Byen Gekun—the ‘capital’ of Sólstaður, if one were to call it that, where Skálpr lived—was about a week’s trip away from the water. As such, it wasn’t very exciting; the most entertainment he got was from hunting. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so boring if ‘ruling’ in the Sólstaðuric sense meant more than stopping infighting and encouraging others to follow your lead, although he wouldn’t complain about the ease of the job.

Skálpr met with the strategists to determine which one of ‘the gods’ nations’ would be subject to attack. Ultimately, Kuro seemed to be a tougher opponent—it had more victories and a hotter temper than its eastern sister; victory would come at a higher price, but it would be well-earned. Gin was better known for its strategists than its strength; especially considering its current state, fighting could be finished quickly with a Sólstaðuric victory. Of course, then it seemed likely Kuro may feel offended by that scenario—they might be bothered if Sólstaður defeated their sworn enemy, although Gin wouldn’t mind if Kuro was routed.

In the end, Kuro seemed to be the likely option—it wasn’t much of a tactical decision as it was a decision made to determine how to best introduce their children to war. They might as well start bloody while they’re at it; Skálpr would rather them experience horrors and joys in a grand scale, instead of dull their minds with an easy victory.

Skálpr lived with only one other person—his heir Makt Gekunsen, who was distantly related in some way. Although the boy was raised as Skálpr’s son, the man himself never married; he never felt love and he had no interest in making anyone think otherwise. Makt himself was about as stable as one would expect from Skálpr’s successor—one major flaw of his was that he was friends with Hermaðin Rokensen, and the two were strangely close. It helped that Byen Roken was about an hour’s trip away.

Skálpr was at home, sharpening a blade for an early hunt the next morning; a week passed since the initial meeting, and at the moment strategists were coming up with basic tactics to use. It was the last step before making the final decision of who they would fight and when.

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Makt came in at about his normal time—that being past sunset.

Skálpr continued to sharpen his blade while he spoke with his charge. “You’ll freeze to death if you stay out late.”

“Oh, look—you care. There’s a reason for the community fire, Skálpr.”

“The walk from Roken to hear is long enough for you to freeze to death.”

“Maybe in the winter.”

“Summer and winter aren’t so different here, boy. You should know that by now.”

Makt entertained something like a sigh, removing some of his heavier coats and his boots, putting them close to the fire at the center of the house. He threw a log into the fire before sitting down on the opposite side from Skálpr.

“I heard a story from Hreysti Rokensen,” Makt said after a second.

“Better be a good one,” Skálpr muttered.

“Oh, it is,” Makt assured him, snickering. Skálpr looked up from his work to frown at the boy. “A merchant ship was raided and set ablaze upon its arrival.”

“That’s nothing new.”

“There’s more. Guess what the survivors were sent back on?”

Skálpr’s expression remained unamused. “A ship, as they would need to be.”

Makt laughed. “Do you remember, a few years ago, when we sold that ship to the black kingdom, and they apparently thought we were telling them how amazing it was when it was actually a wreck? Well, they fixed up the thing and sent it back! That’s what they told Hreysti, at least. Who knows if that thing even made the trip to the black kingdom.”

“I don’t see why this is so amusing to you,” Skálpr replied dully, returning to his work.

“Because, Father, you were considering fighting one or the other. Stealing from a merchant ship and then burning it to ashes feels like a good enough warning if war is their aim. Isn’t it exciting, Skálpr? Isn’t it hilarious, how you wanted to fight and they seem to have the same idea?”

The boy laughed again, his rambling becoming nothing more to mumbles to Skálpr as he began to ignore it. “They speak a different language, don’t they? Oh, I wonder if they’ll have beasts fighting for them! They say that the black kingdom has monster blood in its royalty. That ought to be interesting. They’re not very tall, either, I hear…”

Makt eventually started sharpening his own little dagger, cheerily going on and on about the glories he could achieve. The one thing Skálpr knew to give him was a warrior’s spirit—the boy would fight and die if he had a chance for glory. At least he had some redeeming qualities.

At the time, Skálpr hadn’t been too concerned about the oncoming battles.