The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly

There is Land Ahead
The Saga of Svenn Olafsson

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The Skalds Would Speak of This for 100 Years
The Saga of Svenn Olafsson

We begun our journey sailing southeast towards Varisia – after finding out from our druid friend that Cheliax was most likely responsible for the attack upon us. Everything was smooth sailing. It was great to smell the salty sea air, feeling the wind blow through our hair and mists of waves splashing us in the face. I have longed for this moment for many years. To finally be really doing it is to truly feel alive. About a couple of hours into our journey, we were met by some other Ulfen naysayers. They were heading right toward us, and were armed. I told the boat captain to meet them head on, so we can figure out exactly what they want.

They slowed down very close to us and tethered our ship to theirs. They placed a plank on the ledge of both of our ships and a few began to walk across. After some meaningless diplomacy from Ingrid, I decided enough was enough, and I kicked the plank off our boat, sending them crashing into the water below. One of them, of course, made it back onto their boat in the nick of time. Some began jumping onto our vessel, however, more than half of them couldn't make the leap, and fell into the water. After defeating the few that came aboard, Gunnar and I jumped into their boat, and turned the tables on them. We pushed the remaining people over the edge and our crew began roping them up as prisoners, or else they'd drown as their armor weighed them down.

While all of this was happening, that little serpent of Ingrid's was biting their leader in the balls. Brave little thing, I'll say as much. But it worked. We captured all of them, except the ones that drowned. We killed a couple of course – nobody's perfect, after all. But we are now in possession of their boat and provisions, which means we can head back to Jutland, sell our prisoners off for weregild, and return the ship that we borrowed. Life is good after all. The battle was swift and remotely painless. It felt good to really fight after all these years of training.

I only wish my father were still alive to see me do it.

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Cold in the Cold Iron Earth, Olaf Lies
The Saga of Svenn Olafsson

Jarl Borg held a Thing and let us know of an attack upon our village. My father was among those that died in the ambush. He was a good man at arms, and I know he fought bravely, despite being on a fishing expedition. The Jarl will not commit to a retaliation assembly, but stated he will not interfere with that that wish to do so upon their own merit. My childhood friend, Gunnar Bjornsson, also lost his father. We made a promise to each other that we will avenge our fathers one thousand times over. Blood must be spilled.

We gathered our belongings and had a feast at the Mead Hall. Who knows, it may be our last. We enjoyed the best we could get; honey roasted boar, raisin and pine brewed mead, grilled corn and buttered potatoes – a meal fit for a king. We met a young lady there, Ingrid Vigdisdottir, and she is a slightly off one. She has a pet serpent named Althjof. No doubt she is one of those women that dance naked deep in the forest singing forbidden songs around a campfire. But, she is cute enough, and seems to know her way. We could use all available hands. We also met up with some friendlies that lost some loved ones. Asmund, Balder, Calder, and Torsten will accompany us and have secured a boat for our journey.

We met up with all parties interested, just enough to man the boat. We will set sail in the morning. I'm hazy from mead. I'm anxious for blood. I want to sleep so this day will be over with quicker. When I awake, my true saga begins. People will remember me. People will fear me. People will know that my father's death only awakened the dragon within me.

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