Cassandra of Manderville's Story

A silver moon hung low in the clouded sky, winds whipped over the sea, and through the Jarl of Grimstads hair, as he and his men sailed westward. Land would be coming up on them quickly, though they were unsure of what would be left. Rumor of great beasts from beyond the realm of man had begun spreading their way through Northumbria, and Delvin was not one to shy away from a fight. He sent word via carrier pigeon to several other kingdoms, hoping for some support, but expecting none. The true Vikings of Grimstad knew what they were riding into, and they ached for a good battle.

"Fetch the Raven" Delvin barked at a crewman. He quickly jumped down the stairs, shortly thereafter producing a raven, and loosened her from her small cage. "Keep an eye on her, she's our map now, too cloudy for stars" Delvin spoke calmly. The crewman nodded, and watched as the bird sailed west, and began circling an unseen beach. "Drop the sail and arm yourselves men, Glory awaits us all!" Delvin Barked, as they neared the beach. The clang of sword and shield from the two longships was ear-shattering.


Fires burned brightly, as what looked like a small beach encampment slowly came into view. The ships ride cleanly near the beach, as the crewmen dropped anchor and jumped ship. A small welcoming party met the clan as they made their way towards the encampment. "Wine?" said a small man, nervously looking up at one of the Jarl's larger men. Delvin laughed, "I think you mean to turn your attention to me, holy man. I am Jarl Uldthar of Grimstad, and these 20 men are my crew. We come to pledge our swords against the beasts, and our mead towards our newfound companions! Brynjoff, Haldar, fetch the mead barrels. Lufthar, Arik, bring the weapons crate up to the encampment armory, My friend here is going to inform the other commanders of our presence, tell them to come to our camp." Delvin finished his sentence and gazed down upon the holy man. "On any other day my friend, we would be the last thing you see before you met your god. However, this day is not any other day. This day is today, and you need not fear me and my men, we do not cross our gods, or our companions." Now, where might we raise drink, and lie our heads?" The holy man pointed towards an oversized tent.

Two men made their way past, carrying a large crate, 1/3 full with shields, 1/3 full with axes and swords, and the rest, simple woven leather bracers and grieves, along with several spare leather spaulders. The Vikings of Grimstad preferred speed to protection when it came to armour. Two more passed shortly after, each carrying a barrel of mead on their shoulders, headed towards the oversized tent, marked "Grimstad". Delvin left the holy man, with a nod, and proceeded into the encampment, following the mead carriers. The tent was very large, almost deceptively so. A large table lie in the middle, surrounded by several benches, more than enough to seat the entire crew. several smaller rooms were surrounding the table, each with a few small haybeds, covered in skins of various animals. The crew made their way in not too long after, gathering at the table and filling their horns with elderberry mead. The jarl made his way to the head of the table, filled his horn, and sat. "To a short life, and a violent one, and to a quick death, and a glorious one!" He exclaimed, before finishing his horn and slamming it on the table. As the stories began to pour out of his crew, Delvin made his way out of their tent, to learn more of their newfound companions. His eyes met with a stranger peering at him from behind a small tent, looking fit for perhaps one person. The stranger seemed a knight of some sort, the Jarl unable to make a distinction as to where from. He approached. "And who might you be, a knight? a thane? a thrall?" Delvin questioned, curiously.

Beach encampment, unspecified location, about 11:22 PM

The nine creatures, their bodies horrendiously malformed, silently moved through the brush near the encampment. They heavily resembled the demons of legend, names would likely come to the minds of the Viking men that had recently arrived. The monsters were armed with various weapons, some with crude cudgels made of wood and stone, the others with metal swords and daggers. The monsters resembled, should they be compared, a man that had been burned terribly, with flesh that looked nearly melted off of the face. Various lumps and malformities covered their backs and arms.

As the small group makes their approach toward the camp, as do other groups of beasts, a total of about twenty of them. These monsters get close to the camp, and then a shriek is heard from them as they all charge at once, attacking anything in view.

What happens to the men is all dependent on how they react.

Two weeks and two days since the resplendent green of Warwickshire was behind her. The long road to Dover eerily uneventful. The channel crossing on the other hand had been treacherous, surely a sign of things to come Cassandra pondered from her seat on the sand before her tent.

"Vikings." Malcolm, her cousin - a redheaded, freckled face, seventeen year old cousin and adamant companion - precipitated unnecessarily. That the new arrivals were Vikings was obvious before they landed on the beach. In true Viking fashion they could be heard before they were seen, clattering shields and wooting bellows of war cries. How they were so successful with such a ruckus proceed was beyond Cassandra as she and Malcolm watched the party land and greet the nervous priest.

She may have even found the holy man's discomfiture amusing however she was too filled with her own disquiet to pay too much attention to the scene before them.

"Blois." Cassandra said flatting the map on the sand before them, diverting Malcolm's attention back to the matter at hand. "That's where Renard d'Mon said the regiment was heading. That's about eighteen leagues give or take."

"Yes but that was over a week ago. Who knows where they are now." Malcolm replied. He had been adamant about joining her. The seventh son of a prosperous Earl, his prospects were pretty low. No lands or money to inherit, only an ecclesiastic career awaiting the young man. Ergo when he discovered Cassandra's plan he imbedded himself into it.

Of course the young lady had no intention of dragging anyone else along on this suicide mission but now she was grateful to have her young cousin by her side. He made it considerably easier for her to pass off as man. It had been Malcolm in fact who suggested that if she wanted any chance for anyone to believe she was in fact a male she need to cut her long, silky locks.

It had been painful but she had done it. She had to find her father. Though now the silvery stands rested just below her shoulders. As for the beasts, they had been sat on this beach for a day and a half now and had seen nothing. They were in fact starting to think that there were no beasts at all. Just fables and myths creating unnecessary panic but she still had to fine her sire.

"Well we won't know until we get there." Cassandra sighed, rubbing her temple with a mucky hand. It hadn't occurred to her when she had set out how difficult it would be. Her life had been a very sheltered one, as she was quickly coming to realise.

"And who might you be, a knight? a thane? a thrall?"

"Christ!" The pair gasped, taken unawares.

"Good God man!" Cassandra cried, placing a reassuring over her thundering heart under the thin plates and chainmail covering her torso. "I mean err . . . ahem . . ." Cassandra coughed clearing her throat and deepening her voice when Malcolm elbowed her in the ribs. "Yes! I-knight, I mean," She smiled nervously as the pair rose to their feet and straightened their spines. "I'm Cassius . . . of Manderville, Knight of the house of Warwick and this is my . . .err . . ."

"Squire." Malcolm offered helpfuly.

"Yes, my esteemed Squire. Malcolm d'Elencourt. Pleasure to make your acquaint-"

Her words were cut short by shrill squeaks splitting the air, followed by cries to arms and just like that Cassandra and Malcolm found themselves in the heat of battle. The sound of iron unsheathed was a symphony across the camp, one joined by Cassandra and her companion.

"Let's see what you're made of Viking." She challenged with a small smile that quickly disappeared as the demonic creatures came into view. It took all of her might not to grip onto the pommel too tight as the creatures barrelled into view and dispersed in every which direction, destroying every and anything or anyone in their path with unmatchable strength. "We have to stick together!"

Time: about 11:30 PM to 11:36 PM.

Horde.
The undead first attacked the unarmored. Those that hadn't been prepared where quickly overwhelmed. For the about fifty to seventy people in the camp, only a few were harmed in the initial attack. A minute after the beginning of the attack, three of the monsters make it through to the side of the camp facing the waters, and quickly approach the man who seems to be the leader of the Vikings, the one known as Uldthar, with one splitting off to attack the one that calls themself Cassius. They are armed with crude cudgels, but the one is armed with a rusted axe.

In the initial attack, four of the undead are killed, taking with them one for each of their deaths.

Richard
Richard had been in the camp for a while now. He had been travelling through the countryside on horseback for a while, going alongside others. He had encountered these creatures before, but not in such number as they seemed to be now. When he hears the inhuman screams of the monsters, he quickly grabs his mace, with no time to get anything else besides a torch, which he quickly lights using a nearby campfire.
He rushes through the assortment of people, running past Cassandra and Uldthar, and into the chaos that is the camp.