The feasting was wild and merry. Warriors swapped boastful tales of new and old feats. Drinking contests, Erik’s ‘darts’-game and arm-wrestling could be found all around.

Warband leaders and their Captains were also busy dealing with recruitment. Temporary Warbands disbanding or those Warbands of which the leader had perished or was gravely injured provided a stream of warriors in need of new companions.

This was also the time during which a Warband’s leader would usually share his plans for the Second Raid. The Second, and later the Third, Raid of the year wasn’t about food or resources, but about glory and reputation. Or just to get some things done that required travelling.

Thus during the Second Raid the Norscan ships would sail all over the world in search of worthy adversaries, dabble in trade or, for example, went whaling in the northern seas. To some, it could even be considered a form of holiday, just a couple weeks away with the boys on a sailing trip.

Erik of course had plans to play the merchant and go to Marienburg to help his beloved wife, but his men might not accept that as the sole reason. Most of them were young and hot-blooded, which meant that a dull trip to a Southerner city without raiding it was a boring prospect to them.

So Erik came up with a ruse: “We are travelling as merchants to Marienburg, so the Dragon’s head will be off the prow. We can enjoy the trip, spend a bit of our otherwise useless silver. And then we plunder the ships coming out of its harbour once they’re out of sight.

Oh right! Also, we’ll be flying an Aesling flag during our attacks, just to stick it to those bastards!”

While this was enough to get his men on board, Erik actually had different plans. Yes, Marienburg was his primary objective both for Sigrun’s cure’s components and his own desire to sightsee.

‘But waiting outside the harbour to attack the merchants… is stupid. First of all even the lowlier merchant ships will still have both a sizeable crew and a number of cannons! There’s no way I’m risking the lives of my men for completely unknown spoils, let alone risk damaging the ship!’ –Were Erik’s honest thoughts.

‘No no, I plan to do it smarter than that. What else do merchants trade in besides mercantile products? Information!

I’ll just ask some things to that Bartholomeus fellow and go from there.’

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Over the course of the ‘small’ feast Erik spoke with a lot of people, both new and previously acquainted.

For one, Sven re-joined as Erik’s right-hand man along with a small group of Jarl Ingolf’s men, 20-some veteran Marauders and even a Huskarl from the Jarl’s own retinue. Especially the Huskarl would provide an extra powerhouse for Erik’s expanding Warband, since even now Erik couldn’t be sure to beat one of them in a fair fight.

Scaldar too officially joined Erik for the raid and brought most of his seasoned warriors along. The addition of the wise and powerful Vikti-shaman gave Erik a boost in confidence and would prove helpful in regards to his questions about Magic and other things. The warriors the Vikti brought with him consisted of another 140-ish experienced Marauders and three warriors approaching the Huskarl’s level of prowess.

Apart from these notable groups, smaller teams also applied to join Erik’s Dragonship-sailing Warband. Some were genuinely looking for a strong leader to follow while others expected Erik to make impossible concessions to them for joining him.

“Oi, young’un! I, the great All Aleguzzler, will sail with you! Give me 10% of all we gain and command over your men and I will guide you to glory and riches!” – One such idiot loudly proclaimed as he rudely stomped his foot on Erik’s table, spilling the mugs and horns over those seated on the benches.

Unfazed by yet another moron thinking too much of himself, Erik calmly looked him over and asked two questions:

“How many men do you bring? And why are you entitled to 10%?”

Spluttering in either faked or genuine indignation, All responded:

“I have a dozen of the tribe’s best warriors at my beck and call!”

“Fuck off then. Take your old ale-breath away from my table lest true warriors think we’re similar.”

It was very clear the man’s boast was empty, bordering on hubris. Especially in front of a young Champion surrounded by some of the tribe’s true elite warriors. Not to mention that the troops that had followed Erik since the Winter Hunt, though definitely young, were already far past the skills of most veteran Marauders.

All they truly lacked was experience, which could only come with time. It wouldn’t be an understatement to say that most of Erik’s warriors would be able to match Scaldar’s three elites in just a few more years. Maybe the potential was always there, Erik’s training paid dividends or maybe the System also played a role, Erik didn’t know. All he knew was that his men performed admirably and grew rapidly.

Another thing Erik insisted on in the coming two weeks before the Second Raid would commence was to continue drilling his troops. Especially the new arrivals would need a heavy dose of training to fit in with Erik’s increasingly well-organised Warband.

No Norscan army would ever be able to form perfectly straight battle lines or execute elaborate manoeuvres and tactics, but Erik didn’t need them too. All he wanted was for them to be strong, fast and deadly proficient with their weapons while obediently listening to Erik’s commands of when to hold fast, charge and retreat.

Whilst thinking of what kind of training to put the new additions though, a heavy arm was slung over Erik’s shoulder.

“Brother-in-law!” – A vaguely familiar face appeared next to Erik’s face. “I heard you are a big man now in the tribe! Say, where did you messenger get lost to that I had to come find you myself? Eh? Of course you wouldn’t cut your wives’ brother out of the fun?

Come! Tell your big bro what your plans are!”

Baffled, Erik hurriedly tried to place the man.

‘Ah! Ri & Ra’s brother, Olaf… What’s he on about? Messenger?’

“Euhm, what? Mind telling me what’s on your mind, Olaf?”

“Oh! I am hurt, Erik! Of course I came here to graciously take up your offer to become one of your Captains! Right-hand man seems a proper position for the older brother of your favourite wives, right?”

The more the uncouth lout talked, the more annoyed Erik became. He had long since heard about the twins’s behaviour in his absence, repeatedly belittling Sigrun and even disdaining Kitten and Tykira for their official status as thrall-bedwarmers. None of it openly, but an open secret was, after all, not a secret.

“And of course I didn’t come alone! I’m bringing 30 good, ehm, decent men to join you!” – Olad gestured behind him where a group of people interestedly watched the exchange.

From their looks and Olaf’s behaviour, Erik concluded they were most likely part of the same batch of new-bloods from a couple years ago wandering between Warbands to find a permanent place. Most likely, Olaf had exaggerated his own position in Erik’s eyes and got them to ‘follow’ him.

‘Probably promised them a nice bit of extra loot too, idiot. Still, I suppose it’d look bad if I beat-up my brother-in-law? And the 30 men would be nice to have. Young enough, so I can still shape them accordingly.’ – Erik had little interest in entertaining the clown, but social etiquette required him to remain civil.

With a few empty promises and a clear acceptance for the Marauders to join his Warband for the Raid, Erik managed to get rid of Olaf for now.

‘Worst comes to worst, Olaf will just have an accident along the way.’ – Some dark whispers entered his ears as Erik shifted back to enjoying his delicious mead and the enticing dance of a bunch of exotic thralls on a small stage nearby.

“You’re just going to let him do that?” – An angry voice whispered to Erik.

Slightly annoyed at the interruption just when a particular dancer bent down a tad further to give Erik a nice view, Erik turned to face one of his other brother-in-laws, Sven.

“He’s a clown and his sisters only have three things going for them right now. They’re a bit pretty, are twins and carry my children. I know we both know they’re giving Sigrun a hard time and they’ll either humble their attitude by themselves or else… I’m not opposed to letting a wife deal with unruly sisters-cum-competitors.” – Erik assured his actual right-hand man in an equally whispered voice.

Determining this enough assurance, Erik once more focused on the lithe figures of the dancers before asking a question to the table.

“Where are these thralls from anyway? They are different from us, with their slightly different skin and eyes. They’re not Norscan, nor from the Empire or Brettonia. Where are they from?”

Content with Erik’s devotion to his closest sibling, Sven was the one who answered first.

“They’re dancers from Cathay, some country far to the East. Some tribes have sailed there, but the journey takes more than a full cycle of Raids and is filled with incredible dangers.

Those girls were gifts to father from an allied Kurgan Khagan, our horse-riding, steppe-born nomadic cousins. Their domains stretch from Norsca’s eastern borders all the way to Cathay’s “Great Bulwark”.

And much like how we raid the Empire and Brettonia, they like to raid into eastern Kislev and the lands of Cathay. Wouldn’t mind going there myself once if only to get my hands on some of those dancers myself. Father guards them closely and rarely lets them out like this to entertain everyone. Don’t get any ideas though, they are definitely my father’s women.”

Shrugging, Erik discarded his idea of asking the owner of the exotic women for one of them.

‘Who knows? If there’s a flesh-market in Marienburg, chances are I can pick one up there. Right! I should also check on buying a good doctor there while I’m at it! Two birds with one stone and all that!’

Content, Erik continued to feast and enjoy the shows put up as entertainment. After the feast, it was time train. Erik himself needed to familiarise himself with his new Axe and his newly swollen Warband of close to 1.000 men had to be forged into a cohesive unit within a mere two weeks.

It would bring headaches and annoyance, so Erik simply pushed those thoughts away for now and enjoyed life.

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Far to the south, off the coast of Araby, a Marienburg ship was blown far off-course and out of sight of land by a mighty storm. The men aboard the ship were exhausted from the ordeal, but relieved to have survived.

Then the lookout spotted a less fortunate ship, little more than a floating wreck with no sign of a crew.

The ship’s captain sent out a small party to check it out and they soon returned with joy and glee written on their faces as they shouted excitedly:

“Gold! Gems! There’s a vault of treasures aboard the ship and no sign of life aboard!”

Excited, the ship was soon anchored near the wreckage and the crew began moving the unexpected spoils.

Gold coins from bygone realms, precious artefacts of unknown origin and gems the size of fists flowed into their hold as they now blessed the storm for their lucky encounter.

And among the treasures they so eagerly took for themselves, was a large, black & silver sarcophagus decorated with skulls and bats.