Kitten protectively cuddled a small bundle, wary of the strangers that had pushed and shoved at her just a while ago.

When Erik ran through the door, almost tumbling to the floor as he barely prevented the dangerously swinging door from slamming into the wall, he was just in time to hear Kitten hiss at one of the servants trying to take hold of the baby to check on it.

“hisssscha!”

Erik’s entrance was swiftly noticed and diverted the defensive new mother’s attention from her ‘assailants’ to the father of her child.

A smile bloomed as she now voluntarily shifted her posture and showed the baby girl happily suckling at her mother’s teat, proudly displaying her as if saying: “Look! Look what I made!”

For a short while Erik did not nothing but stare until the baby had had its fill of milk, let go of the swollen nipple and belched.

‘Cute!’ – Was all Erik could think right now.

Slowly approaching the two, Erik gingerly reached for the small bundle of joy. A flash of struggle passed through Kitten’s eyes, but she nonetheless allowed Erik to take the baby away from her.

Erik then carefully cradled the baby, making sure to carefully support head and not at all minding the small spurt of milky bile his daughter barfed up unto his clothes.

She was covered in a fine linen cloth, the only thing the midwives managed to put on her before Kitten took possession of her offspring, but since the room was heated by a fire there was no chance of a cold or pneumonia.

‘If anything, isn’t one of the reasons for high child mortality in the past was due to swaddling newborns too tightly? It would restrict a baby’s chest, cause difficulty breathing and then the pressure and lack of oxygen intake would kill them?’

Instantly after, a wave of worries clouded Erik’s thoughts as he conjured up dozens of ways this newborn daughter of his could be endangered. But those were swiftly swept aside when the little girl in his arms cutely waved her arms around.

Slowly, Erik moved a finger closer to her and smiled when the small hands clasped onto it, like shaking hands with a giant. She then yawned and began dozing off to sleep, having nearly exhausted her small amount of energy.

Sigrun finally caught up at this point, having walked from her parents’ place to Erik’s hall rather than use nearly a hundred points in Dexterity to flash across the settlement. And with her came the other women eager to see their family’s new addition.

“So cute!” “She’s so small…” “Will mine be just like that?”

A chaotic cacophony erupted from the gathered mothers-to-be as they jostled around trying to get a better look at the baby in Erik’s arms.

The turmoil disrupted Erik’s newfound number one treasure in the world and the happily chattering women were shut up by the incredible sound produced by a crying babe.

Frightened and not knowing what to do, Erik looked around the room until one of the midwives gestured to Kitten who was worriedly looking at the group surrounding her ‘kitten’.

Erik handed her over to Kitten and watched as she placed the baby near her chest again.

‘I suppose the scent of milk combined with Kitten’s steady heartbeat is soothing for her?’ – Erik wondered when his daughter quickly calmed down and peacefully fell asleep.

“Lord…” – The experienced midwife carefully began, whispering so as not to disturb the little one’s sleep. “The child is born safely and the mother is fine as well, but there are still things that need to be done.

The crib moved over, servants organised to keep watch and prepare clean cloth for when the little lady’s is in need of cleaning.

Above all else however, Lord should give her a name.”

At that moment, all eyes in the room except for Kitten’s, which were glued to the baby on her chest, stared intently at Erik.

‘Why do I feel like I’m facing a pack of predators..? It almost seems like if I do a poor job at naming her I’ll lose something important here…’ – Erik fearfully shuddered as he faced the intense attention.

“Hmm… A good name. I can’t name her after an ancestor since I do not recall any. So I need to find something appropriate…”

Erik fell quiet, only now realising he had quite severely neglected this part regarding the topic of children.

Pondering and struggling, he also realised he’d have to think of more than just one name in the near future when the other babies arrived.

Just then, a bright ray of sunlight peaked through the window. The day had mostly been overcast, but the clouds had parted to allow the sun to reach into the solemn room and light up the pair of mother & daughter on the bed.

“Sunnhild. Yes, my daughter will be called Sunnhild Eriksdottir!”

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To celebrate both Sigrun’s pregnancy and the birth of his daughter Sunnhild, Erik organised a lavish feast for his growing Warband and allowed them a week off from the strict training regime.

This caused the group of over 3.000 hardened, well trained warriors to cheer in elation and well wishes for the Madam’s health and blessings for Sunnhild ‘the Saviour’ poured out endlessly.

Erik had driven them all hard these past months having them endlessly run laps, lift weights, spar and overall driving them to exhaustion day after day. Yet no matter how much they complained about their Chief’s harshness, they couldn’t deny the effects of their training.

Many of them could only be described as mediocre before Erik took charge of them and moulded them into strong, respectable warriors who wouldn’t do under for those that relied purely on talent and natural physique.

Regular teamwork exercises like lifting trees together or participating in mock-battles also enhanced their sense of belonging to the Warband. Together with the stories told by Erik’s original Hunters, the new recruits had soon melted into the group and not a single one of the thought of leaving anymore.

Erik’s tactic of baiting out the most hot-headed warriors among the vagabonds and promptly killing them in front of their fellows also played a significant role in the rapid integration of the newcomers.

Now, not including the “borrowed” troops from Scaldar and the Jarl, Erik led a personal Warband of just over 2.100 warriors whose skill, loyalty and discipline were unquestionably among the top of the tribe and likely beyond as well.

And while the warriors trained, Erik had the craftsmen bought in Marienburg begin construction on new ships. The Dragonship is a huge beast and can, in a pinch, move close to 5.000 warriors plus provisions for a fortnight. But when the goal is to load the hull with loot, plunder and captives a Dragonship should have no more than a thousand troops aboard. Hence why Erik needed those additional ships.

When looking over the ship designs presented to him, Erik had made a daring suggestion to his Captains. To put powerful ballistae on the ship decks, loaded with harpoons tied to sturdy ropes.

The only reason Erik managed to sell the idea of the ‘cowardly’ ranged weapons was by insisting it would allow them to catch and reel in enemy ships out at sea rather than to use them to bombard enemies from afar. Even then there was discontent, but when Erik made the desperate analogy that these ballistae would be a “corvus bridge with a longer reach” everyone finally accepted the idea.

Tonight Erik finally shared the news of the new ships with the rest of the Warband, which was met with increasingly drunk cheering. Most likely the Marauders would have cheered for anything at this point.

Still, the coarse and frankly barbaric men continued to praise Sunnhild’s birth and Sigrun’s coming motherhood, which was all Erik wanted from them right now.

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A small group made its way across the already frozen tundra between the Sarl and Frost Wolf lands.

In the lead, a man rode with his face bared despite the biting cold of the Norscan wind. A single braid of red hair lay over his shoulder and a wild, bushy beard of the same rusty colour covered half his face.

Swirling tattoos decorated parts of his face and scalp while a large gash ran across his face. Beginning at the temple, narrowly missing both eye and nose but running straight across the man’s mouth to complete the warrior’s daunting appearance.

A large sword hung from his belt, dark steel tower shield held in the left hand while the right tightly clenched around a grisly banner.

Wulfrik had succeeded in hunting the mighty Frost Wyrm back in Troll Country and, as he had sworn, he used its wing as his standard in battle. Its skull now proudly decorated his own hall back at the Sarl settlement, a symbol of his new status as Thane of the Sarl and the gift presented to him as part of his betrothal to Hjordis, the daughter of the Sarl King Viglundr.

After returning from his personal Hunt, Wulfrik led numerous assaults on Aesling outposts and began making a name for himself among his tribesmen. But no message was heard from his brother Erik despite repeated attempts.

When the fifth messenger was deemed lost and the skirmishing between the warring Confederacies settled down a bit, Wulfrik finally decided to seek out his brother personally. Whatever lurked in the wilds that had presumably killed his men would soon be but another trophy.

‘I have slain a Frost Wyrm in its lair Erik. Don’t let me down by having stagnated far behind me. Seeing you shine during our Beastmen War gave me drive and ambition, don’t let it spoil. Brother, let us have a proper scrap when I see you, soon!’

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Elsewhere, deep within the Norscan heartland where a raised plateau created a vast open plain, a tribe steadily rode to its destination.

The people looked similar to Norscans in some aspects, but entirely different on others. Where Norscans proudly wore large beards, these men preferred long and defined moustaches. While Norscans absolutely despised any form of bow or truly ranged weapon, these warriors proudly carried ornate recurved bows and multiple quivers on their saddles.

The only true similarities were their use of fur for clothing, broad stature and their zeal for the Dark Gods. And while many among them carried blond or red hair, the vast majority instead had brown or black hair on their heads.

Kurgans they are called, the steppe-roaming cousins of the sea-faring Norscans. And this tribe too is headed for the Moot.