Featuring: Aurelio, Epi, Kalei, Mahina, Lyri, Roger, Sivan, Soft-Feather and Zea
NPCs: Burke, Ignatius, Ingvar, and Valdis
Date: April 21, 2005
IC Date: August 10, 3931
Summary: The pyre has been set ablaze and members of the crew have lingers to offer prayers and to see the souls of the Aesir off to their afterlife. The pyre and resulting plume of smoke might have chased away much of the wildlife in the forest, but it draws something else from within the woods.
OOC Note:Anything that is in italics is something that is being spoken in the Aesir language. For most of the crew, the Aesir language is unknown, so unless you have cleared it staff, do not assume you can understand what the Aesir are saying.

Dafnastg - Njororn - Asgard

Slightly distant from the center of town, this area of Njororn is the residential section. Large longhouses crowd around the main road, with smaller alleys ducking between buildings. The long buildings are all build of waddle and daub and the thatching on the roofs is thick and looks newly repaired. The wide dirt road is packed hard from generations of heavy traffic. Long benches just outside the houses serve as gathering places for women while they work on sewing or other homemaker tasks. The ground that has not been consumed by the road of the buildings is scattered with a sparse grass, nearly pounded flat by the steps of playing children.

But like the rest of the town, this area is deserted. The only sounds to be heard are the occasional sound of a bird's song coming from the small forest in the distance. Towards the fields on the outskirts of the village are a few large barns, used for housing the town's various farm animals, but no sounds comes from the barns; no sounds of horses, cows, sheep or geese. When the wind drifts in from the fields, however, it carries with it a sickening smell, but the exact cause of the strange and putrid odor is undeterminable from this location.

The pyre has been burning since last evening when some of the crew brought torches and set the kindling ablaze. It still burns this morning, sending a forbidding plume of smoke up into the skies. Dangerous, that, given that the crew would rather not let others know they are here, at least until the Captain has returned and assurances made that the other Aesir in the area know the truth of what happened. As it is, they look suspicious at best; the town is deserted, two strange ships are docks and an enormous pyre is burning the bodies of most of the town's residents. There is some nervousness running through the crew, and more than a few have been offering prayers to whatever gods they believe in that they'll leave as unnoticed as they arrived.

The burning pyre has kept many of the crew members here, a morbid fascination perhaps or simply a desire to see those poor souls given a proper farewell. Some of offered prayers, others have sung respectful songs but almost everyone has come at one time or another to say a farewell to those most of them never knew. But work cannot cease, for there are still some things to see to. The barn which partially collapsed seems to be beyond repair and in any event, what animal would want to live in there. The stench has soaked into the wood itself and some members of the crew are helping to carefully tear it down, adding the tainted wood to the bottom of the pyre.

There's a fire and no one called him? Sivan saw the smoke from the ship and, in a typical Varati snit, strode down to the location of it. Sure, most of the night he was busy with meals and observing the rat that he fed the smelly ale too. With black brows drawn down, Sivan makes his way to the fire...watches it a moment, and then looks to those tearing down the wood from the barn and bringing the planks over to the fire. "Now you're just being silly..." he growls and lifts a hand, calling, "You'd best move away from the barn..." as a bit of warning before the collapsed roof ignites. Really...they make things so difficult!

Roger trundles up the road, sniffling grotesquely and grunting periodically. "Damn i' stinks," he mutters as he approaches the group. Roger has not yet made it ashore yet, having elected to remain aboard when he caught wind of what was going on, but his curiosity got the best of him. Who knows, maybe he'll even suddenly feel helpful and make himself useful.

As one of the two who were trapped in that partially collapsed barn, Soft-Feather has decided to keep his distance from it. He slept hard that night, despite the smell that never seems to wash off his hands, and today he stands with the others who respectfully watch over the fire. It's been a long couple of days, that's for sure, but the work has been worth it. If some random boat of Empyreans found an enclave of HIS people mysteriously dead, he'd want them to respect their funeral rites as well. So despite his feelings, and despite the grime that refuses to wash off, Soft-Feather feels content with a job well done.

Zea's been here all morning, watching the fire like a moth drawn to the flame. She's bundled herself in her cloak, but the intense heat from such a large fire makes the heavy garment almost unnecessary. It now hangs loosely beneath her wings, wings which have closed in around her as she silently watches the bodies turn to ash. It is a ceremony with which she is familiar, but not on such a grand scale by any means. No Empyrean funeral has includes such massive numbers. Perhaps that is why she's come to watch, to try and put some meaning into what is going on, to try and comprehend it. From time to time she turns and looks back to the shore and catches sight of more crew members arriving. No official services have been planned, but she gives a slight smile to see others come to pay their respects.

Lyri drifts along with those moving in from the ships. Having been here the day before when they lit the pyre, she had needed to withdraw for some time to herself, to think and to process. But even she, too, returns to watch the smoke billowing skyward, a cloak wrapped around her slender frame and wings furled tightly to her spine.

The men who were pulling the wood away scurry out from under the collapsed...and now burning roof of the barn. The smell has probably gotten no better, but eventually the fire should help, no? Waving the crew out of the way, Sivan starts another fire on one of the walls, and another near the entrance...just to get the thing burned down quicker.

Nearby, Mahina is standing. She's not exactly quaking but, she's nervous. Her eyes are ringed with circles from crying. Her hand over mouth and nose, to try and filter out the smell, she makes her way towards the others.

Roger narrows his eyes, then shields them from the blaze. For someone who spends most of his time below deck, the fire is burning awfully brightly. He makes his way to the first person he spies that he recognizes, which happens to be the sylvan known as Soft-Feather. "Tell what happened here," Roger says quietly as he draws near from behind.

Soft-Feather looks away from the fire as Roger approaches, nodding in greeting before launching into an explanation. "We found many bodies here, stacked in the barn," he gestures to the now burning structure behind him. "Mostly women and children...so we found as much cloth as possible, wrapped the bodies up, and then put them atop the pyre we built. Now they burn," the man's voice is quiet and most somber, "as is their custom. I just hope the smoke doesn't alert whoever killed them that we're here. Otherwise," he returns to looking at the fire, "our bodies might be joining them."

Zea rubs her forehead from time to time. The headache is nearly gone, thanks to days of rest, but it still ebbs and flows like the sea. The heavy smoke is not helping either, but she doesn't attempt to touch it for it is not necessary. Her magic may be needed for something more important than throwing off the smoke and she's rather not suffer another bout of exhaustion she did the other day. Noting Lyri's arrival she lifts a hand in greeting to call the younger woman over, if she cares to join her. The sun is barely making its climb in the sky and it already seems as if it has been a long day.

Mahina nods agreement with Soft-Feather. "Yes, but maybe it will bring those-if any survived- here." she says attempting to be optimistic. "Mostly women and children?" she echoes questioning. She looked to wards the pyre, shaking her head; the Atlantean woman takes a breath. "Something isn't right here..." she murmurs. Nodding to Zea, Mahina surveys the scene. She's still in a great deal of shock.

It seems more like two days since the pyre was lit, at least to Lyri, but it has been but one. Noticing Zea's greeting, she gravitates towards the wind-mage, nodding to her in greeting. She cannot muster a smile. "How fare ye, Zea?" She asks quietly, turning to watch the pyre burn some distance away. A fold of her cloak is brought up and pressed discreetly to her nose.

The burly redheaded sailor by the name of Ignatius has been enthralled with the pyre for quite some time now. He has tended to it since the prior evening and now still stands looking as if the flames could reveal an answer to the question in everyone's mind. Now, finally as if slowly waking up, the man surveys the area about him, his eyes slowly falling on familiar faces. He then stares at his hands and with the tediousness of a feather blowing in the sky, places his palms against his nostrils. The foul smell has started to consume him as well; the salty smell of the seas has been overpowered by that of ashes.

Roger growls at the flames, almost as if he were a wild animal who had come across the blaze in the forest. "Slavers," he mutters quietly to Soft-Feather. "I'd wager. Prolly buildin' somethin' big, don't need no women 'n chil'en, no they don't." He shivers despite the warmth of the flames, and turns away, unable to look for more than a few moments at a time.

The smell is becoming unbearable, even for Soft-Feather. While the dolphin inside offers its own sense of smell--or rather, its lack thereof--to help, the Magus refuses to use magic for such a trivial purpose. The mention of slavers garners the entirety of his attention, causing him to even forget his olfactory discomfort for the moment. "Slavers? This far north? I suppose that would explain this..." Roger's the first one to have a plausible theory, at least where Soft-Feather is concerned that is. "You don't think they would return then, given the smoke?"

Zea gives Lyri a slight nod and turns her attention back to the fire, her hands flexing nervously. "Doing as well as might be expected," she answers before quickly silencing herself with a yawn. She shakes her head and lets of a deep sigh as she overhears some of the other conversation. "You would think the slavers would want the children, easier to train when they're younger." That is a field she has a great deal of experience in.

Lyri winces as the topic of slavery brought up. Just one more stone on a pile of negative thoughts which would probably become nightmares later. The cartographer falls silent, cloak still pressed to her nose, eyes shifting back and forth between the pyre and her crewmates.

Sivan turns back at the conversation, "I doubt that it's slavers. Zea is right. Women and children are valuable as slaves...women make more of them, and the children can be trained. This looks like it's some sort of clan war to me." He shifts some of the fire to help further collapse the barn onto itself as it continues to burn. "By killing the women and children, you ensure that there will never be more born of the clan to rise against you."

"Not tha' kin' o' slavers," Roger adds to Zea's reply. "We ain't talkin' 'bout no house servants, now. More like carryin' stuff, or mebbe they's lookin' fer an army." He shrugs his great shoulders at Sivan and frowns. The gods have unfortunately cursed Roger with an extremely large nose, and the smell is starting to repulse him. "If it's war," he asks, looking at Sivan pointedly, "ye'd see menfolks too, an' signs of a battle, eh, ye' would."

Nodding at Zea and Sivan, Ignatius ventures to offer, "'Tis perhaps a revenge. Betcha we will find the men soon enough dead of alive. More likely the former" As far as unfathomable theories go, time has taught this crew member that the far fetched story usually holds the most truth. Nibbling roughly on a nail as if to articulate some sort of pain the man shakes his head, "Yes sir, we shall find them soon enough." The last part comes as almost a mutter.

Zea glances to Roger and shakes her head. "I know of what I speak, and I tell you no slaver worth his salt would kill such a valuable commodity. And taking just the warriors? He's just asking for trouble, for sure. He's gone about it all wrong if that's the case. You kill those that can defend themselves and take the others." Zea scowls and shakes her head again. "Wasn't slavers, I'll bet my life on that."

Everyone makes a myriad of good points but instead of joining the debate, which has been going on for days now, Soft-Feather turns to look in the direction of the coastline and the ships. Truth be told, he'd rather be aboard the Makara right now, swabbing the deck and sweet-talking his way out of fights with drunken sailors. But alas, the tragedy here is more important. Part of him feels honor-bound to stand guard over the pyre, as protector of the fallen, but the other part can't help but feel uneasy by staying here for so long.

Dark eyes slide back to Roger, "You can get rid of a clan other ways besides battle. Poison can be very effective if used correctly..." and Sivan looks at a jeweled ring on one of his fingers before nodding to Ignatius. "Maybe we will...maybe they took them as evidence for their Warlord. Stranger things have happened." The Varati seems oddly calm about all of this, as if it is something that happens every day. Once he is certain that the burning barn is under control, he starts towards the tavern, "I'm going to have a look around there. Call if you need me."

Roger laughs at Zea's certainty, a rumbling, low-pitched chuckle. "Hope ye don' min' if I don' take ye at yer bet," he says with a wink from a deep-set eye. "I've bet m' life too many times t' risk it again." He eyes Sivan's departure and decides to follow. "'ey, I need a word wi' you," he calls out to the Varati cook. Roger is soon out of hearing.

From within the woods, The tower of smoke continues to rise into the heavens and someone has spotted has finally spotted the beacon. The scouts move quietly, a good distance from the town, their eyes trained on the mysterious pyre and the even stranger folk that are watching it burn. The trees behind which they watch are thick and sturdy ones, providing the Aesir with the necessary cover. Ingvar scowls deeply as she sees the strangers on their land, Aesir land. His gloved hand grips tight to the hilt of his sword while in the other hand his hefts his ax, preparing. With a gruff nod to one of his bowmen he grunts, "Give 'em a couple warning shots, drop one or two if you have to." With his single eye he glances to Valdis, "No more than ten or fifteen there, think we can take 'em?"

A slight chill rises up Zea's back as she watches the wood crackle and snap. In a few places the heavy beams groan and snap in two, dropping the pyre down a bit. She jumps in response and tugs her cloak back around her. The garment serves more as comfort than warmth, though she might regret it in a few moments, the heat of the pyre is just too hot. She gives the two cooks a brief nod as they depart and then looks to Soft-Feather. "You're feeling better," she asks of him with a nudge of her chin towards the barn.

Soft-Feather watches Roger and Sivan depart, wondering if they're going to continue the slaver debate. Both men presented logical points of view, though Soft-Feather tends to believe Zea when she stakes her life on it. Moving away from the fire to stand near the woman, he speaks lowly, "My father was once held captive by Varati slavers. I was able to free him, but what I saw in their camp made my blood boil. Women and children put to work...and I don't mean just hauling rock." His further meaning is left unclear as he answers her question, "I am, yes. Holding up those rafters tired me greatly, but nothing a lot of sleep couldn't fix. And you?" He of course refers to her headaches.

Despite the conversation, Soft-Feather is keeping a watchful eye on the town and the surrounding woodlands--those that he can see, that is. A few birds suddenly take off from their perches in a clump of trees, for seemingly no other reason than the smoke perhaps? But better to be cautious than not. Blinking quickly, the jade eyes of his Sylvan makeup are replaced with the deep gold and onyx of the eagle. Soft-Feather scans the area closer now, his sight greatly enhanced, but what could he be hoping to see?

From within the woods, The raven haired warrior woman has already drawn her blade, dark eyes scanning over the gathered people with suspicion and displeasure. A hand drops on to the arrow, pushing the point to the ground as she shakes her head. "Would you tell them we are here before we decide what we are going to do?" Her lips are a thin disapproving line as she scans over the build of the strangers, her voice rough and husky as she speaks in her native tongue. "If we catch them unawares, pick them off as they separate and move, then yes, they will die beneath our blades. They're a mixed bunch. Some skilled with battle and others new to it," she notes with shrewd regard, pointing out some of the sailors who move in a way that makes her suspect their ignorance. "If we attack, we -might- kill them all. But if one escapes, then many more will come." She stares at Ingvar without blinking. "Do you want to talk?" she asks with some disgust, as if talking was only for weaklings, "or fight? Or we can wait till dark, bring the rest, and slay them when they sleep."

From within the woods, Ingvar is itching to kill them all and ask questions later, no matter what he might have said. No one has heard from the prosperous little town of Njororn in quite some time and that in and of itself is unusual. But to find these foreigners here and what looks like a massacre he's not inclined to sit down and have a chat with them. His single good eye looks over at Valdis, his deeply furrowed brow making his scarred eye socket look even worse than usual. "Stain your blade with their blood," he mutters darkly to Valdis. It is something he would rather shout, a summons to charge, but under the circumstances a shout would certainly be overheard. With his ax he points towards the nearest longhouse, just a short distance from the edge of the woods. "That way," he grunts.

Zea raises her hand to her temple unconsciously and then with a look to Soft-Feather she lowers it. "Better, thank you. I was a bit frightened there for a moment, thought I might have taken too much but I could feel the winds again after a few minutes. If it was not for your own strength I doubt I could have held anything by myself." She looks to the barn, or what is left of it. "Far too heavy. I guess that means only one thing, I've been slacking in my own training and need to start challenging myself again. Maybe in a few weeks, depending on where the winds carry us." Unfortunately a ship is a find place to command the winds if the air, but in practicing something more difficult such as lifting object it is not the best location.

"It was the purest example of teamwork I've seen in a long time. I'm just thankful no one was seriously injured. As for practice," the beginnings of a warm smile form, "I'm sure we can figure something out. I'd be glad to help, if there's anything I can do of course." The Magus continues to scan the trees, the mile-sight of the eagle ever probing in search of...MOVEMENT!

"Zea," Soft-Feather looks away from the trees, pretending something else has caught his eye, "I saw movement in the trees--and before you ask, no...the fire has driven away most of the wildlife. I do not think we are alone here."

From within the woods, Nodding silently, Valdis studies the ground, noting, "There is little cover. Do you wish to just attack? If so, one of us should go back and tell those on the Skelfing. If we attack now, we risk losing, and if they get past us, will the Skelfing have time to catch up to them before they escape?" Gritting her teeth, Valdis would also prefer to spill blood. She is Othin's favorite and would not dishonor him. Will not dishonor him. But which is worse? Holding back now or fighting and giving them the chance to escape their due punishment? She gestures to the building again noting, "We could wait, hide amongst the buildings, take them as they move apart." She flips the blade in her hand, gripping the black leather within her palm before she gives Ingvar and grin and noting, "Or we can say to hell with it all and cry out the name of Thunor as we spill their blood and feed the earth..."

From within the woods, Ingvar weighs the options for a moment. He's not accustomed to being a scout; he's a raider and normally is off the boat and onto the shore in the blink of an eye, meeting an enemy that usually knows they are there. This act of slinking around feels wrong to him, it feels unnatural. His fingers grip the ax tighter as his scowl deepens and he ponders the various outcomes. Those in the field might be the only ones, but they might not. Not coming in at the docks they have no clue as to the number of ships docks in the city. He spits angrily. "Look at them. Pale and scrawny. Look like those southerners we hear about. Where would they go if we attacked? Back to their ships? And then what? They're in dangerous waters and far from home. This is the land of our gods, not theirs." No, he is not happy, not happy at all. He looks over his shoulder and with a gruff nod summons the youngest. "Back to The Skelfing with you, tell 'em what we found and tell 'em we need 'em here." Enough of this business, he just wants to kill something.

Zea coughs a bit as the winds change direction and some of the foul-smelling smoke reaches her. She lifts her cloak, but she's not fast enough to keep it all out. It is with the cloak to her nose that Soft-Feather gives his warning and she looks at him warily. "We've been over this town time and again, we've been burning bodies and no one has yet surfaced. This place is desolate, I imagine you just saw a deer or a squirrel or something." She does her best to talk it away, though a touch of fear pokes at her brain and leaves her uncomfortable. Behind her, her wings begin to bristle and she drops her cloak and looks towards the forest. She does not want to believe there is anyone there, not entirely. "Or perhaps some of the men went into the forest to gather more wood, or maybe do some hunting."

"Maybe you're right, Zea...but then again, at my age, I've learned not to take chances." Soft-Feather disguises his movements by pretending to move back towards the fire, situating himself so that the blaze and the great plume of black smoke stands between himself and the trees in question. Letting his robe slide to the ground, he lets loose the torrent of magic inside. It only takes a few moments for his form to desolidify and transform, hardening into that of a golden eagle. Flapping wings carefully, so that his ascent is masked by the smoke, it isn't long before he is flying above the town, peering down into the trees for a MUCH closer look. He's almost above them now, gliding on an air current that means he doesn't have to flap...meaning unless they happen to be looking up, his presence should go unnoticed.

From within the woods, Her teeth bare as Ingvar speaks her language. One of their warriors however grabs Valdis' arm and points at the sudden shadow that moves out from behind the cloud of smoke. An eagle? And it's heading right for them ... how convenient is that? Her eyes narrow as she reaches up and pulls the hood over her head. The Aesir are wearing furs of bears and animals that they have hunted in these woods and covering her head with the face of a white bear helps hide the true nature of the woman as she crouches low, readying herself to run and attack. "Eagle above ... I don't trust it though," she informs Ingvar tersely, gesturing to the others that they should cover their heads as well to better hide themselves. "What eagle flies through smoke of a pyre like that? Those southerns are like those dirty Najada. Magic users. I say shoot it down and ask Freyja for forgiveness later ..." But Ingvar is the leader and the choice is his.

From within the woods, Ingvar glances up in time to see the bird disappear above the treetops. He spits again, this time with a curse to Logi tossed in as well. "I'd rather see a raven," he growls as he lifts his ax, his proverbial trigger finger is more than itchy now. The canopy of leaves that protects them from most prying eyes is also protecting the eagle. "We'd more likely lose a bolt than strike it through all of this," he says, inching over towards Valdis, bending down to better imitate a bear. His own black furs help hide in the shadows. With a glance back to those men still with them he says to one of the bowman, "If you get a clear shot of that eagle, take it. We'll offer Freyja a rich offering in return." He'll give the entire pantheon a feast worthy of them if it'll get that bloody bird out of here and secure a victory against these outsiders.

Watching as he goes, Zea's gaze follows the flight of the transformed eagle which, in hindsight, might not be the best thing for her to do. But the transformation is still fascinating and it is better than watching bodies burn. A couple of sailors that heard Soft-Feather are eyeing the woods, weapons in hand but their eyes are not as sharp as an eagle. They see nothing. It doesn't stop them from looking though, and waiting, just in case. "But the'd come by th' sea," mutters one mongrel with a short sword in his hand. "Them in the'r longboats, tha's where they be. Prolly jus' some stupid an'mal hopin' fer a meal." Zea takes in a deep breath and steadies herself, just in case Soft-Feather is right. The headache could flare up again if she isn't careful, but the pain would be something she'd have to look past just in case the movement in the woods is something that is not happy to see them.

Yes yes, furs are tricksy things...but when coupled with the knowledge of one who's lived in the woods and dealt with such natural creatures for near 60 years, they aren't so convincing. Whatever animals weren't driven away by the stench WOULD have been by the fire and commotion the crews have been making. While the avian cannot see clearly through the leafy canopy without diving below, and thus cannot confirm for sure the presence of invaders, he knows enough to suspect--and that is enough to send reinforcements no? So instead of heading back towards Zea, the eagle instead takes the long and safe route back to the Amarada, keeping the trees and the structures between himself and the possible invaders as he rises and lowers as needed to get where he's going. Time to speak to Mister Burke, it is. Zea, should she be watching his flight, might know that his lack of return is a BAD sign.

Though a woman grown, Muirea Epi could fool the best of them with her slight build. Especially when she wears naught but a thin wrap of cloth and a belt pouch. She makes her way back to the group from wherever it was she had taken herself off to earlier, a slight frown creasing her brow as she notices the odd commotion in the area. Green hair trails down her back and the light glimmers off the grayish green and blue patterned patches on her skin. The edginess of everyone has her edgy, too, the fins on her arms and the backs of her legs half flared. "What goes on?" she asks whomever might pay attention to the water scout.

From within the woods, Ingvar's sick and tired of this. There's killing to be done and they're hiding out in the woods, waiting for the Skelfing to bring reinforcements. He watches the skies through the trees and a frown comes to his features as he sees an eagle, (the same one?) soaring away from the forest and towards the sea. "Think the blasted bird is a scout," he spits angrily. "If it is, they'll know soon enough and we'll be trapped here." He was just ready to praise the gods and give them a feast like no other, and now he's ready to curse them. "We'll never find Valholl if we're caught here in the woods as if we were in some women's sewing circle. If this is the day of our death, then let us face it fighting, now cowering in the woods. Their blood is ours to take, we take it now and if the gods say we shall not die, then we shall live to celebrate our victory and if we die, then the gods know we did so honorably." He gives a nod to the battle maiden; the time for hiding is done.

Nervous eyes find Epi, even if Zea is doing everything to keep from appearing as such. "Soft-Feather believes he saw something in the woods," she says quietly to the Atlantean as she coughs a bit from the smoke. "Told him I thought it was just some animals, but he wasn't so sure." She points in the direction he flew and her lips quirk into a frown. "And then he took off that way. Perhaps he's gone to alert the ships, I cannot be sure." But if there is something in the woods they are now suddenly down another person that has the ability to fight. She looks longingly towards the direction of the ships. "Perhaps we should go back there ourselves," she muses.

Epi bites her lip, looking around towards the woods. Would they have any better luck on the ship than on the land? She looks at Zea for a moment. "I am only of use in the water," she points out. And then only when she's a dolphin with their instincts. She isn't too sure as she asks, "The others talk about the Aesir being vicious fighters. Would they kill their own?"

From within the woods, Valdis nods. The time for talking is done. Signaling to the other Aesir they move and move quickly through the woods, following the dark haired, dark winged woman as she leads them to the other side of one of the other barns untouched by fire. On her signal they break the edge of the woods, running quickly and silently to the barn, hidden from the small handful of crew that stands watching the forest or the pyre. If they're going to have a chance, they have to get just as close as they can before they attack. The move with quick stealth about the side and then, when they have gotten as close as they possibly can without being seen, Valdis raises up her voice in a battle cry that his shrill and violent and primitive, enough to bring goosebumps to the skin and raise the hair upon the back of ones neck. Rushing out she only trusts that her fellow warriors are right behind her.

From within the woods, Ingvar is quick to follow their good-luck charm, his own weapons ready for battle. Her battle cry is soon joined by his and the other three Aesir that have accompanied them. If The Skelfing has yet reached port, he doesn't know, but he's not going to sit in the dark like an old woman and wait. With blades hoisted high his deep voice roars and Aesir charge, calling for blood of the enemies. Likewise, the other three give similar cries, making the charge sound more fearsome than it might look. The Aesir, with their heavy furs and thick frames are not beings to be taken lightly and they know it. It does not matter who he kills, just that he *does* kill, and kill quickly. The charge is on, hoping to find the outsiders too startled to do anything until it is too late.

Standing with her fellow crewmates, Lyri had watched the shifted form of Soft-Feather wing his way back to the ship with a deep frown curving her lips. She'd been silent this long while, but as a fearsome, urgent battle cry rises from several throats behind the knot of her shipmates, her head snaps around, fingers automatically going to her knife and wings unfurling. Blue-green eyes blink in surprise for a few seconds, which is far too long when there are armed, armored warriors rushing towards them - but where did they come from? Were they the people who had done this? Or were they the other villagers, returning home? "Get back t' th' ship!" Lyri cries loudly, drawing her knife. Whatever good she thinks a slender, unarmored chit like herself can do against such warriors, she seems intent on holding her ground to help the others get to safety.

The armed sailors are momentarily stunned by the sounding screams. The area had been so silent for so long that the break of that silence is enough to catch anyone off guard. They return with screams of their own, coupled with curses and threats to the Aesirs' manhood (or womanhood as the case might be.) Zea is like Lyri, stunned for a moment before taking action. Rather than remain on the ground, she takes to the skies where she has a better vantage point and can fight in her own way. Cursing the skies for there are no storms nearby to call, she can only do what she can with what she has. Creating a storm would take too long and it would only impede her side as well. The winds whip up as the Aesir advance and she directs their fury towards the heavy-bodied Empyreans. She cannot stop them completely, but she can help make their advance much more difficult.

Epi gets a sense of the emotions just a half second before the warriors burst out and race towards them. Panic usually does not equate to shouting for an Atlantean. At least, not aloud. But it's very likely that every Atlantean from both ships and any other telepaths are now quite aware of the attackers. She starts to follow Lyri's very appropriate suggestion, except... she is not precisely the epitome of grace on land. She trips on some loose pebbles and falls with a thud.

Some of the crew remember the words of their Captain and Mister Burke. They are to defend themselves but they are also supposed to do whatever they can o avoid bloodshed - either their own or the Aesir's. Still, just how do you do that when there is a charging group of them rushing you with swords drawn and rage in their eyes? The Aesir are like a pack of wild mad wolves descending upon the crew without mercy, only with bloodlust. It's every man, and woman, for himself as the crew move to group together, forming a solid front as the Aesir draw near, drawing whatever weapons they have on hand.

Rushing forward Valdis' blade clashes with one of the crewmember's, swiping viciously, the sound of metal ringing against metal like the bell that starts a wresting match. She bears her teeth, snarling as she draws the blade back and strikes again, testing and learning her opponent as she pushes him back hard with one ringing blow after another. She snaps and growls, spitting out curses in Aesir, the strange words as unnerving as her attack. "May Vidar split you asunder, you murdering dogs! I will cut you apart limb from limb and feed your body to the wolves of the forest and the sharks of the sea! I will gouge out your eyes and eat your heart! Die, southern festering rat, DIE!!!"

Bad timing. The Atlantean woman Mahina pretty much is confused as some locals return... and begin to blame them. "Wait!" she cried. She figured she might as well attempt to calm them and explain the situation.

Like Valdis, Ingvar is quickly upon the sailors, choosing the largest one for himself while his companions seek their own victims. His sword comes down swiftly and the ringing of the weapons clashes with the shouts from the Aesir in their native tongue. The sound is rough and harsh on southern ears, but Ingvar cares not for southern ears, unless he can claim one as a trophy. "Thunor's vengeance fly with me! You southern sons of whores taint our soil and our vengeance and your will sate the gods!" He swings his axe at the sailor's side as he roars loudly for the blood of these cowardly outsiders. Any shouts from the strange foreigners go unheeded and unheard. The blood is rushing in his ears and the pure joy of battle has consumed him.

Epi isn't near skilled enough to try to touch a non-Atlantean mind, though she would so do so if she could. Sucks to be young sometimes. And apparently these people must be the killers, they're willing to go after those who are obviously not warriors such as herself. "Pasiphae protect me!" she says as she tries to find her feet to keep running, though she is hardly quick enough for that.

Zea curses to her own gods in her own language as the winds press against the advancing Aesir, but like the barn the other day their weight is more than she had bargained for. Instead she decides to focus just on one, the female warrior screaming at them in some rough and uncultured language. With her eyes dark and her wings beating the air fiercely Zea turns her attention on Valdis and tries to stop the woman with a wall of wind. It is all that she can do from here. "Back to the ships!" Her cry echoes the one Lyri gave before, though in the confusion of the moment it might go unheard. Her voice is only so loud and it is competing with the Aesir shouts and the sound of the weapons clashing.

The sailor before her stumbles and falls and with a loud cry Valdis rushes in for the kill only for a rush of wind to come and knock her back. Startled she shakes her head in confusion and lunges for the man again, only for the wind to push her back. Glaring she snarls and screams, like a wild animal being kept from its rightful prey. Espying Zea up in the air, Valdis narrows her gaze and reaches down to take up a dagger from her boot, hefting into her palm before throwing it at the Empyrean woman, spitting as she does so. "She-bitch! Come down here and fight you cowardly cur! Using your magic like those dirty filthy Najada!"

Mahina blinks. "Zea!" she calls out in warning to the Empyrean woman. She takes a breath, she probably wasn't strong enough to make contact with a non-telepathic mind, and in this instant she wished she could. "Please! Stop!" she called out. She frowned, they were no where near water, not that she could have used too much of it anyway. "Stop!" she called out again.

Lyri had hesitated, wary of joining the fray, but as a surge of adrenaline courses through her body, Lyri releases a muffled, somewhat laughable, battle cry of her own and advances behind one of the Aesir warriors, wings drawing in tight to avoid potential swinging blades. Her own blade was hardly threatening, but when plied with some of her healing magic in reverse...a laugh escapes her as she delivers several large gashes to the Aesir's arm with the help of her magic, enough to distract him and help the sailor in front of the Aesir gain the upper hand.

The sailor clashing swords with Ingvar dives to the side and the large Aesir roars his frustration as he chases after the sailor. The Amarada crewmember is distracted by the Atlantean's cry to stop, but with his life on the line and this hulking warrior breathing down his neck he's not about to just stop. With a cry of his own he re-engages Ingvar and their swords clash again, though this time the sailor isn't quite so fast and the Aesir's ax finds purchase in his thigh. With a roar to his gods, Ingvar yanks the ax away and raises the blood-stained weapon in triumph before searching out the next target. The sailor is certainly not dead, but most assuredly down.

Sivan wasn't sure if he heard sounds coming from outside, but the shouts in the foreign language causes Sivan to rush out of the Tavern only to see the battle going on. Well, someone did mention a battle earlier, didn't they? Glancing between the two cloaked figures who are attacking, he considers only a moment before calling flame into his hands. The one raising the axe looks rather deadly, so the fireball gets thrown at him. Even as he reaches to the sash at his waist to pull out the curved dagger he mutters, "Should have worn red today..."

Zea looks down at the furious Aesir warrior maiden but does not understand a word of what she's saying. She gets the intent, however and keeps the winds fixed on the other woman, her eyes glinting dangerously. The blade is thrown at her, but the winds heave it back and she watches it bounce across the hard ground until the point sticks in the dirt, leaving it wobbling with the force of the impact. "Godless whore," Zea shouts back, knowing the woman probably doesn't understand her either. She's tempted to make the attack more personal, but remembering the words of the captain and his first, she refrains from choking the ever-loving life out of Valdis' neck.

From the direction of the treeline comes the dark form of a golden eagle, at the head of three others who follow close behind. Suddenly the formation breaks and three of the avians each take a different target, swooping down to engage the remainder of the Aesir party. They will scratch with sharp talons and attempt to maul their prey however they can, battling til death if necessary.

As Ingvar raises his axe in triumph, the lead eagle--and the largest--swoops down from behind and attempts to clutch the weapon in his talons, meaning to fly away with it immediately if successful. He is careful, however, to avoid the roiling fireball.

Emerging from the tree line are two ursines, no doubt called from wherever they fled from the fire to, trundling as fast as their shaggy paws will carry them--about 35-40kph--right at the closest attacking Aesir. Their angry growls are immediately recognizable.

Eyes flash with new fire at Zea's shout, a light of recognition, comprehension it would seem? She flings off her cloak and starts running, wings beating the air ineffectually it would seem, till she runs and jumps onto a falling sailor, pushing off of his back with all her might, wings beating the air furiously as she lunges up trying to reach Zea no matter how impossible it might be. "Othin's bane upon you, flying cowardly whore!" she shrieks. "Come down here and fight, you weak little bitch!"

Following shortly after the eagle comes a large group of men being led by a fiery-haired mongrel. Mister Burke shouts loudly, but it is Aesir that he speaks. "Hold Aesir brothers and sisters! Hold your rage and your blades! We are your friends! Not your enemies! We have laid your dead to the flame, but we did not slay them! Hold in the name of the Amarada and Captain Demetrius! Hold!"

Epi's eyes widen at the female Aesir chasing Zea and Epi does the only thing she can do... she grabs a rock and flings it at the woman. "Leave her alone!"

Mahina blinks. She stops and tries to think how best to stop the attack, but amazingly when Mister Burke speaks up, she turns to him, this was certainly a shock, he spoke their language.

Ingvar shouts curses at the eagles as he wrenches his ax away from them, the movement vicious and fierce, intending to bring down the bird if it is foolish enough to try and cling to the ax's blade. "Come out and fight like real men!" Ingvar shouts up at the eagle, presuming it to be the same one that was spying on them earlier. His attention on the eagle, however, distracts him from the fireball roaring towards him and it catches his cloak. Furious now at all these mages refusing to fight fair he struggles to get the cloak off and the fire out when Mister Burke's voice rings in his ears. He drops the cloak and stamps on it angrily as his dark gaze picks out the mongrel.

As one of the bears reaches an Aesir warrior, the man turns about with his axe and drops it just as the bear tackles him. While the warrior goes down under the weight of the bear, his axe splits the animals head wide open, the bear groaning and crying out before collapsing dead. The warrior grunts, heaving hard against the heavy corpse, trying to get out from beneath it while one of his kin covers him, swinging an axe and a sword threateningly.

On, now it *is* getting personal. Zea glares darkly at the woman attempting to meet her in the skies and she flaps her wings to get higher and away from the raving lunatic. The winds shift and she decides to forget what the captain said, this woman is obviously not going to stop. With a much more focused approach she begins to use her magic to draw breath out of the other woman's lungs, at least enough for her to stumble in the air and fall back to earth. She would do more, but she hears a familiar voice in an unfamiliar tongue and, startled, she looks to see Mister Burke arriving with other members of the crew, speaking in the same rough language used by the woman attacking her.

Lyri had been team-tagging with another of the sailors to keep one of the Aesir distracted and whirling between their alternating attacks. But at the sight of the bears lumbering towards them, Lyri let out a veritable shriek, even as the sailor turned and ran, unaware the bears were intending to help. As the warrior engages the bear, Lyri decides the sky might be a safer place to be; wings unfurl and carry her aloft, skirting the edge of Zea's windstorm, dagger glinting before her. "Great." She mutters, but before she can choose another target, she espies Burke calling out in a foreign tongue. "Tyche's Elbows, what /now/?" She mutters, watching from high above.

Sivan has another fireball ready, but as Burke appears with reinforcements, he merely holds it at the ready. Another hand stretches out to put out the flame trying to consume the Aesir's cloak...he can always ignite it once more. But Burke's tone was one to be obeyed, no matter what the words.

The golden eagle soars up and away from Ingvar, somehow unsuccessful at grabbing away the axe despite having the element of surprise, the surge of momentum it had built up, AND the fireball the man had to contend with. Wondering if the warrior isn't somehow clairvoyant, the avian makes for higher ground (so to speak) so that he can better assess the situation below.

The eagles are doing well, but one of the bears has fallen. Feeling a deep regret at having to send one of his forest friends into battle, Soft-Feather vows to take revenge himself! But that's when the cavalry comes in and, as ordered, Soft-Feather calls his distractions back towards him. The birds take to the sky, circling high above, while the other bear runs out of harms way. For now, he waits...hoping the First Mate's speech is heard and taken as truth, for it is.

Valdis screams, or at least she tries to as the woman before her steals the very air from her lungs. But she doesn't stop fighting, trying to reach Zea till gravity drags her back down, her wings flapping ineffectually. She lands heavily, resisting the urge to reach and claw at her throat. She won't give that winged witch the satisfaction. Instead she lifts her sword and blocks an incoming blow, even though her limbs are starting to burn from the lack of air. She lurches to her feet, forcing her arm to lift and keep fighting, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears. This is no way to die. To have the breath stolen from you by a witch? There's no glory in that. After so many battles, so much bloodshed, to die like this? Now she'll never reach Valholl...

Mahina moves back, she decides to move as far from the conflict as she can. She's confused a little bit, but finally makes her way into the open, for she was a ways off hiding a little bit.

The sailors draw closer and now Mister Burke shifts back and forth between Aesir and the common tongue yelling to both now, "Withdraw!" and then "Hold!" "They are only defending their dead! They don't realize that we are not guilty!" and then, "We are not your enemy! We are your brothers of the South! We sang the songs of mourning and gave the dead fire for their pains! Hold your hands!"

Hovering high above, Burke's words carry to Lyri, but the cartographer doesn't sheathe her knife just yet. She drifts a bit lower, wings working to keep her aloft, so she might listen and observe more easily.

Ingvar frowns at the wingless redhead who seems to know his language and he raises his hand to bring his warriors to halt. He's wary though and doesn't drop his weapon once it has been picked back up. His cloak, however, remains on the ground. With long strides he forcefully approaches Mister Burke looking for an answer to just what is going on. "You speak our tongue, wingless one," he says gruffly, looking the mongrel up and down. "You know what happened to Njororn then? You killed our people?" Ingvar has not quite grasped the idea yet that these outsiders are innocent of any wrong-doing. Well, except for burning down the barn, but that couldn't be helped. "Explain yourself quickly, wingless man and I might let you live."

Zea releases her magic at the sound of Mister Burke's voice, but she stays aloft. Right now she wants nothing to do with that raven-haired woman, including getting down on earth with her. She'll stay in the air and wait the outcome of what appears to still be a tense and unstable situation. She looks over to Mister Burke, the rest of the crew and the large Aesir, but she also watches Valdis from time to time, half-expecting another blade to come her way.

The golden eagle takes to circling above the dwindling battle, knowing that the only thing it can do right now is watch and listen. However, he is still weary of being hit with arrows, so his gaze is ever watchful.

Kalei heard the commotion and came running, wisely or not. Her ear quickly tunes into the unfamiliar words, and the familiar voice speaking some of them. She picks what appears to be a fairly safe spot to listen from and sets most of her attention on learning and attempting to piece together this new language.

The two sides seem to have called a truce of sorts, for as the two leaders draw close the clash of steel softens and then stops. The two crews separate and it's just as well that they have stopped, for now the Aesir are hopelessly outnumbered. Approaching Ingvar with his sword held in both hands before him, as if he were offering the blade to the Aesir. "That be not the way of it. We are and always 'ave been friends of the Aesir fer over twenty years now. We be from the Amarada, famed ship in these waters lead by the Captain Demetrius. Surely those names 'ave reached ye ears b'fore? I be Mister Burke, and me name -best- be reachin' yer ears, are there be Aesir whose ears be needin' boxing! We cam 'ere fer trade - were expected. We found the women and children slain and hidden wi'in that there barn. We drew them out and gave them to the flame as is their right and honor. We sent word to Idavoll, b'too late it w'seem. We be not yer enemy, but yer ally." He gestures about them noting, "Ye know me words be true, fer we could slay you 'ere and now and leave easy. Ye be outnumbered. But we hold our 'ands. We dinnae have to burn and bury yer dead, and we wouldna iffin we be the ones to lay them down, but we 'ave." And with that the mongrel stands and waits, knowing that most of his crew has not the slightest idea of what he just said, but first things first.

Valdis sucks in a breath of air, the shock of it making her dizzy, her limbs collapsing beneath her. She sinks to the ground, furious at her weakness. Her inability to keep fighting. But she hates one person more than herself. Her head lifts heavily, onyx eyes focusing on Zea with pure and unmitigated hatred. She holds her sword, because she is too weak to lift it. Because the fighting has stopped. But by her honor that Empyrean chit best never turn her back on Valdis, for she'll find a dagger growing between those pretty white wings if she ever does.

Ingvar listens to Mister Burke, if he recognizes the name of the Amarada or Demetrius he makes no show of is, aside from a slight sneer at the idea that this bunch of misfits might be aligned with his proud and noble people. His lip has been split, but he has no idea when it happened, only that when he spits, he spits blood. "No word came to Idavoll," he grunts back, as if that was not obvious already. "We come on our own, not because some sot southern messenger bids it of us." He looks back towards the pyre and watches the flames for a while, considering what Burke has said to him. "Aye, they have a proper funeral, or as proper as you southerners could give. Where are the others then? You found the women and children, where are the men?" He drops the blade of the ax to the ground and leans on its handle, watching the mongrel closely.

The avian descends now, returning to the spot he started from near the blazing pyre. Melting into a gelatinous state, matter flows and ripples until it resembles something humanoid. Color and solidity rush in and the rather naked Soft-Feather bends down to retrieve his cloak, mentally telling his animal inkana that their work is done.

As Soft-Feather dons his cloak, the birds fly off...and the remaining bear moves to grieve near her dead mate. She lowers herself to the ground, sidling beside the bloody beast, nudging his side with her snout. He does not move, this is no surprise. Opening her mouth as wide as possible, she lets loose a terrifying roar before moving off into the forest. Soft-Feather will carry that death on his conscience for some time to come.

Epi scampers off to the docks, having no place here among warriors.

Sivan watches the female Aesir fall and, snuffing the flame in his hand before moving over to her and offering her a hand up. He may not be able to understand the language Burks speaks to the others, but he knows enough about body language to at least know what he needs to offer.

Zea catches the raven-haired woman's glance and she returns one that is similarly dark and unwelcome. She's not going to back down now that Mister Burke has called a truce. She is not going to openly fight the woman either, but she's not going to let down her guard. She angles closer towards Mister Burke and eventually comes down to land nearer to her crew and the first mate. She watches the conversation but cannot understand what is being said. And where is Sebastian, for that matter? Wasn't he supposed to be talking to the Aesir and clear all this up? A slight frown begins to develop as she studies body language rather than the words being spoken.

The mongrel sheathes the sword and glares at the Aesir. If his words are not enough then it is time for strength. "We dinnae know where t'men be. We 'spect they've been taken by the Najada through tainted ale. Drugged. They dinnae be here when we arrived, but the ale be foul and changed" He raises a cautioning finger and notes firmly, "But we dinnae know that fer sure ... tis just what we think 'as 'appened." Crossing his arms over his chest he notes in a voice loud and strong, "The Rusalki spoke wi' us briefly. They dinnae know whot 'appened either, but they said they would see what the sea 'ad to tell 'em. As for Idavoll, -obvious- ye dinnae get word from 'em. Dinnae I joost say that we sent word t'late?"

The tension hasn't subsided, even if the fight has. It's clear the conversation isn't in any language she's heard before, but if there is something to hear or see, better to do it upon the ground. Sheathing her knife, Lyri flutters down and lands slightly behind Zea and Burke.

Kalei remains quiet, eyes and ears focused on only the two, Burke and Ingvar, for the time being, as they are doing the bulk of the speaking. She is alert to small nuances and body language, although it is more difficult now that Burke is speaking solely in the foreign language now.

A dark murmur goes through the Aesir as the Najada are mentioned along with the suggestion that the ale has been tainted. "Deceitful cowards they are," Ingvar says to Mister Burke with a stern nod. He does not quite trust this man, but the Najada is a topic that could turn most, if not all, Aesir away from a current foe. "You're in foreign waters, know that if you are not telling the truth of this we'll make sure you do not leave these waters alive." His eyes lift and look over the rest of the crew, finally taking a good look at all of them, the mix of races gathered here. His dark eyes focus on the Atlanteans and he points them out to Burke with a grunt. "You sail with Najada?" The question is more of an accusation than anything and he suddenly looks ready to swing his ax again.

Snorting darkly, Burke snaps at the Aesir, "Dinnae ye have eyes in yer head laddie? Do they -look- like Najada? The Rusalki be water-folk too, but ye dinnae accuse them of bein' Najada. They be Atlanteans, that they be, and they 'ave as much in common with the Najada as do the Rusalki!" He takes a forceful step toward the Aesir and barks, "Foreign waters?! Why, I been sailin' these waters every 'other year fer over twenty years, ye whelp. I likely sparred wi' ye father! These waters no be foreign t'me! Ow do you think I speak yer tongue so fine?" The First Mate snorts angrily again. "I saids it before, I saids it again. We be -friends-!"

Zea draws her wings in against her as she listens to the rough language between the two men. Watching Mister Burke and noting his change in tone she realizes that little good seems to be coming of this. She looks over to the Atlanteans and then back to Ingvar, unable to hide her curiosity. Why is he singling them out?

Ingvar points towards the docks this time, his eyes on Burke. "We will wait for our vessel aboard yours." It isn't so much a request as a demand. "Then we will decide what we will do with you and this situation." He's not a diplomat by any means and all this talking is difficult for him. Killing is much easier and he doesn't have to think about it. He scratches at his head and looks back at his other crew members. "We'll all wait together and see if word comes from Idavoll. If it is as serious as you seem to think, we will hear something. We are not patient though, we will not wait forever. You will come to Idavoll with us in three days time if there is no word. Hoevding Vintersen will want news of what happened here." He looks back to Mister Burke, awaiting his answer.

Lyri listens intently, a frown furrowing her brow. Try as she might, she can't reckon a single word either man is saying. Her gaze shifts briefly to the black-winged woman on the ground, curious, but wariness draws her attention back to Burke and the Aesir before long.

"If you wish," Burke returns, surprised for a moment but then realizing that of course they'll want to be onboard ... to make sure they don't try to flee. "Just let me remind ye', lad, that -we- be the ones wi' the upper 'and right now and wi' be the ones who are lettin' -ye- stand 'ere now. Just remember, if we wanted t'ye could be as dead as your kin and we could be far far away. While ye be on our ships, ye will be respectful, or ye -won't- be allowed on our decks." His head cocks to one side and nods as he notes, "But aye, if we dinnae 'ear anything b'fore three days we'll sail wi' ye to Idavoll." After all...the Captain is still there. Turning to the rest of the crew he shouts, "Sorry to keep ye all in suspense ... the Aesir are wary, but they be willin' to accept a truce till the truth be known. They'll be stayin on board, but they are guests ... as sooch hey are to be treated wi' respect and if they step out of bounds, ye are to tell an officer at once!" His bright turquoise eyes scans over the assembled crew, certain that this isn't news they are particularly going to like.

Sivan clears his throat and moves to approach Burke, "Ah...Mister Burke...while I know that they are only few in comparison...we are not exactly rolling around in supplies..." He can make some things stretch, but they may suffer for it later.

Zea does not like it, not in the least. They did everything to give those poor souls a proper funeral and see they weren't desecrated further, and this is their reward? She sighs through gritted teeth and shakes her head and glances past Ingvar to Valdis and her dislike for the plan grows. There are murmurs among the crew as well, none of them liking what they're hearing any more than she does, it seems. But what can she do? At least it appears they aren't going to die today, that's something, but she'll remember to keep her door locked at night, just in case.

Lyri doesn't look any more pleased than the rest of the crew, but she keeps her sentiments to herself, arms crossing as a dark glower rises to her face.

Turning to Sivan, Burke nods. "Dinnae ye worry, Mister Sivan. They 'ave to get their own food... then dinnae be welcome to any of ours. But we might as well venture into the woods, see if there is any game to be had and caught. Some fresh meat would be welcome. Only if they show a finer side t'their nature will we offer t'share wi' em. Once this is cleared, there'll be food fer us in Idavoll ..."

Ingvar steps back and says something quietly to the rest of the Aesir and then turns back to Mister Burke. He can only assume what the mongrel says in his own tongue is the same that he's said to the Aesir. "We accept your terms," he grudgingly answers with a sober nod. Hefting his sword his slings it back over his back, a sign that there is a peace to be had here. For now, at least he will not try to kill anyone. Behind him, the other Aesir follow suit, sheathing their weapons and looking uncomfortable as they do it.

Kalei for one is happy with the news. It gives her the perfect chance to learn the language up close and personal as it were. At least, she hopes they'll be willing to speak with her. She smiles, stepping out from her hiding place.

Nodding, Burke waves to Ingvar and the rest of the Aesir, calling back, "Ye'll keep to the decks ... no one below decks save the crew. And ye'll 'ave to supply yer own food ... we dinnae 'ave stores for the lot of ye." He starts to make his way back toward the ships, a small smile curling his lips as blessedly death was averted today, even if only just. "And if ye can accept the truth, that we be ye friends and allies, there be ale, good untainted ale, fer the drinkin'... and we'll take the first cup t'prove it." Some of the crews follow in turn and others remain to watch the pyre burn, the flames dwindling down, a reflection of the shift from fiery battle to tense truce, the embers of distrust and suspicion glinting like embers banked, ready to burst back into flame if they are fanned too hard.