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I just wanted to note for others reading this thread that these 'Dark Knights' are the Ming Dynasty which have Chinese troop skins, not some out of place fantasy Dark Knight skin. Their invasion can also be turned off, delayed, random or made to appear immediately which is handy to have a look at them if you so wish, like I did.

I thought I'd mention this as I have just discovered this mod and almost dismissed it when I saw this thread title indicating these fantasy knights were in it. I figure now they were initially acting as a place holder for the actual Ming troops but have already been replaced since the OP posted this thread.

The mod looks absolutely fantastic by the way. It gave me the same sense of awe like back in the day when the Brytenwalda mod came out. Good stuff, I look forward to getting stuck in.

Just popped by the forums to say congratulations Brytenwalda team! I shall be waiting eagerly for release, with my wallet at hand!!

@ Kekke,

Hey, sorry I didn't notify the thread but the story is effectively finished (again!). Unfortunately I got offered a full time job which meant I ran out of time and could not finish the pictures for the last few chapters, the re-write of the story is complete, although I had to rush it a bit. I have however been busy doing lots of studying on creative writing so that I can write another story that reads much nicer. My plan is to write Story AARs for lots of games, I really wish I could quit this job so I can have all the free time again, lol. But realistically my work hours wont lighten up until the end of the year so until then I'm stuck in creative-purgatory. I cant even play games at the moment.

Setting myself some practise exercises however I did manage to write a test AAR on Baldurs Gate, just a few paragraphs. If you care to read it, I shall post it below.

Going even further off topic, fans of MnB may be interested in http://legionsofashworld.com/ I just bought it but have not played it yet. Its similar to the old game Lords of Midnight.

But anyway, to answer your question... the story is complete but just lacking pictures for the final few chapters. So feel free to finish reading it.

Idibil 说:

Great! Nice story and pictures! I liked it very much!

点击展开...

Hello Idibil,

Glad to hear you've enjoyed it. I have certainly enjoyed your mod for both playing and writing in!

Update on Story: I've complete the entire story after a marathon writing session. I have posted up to Chapter 10 as I still need to get pictures for the rest which should be tomorrow. Whoop! 

For those interested, I am updating this story with a re-write and I'm including pictures also so its a much nicer read. As of today, I have re-worked up to Chapter 5 with the rest hopefully completed in about a week.

Calm and cold the sea lapped against the boat as they drifted silently under the rising sun. The rain had stopped during the night but the dampness had crept in both Jorvik and Felix who lay shivering. Furs had remained alert keeping dutiful watch in case any more fisherman came for them but no threat was ever sighted. Jorvik woke blurry eyed, sneezing from the cold. Looking east he tried to make sight of land but the sun had just begun to climb and the lingering gloom masked the horizon still. With no oars to control their direction he couldn’t be sure if they would land near their chosen destination or not. It was likely the currents will take them further north but he couldn’t be sure. Felix had yet to expand on his plans once he arrived at Britannia so with his frigid toes Jorvik nudged him until he woke up. Felix yawned blinking like a small mole who never seen daylight before. He peered over the boats rimmed keeping his arms folded tight across his chest for warmth. “I’ve never known a boat to rock so much without wind.” He said believing to have been disturbed by the waves. He stretched his bruised arms wincing at the soreness of them. His moustache was wonky and not as curled but his spirits remained high.


“The sun is up and land will soon be in sight” Jorvik spoke. “Have you any actual plan for when you arrive? Where do you intend to go?”

“Why absolutely my red haired warrior, I most certainly do! Have you heard of the Whores Hole?” Jorvik had a series of questions to ask but at this unexpected answer he struggled to get them out. “I ask my dear friend, have you heard of the Whores Hole? The most famous of all back-alley taverns!” Jorvik frowned making the scar over his eye seem deeper. He rubbed his brow and begun to answer but Felix continued regardless. “It is a place that will leave you with ever lasting memories! Though the nature of our visit will be one of business, not pleasure.” Surprised by Felix's assumption that he was coming along with him he went protest but still Felix went on. “There will be much money in this for those involved. Enough to buy many longboats!” Felix winked. “You see, an old acquaintance of mine runs the tavern and I’m making it my responsibility to ensure his ale is well supplied.”

“You’re setting up a brewery?” Jorvik finally got out.

“Correct! And a grand idea it is too!”

“You came to Hibernia to rob your way to riches with a bunch of twits, so you can afford to invest in the brewery trade?” Jorvik felt sceptical.

“That is indeed what I have been doing. Come to Hibernia, get rich, then return to Britannia to get even more so. Although whilst some say ‘came to’ others say ‘banished to.’

“Ah, I see” Jorvik said knowing there had been more to it. “And what terrible act caused your banishment?”

“A small matter regarding some land.  You see, when my blessed father died his farmland was seized by a greedy, terribly nasty lord who booted me out. It’s my duty of course, to reclaim these lands for my family.”

Jorvik doubting Felix’s intentions were for anyone but himself guessed the rest. “So you need the money to pay for mercenaries in order to reclaim these farmlands.”

“Exactly! For a farmer you are quite sharp.” Felix clapped. Before Jorvik could correct his mistaken profession Furs interrupted them, pointing eastwards. They both saw the dark outline of land creeping above the sea line. Dropping their conversation, Jorvik and Felix made haste to paddle.

Bringing the boat slowly forward they eventually reached the beach, splashing amongst the surf the boat ground to a halt on the pebbles. Seeing his bruised and weary companions struggle out of the boat Furs helped them one by one up to a grassy knoll enclosed by bushy trees. Huddling together Jorvik and Felix sat watching the diligent Furs gather up dry moss into a small pile, igniting it with a couple of flints. Taking great care he placed selected pieces of wood on top until the burning embers became a warm fire.


Before the sun had climbed to noon they had quite a roaring fire. Both Jorvik and Felix sat as close as they could. Furs having made hand gestures signalling their need to eat had left not long after. Their surroundings were quiet and peaceful. The occasional bird investigated their presence from the branches above before fluttering away whilst hopping rabbits with twitchy noses sprung back and forth. It seemed that they had landed in an area isolated from man. From this grassy knoll Jorvik looked out between the trees at the surrounding countryside. No signs of life could be identified, just many grassy fields patched together with hills and woodlands. The weather had warmed kindly and a breeze blew off the sea without testing their fire too harshly. They could hear their barbarian friends heavy footsteps as he returned, Furs was proving himself increasingly vital to their well-being. Felix, feeling impatient at his empty belly jumped to his feet.  “Rabbit or fox? Perhaps Furs has found us some farmers veg too? We could have quite a stew between the three of us!”

Jorvik was warming his feet against the fire whilst picking out the dirt from under his nails. “What does our mighty barbarian bring us then? Any salt and pepper in his hands?”

“Well… you might want to see for yourself.” Felix said sounding very alarmed. Jorvik, leaving his toe nails alone scrambled up to his feet, almost stepping into the flames as he did so. To his shock Felix was stood straight and still as the sharp end of a crooked spear was pointed directly at his face, almost touching the tip of his nose. At the other end of this make-shift weapon was a large, unhappy looking man accompanied by four others. Without saying a word Jorvik and Felix ushered themselves from out beneath the trees, keeping their hands high and non-threatening. The brutes looked similar in appearance to Furs, with blue tribal paintings and faces nearly hidden beneath thick beards.  With a grunt the biggest handed them two dirty strips of cloth whilst pointing to his eyes.


“It would seem our new friends here would like us to blindfold ourselves.” Felix said, keeping very still. Complying with the instruction they wrapped the rags around their heads, blindfolding themselves and waiting hesitantly. Jorvik felt a big hand on his back push him forward so he began walking ahead. He could hear Felix had been given a similar instruction.

They had been walking for what Jorvik had guessed was an hour. The Wildmen said little to one another and if they did it was with a rough language neither Jorvik or Felix understood. They were heading over a grassy plain but soon came to woods where Jorvik stumbled over rocks and brambles, feeling for trees to support and guide himself. The ground dropped sharply and then rose again so steeply Jorvik felt he was climbing more than walking. Branches grabbed his hair and thorns tore at his overcoat. Weary and hungry they eventually came to a stop. More unintelligible voices could be heard which echoed around a nearby cave. They stood at its entrance where more of these Wildmen made grunting noises to one another. Voices of women and children could also be heard as well as the chopping of wood and oinks from little piglets. The crackle of flame and the smell of roasting meat overwhelmed his nostrils. The back of his head was touched as large fingers began removing his blindfold. Squinting and regaining focus he saw bustling about him was the busy community of savages. A tribe that had made their home in a secluded cave hidden at the base of a large cliff face, hidden from view by dense fir trees. His stomach tightened as recalled old tales of wild pagans who ate both man and animal. The smell of the roasting meat came from a hog skewered above a large fire, it spat fat and crackled as it was turned over the hot ashes, Jorvik felt like vomiting. Then, from amongst the unintelligible voices came one he recognised. “Cow-man!” It shouted happily. Furs stepped out from the caves gloom with a great smile on his face speaking two new words he must have learnt in their company. “Friends. Welcome.”

Jorviks Return

A Story based AAR. In fact it would be better to consider it as a short story that happens to be set in the same setting as the Brytenwalda Mod. It follows the adventure of Jorvik, a Norse raider who becomes stranded on Hibernia and becomes embroiled in the miss-haps of his new companions as he searches for a way to return home.

I have actually completed the story but I'm currently re-writing it for better quality since having learnt more about creative writing. It will be fully re-written by 14/05/2014 and I'm posting each chapter re-write as I go.

*LINK http://forums.taleworlds.com/index.php/topic,287381.0.html LINK*

Peeking from behind the bushes Jorvik, Furs and Felix watched as the caravan guards rolled the slain bandits off the road. They spared them little dignity, heaping each corpse on top of one another into a bloody pile of stiff limbs and gasping faces. With a few cheers and back patting the mercenaries whipped the mules back into motion. As they shrunk away bumping along the track they dipped below a ridge and out of sight. Felix jumped to his feet clapping as he turned to Jorvik and Furs. “Furs my loyal fellow we are relinquished from our inept brothers, free to pursue our journey onwards into warm taverns and warmer bosoms!” Despite not understanding the announcement, Furs climbed to his feet standing straight as if a disciplined solider. “That’s my good man! Ready yourself for a long travel east.”

Jorvik remaining flat behind the bush was hoping to be forgotten, yet with little effort Furs lifted him up asking. "Com-man, come to?”

Jorvik, already having enough objected loudly. “I go my own way! If you try to restrain me I’ll bash both your heads together!” He stood defensively and ready to fight.

“That’s the spirit!” said Felix, patting Jorvik on the shoulder. “Now you have made your grand escape I invite you to join us as we head for the eastern coast. With no food, coin or shoes...” he said looking at Jorviks bare feet. “...I would point out that it’s really in your interest.”

Jorvik knew Felix was right. His only other option was to seek out another village and ask for help again. And he had quite enough of the farmers lifestyle already. “Fine.” He said frustrated. “I will accompany you until it suites me otherwise.”

Felix smiled. “Good decision my friend. Onwards we go!”


They emerge from the bushes at the forests perimeter and joined the road heading in the opposite direction of the caravan. As they travelled Felix explained how he intended to travel to a small fishing village named Buais located on the far eastern coast of Hibernia. Having sailed over from Britannia he had left his longboat harboured in the village. With Furs and Jorvik there would be just enough hands to row it back during the calm spring weather and onto the western shore of Wales, as the Saxons called it. “And where have you left this longboat?” Jorvik enquired carefully. “Can you trust the villagers to keep it safe?”

“Most certainly!” Felix replied “Buais is well known for their fishing trade and have many boats anchored there, quite well protected too. For a little extra coin they’ll keep safe your own.” Jorvik looked ahead trying to hide his excitement. This was just what he needed, a longboat to return home in and put this land of farmers and cows far behind. How he would take possession of it with no arms to row it other than his own he was unsure, but he continued with the small talk as he pondered secretly how to gain it for himself.

The journey ahead was long and would take almost a week. Jorvik who had yet to acquire any shoes, kicked himself for not searching through the bandit corpses for a pair. As the three travellers marched onwards they passed villages where he would remind Felix of his need. Felix however was not inclined to spend his precious coins on any shoes and felt it best to reserve the small fortune for supplies only. The road was straight for the most part but often boggy forcing them to take a long way around before the ground hardened and became passable again. They passed over many fords and through tall woods that sung with small birds or croaked with larger ones. The trees waved as they began to blossom under the warmer spring weather, having seen it through the bitter winter. From the pouches of gold Felix had gained from the loss of his bandits band, he purchased two hide tents. One for himself and one for Jorvik and the barbarian to share. Felix claimed the village market was low on stock and if there had been enough for one each he would have bought it for them. Jorvik first was displeased at having to share a tent with Furs but despite his large hairy presence, he was a remarkably quite neighbour inside the tent. Always the first to awake in the morning he would make a small fire ready for breakfast often before the other two had risen. Their camps were positioned as discretely as possible so as to avoid any danger but most passer-bys were friendly and non-threatening. Usually they passed by more trade caravans or the occasional soldiers out to secure the route. They walked over grassy hills that passed through woodlands and following the road in its twists and turns before stopping to make camp again for the night. Eventually by the fifth day the long journey came to end without any hindrance. Arriving at the top of a hill beside some large stones carved with images of deer and hare they saw below the large expanse of the sea. Clinging to its shores was the small fishing community of Buais. At the far side of the village was a pier and where Felix's boat was fastened. “At last we arrive as planned.” Felix announced stopping their march.


“Just in time too” said Jorvik as he collected raindrops in his outstretched palm. “We best ask for shelter or set up camp.” He planned on absconding during the night and seizing the boat for himself. If he could get it far enough south he would go about finding men to row the boat across to Britannia. Felix however had decided otherwise.

“Best not wait till the morning. It’ll be busy then with all the fishermen preparing themselves for the days catch. We shall find my boat now and have it prepared for an earlier start tomorrow." Walking down the hill and into the village they past the locals who said little yet kept watch, particularly on their tall painted companion. Making their way down the cobbled path beside old thatch huts and the village tavern they came upon the slimy pier. Its planks were greasy from the delivery of fish and bore a strong odour along with it. Fastened to its left moorings were two dozen fishing boats that rocked gently, pulling on their rope knots holding them in place. Looking up and down Felix searched for his amongst them all. “Aha!” he said finding it. “Let’s get in and make sure she is in good order." Climbing in Jorvik noticed there were no oars but before he could point this out Felix unfastened the rope. “Best make sure she still floats aye.” He pushed it out with a kick.

“Well Felix, it floats.” said Jorvik. “It’s also starting to rain heavy so how’s about we get some warm lodgings at the tavern?” As Felix thought of a reply, someone shouted form the village centre.

“Oi! Them bleedin outsiders are stealing our best boat!”

Clapping with excitement Felix spoke ignoring Jorviks sharp glare. “Well good fellows, unless you want a pitchfork in your rear you best get paddling and fast.” Jorvik had no time to condemn Felix for duping him into stealing a fishing boat and so instead took to his side to paddle hard. Furs not failing to help out jumped into the sea and pushed from behind. With much splashing they began to gain momentum yet without oars progress was slow. The sea was cold and the rain now began to fall heavily drenching the decking. Behind them the angry fishermen made a call to arms and all jumped into their boats to give chase. Felix may have chosen the fastest boat but without oars they were in a difficult situation. Fortunately, most fishing boats had also their oars removed for nightly storage, yet one evidently had not. Five angry fishermen rowed with determination splashing over the waves to punish the offenders. They were gaining rapidly.

Seeing that they could not escape Felix stopped Jorviks efforts to paddle. “We won’t be out sailing this lot.” He said twirling his moustache. “We are going to have to stop them ourselves. Quick, get ready.” Leaning over the back of the boat he shouted at Furs to get back in. Furs however was like a fish long reunited with the water and was oblivious to the imminent battle. Before either Jorvik or Felix could get his attention the fisherman brought the boat against theirs colliding with a thud and shouting threats.


“We’re gonna break your arms and legs!” One shouted at them rattling his fist. “See how you like the sea when ya can’t swim in it!”

Another continued. “If your bodies float back we’ll have them as pig feed!” With that they launched themselves into the boat and beset Felix and Jorvik.

Outnumber two to five they were nearly overwhelmed. Three of the fishermen were almost able to pin Jorvik down but one had unfortunately placed his vulnerable fingers too close to his mouth. He was soon reeling backwards trying desperately to gather the fingers Jorvik hadn’t spat out into the sea. Felix at the other end of the boat used his teeth also, biting hard the crutch of an attacker who yelled for mercy. But despite the fisherman’s clumsiness they managed to claim the upper hand. Jorviks head got stamped and kicked by the fingerless fisherman whilst Felix, wriggling like an eel, had both his arms bent painfully behind his back. Soon both were overcome and the fishermen immobilised them on the bloodied decking. As Felix’s arms neared snapping and Jorviks head came close to cracking a voice bellowed from behind followed by a heavy thump as the boat rocked sideways. Furs had jumped back in and was menacing with rage. He quickly fell upon the fishermen and beat them back. Three were thrown out whilst the fingerless fisherman jump in by himself. The last remaining one was grabbed by the back of the neck and slammed against the boats rim. Defeated and chocking on his own teeth he was cast overboard.

Exhausted Jorvik and Felix sat slumped. Furs standing tall and smiling picked up a fisherman’s finger, holding it out like a trophy he laughed deeply. Realising they had been victorious over the Buais fisherman and had won possession of the boat so to did Jorvik and Felix laugh. Jorvik may have been duped into stealing the boat but he felt this was at least a story he could share back home. Yet returning to his native Norse-lands would not happen quite so soon. Felix planned on sailing for Britannia and Jorvik felt that after their joint victory it would be a shame to push him overboard and steal the boat. Furs would also need dealing with and having just proven his ferociousness it was likely a bad idea to try anything out at sea. He felt he should wait for another time and besides, he was starting to like them both. So he decided to continue on his journey with his new companions and later from Britannia he would make a plan to return home. For now he would relax and gaze across the ocean waves whilst picking bits of fisherman out from between his teeth.

Chop wood, gather wood, make a fire and cook the fish. Tend the horses, herd the cows, shear the sheep and feed the pig. Take down the tent, put up the tent, wait outside the tent. It had been a little over a week and Jorviks grafting with hard labour and mundane tasks saw no end in sight. Working as a farmer before had been greatly unpleasant but being a thrall was an unthinkable low for a once proud sea raider. He had previously set sail from lands far across the northern seas to loot and pillage this bleak island named Hibernia, yet by a cruel twist of fate he has now become enslaved to a group of low-life ruffians hiding out in the wilderness. 

Today was getting no better. As the morning sun rose high enough to peak through the tree tops Jorvik had  already been hard at work before taking his breakfast meal. He had been tasked with building a dam through a nearby stream to create a separate water pool for the animals. It seemed to be more of a concern for the small leader Felix than for anyone else, most men showing  little concern in sharing the same supply. Of the other two thralls belonging to the camp, Jorvik was working the hardest. Frideswide was an old thin man who lay coughing and wheezing in his straw bed, pale and limp he seemed likely to expire any day. The other thrall Wystan was equally useless, always claiming to have suffered an injury which prevented his participating in difficult tasks. Their captives were lenient, never threatening them with violence or becoming angry at them, so Jorvik was grateful even if Wystan often excused himself. If their tasks were particularly laborious Felix would always assign a bandit or two to assist. Despite these pleasantries, Jorvik would not settle for a life as a 'kept peasant.' He had a plan and quietly bade his time until he could escape.


He had been watching the bandits closely. They were a simple group of rag-tag men who often argued and bickered amongst themselves. Their military might was nothing greater than as amateur skirmishers. To the southern end of the camp two scarecrows had been crafted for target practice. Rarely did any man land a hit with a bow and arrow or perform a melee strike skilful enough to avoid deflection. Their efforts in training often resulted in much bantering and laughter as they returned to the camp fire to drink ale instead. They may have succeeded in their village raid but the more Jorvik observed them the clearer it became it was by mere chance. Had the villagers not been so incompetent themselves these oafs and drunkards would have soon been routed. In fact it seemed to Jorvik quite remarkable they had attempted a raid altogether and it must have been for Felix's wit and charm that they had been convinced of it. Yet their foolishness was to Jorviks benefit and so he simply was biding his time until disaster befell the group. With a bit of added luck he thought he could nab the gold purse that Felix always carried about his neck, often counting many gold pieces.

Jorvik finished his breakfast and went to continue his dam building when 'Furs' the newly named barbarian brought over a jug of milk for him and other thralls to share. The barbarian was fitting in well despite his lack of verbal communication. Approaching he held forth the jug to Jorvik saying. “Drink? Cow-man drink?”


Jorvik waved him off saying rudely. “Leave me be, I don’t want any of your cow piss. And don’t call me Cow-man!”

Wystan sniggered and quipped “Ye best be drinking some, piss or not. Unless you’re waiting to suck on them udders instead?”

Infuriated at his obscenity Jorvik kicked his breakfast remains at him. Wystan crawled away trying to wipe off the scraps that caught him. “Ye won’t last long here, I say. Not drinking and kicking your food about like that. Only a Norse man would be so stupid and stubborn. To hell with ya!” He said scuttling off. The barbarian Furs left with a large smile on his face shouting back, “Cow-man. Fun!”

As the sun peaked for noon Jorvik continued onto his next task. Down stream he had been assigned wash duty, beginning with some soiled under garments. Not far from him there grew red berries which would, when pressed into a paste, become an irritant to skin. Whilst considering rubbing them into the under garments he heard Felix call out for his group to gather around at the camp fire. “Come, come my good company! The prospect of wealth and plunder returns to us. News reaches my ears that a caravan soon approaches!”

“This is it!” Jorvik spoke to himself. “The fools are going to attack a trade caravan.” They could not have planned a worse target to ambush. Caravans transported great wealth between the important trade centres of Hibernia and so were adequately guarded by some of the best mercenaries a Baron could hire. This would be the disaster Jorvik needed to befall on the group. Soon they would be slain or scattered allowing Jorvik to escape. As the group gathered he listened closely. They planned to hide on the woodlands periphery and attack the caravan from its rear as it passed. Felix gestured excitedly, pointing at his make-shift strategy model made of stick and stones in the grass. Surrounding him stood his men, anxiously rubbing their chins or scratching their heads in confusion.


“Do not fret my dear brothers.” he reassured them. “This will be a triumph that all will hear off throughout Hibernia. Wealth and fame will be yours and by the time the sun sets our pouch of gold coin will be full with more than you can count!” Jorviks smile broke when Felix turnt his attention to him. “We need all the able men we can muster. Our fine thrall here will join us.” Mortified Jorvik stopped his scrubbing. He tried to protest saying the dam was not finished and their undergarments not ready but Felix was unconcerned.

“Nonsense dear fellow! Whilst it does us well to have such an enthusiastic thrall we need you now to bring your good fortune to our fight. You shall be our battle mascot and the bearer of our lucky charm!” A disturbance arouse from the crowding bandits. “Yes!” Felix continued. “I have prepared the bundle of furs brought to us by our barbarian brother the day he arrived. It may not be much but never should battle take place without a charm of fortune. The honour of carrying ours is hereby bestowed upon our courageous red-head servant.” Jorvik was speechless realizing he was being dragged into a fatal disaster. Likely he would die, he thought, not as a proud warrior but as a ridiculous mascot parading a bundle of ‘lucky’ furs.

Reluctantly swept into the soon to be doomed group, Jorvik was handed the bundle of furs and trailed behind as they made their way towards the forests outlay where the ambush was to take place. Quietly they proceed back along the hewn path the bandits had previously made until taking a turn east towards the road that connected Aileach with the other wealthy towns. The bandits mostly remained silent, some seemed to buy into Felix's enthusiasm and made excited whisperers to one another but the majority was unsure. Coming to a crouch they came up to where the forest diminished into thin spindly trees and bushes. They had armed themselves with their clubs and axes, some wore padded vests but most were without any form of armour other than the rags they had woken up in. They huddled close sweating and panting their foul breath as the tension rose. Most of these bandits had been village outcasts or city vagrants who had seen little to no combat. Especially not with hardened mercenaries, well armoured and well trained.


As the wind rustled the undergrowth, the clopping of hooves could be heard from the approaching caravan. Slowly it came into view and passed ahead. It was hauled by four stocky mules and guarded by two dozen men marching with discipline behind its lead. They wore thick chain mail and  iron helms that would render the bandits clubs useless. In one hand they bore round oaken shields braced with metal and huge axes designed to crack through bone and armour with one swing. The caravan creaked as it rolled over the uneven track splashing mud as it went. Rolls of expensive fabrics, barrels of aged ale and metal crafts of fine jewellery could be seen under the canvas tied on top. Just as planned the bandits held firm until they could spring out and flank the caravans rear, little good would it do them. When the moment came Felix raised his club high shouting. “For fame and glory my merry men! Attack!”


Jorvik almost choked. The caravan guards heard his cry and immediately formed a shieldwall. As the ruffians sprung out from beneath the bushes Jorvik felt a hand placed on his shoulder. “Wait here.” The leader Felix whispered. Turning to the barbarian Furs he commanded. “Guard our mascot. Don’t leave until I return.” Confused but seeming to understand, Furs kept his place beside Jorvik. Felix jumped to his feet joining the charge whilst shouting more words of encouragement. Watching on Jorvik witnessed the fools slam against the mercenaries shieldwall. Before they could make even one strike they crumbled. Heavy axes landed hard splitting heads in two. The bandits stumbled and fell to a bloody slump over one another. Yet all but one fell victim to the caravans defence. Felix came running back towards the bushes.


Jumping between Jorvik and Furs he looked up breathing heavily through a wide grin. “Pass me our lucky charm.” He said grabbing the furs off Jorvik regardless. He flung open the bundle revealing inside three large pouches of gold coins. He looked at Jorvik who stared at him perplexed. “What?” Felix said with a shrug. “You think I was going to share it with those idiots?”

Little effort was required in tracking the bandits as their path took them through long grass that had disturbed the morning due. Initially they had proceeded towards Aileach but made a sharp turn westwards from a shallow gulley that headed for a nearby woodland. Following this Jorvik held tight the bundle of furs contemplating his new fortune with a smile, delighted in knowing he would no longer be performing hard tasks or worse, milking cows. His plan was to offer up the furs as a gesture of goodwill in order to gain access to the bandits group. Once he was a trusted member he would win favour amongst them and plot to oust the current leader, freeing up the position for himself. Being a Norse raider he expected this to be of little difficulty. He could offer them much in the way of ambush tactics, even party logistics. Given the evident faults of the current leadership who forgot the valuable furs and left a clear trail for any to follow, he felt it should be easy enough to remove him. With the bandits under his command he fancied a few successful raids would earn him enough to buy a new longboat from Aileach. The best of the bandits he could keep as free hands to row the longboat back across the ocean where upon arrival they could be trained as sea raiders. It begun to look as though his stranding here could turn out to be a very wealthy boon for him. Ignoring his headache from the clubbing he received the night before, he pressed onwards.


Behind him to the east the mountain stretched high into the grey sky, to his north the smouldering village disappeared from view leaving only black smoke in sight.  The Village Elders previous advice was correct. It would be a long walk east and south around the mountain in order to reach Aileach. For now Jorviks destination took him westwards with the rising sun beating warmly on his back. He trundled forward crossing small streams, drinking as he went and picking a few handfuls of blackberries to eat off nearby bushes. The trail ran for several miles up and over small hills. The grass was tall and wet, dampening his woollen trousers and the lower end of his overcoat. Eventually the way led him inside the woodlands that he had slowly advanced towards. Here Jorvik expected the trail to become harder to follow as the grass gave way to dense brambles. Yet the bandits had foolishly hewn a path through these thickets leading a clear path up a steep incline before dropping down over a ridge and out of sight. Jorvik followed cautiously taking care not to prick his bare feet on any thorns or to snap twigs that may give him away. He kept his eyes sharp for any scouts, spying even the tree tops in case there were any nimble scouts lurking above. Crouching down Jorvik begun to crawl through wet leaves so he could peer over the ridge. At the bottom on the other side there was a clearing between encircling trees and there several tents had been erected. They were made from animal hide, held in place by wooden stakes. Poking out from beneath the tents lower folds were the lazy feet of snoozing bandits. At the camps centre there was a large camp fire, now nearly extinguished it let off only a light smoke. Surrounding this laid all the goods the bandits had claimed from the village raid. There were sacks of corn and wheat, boxes of iron tools and large joints of beef and lamb. All could fetch a fair price on the market but even sold together they would fetch less than the furs Jorvik carried with him. Removing some leaves which clung to his moustache he prepared his move down and announce himself. He wished to appear friendly without causing any alarm. Brushing a few twigs aside so as not to ruin his silent approach Jorvik climbed to his feet and stepped confidently forward.


Crack! The sound of a stick being stepped on sounded nosily, yet Jorviks feet were not to blame. It came from behind. Spinning around he was shocked to see himself standing nose to nose with a tall, hairy man clothed in nowt but a loincloth, painted head to toe with blue and white tribal patterns. Stunned by this sight Jorviks wits abandoned him long enough for the large brute to thump him hard in the gut. With a 'Umph!' Jorvik heaved and folded over falling flat at his assailants feet. Grabbed by the ankles Jorvik was dragged down into the camp. The large brute was now in possession of the fur bundle which he tossed on the floor besides a squirming Jorvik. Hearing the commotion the bandits had lept from beneath their tents bearing arms of wood and iron. The painted thug thumped his chest proudly stating with a limited vocabulary. “Furs, gift. Peasant, gift. Now join. Now friend.”


Jorvik tried to catch his breadth as he lay surrounded and helpless. It seemed he had been outwitted by a barbarian who wanted, as had Jorvik, to join the group. And not only had he taken Jorviks furs as his own gift, he had declared Jorvik as a gift as well. Jorvik was feeling considerably humiliated.

“Well, well.” Spoke a bandit who was not in view. “Do my eyes play games or have we been blessed with a mighty warrior bearing us gifts.” The barbarian beat his chest again seemingly pleased with himself. Squeezing past the menacing crowd appeared a young man half their height but well groomed in comparison. He wore a lordly moustache, twirled at each end with dark hair neatly swept back revealing a soft pampered face. He leant forward curiously inspecting Jorvik with a childish grin. Clapping his hands he straighten up to speak with the confused group. “Come, come my band of hearty brothers. We have a new member!” He gestured excitedly towards the barbarian and then back to Jorvik. “And a new serf also!” 

Jorvik counted quickly the number that stood before him, at least twenty. Each bandit held firm a crude wooden club or an iron axe. They seemed bewildered and somewhat gormless but still too many for Jorvik to chance an escape from. The little man, clearly the leader Jorvik had hoped to overthrow, continued speaking in delight at the barbarian. “What is your name, dear?” The barbarian remained silent. “Your name good fellow? What should your new compatriots call you?” Still the barbarian said nothing although seeing he was being spoken too he picked up the bundle of furs saying,

“Furs.”

The little leader looked on tapping his fingers against his lips until finally saying with consideration, “Hmm, well it seems you speak little of our tongue.” Gesturing to himself with both hands he said slowly. “My name... is Feeee-lix. Understand? Felix. What is... your... name?”

Again the barbarian said only, “Furs.”

“Oh well, that will have to do.” Said the leader, Felix. Making a small bow and opening his arms wide, he said. “Welcome, Furs! to our merry band of brave brothers.”


After requesting some bandits to take 'Furs' on a tour around the camp he then turned his attention to Jorvik. Observing with a raised eyebrow the red haired pauper who lay sprawled in the mud, he said turning to another. “Take our new thrall here over to the other servants. Be sure to give him a drink before showing him the duties we need finished by noon. Start with milking them cows we captured earlier. I do fancy myself some milk.”

The nights sky shone bright as the moon watched on. The men beaten and bloodied had been forced to pull back from the impenetrable walls. Their mighty ladder fell as the cheering defenders cast it away like a felled oak. The enemy lord had won with pernicious trickery. Parading his defenders like peasant farmers along his walls King Penda had been duped into throwing his best against staunch Franks instead. Their losses were at least a third of their number.

Returning to camp an assembly was called immediately to re-strategize. Though their was little concern of a counter attacker from the defenders themselves all knew East Anglia would invade the moment they got new that Mercia was preoccupied in the west. Taking their seats inside the Royal Tent, Jorvik, Bjarkis and Idibil listened closely as the King and his generals discussed a means to amend their miscalculation. The loss of their ladder meant all entire efforts had been squandered. Penda wanted an assault that would leave a permanent breach made in case the Franks beat them back again. Whilst a remake of the catapult was desirable, without Adornos engineering skill to ensure its proper construction they settled on an old favorite means of forced entry. They were to build a battering ram and fall heavily upon the city gates. With the entrance beaten open they would gain an access point to repeatedly assault the defenders. As the enemies numbers dwindled theirs would be reinforced. If they they could not win by shield and sword perhaps they could win by attrition. So it was the orders were given to construct a ram without delay. By noon the following day they would be back to harass the defenders once again.

Jorvik laid on his fur bed as he looked down at his toes thinking of the long journey they had made. Time had passed as if only a few weeks yet since his arrival nearly six months gone by. He recalled his first difficult moments and how he thought he a quick trip to Ailreach would solve his misfortune. Should he have known he was to end up milking cows as slave, sleeping in caves with Wildmen and fighting off fisherman for being duped into stealing a fishing he would have probably tried swimming back home there and then. But depiste the journeys woes he had found himself somewhat enjoying the unexpected adventure. And now his final journey home was so close. All he needed was for this siege to succeed and he would be free to return. Thinking of this and his beloved homelands he fell asleep.

He woke to loud bustling sounds outside his tent. Men were yelling as they pushed the weight of the heavy ram over the soft earth. Through the night the army regained its strength and whilst engineers  franticly built the ram. Now joining Bjarkis and Idibil, Jorvik stood in the morning sun watching as soldier pushed the promising machine onwards with stalwart efforts. The weather was warm and sunny, seemingly out of place for the coming battle. The fight was to be at Caer Wents main gates where the stone gate house bore the huge oak doors that blocked their way inside. The Franks made no attempt to hide their identity now and stood menacingly upon the walls with iron axes and long spears, dazzaling in the sun.

As the battering ram slowly rolled through the long grass the defenders began to fire their many arrows. The Franks were not concerned with reserving any ammunition, only with preventing the rams approach. Many brave warriors were willing to take up the challenge of driving the ram forward, and with each lost to an arrow another took his place to push the ram onwards. There was great hope it would succeed for it was built with great skill and bumped along unstoppable with a great tree trunk swining at its center. With the presence of their King and the cheers from fellow warriors its drivers courage held firm until the ram stood poised at the gates. Swinging its weight, the crafted log came crashing into the doors sending huge splinters into the air. Other men ran up eager to offer shelter with shields for those that operated it, smashing the trunk against the threshold again and again. Each strike sounded like a mountain cracking apart, the defenders desperately hurling stones with many more insults. The onlookers watched, gripped by anticipation.

Jorvik observed from outside his tent. He saw the Franks running too and fro on top the walls. His eyes caught sight of a small number who carried a large clay pot. What they were doing was only revealed when they above the ram and poured a thick black substance down onto it and the beneath. Those caught beneath slipped and stumbled as they ran from the noxious soup, unhurt until a flaming torch was thrown amongst them. The siege weapon and all who were unlucky enough to be caught by it were engulfed in a red hot flame. It burst alight fiercely, rising high above the walls before falling back into itself where it cooked its victims. Not knowing what he had just witnessed Jorvik turned to Bjarkis who walk away muttering. “Greek fire.”

The battering ram blazed yellow burning into ruin, receiving the same fate as Adornos catapult. With its destruction they had lost the battle again and failed to create the desired enrty point. The potential threat of East Anglia hearing of their failure and attacked as the number of spectators increased. Jorvik waited anxiously outside the Royal tent as the King and his generals once again debated their strategy. Dusk arrived as the camp fell silent with the demoralized Mercians huddling around camp fires. Jorvik wandered what Felix and Adorno must be thinking, stuck down in their dungeon listening for sounds of their captures being attacked. Yet news of the sieges next step was not as he had hoped for. Idibil brought word from the Royal Tent that King Penda had decided to abandon the attack altogether. The army was to withdraw the next day as ambassadors remained to buy peace with Gwent. The threat from East Anglia was too great for the King to ignore.

Jorvik felt his stomach knot inside. He was so close to freeing his friend and returning home. He walked outside frustrated, forced to endure the sounds of celebrations echoing from within Caer Went. He sighed and walked away, heading into the woodlands that had been used for the construction of the destroyed ram. He stood in the dark and closed his eyes, desparate for any idea that would convince the King to stay.

“I understand you have much depending on this Jorvik.” Startled he turnt to the unexpected voice. It was the Spymaster. “We have been defeated today and it shall be unlikely King Penda will return here. Not at least until East Anglia has been dealt with. As the Spymaster continued Jorvik felt he was getting at something. “It was a daring raid you made on King Annan, capturing him the way you did. I guess it's as they say, desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“Ugljesa is your name if I recall correctly. The man who King Penda turns to when he requires a more un-orthordox approach. I have a feeling you are going to propose one.”

“You really are quick for a farmer. I do have a potential avenue to explore before the King and his army departs. One of the prisoners I detained last night has some interesting information. But he says he will only tell me if I bring him his friends. And apparently that’s you and Bjarkis.”

Jorvik went to reply but he was stumped. For the life of him he could not think who would claim to know him. Bjarkis perhaps but for himself the only friends he had were either locked in a dungeon or laid resting a broken leg. He followed the Spymaster back to camp where restrained together were several men. No torches had been lit so it was hard to make out their faces. As he approached a small shape jumped up.

“Not that one!” It shouted. “I said bring me Bjarkis who may be with this one-eyed fool.” Jorvik had to appraoch close to the little man in the dark before he saw it was suprisingly the little hermit.

“What are you doing here? Have you been following us?” Jorvik said leaning forward.

“Don't you poke your nose into my business. I maybe a small hermit but I have big eyes and bigger ears and know when a chance to earn coin is to be taken. You want a way into the town, I can give you away in. For a reward of course! There is a forgotten sewer that I can lead you through. From there you can get to the gates and open them for your Kings men.”

The Spymaster clearly pleased had already began to untie the hermit. “Prove yourself true and you will be greatly rewarded but there is no time to lose, if there is a way into Caer Went then take us now.”

With that they quickly set off. There was no chance to get the plan approved by King Penda so Ugljesa sent word to him as they headed for the sewer. Bjarkis had laughed when he heard of the hermits presence and reminded Jorvik how he would make a good tracker. Keeping silent they let the hermit lead them on quietly around walls. He hopped and skipped so fast the others had trouble keeping up with him. The hermit had spoken truthfully as an old iron grate lay hidden behind bushes. The way was cramped, only enough room for one at a time. Crawling without light Jorvik blinked and bumped his way through the dark unlit he air became clear and they passed through into an ally within the walls. The sounds of celebration could be heard from the defenders. With the Franks preoccupied they separated. Ugljesa made for Adorno and Felix who were held with all those that had gotten caught whilst Bjarkis, Jorvik and Idibil sought out the gate. The hermit soon disappeared back down the tunnel before he could be assigned a role. They darted of down the streets avoiding some townsfolk who lurked around despite the late hour. Peering out of alleyways and from behind crates they eventually made it to the front gates. But despite their daring deed  their luck ran short as behind the gate were stacked many stones and wooden supports to prevent the rams entry. It would take the three of them hours to clear it all.

The cheers and laughs continued from the Franks as the three of them stood silent, unable to open the gate. As guards patrolling above came with thier torches they retreated back into a dark ally. Once they passed Jorvik noticed black drips running down the gates left from the substance that had been poured above. Following its sticky trail back up the stone walls Jorvik saw another clay pot used to hold the flamable liquid. “Greek fire!” He exclaimed. “We burn this sodden doors down.” Indeed it was possible and so they frantically scurried up the stone steps to the pot. With an effort they pushed it over letting the black contents spill down the gates and into the barriers behind it. The large pot clanged loudly as it hit the foor, guards alerted and came back to investigate. As two came into view Idibil and Bjarkis pounced onto them out of the dark. In the confusion a lit torch rolled of the edge and into the black substance.


For a time Jorvik lay on his back unaware there had been a great burst of flame sending himself and his companions flying off the wall. His ears rang painfully. Quickly he came too, seeing how he had been blasted down the alley and landing on Idibil. Bjarkis grabbed them both up, helping Idibil to put out his burning beard. “I think that did the trick.” Bjarkis said coughing and rubbing his watery eyes. The plan had worked better than expected as the gates lay burst apart, landing almost twenty feet from where they had been hinged. The way was now clear even if everything seemed to be on fire. Collecting their wits they ran back to the sewer. The cheers of celebration continued but now from the Saxons, not the Franks. As they crept into hiding they heard an almighty clash of iron as King Penda charged his men through the breach. Wheezing and sniffling they waited patiently for signs of Ugljesa.

As the Mercians piled into the unprepared defenders the streets flooded with fighting men, clashing together like opposing waves. The battle was intense. Men roared warcrys, other yelled in pain. Axes obliterated skulls and swords opened bellies. The stink of burning sulphur mixed with the clinging waft of severed flesh and running blood. Jorvik's mind spun as he heard more cries raised from another charge. Each of their blackened faces peered out from the sewers entrance to witness the other clash but instead were startled by the reappearance of Ugljesa. He wore a smile bigger than Jorvik thought his face could hold. “Its done.” Ugljesa said. “The captives are free and are attacking the Franks also. Come, you three have done enough for tonight.”

Ushering them down the sewer Ugljesa led them back into the fresh air beyond the walls exterior. Scuttling back across the way they came they soon return to the safety of their tents. Exhausted and with hearts pounding still they sat slumped on their fur beds. Too tired to speak they simply sat together smiling in silence.

By dawn the battle had been won. The Franks had soon surrendered and handed control of Caer Went over to King Penda. They were escorted back into the town by maids to meet the King and their rescued friends. The way had been cleared of corpses but thickening blood remained sticky underfoot. At the base of the town hall steps sat the King amongst his generals, cleaning his war axe. “Welcome again my brave hero’s. I congratulate you on blowing apart the door and not yourselves as well.” He said observing the missing portion of Idibil's beard. “I've heard of this Greek Fire but never knew of its potency. Ugljesa, as soon as we are done you are to acquire as much of it as you can find.” Speaking to Jorvik he said, “My new vassal, Felix is on his way. I must once again forgo any celebrations however. I hear East Anglia have already begun to regroup after the loss of King Annan and so my duties take me to battle on in the east.”

The King expressed further gratitude and requested they visit him in Licidfelth to receive a just reward. As he left Jorvik saw Felix and Adorno approach. Felix had managed to keep himself well pampered by the looks of it, despite his recent accommodation. Seeing Jorvik he called out. “My brave farmer. Hero of Hibernia and Lord of the Cows. It does please me to see you again. I here they have opened the fabled tavern Whores Hole especially for us. Come, lets get merry on ale and fat on roasted hog.”

Jorvik, Bjarkis, Idibil, Adorno and Felix sat down at last inside the tavern Felix had spoken so much about. Jorvik was surprised to see it was far more pleasant than the grotty back ally drinking hole he'd expected. When he questioned Felix on its name and lack of pleasure women Felix seemed shocked that he had even thought of such a thing. It would be later he discoverer Felix could not read and the Tavern was in fact called the Horse Hovel.

As they joyfully shared tales and exploits, Jorvik for the first time on his journey felt it coming to an end. He had made friends and enjoyed the adventure along side them but now it was time for his return home. He would miss them, even Felix. Yet he knew by now his destiny here was doomed to always fall into difficulties. Difficulties generally brought on by Felix's mischief. As the others gossiped amongst themselves Jorvik lent back in his chair chatting with his troublesome friend, asking about his plans now he had re-claimed his land back. Felix laughed and said he wasn’t shore of what he would do with it. After all, he had never owned such a claim. “You what!?” Jorvik almost fell out of his chair. “Felix, tell me you haven't been pretending to have had a claim on this town.”

“Yes. Terribly funny don’t you think?” Felix said asking a maid for more ale.

“Funny? Your mad Felix! What about King Penda?”

“Don’t worry about him, he's too busy fighting everybody.”

“But what will you do now? You cant stay here.”

“Exactly my good farmer friend. That’s why in short time we are going to sneak away. I have boats prepared but we need Bjarkis and his men.”

“You need them? What on earth makes you think they will want to be apart of this idiocy?”

“This town is famous not just for the Whores Hole, Jorvik. But for its wealthy mines too. The boats are all ready full of gold and silver. Everyone gets a share of course.”

“Oh, and you think Ugljesa the Spymaster isn’t onto you?”

“Onto me? He organized the boats, Jorvik. Keep up. He's coming with us.”

Jorvik sat back down staring at the ceiling. Felix he thought, really must be mad. King Penda's wrath would be unflinching as he sought to catch those who made a mockery of him. Never would this embarrassment leave his court. Jorvik felt it best if he forfeit his reward at Licidfelth and made his return home instead.” Drinking down his jug of ale all in one he stood up ready to leave. “I'm sorry Felix but I’m retuning home.” He said feeling content with his decision to depart alone.

“I know Jorvik.” Felix said patting him on the shoulder. “I'm coming with you.”

The sun rose breaking the shroud left lingering behind the storm. The light reflected so brightly off the morning dew Jorvik was forced to look away. He rode with Bjarkis and Idibil at his side, following behind King Penda and his generals who led their finest warriors onwards to Gwent's border. Their ambition was to return Felix’s title to him, unjustly usurp off him by his younger brother. The hundreds of hardened men created a long column of glinting armour and sounded oppressive as their boots marched on the stone road with rhythmic discipline. Jorvik had fought often in small sized skirmishes but never amongst hundreds of so many well armed and well trained fighters. He was in private awe of this proud show of might. He recalled old tales spoken to him as a boy of a great clan that amassed armies of thousands. Legends claimed it was birthed by a mother wolf and drowned the battlefield in rivers of blood as it vanquished its enemies. Eventual to become an uncontested power that then rotted from the inside, collapsing inwards under the weight of its own decadence, finally giving birth to the fractured clans of today.

He questioned Bjarkis on the politics of their situation, trying to understand the rules of ownership regarding lands and titles. From what he could fathom this fight for Felix’s land would now cause a war between Mercia and Gwent who claimed vassalship over the lord who laid claim to Felix's place. There was meant to be a degree of legality to it all, though Bjarkis assured him most claims were simply concocted by perspicacious scholars. The war would be fought with ink and quil more so than with shield and axe he had told him. King Penda would have the lands title transferred onto Felix who would then serve under Mercian authority. Bjarkis told him that the Clans of Britannia and much of the world fought in this way.

As they marched onwards Jorvik had begun to feel unstoppable, at least until their path became blocked at a small river crossing. Despite their haste scouts from Gwent had alerted Felix’s rival lord their approach and had sent an army to stifle their advance. They sat stubbornly on a low hill across the river which granted them strategic control of the crossing. Their numbers were smaller than the Saxons but the Welsh, or Britons as they liked to call themselves, could easily bottle neck the Mercians should they attempt to cross. As Jorvik made amateur guesses as to what advanced tactic King Penda would employ to overcome this, he was surprised when the order came for an outright assault. Apparenntyl not shy of taking a gamble.

As the Saxons formed up the Welsh moved their heavy infantry to block their side of the bridge. Their skirmishers remained on top of the hill ready to pelt the Saxons with stones. The river was not too wide nor too deep but it would allow thesm to inflict harm on any who tried  to wade across. With a signal sounded from a rams horn the command was given for the fierce men to advance. Reaching the bridge they clashed noisily with their opponent beginning a bloody wrestle for control. Jorvik, Bjarkis and Idibil watched on as the grind of meat and bone spilt into the river. Jorvik was glad to not take part in this fight. It was too messy and linear, once on the bridge there was no where to go but forward into the waiting enemy.

Observing the progress of the battle Jorvik, Bjarkis and Idibil a band of brave Mercians try to wade through the river. They watched anxiously for the incoming barrage of flints to be flung from the slingers but it never came. Soon enough they had crossed unscathed and fell onto the Gwentish flank. They fled as their defence folded under the unexpected attack. King Penda turned in his saddle towards the three watching on and tossed a coin in his palm, Bjarkis laughed though the unspoken message was lost on Jorvik.

A few hours were dedicated for the recovery and aid of the wounded. Those incapable of fighting were sent back to Licidfelth whilst the able soon continued onwards. Without breaking for camp they marched through the night reaching the town of Caer Went as the sun began to rise. Their arrival was quite and undisturbed. The towns defence were well aware of their approach yet remained behind their walls. The Mercians set about establishing a perimeter with the bulk of their forces camped east of the town. In front of where Adorno had previously breached the walls could be seen a catapult built to launch rocks at the defenders. It was of no use to them however as the enemy lord had burnt it into a smouldering ruin. Yet the breached wall however had not been fully repaired and remained a weak point fior the Gwentish defenders.


Their base was established with most men to huddled around camp fires. Jorvik, Bjarkis and Idibil were granted use of their own tent, set up between the generals and the Kings own. The sun soon rose as they began their first day of seige, already a plan was being drawn for an assualt later at dusk. By the time Jorvik woke, hunters had brought a large boar in camp and had begun roasting it on a spit. As guests of King Penda jorvik and his companions were granted the same privallages as King Pendas generals and could feast on as much as they desired. King They sat eating soft bread with fine wine, chatting merrily until Penda revealed his plans. “When the men are well rested our assault will commence shortly after nightfall. I have had a ladder constructed already and with the cover off darkness we will bring it upon the breach left by Aldornos war machine. The defenders can not match our huscarls and will driven back into the town centre. Once surronded, they will surrender.”

The generals all nodded and agreed but a unexpected voice from behind spoke up. “Have you considered trying to replicate this siege weapon, my Lord? It could be of great value if we can reconstruct it.”

King Penda beckoned the stranger to come forward to meet Jorvik. “Ugljesa, my Spymaster. He is my eyes and ears for when I need to delve the cracks and crevisives of the land. With a particular ability also to bribe my enemies!” Now Jorvik understood the coin toss gesture Penda made at the bridge battle earlier. The Spymaster unconcerned with introductions spoke directly to the King.

“I come to inform you we have captured some prisoners. Most likely just scavengers getting too close but Ive detained them all the same if you wish to interrigate them. Should you have need of myself I will be taking notes on this catapult wreck. It seems its maker Adorno is knowledgeable of Byzantium siege engines.With that the shady man disappeared outside.

There discussions continued as the men feasted. Soon the sun began to set and anticipation grew throughout the camp at the impending attack. The ladder had been kept hidden in a woodlands behind their position but the enemy had reinforced the walls with more men regardless. It was certain they expected  the assault to take place at the breach but unlikely they could stop the huscurls from breaking through. Jorvik himself had noted the defenders that patrolled the walls with little to no armour, carring wooden clubs or staffs. It seemed the besiege Lord had conscripted the local peasents into his defence instead of investing in real soilders. A mistake that could cost him all despite his advantage up on the walls.

Camp fires were extinguished and orders for quiet given. The Mercian army lined up waiting as the large and heavy ladder was brought up to the front line. It was carried by daring men who removed their armour so as to not be hindered in their race to the wall. They needed to get the ladder in position and set it up quickly before the main assault tried to climb it, all the time dodging stones and arrows.

The order came to begin the attack and they darted off. The men ran bearing the heavy ladder on their shoulders, followed wave of armoured Mercians. Their success depended entirely on the ladder getting positioned correctly. Over the uneven ground they ran. Some tripped, some struck by stones or arrows. All kinds of objects were used as missiles but like nimble house mice they made it. Slamming the ladders into the earth they tilted it up and over into position. No sooner had they done so the thundering horde of Mercians scrambled up. The ladder had been built wide enough for two to climb to the top and into the fray. Great cheers came from the waiting Mercians before they took their turn to brave an attack up the ladder. Yet they keep being beaten by the defending ramble, fallen in heaps, some wounded others dead. Man after man fell back in failure. Jorvik watched from afar through the night ast he attack continued without success. Occasionally a small groups of Mercians claimed a patch on the wall but were soon over come and thrown back. This was worse than than the bridge assault Jorvik thought.

The fruitless attack continued. Hours passed yet no ground was gained. It seemed as though King Penda's confidence had been too, becoming infuriated at the lack of progress he demanded a general to find out why his hurscurls could not succeed. They waited watching more men fall, taking to the ladder again and risking death. Eventually the general returned to him with another, carrying the corspe of an enemy . Setting the body down and lifting back the cloth tunic he said. “This my King is why we cannot break through. They are not who we believed them to be.” Under the soft tunic the dead defender wore iron chainmail of a well known design. These were not Welsh peasants but Frankish warriors, the most elite of all fighting men.

They all waited for King Pendas response until finally he spoke. “Its seems as though this Lord has out-smarted us. Order an immediate withdrawal before we waste anymore men. We have lost this assault.”

Dont worry, this story is not going to change style. Anyway it sounds as though Mihai Bravul is after some erotica novel, lol. Once Jorviks Return is complete I will try another more traditional AAR. Im leaning towards basing it off a Paradox game this time, CK2 or Senguko most likely. The next chapter I'm writing by the way will actually conclude this story so i will jump straight into my next project soon after. I'll let you know where its posted if its not a Taleworlds game. The final chapter should be completed by late afternoon tomorrow, hopefully. 

Mihai Bravul 说:

Nice stories, but they are too long.
I like to read short stories and if possible with picture in it, or else I get bored and turn on TV or watch a nice movie on pc.
We live in the light century, all this life is a speed contest. Short time, little time, no time.

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I favour a more text based story myself although I had hoped to include pictures. Problem was it became too time consuming trying to orchestrate the scene to fit the narrative when I'd completely made it up. In the future I will do another more traditional AAR as taking pictures is a doddle given they are relevant to what's actually happening on screen. Perhaps that would be more to your tastes? If you interested, below is how the first chapter originally looked like.

Vesku 说:

I'm just wondering if I'm playing a different game, I don't have such details and events

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Lol, yes it originally started as an AAR with pictures but I got somewhat carried away and re-wrote it as a story. I've updated the title so its more relevant to what it has actually become. 

EDIT: Well, having said that its now about six months since I wrote this post and now I've finally included pictures. Hooray for Edit Mode!

The night grew cold but Jorviks heart beat his body hot. The wagon thumped and cracked as the mule galloped onwards, steering its own course through the sodden landscape. Bjarkis held firm his prized captive as Idibil tried frantically to grab the reigns as they were dragged beneath the spinning  wheels. The night sky still burst its heavy clouds as the winds swept up the rain, casting it back down unforgivinly upon the daring bunch. Despite the chaos Jorvik laughed uncontrollably. He had saved his friend and caught a ransom worth more than any Dena Pirate could dream off. This was the crazed adventure he had sought in his youth. This was why he'd longed to become a warrior when just a boy. He laughed so ecstatically he never noticed when he and Idibil were catapulted off the wagon as it was dragged over a fallen tree. Both landed in a large puddle. The mule, exhausted fell to its knees bringing their crazed getaway to a sliding halt.

Jorvik gaining his composer wobbled back to his feet but Idibil groaned, he had twisted his knee and could not rise alone. “Jorvik, we have done many feats in the last hour but it seems flying will not be one of them.” Aiding Idibil back to his feet he saw the wagons shattered wheels. The spokes were snapped with jagged splinters as both rims had been smashed apart. The mule even sat slumped in mud exhuasted. Three men caught their breadth cutting free Furs from his bounds. The nobel blinking came also back to his senses.

“I recognize you.”He said. “You’re the mercenaries who I trapped on the road. Let me go and I will stop my war party from executing you.” Bjarkis didn’t listen, instead speaking to Idibil.

“Find a rag and gag him.” As Idibil limped over to muzzle him the noble gave them a warning.

“You wont escape. My personal guard can not return to King Annan without me, they will hunt you down. Their lives depend on it.”

Bjarkis paused, he was right. The personal guard would stop at nothing to save their honor. They will be fast upon them, both on horseback and well armed. The wagon was now useless and worse it had left a clear trail easily followed as it had tore a path through the wet ground. Bjarkis surveyed his surroundings desperately. There were no ditches to hide in, no streams to try and lose their tracks in or dense forests to flee too. The mule had bolted from the hilltop camp but in which direction he had no idea. They may have charged towards Licidfelth, back to Loidis or in any other direction. “Damn it.” He muttered seeing their predicament. With furs unconscious and Idibil barely able to walk there was no where to go. “Jorvik, we cannot go on as we are. You must continue ahead with the prisoner. Myself and Idibil will take Furs as far as we can before they catch us. If you can make it to Licidfelth, arrange an exchange of prisoners, him for us. Go now!” Jorvik was speechless. How quickly the tables had turned yet Bjarkis was right. He had to escape with the noble hostage. No harm would come to the others so long as he had possession of the him. Without wasting time he pulled the noble from the wagon and disappeared into the wet night leaving behind his dear companions.

The noble resisted but was too bruised and battered to make much effort. Pushing him from behind Jorvik made his best to get as much distance between them and the wagon. Hills ran wet as he climbed up one side and slid back down the other. Winds whipped them from all sides making them fall and falter. Jorvik tried to dry his tired eyes but the rain soon washed back in off his brow. Panting he felt as though he was tumbling down into a whirlpool. The world itself seemed to greedilty swallow the land beneath his feet, trying to drown him.

“Let us rest.” The noble said as his gag came loose. Jorvik slipped falling into the boggy earth dragging his prisoner down with him. Beleaguered and oppressed by the relentless storm, neither could rise. “Let me go and I will reward you! Your companions are doomed but I will spare you at least when my guards arrive. I could use a man like yourself.” Jorvik was too spent to reply. “Serve me in my court and I can see to it you are made a man of nobility. Our war with Mercia is lucrative. Even if we lose, us nobles will profit greatly. Join me and I can elevate your status and gift you lands.” Jorvik tried to stand but his hands sank into the mud as his feet slipped out from behind him. He sat barely keeping his senses together until catching the sounds of galloping hooves. “My guard approaching. Untie me now before they arrive and I will spare you.” Louder the hooves sounded pursuing their trail. Jorvik still said nothing as he laid down in the thick slop, waiting for the guards to catch him. The noble climbed to his knees and called out into the darkness. The hooves slowed, circled and then headed their way. “It shall be the mines for you and execution for your companions.” He sneered. Out of the gloom rode four men. They were heavily armed and sat on top tall steeds which snorted impatiently in the rain. The noble jeered at Jorvik before suddenly  growing quite.

“Here they are.” Spoke a rider. “Your name is Jorvik, I believe. We have come from King Penda on the word of a man named Felix. They said you would likely be in need of our help and had a captive of great value to us. Climb up, we have you friends from the wagon already on route to Licidfelth.” The noble tried to flee realizing his mistake but a Mercian guard turned his horse into him knocking back down. “You have a Lord of East Anglia, a grand hostage indeed.” With that they left with haste for Licidfelth.

Jorvik rode clutching the back of his savior, too fatigued to fully appreciate his own rescue. The four horses galloped through the downpour along small tracks and across open fields, the riders knowing their home territory well. Quickly Jorvik felt free of any further risk as they came upon the main road. Through the night they rode hard and fast until eventually reaching Licidfelth. They past the towns defensive walls made from strong oak, passing beneath the entrance into the towns interior. The wind curled and whisked its way between thatch huts, landing into the flooding streets and alleys. The horses hooves clopped noisily as they passed sleepy homes keeping the slumbering townsfolk warm and dry, hushed taverns, and empty markets also until arriving at the towns centre. Here stood a modest hall made from carved oak built for the Mercian Lords. Jorvik was helped off his horse and  lead inside to a table with hot broth in waiting. But before even receiving a spoon  fell sound asleep where he sat. The noble captive however was treated less kindly. Pushed off his horse he was dragged towards the dungeon. His objections at his handling fast muted as he closed his mouth tightly to avoid the taste of horse and cow filth he'd been pulled through.

When Jorvik finally came to waking he found he had been moved to a straw bed placed to the side of the hall. Sat at the long dinning table that spread from each end were all kinds of wealthy and important looking individuals. All ate and drunk wine, cheering merrily despite the early hour.  Rubbing his eyes he saw amongst them Bjarkis and Idibil who waved him him over. His arms and legs ached but he felt much revigorated. “Our mighty farmer wakes and is looking well.” Bjarkis said handing him a cup of wine and a roasted chicken leg. “Enjoy the fine food and drink my friend. Its in our honor.”

“Our honor?” Jorvik asked as everyone at the table unexpectedly rose.

“For the capture of King Annan!” A voice appluaded from behind. Turning he saw rough looking man dressed in armour finely smelt. “From one kings company to another!” He bellowed. “I am King Penda, ruler of Mercia.” Jorvik almost choked on his chicken leg.

“King Penda? My lord its an honor.” Realizing what he had just been told he blurted. “King Annan, captured you say!?”

“Indeed. That sorrowful noble you dragged in late last night was my great rival, the ruler of East Anglia. How many men I’ve sent against his sheildwall and for how many years I forget, yet not once have I come close to capturing him. Yet a daring company off three snatched him from his own royal tent in the night.” He place a hand on Jorviks shoulder raising high a jug of wine. “Let this small and under prepared celebration bring warmth and cheer to our unlikely hero’s. Yet I must forgo this merry making to attack my foe whilst he's lame and headless. You men are welcome to my Royal Halls should you ever seek them. Farewell and enjoy your reward.” He placed a small cloth pouch into Jorviks hand as he called his generals to follow him outside. Tipping the contents onto the table rolled out three small stones. They flashed and reflected the light in the same way as the jewel on the black feathered necklace Felix had stole off Bijarkis. They were small like tiny pieces of glass bringing the entire hall to silence as each stared in awe. The reward handed to them for their unknowing capture of King Annan was great. Jorvik thought of how Felix would likely have passed out if he had been given them. The thought reminded him of other parties mission to reclaim Felix’s land. “Bjarkis, any word on Felix and Adorno?”

“We asked around but news from the welsh lands is not greatly cared for here. We 're waiting until the market to opens to ask the merchants, they will know of something.”

For a time they sat eating, drinking and discussing joyfully the deeds they had unexpectedly accomplished. Furs had been taken to the best healer available where he will remain until his health returns. It was said that his wound was bad but would heal well, allowing him to walk although with a limp. Despite the good news Jorvik soon grew anxious for news on Felix's battle. He left the others in the Royal Hall as he went out into the morning sun, the skies now clear. Walking amongst the bustling townsfolk of Licidfelth he came upon the market. Questioning the merchants he soon found one who claimed to know of the battle.

“Oh yes. I passed a bloody battle alright.” The horse merchant said. “It was at the border between Mercia and Gwent. Folk told me it was a bloody battle. Nearly never took place either, too much rain! Terrible rain! It had me and my donkeys all soaked through on our way here.”

“Yes well never mind that, who won the battle?” Interrupted Jorvik.

“Word is the battle was won by a mercenary who had a peculiar name. Hmm, Adorno I believe.” Jorvik sighed with relief as the merchant continued. “Sounds like a man with a great tactical mind. Sent his enemy fleeing back behind their walls.” The merchant chuckled. “A real shame then that someone called Felix took over and ruined it all for him.”

Jorviks throat tightened. “Ruined it? Ruined it how!?” The merchant almost could not stop himself laughing.

“Yes, yes. Some imbecile called Felix apparently got a bit too excited and took command off Adorno. Charged his men through a breach in the city walls too soon. They all got trapped! Now they're all rotting in a dungeon, dear me. ”

Jorvik tried to sound thankful for the information as he walked away. Placing his hand in his pocket he touched the fine cloth of the diamond pouch. There worth was uncountable. He could hire an entire fleet to return home in and live like king himself should he sell them. To hell with this land and to hell with Felix’s meddling incompetency, he thought. But he knew he couldn’t. He couldn’t abandon Furs and he really only felt pity for Felix. Taking a deep breadth he walked towards the Royal Stable where King Penda was preparing to leave for East Anglia.

By the next morning Jorvik found himself at the head a thousand strong Mercian army lead by the King himself, hired with three small diamonds.

Each group shared farewells as they begun their daring quests. Adorno, Felix and the band of mercenaries headed west through Mercia whilst Jorvik, Bjarkis and Idibil tracked the nobles war party back north. The drizzle had now opened way for a heavy downpour, the skies bellowed thunder and the winds lashed fiercely. Despite their discomfort the bleak weather was to their benefit as other travelling parties would choose to seek shelter, including Furs abductor. If they could reach him in time they maybe able to succeed in their rescue attempt as the guards busied themselves trying to keep warm and dry. As for capturing the noble he was not so confident. 

Now separated Jorviks small group of three briskly headed onwards in silence, following the trodden tracks of the war party. With the rain pouring hard the stone roads had become swamped by slippery leaves and muck washed in from the surrounding banks. Some parts of the roads had been maintained with shallow flood ditches on either side but with the land in perpetual turmoil they had become unmaintained, overgrown and inefficient. Looking back Jorvik could no longer see the other party, the wind and rain was sweeping in circles masking their view of anything but the swaying trees that dotted their near vicinity. Gradually their efforts were rewarded as the sun began to sink into twilight. The puddled tracks they pursued veered off road heading up to the top of a hill. Jorvik could just make out the tops of pale tents and blurred shapes of patrol men. Fluttering in the wind was the pagan banner the East Anglian noble carried as a trophy. “There they are.” Bjarkis said pausing the small group. “We shall wait until dark before we make our move.” Gesturing to his left he led Jorvik and Idibil to a thick bush that clawed its way up the base of an old tree. Crouching behind it in the squelching mud they peered out making sure to not be noticed.


“So who wants the honour of bashing that nobles face in.” Idibil said shaking the rain off his beard.

“I shall handle him.” Bjarkis said. “Furs will need the help of two with his broken leg so you both must go to him. We return as soon as we are done. If anything goes wrong make haste back towards Licidfelth.” They waited in silence. The camp had guards patrolling but they walked briskly so as to return to their dry shelters. The wet had prevented any fires being lit and the heavy clouds blocked out the moonlight. If they were going to ever take such a risk, tonight was the night for it.

“Its time, lets go.” Bjarkis gave the go ahead and they each crawled quietly up the muddy hillside. As they reached the top Jorvik and Idibil crept towards the wagons and supply crates. Bjarkis carefully made his way towards the tents that flapped and rocked, struggling against the winds. With no light it was pitch black and the howling winds meant Jorvik could hear as little as he could see. They crept upon a wagon similar to the one Felix had been restrained too but he was not to be seen. Idibil tapped Jorvik on the shoulder to indicate they should investigate the supply crates. As they felt their way around they came upon four dead bodies slumped on the other side. It was too dark to make out there faces. Jorvik felt himself tense. Had they beaten Furs to death? Was being made a cripple too damaging to his value as a slave? Jorvik made his best efforts to feel the corpses faces for signs of likeness but no features seemed to fit. Touching a hand he felt its shape abnormal, twisted and broken. These four bodies belonged to the pagan survivors who'd stumbled upon their camp back in the marsh. Whilst saddened to see they had been caught and slain, Jorvik was relived none were Furs. They moved ahead towards where the mules had been fastened. Upset the animals kicked and stamped the mud, restless and frightened by the storm. One mule had been left tied to a wagon rearing its head each time it rocked back against him. Approaching it cautiously and viewing the wagons contents Idibil whistled to Jorvik. Looking inside they saw Furs. His hands had gone a dark blue as the ropes restraining him swelled tightly in the rain. He did not move or respond to their eager prodding. He was alive but greatly unwell. His shattered leg had ballooned with trauma, the flesh grotesquely stretched.


“We cannot save him Jorvik” Idibil spoke regretfully. “There is no way he can walk and we cannot carry him if unconscious. I’m sorry.” Jorvik felt ill. Their daring efforts had brought them so close but still only to failure. As he tried to desperately think of any means to save him a commotion sounded from the camps other side. Looking into the gloom they could see a tent collapse in on itself. Guards jumped to attention and came rushing out of their shelters. “Get him!” a voice yelled.

“Damn it! They have found Bjarkis.” Jorvik thumped the wagon.

“We must leave now.” Said Ibildil in a hurry. “They will find us too soon enough. Our mission has failed.”

Frustrated and hopeless Jorvik looked around for anything to help. “Wait! Untie the mules and let them run amok in the camp. We can escape in this wagon with Furs. They are after intruders now so we may as well risk it.” Quickly they set about releasing the mules, sparing the one fastened to the wagon. Harrassed by the storms winds the animals bolted off into the camp scattering the clueless guards.

“Over there! Bjarkis!” Idibil shouted. Looking towards the collapsed tent Jorvik saw him dragging a limp body behind himself. He was heading away back down the hill unaware a guard was fast upon him. “Ready the wagon Jorvik, I'll help him.” Idibil said dashing off.

The mule was ready to bolt. He unfastened the rope and used all his weight to ensure it did not unravel completely. Beyond the wagon he saw Idibil reach Bjarkis who had fallen over his limp hostage. Slipping in the wet mud Bjarkis could not get back up in time to defend himself against the pursuing guard who in the flickering torch lights was revealed to be the nobels captain. Lifting the iron mace he used to crush Furs's leg high above his head he brought it down heavily towards Bjarkis. Idibil bouldered into him like an angry bull. The mace landed with a wet thud as its iron head was swallowed in the mud. The guard fell onto his back at Idibils feet who by using both fists a fatal blows upon his face. The captain twitched and never got up again. Grabbing Bjarkis and the hostage he led them to the wagon where they scrambled in. Jorvik released the reigns and slapped the mules behind only just jumping in himself. The wagon bumped and slid uncontrollably as it sped without guidance down the hills slope. It took all his might to hold himself securely as the wagon jolted violently, throwing them about like potatos falling down stairs. As the camp disappeared into the gloom Jorvik saw the frightened face of the hostage. A small dark beard curled off his chin, it was indeed the noble. He was laid spread on his belly, pinned down by Bjarkis and looking bloody and sore.

Againsts all the odds they had managed to rescue Furs and take the noble hostage. Now they would need to head fast to Licidfelth before the nobels men could rally and give chase. Now having aquired a mule and wagon their chances seemed good. Looking back down at the nobles sorrowful eyes Jorvik could only feel joy. To celebrate his unexpected success he used all his remaining energy to boot him in the face.