Thread: From the Land of Ice and Snow (Novocaine & Jolie)

Daybreak. The first rays of sunshine crept along the cliffs that surrounded the camp of Thorvald Eriksson . Under the cover of darkness their longboat had taken them ashore the land of northern England. The ground was covered in a soft sheen of frost, as it was the early days of spring and the time for their plans had come. Despite the early hour, the camp was bustling with movement. They were Vikings, the lot of them. 50 men strong and they were here for one purpose only. To raid. Thorvald surveyed the site with intensity in his clear blue eyes. he had given orders to pack lightly, food and supplies would be procured on site. Having lived on nothing else but fish for the last two weeks while at sea, he had developed a craving for meat. Theirs was not the first force to disembark on foreign soil, two years prior his father and clansmen had raided settlements in this area, British maps had been procured as well as crude versions of their own. Moments prior the scouts he had sent out to make sure they were on the correct course returned. Much to Thorvald's satisfaction, they had located the small town nearby that was to be their mark. Standing at six feet tall, clad in a chain-shirt wrapped over a blue linen tunic and leather breeches. Filling out his clothes nicely, Thorvald had the physique of someone who spent a large amount of his waking hours training for combat. He was lean and fit without being overly bulky or swelling. He was designed for the brutal finesse that was viking combat. Like everyone else of the men, he held a round shield and gripped a battleaxe as if they were part of his own limbs. Along his neck hung a heavy iron symbol of a hammer, Thor's hammer, believed by all of Nordic descent to protect you in battle and bring honor to your ancestors. In truth, the only thing that differed him from the rest of the men, distinguishing him as the son of a powerful Jarl, was the rich embroidery of his garments. That, and the fact that he kept his beard well groomed. The shields were marked by the symbol of his clan - an eight legged horse named Sleipnir. Nimbly, Thorvald climbed up on a set of round rocks and bellowed in a deep voice across the basin. Men! Gather round! He took the time to look in the eyes of several of his men as they congregated below him. Finally we have arrived, finally it is time to do what we were BORN to do. He made a pause before continuing. Beyond these cliffs lies a town ripe for the picking, it is waiting for us. Let's not make it wait any longer! And if ANYONE is over the wall AFTER Bjorn... With a wide grin he pointed his axe towards the largest viking he had ever laid his eyes upon, ... That man will forego any claim to the loot or women! There was a bustle of laughter, except from the abnormally large viking named Bjorn. Picking up his pouch of supplies and heaving it over the shoulder, his men followed suite. Now, let us go and take what is rightfully ours. And what do we do to any who would oppose us? The basin roared in response, KILL! KILL! KILL! With a wide grin, Thorvald leaped down from the rocks and jogged out of the landing. The sound of a hundred boots against pebbles followed.