The journey to Hafrsfjord had been long for most of the retinues and rest would be welcome.
Tents and other facilities had to be taken care of first and the men were even more tired when all had settled in properly. Food were prepared and Kings and common men took their share to their sleeping place expecting sudden collapse when bellies were filled.
One such man was
Sander Magnusson, a War Veteran from Sunnmøre. He had a large tankard of delicious mead that he really looked forward to enjoying with his meal. The journey had been strenuous on his old frame and the alcoholic beverage would dull some of the pain he felt in his small back. He got to his sleeping place and sat down. The hot food smelled delicious and he took a large spoonful of the oat porridge stuffed with pieces of apple and honey. That was just what he needed, but more so the beverage standing next to him. He took the tankard and smelled the liquid in it. Strange, it didn’t have the smell of fermented honey and fruit. This close to the fjord it only smelled like the sea. Ah, well it surely would taste good. He took a long sip before the salty taste hit home. He never noticed the little fish called Fjesing who came into his mouth with the sea water. The little thing is very poisonous and as it slid down his throat its barbs left a smear of venom in the angry wounds they caused. Sander collapsed sensing his throat growing thick. He couldn’t utter a word as his windpipe got crushed by the swelling from the venom. The pain was excruciating as the venom cascaded through his blood stream. He could feel muscle and blood vessels disintegrate where the venom went. He tried to scream but no air could find its way down to his lunges. He just lay on his back unable to move and welcomed the darkness that finally enveloped him.
Gunnar Grove a serf and soldier from Rogaland had finished his meal when he heard a primeval roar nearby. He sat up and saw a shadow moving fast towards him. This was strange he thought as a man wearing nearly no clothes sprang into the camp fire light. The man's eyes red and mouth foaming, Gunnar was about to decide if this was a danger or not when the man took Gunnar by the head and smashed a stone into his temple. Gunnar was gone to distant pastures in an instant. The man suddenly calmed down and looked confused. He returned to where he came from, shaking his head, not knowing what had just happened.
Knud Bamse Jardarsson from Hålogaland needed the use of the privy and moved into the nearby woods when he heard a gargling sound behind him. He turned and saw a well known man in his small clothes charging him with a long Frankish blade. Knud was about to protest when the sword cut through his throat with such force that the beheading didn't cause the head to drop. Knud’s body not having its faculties, collapsed in a heap, head rolling into the privy.
Steinar Sturlasson a War Veteran from Fjordane had finished his meal and were oblivious to the ruckus happening in the nearby camps. He felt cold and inched towards the campfire under his blanket. He wished he could get a little warmer.
The campfire, only hot embers in the dark, suddenly blazed up and flames and sparks started dancing around him. The flames grew hotter and more intense and the air around Steinar stated to boil. The heat got so intense that Steinar tried to flee coughing in the unbreathable air. The sparks and flames jumped onto him without burning his clothes or skin. He started to scream but flames jumped into his open throad and singed his windpipe so badly that only gargling sounds could be heard. Steinar was burning from inside out and the pain was excruciating. Soon only the blackened remains of his once strong frame dropped into the mud. He never saw the smirking shadow leaving camp into the forest.
Some commotion came out of these events but for the most part, weary men rested through the night.
It was not until dawn that the retinues realised truly what had happened.
Four men perished during the night, some mysteriously and others obviously. The camps losing men started accusing others of murder and the Hovgod had to step in.
The men from Sunnmøre, Rogaland, Fjordane and Hålogaland all accused each other for the evil deeds committed. The elderly man heard each of their complaints; two of the killings caught his attention and he followed up with lengthy inquiries. The other two he just brushed off with a smirk.
The camps wanted justice and the Hovgod had to settle this by popular vote to stop a possible blood feud. He asked them to investigate because it was obvious that the killings had been done by someone in the camps. There were no settlements for several leagues.
Return later with a candidate that you think is the culprit and justice can be somewhat satisfied.
You have until 22:00 GMT to find us a candidate for this day’s lynching.
Alive:
Killed:
Seamus Fermanagh (N1)
Earthling (N1)
Csargo (N1)
Seon (N1)
Re: Midgardsaga III [In Play]
Originally Posted by Mr. Stuka
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