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[Event] Smoke and Sacrifice


AstriaS
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Smoke and Sacrifice

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     Through the icy darkness, a party of men traveled, foregoing even torchlight. Theirs was an endeavor of shadow and secrecy, and no interruptions could be had- not a man could be seen, lest the Norlandic scouts catch wind of them and warn the capital. The shroud of night had covered the frigid city of Varhelm, leaving only the lanterns and candle light flickering in the windows for a guide, and follow it these men did, led by none other than the Kjörnarling Warmaiden herself, Vikne Kjeldsdóttir. For months they had observed the city’s comings and goings, and they had identified one particular shortcoming of the city’s Guard; inattentiveness, the downfall of many a city.

 

     With their armor and supplies stowed in carried crates and covered handcarts, the Svarlings filtered into the city’s north gate in twos, each pair a number of minutes apart- and they even courteously dipped their heads to the night watchmen as they passed them. Nary a brow was raised. The Svarlings had never been a people known for subtlety, yet the plan for this night required nothing less than the utmost. A plan such as this would only ever work once, after all. In those wee hours of the morning, then, these infiltrators made their way down, through the streets and into the sewer tunnels below, and there they waited, donning their armor and holding out for the sun’s rising.

 

     With the dawn came the sound of horns followed by the peal of the city’s bells and the shouting of men; fighting had begun at one of the gates. And with their diversion in place and working as intended, Vikne and her comrades emerged into the streets below, making their way towards the docks and cutting down or capturing any civilians around them as they went. In the midst of the clashing of swords, those at the gate quickly realized the diversion, and sent for reinforcements as they slammed the gate shut to block the enemy- depriving one Norlandic soldier of his legs in the process- and made haste for the city center. There, in the freshly blood-spattered square, they did lock blades with the Svarling raiders once more, watching as Vikne and her men loaded up a ship in the harbor with loot and a handful of captives.

 

     As the Norlanders fought their way down the hill, the reinforcements from Fenn carved their way into the city from the east gate after arriving by ferry. Learning from the failures in Ikur’fiyem, the Svarlings had planned for reinforcements this time, and left a token force of men to distract any that may arrive. Vikne’s diversions and contingencies had worked to her favor, indeed, and she and the greater bulk of her men remained undeterred as they made ready to sail, cutting away the mooring lines and pushing the Norlandic ship away from the dock.

 

     As a final gift for their victims, the raiders had prepared the largest of the Norlandic ships for something of a lightshow; the deck had been packed with straw and flammables, oil and tar poured over the whole of the mess. And atop it all, they had lashed a lone woman to the mast. With the raiders in the plaza falling, the defenders watched with horror and great concern in their eyes as flaming arrows soared towards the ship, threatening to set the poor victim alight. Yet, as if blessed by a wind of luck, the captive was freed from her bonds by the Fennic Prince, the pair escaping the ensuing blaze by mere seconds with the help of a horsebound priestess.

 

     With the captive saved and the raid ended, all took a moment to breathe. The Svarlings, it seemed, had succeeded in their mission this day; they had come, taken their loot, stolen one ship and burned another, leaving behind a portion of their forces to keep the blood flowing as they departed.


 

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Vytrek makes for home, a few hairs singed. Two more wounds to add to his collection; three more kills to add to his count.

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After receiving a report of the attack, Kvasyr Bloodbrand would burst into a fit of laughter, bending over backwards at the absurd coincidence of this success. "Really?! The north-western gate? Again?!"

 

Viktor Eldrsson's reaction is much more subdued, muttering to himself as he assists refortification efforts around the city. "Really? The north-western gate? ... Again?"

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Vane tries to count on his hand the number of Svarlings he killed that day, counting more than ten he looks over "Mind if I borrow this?" he says grabbing a dismembered hand from one of the numerous bodies littering the ground in Varhelm. Vane lets out a long drawn sigh "That's a lot." he drops the hand on the ground as he watches Aedan wheel around in his new wheelchair yelling at the children of Varhelm.

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Aedan would stare down as his stump legs in his wheelchair, anger welling up inside of him. Was he angry that his countrymen closed the gates on his shins, leaving him crippled and forever changed? No, he knew that if the gates had been shut any later there would have been more bloodshed. Was he angry that he spent the latter half of the battle firing a crossbow while strapped to the back of his king? No, he had taken down many Svarlings with his aim. 

 

No, what he was mad about the most was that he knew in his heart somewhere a Svarling was dubbing himself "the Crippler" and they were eating his legs and feet. This blow would hurt him more than any blade could. "... When I am able to stand and walk again, I am going to find that captain... and I'm going to cave his head in."

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Alric monitors the Northern mountain range from the wall of Varhelm, he'd think of the raid for a moment before thinking of how to halt such offensives in the future.

 

"Wisdom and courage will win the battles to come."

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