Alright, new post is up. I am really happy with what we've got going and I think everyone here is adult enough to be trusted in moving the story forward in their own posts.
Whoever posts next, please feel free to take us right into Lynn. It's at the mouth of the river leading into the North Sea. Once we're there, I'll give it some time for everyone to post and I'll put up another one, or Saix will, by the end of next week.
Keep up the great work and we appreciate those of you who stuck around for what is obviously going to be a slow-burn RP.
The mood in the longships was nothing short of fury mixed with black humour. Danes were not used to retreating, even less so to defeat. Call Thetford what you wanted, a victory one day, certainly a defeat the next and no one was happy about it. Of the seventeen longships that had been on the beach, three had burned, another had eventually sank, and only one Saxon ship had been captured to replace them. The dead seemed likely to number more than sixty and no single oarbank was full as the Danes rode the current northward.
"Well that was shite," Lise was muttering as she cleaned mud and blood from literally every article of clothing and gear she owned by scooping up river water and scrubbing with a handful of straw. "Pure shite."
"Aye, that's a fine way to put it." Her sister agreed, her own equipment immaculate save for the blood that sheeted her axe from blade to rope knotted handle. "A shame we could not stay to kill more of them, though I don't think I am destined for a heroic death on some nameless Saxon riverbank."
Kjartan, pulling strongly at one of the nearest oars, eyed the two with interest. They were identical in every-way save for a small scar on Lises right cheek. Whip thin with long black hair, green eyes, and almost fairy like looks, they were often underestimated by their enemies or mistaken for children. They had joined the crew a year before, rescued from a Frankish slaver, and been valuable members of the crew ever since. He had been present when they took their blood oath to never be taken alive by anyone again. There no doubt among those who had been present that they meant what they said as their bloodied palms joined over their offering to Freya.
"We got careless," Jaska, across the vessel from Kjartan and pulling his own oar, chimed in. Nothing ever seemed to worry the Finn, nothing. It was disconcerting at times and Kjartan had teased him about it on occasion. Jaska would always just shrug his shoulders and smile. "Over confident."
"That does seem to be a problem with men..." Lise muttered as she scrubbed at a particularly stubborn patch of mud that had stained the grip of her short-sax. "Always got more confidence in their skills than they ought too."
Jaska laughed. "And yet even you two got caught napping, what's your excuse there, eh?"
"All these beards are rubbing off on us. We were as dozy as you lot." Sisse replied. She and her sister could volley a conversation back and forth between them in a way that left most folk confused. Jaska was the only one who was apparently impervious to their games.
"Right, bearded.."
"Snoring."
"Likely as not playing with your cocks."
"When you should have been keeping watch."
"I won't even ask you what you were playing with." He interrupted them mid-flow and tossed an amused smile at them. There had long been a rumour among the army that the sisters were lovers but Kjartan did not think there was any truth to it. Their stories of being enslaved were chilling to hear and he was certain any experience like that would forge a bond he could not understand.
"My cock, obviously." Lise replied with a sly grin.
The small exchange, though in truth not hilarious, brought out a few more grins among the crew. Going a Viking meant learning to survive setbacks when required; failure to do so would only lead to taking risks that would get you killed and they were short crewed enough as it was.
Kjartan looked around the boat, noting those who had made it, and those who had not. Åse was hunched at the rear, squatting next to the steering oar as she guided the longship down the river. They were picking up speed and she gave a quick command to cease rowing. The river would take them the rest of the way to the sea. It wouldn't be a fast trip, but it would give them time to lick their wounds and not limp into Lynn like whipped dogs.
There they could resupply, re-arm, and discover which of their crew wished to continue the journey.
Forty men rode in two columns and they wound their way up the steep mountain roadway that served as the main route through the Gisoreux Gap. The air was crisp and cold, a fine spring morning, and the breath of men and horses showed white against the newly rising sun. The warmth was welcome, these mountains tended to hold the chill as long as they could but here at least they received the new rays early in the day.
Snow crunched beneath hooves and leather creaked loudly in protest at the cold air. Hands continually reached for blades, tugging slightly on the blades to ensure they did not stick in the scabbard at a critical moment. The wooden hilts were at least a welcome warmth to cold fingers, no matter how little true warmth they produced.
A yeoman scout, his kettle helm hanging from the saddle horn, appeared ahead of them and waved upward. The Duke himself, riding at the head of the column, waved in reply and kicked his mount up the last few yards to the top. He was not riding his great war destrier, instead he was mounted on a fine looking quarter horse that served him far more in this treacherous terrain than any well trained warhorse could ever hope to do.
The crest of the pass was a barren hundred yards of stone, not a single one left was big enough for even a goblin to hide behind. Guarding the pass, equal distance from the mountains, loomed the imposing bulk of Château de Vaux-le-Vicomte, the fortress from which the trade road was patrolled and Bretonnias enemies kept at bay.
"My lord, the garrison wishes to know if you will be attending the castle today?" The scout, his head covered by a fur hat, rode up, bowing his head slightly.
Thommas would have loved nothing more than to enter into the warmth of the castle but that was not his goal here today. The time would come, on the way back, and he shook his head regretfully. The fortress was not a large one by most standards but its location on a rocky pinnacle in the middle of the valley made it virtually impenetrable. Even Skaven, more numerous in recent years, would find it nearly impossible to infiltrate thanks to bleedings given by The Lady.
He glanced up toward the tall conical turrets from which his banner snapped in the wind. His critical eye could find nothing out of the ordinary with the fortress and he smiled inwardly. He has chosen the commander well.
"Not right away, Marshall. On our return trip I am sure we would all be grateful of a hot fire and some food." Grins showed among the column of horsemen. Only a half dozen were knights, another half dozen were men-at-arms while the rest were yeomen. Taking them from their homes and into the savage peaks of the Grey Mountains required some sort of perks and he often found that a simple meal and wine they did not have to pay for went a long way.
"Right, onward and upward then, m'lord?" The scout asked, pulling off his hat now and strapping the kettle helmet into place. They would be leaving the main roads at once for more hostile terrain and it did well to be prepared.
"Aye, onward and upward. Arm up!" The last two words were said loud enough for the whole column to hear and men shrugged out of their more comfortable clothing, replacing it with proper fighting gear. "All eyes!"
The words carried down the line as the horsemen began to move westward into the Grey Mountains.
Held territory: The Duchy of Gisoreux is divided into four geographical areas. The first, the Plains of Gisoreux, is actually mostly pastoral country and very hilly. This area includes the city of Gisoreux itself and lies between the River Grismerie, the Forest of Arden, the Pale Sisters, and the Grey Mountains. Just over half of the population of the duchy lives in this small area. The second area is North Gisoreux. This land, between the River Sannez and the Pale Sisters, is also mostly pastoral but has substantial arable portions along the course of the Sannez. The land here used to be part of the Forest of Arden but was cleared, over the course of a thousand years, by the family of the current ruler, Duke Thommas de Saulx. The process continues in the southwest of the region. North Gisoreux is home to about a quarter of the population.
The third region is the Forest of Arden. The areas south and east of the river are relatively civilized. The roads between the villages are patrolled by the local nobility or at least by their men-at-arms, and travel on the roads is no more dangerous than travel on most other roads of the Old World. The villages do have stockades but, in a good year, suffer no attacks. On the other hand, no one leaves the cleared areas of forest without a really good reason, and those who do rarely come back.
North of the river, where the forest runs up to the Pale Sisters, things are very different. No village founded here has ever survived more than a year. Recently, Bretonnian lords have even given up trying. The human inhabitants are all nomadic, and there are no roads larger than a trail. The trees in this region are particularly old, large, and fine, which prompts nobles to send occasional logging forays. These sometimes succeed in bringing out a tree or two; more often, the loggers simply vanish.
The final region of the duchy is covered by mountains, split between the Pale Sisters in the west and the Grey Mountains in the east. The two ranges are very distinct. The Pale Sisters are of white rock and tend to rounded peaks, steep cliffs, and lots of high valleys. Access to the valleys is limited, however, and often involves climbing a cliff. The Grey Mountains are of dark grey stone and are characterized by very sharp terrain. Their peaks and ridges are narrow, as are the are their many passes. As a result, more people live in the Pale Sisters than in the Grey Mountains.
Ruler: Thommas de Saulx is the current Duke of Gisoreux and one of the most polarizing figures in Bretonnia. Born to a Noble father but a milkmaid mother, he was sent away to squire for a Knight Errant in the campaigns against the Tomb Kings. It was there, in the empty wastes and twisted lands of the Undead Pharaohs, that he would become a legend.
Massively strong with long blonde hair, a beard to match, and savage blue eyes, he is a handsome man who would turn any head. A vicious scar cuts across his face from left eyebrow to right cheek, a reminder of a close brush with a Necrosphinx.
He earned his golden spurs in battle and was knighted by the Lady of the Lake herself the day he returned to the shores of Bretonnia. Never has forgotten the savage treatment he suffered as a squire at the hands of those above him and he swore to the Lady he would protect the weak as much as the strong. In an effort to relocate this troublesome Knight, the leadership of Bretonnia sent him to the Pale Sisters in the hopes he might be slain by some wandering monsters.
The young Knight Errant was quick to disappoint his detractors and won renown as a master-of-arms and leader of the common man. His secret marriage to the daughter of duchys ruler, Earl Baldhelm of Harran, thrust him into forefront when the Earl and his only son were killed in a beastmen raid. Thommas avenged their deaths so ruthlessly that no one raised a public objection when he inherited the duchy, courtesy of his wifes birthright. The Lady herself dubbed him a Grail Knight on the day of his coronation and gave him a mighty Pegasus to ride.
The People and State of Gisoreux:
Just as the land of Gisoreux is divided, so are the people. The Plains of Gisoreux are the heart of the duchy, and these are the people most outsiders think of when they think of Gisoreux. Gisorens are friendly people; they greet even complete strangers politely, and many people offer casual acquaintances a meal. There are, however, strict limits to this generosity. After a single meal and one night’s accommodation, visitors are expected to earn any further friendliness by reciprocating. Clever and mobile rogues manage to sponge off the Gisorens' largesse for years, but far more are recognized and find themselves shunned.
These customs even extend to the more civilized parts of the Forest of Arden, but there, new arrivals are expected to begin their visit with a bath, in which they are supervised constantly by armed villagers. The bath is, of course, a courtesy, and the guards are for the guests' protection, and the fact that it is impossible to hide most mutations whilst naked is pure coincidence. Attractive female visitors may find many, many men are eager to protect them. Women pretending to be men find that people in this region are generally good at overlooking such things.
The nomads of the forest make a living as hunters and trappers and trade regularly with the villages bordering on their areas. Most of them make a trip to the city of Gisoreux at least once every few years, since they have occasional contact with the isolated villages of Artois and do not want to become like them. They also keep an eye on the Beastmen and other monsters and send runners to warn villages at risk of attack. As a result, they are accepted without prejudice by virtually all other Gisorens.
In the valleys of the Pale Sisters, the people cluster together in small communities. Given the labyrinthine quality of this region accompanied by terrible winters, few people have the means or the interest to leave their small stone homes. Few have little knowledge of others who dwell in and beyond these mountains. As a result of their isolation, each community has its own strange customs and habits, though the threat of Orcs and Chaos force all villages to concentrate on defence.
There are Human inhabitants of the Grey Mountains, but in Gisoreux this range is too rugged and plagued by monsters to support any real communities. Most of those who live here are nomadic loners, though there are some family groups. They live by hunting and by guiding travellers through the mountains. A few nobles have lands in the Plains of Gisoreux and strongholds in the mountains, with the responsibility of defending them against monsters. In many places they can do little more than keep their fortress secure and supplied, but the nobles along the Gisoreux Gap pride themselves on keeping it as safe for traffic as any road anywhere.
Gisoreux, in common with all the duchies bordering on the cursed lands of Mousillon, would like to see it invaded and cleansed. However, relations with Bastonne are also strained. Nobles in the Plains of Gisoreux have repeatedly feuded with Bastonnian lords in an effort to extend their holdings across the river.
Active Service: The Duchy of Gisoreux boasts a handsome number of full-time troops to maintain the trade routes that make their neighbours wealthy. Knights are a regular sight on Gisorean roads and the Duke himself has a substantial number of Questing Knights, and a few Grail Knights, in his service as there is no shortage of enemies to slay. Recently a small group of Pegasus Knights have journeyed to the region and sworn fealty to the young Duke.
Peasant levies are numerous and trained in a regular rotation to ensure that a rising threat can be dealt with swiftly and effectively. Thommas understand the value of speed and has moved to outfit many of his levy units with mounts, to be cared for by the rider, in order to ensure he can move swiftly from one location to another.
Gisoreux has little in the way of siege weapons as there has been no call for it recently.
Garrisons: Like the rest of Bertonnia, Gisoreux is heavily castellated, with fortifications commanded by lesser lords and Knights at nearly every strategic point. Locations are chosen with the enemies of old and the rising threat of Skaven in mind. Most are large enough to shelter a regions populace and livestock long enough to reinforcements to arrive.
The City of Gisoreux, for which the region is named, is one of the finest fortresses in all of Bretonnia. Built to seal the Gap of Gisoreux during the wars with the Empire, it has since grown into a formidable fortress city. Recent defensive upgrades commissioned by the Duke, using Dwarven engineers, had included ravelins and other outer works that will serve to negate the devastating impact of most modern artillery. This is one of the few areas extensive artillery can be located as trebuchets have been mounted on the largest towers and can command a dominating space around the city.
Regiments of Renown: The Sons of Gisoreux are a unit of Questing Knights, led by the Dukes younger brother, found throughout the region. These men are sworn to the Service of the Lady and will not rest until they have slaughtered an enemy worth singing songs about. They are well mounted, fearless, and devastating in their charge.
Foreign Policy: Gisoreux has excellent trade relationships with most of its neighbours. Dwarf, Brettonnian, and Imperial traders come and go regularly, as do some Elves. Duke Thommas is largely uninterested in the petty feuds so many of his fellow Knights are famous for, though has been known to tilt his lance regularly when challenged.
Held territory: The Duchy of Gisoreux is divided into four geographical areas. The first, the Plains of Gisoreux, is actually mostly pastoral country and very hilly. This area includes the city of Gisoreux itself and lies between the River Grismerie, the Forest of Arden, the Pale Sisters, and the Grey Mountains. Just over half of the population of the duchy lives in this small area. The second area is North Gisoreux. This land, between the River Sannez and the Pale Sisters, is also mostly pastoral but has substantial arable portions along the course of the Sannez. The land here used to be part of the Forest of Arden but was cleared, over the course of a thousand years, by the family of the current ruler, Duke Thommas de Saulx. The process continues in the southwest of the region. North Gisoreux is home to about a quarter of the population.
The third region is the Forest of Arden. The areas south and east of the river are relatively civilized. The roads between the villages are patrolled by the local nobility or at least by their men-at-arms, and travel on the roads is no more dangerous than travel on most other roads of the Old World. The villages do have stockades but, in a good year, suffer no attacks. On the other hand, no one leaves the cleared areas of forest without a really good reason, and those who do rarely come back.
North of the river, where the forest runs up to the Pale Sisters, things are very different. No village founded here has ever survived more than a year. Recently, Bretonnian lords have even given up trying. The human inhabitants are all nomadic, and there are no roads larger than a trail. The trees in this region are particularly old, large, and fine, which prompts nobles to send occasional logging forays. These sometimes succeed in bringing out a tree or two; more often, the loggers simply vanish.
The final region of the duchy is covered by mountains, split between the Pale Sisters in the west and the Grey Mountains in the east. The two ranges are very distinct. The Pale Sisters are of white rock and tend to rounded peaks, steep cliffs, and lots of high valleys. Access to the valleys is limited, however, and often involves climbing a cliff. The Grey Mountains are of dark grey stone and are characterized by very sharp terrain. Their peaks and ridges are narrow, as are the are their many passes. As a result, more people live in the Pale Sisters than in the Grey Mountains.
Ruler: Thommas de Saulx is the current Duke of Gisoreux and one of the most polarizing figures in Bretonnia. Born to a Noble father but a milkmaid mother, he was sent away to squire for a Knight Errant in the campaigns against the Tomb Kings. It was there, in the empty wastes and twisted lands of the Undead Pharaohs, that he would become a legend.
Massively strong with long blonde hair, a beard to match, and savage blue eyes, he is a handsome man who would turn any head. A vicious scar cuts across his face from left eyebrow to right cheek, a reminder of a close brush with a Necrosphinx.
He earned his golden spurs in battle and was knighted by the Lady of the Lake herself the day he returned to the shores of Bretonnia. Never has forgotten the savage treatment he suffered as a squire at the hands of those above him and he swore to the Lady he would protect the weak as much as the strong. In an effort to relocate this troublesome Knight, the leadership of Bretonnia sent him to the Pale Sisters in the hopes he might be slain by some wandering monsters.
The young Knight Errant was quick to disappoint his detractors and won renown as a master-of-arms and leader of the common man. His secret marriage to the daughter of duchys ruler, Earl Baldhelm of Harran, thrust him into forefront when the Earl and his only son were killed in a beastmen raid. Thommas avenged their deaths so ruthlessly that no one raised a public objection when he inherited the duchy, courtesy of his wifes birthright. The Lady herself dubbed him a Grail Knight on the day of his coronation and gave him a mighty Pegasus to ride.
The People and State of Gisoreux:
Just as the land of Gisoreux is divided, so are the people. The Plains of Gisoreux are the heart of the duchy, and these are the people most outsiders think of when they think of Gisoreux. Gisorens are friendly people; they greet even complete strangers politely, and many people offer casual acquaintances a meal. There are, however, strict limits to this generosity. After a single meal and one night’s accommodation, visitors are expected to earn any further friendliness by reciprocating. Clever and mobile rogues manage to sponge off the Gisorens' largesse for years, but far more are recognized and find themselves shunned.
These customs even extend to the more civilized parts of the Forest of Arden, but there, new arrivals are expected to begin their visit with a bath, in which they are supervised constantly by armed villagers. The bath is, of course, a courtesy, and the guards are for the guests' protection, and the fact that it is impossible to hide most mutations whilst naked is pure coincidence. Attractive female visitors may find many, many men are eager to protect them. Women pretending to be men find that people in this region are generally good at overlooking such things.
The nomads of the forest make a living as hunters and trappers and trade regularly with the villages bordering on their areas. Most of them make a trip to the city of Gisoreux at least once every few years, since they have occasional contact with the isolated villages of Artois and do not want to become like them. They also keep an eye on the Beastmen and other monsters and send runners to warn villages at risk of attack. As a result, they are accepted without prejudice by virtually all other Gisorens.
In the valleys of the Pale Sisters, the people cluster together in small communities. Given the labyrinthine quality of this region accompanied by terrible winters, few people have the means or the interest to leave their small stone homes. Few have little knowledge of others who dwell in and beyond these mountains. As a result of their isolation, each community has its own strange customs and habits, though the threat of Orcs and Chaos force all villages to concentrate on defence.
There are Human inhabitants of the Grey Mountains, but in Gisoreux this range is too rugged and plagued by monsters to support any real communities. Most of those who live here are nomadic loners, though there are some family groups. They live by hunting and by guiding travellers through the mountains. A few nobles have lands in the Plains of Gisoreux and strongholds in the mountains, with the responsibility of defending them against monsters. In many places they can do little more than keep their fortress secure and supplied, but the nobles along the Gisoreux Gap pride themselves on keeping it as safe for traffic as any road anywhere.
Gisoreux, in common with all the duchies bordering on the cursed lands of Mousillon, would like to see it invaded and cleansed. However, relations with Bastonne are also strained. Nobles in the Plains of Gisoreux have repeatedly feuded with Bastonnian lords in an effort to extend their holdings across the river.
Active Service: The Duchy of Gisoreux boasts a handsome number of full-time troops to maintain the trade routes that make their neighbours wealthy. Knights are a regular sight on Gisorean roads and the Duke himself has a substantial number of Questing Knights, and a few Grail Knights, in his service as there is no shortage of enemies to slay. Recently a small group of Pegasus Knights have journeyed to the region and sworn fealty to the young Duke.
Peasant levies are numerous and trained in a regular rotation to ensure that a rising threat can be dealt with swiftly and effectively. Thommas understand the value of speed and has moved to outfit many of his levy units with mounts, to be cared for by the rider, in order to ensure he can move swiftly from one location to another.
Gisoreux has little in the way of siege weapons as there has been no call for it recently.
Garrisons: Like the rest of Bertonnia, Gisoreux is heavily castellated, with fortifications commanded by lesser lords and Knights at nearly every strategic point. Locations are chosen with the enemies of old and the rising threat of Skaven in mind. Most are large enough to shelter a regions populace and livestock long enough to reinforcements to arrive.
The City of Gisoreux, for which the region is named, is one of the finest fortresses in all of Bretonnia. Built to seal the Gap of Gisoreux during the wars with the Empire, it has since grown into a formidable fortress city. Recent defensive upgrades commissioned by the Duke, using Dwarven engineers, had included ravelins and other outer works that will serve to negate the devastating impact of most modern artillery. This is one of the few areas extensive artillery can be located as trebuchets have been mounted on the largest towers and can command a dominating space around the city.
Regiments of Renown: The Sons of Gisoreux are a unit of Questing Knights, led by the Dukes younger brother, who can be found throughout the region. These men are sworn to the Service of the Lady and will not rest until they have slaughtered an enemy worth singing sons about. They are well mounted, fearless, and devastating in their charge.
Foreign Policy: Gisoreux has excellent trade relationships with most of its neighbours. Dwarf, Brettonnian, and Imperial traders come and go regularly, as do some Elves. Duke Thommas is largely uninterested in the petty feuds so many of his fellow Knights are famous for, though has been known to tilt his lance regularly when challenged.
@seonhyang thanks! I’ll try to use a few NPC’s as we go and make them more than fluff. As for the ships, I think you can safely jump into whatever as you leave the beach. I’ll sort us out when we’re at sea.
Lise came awake abruptly, a slim blade already in her hand, eyes scanning the darkness around her. Something wasn't right. Beside her, mouth wide open, her sister Sisse snored with the blissful abandon of one who had drank to much. Lise sniffed the air and noted the aroma of burning - not that this was strange given the town had largely burned during the battle – a fresh aroma, as if someone had just lit the hearth fire.
Keeping in mind the drunken lusts of men, the twins had settled down for the night an odd beehive shaped dwelling near the church. A cluster of them had proved to be the homes of the deceased monks; the small possessions of strange men sworn to their weak god were barely evident. Only the cross above every doorframe and neatly kept bedroll on the rush floor had hinted at the intended purpose.
She slipped carefully through the leather curtain that served as a door and into air that was pleasantly cool. She could make out the huddled forms of folk all about the fire where it had burned down to little more than coals. A dog raised its snout toward her and a hard tail thumped in the dirt until she knelt to scratch it behind the ears while she continued to scan the darkness.
There was a subtle light on the horizon hinting at dawn not being far off; a thin sliver of light that was slowly creeping across the landscape. A gentle wind ruffled her hair, bringing with it the smell of humans, horses, and… Fire! She could see it now, small specs were appearing down near the valley bottom, specs that multiplied and were coming closer.
“Saxons!!” A scream from somewhere in the darkness further down the hill. More shouting broke out across the Danish encampment as dishevelled warriors staggered upright or appeared from the surrounding buildings. Lise ducked back into her small shelter and slapped Sisse across the face - she could not resist – as she shouted as loudly as she could.
“Saxons attacking, get your gear!” She did not have time to enjoy the look of anger on her sisters face as she hurried back into the morning air that was becoming thick with smoke and the clash of steel. She had worn her own armour to bed and needed only grab her shield and she tried to take in the scene.
Dawn was spreading quickly now, the sun lighting the clouds like fire, and she could make out the Saxons swarming across the landscape. Fighting was already occurring further down the hill between and folk were dying beneath the brightening sky. Sisse joined her now and spared a glance down the hill.
“Shit there is a lot of them…” She muttered, quickly rinsing her mouth with water and spitting it into the brush to get rid of the moss she was certain was growing on her tongue.
“Aye...” Lise agreed. The Danes were horribly outnumbered. Less than half of those who had fought the day before had remained – leaving instead on their ships for a fort further downriver. “The ships!” A cry rang out from the Danes closer to the river and all eyes swivelled to where a single Saxon ship had slipped through the water toward the Danish longships drawn up on the beach. The guard left on the ship, mostly old or wounded men, died quickly as the Saxons stormed the first vessel, smashing oars and jamming burning torches deep into the ships belly. It only took a moment for smoke to begin to curly skyward.
“To the ships!” Kjartan had appeared at the church door, dressed for war. There was no other choice. If the Saxons managed to burn the ships, every Dane there would die. His shouts started a mad rush for the ships as every Dane who was not already fighting threw themselves down the hillside toward the water.
The Saxons saw them coming and began to try and push themselves free of the riverbank but the current held them fast against the third ship they had set alight. A howl of fury went through the Danes as the ships began to burn and Lise, running in the forefront of the charging mass, made for the Saxon ship. The vessel was chaos as some tried to work oars, others to push the hull free, while others dropped everything to take up their weapons.
Lise took a run at the high prow and managed to jump, catching the edge of the gunwale. A screaming Saxon jabbed at her with a spear and rather than trying to fend him off, she grabbed his hand and simply fell backward, dragging him with her into the mud. She twisted as they fell so that he struck the mud face first and she heard something crack as he hit the ground, his weight considerably more than hers. She killed him with a sharp thrust to the neck.
Hot blood gushed over her hand and she jerked her hand back as more Danes flowed past her to overwhelm the Saxons and capture their vessel. It was ablaze now, bumping up against its intended victims as they shot sparks into the air; black smoke curled high above into a sky that had turned a brilliant blue.
More shouting as Danes scrambled into remaining vessels and shoved them free of the beach, drifting out into the centre of the river.
