>>6144216>>6143958The great hall fell silent as Erlund the Warchief rose to his feet. His presence was commanding, his shadow stretching long across the banners of Skadvar that hung above. The warriors leaned forward in anticipation, their faces eager yet tense under the flickering firelight. Skadvar herself, seated on the upper balcony with a circle of matriarchs, sipped calmly from a goblet of blue beer, her eyes gleaming with curiosity as she watched her husband prepare to speak.
Erlund’s voice was deep and steady, like the rhythm of the sea against the rocks. "Eryndor," he began, letting the name hang in the air. "A city of pale, point-eared folk who dwell beneath the glow of strange beasts and moonlight. Their light lasts for years, guiding ships and inspiring awe in all who see it. Their women are beautiful, their crafts exotic, and their wealth is like none other on these shores."
The room buzzed with murmurs of agreement. Erlund slammed his fist onto the oak table, silencing them. "But they are not without their bite. Their bows are swift and deadly, and they know their land better than we ever will. This will not be a raid for the faint-hearted. It will take skill, cunning, and a willingness to face death. Will you follow me?"
A silence lingered, then erupted into cheers. "Aye! To Eryndor!" shouted Sven, his scarred face alight with anticipation. "Let us take their glowing pelts and burn their towers!"
Olaf laughed, his broad shoulders shaking. "The pointy-eared men shoot arrows like angry wasps, but they shatter like glass in our grip. Their women will weep for mercy when we come ashore!"
Bjorn, the younger warrior, stood with a somber expression. "If we go, Warchief, we must plan carefully. Their archers will bleed us dry before we reach their gates if we aren’t prepared."
Erlund nodded approvingly. "Wise words, Bjorn. We’ll strike at dawn when the sun blinds their watchmen. We’ll split into three waves—one to draw their fire, one to scale the cliffs, and one to storm their docks. We take what we need swiftly, then retreat before their forest tricks can trap us. Sven, you’ll lead the diversion. Olaf, ready the scaling ropes."
A roar of approval filled the hall, and the plan was set. The warriors left to prepare their ships, while Erlund climbed the stone stairs to the balcony where Skadvar waited.
She smiled knowingly. "You’ve chosen a bold target, husband. The matriarchs will either praise your courage or curse your recklessness."
Erlund grinned, his hand brushing the hilt of his sword. "If we return with their glowing pelts and treasure, they will have no complaints."
