Harald Fairhair's Story

Ragnar Sigurdsson suddenly jumped as Livia reached out to touch him. The wide icey blue gaze of his one good eye stared at her with a look of hatred and madness, not just at her but at the whole entire world in general. His other eye had been swollen shut. His forehead had an open gash in it, in the shape of a cross, and there was blood running down his face. His left side had been pierced with a sharp object, causing a trail of blood which soaked his tattered brown shirt and trousers. His right hand was swelled up from being bitten by a viper. He had bare feet with dirty toenails, and his left foot, also swollen, had two puncture wounds on it from snake's fangs. His neck was also bruised, as if he had been choked or strangled by a large python. The whole back of his shirt had been ripped open by being whipped constantly, and there were several lashings on his backside. Both of his wrists and ankles were scraped up and lacerated from being shackled, and from the holes in his hands and feet, it seemed that at some point in time, Ragnar had been crucified. He had been through hell and back, and had every right to be skittish and jumpy at the stranger before him.

But as she slowly lifted his sticky shirt up to examine the gash in his side, Ragnar stared at Livia quietly, his face void of expression as he tried to relax. Even in this horrible state, Ragnar still had the gaze of a very fierce and strong individual. There was hardly any fear in him at all, only a deep sense of hatred and contempt for those who had placed him in his current condition. It was amazing he was even still alive at all, but the badly injured Danish Viking showed no sign of remorse or weakness as he winced in pain, gritting his teeth as Livia examined his many wounds. She would also notice many scars and other former injuries which had healed over time. It appeared that Ragnar had not only been beaten, robbed and left for dead, but had been brutally tortured for many days, perhaps even weeks. Yet his resilience still held. Clearly he was no ordinary human being, as he stared fiercely at the Praetorians who were carrying out their orders from the Argosian commander.

"Claudius, revertetur per viam portae, non potest dicere Generalis Hama reversus cum hospite." She instructed in her native language. Thorvald Asvaldsson and his son didn't understand a single word of it, but Ragnar Lothbrok understood the gist of it, having learned some English and stylized Latin from a Christian priest he had once captured and made friends with long ago.

Ragnar laid there quietly with his head propped up against the back of the wagon seat as Livia climbed up into the mule cart next to him. He didn't say anything, only gritting in pain while hiding his agony and refusing to show fear as she spoke to Thorvald in a language all four of them could understand. "I'm Livia, the first Legate. I do not want your things, I want to help this man." She said, once again with her strangely delicate accent. Thorvald Asvaldsson just nodded quietly.

The Norsemen watched helplessly as the two Praetorian Guards tossed the white medical field kit into the back of the parked mule cart along with the jug of water that Livia had requested. "If we do not get him medical help, he will die." She said, as she began to examine Ragnar's injuries more closely, using her pugio to cut his shirt open and expose the festering dirt covered wounds. The young man Erik would grimace at the sight of so much blood and pain. He had never seen someone so badly injured before, and it surprised him that Ragnar wasn't crying or screaming for mercy.

Thorvald Bloodyfist and Erik the Red watched silently as Livia opened the white briefcase, exposing an array of shining tools and medical equipment. Ragnar just glanced for a second at the tool kit before looking into Livia's eyes again, as if gazing into her soul as she snapped on her latex gloves and proceeded to clean out his wounds. He winced in pain as the alcohol touched his skin, but he made no efforts to stop her. In fact, he seemed more curious and interested in what Livia was doing, as if he was almost taking mental notes in his mind and learning from it as she flushed his injuries with water and alcohol before stitching him up. Ragnar remained somewhat conscious throughout the entire process, but the viper's venom was still slowly taking effect as his vision started to go blurry from the snake bites.

"What happened to this man?" She asked, a bit alarmed it would seem that Ragnar was still breathing. She then repeated herself in their native language. Thorvald and Erik, just like Ragnar, had understood both East Anglish and Old Norse, so Thorvald decided to respond in the Empyrean English dialect instead to make it slightly easier for Livia, seeing as she appeared to be struggling with their more Nordic pronunciations.

"I don't know. Like I said, we just found him like this," the old man answered, speaking directly to the Legata now as his red-haired son continued to examine the shining tools and equipment inside the white briefcase. "Vipera berus," the injured patient suddenly chimed in Latin before closing his eyes and falling limp. He was still breathing slowly, but he was starting to lose consciousness. Thorvald and Erik looked at one another ackwardly, confused again by the strange words before turning to gaze at Livia and the Iskjerne Viking in the back of the wagon who was fading quickly.

Thorvald Asvaldsson took the small handful of silver denarius coins in the palm of his hand, looking down at them before looking back up at Livia for a moment. He then turned and handed the silver coins to his son Erik the Red, who picked up one of the coins and bit into it to see if it was real. Thorvald then rested his hand on Erik's shoulder.

"Thank you kindly Your Grace, but this old man has already sworn his allegiances to another. Besides, I will only slow your haste. These old bones have been traveling for many weeks, and I am in need of some rest. I will send my son with you instead, he can take you to the mountains." Thorvald said, squeezing his son's shoulder gently before patting him on the shoulder and climbing down out of the mule wagon.

The red-headed young man stared at his father quietly before nodding and placing the silver denarii into his belt pouch and grabbing the reigns. Thorvald nodded respectfully to Livia and her Praetorian guards before putting his hat back on and slapping the mule's ass with his open hand. "Go now my boy, and be quick." Thorvald said as the four-wheeled cart started moving.

Erik the Red nodded and whipped the reigns, shouting loudly. "Yah!!" He yelled as the wagon started to pull away, gaining speed with Livia and Ragnar in the back of it as he carried out the Legata's wishes, taking her north towards the mountains. Ragnar began fading in and out at that moment, talking nonsensically in a way that was incomprehensible to both Livia and Erik.

"Aethelstan... Aethelstan don't leave me." Ragnar said weakly as he squinted his one good eye open and reached out to Thorvald, but the old man was already beginning to walk back towards the castle. Ragnar would blink slightly, beginning to feel nauseated and dizzy from the polyvalent antivenin Livia had injected into his shoulder. He tried to squint and blink, turning his head to look up at Livia again. With his blurry vision, he thought for a moment that she was a valkyrie. The sun's rays cascading over her head and shoulders with brilliant rainbow colors appeared to him like a halo, winged helmet or like the wings of an angel as he smiled very slightly at Livia before laying his head back and closing his eyes again. "Eir, beloved Eir, don't let my wife find out that I'm dead or she'll kill me." Ragnar muttered softly before losing consciousness and passing out.

One day while Thorvald "Bloodyfist" Asvaldsson was playing a game of tossing his cork bottle plug into his empty cow horn drinking cup while sitting in the public mead hall deep in the center of Iskjerne Bay's old viking ring fortress on the natural dirt floor on top of a thin cloth butt cushion in front of the open fire pit, three distinguished characters walked through the door into the mead hall, gaining attention from everyone at the mead gathering. Thorvald would mind his own business while listening to all the gossip in and around the village.

Thorvald was playing a game involving a small cork bottle plug and a cow horn drinking glass, sitting inside the public mead hall on the floor before an open fire when Hrafn-Floki suddenly stepped inside the mead hall, accompanied by a dozen or so ulfhednar and half a dozen berserkers, causing everyone in the mead hall to pause for a moment in order to look at Floki the raven master, his appearance unmistakable and wild looking as ever with his thin crow's peak hair style, black eyeliner and curling fingers, a man of more modest size among the Iskjerne Vikings who stood in the arch doorway to either side of him.

Floki had scurvy and was shaking badly as he approached the campfire with his gang of champions and sat down. Floki was wrapped in a thick fur blanket and only his red slightly frost bitten face and frozen beard were exposed, but everyone could tell it was Floki by his walk and attitude as he started giggling nonsensically and wavering his way through the silence. The entire crowd was filled with silence, having all heard of the exploits and deeds of the reputable shipbuilder, adventurer, runemaster, and ghost pirate slaying naval leader who had once served the deceased King Sigurd Hring, and was now a very vain wiseman and holy leader. Floki had parched bleeding lips and dry red eyes, and skin cold and pale, but he smiled and chuckled once he got comfortable, wiggling his fingers in front of the flames.

Just then another familar old face would walk into the mead hall, standing in the doorway with a handful of well uniformed Frankish-styled armed guards with uniquely curved shields and green and blue uniforms with nanosteel armour and weapons, holding Ellarian crossbows, looking rather out of place for the setting. These highly disciplined archers were not Iskjerne Vikings, they were Ellarian Soldiers, and they were being led by a very tall dark haired Nordic man in a red silk robe with a bright blue dog fur cape and a finely trimmed beard. It was Robert I of Ellaria, the crown duke. But in former years, this noble familiar looking Frenchman had another name.

"That's Rollo the Walker," someone whispered quietly from the crowd that was standing back around the walls, putting distance between themselves and the foreign Ellarian soldiers.

"... It's Prince Hrollaug, son of Sigurd Hring." another voice whispered. The already silent crowd began to gasp at the amazing arrival of two well known Iskjerne Vikings who had been gone for several years, but who had once played prominent leadership roles during Sigurd's dynasty.

Just then, another distinguished figure entered the mead hall and upon seeing the Ellarian soldiers and the reaction of the Iskjerne Vikings, the young man slowly walked around the crowd away from everybody and made his way towards the back of the mead hall. His fine bright red blazing hair and stubbly chin were easy to pick out in the crowd as Thorvald Bloodyfist glanced over to him and smiled. It was Erik the Red, his grown son, having just returned from his quest to escort Livia and Ragnar to the cave system to the north. Livia would pay Erik the Red a good bit of silver for his troubles, but little did Livia or Erik realize at the moment just how much wealthier the Empyrean Norse exile had become. Erik soon approached his father and sat down next to him.

"She said he'll live." Erik whispered quietly to his father Thorvald before looking up at Hrafn-Floki in front of him, and Robert I of Ellaria, also called the Duke Rollo, standing at the entrance.

"Hello Floki," Duke Robert nodded with a slight smile, relieved to see an old friend and familar face in the mead hall.

"Hello Rollo," Hrafn-Floki responded with a vain tone and disgusted look on his face, obviously not approving of Duke Robert's choice of foreign clothing, or the Frankish cross necklace medallion around his neck. Robert I of Ellaria, known to the Iskjerne Vikings as Prince Hrollaug or Rollo the Walker, would frown slightly.

People would gossip and whisper amongst themselves in the public gathering hall. Rumour had spread that Prince Hrollaug was dead, a rumor apparently spread by his own nephews. Ivar the Boneless, who had sought to takeover his grandfather Sigurd's kingdom, had claimed that the spirit of his uncle Rollo the Walker had given him insightful visions inside his dreams. Of course, Ivar had also made many other fanciful claims, even once declaring himself as a god. His invincibility and godhood was proven untrue however as the true gods had shown, causing an earthquake which had shaken the mead hall and thrown the young crippled prince from the throne. Ivar the Boneless, having suffered from fragile bones since the day he was born, did not survive the ill-will and bad orlog brought on by the spirit of his angry ancestors. There, in the corner of the mead hall was a small wooden boat-shaped casket, inside which the dead Prince Ivar lay as if asleep, lifeless and pale, adorned with yellow and white flowers and perfumes.

Ivar the Boneless was dead.

Robert I of Ellaria, the Duke of the Empyrean Normans, would walk over to Ivar's casket and pay his respects to his dead nephew before gathering with his Frankish guards and drawing a crowd of Iskjerne Vikings to the far side of the mead hall to feast. Many of the Vikings would welcome him home and toast to his honor. Hrollaug recounted his exploits across the Weargtooth Mountains and around the Empyrean High Seas, recalling his adventures all around Ellaria, and the continent of Siv'en to the far south. Prince Hrollaug had been gone for what seemed like many years, and it came as a shock to him to hear that his adopted father King Sigurd was dead, along with the others who had served him, including Rollo's biological father Kettil Flatnose, his mistress Gwyneth the Shield-maiden, and many others. The Duke was filled with grief, but he maintained his composure and promised to help the Iskjerne Vikings recover.

But not everyone was so happy to see his return. A lot of the Vikings would separate themselves from Duke Rollo and gather around Floki by the fire pit instead. Hrafn-Floki would spend the next few days recovering from scurvy and frostbite in the mead hall along with the survivors of his fleet. They drank mead, participated in the feasting and discussed their own plans on what to do now that Iskjerne Bay was without a konung to lead them. Floki's wife Helga would feed him potatoes, broccoli and strawberries, giving him apples to consume and help to treat his scurvy. She informed him that their daughter had died during the winter, having starved to death from the famine during Ivar's short reign. Floki was heart broken, and would pardon himself from the feast to go see the burial mounds.

Thorvald Asvaldsson and his son Erik Thorvaldsson would hear of Duke Rollo's adventures and rise to fame. They also overhead some of the svinfylking, skogkattr, vulpinni, uglarii, odrarii and others recount Floki the Vitki's conquest along the Ellarian Empyrean Coast, and how his leidang of 1,000 seafaring Vikings had fought off an invasion of ghostly phantoms led by pirate Robert the Butcher, a draugr or zombie-like vassal of Gro'chal Deathweaver the necromancer. It seemed that both Duke Robert I of Ellaria, and Hrafn-Floki the raven master, were both very famous now, and would split the kingdom, causing a division between those who were loyal to one side of the feasting hall, and those who would be loyal to the other.

Thorvald Bloodyfist Asvaldsson would also learn that one of the queens of Iskjerne Bay, the former shield-maiden Lagertha, had murdered Ivar's mother, the other queen known as Aslaug Kraka, a powerful völva and seeress among the Vikings who had great power and influence. It had been Aslaug who had poisoned Ivar's head with evil thoughts and fictitious ideas, something which Queen Lagertha and her sons, Bjorn and Ubbe, felt needed to be dealt with. Lagertha expressed love for her sons and said that she missed her beloved husband, the great King Ragnar Lothbrok, son of King Sigurd, whom she had not seen in many years since his departure for East Anglia on another world. Lagertha had hoped that one day, Ragnar might return to claim his father's pagan throne, but she had her doubts. Presuming her first husband to be dead and lost at sea, Lagertha had remarried, this time to King Harald Finehair who also had support from a third of the Iskjerne Vikings.

After gathering all of the news and information he could about Iskjerne Bay, the elder Thorvald Bloodyfist decided it was time to return to the Empyrean Norse Kingdom and inform King Halfdan of the situation. Thorvald hugged his son Erik the Red before giving him some sound advice and climbing back into the mule wagon. Erik Thorvaldsson would be on his own now from here on out, and would be forced to choose between one of the three gathering Viking clans inside the mead hall as his father said farewell and departed home, along the same route that had brought them there.

Iskjerne Bay, a once marvelous Viking kingdom far in the frozen north, which despite its tiny size had been for a time one of the most powerful terrestrial kingdoms in the universe, having rebuilt itself from war after war, was now nothing more than a kingless shattered settlement once again. The once vibrant and powerful kingdom of Sigurd Hring, and his predecessor King Egil who had established its first colony at least a century before that, was now in turmoil.

Sigurd Hring had expanded greatly upon the establishment of Iskjerne Bay, along with his grandson Ivar the Boneless, and the once broken Aether Docks, the only remnant left of the original settlement, had now grown into a mighty city with a village, shipyard, mead hall, arena, watch tower, sawmill, forge, and even a castle. Iskjerne Bay's ring fortress featured a motte and bailey structure with a concentrical ring of circular wooden and stone walls surrounded by large moats, and reinforced with battlements, draw bridges and boobytraps. The magically endowed divine statue of Sigurd Hring still guarded one side of the gateway, while the broken wooden statue of Ivar the Boneless, still split down the middle with one side laying facedown on the ground, was still partially standing on the other side of the gateway, so that both statues towered above the main entrance, flanking anyone who crossed through the Younger Futhark rune-inscripted gates.

At first glance, Iskjerne Bay appeared to still be holding strong, as most of the structures, despite being partially damaged by many battles, foreign raiders and earthquakes, were still standing and for the most part remained inhabitable or occupied. But the outskirts and suburban landscape outside the once great settlement were now riddled with many burial mounds which looked like a cluster of wavering hills. Once again, winter fell upon the land just as it had in previous years. Iskjerne Bay was especially cold and dark, having no sun at all for an entire week of nightshade as the aurora provided its only light, streaming with colorful hues of green, blue, purple and violet. Gaia's moons and stars would shimmer like diamonds in the sky, appearing closer to the residents of Iskjerne Bay than anywhere else in Ellaria, and the heavens above would seem surreal to them at this time of the year. But the land at their feet told quite a different story, as the thick white snowcaps covered the stone walls, houses, halls, fences, mountains and dead forest. Iskjerne Bay was beginning to turn snow white again, but this year brought gloom and sadness, famine, plague and death.

There was a shortage of useful wood in Iskjerne Bay, which would greatly devastate the economy. This meant no wood for ship building, woodworking, earthen home improvements and repairs. No wood also meant no sustainable forest, causing a decline in the natural animals who had once flourished but had now migrated away, which resulted in a scarcity of food and furs for which to make clothing and provide other needs for the winter. To make matters worse, a bubonic plague had started to sweep across Iskjerne Bay, slowly and silently like a thief in the night, caused by lice and fleas and brought upon by all the wars and rotten corpses who had now laid buried all over the land. It would be easy to think that the mass suicide of the Iskjerne Vikings under Sigurd Hring, or the arrogance and neglect of Ivar the Boneless, had been the cause of Iskjerne Bay's misfortune. But the sad fact of the matter was that it had been the alfar, dvergar, ljosalfar, sjoalfar, svartalfar, dokkalfar, dissir, einherjar, gnomes, faeries, dragons and landvaettir which had abandoned the Viking kingdom and went elsewhere.

The Iskjerne residents had all gathered in the public mead hall. The days following the full week of darkness would return to the normal endless days of sunlight, cast by Gaia's three local stars, but in this remote region of the north, horseshoed by the Weargtooth Mountains, winters were still just as cold and relentless as they had been in previous years. Iskjerne Bay was located in the arctic northern region of Ellaria, where the winters had seemed almost like a small medieval Ice Age.

Hrollaug the Walker, now dubbed Duke Robert I of the Tartarean Normans, a vassal and earl of the Tartarean Kingdom of Ellaria, had gathered an army of Frankish Christian warriors of mixed descent. Hrollaug had married a Tartarean princess, who had refused to marry the Iskjerne Viking savage unless he turned from his heathen ways, learned to speak French, and convert to Christianity, something which Duke Rollo surprisingly consented to. This would alienate him from his Iskjerne Viking fellowmen, but it also brought him great power and wealth, and his influence in Iskjerne Bay remained strong. He was, after all, the son of Sigurd Hring, the greatest king the Iskjerne Vikings had ever known.

But Robert I of Ellaria was not there to just recruit new heads for his growing Norman army. He had vowed to restore Iskjerne Bay to its former glory. He was there to take the throne, and remodel the kingdom according to his own strategy. This would not sit well with Hrafn-Floki and his leidang, for they had not risked their lives at sea to watch the Iskjerne Kingdom fall into Norman hands. The kingdom was split between both jarls, with Robert I, the former Vikingr prince, gaining the upper hand as more and more people flocked to his side.

During the midst of this political chaos, the ambitious King Harald Fairhair had also risen to prominence. While the bulk of the Vikings seemed more eager to join Rollo, the greatest and most powerful people among them had decided to support King Harald instead. This included Queen Lagertha, the former wife and widow of Ragnar Lothbrok, who was now married to King Harald, and Lagertha's sons Bjorn Ironside, and Ubbe Ragnarsson were now devoted to their cause, preferring a Norse pagan ruler over a Norman monotheistic one. King Harald would consult with Duke Rollo and discuss business, attempting to persuade him back to his corner. They shared drinks together and engaged in civil conversation, but Rollo refused to join the pagans.

Afterwards, the Norwegian king would meet up with Floki at the burial mounds, where he had been silently weeping by himself at the gravesite of his young deceased daughter. Harald Finehair would glance over the burial mounds, taking note of the presence of the Argosians who had come to collect their own dead and take them back to their homeland. Indeed, it seemed that Iskjerne Bay was not at all the place it had once been. Harald placed his hand on Floki's shoulder and consulted him, sympathizing with his loss. But his true purpose for reaching out to Floki was to inform him of Rollo's intentions in hopes of bringing Floki and his leidang to the other side. King Harald knew that Hrafn-Floki would be more apt to join the Norse pagan Vikings, and with his help, he was hoping to establish a large enough army to expel the foreigners from the kingdom, both Norman and Argosian alike.

"I don't want to stay here anymore, King Harald, this is no longer my home," Floki said, gazing up at him. Harald Finehair would scoff a smirk, glancing around them again before looking back down at him.

"Where will you go?" Finehair asked him, his voice overtoned by a deep Norwegian accent. Floki chuckled, wept, wiped his nose on his shirt sleeve and stood up, looking at him with black eyeliner trailing down his cheeks.

"I want to go there," Floki said, pointing up at one of the moons of Gaia with his index finger. King Harald would glance up at Colossa, the small red glowing moon, before quirking a brow in confusion just as King Harald's brother Halfdan "the Black" Halfdansson approached them, accompanied by Erik "the Red" Thorvaldsson from the mead hall.

"And how will you get there, Floki? We have no boats that can fly. We have no technology, everything has been destroyed or stolen." King Harald reminded him. But Floki just giggled, looking around cautiously before showing him the small transparent milky white sunstone in his pocket.

"I don't need boats that can fly, King Harald, I have the gods, and I have this" Floki smiled, placing the small sunstone crystal back into his pocket. It was the easily overlooked sunstone that Sigurd Hring and his predecessors had once used to locate the sun on cloudy days, and which did not have the same magical abilities as the pinkish purple crystals which had enabled the Empyrean Norsemen to fly their ships, but it was apparent that Floki knew something that the others did not as he chuckled lightly, looking at the ground as if lost in his thoughts.

"So that's it then. You're just going to leave on some dangerous god-fearing quest for the moon. You plan to go alone on this journey?" Harald asked, a hint of obvious doubt in his voice, beginning to think that Hrafn-Floki was starting to lose his mind and his wits over the loss of his daughter. Floki always was a bit overly superstitious and crazy in his way of thinking. But suddenly, Harald's brother stepped forward.

"Nay, he's not alone..." Halfdan Halfdansson said with a pause, looking at his brother King Harald before turning and nodding to Floki. "I will go with you," Halfdan the Black said confidently. At that moment, Erik Thorvaldsson would also step forward, nodding his head in affirmation.

"Aye... I will go too," Erik the Red followed, stepping beside Hrafn-Floki before looking at King Harald with a bold expression on his face. Harald Finehair would snicker a brief laugh before looking at his own brother, then nodding quietly. What could he say or do to stop them? They were all freemen after all, and in their hearts, Harald, Halfdan, Hrafn-Floki and Erik knew that Iskjerne Bay could only have one king. There was no need for any of them to fight, especially since all of them were Norse pagans, related in some way or another with a common enemy.

That evening, Hrafn-Floki and his small leidang would get ready to leave again. They were accompanied by Halfdan Halfdansson, Erik Thorvaldsson and Hrafn-Floki's loyal wife Helga, along with a small crew of Iskjerne Vikings as they packed their bags and prepared to set sail, heading for the Crystal Nexus of Gaia, the only other place that Floki knew of that could take him to Colossa, or anywhere else his accomplices wanted to go from there.

The attack came without warning in the middle of the night. Without even offering so much as a challenge, without mercy or respect, the shadowy figures snuck their way around the ring fortress, entering people's homes and without hesitation, noise or resistance, proceeded to massacre people in their beds while they were sleeping. For bigger families, the dark shadowy figures stood over their beds in number. The only sound they made was the soft thump and splash of the axe as they aimed for people's necks and heads, being more brutal than tactful, but with a certain way that seemed almost organized, or even strategized. As some people were still awake, even a great many of them had been kneeling in prayer with their eyes closed, only for someone to walk up silently behind them and slit their throats, or even just to hit them in the head with an axe.

The homes were burned and billowed with smoke, dry grass and bed sheets set on fire slowly and quietly, as King Harald Finehair walked up casually to the guards outside the castle where Duke Robert of Ellaria had been staying. Harald Fairhair looked calm and unaware of the impending danger as he stood outside the gatehouse, and gazed up at the battlements, where archers had been standing. He noticed that the archers were high up, but had a limited view to the horizon and the castle's circular moat, rather than the guards who were directly below them. King Harald nodded to one of the guards, walking up to him with a smile, folding his boar skinned cape back with one hand while resting his other hand on the hilt of his sword. The guards watched him quietly, as Harald casually stopped in front of them and looked around, smiling.

"It's a good night tonight. Not too cold," King Harald said, hoping to initiate a conversation. He was still briefly thinking about his brother Halfdan's decision to go with Hrafn-Floki as the dark shadowy figures continued to move around the ring fort, villages and camps, their indoor fires being temporarily cloaked by the billowing waves of smoke, and a lack of witnesses in the surrounding area as they engaged in stealthy mass murder, nearing their way slowly closer and closer to the castle while slaughtering ruthlessly, men, women and children of all ages and ethnicities. These cloaked assassins would kill the Iskjerne Vikings, and the Argosians, and the Taiyou, and the Tartarean Normans, or whoever else might jeopardize their guerilla operation, seemingly without biased, hidden under the cover of the increasing smoke and darkness as they made their way around the ring fortress and into the battlements, either sneaking around the guards or proceeding to quickly pick them off one by one.

"C'est une bonne nuit pour une promenade, ouais?" the guard asked, watching King Harald gaze up at the stars for a moment. Upon seeing this, the guard would look up at the night sky for a moment also, taking note of the stars. At that moment, as if by pure chance or irony, there was a shooting star in the dark blue heavens. This trailblazing phenomenon caught the attention of everyone who would notice it, including the archers and the guards, except for those who weren't facing that same direction. King Harald stepped closer to the guard who had spoken to him, smiling and nodding quietly while keeping his hand rested on the hilt of his sheathed sword, obviously not intending to use it, as that would be extremely difficult to draw from its sheath at such close range anyway. But Harald had another plan, instead using the arm he had used to hold his cape back, as he had unsheathed the knife on the back of his waist belt. He had to be quick now, and he would be, as King Harald turned abruptly and drove the knife into the guard's chain-mail throat protector.

The second guard would jump slightly and turn to look at Harald Finehair, being caught completely off guard by the sudden attack. He tried to react, but before he could even make any more sudden moves, the second guard was struck by an arrow to the throat by someone in the shadows. Soon, a small band of black-painted Vikings would step out of the shadows and accompany King Harald into the Iskjerne Castle, their axes still dripping with the blood of the many people they had just murdered in their sleep without prejudice. They had been the dark shadowy figures, and there were many more, as the inhabitants of Iskjerne Bay would soon discover as Harald's Vikings suddenly came pouring out into the streets, beginning to roar and shout as they revealed themselves to everyone in the area, gaining a little bit more attention as Duke Rollo woke up during the ensuing chaos and, upon smelling smoke, would look outside his castle window to see the blazing fires and running figures below. The kingdom was being raized and raided once again, only this time by King Harald, who was already inside the castle with him.

As the Argosian Praetorians slept in shifts, going about their normal routine, suddenly the Iskjerne Vikings swept upon them from out of the darkness, their bodies painted and covered with black ashy soot, in great number. They had widened eyes and white roaring teeth, as their silence suddenly turned to fury. They had no armour whatsoever, and no shirts either. They fought bare chested, even with a number of women who were partially exposed and also covered in paint beside them. These heathens were waving daggers, pitchforks, rakes and spears, howling and gnashing as they fearlessly came in waves, lunging and leaping, raking and pommeling their way through the Argosian encampment.

No sooner did the Praetorians brace themselves before a wave of vikings came out of the darkness and charged at them on foot. Like animals on the hunt, they remained stealthy and silent until they neared the Argosian tent, at which point they began making noises like jackals and hyenas, roaring like bears, grunting like pigs, and howling like ravenous wolves, bearing their white eyes and teeth, contrasted to their axes, rakes and pitchforks, and bodies which they had painted black. The terror of the north, which had long been suspected but not at that particular moment, had arrived. The isolated pagans, with no fear of death, slammed into the Praetorian shields and swords like a Mack truck, hitting them with great number.

Death was instant and quick, as the Vikings sacrificed their own lives to open the lines, being crushed by shields or thrust through with a gladius, those brave spirits destined for Odin's halls. But the Vikings would use those rakes and spears, axes and pitchforks to hook the Praetorian shields and counter with remarkable savagery. Opening the defenses, flaming arrows suddenly came out of nowhere. They were not raining down from the sky, but coming from directly straight ahead behind the first wave of vikings, arrows which would be specifically aimed at hitting these openings in the praetorian's line, and striking the men who were holding the Praetorian shields.

Without time to don their armor, the Argosian ranks soon began to falter. But timing was of the essence for the greater scheme, and some of those flaming arrows would perch themselves in the tents, haystacks and wood pile reserves around the Argosian encampment, setting the entire camp ablaze just as they were doing to the rest of the smokey village. More Vikings appeared, another wave from behind the enemy camp on the other side. They would descend upon the Praetorian camp from behind and greet anyone who tried to retreat as they started to surround the smoking tents, a few hardy Vikings already entering the burning shelters to investigate and kill all of its occupants, while others went around the sides of the encampment and flanked the Praetorian guards from both sides, squeezing them in.

The Vikings were not looking for a drawn out war or battle. They were intending to massacre the foreigners and eliminate their bloodlines from Iskjerne Bay, in order to restore full power and security back to the Viking territory. More axes and pitchforks, hooked spears, rakes and arrows came directly for the praetorian's in every direction. Once a big enough gap was made, some of the Vikings would step over their own dead and breech the Argosian shield wall, hacking through the center line with their axes, swords and brute strength, flaming arrows grazing past their heads and just over their shoulders towards the invading enemies. The flanks drew heavy as the Vikings outnumbered them, while those who had descended from behind were walking around quickly with swords, axes and lit torches, looting and setting fire to everything in the small camp. The decanus would watch as his formation crumbled, quickly and unexpectedly as the Vikings hacked their way through in small numbers.

Just then, an arrow would whizz towards the chest of the decanus, it's flaming point being sharp, narrow and true. It sailed straight towards him, without curving or arching trajectory, as if it had been meant specifically for him. Heads rolled around the encampment as bodies hit the dry burned grass and wet sloshy snow. "No slaves!" a voice commanded, as Ubbe Ragnarsson stepped out of the darkness holding a bloody axe. He began walking up towards the camp with a bit of haste, examining the situation as if he had just arrived from another short massacre nearby, and was preparing himself to do it again as he joined his fellowmen at the front lines, a cascaded curtain of fire and smoke billowing in the background behind him as he walked calmly towards his enemy without thought or hesitation.

This was only a taste of the terror of the north...

King Harald was not making plans or trying to think irrationally. King Harald already had a plan, and he was going through with it. While Ubbe's forces were invading the Argosians, King Harald was invading Duke Rollo at the castle. Harald had a strategy for dealing with the Rikkisopi Cave System, and he knew he needed to secure the entirety of Iskjerne Bay in order to follow through with it. He was on limited time, and every moment would count, as a few other disassociated tribes of Vikings proceeded to pass the hemmed up enemies and villagers towards the northeastern mountains. Harald's guerilla warriors had already seized the watch tower on the rock face, and were eager to set their attention on the caves.

It took over a half hour for the pagans to defeat their enemies at the Argosian encampment. Hundreds lay dead or injured on the blood soaked hills. It had been the most brutal, most intense battle ever on Viking soil, topping even the likeness of Sigurd Hring's rebellion against the Taiyou Empire in former days gone by. The Vikings faced heavy losses. Their dead alone outnumbered the Argosians a hundred to one. It was a hard sight to witness, and yet it was only the beginning. What the Vikings now lacked in number, they made up for by seizing the Praetorian supplies and equipment, arming themselves with Argosian weapons and shields, and distributing the much needed wealth amongst themselves. Ubbe Ragnarsson, the grandson of Sigurd Hring himself, walked up calmly towards the burning encampment, wide eyes glaring at the Decanus as he struggled to hold back the onslaught of Viking savages to no avail.

"Alea iacta est."

The Decanus said to Ubbe as he glared back. The young Viking leader simply rotated his neck and shoulders before twirling his axe in one hand and stepping forward to greet this brave Argosian leader. He and his Praetorian guards had fought bravely, and Ubbe felt it would be an honour to kill him personally as he motioned for the remaining Vikings to stop their advances. But before Ubbe could step any closer, the Decanus suddenly fell on his own sword, committing suicide right in front of him. Ubbe Ragnarsson walked over to the Decanus slowly after watching this display. He had impaled himself, and was still sitting upright, resting on both knees with his head down.

Ubbe gently nudged the Decanus with his boot, but he didn't move. He glanced over at his fellow Vikings and shrugged, before walking past him. But as he walked by, Ubbe gritted his teeth and suddenly turned around, swinging his axe horizontally at the back of his neck, taking the Decanus' head clean off of his shoulders as it hit the ground and rolled forward, still wearing his helmet as his decapitated body fell over on to the charred grass. The Vikings roared with victory. It was done. Afterwards, the young prince would gather up the rest of his Viking warriors and continued forward towards the mountains, apparently looking to join the other groups that were already advancing towards the caves. Those who lingered behind him would make a mockery of the Argosians by playing soccer with the Decanus' head, kicking it back and forth like some sort of sick and twisted Viking ball game. It was apparent that the Iskjerne Vikings were no longer being civil towards outsiders and invaders. They had been pushed over the edge and were tired of being oppressed. They meant business, and they were now prepared to take their war over to enemy soil, and face them in their own backyard.

Meanwhile, the Iskjerne Castle was already under siege as Duke Rollo and his Ellarian Normans faced a similar fate. The Frankish army was a bit larger and better fortified than the Praetorians, armed with heavy crossbows which they used to keep the Vikings at bay. At least for a short while. They had barricaded the castle's inner doors and began dropping heavy rocks on invading Pagan heads, along with buckets of hot boiling water which melted their faces and burned their skins like sizzling poultry. Those at the front line would scream and cry out to their gods as they fell in agony. The smell of burnt flesh permeated the scene as King Harald watched from the castle's open courtyard, studying and observing the onslaught, trying to think of a good strategy. After a few minutes, he motioned for his Viking warriors to form a shield wall and accompany him in as he raised his own shield over his head and charged.

The large bolts and heavy rocks continued to rain down upon them, but with a roof of Viking round shields now overhead, the Norman projectiles had little effect on King Harald and his Viking warriors. Once they reached the castle's inner entrance, the Iskjerne Vikings quickly used their axes and brute strength to hack away at the barricaded doors, as Rollo's guards tried desperately to push back against them from the other side. But the Vikings were powerful and fought with great fury, and every time one of them rammed into the door, a dozen or so Frankish mercenaries on the other side would be pushed back momentarily before recovering and stepping forward again to keep the doors from breaking. It was only a matter of time. Soon as the first axe blade pierced through the thick wood and its metal blade shined on the other side, the guards knew that the barricade could not hold much longer. The Vikings were literally hacking their way in, splintering the heavy arched doors one plank at a time. Duke Rollo shouted for some of the guards to step back and ready their spears as he stood above them on the winding stone stairway, terror in his eyes, for he himself had been a Norseman and knew fully well what the Vikings were capable of.

"Les voilà. Sois prêt!"

Duke Rollo shouted, pointing his guards and mercenaries into position. Just then, the heavy wooden crossbar would crack and split as the twin arched doors swung open. The first wave of Iskjerne Vikings stormed in, only to be met with spears as more crossbows rained down upon them from the stairwells above. It would be a hard fight to get through, but eventually the outcome would be the same as before. Only this time, someone else was also making moves. Bjorn Ironside and a small group of Iskjerne Vikings had their own strategy for penetrating the castle. While those at the castle's entrance led by King Harald had rammed their way in, drawing the attention of those from above, this was only a distraction. Bjorn Ironside and his handful of diehard Vikings were climbing up the backside of the castle, using ropes to make their way up to the battlements.

Once at the top, they stealthily snuck up behind the guards and quickly cut them down. Some of the Ellarian Normans, alerted by this sudden infiltration, barely had time to turn their attention on Bjorn's raiders before they too were faced with the stampeding Nordic bludgeons and axes. Bjorn Ironside himself grabbed one of the guards by his throat and lifted him up by his neck, throwing him over the side of the battlements only for the helpless man to scream before his armoured body hit the ground below with a metallic thump. Upon seeing this, King Harald gazed up and made eye contact with Bjorn Ironside, who nodded down to him before turning around and walking away, presumably entering the castle from the rooftop. Duke Rollo's guards continued to fight and kill as many of the invaders as they could, but it was no use. Soon, Bjorn and his men came roaring down the stairs, knocking archers over and hacking down the guards above, giving King Harald's group more of an advantage as they stormed into the open halls and swarmed the castle from within.

Duke Rollo was trapped. He tried to walk to his right, but King Harald's army was already coming up the stairs. He turned and tried to go left, but Bjorn's posse was already advancing towards him. With no other choice, Rollo quickly turned around and bolted into the guest chamber behind him, slamming the door shut. He had abandoned his guards to die as the small remainder of them stood outside the bed chamber, defending the door with their lives. It was only a matter of time. Their gurgling cries could be heard on the other side of the door as the Vikings showed no mercy. The last guard's torso could be heard sliding against the door as he fell to the floor. Rollo used all his strength to flip the bed and dresser up on end and slide them against the chamber door, creating a temporary blockade. It took a minute for Bjorn Ironside to push his way into the room. But as he opened the door to greet his uncle, Bjorn was slightly surprised to find the room completely empty with the window open. He quickly ran over to the window ledge and looked around, but his uncle Rollo was nowhere to be found. Bjorn scowled, placing his hands on the window ledge and gritting his teeth as the other Vikings started to enter the room. A moment later, King Harald entered, but Bjorn just shook his head quietly.

King Harald nodded and snickered, turning to look at the boar-skinned warriors behind him. He made a wave of his hand with his wrist, as if unsure but yet undaunted by what just happened. It was Duke Rollo, after all, a man they had all been aware of and whom they had once respected. Rollo had served Sigurd Hring and fought hard against the Taiyou army, and against Erling Snake's crusader knights. There was no telling what he was capable of, and King Harald seemed mildly impressed, if not a little bit amused by Rollo's escape.

"Well... What are you waiting for? Find him." King Harald said quietly, his deep raspy voice showing a hint of malice or anger, despite his smile and very calm demeanor.

By that point, Ubbe Ragnarsson and the remnant of his group had already met up with Halfdan Ragnarsson and the other two larger groups of Iskjerne Vikings who had descended into the caves. A dozen of them were equipped with weapons, armour and shields that they had confiscated from the dead Praetorians, while the remaining Vikings still had traditional weapons and armor. They made their way through the dark labyrinth of caverns and tunnels, holding oil lamps and torches. Finally, the time for their revenge had come. No longer would the Iskjerne Vikings stand idly by and allow their villages or fortresses to be invaded and destroyed by bullying foreigners. For too long had war and famine, pestilence and the plague of death and suffering been hurled upon them, guided by powers and circumstances that were out of their control. These hardened people, these veteran warriors of the far north, they had somehow managed to survive everything that the gods had thrown at them. Now it was time to fight back, this time in full force as they made their way towards the Rikkisopi Caves, numbering in the hundreds with only one goal in mind. To avenge Sigurd Hring, and ensure once and for all that Iskjerne Bay would remain in the hands of Iskjerne natives. Only this time, there would be no warning, no messengers to alert the Taiyou Empire of the horde that was coming to destroy them. The Vikings were absolutely mad with fury, and there would be no mercy.

King Harald was sitting on his newly acquired throne inside the Iskjerne Castle, planning his next move as he gazed around the throne room to all of the onlookers within. The Vikings within were hungry and tired, and filthy from battle as a handful of hand-maidens and boyish servants walked around the long table, filling their cups and longhorns with what little wine and beer was left in the barrels. When there was no more alcohol, they began filling the cups and horns with water, the only thing that Iskjerne Bay still had plenty of due to the frozen landscape. Some of the Vikings, eager to wash themselves off, began using the same drinking water to clean the blood and dirt from their faces and hands.

The dogs in the throne room were looking mangey and skinny, as there weren't as many scraps falling from the tables now as there had been in times passed. Meat was scarce, and the dogs sustained themselves on the bones and what little bone marrow the Vikings didn't keep for themselves. More than half of the livestock had died from plague, and much of the meat was spoiled. The nights were colder now than they had been before, so that much of the crops and cornfields had died and the land itself, tainted and dyed red from many battles and burial mounds throughout the ages, showed no signs of productivity in the far north beyond the mountains. Harald Fairhair had only a few battle ready longships at his disposal, and at least one of them had been set adrift and lit on fire as it carried the remains of Ivar the Boneless and his servants out to sea, along with all of Ivar's weapons and treasures, where they were melted down and sank beneath the waves.

The Iskjerne Vikings feasted quietly on what little bread and cheese they had, sharing their slices of potatoes and beans with one another like some sort of communion or last supper. Times were hard for King Harald and his people. But these weren't just any vikings. These were Iskjerne Vikings, and they had already endured some of the hardest circumstances that their whole planet had ever witnessed. They were tough, and they would always find a way to survive, one way or another. When all the bread and meat was gone and there was nothing left for nourishment, King Harald resorted to something that none of the Vikings in the castle had ever seen before. He was about to go down in history as one of the most remembered leaders of Iskjerne Viking folklore. King Harald clapped his hands and ordered his servants to bring in one of their captives. It was a Christian, one of the Norman Ellarian crossbowmen who had served Duke Robert I during the seige. King Harald had ordered all of the Christians to be slaughtered mercilessly. All except for one, the prisoner who now stood before them in the great hall. Harald Fairhair was hoping to make an example out of Duke Robert, but since the duke had escaped, he would instead make an example out of the terrified prisoner who wet himself at the sight of the laughing Vikings and their mercilessly savage king.

He ordered his servants to bring the captive forward and casually stood up from the throne to stand behind him. King Harald then gently nudged the prisoner over to the altar beneath the hanging tapestry on the ceiling, and lifted the man's arms up slowly over the horns on the altar as everyone in the room watched in silence and the prisoners arms were tied in place. King Harald smiled quietly as he forced the whimpering knight to put his head down and lean forward, so that his arms and back were now outstretched like the wings of an eagle. It was already apparent what King Harald had in mind as he extended a hand to one of his servants, taking a hold of the axe that was handed to him. King Harald took his time, and proceeded to cut a very precise line down the man's spine, stopping halfway before the beltline before cutting another line straight across. The man screamed and cried in agonizing pain, begging King Harald to stop, but the king just quietly shushed him and smiled, assuring him that it would all be over soon.

After he peeled away the skin from the cuts he had made, exposing the prisoner's spine and ribcage, King Harald used the head of his axe to snap part of the man's ribcage, causing him to scream again as his breathing lungs became exposed. King Harald then handed the axe back to his servants and with both hands now free, proceeded to pull the knight's lungs out of his back and placed them on his shoulders while they were still beating and pumping with air, fluttering like the wings of an eagle. It was the Viking blood eagle, an extremely gruesome and painful form of execution which few people ever witnessed, or had been a victim to. The prisoner was still breathing and very much alive, but he wouldn't be for very long, as he slowly bled out and went into analeptic shock, fainting from the sheer amount of pain King Harald had put him through. But he wasn't done yet. King Harald's people were still starving, and he had every intention of feeding them.

That night, the Vikings ate like kings. They cut the poor man into several pieces and roasted him over the open fire, resorting to cannibalism. It was a bit taboo, for it wasn't exactly in the Viking's custom or nature to eat people. But these were trying times and they really didn't have a choice. Either they would eat, and regain some strength and nourishment, or they would starve to death and freeze before winter. It was their last resort. With their bellies now full and a new powerful morale, the Vikings cheered and gave praise to King Harald before returning to their homes and going to bed. All the while, Harald Fairhair sat on his throne and took note of how many able bodied warriors he had. He was not so blind as to be unaware that Queen Lagertha was not on her throne. He was beginning to wonder where she had run off to, for he was now starting to desire her in his own bed as everyone else left the castle. He also started wondering about Bjorn, Ubbe and Halfdan Ragnarsson, and if any of the three brothers were still alive. He decided to send one of his own servants over to the cave tower to check on Ubbe and Halfdan and see if they were okay. In the meantime, with no queen around to comfort him, King Harald invited one of the slave girls to his bedroom, and threatened to kill her if she did not comply. Naturally, she accepted the invitation, and that night, King Harald slept like a rock inside his newly acquired bed chamber.

Lagertha and her shield-maidens returned to Iskjerne Bay from the Groenbogs after looking for food to eat. They had managed to gather several baskets of fruit and vegetables, and three of them were escorting a large hog that the women had managed to hunt and kill. Bjorn Ironside and his berserkers did not return with them. Queen Lagertha and her shield-maidens had ventured alone, but at least now they had a good excuse for missing the last feast. If questioned why she had not been present to witness the blood eagle ceremony, Queen Lagertha would just say that she had gone out hunting in order to find some food. In the meantime, Bjorn Ironside and his handful of berserkers had gone west, and parted ways with Lagertha in search of their own hunt, and wouldn't be returning for quite some time.

King Harald was completely unaware that just south over the mountains was the Argosian Army, three thousand strong led by Livia with the help of Ragnar, who were planning to lay seige to Iskjerne Bay and take over his newly established kingdom. King Finehair only had 600 warriors, including many women and young men who were just now getting their first taste of victory. The Iskjerne Vikings didn't know it yet, but they were outnumbered almost 4 to 1 as the Argosians near the Great Ellarian Forest prepared to attack them. Adding insult to injury, a confederation of loosely joined Germanic tribes had also recently begun surfacing on the continent, and started raiding the rural Viking settlements to the south, while the Empyrean Norsemen to the west had also started to brace themselves for any sort of confrontation with the ambitious Viking konung. King Harald Fairhair knew he had declared war on the non-Vikingr nations across Ellaria, and that someone would be along eventually to challenge his claim as the king of the northern territories.

There were 100 ulfhednar (pack fighters), 100 svinfylking (shock troops), 100 hornuglar (archers and shield-maidens), 50 berserkers (juggernauts), 50 kattrfylking (witches and seeresses), 50 hrafnfylking (naval experts), and 150 hestahar (cavalry units) which made up King Harald Fairhair's army, not including slaves and house servants, or the common villagers. Ubbe and Hvitserk had taken an additional 150 vikingar into Oor Cavern consisting of mostly Harii (stealth warriors), ulfhednar (wolf-shirts) and svinfylking (pig-skins), while Bjorn Ironside had only a handful of berserkers. It wasn't a very large army for the Iskjerne Vikings, but what they lacked in number, they made up for with versatility. Everyone in Iskjerne Bay had an important part to play in the survival of the nation as a whole as they all worked together to reinforce King Harald's borders and strengthen the fortifications and bastions around the castle. Harald deployed several scouts and spies throughout the region, and it wasn't long before one of the scouts returned with news about the caves.

Ubbe and Hvitserk had gone off ahead of the main force and was planning to infiltrate the Taiyou Gateway to Niihama City using the Trojan Horse strategy. Harald ordered half of the berserkers to guard the main walls and entrances to the castle, stationing the rest of them at the large watch tower in the rocks to the east, where they were ordered to guard the cave entrance and to set boobytraps that would cause the cave system to collapse in on itself if any of their Taiyou enemies happened to come back through the caverns. Queen Lagertha and her 12 shield-maidens took up their positions on the walls and bastions around the motte-and-bailey where they could hide and rain down arrows from above. Many of the hornuglar had picked up some of the armor-peircing Frankish crossbows that Duke Robert's long-ranged Norman archers had left behind and began taking up positions around the ring fortress, while the hestahar split into 5 groups of 25 horsemen that spread out to patrol the region and police the settlement. They would also survey the landscape and use whatever they could find to set traps around the village that might detour anyone from trying to invade.

King Harald Fairhair ordered a coven of 9 witches to be kept inside the castle at all times, while 9 more witches were sent to the great hall so that there would always be oracles around for him to consult in case he needed them. The other 32 kattrfylking were permitted to go back to their own houses, farms or cabins, where they went about their daily lives performing the basic tasks they had been charged with, such as weaving the sails for the longboats, or sitting around the fireplace knitting socks and clothing for the Iskjerne Vikings to wear. Children below the age of 15 were sent home to help their mothers with farming and hunting, and basic chores, while every boy or girl over the age of 15 was sent to the fields to train with the ulfhednar and svinfylking. There they learned how to use a shield, an axe and a sword, how to craft spears and string a bow, how to track and hunt, how to form a phalanx and fight in formations. They discussed strategies and techniques, and went over some of the old moral lessons and principles that the Vikings had preserved in their oral myths.

Things were starting to look up for King Harald Finehair, as he gazed around the village below from his high place on the roof of the Frankish-styled castle that King Ivar the Boneless had erected long ago, as if Ivar could see ahead past his own untimely death into the distant future. Of all the great leaders to come and go from Iskjerne Bay, it was Ivar the Boneless who had been the first Viking to warrant a burning funeral ship on the icey shores. All of the Vikings before that time had either been given elaborate burial mounds, or simple runestone grave markers, but Ivar himself had been cremated and his remains sent out to sea. King Finehair had 3 ships left at his disposal, but he held them in reserve and ordered the hrafnfylking to gather more wood instead, in order to build more ships and other fortifications that might help better protect the Iskjerne Viking Kingdom from attack.

In the morning just before sunrise, another figure approached Iskjerne Village, riding on a blue saddle attached to what appeared to be a woodland caribou. The animal itself was white and brown with long boney legs standing well over eight feet tall with a large black nose and two long curved antlers with six points each. The caribou was adorned with small silver bells which jingled in the snow, alerting anyone in the dark morning fog that the rider was approaching, and perhaps serving some aesthetic purpose to ward off any potential evil spirits in the mist. The rider himself was a large man in a thick and heavy hooded fur jacket weaved in fine golden silk or tinsel wearing baggy trousers and bearskin boots and gloves. He had one hand on the reigns and one hand on the glass lantern he held up, his rosey cheeks and white fluffy beard illuminated by the gold burning candle inside the small glass apparatus.

The large caribou was also carrying a wide load. Behind the old hooded man attached to the back of the blue saddle was a dark winter green knapsack, tarp or blanket carrying what seemed like an enormous bundle of tools and supplies, furs, pots and pans, hunting gear and other miscellaneous goods. It was clear from all the rider's luggage that he had been traveling for some time, but he didn't seem to be in any sort of hurry. The caribou had a slow and steady gait as it left hoof tracks in the snow showing four toes on each hoof. Although the snow was dense and deeper in some areas, the large animal had no trouble walking through it with ease, leaving a trail behind it that stretched westwards for miles all the way to the horizon. The old man had not come from the Weargtooth Mountains, but had traveled around them the long way, coming from a coastal region to the far west. As he entered Iskjerne Bay and passed through the local village towards the great hall, the rider gazed up at the remarkable statues and the magnificent castle made of stone, marveling at the tall watch tower built into the flat side of the mountain, and the amount of detail put into carving and decorating the wooden architecture around the village.

Grimnir the Hooded gazed upon the finely etched wooden doors and door frames, rooftops and window frames, gates and fences. He looked around at all the runes engraved and burned into hole posts, carts and wagons, and on each door frame. Grimnir was familiar with runic scripts, and had little difficulty in understanding the mostly short and simple motifs that came with them as he rode his caribou up to the stables outside the first wooden wall to the innangard and dismounted his large animal companion, tying the jingling reigns to one of the carved wooden posts. Even that particular post was detailed with such precision, care and patience that the old man paused for a moment to admire the artistic effort put into carving, chiseling, boring, drilling and sanding a woodblock sculpture portraying what seemed to him like a piece of a scene, perhaps part of a story about the Iskjerne Vikings and their heroic adventures. But the fact it was carved in three-dimensional woodworking on something so simple as a basic saddle post suggested something of a sense of pride to the old man before he grabbed his walking staff and knocked on the gate.

The large wooden gate was thick and mighty, made of whole entire trees cut from the native area. The black iron eye slit opened with a clink as someone behind the tall arched gateway slid aside the metal lock and opened the slider, peeking out of the eye hole to see who had been knocking on the gate from the other side. "Hver fer þangað?" the gatekeeper asked, peering at the old man with his lantern. "Bara jag, Grimnir, en trött resenär tvärs över svängen. Jag undrar om en gubbe kan hitta lite värme och skydd ett tag. Jag är snart på väg om det är okej." the old stranger responded. His accent was different, and it was obvious he wasn't from Iskjerne Bay, but his words were similar enough to be translated into the native dialect. The gatekeeper quirked an eyebrow at Grimnir the Hooded, but he understood him just fine as he closed the slider and locked it without saying anything else to the foreigner.

There was an awkward moment of silence. Grimnir started to wonder if his request had been denied. But just as he was getting ready to walk away, the gatekeeper opened the gate and pointed a sharp spear at the old man's neck, looking around to see if he was alone. After a second or two, the gatekeeper turned his attention to Grimnir, examining him to see how dangerous he was. Iskjerne Bay had already had its fair share of bad folks and strangers who were up to no good. The settlement didn't need any more mischief. After looking over Grimnir and determining him not to be too much of a threat given his old age, white beard, and walking staff, the gatekeeper lowered his spear and waved for Grimnir to step forward and enter the innangard. The old man smiled quietly and stepped through the gate, walking up the road to the bailey before going through the second gate. Once he was passed the first stone wall around the fortress, Grimnir made his way over to the Mead Hall to have a drink and warm himself by the fire, waiting for the sun to rise.

In the following days, King Harald Fairhair had issued his orders to reinforce Iskjerne Bay and make use of the additional fortifications put in place by Ivar the Boneless during the previous establishment. The Vikings had sent horsemen into the Weargtooth Mountains, using the stairway to the Rainbow Forge to setup traps and insurance policies around the mountain tops. The Iskjerne Vikings had been known to hold a great reverence and respect for nature. Gaia was not just the planet they lived on. Gaia was a giantess and a great goddess of earth. They utilized the earth, the forest, the mountains, the sky, even the sea, taking full advantage of whatever they could gain by protecting their village.

Carts and wagons had been setup behind sandbags and stone walls, providing areas in high places on top of their many towers, bastions and cliffs where the Vikings could hurl boulders and other debri at anyone who tried to attack Iskjerne Bay from below. King Harald had added another long chain to be stretched across the open channel, where it could be used to trap, capsize or destroy any unsuspecting ships that tried to make a naval assault into the shipyards. Barrels of tar and pitch, and flammable oil had been dispersed to different areas in strategic locations around the village, hidden in the rocks and hills, and near the cave entrance. These were accessible to the archers in case they needed to spicen things up with their flaming arrows and explosive bombs and weapons. Some of the farmers and common villagers had dug trenches and pits, filling them with water or slushy mud in order to make traveling difficult over the terrain outside the village, building small makeshift wooden fences and labyrinths to detour any unwanted visitors.

But there was more to King Harald's plans. He had forced some of his slaves to build several large wooden medieval weapons to help protect Iskjerne Bay from any aerial assaults or attacks from the sky. He ordered them to construct large catapults and ballistae to be affixed to the walls and towers, resembling massive spoons for launching rocks, and enormous crossbows designed by expert dragon slayers for the sole purpose of taking down large objects. Some of the ballistae featured strong nets, while others fired huge darts attached to ropes which enabled them to be used like fishing reels. Iron spikes were added to the bridges and gateways, then double reinforced with iron cages that could be dropped on top of their enemies from above, trapping them inside. But the greatest addition to King Harald's arsenal was the newly acquired mangonel and onager his engineers had learned about from previous battles. The mangonels were a sort of traction trebuchet which could sling a projectile for over a quarter of a mile, enabling King Harald to attack his enemies from a considerable distance away. The onagers were more like giant spoons attached to four wheels, which made them mobile and could be repositioned unlike the swiveling fixed catapults which could only turn 45 degrees.

The Vikings built many other traps and snares, and boobytraps mostly employing the use of swinging logs, whipping branches and spikes, and a few hidden manholes for escaping and hiding underground, or spike pits covered with sliding lids hidden beneath the snow. For the little foxholes they dug out in the hills, they used branches and sod to cover them. These areas were very small, only large enough for one person to hide in at a time, but they were a nice addition to King Harald's overall security. As a final touch, he ordered the moats to be filled with poisonous snakes and alligators that would rip apart anyone who tried to get over the bridge or into the castle. The pig pen was moved closer to the gateway so that if the Vikings needed to, they could unleash a herd of pigs across the bridge to disrupt intruding armies, while similar fences were placed around the village itself to do the same with horses and cattle. King Harald had the Vikings construct a hidden dam near the north end of the ring fortress to be used in case of emergency. The dam overlooked a flat dry dirtbed in the snow. This was the only flat land that seemed suitable for invading armies. It was in a good strategic location that could be moderately defended whilst providing some better access to the inner settlement. But it was also a rouse, since the Vikings had set up the dam in order to drain the fjord channel and flood the basin if things got too out of hand for the kingdom to handle.

With the defenses in place, and the Vikings in position, King Harald Fairhair focused his attention on the cave system. His spies had reported back to him from the watch tower near the cave entrance. Ubbe Ragnarsson, Halfdan the White, Rulav the Varangian and their Vikingr leidang had successfully made it passed the portal into the Taiyou chamber, but had been cut off from their reinforcements on the other side. This was bad news for Ubbe's band of ulfhednar on both accounts, as King Harald sent his messenger to pull the remaining Vikings out of the Rikkisopi Caves in order to commence with his alternative plan, for the barrels he had ordered to be placed in front of the cave entrance were actually bombs. Rulav's team had only several more minutes to complete their mission and open the Taiyou Gateway back up so that the rest of his team could enter before King Harald's messenger arrived to pull them out. After that, they were instructed to blow up the cave system from the inside out so that the tunnels collapsed in on themselves, sealing the caves off for good so that nobody could go in or out. Just as King Harald was finished giving orders, he heard the low rumbling sound of thunder coming from the mountains to the south. It sounded like a storm was approaching from the distant forest, many miles away. But it wasn't just any storm. It was the Argosians, firing their cannons into the forest.

The Seige of Iskjerne was beginning...

It was that time of year again, the twilight between summer and winter when seasons change. While the seasons were different south of the Weargtooth Mountains, here in the far north, winter lasted much longer and there were times when the midnight sun could be seen well into the early morning hours. Iskjerne Bay was one of the few places on Ellaria that experienced the parhelion effect or phenomenon where all three of Gaia's suns could be seen at the same time. These sun dogs were a remarkable sight for visitors. But in the far north, an even rarer phenomenon occurred, a whole week of darkness where there was no sunlight at all for many days, and which only occurred at winter time. Although it was always cold and snowy year-round at Iskjerne Bay, it was actually nearing autumn when Grimnir the Hooded sat in the Mead Hall, warming himself by the fire. King Harald Fairhair had invited the natives of Iskjerne Bay to an important meeting in the Mead Hall where he gave a toast and proceeded to give a long and inspiring speech.

"Ladies and gentlemen, you all know who I am. I am King Harald Finehair, king of the northern territories" he said, looking around and raising his arms as dozens of Iskjerne natives roared and cheered in support for their new liberator. He allowed them to continue cheering for a moment before he waved a hand for the crowd to calm down.

"You all know the history of our great kingdom. You have heard the exploits of our forefathers from times long ago, from the former days of King Ellrulf up until now. We were all here raised on stories of King Harald Wartooth and his nephew King Sigurd Hring, the founder of our great establishment. We have all seen the statue of King Sigurd, which still stands at our gates as a testimony to our great kingdom, besides the broken and half-fallen statue of his great grandson Ivar the Boneless, my younger predecessor who came before me, and whose funeral you all attended. You all know the story of Queen Astrid and her father King Olaf, whose descendants were the first of our people to brave this new world. You still tell the story of Hurgor the Archer and his famous horse Skallafax, and his powerful bow called Grimgir the Wolfbow, which once defended our ancestors. You are already familiar with Hurgor's brother Ulfric Ellrulfsson, possessor of the famous sword Ulfsfanga, that ulfberht blade which never rusts. I know that many of your horses were bred from that great steed, and that King Ellrulf's bloodline still survives today to the far west of our borders."

Again the Iskjerne Vikings roared and cheered, and Grimnir the Hooded listened quietly while King Harald inspired pride in his followers and reviewed their history.

"You all know I am a grandson of Gudrød the Hunter, and that my grandmother Alfhilda was an elven princess. All of us here had ancestors who fought in the Battle of Brávellir, and many of you have fought your own battles since then. You can still recall the exploits of the Nuörmbátur, that famous longship which was overturned on these Iskjerne shores and now forms the rooftop of this very Mead Hall we have gathered in today. Skál!" King Harald shouted, raising his bovine drinking horn into the air. The Vikings cheered again and everyone would chug the wine or beer in their tankards and mugs, roaring with pride and excitement. But this time instead of calming the crowd, King Harald just spoke louder over the top of their gossip and cheering.

"You all know the exploits of King Sigurd and his sons, Rollo and Ragnar, whom some of you met before. Hrollaug the Walker was a great Viking who sailed the Nuörmbátur down the Weargtooth Mountains like a sled into battle on these very shores against the mighty giants and dragons who threatened our kingdom during the time of King Sigurd's reign. The Iskjerne Vikings fought that great serpent Shimizu, whose tail was as long as 100 ships. His teeth were sharp like metal speartips, and his gaze so fierce and hideous that looking him into the eyes meant certain death. But our ancestors defeated Shimizu and drove that dragon back into the caverns from whence it came!" King Harald shouted, causing the roaring crowd to grow louder.

"When I first sailed to Iskjerne Bay, this settlement was abandoned. I came over with many ambitious kings and queens, and princes from our homeland. I came with Lagertha, Aslaug, Bjorn, Ubbe, Ivar and Hvitserk, with Floki and Floki's wife Helga, and with many other successors to Sigurd Hring's throne. At that time I was a nobody, just like most of you. I sat on the same benches you're sitting on right now. But I was an ambitious king, and I knew that one day, I would free my people from the grip of our foreign oppressors and return Iskjerne Bay to Iskjerne Vikings!" Again the crowd roared and cheered, and even Grimnir himself couldn't help but to smile and join in the celebration.

After a while of laughter, loud gossip and cheering, King Harald suddenly stopped smiling and became quieter, waiting for the crowd to calm down on its own. Once everyone settled down and waited for the king to speak again, Harald Fairhair continued talking, this time more quietly.

"It's a sad thing what happened to Queen Aslaug and Prince Ivar, and to King Sigurd and King Ragnar, we will miss their faces. We will miss their shields." The crowd became more solemn and quiet at these words, as everyone took a moment of silence to honor the dead. "As you all know, Rollo has betrayed our culture, and our gods. I have nothing but the most respect for Rollo, and for the corpses who still lay buried out in the snow. I did not want to fight them. You all know that. But I swore an oath on the day you chose me to be your leader. I vowed to avenge Sigurd Hring, and to restore this land to its native tongue. Here we follow the old gods, and practice the old ways. Ivar made the same promise, and he lied. But Ivar was still young, and we will not fault him for his mistakes. He added a lot of great architecture and defenses to our establishment. But being a King is hard, and being a God is even harder. No man here knows the burden of Sigurd Hring, nor the burden of Ragnar's sons." King Harald said calmly as everyone in the Mead Hall listened silently.

"My sources tell me that Ubbe and Hvitserk have gone to Oor Cavern to avenge their grandfather. You all know I have sanctioned this and have given them my blessing. I respect King Sigurd as much as any man here, and I adopted Ragnar's sons that day when he died at the hands of King Aela, this is no secret. I have always supported Bjorn Ironside, and my beloved wife Queen Lagertha, your queen, who was not here during the blood eagle ceremony, but is here with us today. " Upon hearing this, Lagertha raised her drinking horn and smiled quietly, sitting on her own throne next to King Harald, who looked down at her and raised his drinking horn, smiling back. Grimnir smiled, listening intently.

"I've been informed that Hel's Gate has been closed. Ubbe and Hvitserk are on the other side. As your king, I must decide what is best for our kingdom." King Harald looked out over the hall, and smiled, still raising his horn. Everyone by now was listening as King Harald spoke, not as a warrior, but as a king. Grimnir the Hooded made eye contact with King Harald Finehair at that moment. The king stared at him for a second, his expression betraying his lack of trust for this new stranger in golden robes, flashing his wealth before Iskjerne's Vikings and their newly established dynasty.

King Harald took a swig of the wine from the open hollow of his drinking horn and turned his gaze towards others in the crowded hall. "I have given my messengers the order to evacuate the caves. As the King of Iskjerne Bay, I give the order to destroy Rikkisopi Caves and prevent Shimizu from coming back through. I order a sacrifice to Óđinn, and to the elves during Álfablót, which I trust you will attend." King Harald took another swig from his drinking horn and set it on the table before sitting back down on his throne. Everyone in the Mead Hall was speechless, including Grimnir, who apart from others was still cheery and smiling as he excused himself from the fireplace and started trying to push his way through the standing crowd, heading towards the kings throne after his speech was over. Grimnir seemed to be on an important errand.

As the sound of the battle in the forest valley became louder, David Baxter gripped his rifle and tried to run away in the opposite direction. But the sound carried through the forest, echoing off the trees, and it was difficult to tell which direction he was running, or where the clashing noises were coming from. David was still wearing his oxygen mask, unsure whether or not the air on this new planet was even breathable to him yet as he ran through the forest, gasping through his mask as he breathed. Little did he know at the time, but the air around him was not only breathable, it was magical and full of hidden unseen energies or forces that were already beginning to take effect on him.

Or rather, on his equipment...

Although his oxygen tank continued to work just fine, at least for now, what David probably didn't notice was that his M1-30 Carbine rifle was already starting to malfunction. The Gods of Gaia, known to the Ellarian people as the Titans, had sensed the newcomer's presence on their planet. One of those invisible spirits was none other than Sigurd Hring, who had become one with Gaia and had transcended beyond the mortal realms. Sigurd Hring had swore an oath to defend and protect Gaia from the advanced technologies brought into the medieval planet's atmosphere by foreign invaders and space-faring nations. David Baxter didn't know it yet, but Sigurd Hring was watching him carefully and preparing him for the long road ahead. The gunpowder in his 7.62×33mm round bullet casings suddenly became useless, nullified by the powers that be, along with any batteries or electrical equipment that Baxter had brought with him.

Meanwhile on one of Gaia's moons, the red moon Colossus, someone was peering through a powerful telescope and had witnessed the Silver Dawn as it ascended above Gaia's surface after dropping off its passenger. Erik the Red relayed his observations to Hrafn-Floki the Blind, who had taken a handful of Vikings to the moon where they had since then established a small isolated colony, far away from the happenings on Gaia's war ridden surface. Floki had gone into a sort of self-induced exile after the death of his daughter, and the Empyrean outlaw Erik Thorvaldsson had apparently gone with him to the bright red moon to start over.

Far down below on Gaia, on the continent of Ellaria, in the great forest which took up much of the continent, many new and chaotic things were starting to take place. The Argosians, led by Livia Caesarius the Legata and her new legion had set the Great Ellarian Forest on fire, shooting through the trees with their magically imbued cannons as they leveled a path into the forest from which to bring in their seige weapons, looking to head north through the Weargtooth Mountains, where Livia had planned to challenge King Harald Finehair of Iskjerne Bay to a duel. By now, the billowing smoke had risen so high that the Vikings of Iskjerne Bay could now see the rising black smoke over the mountains, alerting the natives that the Argosians had arrived, and were just a few day's journey away on the other side of the mountains. The smoke cloud was so large and thick that it could be seen from miles and miles away, even appearing visible to ships off the coast of the Empyrean High Seas, and to the Empyrean Norsemen in their own tropical kingdom to the far west. King Halfdan Svensson would notice the thin line of rising smoke on the horizon from his castle on the Empyrean Sea Beach.

"SHIELD WALL!!!" Bjorn shouted, his deep loud voice echoing off the nearby rocks inside the valley. Ironside's roar was so loud that David Baxter could hear it as he kept on running, trying to get away. He noticed the battle for a moment as he peered through a clearing into the open valley below. There were berserkers and barbarians locked in combat, and the bloodshed was too much for the foreign stranger as he hid in the bushes and started walking backwards away from the clambering skirmish, his wide eyes traumatized and fixed on the battle. As he kept walking backwards, however, David suddenly bumped into something which felt like a tree behind him. But as the lost man turned around to look at what it was, there before him stood a very old man who was not looking at David at all, but rather, looking over David's shoulder at the same distant battle in the valley before. David Baxter didn't know it yet, but he had just bumped into Lord Bruce of Essex, an Anglish Norse viking who had once served King Sigurd in life, but had vanished into the wilderness long long ago and was presumed dead.

Lord Bruce looked much different now from the time when he had saved Takao Eguchi's life many years ago. Due to the time flux on the region, Bruce was now a very old man with dark thick skin, wild and wavey white hair and a long unkempt peppery white beard. His clothing was ragged and dirty, and he looked like a hobo or homeless drifter who must have lived in the forest for decades. Bruce of Essex had been there all along, since the death of King Sigurd, since the rise and fall of Prince Ivar, when the Empyrean Norse Kingdom was founded, when that noble sea dragon Urakena appeared and the Stjornhestr first set sail through the stars on its way to Dracos Valley on the lost continent of Xamoyos, far across the galaxy. Lord Bruce stared at the young man in front of him for a moment, his eyes still as blue as the ocean waves as he studied the strange new foreigner silently.

Meanwhile, the berserkers and barbarians kept fighting, completely unaware of David and Bruce's presence in the forest above. For a brief moment between killing people, Bjorn Ironside raised his axe and pointed it at the rider on the hill. It was as if he was challenging him or her to personal combat. The equestrian in the iron mask was unmoved by this display of bravery, however, merely turning their horse around and walking away from the ridgeline, disappearing from the berserker's view as more barbarians descended into the valley upon them. By now, Arminius had entered a trance-like state of consciousness and was preparing to confront the Iskjerne Berserkers face to face, when all of a sudden, as if by pure chance, the wind direction abruptly changed, sending the blazing forest fire towards the barbarians in the back of the line. The Germanic tribes began panicking as people began yelling and shouting for the front lines to move forward. But those at the front of the line were halted by Bjorn Ironside and his bear-skinned juggernauts, who were putting up more of a fight than Arminius had expected or anticipated. It was time to pull back and rethink his strategy as the equestrian in the iron mask blew into their curling sheep horn and gave the order for the barbarians to withdraw. They kept fighting as they started to pull back over the ridge, while those still down in the valley were left to their fate at the hands of the Vikings.