OpheliaKingdom of Skræling
Southern Mountain Pass, Fjallmark
It was the early part of the night in the Southern Mountain Pass, just south of the Kingdom of Skræling. The land for centuries had been contested between the native Svellgotar and the "Alfr" peoples, or more so commonly known as the elf. The Svellgotar made it known they were prideful that the Elves had never been able to truly conquer their lands and make them submit. The Svellgotar even centuries ago raiding from the northern most coast of the region. Now though with the decline of their power they had begun expanding beyond their current protection of the mountains. Their raiding going to the seas, and beyond the mountains to return with treasures from the abandoned castles of old. And, that's just what had happened again today with a successful conquest of a remnant castle in the valley. The elven defenders easily slain and defeated by the Svellgotar forces.
In the midst of the night an orange and red glow could be seen as a beacon in the night, as the sounds of music, drinking, and celebration could be heard. A war band of roughly over a thousand men both Svellgotar and Alfr alike around the fires of the camps. They had conquered yet another castle left over by the remnants of the old elven empire from long ago. The main source of the party was created by the leader of the war band. A man more than likely in the prime of his raiding life in his mid twenties. His long blonde hair tied up into a pony tail to keep it out of his eyes in combat, light stubble on his face as he drank to his hearts content.
He was the heir to Fjallmark province, whose father was occupied with business in Skræling's capital. Styrmir Skardsson, was a tall man of average build. He knew his way around his horse and arrow, a unique skill amongst his men who were more suited for heavy and light infantry. But, his maneuverability on the battlefield allowed him to command well. He was busy downing a drink and enjoying the music of the Mikilalfr who had brought their instruments for the celebration, even testing out some instruments they had found in the castle. Each man was allowed to keep the share they had found. Though his attention was diverted when he saw a messenger approach him, a younger fresh faced male.
"My lord. We have reports of a caravan located a bit south of our current location." He said with youth in his voice as he laid out a map marking their location. From what Styrmir could tell they were close to the border of some sort of remnant kingdom to the south of them. Some sort of nation called Môrogoed. He could see by the scouts map that the caravan was just barely outside of the borders of Môrogoed in basically "no man's land."
"Does the caravan carry their colors at all?" The blonde heir asked his young scout, the scout shaking his head, informing him of they carried colors of no one they had on records. Stymir pondered for a moment, analyzing the situation, they were clearly outside of their borders, and any problems and or consequences fell onto them.
Stymir looked at his comrades, and sounded the horns, rousing them to grab their arms. However, he only took a small group of raiders to come with him. Only about 300 strong to go and take the caravan, Stymir leading the raiding band on his horse as the Svellgotar raider's moved south to the caravan. In the shade of night, and with the element of surprise they killed those in the caravan, but those who ran they allowed to flee. The raid was a success as they burnt the wood of the caravans, taking the supplies and goods they carried, and laying the bodies respectfully off the road for those to come back and collect.
By the time the sun rose, Stymir returned with his band richer than before with those goods he collected with his raiders. The caravan was left with ash and coals, and the dead laying there peacefully. Stymir leading his raiders back north to home.
