The winds were blowing fiercely through Paguin when the Captain had arrived with his two Vinnish prisoners. Thunder boomed as lightning flashed in the distance; the storm was moments away from bringing a downpour. The Captain and the King’s sellswords marched the raiders through town, but not to fanfare. Most townsmen were busy making sure to prepare their homes and stalls for the coming storm. The prisoners were marched to the King’s hall and brought into his court, where Lewyn had already been seated in wait. Both Vitharr and Torold were forced forward and onto their knees, despite their resistance.
“Well done, Captain. And the others?” Spoke the King, eyeing the two restrained Vinmen.
“It appears they took their ship and left these two behind, Lord. Wherever they are, they weren’t there to fight with these two.” Responded the Captain. Rising from his throne, King Lewyn folded his hands behind his back, giving both Vitharr and Torold an inspection.
“So much for the threat of the Vinmen raiders. Their leader brought low by simple sellswords.” The King mocked. Vitharr held a defiant expression, his confidence not once waning since his capture. Torold exchanged a look with Vitharr but both remained quiet as the King stepped toward the Captain. “As per our agreement, your pay is waiting for you at the entrance hall.” King Lewyn motioned toward the exit. “You may leave, but I would suggest you stay.” Turning back to the Vinmen, the King eyed Vitharr in particular. “You will not want to miss the spectacle of their execution. I expect the entire town to be in attendance.” Lewyn smiled knowingly.
Outside, the storm had completely engulfed the town. Terrible winds and torrents of rain blew across the buildings, with lightning surging directly overhead in the black-grey sky. With the help of more sellsword guards, Vitharr and Torold were ushered through the tempest wreathed town of Paguin to its western border. It was there that they came to a large wooden dome building, larger than even the King’s keep it seemed. Torches were alight all around its base, their flames whipping this way and that with the wind, though remained alight regardless. Captain Skrig and his sellswords pushed the heavy wooden doors of the building open. Forcing Vitharr and Torold inside, the group made their way across the hardwood floor and into a chamber located in the back.
They entered to the cries and shouts of an expectant crowd. They had come to be within some sort of arena, with the audience populating elevated wooden stands that surrounded a circular pit. There was a mix of cheering and jeering from the onlooking townsfolk as the two raiders were brought to the edge of the pit. These folk rarely were able to partake in the entertainment that the fighting pit could provide, and with the storm outside hitting its peak intensity, they were able to find both shelter and a means to pass the time. The King had gone toward the opposite side of where the group had entered, where a similar brass throne to the one in the keep was situated.
As the King stood before his throne, Vitharr and Torold had their rope binds cut free before being shoved over the ledge and into the pit. They both hit the dirt floor with grunts and thuds, but luckily they did not break anything. “Today marks the first time in several years we have gathered here!” Announced the King to the cheering rabble in the stands. “An occasion brought about by the murderous and savage Vinmen before you!” The sound of jeering filled the pit. “This Vinman, Vitharr Halldorsson, not only insulted me with his beheading of my men, but also you by bringing fear and disruption to our peaceful home! As such, for his trespasses, I sentence these Vinmen to death!” From up above, Captain Skrig and his sellswords threw down the armaments that Vitharr and Torold held before their capture. They both took up their shields and weapons, exchanging a look.
“What is this, Vitharr? What sort of death does this King mean?” Questioned Torold as the sound of the crowd filled the building. Vitharr gave a glance at their surroundings once Torold posed his question. The walls of the circular pit were wooden, or perhaps simply covered by wood, with no way back up to the surface. However, at the northern and southern ends of the pit appeared to be sections of a wooden gate. Just as soon as he spied them, both doors began to creak as they were pulled upward and opened.
“Whatever sort of death comes, Torold, we fight it together. Move to the center, quickly!”
The two young Vinmen hurried toward the center of the pit, standing at each other’s backs, both facing one of the opening wooden gates. When the passages were fully revealed, they could only see darkness. “There is a sound. Can you hear it, Vitharr?” Asked Torold, his shield up and protecting his front. The raid leader was about to deny perceiving a thing, only to hear echoing bestial screeches from the depths of the hallways. There came a rumbling, at first quiet and barely noticeable, but before long causing the ground at the Vinmen’s feet to shake. “Agh!” A creature leaped out from the darkness at the surprised Torold. The young Vinmen hadn’t the slightest clue what the creatures they saw were, but Torold shouted, “Dragonkin!?”
The body of the creature was thickly scaled and almost leathery in appearance. Its mouth widened to a size easily able to grip Torold’s entire head should it try to, revealing its teeth to be like small razor sharp spikes. It had four limbs, four claws, but raced across the ground on two large feet, with one claw on either foot appearing like a curved hook. This creature was no dragonkin, but a monster born from the wild southern jungles of Meridiem. What Torold now tried to keep away with his shield could only have been a Meridiem raptor. Soon, several more poured into the pit from the hallways, roaring, screeching, and circling around the two Vinmen. The raptors had been starved of food, given little to appease their ravenous appetites, and today, in this feeding ground, they meant to consume Vinmen. “They are beasts! Just beasts!” Yelled Vitharr as one of the raptors charged at him with its mouth opened, only to receive a slash across the roof of its maw by the defending Vinman. With a yelp, the creature doubled back, but merely gave another of its pack a chance to claw and bite at Vitharr’s shield.
Torold could barely find the opportunity to retaliate, using his Vinnish shield to try and deflect and force back every attempted charge the monstrous lizards bore down on him with. The cheering of the crowd nearly drowned out the sound of the booming storm outside, something the two Vinmen had almost forgotten about as they faced the ravenous pack. As quickly as the raptors made their charges they also made their retreat, leaving neither Vinmen a chance to fell one. Vitharr recalled his earlier attack however, the landing of that strike could not have been a coincidence.
“Torold!” Shouted Vitharr to get the Vinman’s attention. “They will just flee our blades while we defend--ugh!”
Torold brought up his shield to block a swipe of a claw, bits of wood flying off its surface. “What do we do, then!?”
“We have no choice, we must risk an attack while one charges!” As they both continued to only defend, their shields continually were worn down, they did not have long before they were defenseless.
“I… I do not know if I can, Vitharr!”
“We can, and we must!” After saying this, Vitharr faced an incoming charge, but this time did not raise his shield. Abandoning his fear of the creature’s claws and teeth, he put all his strength into a forward thrust, and plunged his Vinnish sword into the raptor’s mouth and through the back of its neck. Yanking the blade out, the raptor’s heavy body lifelessly collapsed to the ground.
This was the way, thought Vitharr, for their shields would not last long with these continued assaults. Torold, however, was having trouble finding his courage, and kept his battered shield at his front, still unable to swing his axe. While the pack of raptors ran around them in a dizzying display, and while they continued their attempted strikes, Vitharr tried to let Torold hear and heed him. “Your mind is telling you all sorts of things, is it not?” Began Vitharr, his eyes still preoccupied with the raptors. “Your parents and grandparents who now dwell with the Grey are watching you, Torold! Did you not tell me they were warriors!?” Bellowed Vitharr as he viciously slashed off a charging raptor’s claws. “Do you wish them to see the common fisherman that you once were!?”
The fear-gripped Torold held against the raptors as he listened to Vitharr, shouting, “No!”
“Do you wish them to see a scared boy mewling for his mother!?” Vitharr’s voice echoed through the small pit.
“NO!” Torold shouted as a wooden chunk flew off the edge of his worn shield under the assault of the beasts.
“Then show them the blood of a warrior!”
With a battle cry, Torold forced himself free out of his own fears and brought his handaxe down onto the leathery skull of one of the starving raptors. The creature was not quite dead as it squealed and tried to slip away, only for Torold to bring more blows down against it. The two young Vinmen did their best to keep together and to fell the raptors, and before long there were none left alive. Their survival came at a cost however. Both had weathered the passing cuts and slashes of the creatures’ claws. Blood dripped from their fronts, some wounds more severe than others, but they had survived.
Torold dropped his ruined shield, it would serve no one in the state it was in, and clasped his free hand on Vitharr’s shoulder. “Thank you, Vitharr. I had nearly lost myself to fear.”
“You helped yourself, Torold. I merely reminded you of your courage. Keep it with you, and we may survive yet.”
The pair had come through the first trial with their lives, but the crowd continued to watch and jeer, and the King had yet to reveal their true end. With the raptors felled, it was now time for the execution to begin. Thud, thud. Both Vinmen turned toward the rumbling that was growing louder. This time, it came from only one hallway, and disturbingly the ground shook with far more intensity.
Before either Vinmen could have reacted, the creature came barrelling out of the passage with guttural roaring and grabbed hold of Torold. A cave troll, massive in size, its tough skin covered with patches of fungus and mud. The monstrous creature slammed the young Torold against the ground, then against the walls of the pit, then finally threw him across the arena, letting him roll and stop cold, his body broken and crushed. Torold’s life was snuffed out in an instant right before Vitharr’s eyes. The lumbering cave troll gave a thunderous cry and scratched at its large belly. The death of his companion, of his friend, of someone he had promised a life of riches and fame to, struck the raid leader hard. But it was not fear that filled his young heart, but a blinding rage. Not wholly due to Torold’s passing however; at the sight of the trollkin, something had welled up within the Vinman. Something primal and instinctual in nature. Despite his thoughts, which told him that before the might of this troll he was smaller, which told him he was weaker, which told him he would die just as quickly as Torold, despite it all his feet charged across the arena. With his sword and shield raised, he loosed a blood curdling battle cry as he abandoned all logic. With consecutive furious strikes, Vitharr cut across the troll’s forearms, hands, legs, whatever piece of the trollkin was in his way.
The cave troll loosed groans as it suddenly felt pain and its blood flew off this way and that under the Vinman’s strikes. For a moment it appeared as if Vitharr was beating the troll into submission. But it was merely a confused stupor at the painful sensations. The troll had enough and grabbed hold of Vitharr’s body just as it did Torold. It raised the Vinman up into the air and brought him close to its face. Close enough for Vitharr to plunge his sword into the creature’s eye. The cave troll loosed a booming yelp and dropped the Vinman in order to grip at its bleeding and lost eye. Vitharr fell to the ground with a heavy thud, and took a moment to return to his feet. While the cave troll whined at the pain it felt in its eye, the young Vinman raised his sword once again and charged with reckless abandon. The troll flailed its massive limbs, and though it was half blind was able to strike the Vinman with its clumsy swinging. Though Vitharr tried to block with his worn shield, it was utterly shattered into bits of wood and metal. The force of the blow tossed the young Vinman aside. The bones of his shield arm were broken, and he realized it only when he came to a rolling stop.
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The troll’s flailing ceased as it continued to moan at the pain it felt, but it was soon inevitable it would ignore the sensation and seek its revenge. Vitharr’s body, battered, bruised and broken, struggled to move but the Vinman found his second wind. He no longer had a shield, nor even a shield arm to operate one. With only his Vinnish sword, he returned to his feet. If he was to die, he would die on his feet and with sword in hand, a promise he would keep. The promise of a good death, and to join the Grey Ones, propelled the young warrior forward across the pit. The cave troll had seated itself as it held its eye but could see the approaching Vinman clearly with its other. Releasing its face, the half blind troll reached out to try and grab the Vinman when he came close enough. With a final cry, Vitharr jumped, causing the half blind creature to misjudge its reach as its clumsy meaty fingers gripped at the air and missed. With his sword above him, Vitharr plunged it downward into the troll’s other eye, sinking the blade deep into its skull.
It was over. The troll slumped against the wall of the pit, then slid down onto the dirt floor, throwing Vitharr off of its lifeless body. The crowd fell silent as they witnessed it. The silence was deafening, as the only thing to cut the quiet was the panting breaths of the Vinman in the pit below. The King stood, the shock plain on his royal visage. This was not the end he had envisioned for the raider, nor was it even a thing he could have imagined happening. His shock soon gave way to anger as he bellowed. “Archers! Where are my archers!? Shoot that man, now!”
But before any bowman could come forward to heed the order, there came another shout, this time from the entrance hall of the domed building. “Fire! There’s fire!” Confusion flew through the stands at the shout, and some vacated in order to see what exactly was happening. As one went to see, more accompanied in haste, as each man and woman had something to lose should a fire spread and engulf their homes and livelihoods. Outside the storm continued to swirl and rage overhead. Darkness had covered the entire town, and though barely anything could have been seen, the fire was a veritable beacon. In the center of the town, where the stone hall of the King once stood, they could see only a towering fire. Though the wind and the rain were strong, they seemed to do nothing to subdue the strength of the fire that was no doubt at risk of spreading.
Shouts of fire were soon accompanied by the screams of the townsfolk whose homes were just near the flame engulfed hall. “Where are you going!? I said shoot this man!” Yelled the King but was met by deaf ears as the gathered rabble tried to rush out into the town.
“Find something to carry water, hurry!” Came a shout from outside as the people and the sellswords vacated the dome building. While this was all happening, Vitharr had struggled his way over to Torold’s body. The warrior was indeed gone, but Vitharr had to see for himself. Lamenting, he sat down beside his fallen friend’s body.
The King above looked down at his captive, finding his composure. “Once they have dealt with the fire, you will be executed. We have dealt with lightning fires before.” Spoke the King, stepping closer to the edge of the pit. The sound of screams outside could be heard, though difficult to make out while within the building, between the roaring wind and the walls.
Vitharr rested his troll blooded sword against his lap, and raised his black haired head to meet the King’s eyes. “It is not the lightning that has come, Lord King. But vengeance.”
The screaming grew louder, closer, precipitated by the sound of clashing blades and the thudding of metal against flesh and bone. Before long, the doors of the dome building were forced open from the outside, allowing the wind and rain to rush in again. The booming thunder echoed throughout the fighting pit as figures moved inside from the darkness. Drenched with both the water of the rain and the tumultuous sea, the nine companions entered with blood dripping from all of their weapons.
“Who are- how could this be!?” The King quickly recognized Runa who had led the way, her handaxe soaked in blood. With the bellowing of the wind and the crashing of thunder, the sea soaked Vinmen appeared as if demons risen from the depths of the ocean. There was no explanation coming for the King as the nine companions spread out across the edge of the pit toward him and his throne. Vitharr’s plan had come to pass, his gamble a success but, in the Vinman’s mind, came at a great cost with the loss of Torold.
Ever since their arrival to these strange islands, Vitharr had observed the raging grey storm. He had witnessed its movements, and saw the strangeness of it. Something inside him had hinted at its nature, only becoming completely clear once Hallig returned with word that the storms were living. And so Vitharr’s plan came to be; if the King wished for him to be taken alive, then he will allow it. If the Captain and his men would sail before the storm would cross Paguin, then he would wait for their arrival. He would send his friends, his warband, away to avoid the slaughter they would face against an army, and bid them to wait. For once Vitharr was to face his own execution, and allow himself to die, he would have his companions use the storm to cover their invasion of the town. With the help of Guthred of the Havardr who acted as spy within the walls of Paguin, they would pillage everything, from the King’s hall to whatever they could lay claim to, and leave these tempest ridden islands with the riches they had won.
But his plan had ended differently than he had envisioned. He was not the one to die as he had sought, but Torold who gave his life by his side. His companions had taken the gold and silver, but did not leave as planned either, and had come to exact vengeance against the King. Vitharr perhaps should have been angry that they did not leave and instead came for him, but the bonds of the Companions lifted his spirits. They did not know where Vitharr and Torold would be, and as such did not expect to find a pit. While some of the companions attempted to find Vitharr a way up, Runa had taken the King captive. With the help of the large Vinman, Sveinn the Pup, holding Hallig up by his feet, the companions were able to reach down into the pit and pull Vitharr out.
Sveinn hugged his beaten and wounded friend, and the other gathered companions shared in the sadness of Torold’s passing. While they reunited, Runa brought the King before Vitharr and forced the monarch to his knees. Vitharr was helped to his feet, still hanging on to the Vinnish sword that dripped with the blood of the deceased troll. King Lewyn thought to call out for aid, but knew that with the storm outside no one would hear him, nor would they be torn from trying to douse the fires. Instead, he did what he was best at. “You… you have done well, Vitharr Halldorsson. I am impressed. You wished for one thousand pounds weight of silver and one hundred pounds weight of gold, I believe? I… I do think such an arrangement could be possible.” Vitharr stared down at the bargaining King, the disgust evident on his face did little to make apparent how much he wished to vomit at the sight of the disgrace before him. Runa forced the King’s brass colored crown off of his head and, without so much as a word, Vitharr swiftly freed King Lewyn’s skull from his body with a swing of his troll felling sword.
The deed was done, and the vengeance of the companions had come to an end. As the ten companions made their way out of the domed building and into the storm, they were met by the rushing, sloshing steps of Captain Skrig and the King’s sellswords. While Torold and Vitharr had contended with the trials of the fighting pit, the nine companions had killed any sellsword guard that had been in town, cutting a bloody path through the mud streets. It was now that the Captain realized the amount of dead which were in the town, and rushed to see to the King.
And see him he did. Vitharr Halldorsson raised the severed head of the King for all gathered to see, and tossed the skull into the mud at the Captain’s feet. The Captain stared, dumbfounded a moment, but did not back down. He gripped at his sword, ready to contend with these ten warriors, for they were still outnumbered.
However, a battle did not ensue. The sellswords each dropped their weapons into the mud, for the King was dead, and so was the promise of a reward the King had given. They held no love for the man, only love for his silver. Each warrior had no thoughts to risk their lives for a corpse, tyrant that he was. The companions stared at the Captain now, the ten figures shrouded in darkness as they each gripped tightly at their weapons. There was no choice for the Captain but to follow the examples of the sellswords. Dropping his weapon into the mud, he and the peasant sellswords all moved aside and out of the way of the Companions, allowing them each to pass through unharmed. For once the danger of the companions was gone, the peasants sought to try and perhaps steal the riches of the now deceased King.
Though they could not have known yet, there was no treasure left for them to take. Before the stone hall was set aflame from the inside by the invading companions, they had rid the building of all of its treasures and hoards of silver and gold. With the help of Guthred of the Havardr, this was done. Every piece of wealth that the late King Lewyn had owned was now in the possession of the Companions of Vitharr. As the storm overhead was passing on its course toward the east, the shores of Paguin were relatively calm. The ten companions boarded their treasure filled vessel and left the shores of the Storm Isles, bound now for home and hearth, for Stal Vindur.
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“Gífrbíta.” Suddenly spoke Dag the Skald. The companions were well on their way on their journey to Stal Vindur, sea stretching out in every direction.
“What is that for, Dag?” Asked Sveinn the Pup who was seated close by.
“Ah, it is the name I wish to give to Lord Vitharr’s sword. For killing a great troll, it should have a great name for all to know, once I spread our tale to the villages. The sword of Vitharr Halldorsson, Gífrbíta!” The Skald said enthusiastically. Vitharr listened but did not share his opinion, for Dag may do as he wished as long as he remained true to what happened.
Runa regarded Vitharr, seeing as he had been quiet for so long. “Vitharr, what is it you plan to do with your share of the plunder?” The Companions now all turned to look upon their raid leader, a question they were thankful Runa had asked for they were all suddenly very curious.
“What I planned to do since the beginning.” Began Vitharr. “There is some land just outside of the land owned by my father, Halldor the Furious. There is a hill, in a clearing surrounded by trees.”
“Where we used to play, you, me, Sveinn, and Young Halldor.” Commented Runa knowingly.
“It is land I will take.” Affirmed Vitharr. “There I will build the greatest mead hall any of us has seen. For my friends, my companions, to come and rest. To boast, to drink and to come together to plan.” There was a silence that came over the companions now, but a pleasant one. Each of them tried to picture what such a hall would look like, and each of them looked forward to sitting at the long table and sharing in the joy of won battles and raided plunder. “This great hall I will call Torhvild, a reward for our fallen companion that gave his life honorably.”
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The raiding venture that Vitharr Halldorsson had assembled these young warriors for was proven fruitful in the end. While their ship was full to brimming with riches, it was Vitharr who did not once forget of the runic chest left behind at the very beginning of their journey. They had retrieved it, the chest itself untouched for all the time they had been gone, and added it to their hoard of spoils. It was this unopenable runic chest that would soon come to decorate the great hall Torhvild, the hall and home of the young warband, the Companions of Vitharr. Word spread across the scattered villages and homes nearby to this hall. Skalds learned and shared the recent tales of the Companions, brought about by the work of the budding Dag. These tales attracted the young and bold, hearts ignited by the story of a group of young warriors their same age or younger, those who wished to see if they could find in themselves the same potential the Companions had shown.
These aspiring warriors would come from all around, all hoping to hear of the boasting and the stories the now battle-scarred warriors of the Companions could share in person, and most of all to meet the one that began it all, Vitharr Halldorsson, the Lord of Torhvild Hall.