Thread: Darkness Has Its Teachings (Athene & Alvis Alendran)

Goormr met Rowena's gaze easily and gave only a single nod in acknowledgement to her words. Hrothulf, what's the count? He asked in his own language. Nineteen women, seven girls, six boys. The man answered without hesitation. Goormr smiled. A decent haul then. Move them out to the coast. Shortest route. Hrothulf nodded, and the rest of hte housecarls stepped forward to urge people along with casual shoves. We'll be going down to the beach now then. Best get moving. Goormr told Rowena as he slid his axe into the loop at his belt, putting it out of the way. He began an easy striding pace to keep with the group. As they moved forward, they were coming closer to the village. Every structure that could burn, was. Flames made it oppressively hot with the confines of the place, but the raiders seemed not to care, and kept people moving along. Every step they took brought them closer to the beach, closer to the ships, and closer to the loud cheers and screams from the surrounding area. Other raiders were seen moving around, bloody weapons in hand, grins of fierce pride and joy on their faces. As they rounded a curve in the road, Yrsa gave a shout to halt the company, the men doing so instantly. Goormr worked his way tot he front to see why they had stopped. The way the heat was pouring onto the the people it wasn't safe to remain here for long, they needed to keep moving. However, when he saw why she had made the call, he agreed with the desicion. There was a man on the road, on his knees, blood caked all along his hands and arm, running down his face and onto his chest. There was a bear pelt on his back, the top of his head covered by the worked skull, making a kind of helemt. But there was nothing human in his eyes as he glared at the lead edge of the crew. There was a dead man at his feet, looking to be one of the village fighters. Who it might have been was impossible to know, the body torn and ripped as though by strong claws, the face torn completely off of hte skull. And there was what looked like some leftover meat in the teeth of the man. Goormr approached the warrior slowly. Gunnar. Hear me borther. He said slowly, quietly, a hand raised in a placating gesture. You are a warrior of my cmpany, a friend and shipmate of mine. Remember yourself brother. The words were laced with an air of command, an order that was expected to be folowed. The man shook his head, growling, and leaping to his feet. He snarled once before Goormr was close enough to place a hand on his shoulder. Their gaze locked for a moment, before the other man, Gunnar, shook himself, blinking several times before seeming to come back to himself. I...my jarl, I- Gunnar started, his words sounding slurred. Lost yourself for a time. It is all right. Back to ship old friend, we'll speak more on the water. Goormr said in a soothing tone. GUnnar nodded, looking about for a moment before finding his weapon, a stout club with bear claws mounted along it's sides, and jogging towards the ships. Yrsa signalled the group to get moving. There were more prisoners at the beach. The raiders had returned in full force, bringing sacks of loot, chests taken from homes, and even a few pieces of crafted furnishings. Another half dozen people were on their knees at the landing site. Goormr raised a hand in greeting, and more than two hundred voices lifted in a wordless roar of welcome and approval, the sound almost a violent thing, washing over him and all rpesent in a wave. It made him smile. One man among the raiders was dropping down from the ship, a length of iron chain over one shoulder. Form that chain were numerous manacles, looking like he'd retrieved a slave coffle. He approached the prisoners.