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ᛚᛁᚷᚺᛏᚾᛁᛜ BY STORM ᛏᚺᚢᚾᛞᛖᚱ

Chronicles of New Skavia vol. I

Year 1 of the Skavik Invasion


“Walk it off, it’s but a flesh wound.” - Olaf Bouldersson


In recent years, large hoards of Northmen were seen pillaging snowy cities and ruthlessly spilling blood by the gallon. Survivors have been telling tales of serpent gods, bloodied axes and splintered skulls. The grapevine claims a troop of men were seen entering a city empty-handed, and foreign chants were heard as they ran back out with piles of shimmering gold on their colorful shields. These events bring up but one question: 

“Which shoulder should I look over as I’m traveling North?”. The answer is both.



1. Red Crow Square




It was a bitter night for the fugitives of old Skavia. They had only just landed on unfamiliar soil after a craggy voyage at sea and the elders were already putting the holumenn back to work. They quickly forged an encampment on the shore out of their sails and nearby trees. Members of a cunning family within the Skavik known as the Fangssons were sent out to look for food, supplies, and groups to be stolen from. They quickly came running back with a list of places that could provide valuable resources to help the icemen settle. 

On the top of that list was Haense, noted as follows:


‘Haense | 493 steps North, 40 steps East | Wine & Cheese’


A simple house may be made of stone and wood, but wine and cheese have been proven to be a luxury that makes warriors feel truly at home. Thus began the quest for dinner and drink. 


Haense was hosting what seemed like a festival dedicated to just cheese and wine. The entire city was beautifully decorated with bright banners and enchanting music was echoing through their colorful streets. There were goats being milked on the right of the square and people squishing grapes with their bare feet on the left, yet plain in the middle were 270 of the warriors standing strong despite their hunger. The music initially performed was quickly obscured by the deep rumbles from numerous horns before orders began to be screamed from a below average-sized, cheeky man.  


“Lissen, lissen, cooperate and nobody will be hurt! Just make a nice little line in the square, act as if we’re about to start a traditional folk dance. Put a smile on!” 


♪ ♩ ♫ ♬ 

Made to stand in lines of two.

 Bells of bronze ring out for you!

 A single coin decides your fate-

 Pray to gods your soul will stay 

♬ ♫ ♩ ♪


The festival-goers cooperated smoothly for the most part. Those who didn’t were killed and ended up in the center of the city anyways. Leftover warriors who were not guiding the festival-goers were now knocking down doors and shattering windows, dragging sheltered civilians who didn’t seem to care much about wine and cheese towards the square to join the others. 


“Cheer up a bit, it’s a festival! Let’s do some drinking and gambling!” 


At that, the Skavik started plundering pockets of the hostages and filling their drinking horns with as much wine as they could, usually to the point where excess wine would be spilled on the floor. When their thirst was sated, every citizen in the square of the kingdom was assigned a number: one or two.

At the flip of a coin, half of them would relentlessly have their throats slit. A distant bell would sound from the entrance of the city while in the square, screaming struck like lightning, and tears flowed like rain. 


A large force of soldiers mustering in the city quickly realized that these foreigners were not ordinary raiders, but a breed unlike anything that Almaris had seen before. The hostages understood that if they continued to play along with the Skavik antics, that they likely would have ended up dead, so a lackluster plan was quickly devised.


♪ ♩ ♫ ♬ 

Close your eyes, 

Take a breath! 

Feel sharp swords..

 within your neck! 

It seems your guards, 

They came too late. 

What a shame.. 

upon this day!~ 

♬ ♫ ♩ ♪ 


The remaining hostages would flee to the group of soldiers and those that were fit enough were given weapons to defend themselves. The Skavik, now trapped as they were surrounded by soldiers and walls, would have a brave warrior step atop a pile of throat-cut bodies before they yelled out. 




Both sides stared at each other as a few moments filled with silence passed until the Haeseni soldiers began to flee to their barracks. The thunderlike clashing of steel soon began to fill the city as the floor would soon begin to be stained with red ichor. The thick bear, wolf, and boar pelts worn by the Skavik seemingly gave them their strength as by the end not a single Skavik warrior had been killed while the opposing army was quickly slain. The streets that were previously decorated with garlands and flags, were now littered with the lifeless bodies of soldiers, women and children alike. Two survivors were captured and brought far outside of their homeland, made to sit in the numbing snow. 


♪ ♩ ♫ ♬ 

Pools of red stain the ground- 

Screams are silenced quickly now! 

Only two with bounded hands, 

barely made it out of there! 

♬ ♫ ♩ ♪ 


“You are tasked to tell our tale, to keep our venerous endeavors fresh in the mind of your peers. 300 lives taken, over but wine and cheese.” 

The two’s hands were forcefully bound and from their four eyes, all but one were taken, to not only send a message but to ensure that they could make it back to tell the tale.


♪ ♩ ♫ ♬

 And that’s the tale

 From snowy Haense!

 The Slaughter of Red Crow Square. 

♬ ♫ ♩ ♪


2. Tale of Handy Coincidence 



On the same night as Red Crow Square, the Skavik ventured further inland towards the west. They went deeper into the barren tundra, trudging through snow-paved roads. Accompanied by a disgruntled citizen of the lands, they would then stumble upon a city with walls so tall that they could barely see where they ended. A few of their warriors had known of this city before from when they attempted to make an entrance into the city the day before under peaceful pretenses but were denied entry.


On this occasion, the Skavik had reached the front gates but nobody had been present. Seeking entry into the city, the band had patrolled around the outskirts to find an entry. They would eventually stumble across a cavernous inlet which they trekked into. After navigating its depths, they would finally find a narrow outlet that took them into the city behind the temple. With their weapons sheathed, they would stroll from the temple towards the front gate. As they walked, they would find citizens who wore pelts and drank mead, much like the travelers themselves. Despite the nostalgia, they knew that it being the middle of the night would mean that the tavern was bustling with life which meant more loot to take.


As the Skavik band drew their weapons, they would storm into the tavern - quickly identifying two groups to corner. The ethnic group, consisting of two dark-skinned merchants, offered payment to our warriors for passage out of the tavern which was accepted. The other group, which was larger, were seated around a well-dressed looking man. The man, seeing a threat to his life, quickly flicked a switch to a contraption that extended a trapdoor below them, allowing a woman next to him to flee but he himself would not have the chance to as he was quickly pinned to the floor and knocked out before being bound together with rope to prevent an escape.


The Skavik dragged him outside the city and sailed them to a great longboat, where he awoke and found himself surrounded by many Skavik warriors and an extraordinary amount of wine and cheese that had been collected by the Skavik in their previous raid.



Egil! This man looked at me as if he didn’t believe I could cave in his skull.”


Egil Ormsson, the leader of the Skavik, then slithered his way through the crowd, accompanied by one of his most loyal men, Leitseig Thorrmir Von Arichsdorf. This companion quickly identified the captive as a royal figure from the North, a king by the name of Odin.


“Brilliant, simply brilliant. We didn’t even have to go looking for him! Egil, this is the King of Norland, the second major city up North.”


The Skavik then proceeded to mock and taunt the poor individual, throwing food and drinks at him as they loudly spitballed about what to do with this important figure.


“Shave his head!”

“Take his legs and make him swim back!”

“Throw him to the snakes!”


The Skavik chieftain then spoke up to break the shouting. He demanded that King Odin lose his right hand as to symbolically take away his eminent power over the lands up North. As was commanded, in a matter of minutes King Odin’s right hand would be separated from his body before he was unceremoniously delivered home alive. King Odin’s hand now serves as a relic carefully kept by the Skavik chieftain. Hung from a golden necklace, the hand is now used by the Skavik as proof of their claim that they hold authority over the North of Almaris.


thanks to @Crevel for redoing most of my writing (I'm european)

@HazelWazel song


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cappor is not as jit as they think they are

cappor ur literally breaking server rules by playing when you are under 13 years old

okay andrew

cappor, ur mom made my tacos i had for dinner tonight and they were bland af

better be sorry

Edited by mkaxeman
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Olaf smiled with the brightest smile of his lifetime, face still stuffed with the cheese from their previous exploits.

"I ******* love cheese."

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"Sympathy for the Skavik Devils." The young raider muttered to himself, huddled into a Skavik long boat, brandishing his blooded woodsmen's axe

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Markus Mudd read the missive by the ruthless Skavik people and wondered if pirates are also a thing.

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Guntar grazes the keys of the piano "The Skavik - Something In The Orange."



fhuck is yhu talkin bout axeman jit i'm ghetto ash cuh

ok and? fhuck is yhu finna do about it bluud?

okay joe 




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i LOVE my captain Mickalez!!!! so robust!!!! )


Edited by chacmul
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Frøy Fáóláinssön awakens from his slumber, drenched in sweat and reeking of piss and alcohol. He downed what ale was left in his tankard, as if that would help with his thumping head, and dry mouth- typical of a hangover. He would read over the missive before letting out a hearty chortle: "Thank the gods, what a time to be alive."

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Somewhere in the distant and dark land of Svarland, a now-elderly slaughterer of men, Vikne Kjeldsdóttir, pondered over rumors that had spun their way even to her far-flung doorstep. She admired one of the many skulls in her collection from her campaigns in Almaris, and with all of her usual icy sardonicism the Kjörnarling warmaiden remarked, "If only I were still in my prime..." The woman trailed off, then, her warped, sadistic mind conjuring a great many ideas of unspeakable cruelties that could have been. "Ah, but I suppose these upstarts will have to do the bloodletting for us – this generation's bloodletting, anyway." With that, the once-feared northwoman returned to her dour ruminations.

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