And all good things come to those that wait.......

[Tryggr Daimhsson]

(Yes, my cohorts are awesome writers and once they get going, they really get going.. makes my head spin at times.. lol.. we're just working at setting things up.. we're kinda big on that.. -winks-)



Once the ships got a bit closer to shore, Tryg had then given the signal to be passed along to spread out along the shoreline. Most of these villages in this area were smaller. The other bans of raiders would ignore them. They were more the greedy lot. Wanting the larger places thinking they’d get plunder in one fail swoop. And sure, this can be true, but they were not cunning in their thinking and several would likely meet their doom. Larger villages mean more warriors guarding them.

So Tryg’s band of rabble-rousing renegades had set out to take several small villages along the coast before heading to Cornwall to then pick up the pieces left over by those not as sly and cunning. Soothe those poor women that would have recently lost their husbands, sons, daughters, lovers, what have you. Yes, there would be women for bedding as they look for that next man to care for them. They’d have all the ale the wanted and would then be able to weasel their ways in to seek out the better treasure. The ones kept well hidden and generally never spoken of. Until a woman’s tongue becomes loose after being liquored up and left very well satisfied by having been bedded by those known as the Gall Gaidheal.

With small bands of 3 ships apiece along a good stretch of coastline, they each led their ships ashore sandy beaches. A few warriors were left behind to guard the ships and captured slaves while others quietly and slowly made their way thru trees and low lying brush. Those that have traveled with Tryggr before know his methodical approach and they would follow instructed orders or knew they’d pay the price otherwise.

There had been but a few words spoken in and amongst the men. Some had been new to travels with Tryg and Ragnvalder so verbal instructions had to be shared. They were kept to a minimum, however, and soon enough hand signals would be picked up and passed along. The men would keep to the shadows of the trees and underbrush until the darkest hour before dawn. The most stealth fully trained warriors would be sent forward from the shadows only to count fires. Gave the leaders a better idea as to the possible numbers they were all up against.

Tryg knew he could count on Ragnvalder to carry out his piece in this. He still wasn’t sure about the woman that seemed to have become his shadow, however. Women, he snarled inwardly thinking of the fiery red head back home that raised his ire. The wicked wench had tossed a dagger at him upon sailing from the shores of Keir. She’d have likely nailed him too as she was known for her prowess with a dagger, but obviously she didn’t want him dead, was just sending him a message. Could have been the last conversation shared before he sailed….. Ooops!

The one he had to share instruction with about the way the cousins mischief and mayhem (otherwise known as cousins M&M) preferred handling this journey of raids was the one he invited along. Axel Eiriksson. He and the man seemed to share much in common but at the same time he seemed all too eager to just barrel in, get the job done and barrel out. Just as the other raiding bands have been doing. Again, this is not the way of the Gall Gaidheal. Atleast not this time around. No, we were going to be the sneaky bastards. Take several small villages all at once and catch them totally off guard. It was the move in nice and slow, spread out evenly along the coast, watch and wait and watch some more, then when the darkest hour of the day hits, we move in and take it all!

[Ragnvalder Jorghansson]

Whoring for 'honey'. Honey, in this case meaning a good loot haul. Sleep around, talk them up, get your info. That was what it was, after a point. He and Trygg and Ragnvalder's elder brother, Kiel, had rather perfected this form of subterfuge and intel gathering, because in the game of war, knowing was half the battle. The other half was actually doing battle, and nothing bedding tipsy and talkative wenches helped much with, but it didn't HURT, either! They had been thrust out into the acts of war as boys, encouraged to lawless violence, and smacked about when they were stupid or reckless. It bred in them a certain stealth, and cold blooded mentality. They were now, grown and shrewd and accomplished, more than able of sowing the mayhem and mischief they'd long been called.

He respected Trygg.

As man, as brother in arms, as whoring, drinking, carousing, fighting companion, and as a leader. Following his cousin? No shame to him, he was happy to elevate his kinsman and in doing so, elevate both their wealth and arm ring collections.

He led his portion of men (and one small witch), easterly, to a fat village with mud and daub walls, topped with a pale of sticks. Weeds and brush grew thick on the slopes, which was smart, a lot of lazier sorts would bypass the briers and half flooded march here. He wasn't overly burdened with lazy.

This village was already doomed, as it's last dawn rose far in the faint sky.

He sketched his attack plan, and sent the ten groups out. The entered over one low point in the wall, bearing the scratches and mud, creeping on bellies and in a crawl to mount the sloped wall and slipped over the raggedy fence. He left Solvy there, with his sister's middle son, with the instructions to watch for external attack, and scream like 'bloody murder sissy girls' if any army marched this way. It was a silly order. He had scouted the terrain. Armies didn't rise out of the swamp from nowhere.

But it made them feel important. He left a bunch of sacks with them, and the order to come running when they were called. he kissed them both on top of the head, and hurried over the wall with his men. A silent, skilled, orderly operation. There was the sound of crockery breaking......one crash.....a wail cut off very quickly....the sound of a punch meeting face....and then sobbing, soft....

All over, in nine minutes flat.

Sixteen homes, three barns, nine horses, twenty cows, and fifty sheep. He took one cow, they'd eat well, tonight. He was not hauling livestock however. They found that, and a little church.

In it, silver candlesticks, and one small silver plate. There was hams and ale, enough to call it well done. Plus the sheep, recently sheared, meant that there were bales of wool stacked, ready for market. That was good money. Big to haul though, and he had the men whistle in his cousin, and his witch. The townsfolk were all gathered in one barn, he'd lock them in, and leave them in a moment. For now he had men raiding the homes, grabbing foodstuffs, jewelry, valuable clothes or well made leather ware or blades. A semi prosperous town, they rounded up more silver, several fine seax and axes, and a fairly nice haul of women's jewelry and three fine dresses and six pairs of new boots.

All was stuffed into the sacks Solvy and his cousin were opening, then once fat and stuffed, tying shut. They took three bales of the best wool, their women would appreciate that, or maybe Trygg would want it sold. Either or, they had fine wool in this country, it'd bring good silver.

He didn't bother with slaves.

He had too much ground to cover, and hauling fifty crying farmers had about as much appeal as stubbing his toes. Repeatedly.

They sent the loot back with a fourth of his men to the ships, and he and Solvy, and the rest of his men rushed on through the salt grass and low slung shadows of the forests to the second town. Smaller, better fortified, it netted one stab wound, with a cheese knife, in the thigh....a pathetic wound, six small sacks of silver from under a wool and cloth merchant's bed, some wine skins full of half decent Frankish red, and a lot of sausage. A sausage maker lived here, and it was strung in ropes, some a dozen feet long, in rafters, over fine huge wheels of local cheese. There were weapons here, some of Frankish make, and some salt, and spices, and best of all some gold to add to their silver. Not much, admittedly, but this was not about hitting the big places. It was all very calculated, risk assessment at it's highest. There was coppers, in a small crock, and honey, and mead.

They'd eat REALLY well tonight.

He kept the sausage maker and his wife, young and comely enough, they had a skill, and in Orvik and Keir, would be valuable additions to the food supply chain. A strange choice, some might say. Where was the all around raping and terrorizing? Well, he didn't allow his men that leeway.

For one, he had sisters.

For two, raping wasn't very efficient in one's use of time. And when one had perfectly capable, clean, willing thralls, surely bedding THEM was wiser than dippin' yer wick where the other half of the equation was crying and trying to claw your eyes out. There was a time for mass terror spreading, admittedly. This wasn't about that. He and Trygg? Business first. They had a system.

You go in sneaky.

You pick the medium and slightly undervalued places. Worse walls, less defense, all equals less risk to you and your men.

You move fast.

You take the best.

You get moving on.

You also burn the barns and homes ONLY when you had too. A big fat barn burn? Preeeeeeeeetty much told everyone and their brother you were here. And that broke rule one. The sneaky bit. And we did NOT break the sneaky bit.

An hour later, they were on the run, their provisions and silver and goods in tow. This was a good run, no one died, on their side, only a handful of men in both towns were beaten, more for show, than for real, and two captives taken. The rest was all hard goods, and food, and trade fare. By the time they got back to the ships, they were still fresh, and alert, undulled. Solvy stayed at his side, her first 'raids' both economically carried out, and methodically clean.

Get in, get out.

Got loot.

He looked to her in the half light, and gaged her response. A long three hours, they were all filthy, one didn't belly crawl and raid without ruining a tunic or two. But she had not flinched, and she'd been good at being quiet. She was strong enough to match pace with the men. He was pleased, it showed in his eyes. He kissed her temple, a gesture of relief and a measure of his care for her.

Well done. Well done, indeed. Come help me get this loot to the ship, we'll all distribute it much later. She'd earned none of it. As a thrall, she was entitled none. But maybe a little extra beef in her bowl, later? Perhaps. And no, I have not ever met a woman warrior, as I was describing earlier. But one never knows. First time for everything. You did good today. I'm pleased, what did you think of it? Walk and talk with me. We need to get to Trygg, see how his run went, and Axel's........knowing that man, he's likely got fifty pretty mainlanders as his share of plunder and pillage.

[solveig]

-The was no more time to talk. A quick little whistle signaled them that it was time to get moving. A flutter of anticipation and anxiety rippled through her. She shut of her questions, and tamped down on all her worries.

For her part, at least at the moment...all she needed to do was keep up, keep silent, and do as she was told. Simple enough. For the most part. Her body had been conditioned over the last few months to run, to lift and carry things that average woman would have struggled to do. She was proud of the things she was able to do now, not in the feats themselves, but in the praise that he had given her for doing it.

So she wasn't about to fail him now. Except...when he left her with one of his sisters cousins, she started to panic. Just a little. Up until now, she had been with him the entire time, barely ever out of sight or calling distance. She was worried about his safety. Not that she would say so out loud. To do so would question his skill, but she was sure to kill him quickly and whisper good luck before he left. This was going to be the first time he was leaving her. Trusting her. Not as if she had anywhere to go.......but that wasn't the point. Even with the bogus order, and mocking tone (she did NOT scream like a girl)...she tended to squeak more.

She looked at the young boy, pimples pocketed his face, just a fine layer of peach fuzz on his chin, she couldn't help but grin at the absolute silly grin on his face at just being here on a raid. He was chuffed. Chest all puffed out like he was important, guarding the backs of the Jarls son's men, and his thrall.

The shout went up, they grinned at one another, the sort of excited smiles of kids getting ready to open presents. And it was sort of like that wasn't it? She knew she wouldn't actually get to keep any of the pretties she was stuffing into sacs...but she could imagine...and pretend...and hope, as she fingered finely made dresses with pretty embroidered flowers, or silver rings, or even a a few coppers to call her own. You just never knew when something might be gifted, she titled her head to let the jet and amber beads that adorned her hair to swing against her cheek as she tied of yet another sack, and handed it off.

As they left the the first town she was a little amazed at how fast it had all been done. Minutes, and the small village was like a ghost town, just the faintest sounds of crying, and braying of animals. She grinned at the jovial yells of the men and their laughter as sacks were run back to the boats, and they ran on to the second village.

The next time proved even richer. She even proved herself, she hoped, maybe, just a little. She had been holding a sac open for Ragnvalder when a young boy that had been hiding charged him holding a frying pan. She'd warned him, the boy ended up with a broken nose, hardly life threatening all things considered....they had both stepped over him, left him bleeding and moaning and were on the run.

She was in a bit of a daze. They had barely been there an hour, and there had been so much. Well maybe not by their standards, but she was seeing the logic and the value of it all. Having been brought up in market towns, she understood the trade and barter value of most of it, and that was just what they had taken..multiply that by three parties and it was..........well it was a lot.

Sack over her shoulder, she was so very grateful NOW, of all that inane running while carrying all manner of things on her back, blocks of wood, rolled up carpets, small children (much to their delight), the added weight barely slowed her down.

When they reached their camp, she was only slightly winded, a little fair bit sweaty, and a whole lot dirty. She had done it. She had kept pace, she had been done as she was told, and she'd watched his back. At his kiss, and praise she looked up and smiled at him, his dark eyes making her stomach flutter a little...the news that he'd never meet one of these women warriors showed only as a flicker of disappointment, far to pleased with his praise to worry about it. Re-adjusting the sack on her shoulder she walked with him, wondering about these other men he spoke of, and asked him a hundred questions.-

Is it always like that? So organized, so easy? It was sort of like taking a toy from a child..need to watch out for your shins that any real damage long as you are bigger, quicker and stronger.

-And then later, sitting around the fire, his sword in her lap, a bucket of sand, and a cloth that was cleaner than she...the paint he'd put on her now was dried and cracked, and made her look that much more the witch while sitting in the shadows cast by the fire, she couldn't help but broach the subject of Skjoldmø again-

These women....these Skjoldmø, they really do exist? How are they chosen?

[Einar The wicked]

Easy. Organized. Brutal none-the-less in it's own way. Einar eyed the collected loot silently, carefully cleaning off his sword as he did. He had nothing to say as to how things had gone during this little outing. Not his place. His place, as it ever had been, was to simply follow the orders of his Jarls...plural....and put the pointed end of his swords where it needed to go. Swords...plural. Or not, as the case may be. A warrior bred and a warriors hard life. He was BORN for this. Blood lust rus under the surface of his skin like so much water in a kettle, ready to swell and boil to the surface at any moment.

He'd sailed in along with Ragnvalder's men for this trip. Perhaps he'd sail home with Tryggr. Green boys, these cousins, if you asked his oppinion. And he'd tell them both as much. Lovingly as they were like sons to him in many ways, having been trained by him. He was a man of their fathers. Still was. Always would be despite the death of the old Jarl of Kier. Still.."boys" or not, they were now playing at being men and rulers and as men and rulers they had his sword. Always would. Loyalty runs as deep as the blood lust, it would seem.

"All to easy...my Lord." he smirked with the last word at Ragnvalder, Lord Thrall more like it. Still, he was the son of the Jarl, if not his Whelp, and one of the boys Einar was sworn to besides. And he saw greatness in Ragnvalder, not that he'd ever say as much aloud...."as clean as cutting through warm butter..." much like his father would have done...something else he left unsaid.

[Ragnvalder Jorghansson]

He looked her way, considering.

They exist, darling.

Chosen? By their fathers, and trained up from their girlhood to....

Mid stride he glanced over to the older, taller, and broader man that had joined he and his thrall witchling. Ragnvalder, not a big fellow, had to crane his neck a tad, to see Einar well. He grinned, despite the others fearsome countenance. Einar was no threat to him, though there had been countless night's he trundled he, Kiel and Trygg off to bed, all three of them groaning from the arse whooping he'd dealt out in their training sessions. If they were any good as warriors, they owned the dragon's share of thanks, to this man here.

Eh, old man, not too easy. It's never TOO easy!.....Solvy, meet Einar the Wicked, famed blade of the North!...Old man, meet my witch, Solvy. She's nice, cooks well, and can mend hurts.

High praise from the normally quiet Jarl's son. Nice, in the covers she was very nice. And soft. And warm. And sweet and.......yes, well, nice. It was a nice thing indeed. He lacked his brother Kiel's more gregarious nature, though neither of them were half the charmer Trygg was.

Einar is our master swordsman, and trained...er....abused...us in our youth. He's fast, it's cruel, really, he'd beat all three of us until were were full of bruises and welts, and we'd never have touched his old craggy hide. I never hurt so bad as when he'd use a stout quarter staff, and teach us all afternoon. I swear I'd crawl in bed at night, and cry.

All said with jovial regard, and shamelessly. Maybe now, with all her 'weird chores' that had involved heavy lifting and running and moving stuff about repeatedly, might begin to see into the patterns that had shaped him, as a younger man, too? He wrapped an arm about Solveig, and one about Einar. Time to go find the little man boss, yes?

[Einar the wicked]

He snorted at the remark. A compliment to his training shrugged off. "You were never hurt...badly. I did my best to make men out of you. Hard work considering the materials I was given....."

He laughed gruffly at that and eyed the little woman being whispered as a witch. So this is where Ragnvalder chooses to bury his sword...he can't fault the boy his choice. She's easy enough on the eyes, he'll give her that. Still, she's a woman and a woman with a dangerous reputation at that. No woman can be trusted, as Einar sees it. Especially not "witches". Women all have their wiles and magicks and are beyond his understanding. Then again, they did have their uses...between the thighs and under the furs where they belonged.

Turning away from the woman he glanced up at Ragnvalder again and snorted again. "Anyday Einar comes home without scars is an easy day. You look to be whole as well, boy. Thor has smiled on you."

[solveig]

-She sighed in a little frustration, but was smart enough to do it very quietly, and keep her head bent and to her task so that nothing of it showed on her face. She was dying to know more about these women, and every time she asked they kept getting int erupted.

But as she heard the joy in Ragnvalders voice, the laughter and herself being introduced she had the good sense to look up, but not meet the man's eyes...they stayed somewhere on his massive chest, and smiled for him. She didn't greet him, it wasn't expected of a thrall..just to be introduced was something of a honor, and felt her cheeks color just a little, that he thought her worthy of mentioning.

She dared a little more of a look up, when she heard that this man had bested Ragnvalder and his brother, time and time again. She was a little startled at the mans appearance. Older than she would have imagined. But there was a strength behind the eyes. A bit of a bitter man, and she looked away again quickly, watching what she was doing with Ragnvalder's sword, but listening intently.

She'd watched them practice, and imagining someone better and faster than them captivated her attention. Curious, she dared a more closer look at his face....her own looking fearsome with he blue and white paint on her face... it made her eyes look a little haunted.

She was completely entranced with the story. She had a growing thirst and hunger for them now. She had to admit, she had grown to love Ragnvalders war stories. At first she was a little confused by them, maybe, just a tiny bit bored....but, as he got her involved in them, as she was able to picture the fights, she really had started to love them. And now that she was in the middle of her own adventure, had helped with the raiding...sort of....she was a little addicted..

A bow staff..that caught her attention. Had her thinking. He'd taught her to see the world a little differently now.

And this time when the story was cut off, and he declared they should go find the boss...she did let her disappointment show, just a little...a soft spoken-

Will you tell me more....later?

[Axel Eiriksson]

Well he wasn’t ALWAYS the barrel in, get the job done and barrel out sort. He was perfectly capable of being sneaky, with as many older brother’s as he had it had served him well to learn to be wily from an early age. Plus there had been plenty of experience in sneaking in and out of certain wench’s beds…you know…the more well guarded ones….which made the challenge all that more fun and the victory of shagging all that more sweet.

As for softening up a woman and getting her to talk… child’s play. So aye, it would seem he was well suited for Tryggr’s way of going about things. The rest of the men were a tad sore over not being able to barrel in with war cries and swinging axes, but appeased enough with being given something to do other than drinking and whoring away their time in a barn.

So sneaking in and sweet talking wench’s…then absconding with their valuabels....aye he was more than capable of seeing both done. In fact wasn’t that why he’d been in Keir, Tryggr’s own village to begin with? Why yes it had been….

And so he went about his “duty” and did what had been instructed. With these smaller villages the take wasn’t as large but put together it all added up rather nicely. all in all not bad little haul that they carried back to the ships…

[Tryggr Daimhsson]

Tryggr’s hope was that span of 3 grouped bands amongst the 20 ships would bring in quite a horde. With one less ship in his own grouping, they’d have to cover more ground. That is if they happened across a larger village. He had Axel with his ship and men join his own group. Twenty men as opposed to 30 within the other groupings, but twenty should be plenty and with the way Axel seemed to go thru women, he should be more than quick enough to handle a good raid with ease. Growling inwardly still thinking of him lying with Finna. What pissed Trygg off even more than that, is that he shouldn’t care, but he did, dammit.

This gave Trygg the chance to see what these Easterners were all about. He wasn’t exactly opposed to the Danes, the Swedes, the Norse, he had the same mixture of blood, but they were just… well… he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Perhaps cocky was the word he was looking for. Yeah, that might be it. Not that Trygg was cocky. Hell no. The Gall’s call it confident and knowing.

Axel and his men seemed to learn the hand signals quickly. This was good. They could be in and out in under 10-20 if they were lucky, for the village was small, just as he planned. Trygg had taken note of the larger farmstead just on the outskirts and he would take that one with one other of his men, Braun. Motioned for Axel and the others to sweep the village proper. On his whistled signal, the men were off, making their way out from the underbrush. Trygg’s focus was narrowed now to the farmstead he’d been watching for a few hours now, just waiting until the darkness before dawn.

He and Braun were fast runners and they were upon the farmstead within a few minutes. It didn’t take them long to sweep the place. Some silver, fine leathers and furs and a surprising horde of jewels and gems. That took Trygg by surprise for sure as he hadn’t expected such in a simple farmstead. But then perhaps it was the best place to hide such and he and Braun hit the jackpot. He also hadn’t expected the bear of the man that must have heard their gasps of surprise, for when Trygg looked to Braun and seen the look on his face, he knew something was amiss.

The bear had been in position just behind Tryggr and was about to bring down the wraith of the Gods upon his head, but Trygg was smaller and quick as a rabbit, rolling out of the mans way as the hammer came crashing down with a heavy thud. Reaching back for his sword, he pulled it from it’s scabbard at his back and brought it around quickly cutting the man down just above his knees. Braun stumbled back with the sack of goods as the beast went down. The bears growl of pain and agony filled the room and Tryggr cursed knowing the whole house would now be awakened. Lifting his sword to bring it down and across the back of the neck of the bear and he growled no more.

He hadn’t planned on killing anyone this night, but sometimes things just can’t be helped. Besides, it was going to be either his life or that of the beast and no way in hell was Trygg ready for Valhalla. Wiping his blade on the man’s tunic, he lifted his gaze to Braun when he cleared his throat. A nod in the direction toward the doorway had Trygg turning to see what they faced next. He was ready for another kill if it came to such, but he certainly wasn’t ready for what his gaze fell upon.

Staring, Tryggr Daimhsson was staring as if he were dumbstruck. He’d never seen such beauty in all his days. Her hair was golden and shone as bright as sunlight in the darkened room. He thought for sure she was a Goddess. Perhaps he truly had died and was in Valhalla. She stared back at Trygg then looked down at her husband bleeding out on the floor. Half his legs were severed as well as his head. He thought for sure he’d have a raving woman on his hands, but instead a slow smile started to creep across her lips and the next thing he knew, she was pressed up against him, arms being flung over and across his shoulders and she wept. By the Gods, what was he supposed to do with a weeping woman. Braun chuckled and went about his business of continuing to gather loot, meanwhile, Trygg was left with a weeping widow clung to him and he wasn’t quite sure if she was happy… or sad.

Now it’s not that he didn’t know what to do with a woman, as that was hardly the case. Tryggr goes thru his women just as easily and happily as he does his ale. But it was a weeping woman and one more beautiful than he’s ever laid eyes on before, that had him wondering what the hell to do now. This was cutting into his time of in and out under 10-20 for they’d already taken a few minutes running here, gathering the goods, then bringing down the bear. Now this. He couldn’t kill her. She was too beautiful. F**K it, he thought. Bending down and tucking a shoulder to her midsection causing her to fold in half, it was a whistle for Braun and the two men were out the door and running back toward shore. Braun with a very full goodie bag over his shoulder and Trygg with a Goddess over his.

In and out under 20 minutes, they had done it. Joined the others in his band of twenty back at the ships and the loot was stored safely on board ship. It was the looks he got from the others that drew most of the attention. You see, Trygg never took slaves. He may have the others do it when they’ve raided before, but not Trygg, himself, for himself. He’s never returned with one slung over his shoulder. And when he lowered her to the ground, several of his men had done what he had when he first laid eyes on her…. They were staring and suddenly he became “the boss”.

“Keep your eyes in your heads, your cocks in your breeches and your hands OFF or you’ll lose your eyes, your cocks and your hands.”

Simply stated, or rather commanded. Then with that, he’d grab the wrist of the woman and hauled her off.

It would have been a couple of hours later that he’d join the others at camp. Food and ale abound. The men were happy and a happy man is always good. He went then in search of Ragnvalder. A good slap to his cousin’s shoulder as he then gave him a hearty cousinly hug joined with a broad smile.

“Just like old times. The Gall Gaidheal are victorious once more. The next venture is yours, cousin. You shall take the lead and I shall now follow.”

Just like old times, indeed. Sharing of the lead. Sharing of the loot. Mischief and Mayhem at their best.

[Axel Eiriksson]

((Finna's not gonna miss next time if you bring home that -whistles-))

[Robert Foreman]

Robert checked his pigs, counting with his fingers he nodded his head towards the small group that had gathered by the fence. "Aye, they be 'all 'ere still." He frowned when he looked upon poor Ivan, the lad's nose clean battered and bashed, shaking his head as he mumbled and grumbled. "Well now.....we's got a right problem now aye.....them buggars been 'a plunderin' all over by tha sounds o' things and who be ta say them wan be back again this night!" There were muffled sounds of agreement in unison as several of the villagers held up sticks, farming implements and the odd sword here and there.

One voice a little louder than the others. "Aye but we shell be ready fer 'em next time!" Again more mumbles of agreement, until a rather large and ferocius woman took her place before them. She waggled her finger and bellowed loudly. "We's got ta tell 'em at tha Castle.....'tis what we pays our taxes fer after all....ta protect us, do our bidding...go get them 'ere!!"

This revelation also brought a more louder cheer of agreement, after all they did pay their taxes, and at Castle Windstorm there were Guards, Soldiers, Lancers and all manner of fighting men who were paid to risk their lives. Of course whoever was chosen for the job, to reach the Castle and inform them there....well this was another matter and the suggestion was then received with little more than a murmer from the crowd.

Robert put up his hand, finally after several men stepped backwards, and others made up some excuse to not travel. Gilbert Ashdown stepped forward to join his friend and soon all the village had gathered to pat them on the back, offer parcels of food and drink for their journey and to wish them well.

Robert carried a crook which was his trusted tool when dealing with his pigs and Gilbert had a Scythe, the blade quite sharp but he hoped he never had cause to use it against any foe. The unlikely couple began their long and arduous walk towards the next village, more than a day''s steady march away....... only the good Lord above knew just what was in store for them all.

[Ragnvalder Jorghansson]

If so it pleases.....

He grinned, a wolfish look indeed, as he stood. He'd been by a small fire, his thrall on the sand, napping at his feet, and old Einar, shoveling in some food. Lots of good food tonight, the were on guard, but no one was going hungry. Solvy's belly was round and plumped with her dinner, and she was out cold, sleeping it off. Ragnvalder sipped at his ale, contemplative.

It is said, you have had a fine few hours, cuz.....

It is showing.

He grinned, more so than before, laughing almost. What her name was, mattered not, only that the look burning in Tryggr's dark gaze suggested that she had mad skillz. He had shared more women with Tryggr than he'd care to try counting. The Miller's Fantastic Four Daughters, for instance. Of course, that had ended with four women, and one very angry father, and he and Tryggr escaping with one boot, a tunic, and not an ounce of shame, betwixt the two of them.

They'd walked home, unabashed.

And gone back, too, the very next night.

They lost a lot of boots and tunics that summer over at the Miller's house.

I'll lead if you like. Makes no never mind to me. How did Axel fare? And come, sit, eat with Einar and I, let him berate you some. And take care, no stepping on my Solveig, she's tired out. She did well today, as did the men. And you all? A good day, was it?

[Tryggr Daimhsson]

Tryggr’s gaze went to Einar watching the old man shovel in the food like he hadn’t eaten in weeks, and Trygg knew better. Chuckling and reaching down to grab a piece of sausage only to have his hand swiped at, but he snagged the piece nonetheless then gave a good hearty laugh before tossing back the yummy morsel.

“Slow down old man, we promise not to starve ya. Unlike you used to do with Rags, Kiel, Adhamh and myself when you were “supposedly” teaching us a lesson.”

Another laugh with that as he gave his cousin a quick glance and readying himself defensively just in case he caught the “Rags” comment. Hey, it could have been worse. The boys had wrestled up a storm now and then with name teasing. That and wrestling over which Miller daughter they got to go at first.

Trygg then helped himself to some ale and food giving a glance toward the sleepy one passed out with a lift of his brow.

“Solveig? I’m not used to seeing just one woman at your feet, cousin. Have you lost your touch or is perhaps something else going on?”

Trygg couldn’t imagine either of them settling for just one woman and certainly not settling down. Nah, couldn’t be. His thoughts flashed to the fiery red head back home as he pulled her dagger from his belt and used it to eat with. Damn wench. Trying to shake his thoughts of her as he took a seat on the either side of Ragnvalder. Einar was still shoveling food like there was no tomorrow.

“We fared well. Better than expected and found quite a prize of my own, yeah.”

He’d take a quick glance back over toward where he made camp. The Goddess would be out cold as well and chained to a nearby tree, but he doubted she’d be one to run. Come to find out Trygg and Braun had saved her from the wretches of the bear she was married to and that Tryggr killed. She had thanked him very well for the last couple of hours too.

Looking back to Ragnvalder as Trygg enjoyed some grub and washed it down with some ale.

“I was thinking I might gift her to my brother. He has a thing for the fair-haired ones and it’s my hope he’ll become smitten with her and leave our sister alone. He’s gotten worse about his hold over her. She deserves a life of her own and by the Gods, I’m determined to make sure that happens.”

Another good swig of ale

“In the meantime, she can warm my furs at night. I’ll get her well broken in for Adhamh. The only thing is I’ll probably ruin her for the touch of any other man after me.”

Giving Ragnvalder and Einar a good wink with that then he’d chuckle again

“I haven’t run across Axel since our return to camp, but I did see some of his men so atleast I know they didn’t run off with their own loot. No doubt he’s whoring it up. Better that than with Finna.”

Trygg would snarl that comment out.. once again the damn wench had entered his thoughts .. tossing back some more ale hoping it would wash her away.. it didn’t work but he did his best to ignore them

“So any ideas about our next venture?”

Perhaps more talk of pillaging and plundering would get that fiery wench out of his head.. that and another go round with the fair-haired goddess once he returned to his furs

[Einar the Wicked]

He listened quietly as the two boys made their plans, only snorting derisively here and there in disagreement to a point or two.

He had to grudgingly admit that they could hold their own. Most of the time. Maybe.

Still they seemed to him to be far to soft and far to young to be playing at such games. Especially with women. Women...that thought made him shudder. Never trust a woman...the lying sneaking wenches all had their ways. He glanced at Solveig and snorted again while the cousins discussed parcelling off their lot of goods like so much cattle.

"You'd both be wise to part with the wenches." he finally said grudgingly coming up from his meal. "They'll be the death of you both, mark my words. Bed them but don't keep them. Haven't I taught you anything?"

[Ragnvalder Jorghansson]

The next day found the camp abandoned, fires put out, and ships out to sea, lingering far enough off the foggy coast to sit, and plots to be made. By noon, the great ghostly fog was burning off, and the fleet was on the prowl, not content with land-only battle, they sought the fat fare of ship stealing. This was his pride and fun right here. Nothing like harassing chubby merchant ships, boarding them, razing them of useful bits, and getting in some swordplay and axe swinging too!

Hell to the yes!

They'd made a fine day of it, hunting the tugging along wool and spice and wine and ale laden ships, their sailors brave, their wares fine, and the fight? A fine one! One to brag on.

Six men dead, but twelve GOOD sailors taken slaves, the rest they drowned or stabbed. He let the others handle the cargo.....they'd keep these ships, sell them or trade them later. Hardly war ships, but fine enough to store loot upon, and worth a fair sum. He cleaned his axe, the blood on it washed, and he set Solvy to cleaning his shield, the boss had matted gore upon it. She had been on his ship, left there with a few guards, during the boarding and bludgeoning and grisly business of killing for profit. These were not 'good' men, in any sense of 'meek or gentle or mild.' In their world, there was no honor in those things. There was honor in battle well fought, and thanks to Einar, the young softies of Keir and Orvik, could kill with the best of em.

They drifted at anchor for some hours, off a deserted small cove, before sailing north and east some ways, and finding a port to their liking. There they scouted,and secured the beach and woods, before making camp. He had sea salt in his hair, and his mind sang with the fight they'd had, men versus men, blood on the deck, blades twisting, arcing to end in fountains of gore. A good day! A day of warriors and success. Now they were getting somewhere, several raids behind them, now, and more to come.

He set Einar and Trygg and Pretty Boy out to scout up the coast some, to see what lay ahead. It was not his fault that they maybe found a little summer house, and perhaps saw a dark haired woman outside it, looking vulnerably soft, and nubile and theftable.