“En Frithijaeren vit grosete arme, Rurikr, grosetekonungun vit mundungeldr aden faeriki carlar af hein huse, markt jagenpaeke aden sudrvallej varet djup.” ~Voluskarsaga

“In the year of fire, with great strength, Rurikr, the great king with the wealth of the world and the fiercest housecarls, made his mountains and the south valleys his own.”

~

“No more patrols.”

That was the main sign that they had. The beleaguered and disheartened men, fighting for an Empire who no longer supported them, had long since settled down, the last death throes that had kept the Ynglingr from raiding out from their mountain homes. 

And Rurikr was just the man to take advantage of it. Few men lived to the south of the Stonian Mountains, and few men could withstand the might of their axes and shields, let alone the viciousness with which they would strike.

This was the first time in a long while that the Ynglingr were actively united under one man. Normally a squabbling, loosely-bound group of clans that hardly cared for outsiders, they now seized upon their chance, following the charismatic, hearty, and most importantly, powerful Rurikr in search of plunder. And to the south was the first step.

From the mountains they came in the dead of night, the only sign that they were coming a faint, droning horn off in the distance. A small village with a church, simple people living simple lives, this was to be their conquest. The horn made some of them wake up. They were the unfortunate ones. The Ynglingr stormed into the town as if they were a snowstorm from the peaks, pillaging, looting, and burning. The Katholic church that had been constructed meticulously, one of the few things in the area built of stone, had been torn down, ripped stone from stone, and the relics and whatever of value seized and taken as tribute.

~

On a different note, a cruder, less refined version of the ships that the Draki built rowed its way into Starharbour, a few men of rather savage and unrefined bent onboard. They obviously weren’t there for a fight, considering their ship wasn’t armed specifically for war, but it was doubtful that they were pushovers, considering how hardy and powerful they looked.

Two of the men hauled ashore a large amount of pelts, of various animals most commonly found at colder climes. Some were even of the purest white, a rare find indeed. They set their makeshift stall up where they could, bellowing out to the traders and merchants, “Thufa, furet geldr!”, holding up the furs and waving them around to attract buyers.