From the cold north, from the shores of the harsh lands of Stal Vindur, an ambitious group of young men and women set out with a simple goal of finding their fortunes. Some were strangers, others long friends, but all shared in the dream of finding their wealth, and taking it should there be a chance to. These companions, numbering only a meager eleven warriors, had all flocked to the call of one in particular; Vitharr Halldorsson had little of his own, save for the unbridled ambition beating in his young heart. Of only nineteen years, a boy by any other man's account, his childhood friends were the first to join with him. Beginning as only four young ones and expanding to eleven, as more unblooded warriors heard of the budding expedition and sought to test themselves out in the world, the Companions of Vitharr stole into the night on a single ship and set out to sea. There was the shield-maiden and lumberjack Brynhild, the twins Alger and Gifre, the handsome Hallig, the hunter Guthred, the orphaned Torold, and the learning skald Dag. Many to know of, but not all were bound for fame at once, as the Grey would unfold their fates in time. This saga of the Companions begins with Vitharr and his close friends, the wild woman Runa, the giant man Sveinn, and Vitharr’s older but sickly brother Young Halldor. Each Companion, aside the frail Halldor, wore the common war dress of a Vinnish warrior: chainmail shirts worn above their cloth undershirts, and below leather chest pieces, and they carried with them sword, axe, and shield. Upon the back of a boat once belonging to Vitharr's father, Halldor the Furious, the companions headed east into the great expanse of sea. Though the companions were without a formal leader, it was Vitharr, the architect of their raiding expedition, that the others looked to, for better or ill, and beside him the three that had first joined, all of who were without fame or riches.

“Vitharr! Land it is, I think, over there?" A musclebound vinman hollered while leaning off the side of their ship. It was Sveinn, a bald headed and golden brown bearded man twice the size of any present, but less than half the wit of most. His enthusiasm in seeing the horizon had rocked the ship, to the disturbance of Halldor the Younger who had been lying just near.

“Answer him so he might stop stomping his feet so near to my skull." The frail Halldor urged his brother Vitharr with a grumpy growl.

At the head of the ship sat Vitharr Halldorsson who turned to spy what had set Sveinn off. “What you think is right, land it is. A place of wealth and plenty I hear."

The comment roused the attention of the other companions just as Sveinn shouted once more, “Then we are here!"

Halldor the Younger was getting rather annoyed with the shouting at this point.

Vitharr smiled and answered, “If we wished to die, yes we could land."

Rising from his position at the front of the ship, Vitharr walked over to Sveinn and clasped his hand on his towering friend's shoulder. "Before us is a land that would swallow us whole and spit out only our bones. No, where we go now is south and further south still." Giving Sveinn a few reassuring taps on his shoulder, Vitharr turned away to help Halldor up and to a new position on the ship, as his leg had been lamed many a year ago and left moving to be a difficult task.

Sveinn stared dumbly at the horizon before nodding his bald head. "Ohh. Okay Vitharr." The large vinman said.

As Halldor the Younger was set down, he scoffed at Sveinn's vacant answer. “You will ever be 'Sveinn the Pup' won't you. A man of the mind would have asked why it is how my brother says."

“There is no need for him to do so, because I am here." Said the red haired Runa from the ship's bow, having watched her friends in silence until now. She pushed her thickly braided and bound hair aside, revealing her kohl darkened eyes.

“Your teasing will one day see you even more broken, Halldor." The woman scolded, to the sickly Vinman's embarrassment.

“I will not be lectured to by a slave."

To which Runa canted her head with a smug smile, for she was a slave no longer, thanks to Vitharr who had now returned to sitting at the head of the ship. “Why is it as you say, what is this land, Vitharr?" She questioned.

“It is the land that broke Halldor the Furious, and that the Odeking Fafnir sailed to. Where the Vallanders sit in wait, Valikorlia." Said Vitharr while picking his teeth.

Aboard the lone ship were only young warriors, those from Stal Vindur who had little knowledge of Valikorlia save for the tragic, and often weird tales some of their fathers and mothers returned with. The crew now looked upon the landmass on the horizon with superstition and worry, something Vitharr's eye had caught. “Keep focused companions, our aim is the south sea, where there are islands ripe for plunder!" Vitharr shouted, and was met with the boisterous and unified shouts of the other warriors. Runa joined the cries as both Vitharr and Sveinn shared an enthused bout of laughter, with Halldor the Younger laying silently with only a smile.

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“Face inked with the image of a dragon headed serpent, unbound hair of black death, the fierceness of his look stole away the companions’ breath!” Spoke a lad, his arm waving this way and that until Runa spoke up with mild annoyance.

“Why are you doing that?” She asked while idly sharpening her axehead.

“Oh! I am seeking the right words to describe Vitharr.” The lad answered, his small blonde bearded face pensive, still tinkering with words in his head.

Again Runa questioned, “Yes but why are you doing that?”

The lad was shaken from his concentration, to his disappointment. “As skald, who else will tell the tale of us companions?”

An amused scoff came from Vitharr at the head of the ship. “You make me sound fearsome, Dag! Am I such a fear to you?”

The aspiring skald Dag seemed surprised. “To me, Lord, it is true you are a fear. I say only what I see, as any true skald should!”

Young Halldor grumbled now, followed by a brief moment of coughing. “It wasn’t fear that bound us, nor fear that keeps us.”

Vitharr turned aside his gaze to the horizon, and a beach they were passing. “I told you not to call me Lord, not until I have land to call my own. Until then it is a lie.” Said Vitharr matter-of-factly.

“Ah, but Lord I speak of the future. Land will be yours, I know it.” Dag said, quite sure of himself.

“You deal in fortunes now, Skald.” Spoke Runa and she shared a laugh with a few of the other warriors aboard.

“I deal in truths. I see the path ahead clear as day, for are we not all here for the promise of riches?” Dag spoke somewhat sheepishly.

“I am here to keep my fool brother out of trouble.” Answered Young Halldor before looking up at Vitharr, who seemed to stare at the horizon with purpose in his eyes. “Trouble it seems he may be finding now.”

It was as Young Halldor said. Vitharr pointed toward the beach head they were just passing. “We will land here, bring us about.” Declared Vitharr with a widening smile, fingers dancing upon the pommel of the sword hanging at his side.

“Did you not say this land would be our death?” Questioned Runa, a thought the other warriors no doubt shared. All except Sveinn who was always eager to follow.

“Do you not feel it? There is a calling in my bones. I spied people fleeing the beach!” Said Vitharr happily as he pulled his sword free from its scabbard. “We find the village and take its valuables, then leave these shores just as quick. Are you with me my friends?” A resounding battle cry was shared amongst the companions in response.

Sveinn beat his fists against the ship’s side as if it were a drum. “To battle, Vitharr, to battle, to battle!” The Vinnish giant said in rhythm with his drumming.

Before long the ship was beached and every warrior rose to disembark. Even Young Halldor, lamed and sickly as he was, took hold of his wooden walking stick and left the ship, intent on accompanying the others inland despite being unable to fight himself.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

“Tell me, Halldor, tell me what the Grey Ones counsel?” Asked Vitharr while the other men prepared themselves.

“The signs are good. The sea calmed itself for our approach, I am sure of it, and in the skies I witnessed a crow circling the trees. We would be fools not to heed it.” Advised Young Halldor, balancing his weight with his walking stick.

“Then we fight.” Vitharr uttered simply. By Vitharr Halldorsson’s side marched Sveinn, Runa, and Young Halldor, with the other companions trailing behind, all of them armed with either axe, sword, shield, or bow. They journeyed across the beach and into a forested area ahead, and before long saw signs of people. Through the trees they could see a village, unwalled. Huts and houses of mud, dirt and stone, but barely anyone in sight. Panicked villagers rushed about the place as the coming of strange armed warriors was spread the moment word returned that the ship had beached. The frightened people found their homes and shut their doors as the companions made their way toward the village outskirts.

There was no longer a need for words as Vitharr Halldorsson beat his sword against his shield, and the companions poured into the town. Doors were bashed open. Those village men and women that tried to fight were slain without a moment’s thought, and some who cowered and begged were laid low just as quickly by an over eager companion, though the companions took care not to kill those who surrendered. Most were forced into submission as the companions demanded their hidden silver, gold, and treasures which some were able to relinquish though the amount was no doubt meager at best. Screams born of fear filled the air as Vitharr’s companions sought their riches, though the viking himself had yet to partake. Neither did Sveinn who rarely left Vitharr’s side by choice, not even to seek out his own wealth. It was not the treasure of the poor villagers that had caught this viking’s attention; it was the largest building of them all that drew Vitharr’s interest. While Runa was with the other companions taking what wealth she could, Vitharr, Sveinn and Young Halldor made their way to what appeared to be a great hall.

They were met with sturdy wooden doors, shut tight and no doubt barred from the other side. An obstacle, but not one they could not overcome with the help of the oversized brute that was Sveinn the Pup.

“Take up your great axe, Sveinn. I have need of firewood.” Said Vitharr as he lightly tapped the wooden door with his sword's pommel, giving the door a few knocks for the people inside to hear. With a boisterous laugh, Sveinn did as asked and raised his two handed axe above his head.

“One!” The great brute shouted as he brought the axe down against the wood, biting into it with a snap.

“I say it will be three.” Wagered Vitharr as he and his brother watched Sveinn pummel the door.

“If you say three, then I must say four.” Young Halldor responded right before Sveinn reared back and swung his axe again.

“Two!” Shouted Sveinn as bits then chunks of wood flew off from the door.

“Have the Grey Ones given a sign? That is cheating.” Vitharr questioned, both amused and wary of his brother’s prediction.

“I am simply wise.” Young Halldor found no amusement in the thought of abusing the Grey’s counsel. Freeing the axe from the door, the mighty Sveinn pulled back into another swing and chopped into the wood one more time.

“Three!” The wooden doors split apart and burst, scattering splinters and wood around the threshold as the doors were forced open.

The wager was set aside as Vitharr took the lead and stepped into the great hall. Inside there were warriors ready to meet them. These villagers carried sword and shield though were lacking in armor. With a battle cry, Vitharr charged against the first two, crashing into one of the men with his shield and bashing him to the floor. Sveinn howled like a madman as he saw Vitharr take to battle. With his greataxe in hand, the vinman brute slammed the axehead against an approaching warrior’s shield, cracking the shield apart with just the first swing and sending the man off his feet from the force. Vitharr blocked and swiftly avoided the desperate swings of the warrior that remained standing, and with a keen eye found the chance to send his blade low and slice across the warrior’s unguarded leg. The warrior fell to his knees in shock, and before he could find his senses Vitharr bashed his head with the vinnish shield. Now only remained the two warriors that Vitharr and Sveinn managed to force to the ground. Sveinn raised his greataxe over the pleading warrior whose shield he had broken, and brought it down with such force as to cut through the warrior and into the wooden floor below. The last remaining warrior had tried to return to his feet, and would have succeeded were it not for the shot of an arrow flying in from outside and piercing him in his throat. Amidst the gurgling of the dying warrior, Vitharr turned back to see that it was one of his companions that took the shot, accompanied by the axe wielding Runa.

“These villagers were nearly bare, some silver but only some.” Runa shared as she and her bow wielding companion entered the great hall.

“Did they die well?” She asked of Vitharr while looking down at the dead warriors.

“They did. They are with their gods now.” Vitharr said before he turned his focus away. He now gave the great hall a better look. It was spacious, with a single seat just ahead no doubt for the Lord of this land. As Vitharr ventured closer, he heard the creaking of wood behind the seat. The viking’s approach slowed but did not halt, and without hesitation he peered around behind the great chair to find an old man, crouched and in hiding, not yet having noticed the peering viking’s presence or approach. Vitharr saw no choice but to claim the man’s attention, and smacked the side of his blade against the wooden throne with an added shout. The old man came tumbling out from behind the chair in shock, in full view of the companions who were now gathering in the hall and sharing in a chorus of laughter at the sight.

“I find it rude you did not greet us.” Spoke Vitharr as he rounded the chair, keeping some distance between he and the elder in order to give the old man some comfort.

“I-I-I am Lord Arik, who dares bring harm to m-my land?!” The Lord said defiantly, from his position on the floor. The companions drew somewhat closer now to Vitharr and filled the hall.

“You have found your voice, this is good. Know me as Vitharr Halldorsson. I have need of your treasure, so you will tell me where it is, Lord.” The viking sheathed his sword. The old man shook his gray haired head.

“T-Treasure? We are a poor village with no treasure, you are mistaken!”

Runa called out to Vitharr, “Kill him, he has nothing. He is but a wretch of a Lord.” She said insistently.

Inhaling a large breath, it seemed like Vitharr was considering her advice. He crouched down before the old Lord and met his eyes. “We have taken what you have. Your food, your silver, your gold, and some of your heads. And we can take more, Lord. Burning your homes, taking more heads, it is easy for us. Or… we may just leave and do nothing else.” The old Lord was without a guard, his people were terrified and in mourning, and he wished not to die what he thought to be a fool’s death.

“... I will... give you what you seek, then you will leave this place. Will you swear it?” The Lord saw no choice but to concede.

“I give my word as a warrior. This I swear to you.” Said Vitharr after a chuckle.

The Lord Arik, defeated, raised a bony index finger toward his throne. “It is beneath…”

Keen to see what had drawn him to this unremarkable village, Vitharr turned his attention to his companions. “Hallig, Torold. Please be our throne-breakers.” The two companions that were called came forward, both with axes in hand, and began to tear away at the wooden floor around the throne. It did not take long for the two warriors to open the ground to reveal a hidden space. Their eyes widened to saucers as they discovered a most peculiar find. It was a large gilded chest, inscribed with what appeared to be runes in the gold gilding. Vitharr was himself fixated on the chest as the two companions hauled it out of the floor. The companions rejoiced at the find, for there was little doubt in their minds that the beautifully crafted chest held inside it a trove of gold, silver, and jewels. But for Vitharr, it remained a complete mystery, a mystery that was utterly tantalizing. Immediately he approached the chest, running his hand across it, and before long, attempting to open it. However, it would not open. No matter how much strength he applied, the chest lid was stuck fast, as it seemed a key was required.

“Before you ask what I know you will ask, the chest cannot be opened. We have no key here that can do so. Indeed, this chest has been here since before my father’s time as Lord.” The old man Arik said, now rising to his feet. The move was met with suspicion from the other companions. The bow wielder nocked an arrow, which caused the Lord Arik to raise his hands to show he was no threat. “I-I know not where it comes from either. I have no answers, save that you may take it in peace. Please, go in peace, Vitharr Halldorsson.” The viking had been listening to the Lord, though his concentration remained ever fixed on the gilded chest.

So preoccupied with his thoughts was he that Runa spoke to bring him back to his senses. “Vitharr?” She said with concern.

The strange feeling that had drawn Vitharr’s attention was this chest, and likely whatever was inside. He ached to know what it was, but at that moment there was nothing to be done about it. “I have given my word. We return to the sea.” The viking said as he rose to his feet. “With our newfound riches!” Vitharr shouted as he turned to his companions, whom all shared in a triumphant cry of shouting and laughter. “Sveinn, use your mighty strength and carry the chest to the ship.” The viking said to his friend before starting toward the door.

Vitharr and the companions did as was promised and left the village with no further bloodshed or destruction. Though they did not return to the ship as announced. Finding a spot in the forest, the companions began to dig, and deeply. Young Halldor approached his brother, his eyes as fixated on the chest as Vitharr was. “What have the Grey Ones to say of this?” Questioned Vitharr while still pondering the nature of the chest.

“This chest is something sacred, Vitharr. Something old, of impossible wealth. This was fate, I know it.” Young Halldor said, giving his brother even more desire to see it opened.

“Why are we to leave it, Lord? Should we not bring it with us?” Asked Dag the Skald, no doubt planning to record this moment.

“On our ship, such a treasure will be vulnerable. Our aim does not change, we go to the south sea. When it is time for Stal Vindur, we will return here for the chest, and not before.” Said Vitharr while contemplating this choice of his. Should another find it while he was gone, he knew himself well enough to know it would drive him mad to have let slip such a mystery. His aim now was to gain the favor of the Grey through the coming raids and glories he shall seek out, so that they may keep this treasure hidden away for him and only his companions to find once again.

The companions now returned to the sea, this fruitful distraction put behind them as their thoughts turned once again to the promise of plunder in the south sea. But for Vitharr Halldorsson, his thoughts remained plagued by the unopenable runic box and the mysteries that lay within it.