Lillian
Herin Farensun
Marmots Cradle

Herin stood to the side of the river, watching as the Jarl picked through the stones. He turned his attention upriver, towards the boats the Jarl had docked there.

"You're looking in the wrong place, friend." Herin spoke, stepping down from the rocks he stood on. "Both in your search for a crown, and a way to clear those rocks. But I can offer you both."

He gestured to the ship wounded by the ballistae. 
"Why bother clearing by hand when we have a battering ram ready to go? These rocks are barely holding together, if we hit them hard enough, they'll fall. Of course, the ship won't survive, but if we clear the wreckage it can be steered around easily enough."
Vincent
Dagstygg Jarl
Marmots Cradle

"Aye... The Mayriff *Must* Have had a ship of his own... We load it with oil urns, hit it with an arrow as it sails for the rocks and whatever isn't obliterated by the ship itself will be blown to pieces. You are a clever man, Herin."

*He trudges out of the water and calls for his men to come out of the water, waving an arm*

"It would have to be done tomorrow however, I need a garisson to guard this place and I have called for the rest of my clan... As well as... My *Sister* Kolga..." 

*He shuttered as he mentioned her name, letting out a sigh as if remembering many terrible things*
Lillian
Herin Farensun
Marmots Cradle

Herin crossed his arms, thinking for a bit
"Why bother with a garrisson? You and your men can spend the night on my ships. Whatever horrors the night holds will be gone by morning, and we can resume work uninterrupted. This town has nothing to offer, why risk our lives to defend it?"

Herin signaled for his men to step back from the river. They did so, trudging out from the water and heading back to the village, warming themselves by the burning remains of the town. Herin simply looked at the woods, thinking of what horrid creatures it might hold. God he hated Northwind.
Vincent
Dagstygg Jarl
Marmots Cradle

"I ordered my men to take this town, they bled for it, you see. If I abandoned it, my leadership practices would come into question. We leave by morning either way, as my sister will be here come tomorrow afternoon. But I cannot afford to lose this town for nothing. You are welcome to stay on your ships, Drengr (Warrior), but we must defend what we take. And besides... I do not want our Mayriff to escape, I have a sacrifice planned tomorrow."

"I have but one warning to you, Herin Lord..."

*He grasped the mans shoulders and looked him dead in the eyes with the coldness of a man recounting a horrible tragedy*

"Should Kolga Jarlskona, my sister, arrive early... Order your men to be ***Incredibly***, careful around her. I cannot stress this enough. She is a fine leader, but in truth she is completely and utterly mad. She is known as Blóðmeyja, the Bloodmaiden, and is a priestess of our god Ófriðr, our god of blood sacrifice, and everything associated with matters of blood."
Lillian
Herin Farensun
Marmots Cradle

Herin looked back from behind his golden mask, his expression unreadable, until he chuckled, the placed his hand on Dagstygg's shoulder, chuckling.
"Sounds like my type of woman!" He laughed, then called to his men.
"GET DEFENSES READY! I WANT A BLOODY BARRICADE ON THAT WALL BEFORE NIGHTFALL YOU LOUTS!" 
As soon as the words left his mouth, his men went to work, tearing down the makeshift pile of shit the townsfolk had set up,and starting to get a true barricade ready, something that could survive the night.

"So the Mayrrif is still alive? Not for long, it seems, but still, surprising. I might like to talk with him before you send him off to your gods, gloat a bit and all that." Herin spoke casually, his gaze cast towards the river as he walked along it's shore.
Vincent
Dagstygg Jarl
Marmots Cradle

"He is tied to a post at the center of town. He's the guy getting poked with sticks by children, hard to miss."

*He shouts to his men to assist the natives on building barricades, as they will need it for the coming night* 

"Stattu ekki bara þarna! Brandr skammar leti þína!"
Lillian
Herin Farensun
Marmots Cradle

Herin laughed at the thought of the Mayrrif being poked by sticks in the town square. 
"Well, we'd be off to a poor start in our partnership if I abandoned to monsters in the night. So me and my men shall stay with you through this ordeal. You'll need all the swords you can get in Northwind."

Herin walked through the hole in the wall, watching as his men already had begun to assemble a fair barricade from fallen rocks and chunks of stone. Certainly no true wall, but it would have to be enough. Of course, if things went south, he had men waiting at the dinghy for a quick retreat.
Ronald
**Marmot's Cradle - Nightfall 🌗 **

As the sun set over the village, the people began to ran inside their homes. A few of them, the bravest no doubt, stood by the barricade armed with weapons taken from the townsguardsmen's cold dead hands. They stood vigil alongside the Ismordians and hanged men, waiting for the creatures of the night.

"Wait for them!" A crooked voice called from the plaza. "You willl all regret ever defying ME!"

The men ignored the vulture's laugther, but the things outside did not. As if recognizing one of their own, the vermin of Northwind replied with a series of howls.

"Direwolves!" Said one of the townsmen. "Better than the Fellhounds if you ask me."

Hundreds of light steps could be heard closing in from the dark. A whole pack was coming...
The first of the wolves leaped over the defenses and tore the head of a militia sentinel, the rest crashed against the barricade and began to scratch and bite it in an attempt to make it collapse. They were big creatures: rougly to wolves what Dagstygg was to normal men. Their fur was pitch black and their eyes yellow. They were the vanguard of the night, and they were eager to feast on flesh and blood.
Vincent
Dagstygg Jarl
Marmots cradle

The Jarl laughed as he locked eyes with a beast before he lifted his axe and began to roar like an enraged giant, swinging his axe down upon the ground with a thundering slam, his men soon make their way towards the beasts, one of the wolves lunges towards one of the men, to which he plunges a sword down its throat, and up through the back of the skull. He then tears off the head using the sword and tosses it to the beasts
Ronald
**Marmot's Cradle - The Night 🌕 **

Bood poured on the barricade as the warriors hacked and chopped predator after predator. Soon, it pooled at their feet, creating a bog of metallic stench. The wolves kept coming. Regardless of how many wounds of casualties they took, the beasts kept pushing and slipping trough the barricade, or pouncing on the Ismoridans and the Scags with abandon, biting and maiming wherever they could.
It felt like they were not killing out of hunger or necessity, but out of sheer hatred and spite.

The Alpha Wolf slammed the barricade, and created a small breach from where several more animals squeezed trough. It was an enormous, two-headed, albino monstruosity. As soon as it made it past the town defenses, it pounced on one of Herin's Scags and shaked it like a ragdoll before ripping him in half with it's two heads. A gruesome shower of blood and intestines splashed over the defenders. The heads of the creature then roared towards Herin and Dagstygg, baring their deformed mutant teeth at them.
Vincent
Dagstygg Jarl
Marmots Cradle

The armor of the Ísmóðirian Einherjar warriors would put up against the wolves, for they were made to handle beasts far worse than these. Many who were tackled would use similar tactics to the way they would deal with mutant beasts back at home, gutting them, ripping their jaws from their heads, tearing out their throats and more. Dagstygg made a suprising move. He rushed towards the beast with a roar
Lillian
Herin Farensun
Marmots Cradle

Herin had told his men what to do in this situation, move back and use the townsfolks militia as human shields. As the townspeople were ripped apart by the wolves, the scags retreated a distance, and took up their crossbows.

"FIRST VOLLEY, FIRE!" Herin roared, his men unleashing a torrent of arrows upon the board of hounds. They had been told to not hit the Jarl's men, but the townsfolk were acceptable casualties. Herin smirked under his mask as a wave of dogs fell dead, arrows poking from their hides, his boys were good.


Then he saw it, the two headed hound, the alpha of the pack. 
"Tide Barer's Salty Balls, what IS that thing?!"
He took a few steps back, assessing the situation. This looked bad, but he had found his way out of worse places.
He drew his small handheld crossbow, and fired a poison tipped bolt towards the center mass of the beast. No matter how big the opponent, if it bled, it died.
Ronald
**Alpha Wolf - Marmot's Cradle 🌕 **

Hunger. Hunger. Hunger. Fresh meat on it's mouth. With one face he could see a giant, with the other he could see a masked man. The mask smelled like the sea, and it smelled like poison. The humans believed him brutish like them, foolish like his pack, but he was neither. He was cunning. And he hated. He hated so much.

Reacting on instinct, the creature used one of it's heads to jerk the arm of a big human and use it's large frame to shield itself from the proyectile. It's human "Hide" Was tough. His teeth could not pierce it, but they could bend it, and the metal sank into the warrior's flesh. Then, the other head hurled the big human towards their giant leader as the beast ran to the gold mask... He'd be first to die. The creature could almost imagine the taste of his flesh...
Vincent
Dagstygg Jarl
Marmots cradle

The Jarl slammed through the man tossed infront of him like a train, his eyes had now become bloodshot with rage, he was now gaining on the beast and foaming at the mouth. Four hundred pounds of rage, muscle, and steel was plowing towards the wolf as it ran towards Herin, the ground thudding beneath his feet
Lillian
Herin Farensun
Marmots Cradle

Herin looked at the massive beast, and for a moment, their eyes locked. In that singular second, both combatants understood each other perfectly. They were both creatures of hate, monsters that stayed alive only because their rage and thirst for blood could not go quietly into the night. Only one would survive this night, only one flame would still burn, but whose hate was greater was not yet known.

"SECOND VOLLEY, KILL THE TWO-HEADED ONE!" Herin roared, his archers firing on the beast. He doubted that would kill it, it was too spiteful for that to work, but it would give him time to run. 
Earlier, his men had created a stockpile in one of the few buildings that was still standing, it container bits and baubles stolen from the town, food and grain, and several casks of oil. They had planned to use this to clear the river blockage, but Herin had more pressing matters to deal with.

With the archers keeping the two-headed beast at bay, Herin ran as fast as he could to the building they used to keep the oil. It was a smallish wooden thing, two stories, originally the home of one of the families who died in the initial assault. Now, it would serve as a grave, though whether that was Herin's or the wolf's, that remained to be seen.
Ronald
**Marmot's Cradle - The Night 🌕 **

Dagstygg ran into the creature's side, sinking his blade into it's hide. It was a thick hide, and the blade didn't pierce swiftly, so the Jarl found himself wrestling against the wolf as they both tumbled over the street. The armor was thick, but unlike the lesser wolves, the fangs and claws of the Alpha were nigh-unbreakable. Enough for one of the heads to bend the armor with sheer bite pressure. The other head howled, calling for the pack.

The wolves had been pouring into the village in greater numbers ever since the Alpha had trashed the barricade, and the howl recalled them to his position. They fell upon the Jarl, forcing him to fend them off as the Alpha broke free from it's grasp. The creature's strategy was now clear: the Alpha was dermined to kill Herin first, and it was doing everything in it's power to delay Dagstygg long enough for that to happen.

With the beta wolves sacrificing themselves against the Jarl, the Alpha dashed towards towards the oil storage, killing an archer and maiming another as he rushed in porsuit of masked man's unique maritime scent.
Vincent
Dagstygg Jarl
Marmots cradle

As he grappled with the beast he grabbed onto its upper and lower jaw, practically riding on its back as he pried the jaws opening and facing it up towards him, he plunged his face into its open jaws and bit down on its tongue before rearing his head back, yhe force of him pushing up and away to get his head up rips the beasts tongue out, with a sickening snap he separates the lower jaw from its upper
Lillian
Herin Farensun
Marmot's Cradle, the Night

Dagstygg and the archers had given Herin enough time to prepare for the beast's arrival. He had tipped over one of the barrels, soaking the floor with oil, the entire first floor was practically shining with the stuff. He didn't have time to do anything else, but this would have to do.

Herin himself sat on the top floor, waiting near a smallish hole in the roof. It was big enough for a man of Herin's build to fit through without much trouble, and gave him a good view of the battlefield. He saw the two-headed beast charge towards his position, and took a deep breathe. He couldn't die here, he still had so much hate left to give. 
The door to the storehouse was open, the room illuminated by the lantern Herin held in his hand. For a moment, it was quiet.
Then the wolf arrived, gnashing teeth and yellow eyes truly looking like a beast out of hell.

Once again, the two opponents looked upon one another, and the hate they shared passed between them. Herin almost regretted what he was about to do, he always wanted a dog of his own.
"Good boy." He spoke under his breath, then tossed the lantern to the ground, and leapt out the hole in the roof.

The ground on which the Alpha stood exploded in flames, the dry goods stored in the storehouse going up like tinder, creating an inferno within seconds, detonating the other oil barrels in an all-consuming fire. The storehouse itself, already damaged from the Vikingr assault, began to collapse, burning beams falling upon whatever was unlucky enough to be standing beneath them.
Ronald
**Marmot's Cradle 🌕 The Night**

The Alpha recoiled in rage as flames spead trough it's hide. It erratically ran away like possesed from the flaming building and attacked at random... Murdering and maiming, villager, archer, Einherjar, and wolf alike. It's flaming body crashed against houses and charriots, setting them ablaze.

Whether it was fate or misfortune, it's path lead it back to Dagstygg, who by now was drenched head to toe in wolf blood. Too punished to think clearly, the beast pounced on the Jarl, seeking to kill him in a single assault. In doing so, it left it's belly exposed... Naked, with barely any muck-smeared fur that could entagle a blade.
Vincent
Dagstygg Jarl
Marmots Cradle

The Jarl reared his axe in an upward motion, plunging it into the gut of the wolf and turning his body to slam it into the ground. Once it wad on the ground, he began hacking it to pieces with his long two handed axe, he didn't stop until it was in pieces
Ronald
**Marmot's Cradle 🌔 The Night**

The beast laid on the ground eviscerated, it's hide scorched and it's guts laid bare by the Jarls's axe.

The Direwolves began to fall back, deprived of their leader, they reverted into a state of survival and were easy to chase away from the breach. Many remained inside the town though, and had retreated into the dark corners of the streets. They would be a problem.

The night was still young, but it had taken a heavy toll on the defenders: bodies were scattered over the streets, and few were the men who had escaped the onslaught unscathed. Despite it's exhaustion however, the combined force of the townspeople and the raider gangs was still in fighting conditions. Provided it was given respite that is... And the Rustlands wouldn't let them rest for long.
Lillian
Herin Farensun
Marmot's Cradle

Herin staggered towards the corpse of the Alpha, still shaken from the destruction of the storehouse. He kicked the corpse of the beast once, just to make sure it was truly dead, then turned to the people. They were all staring, raiders, townsfolk, and Vikingr. Herin knew one thing, that if they were to survive this night, they would need to work together. He turned towards his men, still shaken, collecting their dead and tending to their wounded.

"What are you louts standing around for?! If we want to make it out of here alive, stop looking to the dead and focus on the living!" He looked at a group of townsfolk, not fighters by any means, but perhaps they could still be useful. "You all! Tend to the wounded, don't bother with the corpses. Raiders, get back to position with your crossbows, if anything crosses the barricade, I want it to be filled with arrows before it takes another step!"

He looked to Dagstygg, standing over the corpse of the alpha, painted with it's guts. "Get you men to form two rows on either side of the barricade, shield walls on both sides. Anything that comes through will be herded into the archers line of fire. No more wild charges, we can't beat the animals at their own game, we have to fight with our heads." He patted the Jarl on the back, and went to oversee the organization of his archers. Fucking Northwind, he thought, this place should have been burned to the ground long ago.
Vincent
Dagstygg Jarl
Marmots Cradle

The Jarl ordered his men to defensive positions, they would form encampments along weak points on the walls, preparing for a long night
Ronald
**Marmot's Cradle 🌔 The Night**

Several of the townspeople vehemently disagreed with Herin about the bodies.

"We can't leave the bodies there, it will attract Evil," They said.

Some even disregarded his orders altogether and dragged corpses towards the flaming pyre left behind by Farensun's gambit against the alpha.

The Jarl had less of a hard time convincing his lot to do as they weretold, mostly because everyone agreed that the wall breaches had to be contained, regardless of superstition.
Lillian
Herin Farensun
Marmots Cradle, Night

Herin grumbled to himself about the townsfolk, but he couldn't afford to start a schism now. Any other time and he'd threaten them with death or torture if they didn't do what he commanded, but if they fought back, they'd all die.

Besides, any man who couldn't fight tonight would die either way, and Herin had more important things to do. 
He made his way to the pillar where the former Mayrrif was tied. He was unsure if the man had survived the wolves, but he was in a fairly well-lit place, and far enough from the breach that he doubted he had been eaten yet. 

Herin made his way to the former ruler of the cradle, now bound to a pole, prepared for sacrifice to vikingr gods.
"Tough spot you seem to be in, eh?" 
Herin spoke calmly, not allowing his inner turmoil to come through. If the mayrrif thought he was scared, he'd never get what he wanted.
"Makes me wonder how you managed to keep this place from being eaten by wolves for so long, considering a few of these vikingr turned it to a smoldering heap without too much trouble."
Herin hoped he might reveal something, anything, about how to fight back against the nightmares. The mayrrif was too cruel to offer help knowingly, but perhaps he might let slip his secrets without knowing he did.
Ronald
**The Mayrrif 🌔 Marmot's Cradle**

"The Vikidr... " Said Jarthec. "Athmor damn them."

He spat on the ground.

"How is this my fault, Farensun? How was I supposed to know that these dimwits were be too stupid to understand the town depended on me? That they could not get rid of me without going down themselves? These outsiders know nothing of Northwind's ways. Now they're going to die, and you will die too if you stay with them."
Lillian
Herin Farensun
Marmots Cradle

"And you'll die with us, probably worse than most, honestly. You ever seen what sharks do a hunt of meat hung in the water? For you sake, you should hope whatever monsters lurk in the night are gentler." 
Herin shrugged, as if nothing could be done for the situation.
"Even if we survive, they plan to sacrifice you come dawn. Strange folk, but I don't see an issue with it. Though I've heard their rituals are quiet bloody, they have magic that keep you alive while they peel your skin off, then strip your tendons one by one. Horrifying stuff, I wouldn't want to be you come sun up."

Herin paused for a second, watching the Mayrrif for any sign of a reaction. 
"Of course, if we survive the night, we'd all be too busy to notice if you cut your bonds and escaped. I know I wouldn't look twice if I saw you scampering away come sunrise. Though we'd need to survive till then, of course, and if you truly can't help us anymore... Well, best hope the Vikingr gods are the merciful type, eh?"
With a small pat on the shoulder, Herin began to walk away, just slow enough give the Mayrrif time to suddenly remember something useful.
Ronald
**The Mayrrif 🌔 Marmot's Craddle**

"Wait!"

Jarthec gave in.

"I know a way to survive the night. A secret passage I built to escape in case of... Well, not that it matters now. It's not of much use as a means of escape, no one wants to get out of the palisade at night, but it can be used to hide until sunrise. Release me and I'll show it to you."

It was probably buried under his mansion's rubble, but Jarthec had little to lose by risking it at this point.

"Just don't dare tell the savages about it. The tunnel is too cramped for those big brutes and I promise you'll regret showing them mercy. I know I do."
Lillian
Herin Farensun
Marmot's Cradle

Underneath his golden mask, Herin smiled. He wheeled around, walking up to the Mayriff, and clasped him on the shoulder. "See? Now we all get what we want."
Herin cut the ropes holding the Mayriff to the pole, but kept his hands bound. 
"Just a precaution, mind you, if a vikingr warrior sees us with your hands unbound, that'll be hard to explain. This way it just looks like... Prisoner transport. Now, you lead the way."

Herin followed the Mayriff through the ruins, watching as his men and the Jarl's ran about, getting ready for what was to come next. He felt a pang of pride, watching his men work like a well-oiled machine, preparing for war in the face of insurmountable odds. 
His sword was kept pointed at the Mayriff's back, just to make sure he didn't try anything, he knew his type, after all. The Mayriff was a slippery bastard, willing to do anything to survive, much like Herin, the only difference was that Herin was the one with the sword to his back.
Vincent
Dagstygg Jarl
Marmots cradle

The Vikingr's in the courtyard still had a presence and they watched as Herin freed the man from his bindings. They wouldn't take long to fling a spear infront of the group. The war council leader, Blóðlaug was in a rage at seeing this, ordering the men to surround the group as she blew into her horn to call for her Jarl

"It was ordered by our Jarl that this...*Rat!* Not be freed under any circumstance, you were a fool to betray Dagstygg Jarl!"
Lillian
Herin Farensun
Marmots Cradle

Herin wanted to sigh. Foiled by the stupidity of his allies. These meatheads were unknowingly destroying their only chance of salvation. But there was still time to salvage this.
"Freed? Are you blind or just stupid? His hands are still bound, I'm just moving him away from the center of town. You want to sacrifice him, remember? Hard to do that if the fucking hell-hounds rip him to shreds, eh? Now go back to guarding the damned hole in the wall before another two-headed beast walks in here and eats you alive!" Herin then turned, shoving the Mayriff forwards, walking away from the scene.

Herin didn't show it, but he was tense, terrified even. If these worthless meatheads stopped him now, they'd all die. Their only hope was the Mayriff, and he couldn't get him to reveal his hidden cave unless he believed Herin was betraying the Vikingr.
Vincent
Dagstygg Jarl
Marmots Cradle

The Jarl arrives and walks past Blóðlaug, delivering a slap to the back of the head as he does so. To which she responds with a simple "Helvetis!"

"I will travel with you and the Vulture, Herin. Lead on."
Lillian
Herin Farensun
Marmots Cradle

Shit, one problem solved, and another created. Herin swore under his breath.
"Jarl, with all due respect, that isn't a good idea. Me and you are the only sources of authority here, if we're attacked and neither of us are around, our defenses will fall shortly. You need to be at the breach, your people, and mine, need you. I can handle one would-be tyrant."

He looked the Jarl dead in the eyes from behind his helmet, and hoped to whatever gods there might be that he understood what he meant. "*Trust* Is the most important thing in any partnership, I've risked my life and that of my men defending this town with you, I think I've more than earned that trust." 
With that, he walked away from the Jarl, never taking his hand from the Mayriff's shoulder. He could only pray that this worked, though with his track record, any god listening would have to be a true bastard to help him of all people.
Vincent
Dagstygg Jarl 
Marmots Cradle

He grunted and turned away, returning to his ships. Blóðlaug kept a close eye on the men as they parted.