Vognar several months earlier…Part 1

Vognar several months earlier…

The rough frigid waters of Steaming Sea with its rocky shoals rocked the long ship filled with fifty men led by, Ingimundr the Unruly, the current ruler of Bildt, a fierce warrior who advocates returning his people to the ancient Ulfen practice of reaving the southern lands. Not supported in this by the other leaders of his lands, and the Norns and the Fates advise against it, but many Ulfen warriors, like Vognar, who are eager for the spoils of the South and the conquest of the lands lost long ago to the Witch Queen have flocked to his banner.

Sitting near the tiller where Ingimundr navigated, Vognar concentrated on keeping his breakfast down. The other fifty warriors slept or talked covered in fur cloaks to shield them from the torrential rains. He had been on boats before but not this far out to sea and not in such turbid waters. No land had been sited in some days and the young warrior wondered how his island-bred kin knew how to navigate, on waters that churned green black, darkened stormy skies, with no stars to guide them.

Not to mention stories he had heard of sirens, sea serpents, linnorms, and other dark creatures that would love to claim fifty Ulfen warriors and their horses and draw them into the frozen black depths below. “Shouldn’t we stay closer to land m’lord Ingimundr” Vognar dared to question.

Laughter erupted from deep in the war leaders chest, even above the deafening storm, a hearty guffaw at the young Vognar, who was barely nineteen winters, who showed uncertainty, “No boy, its more dangerous for us to be closer to land. Rocks and other creatures stay closer to them waiting for us to fall upon them. Out here we use the routes laid out by our kin, besides we do not want the dark gods of the depths to think we fear them.”

Ingimundr laughed a bit louder looking at the very pale green Vognar who fought the urge to wretch at the constant rocking of the long boat. “You look just like yer father the first time he and I took to sea on an venture like this.”

“He might have been a shade or two greener though”, he winked encouragingly with a chuckle to the young warrior.

“Do not fear young Vognar soon we will be north of Celwynvian and our prize in sight, rest while you can for the fight will be joined soon.”

Vognar resolved to keep his breakfast and tried to rest over the next few days of arduous sea travel.

The dangerous travel was worth it however, for the boat of Ulfen raiders passed thru the Mordant Spire safely to a bay just north of Mierani Forest (pronounced meer-AWN-ee), tall hills covered in trees. A mixture of huge deciduous and coniferous dark wood trees that stood as tall as ten long boats, that loomed like giants above the mist. Vognar remembered his fathers’ stories of Mierani forest, and its capital city of Celwynvian, was once an ancient home to the elves, now abandoned with lost treasures to be claimed by anyone brave enough. However the elves did not leave their forest completely abandoned, or unprotected, some elves remained, a small hold out of towns and villages like Crying Leaf, which they hoped to avoid at all costs.

Ingimundrs’ men readied armor and weapons while the archers on board loosed fiery arrows to judge distance to the shore. The grizzled salt and pepper bearded war leader stood at the bow, calling to Gorum, until land was spotted.

Making land fall quickly the ship was moored on the dark sandy shores of the bay, as soon as the main line of the boat was tethered to the rocks his men sprung into action. Horses where mounted and led from the boat to the shallow waters and up to the banks to graze, while other gear was unloaded last, and when final preparations were completed the raiding party assembled to venture into the immense foliage.


Far on the north side of the bay a single stalker watched the invaders from the safety of a tall tree, bow drawn and arrow notched, his chiseled lithe features hidden beneath a earth toned cloak, the dark eyes of the scout counted numbers, strengths and laughed to himself quietly.

“Fools you will perish here in our lands for your incursion, and beg for death before the end” the stalker finished his calculations and leapt from his tree perch landing in a roll, the scout was off and running like a shadow of the forest, before the leaves could rustle from his landing.