Jorviks Return - Story AAR - Brytenwalda Mod - Now With PICTURES!

[sPOONz]

NOTE: Hello! This is a story I wrote that started as an AAR for the Brytenwalda Mod but evolved into a short story instead. It was written and completed 6 months ago and now I am re-writing it since learning more creative writing skills. Originally it was posted and still remains in the Brytenwalda forum section and over at Paradox Forums but I have just stumbled across this forum area and figured a posting here would be nice also. Please leave any comments that come to your mind as feedback will go a long way for my learning to write well. Thanks and enjoy!

Jorviks Return​

SUMMARY: A Story based AAR that follows the adventure of Jorvik, a one-eyed Norse raider who becomes stranded on a Hibernian coastline and becomes embroiled in the miss-haps of his new companions as he searches for a way to return home.

EDIT: 09/05/2014 - Finally including PICTURES! Goodbye wall-of-text!!!

EDIT: 05/05/2014 - Also, any feedback will be greatly appreciated as it will go a long way in helping me learn to write better so please comment with any thoughts.

EDIT: 04/05/2014 - Having been reading a lot recently I feel that I can now write much better and so as a practice exercise I've decided to re-write Jorviks Return for better quality. Sorry if anyone was mid-way through reading this. I shall update each chapter as I go so it should not be long until you can continue from where you were before.

EDIT: 25/10/2013 - N/A

Chapter 1: Charity​

Everything hurt as the icy sea finally showed mercy and spat Jorvik out upon the Irish coast. He lay, spluttering amongst the salty froth, gasping for air. His hands shivered and grappled at the smooth pebbles as they clattered beneath the tides push and pull. He was exhausted. His body throbbed and ached from the oceans battering. Wobbling to his knees Jorvik steadied himself and gazed upon his surroundings. The coast on which he found himself spread far and wide. A beach of brown shingle crept up ahead to a high embankment of dark sandy soil. Covering this were thick tufts of grass, waving against cold winds which blew in from the ocean behind. A grey sky hung low, blotched with darker clouds that swept fast inland. These winds were strong, lashing at Jorviks naked back as they howled like wolves tormented by their own turbulence.

Not far from Jorviks side lay a long wooden plank, snapped and twisted it rocked heavily on top of the wet pebbles. The ocean surf lapped around its splintered edges, a remnant of his destroyed longboat which had bore him and his doomed companions far across the sea from other lands. Armed with axe and shield they had come to plunder the Hibernia isle. To raid the coastal villages greedily for wealth and prestige, as was his Norse tradition. Yet they had been thwarted in the night by an unforgiving storm that had chewed apart their vessel, casting all on-board into the swallowing depths. Now Jorvik was isolated and alone, trapped on the edge of a land he had come to with hostile intent.  Desperate and close to death he laughed, shaking his fist back out to sea he shouted, “Thor protects me still!” 

With little ease he climbed to his feet. Beaten by cold winds and bruised from his rough arrival he slowly stumbled forward. He was weak, tired and alone but unlike his sunken longboat he was not completely ruined. Grabbing handfuls of grass Jorvik pulled himself up the embankment. Looking back he could see no other survivors, nor food or clothing that the sea had cared to spare. Ahead he saw the land was barren. A vast landscape of grey hills and old stones as large as huts were standing before him. Rising steadily into the distance the land crept towards the foot of a great mountain, dark and jagged it reached high into the encircling clouds. Further to his west he could see the outlay of a woodland, tall and shadowy it swayed. This was the northern lands of the isle Hibernia. A land of poor Irish farmers and shepherds that resided in small hamlets made of wood and thatch. Jorvik would need to beg for their kindness if he had any hope of surviving the next few days. Should they suspect his original purpose was to raid and plunder their hard earned goods he would find his last days spent locked in the village stocks, humiliated and left to starve, he was sure.

Though many Norsemen would come to pillage these desolate farmers some would arrive peacefully as hopeful immigrants or eager traders, either he could pose as. Reaching one of these villages however could be difficult. There were many who could benefit from a stranded soul such as Jorvik. Slavery was profitable and not all here desired a life of hard labour with poor returns. Smugglers and slavers were rampant on all coasts. Lurking from hidden dens they kept keen eyes upon their surroundings, on watch to ambush a rival or ensnare an easy gain such as Jorvik. Proceeding ahead would be a matter of luck more than skill. Rubbing his arms for warmth and coughing up salty sea water he scurried ahead naked in hope of aid.

As Jorvik sought his way ahead the crashing waves grew silent as the winds waned from their swirling gusts. The land was unforgiving however, sloping sharply only to abruptly rise again, often into small creeks where tall reeds hugged the edges as it wound its way back towards the sea. Wading from one side to the other Jorvik could continue forth until finally reaching the woodlands shelter. Now less exposed he trod carefully through the thick bracken that carpeted the soily ground. He found himself using his hands as much as his feet to claw his way past low branches and huddled tree trunks. No edible vegetation could he find though Jorvik was comforted as the sun rose to midday, breaking through the canopy in rays that warmed his bare body. Cursing the sharp twigs and pine-cones that pricked his feet underfoot he eventually came to a clearing laden with felled trees and splintered stumps. The land continued further with grassy hills, rolling gently they seemed fresh and greener under the midday sun. The clouds were abating and soon the winds came to little more than a soft breeze. Not far into this new terrain Jorvik found a series of stones set out as boundary markers. Not far from these a muddy trail trampled with hooves and cart wheels could be seen. Jorvik sighed happily. Wiping back his lank red hair he pressed onwards again following the trail, hopeful now to find villagers sympathetic to his plight. Keeping vigilant Jorvik saw no signs of potential slavers or bandits. And it seemed Jorviks luck was altogether going well as within only a few miles down the trail he came upon, with much relief, a small hamlet.

Sneaking into some bushes he peered out to observe his chances of help. The village was small although to his surprise well fortified. A wooden palisade ran around its entire perimeter which itself was surrounded by farm plots and work sheds. Despite this unexpected defence Jorvik saw that neither the gate entrance nor palisade walls were manned. Hopefully this meant they were passive and would not be too alarmed by a ragged stranger approaching. Mingling outside the walls were women and children performing peasant duties and only a few men guiding cattle towards their pastures. He felt confident. He quickly brushed himself down, unmatted his red hair and straightened out his thick moustache whilst finding a bush of decent size to cover his cold stricken vitals. Whether covered or not his rough face that bore only one functional eye, having lost the other in battle years ago, would still be a frightening sight even to the sturdiest of folk. There was only one way to find out what their reaction would be. He walk out into the open.

A shriek rang out from a women dropping her straw basket spilling its contents. Grabbing the hands of some crying children she fled towards the village gates. Perhaps he could have found a bigger bush to cover himself with or waited for a better time to approach but there was little he could do now. Halting regretfully he considered the benefits of being made a slave back on the coast but before he could come to a decision armed men came pouring out of the gates. Some looked puzzled, some angry and others intimidated but all wielded crude tools as weapons, blunt clubs, spiked pitchforks and rusty scythes.  Anxiously he waited as they surrounded him. An old man with a deep frown pushed his way through. He was short and crooked with a sparse beard of white stubble. Twirling a stalk of corn between brown teeth he ask suspiciously, “Who are you, stranger?”

“An unfortunate soul in need of aid.” Jorvik replied, happy at least in knowing the native dialect.

“Unfortunate indeed. How is it you arrive at our gates in such a way?”

“Shipwrecked. Last nights storm sunk my vessel with all my possessions. I ask for any charity you could be so kind as to give. Clearly you can see the Lady of Fortune has not favoured me. Can you help at least?”

A brief silence arose as the old man, clearly the Village Elder, took thought. “What was your purpose sailing off these coasts?” He asked with a narrow squint, spitting out the chewed end of his corn stalk.

Knowing of course his true intent had been to burn and pillage these coastal villages, revealing that would certainly not be helpful. “Looking for trade.” Jorvik replied quickly. “I sailed from the north hoping to find warm furs to return home with. Alas, I am now stranded here. If you could spare just some clothing I will make my way onwards to the closest town?”

“Aileach is your closest town but you will have to pass around the mountain to reach it. It's a few days walk if the weather holds, longer if not. Come, we'll get you warm and fed. And clothed.” He said making one last disapproving look at Jorvik before signalling the others to escort him within the walls.

They brought him up to their main community shelter. A thatched hut built beside a small cattle pen thick with manure. A crowd had gathered to watch. They were stood beside a wooden stock used to humiliate and punish offenders. For a small community such as this it would be rarely used other than in jest during the harvest celebrations. Jorvik did note however its careful positioning beside the cattle pen, forcing any would be prisoner into kneeling amongst the surrounding cow muck. He felt himself feeling increasingly uncomfortable at their suspicious gazes. The women were both old and young but all mostly as broad as the men. Each face, even the children’s looked rough and worn from the harsh climate. Their cloths where torn and as dirty as their black finger nails. Jorvik was grateful to be taken away into the shelter where inside he found a warm fire. A few occupants left as he was taken towards it. The Village Elder whom spoke to him outside handed him a rough woollen overcoat that hung low to his knees and some coarse trousers which were far too short, barely reaching his ankles. “We cannot spare any shoes I'm afraid.” The Elder said inspecting Jorviks new attire. “But this clothing will help you none the less to keep warm on your travel to Aileach.” Jorvik nodded and got dressed.

“Many thanks,” he replied trying not to show his itchy discomfort.

“Once you reach the town however you can only buy charity. Without coin you wont find much support.” The Elder said handing Jorvik a bowl of cabbage soup. “I would suggest then that you stay here for a short while, any extra labour during the sowing season will be of great use to us."

Wiping the soup away from his moustache Jorvik looked up in surprise. Back in his homeland he was a warrior raider. To be offered work as a lowly farmer would have been taken with great offence. Reminding himself of his need to keep his true profession hidden he instead accepted the Elders offer. Not unless he felt his pride worth a week in the stocks and cow muck outside. He did not. “To work on a farm and help you in your labour during the sowing season would be a great honour,” he lied. The Elder smiled happily at his own fortune and led Jorvik to a small room that was now to be his accommodation. It was a small room, windowless and smelling of old cabbage. Indeed the flooring had a stickiness to it from where vegetables had previously been stored. Left too long they must have begun weeping in decay before being discarded with. For his bedding there was a pile of straw placed in one corner, in the other a clay pot for toileting. 'Inconveniently small,' Jorvik thought.

So it was over next next few weeks Jorvik worked hard, rarely spoken to from the ever suspicious villagers. Afraid that some may find his old gear for raiding washed up on shore , he kept his head down and tried to appear as much of a peasant as he could, even taking to chewing corn stalks like the Elder. He hoped that he could soon raise enough coin to afford the stay in Aileach from where he would then find a means to promptly return home.

The days passed slowly, weeks slower still. The month of his arrival had been in late February and now it was mid-March. The weather since his arrival had turned again into strong winds blowing black clouds that poured rain day and night. The ground was sodden, full of squelching puddles that sucked and slurped around Jorviks bare feet. Still sowing season was yet to start. Jorvik helped where he was asked to and never complained. His arms became worn from chopping so many fallen trees into piles of kindling. His nose was full of a putrid smell from discarding the villagers waste into the communal cesspit. But of all the tasks he performed the one he detested the most was the milking of cows. For a proud Norse raider it was most dishonourable to tug fleshy udders like a milkmaid. Should ever he return home safely, the one exploit of his time abroad that he would not share was the milking of cows.

As March passed into April the grim weather began to wane and show signs of spring. 'How routine and mundane the life of a peasant is.' Jorvik thought privately. Yet he quickly came to regret this notion. Whilst tending the cattle beneath the setting sun he heard a panicked alarm from a shouting villager outside the palisade. “Bandits! Bandits are upon us!” he cried. The villager never made it back inside. A yelp was heard followed by the clonking sound of a club falling heavily upon his skull. A volley of arrows shot over the walls catching one man in the shoulder, another in the rear of a cow. Bandits were here indeed and they had been sneaky enough to fall upon the village unaware. Now in a crazed panic the villagers run left and right whilst forgetting to close the main gate.

Men ran into one another clumsily, women shrieked as they fled inside and children sat crying having been forgotten in all the mayhem. To add to the confusion the cow struck by the arrow had bucked braking open the cattle pen. The herd now stampeded across the vegetable patches whilst opportunist dogs attacked the squawking chickens instead of the bandits. Sheep fled in circles whilst the pigs sat stubbornly in the mud. Jorvik however kept his mind collected and sought a means to save himself. In his quick judgement he could see a choice between either jumping over the palisade wall and risking a broken limb or by fleeing through the gates where the bandits now poured in. Seeing some villagers create a feeble counter-attack and distracting the bandits he chose to flee for the gate. He ran quickly pushing over any defenders who stood in his way and ducking the blows from any attackers. His skill had not been lost in the weeks of peasantry labour but his doom came not from the sharp edge of an axe but from the slippery mud beneath his feet. Losing his balance he slipped with outstretched arms falling face first into the wet mud. Before he could pick himself up he felt and heard a loud clonk on the back of his head. All went dark.

As the morning chill began to recede and the birds begun chirping Jorvik stirred. It would seem he had survived the raiders assault. His head pounded sorely but he felt no serious injury, except to his pride. Coughing deeply and squinting out of his good eye he saw amongst swirls of ash and smoke the village had been set ablaze. Around him lay the less fortunate. Battered and beaten were the slumped bodies of village men. Some moaned with pain whilst others remained stiff in death. The raiders had been victorious will little to no casualties. They had looted the stores and made off with all they could carry, setting alight the thatched huts as they did so. Jorvik nursing his head stumbled to his feet and lent against the gate which the witless villages had forgotten to close. He had come to this land to cause such a tragedy and was now a victim of one. He could see wandering through the haze the Village Elder, starring gormlessly at his ruined home like a helpless child.  Beside the gate he saw a forgotten bundle of fine furs discarded by the bandits as they had hurriedly departed. Likely the most valuable piece of all the loot they could have claimed. Jorvik picked it up saying aloud to himself, “They have dropped such a prize! What a bunch of fools! Surely they are led by an imbecile if he left this behind?” Looking back at the Elder who watched on solemnly Jorvik waved and dusted off the furs. He smiled at the old man and then turn't his back on him to go in search of the bandits who clearly required better leadership.

 

[sPOONz]

Chapter 2: Furs​

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.”

 

[sPOONz]

Chapter 3: Thralls and Fools​

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?”

 

[sPOONz]

Chapter 4: Fishermen​

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.

 

[sPOONz]

Chapter 5: Friends or Foe​

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.”

 

[sPOONz]

Jorviks Return Continues Through The Link Below...
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http://forums.taleworlds.com/index.php/topic,287381.0.html​