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

[Lady Edfeil]

((I am sorry to see the play end and that a compromise could not be reached. I wish you fair journeys and maybe in the future another interaction can take place under more ausipcious circumstances. ))

[Dream Loxley]

((I would like to thank you all for writing with us and I am extremely sorry it had to end. I was enjoying it all and looked forward to an exciting journey. Wishing you all well and safe....'till next we meet. ))

[Axel Eiriksson]

((I’m sorry it’s ended too. Although I write with a sense of humour my char is, all in all, still a Viking and will act like one. I certainly do not want to continue to offend anyone here. Love to you all and happy rping endeavours!))

[Ragnvalder Jorghansson]

Like a storm rising in summer over the land, they had come, and struck, and dispersed again from it, just as suddenly as they had arrived. It was not war, not in the sense of shield walls, and picking a hill to die on. This was, for better or worse, simply commerce wed with fighting practice. This was raiding for profit, to shake the rust of winter's cold disuse off.

This was business.

And they knew that you stayed only a short while, before moving on to the next great target.

He stood on the stern end of his ship, just one man among hundreds, on one war ship in the fleet of twenty or so, watching the grey green shale and rise of Cornwall fall away, sliding down, down, towards the sea as they rounded the cusp of the visible globe. He had a shoulder to the mast, and at his side a girl in simple clothes stood, lazily leaning against him, her head on his chest, his hand playing with her dark, wayward hair.

Her war paint was gone, leaving just pretty bare skin now, in hues of honey and pink. He kissed her head's sweet crown, and mused on the fact she really, truly.....needed a bath. It made him smile, that blush of sweat and leather and sawdust and soap she smelled off. That and the secret spice and scent that was somehow simply Solvy.

Love you, little witchling.

Whispered against her brow, as he tightened his hold, and let his dark eyes scan the horizon, and the ships dotted upon it. Tryggr, to port side, with him the blonde from Cornwall. He was going to perhaps need to intervene a bit there. Tryggr's language skills? Very good!........with trade talk. If his cousin sought more romantic and genteel turn of phrase, Ragnvalder might need to offer some 'advice'. And oooooh the phrases he could offer up.

THAT had him grinning. Oh the fun he could have at his beloved Tryggr's expense.........

As for the expense of others, the sausage makers, and the others stolen, they were not treated badly, nor treated well. Not YET. That took time. They'd taken people of worth though. And he knew their tongue, he spoke to them this morning, of himself as a boy, was sent from his walled city as the son of the Eolderman. And how he'd been sent to the Danes as a hostage, and the great Jarl of Orvik had picked him up and said, the boy is mine! Technically, he informed them, he was still a hostage, as Coventry had not gotten him back. Nor would they! He was Gall Gaidheal now!

And how that was how he got his name, Ragnvalder Jorghansson, his last name meaning Farm Field Son, because the Lord of Orvik roared his words in a farm field. Jorghansson, a nick name. He was really the Jarl's son, a Lord of Orvik, owner of ten farms, and happy. They too, these hostages, one day, might find happiness.

He was upfront, and bold, and smiling, and unforgiving. Sentimental but strict with them.

By the time they reached Orvik and Keir, they'd understand some Danish, for that was needful, and they'd know they could earn their freedom, buy their freedom. Do your work, we keep an account, and you do too, and in a bit, you buy your freedom on the condition you stay, and work in the Isles with us still.

In short, you become Gall Gaidheal.

Half bloods.

Wild men of the Isles, and their even wilder women.

That was the new hope, the new life these hostages could attain.

Steer us to home, came the cry from Tryggr, and a war whoop went up, as the fleet arched like birds born on the breath of the Gods, soaring breathlessly into the eye of the northern lights, oars dipping like wings of beauty, on silver studded seas.

((Fare thee well Cornwall, adjø, ha det fint, and fair seas to you))

[Dream Loxley]

((Great admiration for your writing, all of you, just a last post to get us all home))

She woke with a start, her eyes wide, searching....her ears listening, her body aching, yet she could move, there were no restraints. She remembered, slowly sitting up, all the while looking, listening, aware of.......nothing. The sound of the ocean, gentle lapping of waves, the birds singing, the gentle rustling of the trees.....but nobody else. For a moment she relaxed, settling against a tree moving each part of her body just to check, she was wide awake, and hurting almost everywhere, just bruises, superficial scratches to her bare legs and feet, but her forearm....there was a makeshift dressing, she touched it, her fingers stroking the fabric, not her own petticoats not anything she recognised, something strange to her, cotton or flax, bound around the wound.

She remembered more......the man, the awful smelly man who had carried her off......he was bleeding, then she looked to the ground, blood, not too much but enough, she reached to touch it....dried in the air, the sunshine.....it was morning, she had been sleeping most of the night. Owen! Muttering to herself, she felt the rise of bile once again, oh no.....Owen.....she remembered......

She stood then, bracing herself against the tree, everything worked, everything was fine, but Owen.....she had to find him, just where was she....still at the beach, he couldn't be far....she began to walk towards the sound of the sea, it was near, just through the trees.....her feet were sore but then they found sand, soft and cool, she took stock of her bearings, there, just a little walk away she could see the small cabin. A deep sigh of relief left her lips but Owen.......she began to walk quickly, lifting her skirts and increasing her pace into a run, long bare legs making short work of the space between her and hopefully Owen.

He was alive! He sat cross legged, looking rather bewildered, next to the lifeless body of his horse, holding his head in his hands, oblivious to her as she approached. Her voice gentle yet with an inquisitive tone. "Owen......Owen....are ye alright......Owen.....'tis Dream."

The horse was dead, she looked about but Biscuit was nowhere to be seen, Owen looked up at her, his face filled with questions, he held the back of his head still. She reached to see, and felt the lump...... "Oh my.....ye have a lump to rival cooks best hen's eggs." Her smile soft, her words spoken in jest simply to make light of the situation. What more could she say to the poor man.

It was then she heard them, calling loudly, a group of Guards, she could make them out as they approached, Biscuit also.....ridden by young Perran.....and as they drew closer, Master Sergeant. She waved her good arm, breathing deeply, so relieved to see them all.

"M'Lady......M'Lady....." was all he said, and before she could reply, several men were lifting Owen from his sitting position, checking him over and lifting him onto a horse. There was a lot of angry words bantered about them all, mumbling and muttering as they searched the cabin and surrounding land, but she cared not to listen. She gave a brief account of what she actually remembered to the Master Sergeant who had such a grim look about him, berating her with his eyes for leaving the Castle. She could but lower her own eyes in respect to the man before apologising.

"Well, all's well that ends well M'Lady.....best ye be coming back now, we had word of sightings and plunderings, seems to me ye had a lucky escape, were it not for yer horse and young Perran here recognising him."

Dream smiled brightly to Perran embracing him tightly before ruffling his curly hair. She thanked him, thanked them all and accepted the offered help mounting Biscuit who would certainly get a few treats when they returned. The sun was higher in the sky now as the small party left the beach, she turned to look for a moment, way out to sea, to the horizon, wondering of what was out there, of the men, where they had come from, where they had gone. Silently she wished them safe passage home, to loved ones, to family, who knew.

Master Sergeant grumbled something and she turned to face him with a soft smile. "Aye......but mayhaps they were simply like us.....trying to survive, trying to build homes.....we shall nae ever know their true intentions, or iffn they ever will return." He mumbled a little more but she did not respond. It was over.....for now......and life would go on as it was meant to. All was as it should be.