Iskjerne Kattrfylking's Story

As the small contingent of Argosians and Iskjerne Bay's new Great Heathen Army stood in formations overlooking a small white plain covered in frozen grass and snow, Ivar the Boneless watched silently, leaning forward over his war chariot while folding his arms and resting his elbows. As the Argosian soldiers opened up, and Livia stepped forward, removing her silver and gold helmet, Ivar the Boneless gazed into her eyes, which were exactly the same as his.

"What color are my eyes?"

Ivar the Boneless calmly asked his troops. Bjorn Ironside would turn to look over his shoulder, with a confused look on his face. "What?" he raised an eyebrow at the sudden irrelevant question. "What color are my eyes?" insisted Ivar, as he kept his gaze on Livia, staring down at her from the top of the raised earth. Bjorn would glance up at Ivar before looking back at the praetorians. "Your eyes are bright blue," responded Bjorn, as a smile formed upon Ivar's lips. "Good," he replied. "What's it matter?" Bjorn inquired, still looking at the Argosian guards. "Father said that if my eyes were red, that I was in danger of breaking a bone" Ivar the Boneless said before lightly fwipping the reigns and riding his chariot forward. The vikings would move aside as Prince Ivar rode out to the front of the shield wall to get a closer look at the woman with the auburn flowing hair. Livia was holding her helmet under her arm.

Lagertha watched quietly from behind the shield wall, her pastel blue dress also flowing with the cold chilly breeze as she kept a grip on her spear. It was a long wooden spear with a metal spade-shaped spear head, having a spike on one side and a hook on the other. In her other hand, she held a greenish blue linden round shield with a conical pointed round metal boss at its centre. The shield had a black owl painted on the front in some elaborate Jellinge style tribal design, and she gripped the metal boss from the handle on its backside with additional support from the two leather straps which went around her arm when she needed to reposition herself. Bjorn would spit on the ground beside him, gripping his large bearded axe with both hands as Livia approached.

"Salve." Livia said, inclining her head respectfully. The berserkers and shield-maidens would glance at one another briefly, unsure of what Livia had said, for she was using a different lingo, albeit in their own Nordic language.

"I am Livia, first Legata of the Caesarian Legion, of the Argosian Empire. I bid you fair greetings, and good fortune." The Legata said, looking back up towards Ivar's chariot. Her words translated by the spell into fluent words the Vikings could understand in their own native tongues, yet she was also using a lingo that the Vikings were not familiar with. They had no concept of a Legata, or a Legion, but most of what Livia was saying, Ivar and his vikings understood.

"I beg your leave, and safe passage into your settlement so that I may retrieve one of our sisters who has fallen in battle, so that she may be returned to her people for an honorable burial, in accordance with their traditions. I humbly apologize for the intrusion, I did not expect this place to be inhabited." Livia added, keeping her gaze lowered as a sign of respect, and to display that she was not a threat.

Ivar the Boneless had suddenly lost his lust for battle, and was now just staring blankly at the beautiful older woman in front of him. Bjorn Ironside glanced down at his mother, Lagertha, who stood still in thought. "It could be a trap," Bjorn leaned over and whispered quietly into his mother's ear. Lagertha nodded quietly before stepping forward.

"Greetings and blessings First Legata, I am Queen Lagertha," she said as she gestured to her son and to her son-in-law. "These are the sons of King Ragnar, known as Bjorn and Ivar" she included. Ivar brought three fingers to his forehead and respectfully saluted Livia, nodding slightly with a smirk. Bjorn just stood there silently.

"We were not expecting an errand in this trying weather, we thought you might have been raiders. Our village will be quite gladdened to accomodate you and your company. Our fires will keep you warm. But you can not stay too long. We do not have much space in the great hall at the moment. Our settlement is currently undergoing construction," Lagertha informed her, looking back at her son.

Bjorn Ironside nodded, then waved all of his berserkers back to their stations. As the bear-skinned warriors walked away, Lagertha ordered her shield-maidens to part ways so that Livia and her company could pass.

"I am Ivar the Boneless," Ivar commented as he rode up next to Livia, obviously boasting about himself. He smiled down to her, admiring Livia's beauty and her fancy armor. Lagertha and her shield-maidens would wait patiently for them to join the vikings back to the innangard.

Hrafn-Floki was sitting on board the Seamaiden, hugging the wooden carved mermaid-prow at the front of the viking longship when his leidang started to arrive. Floki the Shipbuilder had wasted no time in hand picking the 500 hrafnfylking who would be traveling with him on his adventures. He divided them up evenly on to 5 different longships, placing 100 sailors on to each ship. Besides the large Seamaiden, he also hand-picked four other longships called the Sjorulfur, the Sjohestur, the Waveraider and the Hafskongur to go as his fleet. These five viking longships looked very similar, apart from their prows. The Seamaiden had a mermaid or valkyrie-type prow. The Sjorulfur had a wolf-headed prow. The Sjohestur had a horse-headed prow. The Waveraider had a simple spiralling or swirling prow design typical of the Jellinge style, while the Hafskongur had a Dall horned sheep or ram-headed prow. All of them had square-shaped crimson red sails which bore a picture of the black raven in tribal knot-work design, a symbol that was by now firmly associated with Nordic vikings from the northern fjords.

Soon other vikings would arrive from the mainland, hoping for a chance to sail with Hrafn-Floki and join in on his adventures. 50 ulfhednar, 50 berserkar, 50 svinfylking, 50 hestahar, 50 kattrfylking, 50 hornuglar, 50 ljosalfar, 50 svartalfar and 100 thralls would all be chosen to join Floki the Vitki on his quest to Siv'en, and he divided them all accordingly, placing all 1000 of his vikings into one of the 5 distinguished ships. The remaining 500 hrafnfylking would stay at the docks and continue to do as they had always done, building and repairing boats at the shipyard, fishing the harbour and working close to the water. Angradi the Whaler was chosen by Hrafn-Floki to be the new commander of the hrafnfylking at the docks, and was appointed to oversee the shipyard's navy.

Without further delay, the rowers divided themselves on each of the longships, with 75 oarsmen on each side. Hrafn-Floki took his place on the raised platform at the front of the Seamaiden, and picked up the ivory curved horn, blowing into it. The sound of the horn was carried for miles. Floki then leaned over the side of the ship to kiss his wife Helga one last time as she placed a garland of holly on his head like a crown. Helga and the other housewives waved their husbands goodbye and watched quietly as the 5 longships slowly rowed away from the docks and headed out towards deeper waters. They knew it might be weeks, months or even possibly years before Hrafn-Floki's leidang returned to Iskjerne Bay, if they ever returned at all.

The tense moment was slowly beginning to fleet away, as each Argosian praetorian maintained his position with an almost precision like demeanor. None of them showed any expression, they were faceless legionaries that formed a cohesive contubernia. They moved only with orders from either Livia herself, or their Decanus.

Prince Ivar the Boneless seemed to barely notice the well-trained Praetorian Guard, showing almost no interest in them at all. Bjorn Ironside was still standing by the newly constructed outer wall, watching quietly and cautiously as his berserkers withdrew back to their posts. He took a silent mental note of how the Argosian legionaries marched, spoke and dressed. He was quite curious about them. Livia would glance at Prince Ivar, and for a brief moment he thought they had made a connection.

Livia then directed her gaze over to Queen Lagertha, as she stepped forward before slowly getting on one knee before the Queen, as an act of respect. This made Ivar snarl silently, his eyes narrowing in on his mother-in-law Lagertha for a second with utter hatred and contempt. Or was it jealously? Lagertha furrowed her brows, completely confused as to why Livia would take a knee. It was a custom the vikings were not used to, but she understood that it was a sign of respect, and stood there quietly waiting for her to rise.

"I am Honored, Your Majesty." Livia said before looking again at the crippled war leader. She returned Ivar's salute with one of her own, bringing her right hand into a fist, across her chest. Ivar the Boneless smiled quietly, concealing the fact that he was now mildly offended. Ivar would turn around and wave for his equestrians to stand down. The hestahars on horseback would nod, casually turning their horses around and withdrawing back to the newly built stables.

"These men are my Praetorian Guard, I hand selected them for their loyalty, and their prowess in combat, while we are guests of your settlement, they are at your disposal should you require their aid." Livia said, nodding back to the praetorians. "And I assure you, once we have retrieved our fallen charge, we will vacate your settlement in peace, and with all due haste." The Legata assured, gesturing to one of the servants with two fingers. He nodded, and reached into one of the leather pouches belonging to the pack mule.

Lagertha would hand her shield and spear over to one of her fellow shield-maidens, nodding to her before approaching Livia and standing in front of her. Lagertha still had her sword sheathed at her side, but seemed quite calm and uneager to use it as she placed a hand on the side of Ivar's war chariot, her fingers trailing gently over the intricate metal designs as she passed him by and approached the legata. Ivar and Bjorn just watched silently. "Praetorians you say. A fine guard indeed. I'm sure their presence at our settlement will be much appreciated." Queen Lagertha smiled softly, her northern accent showing mildly as she turned her attention first to the Praetorians, then to Livia's servant. Her expression was warm, motherly and un-threatening.

Livia's servant soon produced a glass bottle from the pack mule, and with his head held low, he passed the bottle to Livia, and she uncorked the bottle, and took the first drink to show her new friends that the whatever it was, was not poison. Purple liquid dripped slightly from the corner of her mouth, as she wiped the edge of her mouth clean. She offered the bottle first to Lagertha, and then Bjorn and Ivar. If they took a drink, they would find it sweet, much like mead, but made from dark grapes rather than honey.

Lagertha smiled again, nodding slightly as she was offered the bottle of wine. Ivar the Boneless watched with discontent as the shield-maiden took a swig of the purplish red sustenance, before handing it back. "Mmm," she groaned, obviously liking the taste of it. But as Livia then tried to offer the bottle to Bjorn Ironside, she was suddenly met with a different reaction. Bjorn did not approach Livia, or say anything. He just folded his arms quietly, still holding his axe, and spat on the ground without moving. He apparently had no interest in the wine at all, so Livia then offered the bottle to Ivar instead. Prince Ivar would approach Livia, taking the bottle in both hands and looking at it. He would take a swig before handing the bottle back to Livia and wiping his mouth on his sleeve. He scrunched his eyebrows, unsure of the new taste in his mouth, but seemed more curious than displeased.

When Ivar rode up next to her, and introduced himself as she began to walk towards the Settlement, her Praetorians behind her, Livia offered him a soft smile. "Ivar the Boneless, you may call me Livia." Livia said, as she unfurled a small laminated map. Strange symbols adorned the edges of the map, and labeled notable regions of northern Ellaria. The map looked like a picture taken from high above. Ivar furrowed his brows again, looking down at the map as their small group walked through the open aisle created by two flanks of shield-maidens and their human shield wall creating a pathway up to the outer gate. Lagertha and Ivar travelled beside Livia.

"The city looks like it will be grand." The Legata commented. The confused looks on the Viking's faces with some of her words were not lost on her either, so she tried to explain to Ivar as he rode next to her. "A Legatus is what you would call a war chief, or a General, I serve my Emperor, my King, in charge of his armies." Livia explained. "These men are my Praetorian Guard, skilled warriors who dedicate their lives to their king." Lagertha and Ivar listened quietly, both showing interest in what she was saying. Ivar seemed somewhat angry, but given his demeanor and appearance, it was difficult to tell whether he was always angry or if he just appeared to look that way.

Lagertha smiled softly, looking down at her own feet as she walked slowly and casually, escorting the Legata past the first wall into the outer settlement. "Ivar's father was a king," Lagertha said, smiling up to her son-in-law. Ivar just kept looking at the red symbols on the unfolded map. "Unfortunately he is no longer with us, so Prince Ivar here was chosen by lots to lead our current expedition." Lagertha explained as they made their way on to the first draw-bridge over the outer motte. Queen Aslaug watched from the mound in the distance, never budging from her position as the hornuglar waited for the dozen or so Praetorians and legionaries to cross the motte with their mule cart. Afterwards, the shield-maidens would close the aisle they had created by repositioning themselves into a square box formation, following behind everyone as the last to cross the bridge, staying several paces behind the mule cart.

"Domine, the air is frigid, and the ground frozen solid, it will take at least a day of digging to recover the body, depending on how deeply she is buried." Livia nodded at the sudden announcement. "All the more opportunity to get to know our new friends?" She said to the Decanus, his feathered helmet fluttering in the frigid cold. Queen Lagertha smiled again warmly, stopping before the second narrower gate by the wooden palisade to allow Ivar's chariot and the mule cart to enter first. There was still one more motte, crossed via second draw-bridge past a third palisade into the open bailey within. Then the raised scarp hill, a steep incline requiring them to walk up the suspension bridge to the last stone wall, behind which Livia and her Argosians would find the great hall.

Queen Lagertha smiled again warmly, stopping before the second narrower gate by the wooden palisade to allow Ivar's chariot and the mule cart to enter first. Livia looked up from the map. The Praetorians stepped aside to allow the pack mule to overtake their formation, and pass through the narrower gate, before resuming their formation. Ivar rode ahead of everyone through the narrow gate, before whipping his reigns and taking off towards the second draw-bridge over another icey motte. His double horse-drawn war chariot was quite faster than the mule cart, and those who walked on foot behind it. As he rode uphill along the snow-ploughed dirt path past the third wall into the open bailey, Ivar caught up to Bjorn's troops and passed them up, going over the suspension bridge to the fourth and final wall on top of the raised scarf.

Just then, and without warning, Ivar the Boneless would suddenly see a flash of blinding white light which nobody else could see. It seemed like a flash of white lightning to Ivar, and suddenly he would see flashing images of the past, present and future. Sigurd's ghost would give Ivar the Boneless insight into things that only he could see, and only he would know. Prince Ivar suddenly stopped his chariot in front of the much taller, much thicker arched double-doors of his newly constructed mead hall. The Praetorians continued to march in step behind Livia, the great hall up ahead just through the narrow gate, according to her map anyway. The Legata was anticipating a hot meal, and an even hotter bath after today, something to warm her bones, only to find out that she still had one more small incline, an open bailey, a steep hill with a suspension bridge, and one more stone wall with a fortified metal spiked gate to go through before she even got to the mead hall. It seemed that Ivar had steepened the raised mound to form a scarp, and had added more walls to the Iskjerne Viking settlement in the Bay, giving it better defenses with 4 concentric ring walls instead of 3, with 2 drawbridges instead of 1, and 2 mottes instead of none.

Ivar the Boneless grabbed his crutch and swung himself around, sliding himself off of the chariot and on to his feet as his thralls led the horses away. He limped into the Great Hall, leaning on his crutch before taking a seat on the throne again. Before long, his older half-brother Bjorn Ironside would also enter the hall. "Why are you sitting in our grandfather's chair? Get up," Bjorn said as he walked over to the long thick wooden table, which had been fashionably hand-crafted from a single solid tree. "No, this is my chair" Ivar argued as he set his long walking crutch down next to him. "No if anything, it should be our father's chair" Bjorn argued back. "Father would have wanted me to have it," Ivar retorted calmly, slowly reaching under the table for his knife.

Meanwhile as Lagertha walked beside Livia, with both of their small companies following behind them through the bailey and over the suspension bridge up the scarp to the last stone wall, Lagertha chatted away to keep her entertained by giving Livia a semi-tour of the settlement, explaining some of Ivar's new construction plans with her, but never so much as to give away Iskjerne's newly planned secret defenses. "This is the marketplace we're at now. The keep and the great hall are just up ahead passed this bridge," she said happily, still smiling warmly. Lagertha didn't get to interact much with other women outside of her community. Usually the only other women she made arrangements with were her enemies. She was hoping that Livia was different, as she led the Argosians up to the spiked metal gate before stopping. "Well, here we are. Our great hall is just behind this wall here. We don't allow foreign animals past this point so the mule cart will have to stop here. The rest of you can come inside. Come," Lagertha smiled as she waved everyone else to join her through the spiked gate.

Lagertha's hornuglar and shield-maidens would stop at the foot of the bridge behind Livia's praetorians and legionaries and take up guarding positions, watching everything with sharp eyes as Lagertha commanded them to wait outside and defend the bridge, before she then escorted Livia and her guards to follow her through the gate and passed the berserkers into Iskjerne's Mead Hall.

A dense bank of fog arose from the waves around the viking longships. Hrafn-Floki was sitting against the mast of the Seamaiden when he felt a sudden chill. He looked up to see the encroaching thick blanket of fog. Floki would stand up, eyes widened as he stared out over the darkening waters. His eyes were still shadowed by his crow-shaped black coal eyeliner, the Teiwaz rune painted black on his forehead as he creeped over to the side of the longship and looked down at the water. Tendrils of shadowy clouds lapped against the hulls like ghostly fingers as a dreadful moan floated through the ocean breeze. The waves grew silent, choked by the encroaching fog. Floki looked anxious, startled, excited and spooked as an eiry feeling came over him.

The fog engulfed the longships in an impenetrable veil that shrouded one from another. A foul miasma - the stench of rot, decay, and mildew - drifted through the air as the sea became deathly silent. The vikings would stop rowing, everyone looking to their left and right to the rowers beside them, everyone being quiet all of a sudden. Somewhere in the fog, the creaking of a lone vessel stalked the herd of longships like a shark. It drifted through the water, presence felt but unseen like a phantom, and left a sense of wordless dread in its wake. "I've got a bad feeling about this, Floki" one of the shipmates whispered quietly with fear in his eyes. "So do I" he responded calmly, "so do I..."

As the five longships slowly faded out of sight of one another, Floki the Vitki turned his attention to the men at the back of his ship, signalling for the drummers to sound their drums. BA-BOOM!!!... BOOM, BOOM, BA-BOOM!!! the leather skinned drums were sounded, the loud bass causing ripples in the water, echoing off the coastline's sandy shores. All five longships had drummers on board, and for good reason too. The sound of the drums helped to keep the ships in rhythm and formation, providing a form of echolocation for Hrafn-Floki's leidang and aiding with their navigation.

As the fog got thicker and started to envelop the individual longships, Floki suddenly could no longer see the back of the Seamaiden from his position at its prow. Some of the vikings would use flint and steel with dried moss to lite some torches, providing at least some flaming light as a beacon in the mist. As the drummers kept drumming in slow, paused, rhythmic beats, Hrafn-Floki pulled up the hood on his baggy black hooded cloak and ordered the rowers to row inland slowly. The five longships slowly changed course, navigated by hundreds of torches and the sound of drums as they lifted their sails and headed in towards the coast. The Seamaiden took the lead at the front of the leidang, with the other four longships trailing closely behind them in a Y-formation. The vikings would mount their shields to the side of their longships to create a shield-wall, many of them putting on their helmets and fastening the leather straps on their viking-style armour.

The shadow of a single ship peered through the haze. Cold ocean waters lapped against its sides even as a deathly stillness gripped its deck like a foul miasma. A black jolly roger, bearing a deformed skull, drifted in the chilling breeze. Hrafn-Floki's leidang was not unaware, though. The sudden dreery fog had the vikings alarmed with sharp eyes. Barely did the ghostly ship even appear before Hrafn-Floki was informed.

A chorus of wails, dark and terrible and dripping with poisonous terror, fell upon the viking fleet. Yet all thousand of them were well prepared as the ghostly apparitions materialized upon and below their decks, with no sign and no warning, causing the vikings to draw their weapons. Most of them were already in full armor, and prepared to defend themselves from whatever the waters might bring.

The ghostly crew glowed with cold blue auras, gaunt faces shrouded by spectral mist and cowls, but their forms were as transparent as sleet under the light of a full moon. The wraiths drew longswords from their sides, gripped them with both skeletal hands, and raised them in a vertical salute. It was at that moment that the kattrfylking jumped into action. Hrafn-Floki was not the greatest of warriors, or commanders, but he was gifted in his own way, and had been sure to bring 50 kattrfylking with him on his voyage. The volvur would instantly raise their sheep horns and sound off, the reverberations of the ivory bugles causing the fog to desist as magical soundwaves penetrated deep into the minds of the Deathweavers, despite their ghostly forms.

The pirates had planned to wait before they attacked, with the hope of spreading fear. But the volvur were quick to stop them instantly in their tracks. The wraiths swung wide but purposefully like reapers before grain - their phantasmal blades bypassing all nonmagical armor with ease - and missing entirely as the sharp sound of the viking bugles caused them to stumble and miss their marks, forcing the pirates to indiscriminately cut down some of the other pirates beside them, cutting their own forces in half.

The soundwaves caused the fog to spread and thin out, allowing Hrafn-Floki to see not only the Deathweavers ghost ship with its Jolly Roger flag blowing wildly with the breeze, but also the pirate apparitions which had boarded the back of his ship. Floki the Vitki giggled, now partially amused as he raised two fingers before himself, stroking the black painted Teiwaz symbol on his forehead. "Everyone at arms!!! Angradi shouted as he reached for his shield. Floki quietly muttered to himself while drawing forth his axe and slowly walking towards the back of the Seamaiden, where his vikings had already formed a shield-wall, attempting to block off the ghostly pirates as they sought to over-run his ship.

As the troops continued to march through the gates, Lagertha's shield-maidens kept a sharp eye on Livia the Legata and her small band of Praetorians, stopping at the foot of the bridge as the Argosians made their way up the large suspended ramp to the innermost stone wall. Livia would look around, observing the positions of every man in the city, as the guards near the wooden palisade stared back at her silently, taking a mental note of Livia and her legionaries as well. The berserkers at the head of the suspension bridge would part ways and make a path for Lagertha and her guests as they started to make their way through the spiked metal gate.

"Who are they? And why does that one there keep looking over here?" one of the workers asked the guards beside him as he shoveled snow and dirt away from the place where Ivar's Keep was being built. "I have no idea who they are, friends of Queen Lagertha I assume," the guard answered. "She looks oftly interested in our defenses," another guard commented. "What should we do?" another one of the shirtless workers asked, his hands and face dirty from digging trenches all day. "I'll take care of it. Just keep your teeth together and go back to work," the guard said, before walking casually back to the Mead Hall.

"We'll start digging tomorrow at first light." Livia commented, as she moved into the great mead hall, her eyes on the Decanus behind her. Livia turned her attention to Lagertha, and offered a nod, before she turned to her Decanus. "Have the men unload the cart, stage the tools at the dig site, and bring in a sled to carry the body out. See to it the mule is kept warm at a stable or something, I don't want it to freeze to death out here in the cold." Livia's words did not fall on deaf ears. "I will have one of my maid-servants show you the way," Lagertha said, nodding to one of the young slave girls who was standing nearby. The Decanus nodded, and turned back to relay the orders to his men. The young girl would show them to the stables, pointing to a place inside where they could store their mule cart, before the Argosians began to unload the tools to bring them inside. The young girl just stood there quietly by the doorway, watching them with curiosity and a hint of fear or shyness. She couldn't be more than 12-years-old, with blue eyes, blonde hair and a dirty face.

As the legata and her crew stepped out of the freezing cold and into Iskjerne's large Mead Hall, the berserkers closed the spiked metal gate at the stone wall behind them, stopping all traffic to and from the suspension bridge. A small band of hornuglars would guard the foot of the bridge below the scarp, while the small band of berserkers would take up positions outside the Mead Hall, guarding the spiked metal gate. All the while, Queen Aslaug was still standing on the earth mound outside the ring fortress, gazing into the distance with a blank expression, never moving an inch as the kattrfylking sitting on the ground below her continued to spin their threads and weave spindles of yarn to be used in the future.

"Listen here little brother, you were chosen by runes to be the commander of this expedition, but I am still older than you. Don't forget that" Bjorn Ironside said calmly, looking down at Prince Ivar who was smiling patiently. "Is that why our father left you in Kattegat, and took me raiding with him instead?" Ivar the Boneless grinned, still gripping the knife he had concealed under the table. Bjorn Ironside leaned forward, suddenly slamming his fist down on the table, and was about to grab Prince Ivar by his neck when suddenly the Mead Hall doors opened up and Queen Lagertha stepped in, accompanied by Livia and her most personal guards. Bjorn stared sternly at Ivar for a brief moment before regaining his composure. Ivar smirked quietly, putting his knife away before anyone could see it. Bjorn would crink his neck and shoulders, relaxing his nerves and loosening up before turning around to greet his mother and their guests, all of whom oblivious to the tensions between the two legendary viking brothers. Ivar just kept smiling, his eyes trailing over to the legata as his very tall and very large brother breathed deeply and turned to greet everyone while being calm and maintaining his resolve.

"Well? Welcome to our mead hall" Bjorn said impatiently, raising his hands at his sides with his palms open before taking a seat next to Ivar. Lagertha smiled softly and walked over to to her son, placing her hand gently on his shoulder before taking her place on the queen's throne beside Prince Ivar, looking at her guests.

Once inside the mead hall, Livia smiled at the warmth, and she nodded to one of the legionaries that came inside with her. She held her arms out to her side, and the legionary began to undo the fasteners that secured her red cloak, revealing her lorica, which was worn over a red and white tunic, protected by armored strips of leather. Livia also had her sword, which was encased in a silver, gold imbued scabbard that bore ornate geometrical designs. There was another strange weapon holstered on her back. It was a flintlock pistol, with an engraved wooden handle with poured gold inlaid designs. There was a dagger sheathed in Livia's left boot, and a second weapon holstered in her right boot. This weapon was even stranger in appearance from the weapon holstered at her back. Sheathed in a black kydex holster, the Seburo BoBson Centennial edition semi-automatic pistol was secured snugly in her boot as she stepped forward. She dared not take a seat, or do anything else that might offend those before her. So she just inclined her head instead.

"Such a magnificent hall, and warm too. Thank you for your hospitality." Livia said. Ivar the Boneless just kept smiling quietly, glancing over to Bjorn Ironside, who kept his composure and his thoughts to himself. "Please, come on in, take a seat" Prince Ivar said, motioning for everyone to gather around the long heavy wooden table carved from a single tree. "If it's not too much trouble, is there somewhere I can have my legionaries draw me a warm bath? I'm not used to the cold, here." Livia added. Bjorn just gritted his teeth. "Why of course," Queen Lagertha assured her with a smile. "What? Do they not know what tomorrow is?" Bjorn Ironside asked his mother. Queen Lagertha scorned him silently with her eyes before smiling again to Livia and her guards. "It will be Bath Day very shortly. By the time we're done eating, your bath will be ready. In the meantime, sit down and warm yourself by the fire. Eat. Drink. Enjoy." the viking prince Ivar the Boneless insisted as his slaves suddenly started walking in with plates and dishes, food and mead horns already filled and ready to be served.

As the Legata narrowed her eyes at the food in front of her, Ivar the Boneless just smiled quietly. Lagertha patiently waited for the wine servants to finish pouring mead for everyone before picking up her own drinking horn and smiling to Livia, and her praetorians. Bjorn wasn't even paying any attention to any of them. Bjorn Ironside was hungry, as he leaned over everybody in the path between him and the potatoes. The other vikings at the table didn't seem to mind, however, or mind their own manners much either, but Bjorn stood out among them, perhaps because he was just bigger than most of the other people in the mead hall. He had a better reach, his large skull-crushing hands equal to his pig-eating appetite as he ambidextrously reached for the red apple in the pork's mouth and plucked it out with his other hand, biting into the apple with his own teeth. Ivar the Boneless just grinned.

As the vikings in the mead hall started loading their plates with food, never bothering to wait for their guests, Lagertha suddenly raised her drinking horn, and her voice so that everyone could hear her inside the hall. "I want to give a toast," she said loudly, causing a majority of the vikings to simmer down and raise their drinking vessels as well. But as they did, Livia would notice that all of the viking's many different dishes and silverwear were highly unusual and very stylistic, as if each plate and bowl had come from a different market rather than all from the same set. These were not primitive savages like the many smaller tribes and clans that had proceeded them. Ivar's Army was a highly culturalized, highly civilized force. Prince Ivar had brought actual expert Vikings on his voyage, men who were vikings by profession, not just by title or stereotype. These were people who made a living by raiding other people. Every silver spoon, cast iron pan, golden chalice, bronze plate, tin cup, and steel knife was very diverse in shape and design, some more expensive and valuable than others.

Nobody at the feast even noticed that Livia's decanus had handed a small scroll to one of the praetorians. They were all too focused on the mead and festivities, as Lagertha called for a toast. Prince Ivar tapped a metal spoon against his crystal goblet lightly a few times, helping Lagertha to get everyone's attention at the large wooden table that had been carved from a single giant tree, before picking up his own glass of wine. "To Frigg the All-Mother, may she bless this feast... And to our guests, may she bring us all much peace and prosperity while you are here." Lagertha smiled, raising her drinking horn into the air. "SKAL!!" Bjorn Ironside bellowed, quickly chugging his large metal tankard of ale with foam running down his beard. "Skal!" others soon echoed over one another as they took a swig of whatever was poured. "Skal," Lagertha said, calmly and more quietly as she smiled to Livia and her crew, raising her drinking horn again while nodding to Livia with respect.

Livia's praetorian messenger in the night blue robes would leave the mead hall discreetly and quietly. It wasn't even so much that the vikings at the table didn't notice him leave. They just didn't seem to care. They were all more lost in the moment, focusing on the red wine, the golden mead, the amber ale, the freshly cooked ham and cow steak with steaming hot carrots, onions and sliced potatoes. All except for Ivar the Boneless, he was still grinning silently, twirling his spoon on the table while looking at Livia, staring at her quietly from the king's throne. As the praetorian messenger left the mead hall and walked outside into the chilly snow, he would notice that the spiked gate attached to the stone wall was now locked and closed, and there were large bear-skinned berserkers blocking all traffic to and from the suspension bridge, for reasons unknown. These were tall, built warriors with painted faces and bodies, carrying large heavy weapons, full fledged bear-hides flung over their heads, backs and shoulders, keeping them nice and warm as they stared at the indigo robed messenger quietly, waiting to see if he would approach the wall.

Sigurd Hring was dead.

He had been dead for two generations, yet his legacy had lived on long after he was gone. Sigurd had become One with Gaia, and had transcended the physical realm. He was more than just a man. To the native inhabitants, he was now a Titan, and to his viking descendants in Iskjerne Bay, he was now a god. He was the founder and first patriarch of the greatest viking settlement in the universe, the seed from which all the rest had blossomed. All he ever wanted was to live in peace, to create a free society, and help to cultivate the land which loved him so dearly. He had fought tooth and nail to establish a sanctuary where people would be treated equally, where they would have the freedom of religion, the freedom to change their social status and role in society, where they would have the opportunity to make a difference, rather than being slaves.

Sigurd Hring had a dream, and he had spent his entire life fighting for it, all the way up to the time of his death. Sigurd's son had a similar dream, a similar goal in mind. Ragnar was captured, or rather, had willingly turned himself in, for reasons unknown. Ragnar was not spared from torture and torment. He had been bound and chained, humiliated, prodded with spears and whips, his flesh burned and marked, his face disfigured, his body disgarded into a chamber of serpents, so that Ragnar's own sons could hardly recognize him. Oh how the little piggies would squeel when they heard how the old boar had suffered. Never before in history would Vikings be so wrathful and eager for revenge. Ragnar Lothbrok was a legend, and he still is to this very day, just like his father and their fathers before them.

But even Ragnar was not as great as his predecessor King Sigurd, the Ringtaker, the man who married Ragnar's mother. Sigurd Hring, slayer of dragons, giants and dwarfs alike, successor to his own uncle Harald Wartooth, whom he had battled honorably and killed at King Harald's own request. King Sigurd was a legend from the very beginning, a legend which grew over time as he defeated one rival after another, facing monsters and demons, and gods greater than himself, never once surrendering or bowing a knee.

Who wants to be King?

Sigurd Hring was sick of fighting. He wanted only to retire peacefully, to create a marvel for all the worlds to see. He was not so much interested in fame, as he was in glory. Sigurd did not care about riches, wealth, or great expansion. He had no intentions of building an empire, or creating a magnificent army. Sigurd was more interested in the black earth, and fertile soil. He planted a farm, and built a fortified ring around his kingdom where Vikings and pagans could coexist together and find sanctuary. Iskjerne Bay was to be a remote safe haven, far away from all the wars, violence, torture, rape, death and crucifixions that Sigurd Hring and his family had experienced for centuries. His intentions were great, and his dreams were greater, but his timing was off and his fate was fixed. It was only a matter of time before this undefeated rebel met his inevitable doom.

Emperor Shimizu of the Taiyou Empire was not a friend of the Norse kings. Sigurd Hring had a run-in with the Taiyou, and what started as a peaceful encounter soon was wrought with confusion and misunderstanding which escalated into violent warfare between them. The Taiyou Empire, and their fear-driven galactic technology. The greatest civilization that ever lived, heh. Sigurd Hring would put their reputation to the test. Never before in the history of the cosmos had a rebellion been so adamant and strong willed. Never before would such a tiny primitive civilization make such a dramatic impact. Sigurd's army not only fought the Taiyou back, off of their own land, but had dared to attack the Taiyou on their own soil, with enough success that King Sigurd would warrant a visit from the Taiyou Emperor himself.

It wasn't enough. King Sigurd slaughtered the Emperor's army, killed one his advising mages, and sent the emperor crawling home with broken legs and injuries. It was a defeat the Taiyou Empire simply could not allow to go public. They amassed a great space army, and would be hell-bent on taking revenge. Sigurd's actions had endangered the entire planet of Gaia, and his fate was now fixed. It was only a matter of time before the Taiyou returned to make his life miserable.

Sigurd Hring looked around at the kingdom he had established. Women, children, vary a man between 15 and 50, good paganfolk who were not deserving of such ill-fated tyranny. His heart grieved with great sorrow, for he knew the future, and the horrible things that would happen to his people once their enemies had returned. He wept silently by himself, before re-gathering his composure and going out to face his kingdom. King Sigurd was a just and honest man. He told the Vikings what had happened, and what would happen as a result. But the people did not hate him for it. They praised him, erecting a magical permanent statue of King Sigurd from enchanted stone, and worshipping him as a living god. He promised them, that whoever came to him and called on his name, and followed him in death, would be with him in paradise.

The entire viking settlement had committed suicide, following Sigurd Hring in death, and sparing themselves from capture or torture in the hands of their enemies. Adding insult to injury, the Taiyou ships had wasted their journey. The Taiyou Empire was robbed of its chance at revenge, as King Sigurd and his loyal subjects took their own lives, leaving nothing but their memories. It was the ultimate act of defiance, an act of selflessness that would inspire rebels for generations to come.

Many years later, Ivar the Boneless, the son of King Ragnar and grandson of King Sigurd would arrive in Iskjerne Bay, influenced by Norse mythology and Taiyou propaganda, and driven by the spirits of his own ancestors. Sigurd Hring's ghost would come to Prince Ivar in his dreams, giving him spiritual advice and guidance, and instructions on how to rebuild the kingdom. But the young man was too bold and arrogant. He had inherited the same thick headedness as his father and grandfather. Ivar had not followed Sigurd's instructions, but had set his heart towards greed and selfishness. He had formed the Great Heathen Army and had plunged the Norse civilization into endless warfare, perverting everything that his grandfather King Sigurd had held sacred for decades.

That was a mistake...

Suddenly the ground in Iskjerne Bay would shake and tremble as bodies tossed and turned in their graves. Everyone in the great Hall, Viking and Argosian alike, would feel the earth tremble beneath their feet. At that moment, an invisible force seemed to unseat the crippled prince as he was suddenly thrown from the throne, with such force that if he did not catch himself, his bones would surely shatter. Meanwhile, the material wooden statue of Prince Ivar would be uprooted and split in half vertically, so that one half remained standing while the other half fell to the ground. Queen Aslaug would feel the mound below her start to tremble as well. The moment she had been waiting for had arrived.

Sigurd Hring had returned.

The burial mound beneath Queen Aslaug would tremble and move, like a pregnant mother with groaning pains as suddenly, the dirt and grass began to shift. Soon, fingers emerged from beneath the soil. But these were not skeletal fingers, nor the blueish pale rotten appendages of a Draugr, rather they were of pinkish lively hue and covered with living flesh and nails.

Moments later, a whole arm would emerge from beneath the dark black rich fertile soil, and soon an entire man would dig his way out from the earth, his head and torso emerging to reveal a living human being, as if Gaia herself had just given birth.

The man would immediately gasp for air as he coughed up a mouth full of dirt, inhaling and exhaling as if it was his first time breathing fresh air. Soon he pulled his whole body out from beneath the fertile mound and rolled over on to his back, breathing heavily, exhausted and without any energy. He was a Norseman with dirty hair and mud stained clothes. His face, his shirt, his entire body was covered with brown mud and black dirt. He wore shaggy trousers, completely devoid of any shoes or armour. His feet and nails were dirty, and to everyone else nearby who could witness this spectacle, he looked like one of the goblins or uruk-hai who had been fashioned from earth.

But this was no orc or goblin, as soon they would see, for as he opened his eyelids to stare up at the skies, his eyes were bright blue and full of life. The man who had just crawled out from underground was a human, and not just any human. It was the long lost son of Sigurd Hring, who had been presumed dead for a very long time. The now very weak, very vulnerable man who was sprawled out on the ground in Iskjerne Bay was none other than Ragnar Lothbrok, the Ghost of England, a legendary Viking from whom many a Norseman, both in Iskjerne Bay and surrounding counties were all descended and had written many poems about.

It was as if Sigurd the Ringtaker himself had returned. But this was not King Sigurd, nor was he a god with divine powers. This was a man of flesh and blood, a mortal being in dire need of food, drink, and medical conditioning.

As the beaten, dirty and fatigued Ragnar "Lothbrok" Sigurdsson lay helpless on the dirt mound, lacking all wits, senses and energy, two Norsemen would walk up and grab him by his arms, dragging him down the grassy slope and over towards a mule wagon, where they lifted him up and tossed him into the back of it on a pile of matted hay. Thorvald Asvaldsson and his branded son, Erik the Red, glanced at each other quietly for a moment before climbing back into the wagon and driving away, heading towards the battered village and beyond it to the gated entrance of the Iskjerne Ring Fort, where they were hoping to find some food and rest, and maybe a little help for the stranger they had just picked up.

Thorvald Asvaldsson was but a poor old farmer and exile who had been sent on an errand from King Halfdan Svensson the Great, the sovereign of the distant Empyrean Norse Kingdom over the Weargtooth Mountains to the south, acting as an ambassador from the Empyrean High Seas, charged with gathering information for his king. The tropical Empyrean Sea Beach settlement was remarkably similar to the Norse colony at Iskjerne Bay, only much more advanced. Iskjerne Bay was also much colder, located on the main continent of Ellaria along the northernmost coastal mountain range, whereas Thorvald "Bloodyfist" Asvaldsson had come from a large warmer island in the sea. The journey to Iskjerne Bay was long and treacherous, about three and a half weeks long according to his calendar, having taken the much longer but safer route by land around the sandy, rocky coastline of Ellaria rather than daring the sea, or going up the central mainland over the mountains as most others would.

King Halfdan had provided the karvi, a small boat to get Thorvald Bloodyfist across the water, but he was required to bring a slow-moving mule cart and continue his own journey from there. It had also been a twofold mission for Asvaldsson, for he had also brought his son Erik with him. Erik the Red, following in his father's footsteps, was also an exile and convicted murderer. Only unlike his father Thorvald who had found sanctuary at the Empyrean Norse Kingdom and was allowed, as well as expected to return with news of the condition of the northern settlement, Erik the Red had been banished from the Empyrean Sea Beach and was forbidden to return to the southern settlement for three years, lest he face the harsher punishment of death at the hands of the Empyrean king.

Erik Thorvaldsson would just have to settle at Iskjerne Bay instead, the only other place in Ellaria that was still home to the Norsemen and their kinfolk. But he would soon realize that Iskjerne Bay was not nearly as comfortable or as easygoing as the Empyrean Sea Beach, for as their wagon came around the bend and over the hills looking out at the village, Erik would glance up at his father before looking ahead, to a ravaged and war-torn settlement with archaic-styled medieval structures and open sheep pens, to frost covered rooftops and icey walls that had spiking ice sickles growing off of them. Apart from the nobles, of which there were very few if any, most of the local villagers and Norse settlers appeared to be malnourished, cold, hungry and impoverished. A curse or plague had struck their land, and many of the farmers and villagers were left to fend for themselves.

Thorvald Bloodyfist would snap the reigns lightly, causing his mule cart to speed up as the wagon went around the serpentine dirt road through the open village, passing the gated entrance to the ring fortress. Erik gazed up at the two large statues that flanked the entrance to the outer wall, his eyes rather enlarged with both nervousness and awe. His father also glanced over at the statues, taking note of one of them which seemed to be standing tall and proud, made of solid stone, while the other statue was split in half vertically, made of hard wood which had partially fallen over with its face in the moat and had been left there to rot. Just as they were coming through the main gate, Thorvald and Erik noticed another smaller group of people who did not look like typical Norsemen exiting Iskjerne Bay at the same time as they were arriving, led by a single woman.

Thorvald Asvaldsson was surprised to see something quite familiar about Livia the Legata and her Praetorian guards as they marched passed them out of the second gates, heading in the opposite direction. He immediately recognized the insignia of the bull, and the style of their helmets, as well as the unique weapons they were carrying with them. They had been eirily similar to the helmet and firearm that Thorvald Bloodyfist had seen back at the other kingdom. Were these Praetorians some kind of elite Viking mercenaries hired to guard the Iskjerne Kingdom? Just then, something else caught Thorvald's attention as his son smacked his arm and pointed up in the air before him to the giant castle on the other side of the third stone wall, heading up the drawbridge to the raised mound at the center of the large ring fortress. It wasn't very elaborate or fancy, more like a thick stone cube, but still it was marvelous enough to merit Thorvald's attention.

Next they were greeted by a rabble of filthy guards with the likeness of berserkers. Thorvald and Erik had seen these types of men before, but never so many of them concentrated in one place. Berserker cults had long been outlawed in their Norwegian homeland, but here at Iskjerne Bay it seemed that the berserkers were still in active service to their Viking lords. But they did not say much, neither smiling nor even paying Thorvald and his son much attention as they passed through the final spiked gate and ascended towards the castle. Little did either of them know what all had happened in Iskjerne Bay over the past few years or so, nor were they even aware of the significant time change, or the injured passenger they were carrying with them in the back of their mule wagon who was also looking around.