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Brenton Brentson

"I will not bend to your will."

0 · 850 views · located in Domhanda

a character in “Chronicles of Domhanda”, as played by DA_SHADOW_PHOENIX

Description

Captain of The Voyageur
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N a m e s a k e:
Brenton Brentson
A l i a s:
Brent, Brenton, Captain, Skirl
N u m e r i c a l:
|Age: 27| Birth: Tenth of September|
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S o c i o l o g i c a l :
| Profession: Raider | Martial Status: Single |Homeland: Gullon, Fearaan | Allegiance: No one except his crew Status: In Brenton's crew he is the commander
B i o l o g i c a l :
| Height: 6'1" |Weight: 215lbs |Ethnicity: Fearaan/Glasliughian |
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P s y c h o l o g i c a l:
Brenton is an honourable man. Among society in Fearaan he is a vigilante, his "criminal" brother and him were always taught by their father that no matter the severity a crime or sin, all sins were equal. Any crime committed was terrible, yet there was no avoiding committing small offences in life. Brenton has a strong sense of justice and will act on it instinctively. It's in his family's blood to be lawmen whether or not they like it. His little brother was sent away from Fearaan for it.

Brenton is a loyal man and will easily put his life on the line for his crew or family, however he won't do something bold without reason. Brenton also has a razor sharp wit and can make a difficult decision in a mere matter of seconds.

P r o f i l e :
Brenton is built largely like any Fearaan man. He has fair white skin and icy blue eyes. His hair is long, brown, and roughly cut. His facial hair is only trimmed and very rarely shaved fully. He has a scar on his right brow from a sparring accident where he got cut.
K i n d r e d:
Brenton's brother Trenton Lives in Glasliugh and acts as the Guard Captain of Baile, His Uncle Brun (his mother's brother) also lives in Baile as a cook for the Duke. Brenton's father lives in Gullon and works as a blacksmith selling arms and armour to the clansmen.
F e a t s:
Brenton is a great warrior by the standards of any northern nation. Compared to many in Fearaan he is still adept. He has been at swprdplay and shield practice since he was about nine years old, taught by his father like all Fearaan male children, many of the women as well.

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Brenton is a, master helmsman. He could sail straight through a hurricane and come out the other side beaten and battered, but alive. Brenton is a sea raider and is a master strategist due to lots of raiding plans. He can raise the morale in the weakest of spirits due to his years of being a Skirl of a Wolf-Ship.

A r s e n a l: P
Brenton's greatest asset is The Voyager, a thirty foot long Wolf-ship. The ship is armed with large mounted crossbows that fire log sized bolts that could easily pierce through the hull of another ship. The ship has fifteen oars on each side, therefore he has about fifty crewmen to mount the crossbows and row.

Brenton wears rather light armour, raiders need to move fast. His armour consists of a fur and leather cloak, and fur lined leather tunic and slacks. He carries two swords, and always has his shield slung over his shoulder like any true Fearaan raider. He also sometimes carries a small crossbow that fires deadly darts.

A r c h i v e:
Brenton was born on the tenth of September two years before his brother, before his brother was born his life as a toddler was like any other Fearaan, helping his mother with chores and just behaving. Soon after Trenton was born, his mother went to the war to act as a physician. She died a few years later. As a teenager Brenton was constantly attempting to keep his brother out of trouble, but eventually he made a big mistake and his father sent Trenton to Braile to live with Uncle Brun.

After that Brenton made it his duty to end all injustices that Trenton had tried to do and been sent away for. To finish his little brothers job that had costed him his home. After he was done it had been five years and he was twenty-two. He then started his dream, he joined the crew of a Wolf-ship, The Voyageur. He quickly rose to the rank of second in command. When the Skirl over him was captured in a raid he became the new Skirl. He now hunts the coasts of Glasliugh and Crosaire in search of plunder.


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So begins...

Brenton Brentson's Story

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Character Portrait: Brenton Brentson
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B R E N T O N
1409, Third of June| Midday

A spray of fresh salt water sprayed over the boards of The Voyageur. The ship crashed through the waves that were evident of near shore. A large Fearanni man stood at the helm of the Wolf-ship. He held onto the steering oar as the rest of the crew was handling the sail. They had to tack the sail repeatedly so they didn't have to row, they took turns in groups of ten doing the tacks. They would remove the sail, then Brenton, the large brown haired Skirl of the ship, would angle the ship into the wind. Then they would put the sail back up. This maneuver made sailing the ship about a kilometer away from shore possible. Only very experienced helmsmen and crew members could manage such a maneuver with such a large ship.

Brenton and the crew of The Voyageur were going to hit the Northern coast of Glasliugh raiding the small villages outside of Balie on the coast. With tribe leaders in Baile, that meant that's also where the Guardsmen would be. No opposition. "Oars!" Brenton yelled in a voice that boomed above the roar of the waves bashing the hull of the ship. They were a kilometre away from shore, they would be there in half an hour. "Get ready men!" Brenton yelled to the crew in an invigorating manner. Many of them yelled in agreement and bloody joy bashing thier weapons against their shields.

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Character Portrait: Brenton Brentson Character Portrait: Trenton Brentson Character Portrait: Anerin
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T R E N T O N
Third of June| Midday

Trenton watched as Degal escorted a obviously foreign man out of the Great Hall. He looked odd. He was no Fearaani, or Kirhareshian, no way in the world was he Corsarian. So was he Dalish? Trenton was obscured by this. This man must have been here for some great reason to travel such a long way, but it would have to wait.

"You are positive? Who brought this news?" Duke Anerin inquired to Trenton. Trenton answered the question with a swift tongue in his mind. He knew that these had to be Fearaani's. Either pillaging, or setting a signal pyre. They had done it a couple times to help lost hunters find their way home in Gullon.

"I'm quite positive. I know the signal pyres. I originate from Fearaan, remember m'lord? Either it is our guests, our our enemies. I suggest I report there immediately. If they are our enemies they need to be faced immediately. If they are our guests, we need to keep the peace between the two rival tribes, The Wolve and The Elk tribes." Trenton told Anerin. He wished to ride fast as the wind to meet the Fearaani. He hoped his brother was with them. By now he had to be a warrior of one of the tribes. Trenton and Brenton had never been able to claim a tribe in Fearaan because of their mixed blood, at least not until they were old enough to choose their own path. Once in a Tribe there was no turning back. So people who weren't born into the tribe, like foreigners such as Brenton and Trenton, were given time to decide where they wanted to spend the rest of their lives. In the brave and honourable warriors of the Elk Tribe, or the vicious and brutal raiders of the Wolve Tribe.

Trenton decided to elaborate on his sighting of the smoke. "As I escourted the Queen to her quarters I saw a huge pillar of smoke coming from the North-Western shore. It could quite possibly be raiders. I Should go as soon as possible Anerin." Trenton told the Duke. He had used the Duke's first name, which he was not usually addressed by. To some it would seem rude, but Trenton would despise always being called 'Captain', or 'Guard'.

Trenton felt very excited. Maybe not in a great way. He hadn't seen his brother for years. He had beaten a man for raping a young serving maid. Trenton saw in his mind his fists flying as he sat on top of the struggling man still half naked. The Old Fearaan man cursed and yelled through swollen lips and a bloodied mouth. Trenton's fists had rained down on that trash like a thunder storm that pelted the ground with repeated waves of hale. The fifteen-year-old Trenton only stopped when Brenton pulled him off the poor soul. "What have you done brother?" Brenton's words had rung out in Trentons sad mind. "I'll tell you what he's done boy! He's just thrown his life away. I'll gut you like a fish you stupid boy!" The old man had yelled at Trenton. It still stung in his mind to find out the Man was high ranking in Fearaan society.

"He can easily have you killed you foolish boy! Your little vigilante act has gone too far Trenton, it's not safe here for you anymore. You're going to live with your Uncle Brun." Brent had told Trenton. The twang of his fathers past words echoed in Trenton's now empty mind. He only had one more year to choose his tribe. He hadn't had the opportunity to live his life in Fearaan. It just went to show how corrupt politics could be, and how evil roamed all around. The only people who seemed to be sad to see Trenton go were his family and Lilia. The girl he had avenged.

Trenton snapped back into reality where he stood in front of his Lord. He stood at the ready, listning for his Duke's orders.

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B R E N T O N
Third of June| Midday

The Crew began to row into shore. The Voyageur was a very big ship and Brenton could see some of the villagers scrambling and running as they approached. Brenton scoffed at them, the women and children could run freely, but even some of the men ran? What cowards were they. If Brenton had come to raid surely half of the village would already be set alight. The cross-bows mounted on The Voyageur could easily launch 500 metres with burning pitch on them. "Cowards." Brenton said as he felt the beat of the rowing drum thunder in his heart. His body was conditioned to hear this drum before raids. His blood flowed faster than usual and many times hotter when this drum was being beaten.

As they approached shore, the rowers all began to grunt and sweat with extra strain as they fought against the waves bashing off the rocky shore. "Full stop!" Brenton thundered over the crew. All the rower gave three mighty heaves backwards and the ship gradually slowed until it bobbed on the waves like an ice-berg in a pond. "Lower anchor!" Brenton shouted to his left where there were five men waiting to throw the anchor overboard. With a great grunt and powerful toss, in unison the conditioned sea-wolves threw the heavy iron anchor overboard. The ship would be safe this far out. They were only about thirty metres from shore. They would swim from here. The rafts would be useless at this close distance, why take half an hour to get the men they needed on shore when they could do so in five minutes instead. Brenton was the first one to approach the right side of the ship. He looked over the edge and looked back to Girdge, his second in command. "You have command while I'm away." Brenton told him as custom before he checked his body for his shield and swords, then took the leap over the bar and plummeted ten metres to the icy sea below.

For any mere man the frigid water and raging waves would be too much. A Fearaan was right at home. The swim was rather mediocre for such people. Their immunity to the cold served them well as they powered through the coastal waves created by the shore. Brenton made it to shore in a mtter of a couple minutes, and when he arrived he shook off like an animal and waited fro a few more of his crewmen. Kirt, Girdge's younger brother was the first on shore with Brenton. "Make a camp here." Brenton told him. He indicated around at the rocky shore. Kirt nodded in reply and began to gather some driftwood for presumably a fire. Brenton began into the village with five other large crew members. They drawfed the Glasliughians. Easily standing sometimes a foot taller. Brenton just stood there in the center of the village. He looked around and saw a man dart behind a building. Brenton strolled easily through the village of wooden and stone structures. Livestock seemed to be afraid of the Fearaan raiders and backed away from them. Just like most of the humans. Brenton found this scrawny, balding, old man cowering in a dead end seeming to hope that he wouldn't be killed. Brenton could use this to his advantage. Brenton walked to the man, towering above him. The man's knees shook even more, which seemed impossible. Brenton grabbed the old man by his collar and pulled him closer to him. The old man's chest touched Brenton's stomach. He was small, even by Glasliughian standards.

"Please don't hurt me!" The old man whimpered. "I'll give you anything. I have a wife and children." He finished, a tear streaked down his cheek.

"Tell me where Trenton Brentson is." Brenton demanded. The old man's jaw dropped.

"He's our Guard Cap'n he is, he's likely up in the castle, but he'll be here soon to stop you!" The old man retorted.

Brenton released the old man and a smirk played on his face. His stern features rarely did such a liberal thing. "Good." Brenton said as he turned and walked out of the ally. He began on his way back to the temporary camp. "Light a pyre." Brenton told one of the raiders with him. His name was Mund, he had apprenticed with Brenton's father as a blacksmith and brenton had been a good friend of his since they were little. Mund also nodded in acceptance of the order and began to get to work gathering wood.

Setting

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Character Portrait: Brenton Brentson Character Portrait: Krea Halvard Character Portrait: Urfith the Eight Fingered
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Halvard

1409, Third of June | Morning to Evening
Shores of Fearaan to the Shores of Glalsiugh




A fight amongst the storms. The dream and aspirations of all Vikings; that one battle that will be remembered as Armageddon. The victors etched into every pot and wall for centuries to come. Their daring and prowess worshiped by the common folk and their style mimicked as an art. When their names are whispered, people shiver in fearful admiration.

Sraig's bellowing and talk was exactly as Halvard expected of his men. He roared his challenge to the Gods. Others joined him, proclaiming to unbeatable and boasting their own individual strength. For without a sense of pride, you were nothing but a stone. A weapon used for others and a piece of history easily removed. None of this company would budge so easily...

Halvard left Urfith and his brothers to their shouting and approached the helm. There Grall shouted orders while Nevida oversaw the lowering of sails. The wind was strong, favoring their voyage. With a bit luck, they would make landfall by night. How Halvard would proceed from their remained to be seen.

"I'm curious Krea." Nevida threw the words out without particular meaning, keeping focused at the task at hand. Halvard continued past him and started to tighten ropes that contained supplies.

"Are ya? And do ya want me to ask what about?"

"It appears our destination isn't as straight forward as I figured it would be." His brother patted Grall on the shoulder indicating the ship was steady. "In fact, it almost looks like we are off course."

"I do not wish to make berth at the same location as the Wolves. Thorvaald may be able to bite his tongue but his pups would pounce on us the moment we arrived." Halvard glanced over to his brother with a slight smirk on his face. "I do not wish to kill them."

This was only amusing to Nevida because Halvard rarely made a joke about anything so serious. For him to smile so meant he was truly trying to keep a light attitude during this trip. Nevida observed the crew yet again... not he fiercest or strongest warriors of the tribe, not by a long shot. He was concerned by this fact, wondering why such a small group of misfits would be traveling as escort to the Chieftain of their tribe. Was he perhaps worried about an attack at home while he was away? Maybe he didn't want to intimidate the Duke with a large force. Perhaps he was nervous about the experience of who could take, making sure to only bring the veterans.

The truth was, Halvard brought who he could trust. Krea could name each and every man on this ship. He had feasted with their families, hunted with their spouses, trained their children, and learned to love them as brothers and sisters. Halvard brought those he knew would never back down if the negotiations went sour and those who he knew would represent the warriors of the Elk with honor. Even the quick tempered Urfith knew better then to dishonor the Elk Tribe and Halvard would not want anyone else to accompany him then the fists of Urfith, the tongue of Nevida, the might of Grall, the laughter of Sraig, the wit of Tormuun...

A quick ship with a loyal, unyielding crew... this was what Krea Halvard, the Terror of the North was most effective with. This is what would arrive on the shores of Glasliugh... right were Brenton and his crew were making camp. Let the festivities begin!

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Character Portrait: Brenton Brentson Character Portrait: Krea Halvard Character Portrait: Urfith the Eight Fingered
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Urfith

1409, Third of June, Afternoon

Land was in sight, a dark blot on the cooling horizon. He took a deep breath, then wrinkled his nose. The southlands had always stunk. In the north, ice and snow blanketed scents, or dulled your smell, but here...here it was warm, open and rank. Urfith couldn't help but smile.

It was good to know some things didn't change.

He hadn't been near this coastline in years. He fingered his sword belt as memories played back in his mind. His first raid, the villagers had scattered like birds before him as he ransacked their homes. It was then he had his first taste of death. A man had come up behind him, seeking to catch him off guard, but Urfith had heard him creeping. A short scuffle later left the poor farmer with his sword in his gut.
It wasn't a short death.
Regrettable, yet necessary.

"Ugh." A voice interrupted his thoughts, "I had forgotten this place reeks like a whore's cunt." A grim faced Sraig took his place next to Urfith, "By the gods, what stench!" He muttered, spitting into the water.
Urfith grinned, "But think of what pleasures await your arrival," He joked, "I'm sure there's some one who can hump your sense of smell into oblivion."
Sraig snorted, "Aye, I had better feel like I've wrestled a bear when we're through to get this filth out of my nose."
Laughing, Urfith turned his attention back to the growing shore, then squinted, "Do you see that?"

"Hm?" Sraig looked in the general direction of his brother's stare, "Nothing. What do you see?"

What Urfith had seen was Brenton's pyre, which he had ordered lit earlier that day. It now burned a high and bright orange, a pinprick of light on the darkened shore. Now and then, tinier shadows flitted in front of it, causing it to blink in and out of existence.
It was no lonely flame.

"A fire. There." Urfith pointed, and Sraig followed his finger, squinting as well. His eyes then widened, "Ah, I see it. Seems we've got ourselves a bit of a welcome party, eh brother?" Urfith's fingers played along his sword hilt, "Aye." He replied shortly.
What awaited them? Had the Croasarian king hear of their arrival? Was it an ambush? Merely a welcoming party as his brother had said?

Urfith spat into the water, "Keep an eye on it, Sraig, I'm going to tell Halvard."
Sraig nodded, "Go then."

Turning, Urfith made his way to his chief, his mind a whirl of possibilities.

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Character Portrait: Brenton Brentson Character Portrait: Krea Halvard Character Portrait: Urfith the Eight Fingered
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Halvard

1409, Third of June | Evening
Shores of Glalsiugh


The black sky which spread throughout air above engulfed every ticking second and passing thought. Small tears of shimmering light watched in earnest as Halvard and his crew made berth. The shores of Glalsiugh would have probably cringed upon seeing the Fearaan Dragonship, but this was nothing new. This time, the land simply accepted it's fate.

Besides, Halvard and his crew were not the first to have arrived. Urfith approached the bow of the ship where his Chieftain stood watching with a careful expression. Halvard could see the fires as well as a rather large wolf ship. This was not what he expected... going this far north should have put the Elk tribe several miles away from Thorvaald and his ilk. Yet at the same time, Krea knew this wasn't Thorvaald himself for the wolves move in packs. Bringing one ship was highly unlikely...

That left two options.

Either this was a scout ship that branched off from Thorvaald's expedition or these were raiders and there was only one raider that Halvard knew of that possessed such a dangerous Dragonship. This was Brenton.

Urfith stopped by Halvard's side but said nothing. Undoubtedly he saw the fires and was coming to inform Krea. Waiting by his chiefs side, Halvard consider their options. He didn't want to delay this meeting any longer then it should be but at the same time, he couldn't have Fearaan's raiding villages while there was talk of peace going on.

"Urfith."
Halvard turned to face the brawler. Krea had a good task in mind for him and his brothers.

"We need horses. Eight should do. Take your brothers and be quick."


Halvard began to walk towards the ship's helm to speak with his brother before adding in a quick, "And try not to hurt anyone... at least no anyone from Glalsiugh." Surely this would bring a spark of excitement to Urfith's eyes knowing he had permission to deal with any raiders as he saw fit. Halvard took charge quickly, issuing orders as the ship neared the beach.

"Grall, I need a handful of men to follow. We have a mess to clean up."
Grall nodded his head and grabbed his sword before overseeing the lowering of boats. A warrior named Darius brushed his axe off and jumped to his feet before calling out to Halvard.

"Will thar be death inland, Halvard!"
Who knew? Quelling a raid was not something that was usually done.

"Only if they fight."

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Character Portrait: Brenton Brentson Character Portrait: Trenton Brentson Character Portrait: Urfith the Eight Fingered
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B R E N T O N
Listen to this as you read
1409, Third of June| Evening

Brenton stood in the middle of the camp that his crew had made. They had done well with the pyre. It burnt like a torch in a dark basement, battering away the darkness with mighty lashes of it's orange and yellow tongues as it consumed the air and seeked for more fuel. Brenton was told by his father he was like a flame. He looked nice, and beautiful, but if it wasn't controlled and was set wild there would be unmeasurable destruction. The smoke that the fire released was thick, the wood was wet and would send a pillar of smoke hundreds of feet into the air, and would be visible for miles.

Brenton realised that he was pacing. He was anxious. What if his lawful brother resented him for what he had become? Would he understand?... Brenton sighed to himself. He stopped tears from coming down his face. No Fearanni warrior would cry, especially in the presence of their crew. Would Trenton understand why Brenton had turned to raiding...? The sea wolf suppressed a feral growl of rage. He had righted all the wrongs in Gullin, finishing his brother's job of cleansing the filth and immoralities out of the gutters of a once respectable city. Brenton had done all this, and he was shunned for it. There was no justice in this world. There was no hope for a brighter day tomorrow. Only darkness that consumed all. A light light may flicker, but without air how shall that flame live on? The world was a dark and twisted place. Brenton thought maybe it should be utterly destroyed, but that would end everything. You cannot fix what doesn't exist. Brenton had become a raider because that's where he could control how much evil was brought. "You can't seek to destroy evil, only to harness it, control it, and lessen the damage it causes to the innocent." Brenton had told all his crew members time and again. He thought this as he murmured it under his breath. Trenton was fighting a losing battle. It was time to open his younger brother's eyes and let his see the true darkness.

"Every light casts a shadow." Brenton told himself.

Then Brenton turned about as he continued his pacing. The repetitive five steps, then pivot, five steps, pivot, five steps... "Cap'n!" Jilul, an older crewmember yelled to Brenton, "Elk!" there was a pause as Brenton processed this new information Then another shou tore apart his thought; "Here come the guard!" an unknown voice blurted out of the crew from one of the smaller camp fires. Brenton looked at his crew slightly worriedly. He bowed his head and mustered his courage, and he began to walk to meet these new arrivals at his camp. His crew gawked at him as he marched, but not that he did, how he did. Brenton reached across his belt and unstrapped it, allowing the two heavy iron swords on it to fall to the ground in their sheaths. Then he unslung his shield and allowed it to topple out of his hands onto the ground as well.

It needed to be clear he wasn't here to fight. As the three partys met in a rough triangular formation Brenton inclined his head in a brotherly salute to both the other factions. "Kirtig matug." Brenton said. The highest honour you could give a fellow Fearann while greeting them was calling them "Matug", Champion. Then Brenton looked at the guards, but the shadow of the hills didn't allow him to see faces. So he issued a simple greeting of; "Good day." Then he addressed both the Fearanni and Glasliugians "I'm Brenton. Captain of The Voyageur."

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Character Portrait: Brenton Brentson Character Portrait: Trenton Brentson Character Portrait: Krea Halvard
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#, as written by iowa90
Halvard

1409, Third of June | Evening
Shores of Glalsiugh


The waves tugged gently upon the boats, pulling them towards the shore. It seemed unnatural, Fearaan fighting Fearaan on Glalsiugh ground but Halvard needed to be sure that the peace was kept. Grall leaned forward, his heavy hand grasping Krea's arm. For a warrior of the Frozen North, Halvard had always been slightly... different. The brothers of Elk and Wolf shared many similarities. They fought with pride and vigor and feasted with high intonation! They grappled and spat, pushed and laughed... they were physical and hearty race. Halvard, however, was not. He was a fierce man in battle and he would dine with his brothers, but never didn't he engage in the physicality that they enjoyed. Most knew better then to touch the Bone Splitter... but then again, most weren't the size of a mammoth as Grall was.

"Your thoughts run wild Halvard. Perhaps we shouldn't engage our brothers."


Grall was being cautious, a trait that Halvard did not often share. To Krea, the options in battle where kill the enemy or let them live. There was no retreating, there was no concept of losing...

"We will not strike first if that is what you are saying."


The boat landed with a soft thud and the Elk tribe quickly stormed the shore. There were no people about, the citizens apparently seeking refuge in their houses. The small band of fifteen took off into the streets in search for life. First on his agenda was finding the captain of this Wolf ship without simply walking up to their Pyre. Halvard gripped his sword but decided to leave it wrapped in it's fur. He would avoid bloodshed if possible. Grall kept pace, doing his best to stay low. His structure made it difficult for him to remain completely hidden but the massive man was at least able to move silently.

Byson, a young lad of 19 suns hissed towards Halvard. He waved his hand, indicating to come. There was something around the corner of that dwelling. Krea quickly joined him and peered around the edge. Two men were shuffling goods out of the house; plates, pelts and whatever else they could grab. There was no indication of death so perhaps the owners had fled already. The two jeered at each other laughed heartily at there plunder.

Halvard, satisfied they were alone stepped from around the corner and walked briskly to the closest Raider. The man was oblivious to Krea's presence but the second took notice quickly.

"Oye! Who goes there?"


Halvard's Elk flooded around both sides of the house, brandishing their weapons. Krea himself reached his target who had turned to face him directly. Grasping his hands together, Krea threw his right elbow into the man's jaw, staggering him. Halvard followed through and grabbed his left shoulder, pulling him up hitting him hard in the abdomen to knock his breath out. He then tossed him back for two men to grab and pin down. The other Raider had pulled his blade out and was shouting indecencies, challenging the lot of them. That was a Viking for you...

Grall gripped him by the scruff of his pelt and tossed him like a wet tissue against the wall of the house. A few moments later, Halvard had learned all he needed to know. This was indeed the work of Captain Brenton but he was not here for raiding alone... Apparently he wished to meet with the Nation of Glalsiugh as well. This wasn't how Krea Halvard wanted to go about meeting the Duke.

"Grall, go to the ship and get my brother. Take him to the Pyre and meet with Brenton. Wait there for any messengers from Glalsiugh."

Grall grunted in acknowledgment.

"And what about you?"


Halvard tapped Byson, Darius, and a few others and indicated them to follow.

"Urfith has some horse for me."



--------------------------------------

The band of Elk reached the Pyre moments latter, Nevida leading the group. He casually scratched the top of his head, shacking his thick black hair. He took the compliment in stride as Brenton called him "Matug". What praise and flattery so early in the game!

"Aye"
Acknowledging Brenton's words but retorting in none. Brenton would need to explain his situation before he wished to receive favor from the Elk.

The party halted as yet another group approached. Grall casually lowered his mighty Great Sword, piercing the blade into the ground. The Elk were small in numbers compared to the Raiders and knights, but they showed no care or worry about it.

"I'm Brenton. Captain of the Voyageur."


Nevida lips curled into a slight smirk. He found the situation amusing to say the least.

"I am called Nevida and I am representing the mighty Elk tribe of the North."
Nevida addressed both parties and then awaited for Glalsiugh to respond. This would be interesting indeed.

cron