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<blockquote data-quote="Arcturion" data-source="post: 3736171" data-attributes="member: 54632"><p><strong>1.0 Darksail Argosy</strong></p><p></p><p><span style="color: LemonChiffon">“Peace,” the Captain repeated, as if hearing the sound of it for the very first time. “My Hrundic is a bit rusty, but I don’t believe the northmen even have a word for peace in their language, not that they would know the meaning to begin with. They war with each other in as much as they do other peoples. The Hultaan, the Dracians, why I even heard they dared to raid against the Thorazuin and Thalasians in the dark days following the Harrowing, the dwarves for the secret of whorl-patterned steel and the elves for timber to build their longships so they could make war upon all the land.</span></p><p><span style="color: LemonChiffon"></span></p><p><span style="color: LemonChiffon">“A Hrundic drakkar puts to anchor wherever it has a mind to, and any thought of protest almost always ends in bloodshed,” Rentiki observed with some distaste. “Vikers and reavers, the whole lot of them. Would that the gods see fit to drop the accursed mountain atop their sails!”</span></p><p><span style="color: LemonChiffon"></span></p><p><span style="color: LemonChiffon">A bell began to toll in the distance, ringing a mournful dirge throughout the capital. Eltera strained her ears to see where it was coming from and spied a lone watchtower across the bay upon the western shores, its ramparts breaking through the veil of thick morning fog. Other bells in other towers took up the call, and soon it seemed that all of Drace was abuzz with the chime of warning at the Hrundir’s inevitable approach. The northmen are coming. The northmen are coming. The northmen are coming.</span></p><p><span style="color: LemonChiffon"></span></p><p><span style="color: LemonChiffon">Wyverns appeared in the skies overhead, circling the harbor with dark wings that cast broad shadows upon the churning slate-gray waters. The scaled armor of their mounted riders glistened in the weak sunlight, while the lances they bore flashed with the promise of sharpened steel. A horn blew a thunderous note from the dragon-headed prow of the lead Hrundic longship, echoing across Dracian Bay. The sound was mirrored by a blast that came from behind the crowd of onlookers, startling the various cityfolk that had gathered to watch the arrival of the northmen.</span></p><p><span style="color: LemonChiffon"></span></p><p><span style="color: LemonChiffon">“Make way for the Contari*!” barked a man’s gruff voice in the Dracian tongue. “Move aside and clear a path, lest you want to be trampled underfoot!” The mob began to shuffle toward either side as the bright tips of lances peeked over their heads. Rentiki pulled Eltera gently along with him, the dark aelf’s lithe form dwarfed by the large man’s bulk. She didn’t bother to resist and simply stepped lightly around to his right, partially hidden by a muscular arm and shoulder.</span></p><p><span style="color: LemonChiffon"></span></p><p><span style="color: LemonChiffon">A triple column of two-legged dragon-like creatures strode into view, the long, wickedly curved claws at their feet clicking first against the cobblestones of the main thoroughfare and then the wooden planks of the boardwalk leading to the piers. Their slight, spindly arms also bore grasping talons, some sheathed in man-made steel claws to augment their shearing ability. Dark scales of mottled blue and black covered their thick hides, while the long, ridged horns atop their heads gave the creatures the appearance of regal crowns, albeit deadly ones capable of impaling a man clean through upon a goring charge. Tooled leather saddles were strapped to their backs from which grim men clad in banded mail and polished breastplates sat. Each mounted warrior bore a lance of ebony wood tipped with unforgiving steel braced against the stirrup in one lobster-gauntleted hand, the other bearing a large kite shields emblazoned with a crest of a two-headed gold dragon upon a field of the deepest purple, the colors of royalty. Pennons bearing the same sigil flew from the top of their spearheads. Plainly decorated but practical longswords were sheathed at their sides to serve as secondary weapons. Dark eyes scanned the crowd from underneath half-helms adorned with ivory dragon horn that seemed to match those of the soldiers’ mounts, the long tails of the draconic creatures swishing back and forth from behind them lazily. A few onlookers who didn’t manage to get out of the way in time were rewarded with a snapping of jaws as the drakes hissed their displeasure, sharp fangs bared in a snarl.</span></p><p><span style="color: LemonChiffon"></span></p><p><span style="color: LemonChiffon">Armed with short swords sheathed at their right sides as well as spears and kite shields in hand, a small contingent of footmen followed the cavalry from close behind before fanning out toward either side. With a shouted command, they quickly formed lines between them and the crowd, locking their shields as one and bracing the butts of their spears upon the dock to create a formidable wall. Gasps and muttered oaths passed among the throng of curious spectators as they were pushed back and held at bay. Several of the footmen grasped thick chains that held the leather collars of smaller dragon-like creatures. Like the larger beasts, they walked upon two-legs though they could easily go upon all fours if need be. The size of large dogs, the smaller drakes had scales the color of dull jade and lacked horns. Instead, finned crests adorned the top of their heads and backs all the way to the tips of their long tails. The bright yellow frills opened and closed depending upon the mood of the creatures, flaring up to their full span when agitated to make them appear larger and more formidable than they actually were. Though small, their teeth and claws seemed no less sharp as they sniffed at the salt-heavy air and snapped at those that ventured too close. Curiously, the creatures chirped noisily amongst themselves, hinting at some pack mentality when they hunted. A cunning spark of intelligence glinted behind their yellow cat-like eyes, matching those of the larger two-legged drakes but was missing from most wyverns, which are generally considered dumb beasts by most of Mordrake’s populace, however fearsome they are.</span></p><p><span style="color: LemonChiffon"></span></p><p><span style="color: LemonChiffon">Once the impressive host had stopped, Eltera counted at least fifty of the larger draconic creatures and mounted knights each, with twice altogether as many men on foot and a handful of the smaller drakes to keep the crowd from surging any closer toward the wharves ahead. Peering from behind Rentiki, she saw that a man as large as the ebon-skinned Captain rode at the head of the column alongside a woman. Widening her eyes, the dark aelf recognized the man as Ivar Wolfgarsson, the proud Hrundic warrior who had shown her nothing but disdain and open threats upon discovering her true nature. He was mounted atop a large destrier, the lone horse the color of black smoke. Whinnying and shaking its mane, his steed looked quite out of place and nervous amidst a pack of drakes that were all no doubt carnivores. A thick gray and white mottled wolf’s pelt was draped over the northman’s broad shoulders, while a fur-lined steel half-helm adorned his head. Bright flaxen locks peeked through from under the fur, framing a face chiseled seemingly from the ice and stone of his people’s homeland. Eyes the color of the gray overcast sky stared straight ahead, fixed upon the approaching longships, while his powerful frame was clad in a silvery mail shirt of fine mithral links complete with tough leather gloves and boots likewise trimmed with fur. Belted at the man’s side was his prized warhammer, its iron head tipped with a long, jagged spike. Holding the reins with a large, powerful hand, Ivar raised a horn to his lips with the other and again blew a long, rumbling note that reverberated across the sea.</span></p><p><span style="color: LemonChiffon"></span></p><p><span style="color: LemonChiffon">The horn was answered by a like blast that thundered across the sky, sending swarms of dragonets shrieking into the air to mingle with the much larger wyverns in an aerial dance. Without a word, Ivar withdrew his leg from over the saddle and dismounted, landing heavily upon the wooden planks of the boardwalk. A Dracian soldier went to seize the reins of his horse, the animal stamping its hooves and nearly bucking in fright at his touch. The Hrundic warrior paid neither the destrier nor footman any heed, with one hand bracing the long bronze-capped horn at his side while the other coming to rest atop the handle of his warhammer.</span></p><p><span style="color: LemonChiffon"></span></p><p><span style="color: LemonChiffon">Mounted atop one of the drakes, the woman that rode at Ivar’s side watched the powerful northmen with eyes the color that matched his own, her expression a barely controlled mask of warring emotions. Long hair of reddish-gold flame was drawn up and over her head in an elaborately braided weave, held in place with ivory combs and golden pins. She wore an elegant gown of fine blue satin trimmed with golden thread along its pleated hem while a fur-lined cloak was draped over her shoulders to help ward off the cold, held in place with a brooch wrought of gold in the shape of an entwining serpent. Handsome and statuesque rather than beautiful in the classic sense, the woman’s skin was also as pale as Ivar’s. It took only a single glance to know that she was no Dracian, but instead having the blood of the Hrundir flowing within her veins. Tall in the saddle and possessed of a warrior’s graceful familiarity as if born to ride, the woman’s features and bearing spoke of one who was used to being in command and brooked no nonsense. Despite her noble lady’s array, she appeared ill at ease with the extravagance of it all, as if more comfortable with mail and plate against her skin rather than silk and satin. Her left hand in particular appeared to grasp at the gown’s fabric at her side, as if instinctively searching for the hilt of a sword that should have been there but strangely wasn’t.</span></p><p><span style="color: LemonChiffon"></span></p><p><span style="color: LemonChiffon">The lead male Dracian, a captain judging by the deep purple of his cape and complexity of his dragon-shaped helm, likewise dismounted, shooting Ivar an unmasked look of mistrust before moving toward the woman’s side. He appeared younger than a captain had any right to be though the way he carried himself spoke of experience that belied his years. The captain offered a gauntleted hand up to the woman, but she merely waved it away with no small measure of annoyance. Sliding easily from the saddle herself, the woman touched down upon the boardwalk upon slippered feet and moved to stand by Ivar’s right side, if grudgingly. Appearing slightly abashed but resigned, the young captain stood opposite of the large northman’s left, his own hand resting against the pommel of the longsword sheathed at his belt while giving Ivar cautious sidelong glances from the corner of his eyes. Eltera noted the woman, though not nearly matching Ivar’s considerable height, stood a few inches taller than many of the Dracian men around her, and was eye to eye with the young captain. Grim but composed, elder looking men with neatly trimmed beards and clad in ornate robes and flowing mantles draped over their left shoulders, in the popular Dracian style of aristocracy, moved to flank them, most likely royal advisors and councilors.</span></p><p><span style="color: LemonChiffon"></span></p><p><span style="color: LemonChiffon">By now, the crowds on either side of the host had swelled to near bursting, drawing citizens from all corners of the Dracian capital. Nobles peered out from the curtains of palanquins and carriages, surrounded by their own armed entourages amidst commonfolk that included shopkeepers, laborers, artisans, dock workers, and even ragged beggars and refugees huddled together against the chill. These last stared hungrily with vacant eyes upon the gold finery and weapons of the assembled host and nobility alike. Such things could buy months’ worth of food and warm clothing. Only the fear of tasting that very same cold steel and being torn limb from limb by the drakes kept them from swarming as a mob.</span></p><p><span style="color: LemonChiffon"></span></p><p><span style="color: LemonChiffon">The tolling of the alarm bells had receded from the watchtowers, though the soldiers gave neither inch nor quarter to anyone trying to pass through their lines. A few unruly onlookers received clouts to the head with mailed fists or the butt of spears if they pressed in too closely, and one unfortunately loud-mouthed longshoreman, stinking of grog, had his nose broken by the sudden bash of a kite shield when he made a crude remark upon the noble lady’s honor, having something to do with Hrundir and goats. The woman, to her credit, paid the drunkard no mind but instead kept her eyes transfixed upon the looming dragon-headed vessels.</span></p><p><span style="color: LemonChiffon"></span></p><p><span style="color: LemonChiffon">Accompanied by the grunting shouts of hardened sailors working the oars and ropes, the beating of the Hrundic drums slowed in their cadence as the drakkars finally made their berth upon Drace’s shore. Looking closer upon the ships’ sails, she could see that each one bore a different animal sigil along with the common crossed axes wreathed in storm and lightning bolts. One of the smaller drakkars was marked with the head of a great boar, its fearsome tusks lowered in a charge. The other had the image of a dark brown grizzly bear, its fanged maw gaping wide in a bellowing challenge. The lead drakkar’s single mast and sails bore the crest of a grey wolf, its eyes holding profound mysteries in their liquid depths. As the sails were hoisted, the oars took over for the rest of the way toward the jetties. Dull splashes met Eltera’s ears when the longships dropped anchor into the bay’s waters, signaling a finality of their arrival.</span></p><p><span style="color: LemonChiffon"></span></p><p><span style="color: LemonChiffon">Dock workers were called upon by several soldiers to move wooden planks into place upon the hulls of the longships. Unintelligible shouts rang out from the open rows of the drakkars, as they lacked definitive decks in the sense of caravels and galleys. The lead vessel had a wooden pavilion-like structure, held together by canvas and ropes, built over the middle, providing shelter to its esteemed occupants in the face of gale and rain. A hush had fallen over the crowd, with only the lapping of waves and the calls of dragonets mixed with the metallic sigh of steel being the only sounds to be heard. It was as if all of Drace was holding its collective breath with the arrival of the Hrundir.</span></p><p><span style="color: LemonChiffon"></span></p><p><span style="color: LemonChiffon">Ivar’s chest seemed to swell up, his chin raised high for all to see. Given the northman’s muscular build and tall stature, it was hard to miss the look of arrogance and pride in his bold-faced expression. The young woman and captain had donned stone-faced masks for their expressions, appearing not to relish the moment nearly as much as Ivar did but willing to do what must be done for the good of the kingdom. A wizened maester at the woman’s side spoke in low tones to her though she appeared to be only half-listening. Eltera stood closest to her amidst the crowd beside Rentiki, and she managed to catch a few smattering of Dracian words from their conversation.</span></p><p><span style="color: LemonChiffon"></span></p><p><span style="color: LemonChiffon">“. . . there, Lady Sharis. Jarl Wolfgarsson brings his hersir, his bannermen, the boar and the bear with him, so we must . . .”</span></p><p><span style="color: LemonChiffon"></span></p><p><span style="color: LemonChiffon">Sharis. Eltera knew that name. It came to her suddenly. That was what the Aera knight-commander had called herself the day her wyvern had been driven mad and set to attack anything in its path, including the dark aelf, at the time. Eltera also recalled the woman’s brusque manner and acid tongue. The dark aelf had a hard time imagining that this woman, clothed as a lady of highborn nobility, was the same fierce warrior as from before. It had been nearly a year, after all, and despite sharing a common enemy with the H’jenn-Ra, Sharis had been no friend of hers in the end, taking wing and parting ways at the first opportunity. Still, she had stayed her sword hand enough not to run Eltera through with her blade upon sight then.</span></p><p><span style="color: LemonChiffon"></span></p><p><span style="color: LemonChiffon">The dark aelf’s wounds upon her hands began to tingle slightly. The sensation was a mere annoyance at first, but the tingling soon gave way to an uncomfortable throbbing as she rubbed at the bandaged palms. Rentiki must have noticed Eltera’s discomfort for he bent down lower to her level and whispered in concerned tones, “Are you well, dear Cat? You seem troubled by something. Well, aside from what little comfort the arrival of northmen can afford, at any rate. What is wrong?”</span></p><p><span style="color: LemonChiffon"></span></p><p><span style="color: LemonChiffon"></span></p><p><span style="color: LemonChiffon"></span></p><p><span style="color: LemonChiffon">OOC: * Contari means heavy lance or lancer.</span></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Arcturion, post: 3736171, member: 54632"] [b]1.0 Darksail Argosy[/b] [COLOR=LemonChiffon]“Peace,” the Captain repeated, as if hearing the sound of it for the very first time. “My Hrundic is a bit rusty, but I don’t believe the northmen even have a word for peace in their language, not that they would know the meaning to begin with. They war with each other in as much as they do other peoples. The Hultaan, the Dracians, why I even heard they dared to raid against the Thorazuin and Thalasians in the dark days following the Harrowing, the dwarves for the secret of whorl-patterned steel and the elves for timber to build their longships so they could make war upon all the land. “A Hrundic drakkar puts to anchor wherever it has a mind to, and any thought of protest almost always ends in bloodshed,” Rentiki observed with some distaste. “Vikers and reavers, the whole lot of them. Would that the gods see fit to drop the accursed mountain atop their sails!” A bell began to toll in the distance, ringing a mournful dirge throughout the capital. Eltera strained her ears to see where it was coming from and spied a lone watchtower across the bay upon the western shores, its ramparts breaking through the veil of thick morning fog. Other bells in other towers took up the call, and soon it seemed that all of Drace was abuzz with the chime of warning at the Hrundir’s inevitable approach. The northmen are coming. The northmen are coming. The northmen are coming. Wyverns appeared in the skies overhead, circling the harbor with dark wings that cast broad shadows upon the churning slate-gray waters. The scaled armor of their mounted riders glistened in the weak sunlight, while the lances they bore flashed with the promise of sharpened steel. A horn blew a thunderous note from the dragon-headed prow of the lead Hrundic longship, echoing across Dracian Bay. The sound was mirrored by a blast that came from behind the crowd of onlookers, startling the various cityfolk that had gathered to watch the arrival of the northmen. “Make way for the Contari*!” barked a man’s gruff voice in the Dracian tongue. “Move aside and clear a path, lest you want to be trampled underfoot!” The mob began to shuffle toward either side as the bright tips of lances peeked over their heads. Rentiki pulled Eltera gently along with him, the dark aelf’s lithe form dwarfed by the large man’s bulk. She didn’t bother to resist and simply stepped lightly around to his right, partially hidden by a muscular arm and shoulder. A triple column of two-legged dragon-like creatures strode into view, the long, wickedly curved claws at their feet clicking first against the cobblestones of the main thoroughfare and then the wooden planks of the boardwalk leading to the piers. Their slight, spindly arms also bore grasping talons, some sheathed in man-made steel claws to augment their shearing ability. Dark scales of mottled blue and black covered their thick hides, while the long, ridged horns atop their heads gave the creatures the appearance of regal crowns, albeit deadly ones capable of impaling a man clean through upon a goring charge. Tooled leather saddles were strapped to their backs from which grim men clad in banded mail and polished breastplates sat. Each mounted warrior bore a lance of ebony wood tipped with unforgiving steel braced against the stirrup in one lobster-gauntleted hand, the other bearing a large kite shields emblazoned with a crest of a two-headed gold dragon upon a field of the deepest purple, the colors of royalty. Pennons bearing the same sigil flew from the top of their spearheads. Plainly decorated but practical longswords were sheathed at their sides to serve as secondary weapons. Dark eyes scanned the crowd from underneath half-helms adorned with ivory dragon horn that seemed to match those of the soldiers’ mounts, the long tails of the draconic creatures swishing back and forth from behind them lazily. A few onlookers who didn’t manage to get out of the way in time were rewarded with a snapping of jaws as the drakes hissed their displeasure, sharp fangs bared in a snarl. Armed with short swords sheathed at their right sides as well as spears and kite shields in hand, a small contingent of footmen followed the cavalry from close behind before fanning out toward either side. With a shouted command, they quickly formed lines between them and the crowd, locking their shields as one and bracing the butts of their spears upon the dock to create a formidable wall. Gasps and muttered oaths passed among the throng of curious spectators as they were pushed back and held at bay. Several of the footmen grasped thick chains that held the leather collars of smaller dragon-like creatures. Like the larger beasts, they walked upon two-legs though they could easily go upon all fours if need be. The size of large dogs, the smaller drakes had scales the color of dull jade and lacked horns. Instead, finned crests adorned the top of their heads and backs all the way to the tips of their long tails. The bright yellow frills opened and closed depending upon the mood of the creatures, flaring up to their full span when agitated to make them appear larger and more formidable than they actually were. Though small, their teeth and claws seemed no less sharp as they sniffed at the salt-heavy air and snapped at those that ventured too close. Curiously, the creatures chirped noisily amongst themselves, hinting at some pack mentality when they hunted. A cunning spark of intelligence glinted behind their yellow cat-like eyes, matching those of the larger two-legged drakes but was missing from most wyverns, which are generally considered dumb beasts by most of Mordrake’s populace, however fearsome they are. Once the impressive host had stopped, Eltera counted at least fifty of the larger draconic creatures and mounted knights each, with twice altogether as many men on foot and a handful of the smaller drakes to keep the crowd from surging any closer toward the wharves ahead. Peering from behind Rentiki, she saw that a man as large as the ebon-skinned Captain rode at the head of the column alongside a woman. Widening her eyes, the dark aelf recognized the man as Ivar Wolfgarsson, the proud Hrundic warrior who had shown her nothing but disdain and open threats upon discovering her true nature. He was mounted atop a large destrier, the lone horse the color of black smoke. Whinnying and shaking its mane, his steed looked quite out of place and nervous amidst a pack of drakes that were all no doubt carnivores. A thick gray and white mottled wolf’s pelt was draped over the northman’s broad shoulders, while a fur-lined steel half-helm adorned his head. Bright flaxen locks peeked through from under the fur, framing a face chiseled seemingly from the ice and stone of his people’s homeland. Eyes the color of the gray overcast sky stared straight ahead, fixed upon the approaching longships, while his powerful frame was clad in a silvery mail shirt of fine mithral links complete with tough leather gloves and boots likewise trimmed with fur. Belted at the man’s side was his prized warhammer, its iron head tipped with a long, jagged spike. Holding the reins with a large, powerful hand, Ivar raised a horn to his lips with the other and again blew a long, rumbling note that reverberated across the sea. The horn was answered by a like blast that thundered across the sky, sending swarms of dragonets shrieking into the air to mingle with the much larger wyverns in an aerial dance. Without a word, Ivar withdrew his leg from over the saddle and dismounted, landing heavily upon the wooden planks of the boardwalk. A Dracian soldier went to seize the reins of his horse, the animal stamping its hooves and nearly bucking in fright at his touch. The Hrundic warrior paid neither the destrier nor footman any heed, with one hand bracing the long bronze-capped horn at his side while the other coming to rest atop the handle of his warhammer. Mounted atop one of the drakes, the woman that rode at Ivar’s side watched the powerful northmen with eyes the color that matched his own, her expression a barely controlled mask of warring emotions. Long hair of reddish-gold flame was drawn up and over her head in an elaborately braided weave, held in place with ivory combs and golden pins. She wore an elegant gown of fine blue satin trimmed with golden thread along its pleated hem while a fur-lined cloak was draped over her shoulders to help ward off the cold, held in place with a brooch wrought of gold in the shape of an entwining serpent. Handsome and statuesque rather than beautiful in the classic sense, the woman’s skin was also as pale as Ivar’s. It took only a single glance to know that she was no Dracian, but instead having the blood of the Hrundir flowing within her veins. Tall in the saddle and possessed of a warrior’s graceful familiarity as if born to ride, the woman’s features and bearing spoke of one who was used to being in command and brooked no nonsense. Despite her noble lady’s array, she appeared ill at ease with the extravagance of it all, as if more comfortable with mail and plate against her skin rather than silk and satin. Her left hand in particular appeared to grasp at the gown’s fabric at her side, as if instinctively searching for the hilt of a sword that should have been there but strangely wasn’t. The lead male Dracian, a captain judging by the deep purple of his cape and complexity of his dragon-shaped helm, likewise dismounted, shooting Ivar an unmasked look of mistrust before moving toward the woman’s side. He appeared younger than a captain had any right to be though the way he carried himself spoke of experience that belied his years. The captain offered a gauntleted hand up to the woman, but she merely waved it away with no small measure of annoyance. Sliding easily from the saddle herself, the woman touched down upon the boardwalk upon slippered feet and moved to stand by Ivar’s right side, if grudgingly. Appearing slightly abashed but resigned, the young captain stood opposite of the large northman’s left, his own hand resting against the pommel of the longsword sheathed at his belt while giving Ivar cautious sidelong glances from the corner of his eyes. Eltera noted the woman, though not nearly matching Ivar’s considerable height, stood a few inches taller than many of the Dracian men around her, and was eye to eye with the young captain. Grim but composed, elder looking men with neatly trimmed beards and clad in ornate robes and flowing mantles draped over their left shoulders, in the popular Dracian style of aristocracy, moved to flank them, most likely royal advisors and councilors. By now, the crowds on either side of the host had swelled to near bursting, drawing citizens from all corners of the Dracian capital. Nobles peered out from the curtains of palanquins and carriages, surrounded by their own armed entourages amidst commonfolk that included shopkeepers, laborers, artisans, dock workers, and even ragged beggars and refugees huddled together against the chill. These last stared hungrily with vacant eyes upon the gold finery and weapons of the assembled host and nobility alike. Such things could buy months’ worth of food and warm clothing. Only the fear of tasting that very same cold steel and being torn limb from limb by the drakes kept them from swarming as a mob. The tolling of the alarm bells had receded from the watchtowers, though the soldiers gave neither inch nor quarter to anyone trying to pass through their lines. A few unruly onlookers received clouts to the head with mailed fists or the butt of spears if they pressed in too closely, and one unfortunately loud-mouthed longshoreman, stinking of grog, had his nose broken by the sudden bash of a kite shield when he made a crude remark upon the noble lady’s honor, having something to do with Hrundir and goats. The woman, to her credit, paid the drunkard no mind but instead kept her eyes transfixed upon the looming dragon-headed vessels. Accompanied by the grunting shouts of hardened sailors working the oars and ropes, the beating of the Hrundic drums slowed in their cadence as the drakkars finally made their berth upon Drace’s shore. Looking closer upon the ships’ sails, she could see that each one bore a different animal sigil along with the common crossed axes wreathed in storm and lightning bolts. One of the smaller drakkars was marked with the head of a great boar, its fearsome tusks lowered in a charge. The other had the image of a dark brown grizzly bear, its fanged maw gaping wide in a bellowing challenge. The lead drakkar’s single mast and sails bore the crest of a grey wolf, its eyes holding profound mysteries in their liquid depths. As the sails were hoisted, the oars took over for the rest of the way toward the jetties. Dull splashes met Eltera’s ears when the longships dropped anchor into the bay’s waters, signaling a finality of their arrival. Dock workers were called upon by several soldiers to move wooden planks into place upon the hulls of the longships. Unintelligible shouts rang out from the open rows of the drakkars, as they lacked definitive decks in the sense of caravels and galleys. The lead vessel had a wooden pavilion-like structure, held together by canvas and ropes, built over the middle, providing shelter to its esteemed occupants in the face of gale and rain. A hush had fallen over the crowd, with only the lapping of waves and the calls of dragonets mixed with the metallic sigh of steel being the only sounds to be heard. It was as if all of Drace was holding its collective breath with the arrival of the Hrundir. Ivar’s chest seemed to swell up, his chin raised high for all to see. Given the northman’s muscular build and tall stature, it was hard to miss the look of arrogance and pride in his bold-faced expression. The young woman and captain had donned stone-faced masks for their expressions, appearing not to relish the moment nearly as much as Ivar did but willing to do what must be done for the good of the kingdom. A wizened maester at the woman’s side spoke in low tones to her though she appeared to be only half-listening. Eltera stood closest to her amidst the crowd beside Rentiki, and she managed to catch a few smattering of Dracian words from their conversation. “. . . there, Lady Sharis. Jarl Wolfgarsson brings his hersir, his bannermen, the boar and the bear with him, so we must . . .” Sharis. Eltera knew that name. It came to her suddenly. That was what the Aera knight-commander had called herself the day her wyvern had been driven mad and set to attack anything in its path, including the dark aelf, at the time. Eltera also recalled the woman’s brusque manner and acid tongue. The dark aelf had a hard time imagining that this woman, clothed as a lady of highborn nobility, was the same fierce warrior as from before. It had been nearly a year, after all, and despite sharing a common enemy with the H’jenn-Ra, Sharis had been no friend of hers in the end, taking wing and parting ways at the first opportunity. Still, she had stayed her sword hand enough not to run Eltera through with her blade upon sight then. The dark aelf’s wounds upon her hands began to tingle slightly. The sensation was a mere annoyance at first, but the tingling soon gave way to an uncomfortable throbbing as she rubbed at the bandaged palms. Rentiki must have noticed Eltera’s discomfort for he bent down lower to her level and whispered in concerned tones, “Are you well, dear Cat? You seem troubled by something. Well, aside from what little comfort the arrival of northmen can afford, at any rate. What is wrong?” OOC: * Contari means heavy lance or lancer.[/COLOR] [/QUOTE]
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