The raider fleet

You find Donald stood on the dock, Jana and Gordon by his side, taking in the minor flotilla of Deanian vessels clustered out on the water.

“You did fought with valour, sister.” Donald says, clasping Kara on the shoulder. “Not that I doubted you, even with-”

“Enough.” Kara says. “What do you make of the ships?”

“I'd say our enemy has granted us a nice enough method of making it to the Isles.” Donald remarks. “Though I'm not sure that's what Hjordis had in mind, when she occupied this place.”

“That fookin' traitor's been dealt with, by the way.” Kara informs her king.

“Oh? Good, good. We cannae let that sort of thing slide, I suppose.”

Scanning the sails of the docked ships, you make out one, black, with a depiction of a triumphant giant sewn into it.

“Three guesses who that one belongs to.” you scoff, pointing out the ship in question. Indeed, in length and sheer size, it mirrors it's mistress quite well.

“Aye.” Donald remarks. “That'll be Hjordis' flagship. Whispers from Deanian prisoners are that only the Serpent's is bigger. Care to have a closer look, Edward?”

“By all means.” you nod.

“Take care, my love!” Jana calls out, as she and Gordon remain behind, overseeing the lock-down of the town, as you, Donald and Kara head for the giantess' vessel.

Donald's the first to clamber onto the deck. He helps Kara aboard, then, with a good deal more care, you yourself.

You marvel at the ship. It's something of an odd amalgamation of styles, part raider longship, with space for dozens of fighting men at the oars, you estimate, part caravel, with a hold for cargo, as well as a cabin, the door-frame high enough that Hjordis would be able to pass it without stooping, something of a rarity for her, you imagine.

“Let's not suffer any nasty surprises, aye?” Donald says to Kara, drawing his axe and readying his round shield, already beset with dents and gouges from the morning's fray.

“I'm with you Donald.” Kara assures him.

The siblings are the first to descend into the hold, a wall of wood and steel. You follow close behind, your eyes darting into every shadow. As you step down into the ship's hold, your nose is assaulted by some vile and unfamiliar stench.

“Spirits... what is that?” Kara blanches, her nose wrinkling. A few steps further in gives you your answer.

You're greeted by a massive iron cage in the centre of the hold. A mass of chains and shackles lay discarded within, the deck beneath them sullied and stained, with blood and other fluids.

“That fookin' monster.” Kara says, entranced by the shackles. “I'm gonnae go back to the camp, split her overgrown heid wi' my axe.”

“Peace, Kara.” Donald protests. “She's too valuable fae that. Not that she doesnae deserve it.”

“How many of our people do you think have been in here, Donald?” Kara says. “Shipped off to toil and die on Haakon's farms? Sold off Spirits know where?”

“Just think of how many Beathan lives we save, every one of Einar's secrets she reveals to us.” Donald counters. “Come Kara, you're usually more pragmatic than this!”

“It's hard to be, is all.” Kara reflects. “Will this killing ever stop?”

“Aye, when Einar's body lies lifeless.” Donald responds simply.

“I have my doubts.” Kara says. “You and our Da fought with his predecessor. What's to say whoever's next won't keep the **** going? It's the basis of their entire bloody culture?”

“If they do, we'll meet them, aye. But they won't have Einar's powers, won't have the zeal he inspires in his followers.”

The three of you fall silent as you continue to search the hold. You find little of interest. Evidently, the bowels of the ship were cleaned out as Hjordis marched her armies to the Fens. Meaning that, give or take one gargantuan, ornate skull, anything of value or strategic relevance was currently in the hands of the Oro Elide. Hands that, after your stunt with Khaliq, were pretty much closed to you.

“Perhaps we should check the cabin before we go?” You say, nodding back to the stairs, light streaming down from above.

“Aye, Spirits know what's in there.” Donald says, following you. “And I can't lie, part of me is interested to see where the Giantess beds down. Imagine the size of her mattress!”

“I'd wager it'd almost be big enough for all your companions, brother.” Kara says, a little more playfully, as you put the den of evil that was the hold behind you.

“Steady Kara, I'm your king!” Donald says, giving his sister a wry smile. “We'll have no such impugnment of my character.”

“Was a statement of fact, dear brothering, nothin' more.” Kara shoots back. You take cover behind Donald and Kara once again, letting them clear the cabin, before following them in yourself.><

The Deanian Giantess' cabin is spacious, though with her hulking stature, you can only imagine it's more on par with an average captain's cabin for her. It's sparsely appointed, with little more than a desk, a map table, on which rests a depiction of western Motania, and a understandably giant cot.

Your eyes are drawn to the bed first of all. It's so expansive you imagine you could pull both Donald and Kara down into the sheets with you, still have room to invite Madeleine and Khaliq along for some fun. Something stirs within you as you imagine that, a Lion, true to your namesake, and the ring on your finger. You do your best to quell it. Soon the night would come, and you could indulge your every proclivity.

“Looks like Hjordis keeps up on politics.” Kara says, nodding her head to the map. You quickly notice it's adorned with figures and tokens, not just on Beatha and Dean, but Gaelica across the western sea, Itheria too. And other kingdoms besides.

“Why's she got eyes on Sinnabarrow and Morland?” Kara wonders, almost to herself. “Whoever heard of a raid so far from the sea?”

“Keeps up on her correspondence, too.” Donald notes, having unearthed several sheafs of letters. Each letter is sealed with a red wax seal, a black feather attached with string.

“We've plenty of Deanian prisoners with no love for Hjordis.” Kara notes. “I wager we could find a few willing to translate these for a little meat, a bit of mead.”

“You're right, of course.” Donald notes. “However, my interest lies more in this...” He slides a sizeable metal chest out from under the desk, sets it on the map in the centre of the room. He tries to swing the container open, only to find it locked.

“Whatever do you imagine is inside?” you ask.

“I haven't the faintest fucking idea.” Donald admits. “But I intend to find out.”