Erik and his Warband had carefully watched the village from their hiding place, a slight hill just high enough to allow them to see over the palisade.

Smoke rose from the chimneys as the Brettonian peasants prepared their evening meals after a hard day’s work out in the fields.

Keeping a careful eye on the guards at the main gate, Erik followed along with one of the experienced veterans as they snuck up to the tired Brettonians from the left.

 Other pairs approached from the centre and the right of the gate, similar to the other groups approaching the other gates.

Hidden by the tall, golden wheat Erik was now close enough to hear the guards breathe.

Messer already drawn and a plumbata wardart ready in his left hand, Erik waited for his ‘teacher’ to begin the assault.

No screaming or shouting, but a quiet and deadly assassination soon followed. None of the guards managed to give away the Norscan raiders to the rest of the town.

And with all four gates now secured, it was time to call the rest of the troops into action.

100 Marauders soon stood ready at each gate, the remainders forced to miss out on the fun and guard the gates. Survivors and captives would be mostly let go after they were done with the place to force the nobles into action, but only after they were done pillaging.

Once all was ready, Erik took back command as he raised his retrieved Glaive overhead before giving the command they were waiting for:

“Kill, loot and BURN! Take what you can! Secure the food, round up the villagers and fire the roofs!”

“UWAAAAGH!!!”

And thus the nightmare of this nameless village began.

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Throwing all caution to the wind Erik charged through the village’s main street, heading directly to what he presumed to be the mayor or village elder’s house.

Most of his men had already spread out in small teams to ransack the first buildings they came across but a select few followed directly behind Erik.

“Knock-knock!” – He shouted as adrenaline coursed through his veins while cutting through the cast iron gate in front of the stately home.

By now, the entire village was aware of the danger. How could they not be when 500 raging Norscans ran screaming through the streets?

Soon, the screams of the peasants joined in but while the Marauders shouted in joy and amusement, their victims screamed in horror and despair.

Running up to the large oaken door, Erik first tried to just push the handle, but found it locked.

“Step back!” – He ordered his men as Erik prepared to kick down the door, making full use of his incredible strength.

*Creak – CRUNCH – the door was still in one piece, but the hinges had given out and caused it to fly inside.

“Let’s go boys!”

Inside, Erik found an armoured guard crushed beneath the door. Without hesitation, Erik stabbed his razor sharp Glaive straight through the guard’s chainmail coat and left the weapon there. Polearms are useless in the closed confines of a house.

Taking the Messer back out, Erik and his men began the search for valuables, the pantry and the other inhabitants. What Erik was especially interested in was a map of the area so he could determine where they were, hence why he left the securing of provisions to the rest of the troops.

Running up the stairs of the two story home, Erik soon found what looked like a study. Documents and writing utensils littered the desk and a neat cabinet filled with files and some books stood in a corner.

Smiling, Erik began to search for what he came for as the family that lived there was rounded up one by one.

*scrr!

The sudden sound of wood moving on wood made Erik whip around, ready to strike at any would be attackers but upon seeing the offender, he relented somewhat. A girl was hidden beneath another desk with the chair pulled in front of it, but when she tried to pull it closer, the aged wood protested loudly.

Seeing the large raider approach, the girl began snivelling and crying, snot and tears marring her average-looking face.

‘Bah, not worth it.’ – Erik silently thought. ‘Probably just a housekeeper or something, but she might know where a map is?’

Turning back to the scavenged desk, Erik quickly sketched the rough outline of the Old World, circling Brettonia and holding it in front of the crying woman’s face.

“Map where?” – He asked gruffly, making his voice sound as threatening as possible.

Not understanding, the girl began praying fervently as she wished for deliverance, but Erik stubbornly persisted.

Pulling her out from under the desk, eliciting a heartrending scream of terror, he shoved the sketched map into her face and asked again.

“Map, where? Chart! Cart!”

Seeming to understand, the young woman nonetheless shook her head in denial.

“Ugh for fuck’s sake! Fine, let’s get you downstairs then ey?” – Erik said as he yanked her by the arm and dragged her to where the rest of the residents were secured.

Throwing her to the huddled group, Erik addressed them all at once with the same question while gesturing at his sketch:

“Map where? Charts!”

The oldest, probably the owner, seemed to understand but showed no inclination of cooperating.

Sighing, Erik now knew who to coerce. Pulling out a middle-aged man from the group, Erik slit his throat with one clean cut and let the stuttering body collapse close enough to the group to have the blood splatter all over them.

Still the old man persisted, perhaps fully aware that as soon as he gave in, their usefulness came to an end.

‘Not like I can’t find it without his help, but I would really rather not waste that much time!’

Fully done with the stubborn old man, Erik waved one of his men closer.

“Dilg, grab that one!” – He said as he pointed at a 30 or 40-some woman.

Another round of screaming began as they expected another one of their family to be brutally killed in front of them, but Erik had other, worse plans.

“Okay then! If you don’t want to make it easier on yourselves, I’ll gladly make it harder! Dilg, Vram! Strip her, then spitroast her!”

“Ehm, Chief? Are we cooking her? And there’s no spit nor fire here…”

Face palming, Erik really was just about done with this. He just wanted a bloody map!

“I meant, use your dicks instead of a spit! One from the rear, either hole is fine, while the other takes the mouth! Give the woman a fucking of a lifetime and show these tiny southerners what real men look like, okay?”

“Ooooh!” – His men replied, including the other apart from Dilg and Vram as they set to the task with gusto.

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Map in hand, Erik smilingly took a lit torch and put fire to the village elder’s house. The fire quickly caught on the dry thatch and spread all over the wooden interior.

Soon after, the house was fully ablaze and the dying screams of the occupants joined the hellish symphony of the village.

Making his way over to the next home after carefully storing the precious map inside his armour, Erik looked up into the sky.

Thick pillars of smoke now rose up into a thick, black cloud covering the entire village.

Captives were being herded towards the central plaza while bales of un-threshed wheat and sacks of grain were piled high. Another mound containing any piece of iron scrap metal they could find steadily grew alongside it.

Those were really the three things they were after for now: Grain, thralls and iron. All things they could not find, grow or easily replenish in significant quantities back home.

Looking carefully at the captives, many of the women wore tattered clothes from the ‘attention’ provided by the raiders. Many had just learned the taste and feel of a woman or regained that sensation after months or days of abstinence, so this much was to be expected from the followers of Chaos.

The next home Erik visited was standing on an as of yet untouched corner of the plaza, the Marauders being too preoccupied dealing with the loot or running back to their mates somewhere amidst the chaos.

Barging through the door, Erik instinctively ducked below an incoming sword strike and rolled forward, grabbing the attacker’s leg and slamming him against a wall.

‘I didn’t need to dodge that… What am I wearing armour for if not to take exactly such blows?’ – He silently reprimanded himself.

‘Although not having to clean up the breastplate later is preferable, I need to learn to trust in my gear a bit more!’

Having dealt with what he assumed to be the only threat in the house, Erik once more led his men in ransacking a building. Raiding the storeroom, more food was added to the growing pile outside while the unresisting inhabitants had their hands tied with their own rope and led away to join their neighbours.

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At nightfall, Erik and his men returned with their spoils. Captured horses, asses and other livestock were burdened with sacks upon sacks of provisions and other loot as they were subsequently led away into the bowels of the Dragon- and Wolfships.

Even with ten similar bands all continuously trickling into the camp from their successful assaults, the storage capacity of the enormous vessels hadn’t been filled up for even 5%.

Over the next few days, as they continued to sack more and more settlements, this would slowly fill up until the ships would lie deep in the water from the fat loot and spoils.

The sheer amount of food, iron and new thralls would be astounding, but nonetheless it would only last a couple of months to feed and arm the ravenous Norscan tribe. Months during which the Marauders were free to go on glorious expeditions across the world before they had to perform additional raids to secure supplies for the next winter.

Still, with the Brettonian skyline darkening in the night hiding the dark clouds of smoke rising up from all directions, Erik was satisfied with his first raiding experience as he made his way over to the Jarl’s tent.