Chapter 55
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Did some thinking and planning. This 1st Raid will likely wrap up around Ch. 65 and I've got a pretty good idea what I want to do with the next 70 or so chapters. Then I had some ideas on how to approach the ending of the story which will likely include some time skips for lore consistency. I won't spoil anything (just yet, knowing me) but Chapter 140 should roughly be somewhere between halfway and 2/3 of the story.

Also, Erik's status screen will be shown roughly every Arc/20 Chapters. He will consistently spend Favour to improve his stats, which will be properly incorporated in the calculations. Of course he also earns a lot and spends quite a bit on other stuff besides stats as you'll see at the next status-screen update. And System influences on subordinates etc. is far from omnipotent and is more of a handy tool for management rather than domination/enslavement.

Final thing I want to inform everyone about in advance: IRL, I am looking for a job. Which means I currently have a LOT of spare time in between searches and interviews which I use to write. When I inevitably find a job, it is likely I will need to make changes to the release schedule and whatnot. Likely still a while away, but just a heads up in advance!

Springboarding off of the success of the first raids, the Frost Wolves continued raiding further and further afield while relentlessly pillaging any and every farmhouse, village or town they came across.

A near continuous stream of spoils was swallowed up by the Norscan ships, filling the timber bowels with ever more resources.

A week had gone by and plunder could only be found more than a day’s march away, meaning that the Norscans had to camp away from their ships. And as the Marauders were forced to travel further away from their encampment to find new targets, they also travelled in larger packs.

Around 500 men were more than enough for the first raids, but now the raiders set out in forces numbering 3.000 warriors. This meant that 2.000 warriors had to watch the camp while one force of 3.000 left to the west of the river and the other force went east.

Erik was now in rotation to watch the camp, giving him an opportunity to think about his new plan of approach to growing his power. Guarding the camp might sound very dull and boring since there was no glorious raiding to be done for at least the next two days, but it provided an opportunity for some much needed rest and casual entertainment.

Which meant that the newly captured thralls were piss out of luck.

Any woman that wasn’t horrendously ugly, wrinkly old or too young to ignite the flame of lust was fair game to the merciless raiders. Actually, even those were not fully spared since there was still a number of fiends and sexual deviants among the Frost Wolves that devoutly worshipped Slaanesh.

As for the captured men? Scores of them were killed every day through all manner of ways. Forced to fight each other to the death, with the winner being promised his freedom. (The winner would be taken out of sight of the other thralls and have his throat slit regardless.) Or whenever the Norscans entered a heated debate over how much bigger they were than these southern weaklings, an unlucky Bretonnian would have his privates chopped off to make a point.

And Erik, giving in to the voices, participated with gusto in this environment where nothing was off-limits and the satisfying feeling of having total control over another human being let loose the dark desires slumbering within every person’s psyche.

He did not enjoy the wailing of forced women, but the screeches and howls of pain coming from a dying man were like music to his ears as Erik indulged in his dark fantasies. Sexual pleasure needed to be ‘beautiful’ but private while torture is meant for showing off, the louder the screams, the better.

So what did he do specifically? Well, a few days before it was his turn to watch the camp, Erik came across a pair of mother and daughter. Their faces were covered in dirt and soot, but Erik could clearly see their slightly above average countenance. Their teeth were mostly straight, noses not too big and decently voluptuous frames. All in all, they looked better than most of the captured Brettonian peasant women.

Erik had spent some Favour, just a couple of points, to learn the Brettonian language and with a little help from his pheromones, talked the pair into entering his tent. He had them wash their faces and offered them some food and behaved quite gallantly overall. Thinking they may have been picked up by a miraculously kind Marauder, the mother and daughter soon fell asleep.

Nudging the mother awake, Erik then proceeded to semi-forcefully fed her a little something he exchanged for with the GAO. Only semi, because the woman didn't try to prevent Erik from feeding her the purple-coloured concoction. And after a mere few moments, she began twitching and moaning, looking at Erik with wide, begging eyes looking, nay lusting, after a certain something of his.

Pheromones on overdrive, Erik did not forget to whisper into the mother’s ears of what he might do to her daughter if she didn’t service him well enough or didn’t keep her voice down. To which she reacted quite strongly, but not in opposition. Maybe southerners truly were a weaker race, since Erik didn’t recall any of his women back home reacting this strongly to him.

Obviously, she couldn’t suppress her moans as Erik laid waste to her body and the daughter, only sleeping lightly due to the remaining tension, was startled awake.

The first thing she saw was the ecstatic expression on her mother’s face hovering closely over her, body rocking and shaking as Erik rhythmically pumped away from behind.

Not long after, it was the daughter’s turn since the mother couldn’t hope to take Erik on by herself.

Recalling the first night he broke his new toys, Erik inadvertently smiled. Even now the two women were chained up in his tent like pet dogs, complete with a collar, leash and water bowls.

‘Still need to find some dog-ears or something. And I suppose something like a bikini would be nice to look at too?’ – Erik immersed himself in how to further increase his pets’ sex-appeal.

And while this was absolutely his favourite past-time when he wasn’t out raiding, Erik didn’t forget to introduce some new games to his Warband.

Killing thralls was inevitable, since it was one of the few things providing any sport during their boredom. So rather than having his men indiscriminately kill, Erik introduced ‘darts’.

A number of thralls would be tied up to wooden posts in a line and the players would each have five of their plumbata on hand.

The sport was to hit each of the target’s limbs before aiming for a finishing move.

Points were awarded for distance, directly hitting elbows or kneecaps and killing the target by by throwing a dart through an eye. And points were deducted for hitting another target than your own or killing your target before the finisher.

Matches were of course regulated to prevent the death toll on the thralls rising even more and the prelims for the day’s matches were held on the corpses of previous targets.

It proved to be a very popular sport and quickly spread across the Frost Wolf army and gambling on the competitions quickly took off too.

Sated in his desire for cruelty and venting his lust on his ‘bitches’, Erik was pretty content with camp-life. It absolutely beat the often very long, dark and boring days back during the Winter Hunt, with the exception of when Erik and Tykira were basically joined at the ‘hip’.

Still, while it had only been a short time Erik was already itching for some action. He wanted to get out there and fight, to feel the thrill of battle and the joy brought only by having the warm blood of his enemies spill onto the ground in deep, crimson puddles.

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The large fortress city acting as the capital of the Comté de Sainte Denise was steadily filling with refugees. It looked like the entire region was flooding to the safety of the stout, stone walls manned by capable men-at-arms and trained knights.

And while it was certainly true the people were safer here than back in their towns and villages, the refugees brought many problems with them as well.

“The peasants are sure to cause a major outbreak of some plague or other when they are this close together with their animals and each other!” – One of the local Barons complained.

“Yes! Not to mention that if all those low-lives are here, who is harvesting the crops? The hordes of Chaos are still days away from most areas, but the retarded serfs have already abandoned their fields! Famine is surely coming!” – Complained another.

“Is this not why we have all gathered here, my lords?”

Isabeau interjected before the entire meeting broke down into nothing but endless complaints. Again.

“At least we know where the Northmen are and even how many warriors arrived on our shores to punish us for our sins. We must take on this Trial set before us by The Lady and with our combined strength and Her blessing we are sure to destroy the heathens!”

Smirking, the Barons looked at each other around the table before one of them, a portly man with a bald head and a short, scraggly beard, addressed Isabeau’s statement.

“We are aware you hail from fair Couronne, my lady, but while the dukes of Brettonia can call upon their armies of Questing, Realm and even Grail Knights, we have naught but Knights Errant at best while most of our regular knights have not faced anything more than the odd Goblin or Ungor for years!

We should just wait for the Northmen to realise there’s nothing more to take and sail back home.”

The same argument with the same arguments had been repeated all week ever since the first news of the Marauders had reached Sainte Denise.

And Isabeau had had enough. But the Barons were right too, her head was filled with the fairy-tale valour and gallantry of the most powerful knights in the realm.

Even her own childhood was partly like a storybook. Abducted by an evil dragon and taken deep into the mountains until a brave Pegasus Knights appeared. Sir Jasperre le Beau slew the dragon whilst fighting in mid-air from atop his pure white Pegasus and saved the young Isabeau from captivity before safely returning her to her worried father.

And precisely because she had experienced such a fantastical reality, she could not forgive the laid back attitude of these local nobles who did nothing but laze around all day and grew fat on the backs of their serfs.

Huffing, Isabeau stormed out of the room, to the clear amusement of the Barons.

This time however, she did not return to her private quarters and instead charged over to the stables. She had already ordered her private retinue of 50 knights to assemble and she soon joined them in full gear.

Despite the angry glares on her back coming from those very knights, Isabeau nonetheless spurred on her horse as the iron-shod hooves clattered over the cobblestone road. Not caring in the slightest about the peasants scrambling out of her way or the odd foot squashed beneath the hooves of her mount.

‘If I can’t get the army I need to vanquish this stain on The Lady’s honour, I will at least see for myself the damage these heathens have wrought upon my land. And if The Lady permits, I will hunt some lost Northmen to ease some of my anger and punish them for their evil!’

Raising her sword, Isabeau gave a simple shout as she led her Knights away from the safe, protective fortress:

“For The Lady!”

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