Arrival on Ramsay

Day turns to night, all the while, Einar's flagship, the Fury and its accompanying fleet, sail west, propelled faster out to sea than you even thought possible. Just as the Serpent King had brought the power of the sea to bear on the coalition forces, his magic harnessed and channelled the wind, put it directly at the raider flotilla's backs.

You snatch a few hours sleep where Einar leaves you, in roughly the middle of the gargantuan ship. All around, hard-edged raiders eye you, but it would seem all fear their king too much to attempt anything. By the time the sun rises again at the rear of the ship, your body screams with exhaustion.

Not long after dawn, a landmass comes into view on the horizon. It's called to your attention by a shout of eagerness and anticipation by the men from the front of the vessel.

"The Isle of Ramsay." Einar says, coming to a stop at your side. You try not to flinch at the Serpent's sudden appearance. "Even with how quickly we can get around, with the wind on our side, Marburg's a little too far away. Still, Ramsay's a fine enough staging area for my purposes. Her inhabitants have been welcoming, if nothing else."

"They didn't have much of a choice, King." Mical remarks, stepping closer to you and Einar. "They'd heard what you did on the mainland. Any resistance, and you would've torched their entire island, right?"

"Lord Kuroda's a smart man, Mical." Einar responds. "He knew not to throw his people's lives away. Now go and get the rest of the hostages."

The shaggy haired little man heads off, leaving you and Einar alone as the Fury speeds towards the Isle of Ramsay.

You recall from your studies that Ramsay is a smaller island, equidistant between the Beathan coast and Gaelica. Spanning about ten leagues from north to south, twenty from the broadest span east to west. The island was a protectorate of Beatha, administered by House Kuroda, the descendants of mercenaries from far beyond the sea. The Kurodas had been granted the island for their crucial service to the crown during some minor Beathan civil war.

With a wave of his spear, Einar guides the ships close to the southern shore, to a hastily assembled jetty. Once they're close enough, the oarsmen row up to the edge, and the raider fleet is efficiently lashed to the dock.

Mical returns, Madeleine, Gerhard and the other man at his heel. With a firm hand on your arm, Einar helps you to your feet, then leads you off the Fury, and onto the dock.

The port is abuzz with interested parties, warriors and craftspeople in the hundreds watching with great interest as their king's group disembarks.

"I say we make them crawl, dogs that they are." Mical laughs, hopping onto the dock. "This one," he points a crooked finger at you "Can wriggle on his belly, like a feckin' worm!"

"Now is he a dog or a worm?" Einar asks, eliciting a confused stutter from his Gaelican subordinate. "No, they walk, but bound. That's enough humiliation."

"C'mere, Your Majesty." Mical's voice is dripping with contempt as he forces your hands behind your back, binds them and kicks you towards dry land.

By your side, Madeleine does nothing to resist as she is similarly restrained. Gerhard and the Beathan warrior put up more of a fight, but surrounded and outnumbered, it's rather futile and soon they shuffle along, cowed.

"I apologise for this Edward, I really do." Einar says quietly.

-

You're shoved forwards once again by Mical, the Gaelican staying close behind you.

"Good people!" Einar calls out to the massed crowd, vapour issuing from his mouth with every exclamation. "Let me introduce our newest guests! Plucked from the seabed like oysters we have King Edward of Itheria, and Princess Madeleine of Sinnabarrow!"

The Deanians react with jubilant cheers, whooping, derisive laughs aimed at yourself and Madeleine.

"While they're with us, they are not to be harmed. I want them treated as if they were my own kin." The Serpent explains. You feel no reassurance, despite his words. There are a few hundred too many pairs of eyes glinting hungrily on you for that.

"Besides, the more intact we keep 'em, the more we get for the ransoms!" Mical interjects loudly. The outburst seems to have gone over well with the raiders, but Einar himself stares the little man down.

"Could you not interrupt while I'm addressing my people?" Einar asks. "Conqueror's horns, I thought Bríd had broken you in."

"Sorry, boss." the odd little man says, throwing up his hands and receding into the periphery.

"Now back to it, true friends. And take heart, our guests aren't the only thing we took from the Beathans." the mage announces.

One of Einar's raiders comes forth, bearing a small wooden chest. Flipping open the latch with a wave of his hand, Einar reaches inside, withdrawing the eerie blue coral you had found on Hjordis' ship.

"With this, we have every thing we need to reduce our foes to nothing!" he insists, the blue artefact in one hand, oversized black spear in the other.

After enjoying the applause and chanting of his men, the raider returns the coral to its chest. As the onlookers thin out, you notice a small group of people remain behind to receive your party.

At the head of this group is a woman wearing leather and mail, bearing a sword at each hip. Her hair is black, cut short, her manner imposing. She bounds forward, into Einar's outstretched arms.

"Beloved... you're returned to me." she says. Her voice is low, her relief palpable.

"Erika, flower of my field." Einar responds, kissing her.

"Every day we were parted was a hound gnawing at my heart." the woman confides.

"I felt the same way." Einar says. Your mind wanders, you imagine Kara, sailing to the Isles aboard one of those captured boats. She would not even know what had transpired, that you were captured. The weight of it, of everything that's happened to you rushes down on you at once, just like the wall of water had. You feel yourself begin to sway...

"Easy there." Mical grabs you by the scruff of your neck, just about keeping you on your feet. "Think the emotional displays're too much for this one, boss." the Gaelican says with an irritating little laugh.

"That, or he needs a decent meal." Einar volunteers. You steel yourself, willing your body not to collapse in a heap.

"I'm aware this is an unpleasant development for all of you, but on my ancestors, you'll come to no harm in this camp." Einar promises. "We people of Dean prize very highly our hospitality, towards all guests."

All guests, willing or otherwise, you think.

"This is Erika Gunnarsdottir, one of the finest raiders the Wolf Kingdom ever produced, and to my everlasting delight, my queen." Einar announces to the four of you, beaming from beneath his hood.

"Edward, you've technically met her before, though without an introduction." he points out. You realise you have glimpsed her before, along with Einar, in his magical communications.

"Erika, this is Madeleine of Sinnabarrow." Einar gestures to the bruised and pale princess, still beyond speech from the trauma she's endured, shivering and staring into the frozen dirt at your feet.

"The other two are Gerhard the dick-licking traitor and... Hey, I just realised, we never got your name." Einar says, pointing at the fourth of your unfortunate party, the young Beathan.

"...Michael a' Dunbar." the prisoner reluctantly volunteers.

"Aha, another Michael! You're not kin to our Mical, are you?" Einar chuckles.

"Spirits, I hope not." the Beathan responds.

"You really are remarkable, husband." Erika says, with a slight smile. "Most men return to their wives with a hull full of fish. You pack yours with crowned heads and nobles."

"Nothing but the best for my beloved." Einar laughs, embracing the raider woman from behind.

"And you secured the artefact the giant's agents stole from us." One of the others awaiting your party asks. He's a heavyset man, brown of skin, his smart, richly dyed silks and furs a marked contrast from the more functionally attired raiders.

"That I did, Reza." On Einar's urging, one of his men hands the chest to the corpulent foreigner. He tucks it under his arm.

"Reza Azar, my court mage and boon companion." Einar informs you. You wonder what advice a man like Einar, who could bend the sea and the wind to his will, would need when it came to magic.

"Now, good people, I know you're all exhausted." Einar says. "At the top of that hill." he jabs a finger to a short rise at the end of a dirt trail. "Is shelter, hot food and ale to warm your insides. There's just... a little unpleasantness we have to get through first."