Carol
Levi Cortez
Northwind

Levi watched as the young girl ran her fingers over the dark wood, and his eyes narrowed. The way she held the bow was... Too comfortable. She knew what she was doing. She nocked an arrow with ease, drawing it back with an ease that only came with years of practice. He watched as she dropped her aim at the last moment. Anyone could have missed it. If she hadn't held her bow the way she did, Levi wouldn't even have paid any attention. 

"Again." He said, moving away from the pole he was leaning against. There was something gnawing at him, but the young girl in front of him kept distracting him. 

*A young woman turned, her bright smile warming the entire room. A younger Levi smiled back, and took her in his embrace. 

"I love you." He said, wrapping his arms around her as she giggled. 

"I have more work to do Levi..." She said, teasing him. She unwrapped his arms from her waist and walked forward a step, before turning and facing him.*

*"Unless you have better plans?" She said, raising an eyebrow and smirking. 

"Of course I do." He said, picking her up and pushing her against the wall.* The memory faded as fast as it appeared, but the scent of her hair, faint traces of lavender, still lingered in his mind. It was too much. This was too much. 

"Enryc, I need a moment. Please, watch after her for a bit." He said, turning and leaving quickly. He walked to his tent and sat on a small wooden stump and put his head between his knees. 

*The guard laughed as he wrapped the chains tighter around Levi's wrists. The young woman, Rhesa, screamed in retaliation but the guard quickly slapped her to the ground. Levi lounged forward but was quickly subdued.*

*"I'll kill you. All of you!" Levi said, thrashing against the soldier's tight grip. He was quickly silenced by a flurry of hits from a few of the soldiers present, and they began laughing. One of them spit in Levi's eye before they began dragging him away from his home.

"I... Love you." He muttered, but Rhesa didn't hear.*

Levi opened his eyes. He realized he had been crying, and wiped his eyes before standing up. He should have been there. He should have fought to return home. But he was here, and it was too late. His... Daughter was outside and he was in here, allowing the past to cloud his mind. He picked up the small stump and dropped it, kicking it as it fell. He swore before lightly putting his weight on his toe. 

*Bad idea.* He thought, before wiping his eyes again and stepping out of his tent.
Ronald
**The Townsguard - Marmot's Craddle**

The Mayrrif's soldiers were none the wiser to the warriors coming in and out of the tavern, but when they approached the walls surrounding the mansion, the sentinels of the iron gate became suspicious.

"Halt!" Said one of them. "Where are you carrying those jars? This is the Mayrrif's mansion. If you want to trade, speak with Clayton as instructed."

They still suspected nothing, but the townsguard was reluctant to let them approach the Town Hall and it's belltower.
Vincent
Dagstygg Jarl
Marmots Cradle

*The men grunt and set down the oil jars, stretching their arms as one speaks* "Thank the *Gods* You asked... We needed an excuse to put these down... We are delivering oil and straw to the houses that require it most for a decent pay. Your Mayriffs mansion was on the list, do not tell our Jarl... He ordered us to stay in the harbour, as we are leaving come morning, upon hearing we were leaving we realized this may be our only chance you see?"

Meanwhile at the harbor men were drinking and singing they sung in their strange tongue, though by the fact that they were dancing with some of their plundered goods, it was a song of war

'Laukr ræður yfir hafinu okkar
Hun mótar form sitt
Ingwar er ánægður, heyrðu þrumuna
Fyrir han kemur með storminn

Óvinir okkar eru nálægt
Þeir eru að biðja fyrir sálu sinni
Geturðu séð
Það er dauði í þeirra augum

Þeir munu aldrei vinna þennan bardaga
Vegna þess að Hymir, allfaðir
Ríður á fjöru höf

Í gegnum þokuna, í gegnum eldinn
Ormarnir okkar þreytast aldrei
Við munum brenna heilög lönd þín

Þú getur ekki stöðvað okkur, ekkert brýtur okkur
Blóðslitin framtíð, bíður okkar
Í sölum Heiðurshöll...!'

Translated: "Laukr rules our oceans
She shapes its form
Ingwar is pleased, hear the thunder
For he brings the storm

Our enemies are near
They are praying for their souls
Can you see
There's death in their eyes

They will never win this battle
Because Hymir, our father
Rides on our tide

Through the mist, through fire
Our serpents never tire
We will burn your sacred lands

You can't stop us, nothing breaks us
Bloodsworn future, awaits us
In the halls of Heiðurshöll!"
Ronald
**Clayton - Mayrrif's Mansion**

He found the guards of the Town Hall arguing with the bigmen over some oil vats.

"Don't leave those there!" He told the Ismoridans. "The Mayrrif hates when merchants leave their goods in front of the estate gates. If you want to sell things to the townsguard, talk it with me. Some guys I know use it to make fire javelins, they might want some."

Ironically, he pointed to the belltower's ballista. The iron gates of the mansion were rusty, and guarded by only four guards. It made Clayton uneasy seeing the bigmen roam near the Mayrrif's mansion with such a vital point so poorly defended.

"You there!" He called one of the Townsguard. "Help me carry these back to the tavern"

One of the sentinels left his post to help clayton carry oil vats away from the walls. That left only three at the gates. Once again, Clayton didn't like it.

"Damn foreigners. I'll give them a piece of my mind next time I see them. For now, let's get rid of these jars before the Mayrrif shits all over us."
Vincent
Kjotve and Harald
Mayriffs mansion

The vats were huge, attempting to lift them for these more normal sized men was nearly impossible. The two men watched the guards struggle to lift them, chuckling to eachother These were the two first men, a grand total of six were about the town, all of which were given the same task. Kjotve and Harald assisted the men in lifting the vats and followed their lead. With the post now open, the other four made their way to the location. The largest of the four ordering the rest in away from any light

"Ingwars balls they did it... Move, now, we'll only get this chance once.."
Ronald
**The Mayrrif - Marmot's Cradle**

Barbarians at the gates. Imbeciles. If he had told their leader to speak with Clayton it was precisely because he didn't want his dirty men near his mansion.

"Gretha!" He called. The young girl stepped from the shadows. "Give me my cane."

It was a cane with a sculpted eagle head. He had stopped using it after it had inspired the 'vulture' nickname, but perhaps it was time to bring forth his scepter once more. Before he left, he had a feeling of being observed. It was hard to describe, but it probably had to do with Gretha, so he locked her with a second chain to the stone wall.

Once he came down from the attic, he called two of his townsgaurd.

"Follow me to the gate," He said. "Perhaps the foreigners need a reminder of who rules this town."
Vincent
Ingolf, Nils, Þjolsulf, and Stjornar
Mayriffs mansion

In the time it took to get there, the men placed their oil urns along the wall of the ballista tower, and lit the straw around it aflame. Afterwards they make their way to the main path leading to the mansion, Ingolf stands with his arms raised, a grin on his face as the men make their way out the door to speak with the Ísmoðirians.

"There is only one way to purge disease from a gaping wound, Mayriff, not with silver, or a seeresses potion, but with *Fire!"*

And with that, a thunderous boom erupts from the side of the mansion, the walls on the far right of the structure had been completely obliterated, only one wall remained attached to the tower
Ronald
**MARMOT'S CRADLE - THE RECKONING**

Jarthec the vulture
Mayrrif's Mansion

Flames began to spread up the tower and into the Town Hall. The stone tower burned slowly. But the mansion caught fire with frightening speed, consuming rooms and wooden supports with rapacious hunger.

"AAAAAAAAH!" Jarthec screamed like a posessed man. "KILL THEM! KILL THEM! BURN THEIR SHIPS! BRIIING MEE THEIR COOORPSES!!!"

The men on the ballista fired a javelin, setting ablaze the mast of an ismordian longship, but the flames reached their stored ammunition before they could reload. The belltower exploded, sending chunks of rock flying all over the town.
The explosion was so loud, it almost drowned the screams of the young girl in the attic being burned alive.
—
Clayton
City Streets

The explosion was all he needed to hear. Reacting on instinct, Clayton dropped the oil vat and grabbed his axe before decapitating the bigman behind him in one fell swoop. The other soldier wasn't as lucky. He was impaled by the lance of the other one before he could comprehend what was happening. Clayton roared as he charged against him.
—
The Townspeople
City Homes

"The Mayrrif's mansion is burning!"
No one knew who shouted it, but everyone listened. Before the townsguard had converged on the attackers, the town had converged on them. They attacked the Mayrrif's enforcers with bricks and pitchforks at first, then with sheer number of bodies. The townsguard was merciless, killing and mauling scores of them, but the ragged inhabitants of Marmot's Cradle had become crazed: at long last, the grip of the vulture over the town had been released, and it's dregs thirsted for Jarthec's blood.
Vincent
Marmots Cradle
Harbour
Ísmoðir Einherjar

The javelin, luckily landed low enough that the ship could be put out. But it wouldn't be in sailing shape for a solid portion of time until repairs were done, the impailed Ísmoðirian showed an incredible amount of resolve, or was it bloodlust. He cried out in rage and pain before turning to the man who had just stabbed him, stumbling, he grabbed the head of the soldier and laughed, sputtering up blood as he shoved the mans head through the lance by the eye before collapsing, laughing in a rasped tone as his breath faded into the death sleep. A bellowing horn would shake the houses as the Jarl blew into the massive Gjallarhorn on his ship, Ísmoðir warriors formed a shield wall that combed through the street like a wave of death, chanting as they stomped onward, their was only eighty men out of the one hundred and fifteen that came, but it may as well have sounded like an army of a thousand from the heavyness of their steps. Strangely they sang in northwind tongue, as if to taunt their quarry. The amount of dead in the streets saw rivers of blood clotting the street into an iron scented mud from the clatter of their spears

"The world is full of clans and gods...
Only some knew travel by the stars...
Into vicious seas all their ships sailed tall...
Beware the northern warriors!

To Laukr red gold is a gift
With her daughters of the sea
The waves will help us reach
The lands of those who flee...

Through the mist, through fire
Our serpents never tire
We will burn your sacred lands!"
Ronald
Marmot's Cradle
Clayton

The charge failed, and Clayton was shoved aside. The bigman fell in a final death struggle with the other townsguard, impaling it with the same spear he had used to impale him. Clayton stood up. Chaos. Blood. Death. The streets were enraged. Jarthec was done for.

They had blown up the Ballista, why? Of course, the ships! They still needed their ships! Without them, they would be stranded in Northwind. Clayton had to blow the ships. But how? The townsgaurd was getting massacred, and the boats were guarded by no less than 50 men.

His gaze turned to the oil jars.

Rolling them across the mud of the strests, Clayton pushed the vat towards the river. Not towards the ships, but near the entrance, where the wooden watchtower was located. The townsguard was at an end, but if he had learned something fighting in the regiments of John de Burgh, it was creativity. Creativity and spite. While the massacre was underway, and the traitor raiders were putting out the fire of the javelins, Clayton pushed an oil jar up to the base of the watchtower, then went back for the other.

He set fire to them, and ran to hide. He had to ged rid of his uniform.

Another explosion roused the town, less powerful and more distant. This time, instead of rocks, what came down were pieces of wood and the entrance watchtower. The splinters rained over half the town, while the flaming tower collapsed over the river, entangling itself with the pallisade on the other side. By contrast, the watchtower's side was utterly obliterated: the explosion had left a massive hole in the lumber wall.

The river was blocked, but the walls were open. And Northwind was coming... Marmot's Cradle would be in for a long night.
Vincent
Dagstygg Jarl
Marmots Cradle

The chanting was growing louder to those still at the mansion grounds, the thundering roar of their footsteps and the clanging of spears, it sounded as if a dragon made from steel and death was coming down upon the gates. Once at the gates Dagstygg evaluated the situation, the gates were rusted and old. They could break them down. He called to his men and blew into the Gjallarhorn once more

"Eyðilegðu hliðið, úlfar mínir!"


With each blow of his horn, the men slam into the gate with the force of the roughly sixty five Einherjar warriors still in the fight, they roar with each slam of their shields against its surface