of the Ketch then to be reloaded with chain. With the boom and the smoke rising, White knew his orders had been followed. No retaliation shot was heard, nor did the Ketch heave to. “Fire the bow chasers when you bear”, at that both guns fired their whizzing shot into the rigging and sails. A great ripping sound was heard from the Ketch telling that at least one of the shots hit their target. “Starboard broadside fire and reload as you bear”, as the Leer passed the bow of the Ketch the 14 guns spit their shot with a loud boom and the telltale clouds of smoke, the smell of powder rising, as the ships passed damage could be seen along the starboard bow of the Leer. Not much damage, meaning the Ketch must not have heavy guns but enough to splinter the deck. The story was different on the other ship her main mast had been cut and was dragging in the sea by its rigging, multiple holes could be seen along the port side but all above the waterline. A boarding action would secure the ship for the crown, White thought. “Prepare for boarding” White called from the quarterdeck. As the drumbeat changed so did the actions of the men, the movements were faster, adrenaline fuelled, and yet still in order. White could see men grabbing grappling hooks to pull the ships together, he could see the marines lining up along the gangways, and up on the fighting top the swivel being loaded with grape, we shall board from starboard he announced. The port gun crews ran across the deck and grabbed their boarding axes, and pikes. To White, some small parts from the big picture stood out to him, a Midshipman struggling with his dirk, a smug Marine attaching his bayonet, a sailor calling out to his mates mustering as much courage as possible, and a gun captain gathering his crew in one spot and checking them over. White looked down and noticed that without thinking he unsheathed his sword from its scabbard. A new weapon, never used… till now, it gleamed in the midmorning sun. As the Leer came around, the grapples were thrown, and the gap between the ships closed. The men started steaming across between the gap, White watched as two of his men stumbled and fell between the gap to be crushed between the hulls. Then White himself jumped across and found himself on a chaotic, noisy deck. As he looked around a French officer ran at him, fury in his eyes. White took his sword and quickly blocked the charge and pushed back, sending the officer off balance, White then thrust at the man's chest but was parried, the officer then tried to go for White’s legs, opening his upper area. White brought his sword down to the officer’s skull and watched as he fell. By this point as White looked up, the boys of the Leer separated the crew of the Ketch in two, one half on the quarterdeck, and the other on the forecastle. The marines were attacking the latter while the sailors were fighting their way up the rigging and up to the quarterdeck. White moved to assault the quarterdeck and came to a clearing, with the French captain in the middle. White said to his counterpart, in broken French “Give me your sword”. The French captain realized that for him the battle was over, he kneeled and held his sword out just as the Marines took the forecastle. The battle was over and White came out on top. The men looked to White for orders. To the captain of the marines, Fort, White said “Clear below decks” then he called for Freeman. To Freeman whe said “Gather a prize crew, start repairs on the ship and stay in close company with the Leer” Then White called for Hill “take the prisoners somewhere and put a guard on them, then let's focus on moving the wounded back to the Leer for Mr. Page to handle. Lieutenant Durand was thrown into a room with his other comrades, what had led up to this? He remembered leaving Cherbourg a week ago. It was a normal voyage, the Adjoint, his ship was beating up wind this morning, when a sail was sighted. Captain Laurent ordered to continue on the same course. Then the ship was identified as a British frigate but they were already within range. A shot was fired across the bow, but the Adjoint had no forward facing guns to reply. Then two guns fired on the frigate, Durand caught the feeling of fear in the crew. Once the mainsail was ripped Durand knew the battle was over. Then looking up he could see the broad side of the frigate… what the the British call it.. the Leer, and the guns released hell onto the deck. A few of the Adjoint’s guns managed to fire but as the foul smelling smoke cleared, the full extent of the damage could be seen. The main mast was dragging in the water, the decks were stained crimson with horrid body parts scattered, and the Adjoint was holed, not below the waterline, that would mean the she was lost in this immobile state, but below the deck, causing chaos and havoc below. A smell rose into the air, it smelled like defeat to the Adjoint. Then the frigate grappled and as some of the men were attempting to release the two ships they were cut down by a volley from the crimson clad marines on the higher deck. Then with a yell the enemies threw themselves at the Adjoint. The French sailors were surprised from the viciousness of the assault. Durand watched as his fellow Lieutenant charged the enemy captain. Durand, retreated to the quarterdeck and watched as his captain surrendered his weapon. Then he was taken and thrown into this bare and musty cabin with 8 other men. Two marines guarded the door, everything seemed hopeless.
@pandapolio will recognize the ship name and characters, I continued the writing into a WIP book.
Well I think I found a way to play a female character in this female not-so-friendly world, without being a cheap copy of Lagertha. And I think the two hours of my worktime investigating the Nordic mythology and the Vǫlur were exceptionally well spent.
Isgred Ulfdottir
Race/Faction: Viking Age: 26
Description: Isgred is tall and lean. She has long dark hair and piercing brown eyes. She usually wears long dark robes and cloaks made of fur of the most fierce animals. These were given to her as a gift and a token of respect by various Viking chieftains. Like all vǫlur, she carries a long staff made of wood from the sacred grove of Upsalla, decorated by various trinkets and fetishes. She also always has her satchel with the healing necessities nearby.
Class: vǫlva – a seer and a healer
History: Isgred’s fate was set even before her birth. Her father was a famous warrior and her mother was a famous vǫlva. Isgred’s two older brothers both became strong and fearsome raiders and Isgred was sent to the temple Upsalla to study. There she learned about the sacred art of divination, all about the gods and how to please each of them and the ways of using different herbs for healing or even taking lives.
A quiet, peaceful life of the vǫlur and other priests in Upsalla wasn’t for her. Being a fighter after her father, she would leave as soon as she passed her final rites and carved her staff. She returned home and joined a smaller raid to the coast of Frankia, putting her skills to a test in real battle conditions. She enjoyed the battle, even just watching it from a safe spot in the healers’ tent. When other group of enemies suddenly attacked the camp, Isgred joined the fight, using her staff and a dagger taken from a fallen warrior. She enjoyed killing Christians, feeling like it meant fulfilling the will of the gods.
Strengths: A skilled healer, great dedication to help her people to kill as many Christians as possible, a seer who can sometimes unravel glimpses of the future
Weakness: Blinding hatred for the Christians, lack of proper fighting skills, over-confidence
What is the most important thing to know about your character? Isgred believes that the Norse gods are the only true gods and the presence of Christians in the world insults them greatly.
What is your character's greatest flaw? She is over-confident, despite her lack of fighting skills she often gets too close to fights and put herself in danger. Also she is sort of a religious fanatic.
“So, what is my future?” The boy was eager and nervous. Understandable given his age, he couldn’t have been more than fourteen summers old.
Isgred knew he was going on his first raid with his father tomorrow. “Patience, young man. Did you bring what I asked?” The boy nodded and handed her a coin and a jar filled with tallow as a gift; she would later use the tallow to make herbal ointments to heal wounds. “Very well.” She took a knife out and run it lightly across his palm, so that a thin line of blood would appear. Isgred reached for a pouch with the bones, they rattled quietly as she emptied the pouch into boy’s hand.
“Throw them,” she told the boy and he turned the hand over, letting the bones drop onto the table. Isgred carefully studied the patterns. Some of the carved runes were clearly visible, some were hidden under a layer of fresh blood. The boy stared at the bones almost breathless, no doubt trying to see what only she could see.
She saw a lot of things – life and death, bravery and cowardice, hate and… no, no love. It didn’t seem like the boy was going to make it back from the raid – these young ones were sometimes trying too hard to prove themselves, often becoming reckless and putting themselves in danger’s way. Even though the bones never lied, they sometimes hid the truth in the most mysterious ways.
“Your fate contains many things,” she told the boy. “I can see a great battle and I can see you becoming a hero. Beware the danger of cowardice in other people’s hearts.” That much she could say. The boy was excited at the mention of becoming a hero and he probably didn’t even hear her warning. But that wasn’t her problem. He paid for a prophecy and he got one, what he would do with it was his thing.
Description: Þórsteinn (far right) and his brothers:
Þórsteinn is a man of average height for his time, but an unexpected strength lays in him, honed by some years of rowing, hacking and labour. His hair and beard are brown with some red in it, and his eyes grey. He wears his hair tied back in a knot. His most often wears leather boots, dark woolen breeches, a belt, a tunic, a cloak, and his axe. He has tattoos on the back of his neck and his upper chest, crude depictions of sea beasts and a rune sequences dedicated to Ægir and Njǫrðr. His right hand had been burnt
"Class": Whaler crewman /Whale hunter/ Hunter/ Fighter for pay as of late
History: Þórsteinn comes from a family that has been in the whaling business for as long as people have hunted them in those parts. He and his brothers inherited their father’s ships two years prior to the story, but their partnership did not last long. Þórsteinnwas soon exiled from the land for killing a man who happened to be Jarl’s nephew with a harpoon. Þórsteinn learned from the other crewmembers that the man wanted to capture him in his sleep and give him to a Muslim chieftain to be his slave in exchange for a well-made saber. Þórsteinn tricked him by pretending to be asleep, and as soon as the man lay his hands on him, he turned over and pierced him through.
He was lucky the Jarl considered the youngster a possible future enemy for the title of the ruler, and thanks to this he kept his life, although the Jarl had to maintain an appearance of anger and ended up dealing some sort of justice. Everyone suspected this was the case, but of course everyone kept their mouths shut and let it all slide. So Þórsteinn ended up exiled from the country for a year and a half, and exiled from his hometown forever.
Þórsteinn this time in a Slavic tribe to the east until the ban was lifted, but no one knows a lot about his life there. He was apparently a hunter and worked for a local chieftain in exchange for a place to sleep and food, and he also went on expeditions to the east with traders and plunderers. The chieftain apparently grew to like him and praised his skill in fighting, navigating, sailing and raiding other neighbouring places, and for this he gave him many rings, trinkets, furs, and had Þórsteinn's current weapon forged for saving his son’s life, a ‘bastard’ axe, too long and heavy to be a normal one, but not quite long to be a two-handed weapon. Þórsteinn hid all this treasure except for the axe in a location only he knows about.
Þórsteinn also claims to have married the chieftain’s daughter thanks to this feat, but she does not appear to be travelling with him, although his plans are to earn money in plunder to start his own whaling business and allow her to move in with him into a decent home because she’s from a richer background.
Since he can now return to the country, but not to his home town from which he is banned for life, he seeks work in other towns and ports.
Strengths: Experienced sailor; physically more than capable; navigation; knowledge of foreign herbalism and improvised medicine; understands some foreign languages he learned during his exile.
Weakness: He does not believe in using shields and much armor: more than often he’ll fight just in a tunic or even without it, if a battle breaks suddenly; he’s prone to disregard the opinions of the priests and try to go against their warnings if he thinks he could get away with it; he’s prejudiced against many foreigners after his experience with the Spanish Muslims.
What is the most important thing to know about your character: He has nothing to lose.
One paragraph writing example of dialogue or interaction with another character plus a second paragraph writing example of combat. If your character is a non-combatant (i.e. specializes in healing) use whatever specialization that character would have for the second paragraph.
“Do you see the billows, boy?” Halvard asked his little son, pointing at the fjord. “How they rise and crash on the rocks?”
”Yes, father,” Þórsteinn said, staring at the sea through the hail. The truth was, he could barely see the water, because it was almost as dark as the cliffs it beat upon. “Is this why you and brothers pulled the ships on shore? Because of the storm?”
”Yes, yes, of course!” he answered and pulled his hood back on, this time clutching it with his fingers. “They would have shattered into pieces, the storm is so wild. The most violent one in years, I tell ya.”
Thor confirmed these words with a thunder.
“What about the people who have no yet returned?” Þórsteinn asked and wiped the damp hair from his forehead.
“They are at the waves’ mercy now, I am afraid. Maybe Njǫrðr will spare them, and take them to Nóatún and prepare a feast for them!”
But in a way known only to children, Þórsteinn could sense the worry underneath his father’s words, and the sea became a horrible realm in his eyes for the first time.
”Maybe the giants have taken them,” Þórsteinn said.
“Nonsense! You speak like your mother now!” Halvard reproached him. “The waves are alive, boy. They are Ægir’s daughters. They are merely crying for the passing of Baldr blessed by all the gods. Their sadness and tears cause the storms and in their misery they toss the ships into the sky, so Óðinn tells us.”
The sea certainly seemed swollen to the boy, and in his childish imagination he pictured great sea maids trashing in the depths, weeping for their loss, and, much like he and other kids would when their will was denied, picking up the ships and throwing them furiously away as if they were toys. He longed to switch the subject.
“Is it true, papa? About mother.”
”Ha! Her stories about her grandmother?”
”Yes.”
”Who knows...” said Halvard. “We believe stranger things than her story, that’s for sure.”
”So her grandma really was a Valkyrie?” he asked wide-eyed.
”Go inside,” said Halvard. It’s getting cold.
He ushered the boy inside and followed him, althought he lingered for a moment, perhaps to say a prayer for the companions he knew would not return with the morning.
Warlord Vsevlad's archers proved to be too larger in number than they expected. It was the first time Þórsteinn's tactic seemed to be shaken and the men around him became confused. They were all on the edge, not knowing whether to fly or maintain formation. The deal was to occupy the archers while the vanguard advanced through the woods on their side unnoticed; but the enemy surprised them with their numbers, because their chief had hired mercenaries from the east whose bow skills were unreal, and Þórsteinn could have sworn he saw some of them shooting from horseback. The volleys were so thick that every time they loosed one an arrow would find its way through the gaps in the shields.
"We have to remain where we are!" Þórsteinn commanded. "Just stay where you are, alive or dead! We have to wait for the other group to come from around! Advance slowly in between volleys!"
The man to his right screamed as a splinter from the shield stabbed him in the eye. Þórsteinn raised the man's shield with his hand. "Hold the shield up!" But it was late, another volley was on them and the man lay dead in seconds with arrows in his thighs and liver. "Heads down! Shields up!"
Their pitiful situation encouraged some of the enemies to try their luck, thinking themselves invincible and sure to win. The fools wanted glory so they charged at the shields under their own arrows. Some fell pierced in the back before they even crossed the stream, while others knocked against the wood with their shoulders and boots, trying to break the formation.
"Don't kill them! Push them forward, use them as shields!"
But that idea did not come to pass, because the enemy did not care about his own men. They fell dead immediately after the archers let loose another round. Þórsteinn's allies, seeing the fallen men had armor and arms of considerable quality, hoped to disarm the corpses and spoil them once they were close enough. But no sooner they had approached the corpses that the second group sounded their horn and the men began charging from the right. Þórsteinn saw rocks, spears and arrows flying and the enemy's attention turn to the other side. This is when his group began the charge and in no time they were over the stream and on top of the hill mingling with the enemy. Here Þórsteinn slew a dark eyed mercenary just as he was reaching for his knife: he smashed his face with the head of his ax and fell down facing the sky. The lightly armoured band was as laughable in close as it was terrifying from afar. Here Þórsteinn's friend Vladimir threw his lance and it stabbed a richly attired man through the breast, who must have been a noble warrior because many of his comrades surrounded the body and tried to drag him away lest his arms be taken by the enemy and his burial denied. A heated battle began near the dead man, and soon his body was lost among his kinsmen and enemies who lay killed around and above him.
