Macrendil-Ysmir

Little earlier than usual today. Finally managed to break through my writer's block on Chapter 60 after 2 weeks... Time to quick-fire some more Chapters to replenish my emergency stocks! (These 2 weeks being exactly why I have a chunk of chapters queued up!)

After Erik’s final Trial and Ralf’s execution, the feast continued for the remaining days.

There was no awkward moment where no one knew what to do. Instead, Erik’s completion of the Trials and full integration with the Frost Wolves as a highly Favoured Champion of the 4 Great Chaos Gods was cause for increased fervour and feasting.

Still, eventually the feast ended and the tribe returned to regular Winter-life.

Wulfrik returned to the Sarls together with his Thane to bring word of the Frost Wolves’ allegiance against the Aeslings, stressing that he wanted to meet again soon and fight together once more.

Erik spent the remaining weeks before spring rather monotonously: He trained with his weapons and armour, including the new Glaive, helmet and breastplate once they were finished, spent additional time training his now formalised unit of Marauders and taught the other Marauder-leaders how to effectively and honourably use javelins and the shorter plumbata.

“Use the javelins to take out large enemies, like a monster or cavalry. It is not brave but foolish to challenge such enemies head on as infantry.

And the plumbata are not meant to kill but rather to allow us to get in close with the enemy, kill them efficiently and gain honour and glory by stacking up our kills.

You use it by charging straight at an enemy and tossing it high up in the sky. The lead weight near the sharpened tip will then make it rain down tip first onto the enemy who is then forced to either raise their shields over their heads or risk getting the darts in their thighs, shoulders or even head. And when they raise their shields up, their attention is away from us as we charge them and the battle will become our favourite sort: a loose melee where personal might and skill reigns supreme!”

By pitching the reforms like this, Erik eventually managed to convince the other leaders to integrate into their own units, tacitly approved by the Jarl and the Thanes who actively implemented the new ideas first.

Apart from military affairs, Erik also set his household in order. His official marriage with Sigrun was a quick and informal affair. The only formality occurred when Sigrun returned home to the Great Hall in the morning to be officially ‘stolen away’ by Erik who arrived a mere hour later.

The whole thing was honestly a farce, since Sigrun had effectively been living in Erik’s home for months now and had already firmly entrenched her position as the madam of the household.

Kitten’s pregnancy also progressed nicely and in the evenings before and after dinner everyone amused themselves by coming up with names for the unborn child. Finally, after much deliberation, a choice was made

“… if it’s a boy or … if it’s a girl.”

“What would you like it to be, husband?” – Sigrun somewhat hesitatingly asked. She used to simply call Erik by name before, but after they married she insisted on calling him ‘husband’ as a sign and reminder of her position.

She stressed this point even more when a week before everything was snowed in and well over a month after the feast the twins Erik slept with before the altercation with Ralf came knocking on the door.

Ri and Ra, as Erik now knew the twins were called, had both gotten pregnant too. And Erik was the undeniable father as he was the one to take both their virginities during the feast and they had been bedridden from the ‘loss’ for the remainder of the event.

Forced to not-quite-reluctantly accept the two girls as his second and third official concubines, Kitten and Tykira enjoying nor seeking such a position, Erik’s household promised to expand rapidly as time went on.

Sadly for Sigrun, no movements or reaction could be seen from her womb except the disappointment of yet another menstruation.

And when the heavy snowfall covered the entire Norscan peninsula under a thick layer of snow, Sigrun made every effort to ensure she would not bleed from there for the foreseeable future.

Gone were the days of leisurely lovemaking, every time Sigrun was involved in the action she insisted that Erik finish deep inside her and stays inside well after his dick had gone limp and the sweat on their bodies had cooled.

Whether those measures bore fruit, only time could tell but when the snow melted under the fierce glare of the strong rays of the spring sun, it was time for the Frost Wolf men to set sail for the first raid of the season.

The tribe’s food supplies were running dangerously low due to extremely severe winter that lasted more than an entire month longer than usual. And this raid would determine the life or death for many of the tribe’s lower classes.

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Clad in a masterfully crafted armour made with premium Trollhide as backing, Black Steel as the breastplate and the Ice Wolf King’s fur as padding and trim, Erik checked his equipment once more before saying his goodbyes.

A heavy, full metal Black Steel Glaive in hand, trusty Greatsword on his back and the Slaanesh Messer on his hip, Erik was armed and ready for any opponent. A large round-shield with five plumbata stuck to the inside in their holsters along with just three proper javelins completed Erik’s weaponry.

And finally, if those weapons ran out or he found himself in a desperate situation, the Ruby Ring of Ruin sat proud on his left index finger, ready to fire off its deadly bound Fireball spell.

Turning towards his wife and lovers, Erik spoke a few words with each of them, reassuring them of his love and affection before saying a single sentence to them all:

“If all is well, I’ll be back with plunder and glory within a fortnight! If not, then I’ll be gone for a month at most with double the spoils! Take care of yourselves and the growing little ones!”

Putting on his wolf-head helmet, Erik took off to join his men and board the grand Dragonship the new Marauders were assigned to.

Norscans mostly used just 2 sorts of vessels when raiding: Wolfships and Dragonships.

Wolfships were crewed by anywhere between 30 and 100 Marauders while Dragonships carried anything upwards of 100 bloodthirsty raiders, some of the largest even carrying over 1.000 men.

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The trip itself was uneventful. Just the better part of two days of sailing with the coastline barely visible on the horizon so as not to get spotted by Imperial or Marienburg vessels patrolling the waters.

After all, the southerners were well aware that now that winter had passed, the Northmen soon followed like hungry wolves upon a flock of sheep. And while the small merchant convoys sailing along the coast couldn’t hope to withstand the Marauders’ onslaught, the cannons they carried on board would still cause unwanted casualties for the Norscans.

Finally, around noon on the third day, the navigator of the Frost Wolf fleet decided they were in the right area and the huge timber ships aimed their prows at the fertile lands of Couronne, Northern Brettonia and the ancestral lands of the Leoncoeur Royal Ducal family.

Making for an inlet where a river entered into the sea, the Frost Wolf fleet entered into the Brettonian heartland.

Two hours later the Frost Wolves arrived at a narrow bend in the river, stopping the massive Dragonships from going any further. Everyone then carefully beached the ships and went ashore, setting up a preliminary encampment to protect their ships, their lifeline and the only way they could return home safely.

Scouts were dispatched to both sides of the river, a number of the smaller Wolfships acting like a floating bridge across the river. And they soon returned with rough directions to numerous villages, towns and hamlets.

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As he was promised when he slew Yrret, Erik retained his command over his men. But he was not yet allowed to act independently for fear of him making inexperienced mistakes and taking unnecessary losses.

So Erik and his 300 young and eager Marauders were attached to one of the more experienced warbands led by a well-respected Thegn, a commander within the tribe. Together their troop counted 500 able warriors as they set out for their first target: A medium sized village counting roughly a thousand souls.

Simple lime & thatch huts, around 150 of them, were surrounded by a flimsy and decayed looking palisade. The village was built a small distance from a nearby forest and a simple dirt road snaked away between the fields of half-harvested winter crops towards the next village or town, just hidden beyond the horizon.

Peasant holdings such as these could be found all over Brettonia and they all had two things in common: They were full of food supplies and unless a tax-collector was in town, there ought to be nothing but a few poorly trained men-at-arms guarding the place.

Brettonia’s awe-inspiring noble knights, arguably the only force the Marauders needed to be wary of, were enjoying their rich and adventurous lives far away from the peasantry. In their sky-reaching castles they battled each other in tourneys, saved Damsels from dragons or evil sorcerers and hunted Greenskins in the mountains. So until these noble knights were alerted of the Norscan incursion, Erik and his fellow tribesmen were free to raid and pillage as they pleased.

And they were prepared to make the most of it.

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In one such lofty castles, in the primary keep of the Compté de Saint Denise (County of St. Denise), a woman led her retinue through their drills.

High in the saddle of her warhorse, she led the devastating charge with her lance aimed at the imaginary target.

Her armour closely followed the sleek contours of her body, revealing her to be both lean and petite. Under those steel plates, her muscles were not as ripped as one might imagine from a person carrying the significant weight of weapons and armour. Instead, a dimly glowing and chalice-shaped pendant hung from her neck. The artefact made the combined weight of almost 40 kilos of steel sit like the weight of a feather upon the proud woman’s shoulders.

When she removed her helmet, short, curly black hair was revealed, just covering her ears. Sharp, dark brown eyes took in the world around her as she watched in displeasure at the heavily breathing knights of her retinue.

“How doth thee expecteth to ever fulfil thyne vows and earn the right to chaseth the Grail and earn The Lady’s favour when a mere day of exercise exhausted thee so?” – She sharply reprimanded the knights.

‘Easy for her to say, having that Blessed artefact so prominently displayed. If she had to carry the full weight of her gear like we do, she’d be dead on the ground by now!’ – The knights inwardly grumbled, but they could never say those words to the countess’s face.

After all, she had been personally appointed by King Louen Leoncoeur himself to take charge of and watch over this area of Couronne.

How she, as a young noblewoman, was allowed to bear arms like a knight without being famous for having received this permission from the Lady in some cataclysmic event remained a mystery to the knights of Sainte Denise.

Still, there was no question about her martial ability. She wielded her blade and lance like extensions of her body and was even blessed with the ability to use basic strengthening and healing spells to increase all knights’ overall performance in the odd skirmish with roaming bands of Greenskins or Beastmen that made their way out of the Arden Forest.

And as Isabeau put her helmet back on and motioned for a repeat of the same drill they had practiced all day, the knights obeyed and continued their training well into the evening.

Macrendil-Ysmir

Fair warning to my dear readers: This Arc contains "less than consentual intimacy" + this authors attempt at mind-games/corruption.