Vincent
Dagstygg Jarl and the Berserksgangr
Near Rustlands and Grey Hills border

The Ismóðrian raiding party was travelling to return from whence they came, a nearly day long sail. This was considered a successful raid, minimal casualties, zero was rare so this was the optimal outcome. The Jarl was stood at the prow of his ship, hanging off the hull slightly with his arm grasping the dragon figurehead. He would lift an arm amd spin his hand in a circle, before pointing at the shore. The ships would make a slow veer towards shore before cleaving into the sands of the rustlands. They seemed to be stopping to recuperate
Ronald
**THE RUSTLANDS**

The region had many small rivers that bled into the sea. Tempting waters for raids, but it was a deceitful ruse of nature. No one could quite explain why, but everyone agreed that this land of red clay and dark trees was better left alone. If the southern fields were _blessed_, then this land was _cursed_.

The coast of this region offered little plunder. During their first sailing, all the Berserksgangr had found was a stilt town of muck, grime, and sandy muds. It's ugly skeletal inhabitants lived day to day, fishing what they could from the shallow waters, and occasionally feasting on the dead whales that washed up on their shores. A bad omen. Some had argued that larger towns could've been found further inland, but the spotters had urged the rest of the sailors to keep moving south.

The situation was different now: while the raiders had been lucky to take few losses, said luck had come at the cost of many wounded. None of the wounds were grievous, but they could not be left ignored. It was vital for Dagstygg that the Berserksgangr regained it's fighting strength without delay.

The longship went up the river, but the landscape only became more monotonous: more red rocks, more grey clouds, more dark trees.

Eventually, the spotters saw something: a palisade. Behind it, a town of grey rocks that looked more like a camp than a settlement. The town had no gate protecting the river entrance. Instead, it had a single watchtower from where a man waved a red banner at the longship.

"Careful! Sharp rocks on the riverbed! Do not dock your ship until you've passed the gate. Steer slowly!" He shouted.
Katherine
Loralie Douze
Northwind

Mixed emotions flew through Loralie's head as she held he dropped her hands, her minding racing to answer his questions. She wanted to tell him the truth, but she couldn't. Only a part of it.

"When... Well, I grew up in a rougher orphanage, I suppose," She finally said as he returned with her full glass of water."We were always kept busy, whether it was school or... Sports." Sports was hardly the word to describe the horrors that the children at the Academy faced daily, but she knew better than to explain what had happened to Levi.

"May we please go look at the bows?" She asked with a smile as she stood up from the bench, slipping the dagger into her dress pocket. "Or maybe I should get a haircut? How long does that take? I want to be bald."

She looked down at Gabriel, who was already done eating his scraps of raw meat and licking his beak. He sauntered over to her and squeaked, and she obliged by picking the griff up and letting him lie across the back of her shoulders. Though it was a bit obvious she was trying to change the subject, she couldn't bring herself to answer him fully yet. She came to Northwind for a fresh start, and she didn't want her past to dirty her present.

Besides, a haircut and new bow was very tempting.