Fighting as a unit, it is our goal to overcome our foes through the use of wits rather than strength.
Seeking not the best fighters but the smartest, we welcome those who cannot help but answer the call for cooperation,
those who yearn for more than the trivia of mindless battle, who, at the sight of a friend show confidence,
and by his side - eagerness.
- Yrminulf, Hovding of FenrisBarn Hird
Son of Brekar the carpenter. In the deep norwegian forest in neighbourhood to the coastal tribes which inhabit the fjords he grew up a farmer and pelttrader. At least was supposed to. Roaming through the woods learning the tounge of animals and searching for his own fate he lived a life of an outcast never willing to fit into the village's society. One day, he fell in love and unfortunatelly killed the girl's Father in a personal conflict with a boar spear and was banished from the village and his beloved terretories in the forest. Lonesome he went to the western shores, sold some minor pelts and decided to drink until he dies, for the loss of his love hurt him to his very core.
When he awoke he instantly relieved his stomach, not because of the terrible hangover, but the tavern's bottom was dandling, crying seagulls were all around and the sun blinded his eyes. A bitter looking, one eyed warrior fully geared in chainmail looked down to Yrminulf holding his Spear.
"Are you able to use this?" he asked grumpily. The boy didn't answer.
"You better should! When we face the Engle in their homeland, they will not grant you a second shot, like i did. I could have crumbled your weak bones when you battered my best Spearman's head with your pitcher! Now sit on his chest and work his oar!"
This was 10 Years ago. And from his first battle on Yrminulf was a member of the Wolfpack.
After Bjorn's disappearance, he was elected the new leader of Fenrisbarn, due to his tactical skills.
- Björn, Former leader of FenrisBarn & Hirdr. Currently missing.
It was clear that Björn, firstborn and strongest son of Hallbjörn Longbeard would become a skillful and brave warrior. Despite the riches his family won two generations ago when the land of the anglo saxon eorls held easy prey for the invading norsemen, his entire childhood he longed for honour and glory. The songs of the skalds, praising the bravery and bloodshed of the battles Björn's grandfather fought alongside the sons of the mighty Ragnarr Loðbrók inspired him every winter. When the wind was cold and steaming mead warmed warrior's hearts he told his father that he would become the most feared warrior in all of britain. "This shall not be your fate my son. Truly you will become as strong a warrior as all men of our kin. But the days of the great raids are over. The servants of the christian god weaken the hearts of norse chieftains and strengthen the way of the cunning and fearful. It is the time to breed horses and cattle, to plow the field and not to seek your fortune in the lands of foreign tribes."
Björn hated his father for these words. Truly he was a wise man but the hearts of the young don't long for a farmers life, no matter how wealthy he would be. From this point onwards Björn dedicated his time to martial training. Never he missed an opportunity to join his father when he went on patrol to hunt down bandits who fell in dishonour towards their tribe, or to fight in family feudes with close-by families. One day Hallbjörn realised that his sons veines held the blood of the great heroes his family derived from and after consulting
the runes, it was clear that his son's fate would not include being a chieftain preserving wealth through trade or farming. After Björns eightteenth winter his father decided to go on víking not only to honour his fathers but also to finally give his
stubborn son an opportunity to learn of the dangers and misery brought by such an enterprise.
Little did he know that his son yet was a skilled sailor and soon took over the command of the five ships and their crew. After a few succesful raids and a glorious home-coming with every man's chest filled up to the top Björn's name was shouted in his Father's hall and soon spread to trading posts in all of Norway. He had everything: fame, silver, ships and women. But somehow Björn was not satisfied...
In the midst of cheering and looting Björn stood idle, his gaze set on the battlefield and the fallen. "Jarl! We have slain our foes, plundered their village and taken their women. Will you now put down your sword and celebrate with your men?" Asked Leif, leader of the centre and second-in-command.
"How many men are under my command?" "One hundred and six, Jarl" replied Leif. "And how many this morning at dawn?" "One hundred and thirty two." "Today we lost twenty six men, while yesterday only five. Do you believe these villagers possessed greater strength, courage or wits than the first?" replied Björn. "No, Jarl, they did not." "Were they perhaps better equipped, or were they better led?" "No, Jarl, I do not believe so." "What then would be the reason be that one day we lose few, and the next many?" "Fortune, my Jarl, is the mistress of battle. Today we were less lucky, but luck has always been on your side."
Björn paused briefly, deep in thought. "Let's take a walk."
Stumbling over bodies, spears, swords and among men busy scavenging for all they could carry Björn continued : "What glory then is ours when battle is decided by fortune? When we return to our lands and the people chant our names, when word of our triumphs reach the furthest of our foes, would we not then be known to all as the fortunate? Surely it was not fortune but Finnr's own lust that had him reach for a glimmering sword in the midst of battle, nor was it fortune that compelled Herger to pursue a fleeing foe, and now here they lie. You may call them Finnr & Herger the unfortunate, but I will call them Finnr & Herger the insubordinate."
"I thank you for your service Leif. I will return to these lands... But not with these men."
After many years of looting and pillaging saxon villages, he decided to devote himself to the christian God and retired to a monastery, re-writing books and growing herbs as a monk.
- Dragomir, Skirmisher from Slavic tribes.
Mobile warrior with light equipment specialized in throwing weapons, occasionally a spearman. Born in eastern slavic tribe, raised to be a hunter. With his accuracy he wouldn't miss a running hare with stone from a long distance. When he was still a young lad his village was raided by svend vikings. They enslaved Dragomir, and in their way back to their lands they realised, that he is very useful in combat. One day Björn's hird recaptured him. Even though he was Bjorn's slave now, he was treated like an equal due to his skills in battle, and soon he became a FenrisBarn.
- Ragnar, The Marksman from East Anglia.
Being a son of two worlds, Ragnar was forced to live a life torn between order and passion. He was a dane such as were his grandparents who once sailed the northern sea to rule over this land. Whole days he spent with his Wolfhound in the forest hunting deer and boar with nothing but bow and knife. Though being christians his family never forgot the faith of the long gone fathers. Whilst the other children were forced to worship the god of the romans in the wooden hut they called a church, Ragnar learned about the tales of Odin, his son Thor and the other gods as well as the songs of the great heroes of his people.
The local bishop, a sick and weak beggar called Æðelbert, couldn't bear the pagan spirit kept alive by Ragnar's family and accused his mother of witchcraft, promptly sentencing her to be cleansed by fire. Unfortunately Ragnar came to know of Æðelbert's schemes too late, finding nothing more than the charred remains of his mother on the smoking ashes that once were a stake. Two days later the Bishop was found by a hunter, wrists bound and hanging from a branch, lungs and spine for all to see.
From that day on, Ragnar never spoke a word.
He spent the following years among crews of pagan pirates and marauders and sometimes greater warbands, pillaging the shores of the home that was never his. Soon he made himself a name as a skillful fighter and archer, it was not long before he was found by the brood of the terrible Fenriswolf, a fitting patron the thought, on his endless struggle against the cold hand of the christian god.
"This will be an easy enterprise, my son" Tjordalf's big and rough swordhand, wich had departed many men to the worlds beneath midgard, rested on the young warrior's shoulder. "The Engle living at this shore are weakened, we will be home
before winter comes." Ubba nodded. Many times he sailed to the Isle of the anglo saxons, as they were known to his grandfather, the mighty Ubba Ragnarson set whole counties on fire. Soon they heard the churchbells tolling hectically as the peasants gazed upon the neat, beautiful longships wich brought death and despair to lords and common men for so many years. And yet again the pagans came to take what their gods promised them in exchange for sacrifices, pugnacity and bravery. But as they landed, the Danes made an unexpected discovery.
The Fyrd of at least ten Villages was gathered at the small settlement's outer ring. Amongst these they saw men clad in mail, Housecarls and warriors of higher wealth taunting the vikings in anticipation."My Jarl!" the Styrsman said, "They must be at least a hundred men, and we have only three ships!". "Do i look like an idiot unable to count? I shall not return without the message of victory and our chests filled with the silver of this monastry! SKJALDBOOOORG!" Ubba reacted instinctively and fell in formation.
Rapidly he and his father led their men uphill towards the English hoard. Soon there was nothing but bloodshed and screams; the sound of cracking shields and singing blades.
It was not long before the shieldwall broke. The left flank was crushed and the spearmen standing in second row struck by a hail of arrows. After escaping to the only longship spared by torches Ubba realised that the Engle held back several hunters in a dense forest close enough to the settlement, killing all the polearm wielding supporters. With a handful of men he set sails to the east. He swore by Odin's favourite Horse Sleipnir that he would never repeat the mistakes of his father and take revenge to the banners which united to resist his assault on their riches.
"Ubba, where are we sailing to?"
"To Norway! I know a man who could be interested in the message of my father's death. A remote relative of mine. Have you ever heard of Björn the oneeyed?"
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