After the battle.

Taking some time to make yourself decent after your sinister communion with Corinne, you re-join the others still in the camp.

The battle is in full swing now, from what you hear. Over the next several hours, the action is relayed to you, in fits and starts, by messengers.

Just as expected, Jarl Siggi had met the coalition armies in open battle. His men were fearsome, but lacking in guile.

The two forces had collided, many infantrymen cut down. Siggi, despite his youth, had taken to the field with uncommon zeal. Alongside the warriors who sailed with him on his personal longship, he had struck down Beathan, Itherian and sell-sword alike with the relish of a fighter twice his age.

The Deanians had fought fiercely, but ultimately, the greater numbers of the coalition forces had proved too much for them, the northern raiders ultimately being routed.

Though many of his captains and commanders had been cut down, you heard that Siggi the Whelp himself had been captured.

Shortly after the fighting subsides, and it is deemed safe, you and a band of others travel down the slope towards the town and castle.

It's a lot to take in, devastation and **** on a scale you'd never seen before. As your carriage draws closer to the town walls, you see soldiers scouring the field for their fallen allies, as well as stripping what valuables they can from the vanquished Deanians.

As you're transported into the town of Airgid Carran, you see it's not much better off than the devastation outside. During their occupation, the Deanians had slaughtered most of the populace, had looted pretty much anything of value and trampled the rest. Between the battlefield and the town, you imagine the gravediggers will have their work cut out for them.

Your carriage draws up in the castle courtyard. Like most Beathan fortifications, it's more basic in it's construction than a southern castle, but the structure is still sizeable, imposing.

Stepping out into the courtyard, you're quickly greeted by Solla. Though she herself seems little the worse for wear, the foreign-born Warmistress does seem to have been through her fair share of ordeals. Her curls are matted with blood, her skin is coated. Judging from how the steel sword at her belt still drips, you can only imagine just how much blood she had drawn today.

“Your Majesty!” Solla says respectfully, her usual upbeat demeanour intact despite her outward appearance.

“It would seem we've won the day, yes?” you say to her, eliciting a nod.

“In no small part thanks to you, eh?” Solla says. “The forces you provided, the mercenaries especially, they were a gift from the gods!”

You're not surprised by that. What Roland may have lacked in intelligence, he did make up for in his skill with a blade.

“The others are in the main hall.” Solla informs you. “The king and his sister are contemplating what course to take with our young prisoner.”

You follow the blood-drenched warrior into the castle proper. It's a sparsely decorated environment, the furniture consisting of rough-hewn log furniture rather than the more decorated pieces you might expect in an Itherian castle. Also present are a good number of bedrolls and other makeshift bedding. Clearly after spending so much time at sea, the allure of a warmer castle to bed down in was irresistible to the raiders.

“What say we send a message to Einar? Tell him if he wants to see his Jarl again, he'll abandon this unprovoked war. Turn his ships around, go back the way they came.” you hear Donald consider as you limp into the main hall.

A figure is bound, made to kneel before the massed officers of the coalition. From his shorter stature, you can only imagine this is the boy Jarl that's been causing so much trouble. He's a sour-faced blonde-haired lad with a feral sort of energy to him.

“You know that won't be enough.” Kara counsels her brother. “If we really want Einar to yield, we'll need to make him. And it'll take more than this one battle tae do so.”

The siblings seem to have made it through the engagement in a decent condition. At the very least, they're both a little less blood-spattered than Solla is right now.

“Like it matters!” Siggi lashes out, positively growling each word. “When Einar hears what happened here, he'll sail straight for you!

“You,” he continues, nodding his head to Donald, “he'll hold off bleeding like a pig, just long enough for you to see what a true king looks like! And you,” this he directs to Kara “he'll strip naked and lash to the prow of his flagship for a fucking ornament!”

Though few outwardly betray it, you can feel the unease creeping into the room with the jarl's words. Einar's reputation was fearsome indeed.

“Well lad, you'd best hope your king's got a keener grasp of strategy than you do, or he'll be the one doin' the bleeding.” Donald counters, drawing closer to the teenager. The king's jest seems to put at least some of the gathered warriors at ease.

“He does! Better than me, or you, or anyone. Einar knows all, Beathan. War, magic, history. His ancestors speak to him.” The Whelp warns.

“Great, so he hears voices.” Donald grins, playing to the crowd. “We're shittin' ourselves here.”

“You will be, southerner. When you see the red sails of his fleet.” Siggi states.

Disregarding the Deanian, Donald instead speaks to a small squad of soldiers nearby.

“Get the Jarl out of here. Lock him up somewhere secure. I think it's nearly his bedtime, anyway.” the Beathan ruler remarks, eliciting another laugh from his followers.

“I'd have dropped him off the battlements, were it my decision, Your Grace.” Eoghan remarks, as Siggi is led off. Or dragged off, struggling and thrashing against his jailors with every step, more accurately. “Boy or no, he's a monster. Slaughtered my townsfolk indiscriminately.”

The old man seems to have fared poorly in the battle. His armour is blackened and dented, and he sports a still-bleeding gash across his temple. Still, to his credit, he remains standing.

“Believe me, uncle, the thought's crossed me mind.” Donald responds. “As Kara said though, he could be a valuable bargaining chip at the close of this war. Einar seems to have some affection for the boy, Spirits only know why.”

“I'm sure we could find a nice, safe place to hold him in Itheria.” you offer, limping forward.

“Good to see ya, brother.” Donald remarks, clapping a hand on your shoulder in his customary greeting. “There'll be a grand feast tonight, and we'll drink to you and yours, I should think.”

“After we see to what needs doin'.” Kara reminds her brother, prompting a quick nod from him.