There is also a small fleet of Marcher fishing vessels at Odds' End, but even together, there just aren't enough decent sized ships to transport a force of warriors to Skallahn of the size being talked about. There are countless coracles and skiffs in Bregasland, most are far too small to be of any use, but a few folk own a fishing vessel that could transport people and they are all ready to do. The Marcher assembly overwhelmingly backed the judgement of Jacob Tanner calling on the people of Bregasland to use their boats to help with the raid. Jacob Tanner, Winter 383YE, Upheld (Primacy 124-0)Ī better option would be sail to Skallahn if possible. Do not fear to act only be shamed by inaction. We the Marcher Assembly call upon the fisherfolk and eel farmers of Bregasland to harness their knowledge of boating to add additional deck hands to the fleets of the Marches as they raid Hordalant. Not without warning every Jarl in Narkyst that the Empire was coming. A handful of military units could easily slip through the Jotun lands, even scores of them could get through, but not without being noticed. Reaching Skallahn would be easy if the Empire held Western Sermersuaq, but that half of the territory is in Jotun hands. The Marchers and their allies can expect to face fierce resistance from every Jotun warrior they encounter and outright hostility and opposition from every orc thrall.Īnd that assumes they can even get there. Raiding the Jotun is just an order of magnitude more difficult than raiding the Druj, the Thule, or even the Grendel. The Jotun are a highly militant people, they keep large standing garrisons on their major settlements, they have watchtowers and beacons. With the aid of allies in Wintermark and Navarr, preparations are being made for the assault to follow the Spring Equinox summitĪ raid on Skallahn is a dangerous proposition.The Marcher National Assembly has urged the people of their nation to prepare for a raid against the Jotun territory of Skallahn.and it is long past time to bloody the Jarls' noses. Turnabout is fair play as the Marcher proverb has it. Sometimes the raids are a feint, designed to draw the Empire's forces away to allow a full-scale attack somewhere else. Sometimes these raids are a prelude to an invasion, probing the Empire's defences, dowsing for any weaknesses their armies might exploit.

Best to be ready after all.įor decades the Jotun orcs have raided the Empire's western borders, bands of warriors pressing deep into the border territories, looking for battle and opportunities to loot wealth and take thralls. When nothing came, he picked up his whetstone and resumed the work. I've always wanted to see what the Jotun lands were like.'īig Bill Beesley's voice trailed off as he waited for Jocelyn to respond. I get my warrants and I get to keep my weapons and armour. But come the Equinox, my two years are up. She didn't need to point in a particular direction. We'll be stuck here in these bloody swamps.' Jocelyn pointed a hand at the surrounding marshes. We ain't getting no orders to go running off on some hare-brained raid into Jotun lands. If there's a chance to make good money and clobber the Jotun while we're at I'm in. 'Friends o' mine from Neap's Heath are looking to get a piece of that raid folks are talking about. He looked about to run the stone again, but then thought better of it and looked up. 'Constant tapping breaks the stone.' Bill responded. Good plan, only problem was the bloody Jotun weren't playing ball. The plan was to keep out of sight and then hit the Jotun when they got an opportunity.

The swamp's as quiet as a millpond on a still day.' It was true - following orders from on high they'd been laying low in Bregasland for weeks now. 'What in Virtue's name for? There's no sign of 'em! They're all holed up - they ain't coming. He followed that up with 'Reckon I might an all' in-between two more rasps with the whetstone. 'Aye,' Bill replied not even bothering to look up. 'Are ya gonna do that all day?' she snapped, her voice dripping with scorn. It was getting on Jocelyn's nerves, every scrape felt like fingers down a blackboard. He'd spent the morning sharpening his bill, a break for lunch, now he was starting on his bollock dagger. Big Bill Beesley ran the whetstone down the edge of his blade, every rasp echoing round the campfire like a scream.

Grim dawn bloody whetstone