Open Chronicles Aftermath

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Ivar

Son of the Exile
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Loth-Holm - Outer Blightlands

Ivar wrenched at the hilt of his great-ax, forcing the half moon blade free with a sickening squelch of flesh.

His head slowly turned upward, surveying the battlefield. Corpses littered the ground around him hundreds upon hundreds of bodies. He could see Orcs, Northmen, Wargs, even a giant or two that had joined the fight at some point. The Crows did not seem too picky about which flesh they consumed, and all over he could see black wings slowly fluttering.

In the heat of the blightland the stench was already starting to be nearly unbearable, but men and women both still walked among the field of corpses to pick clean anything that might be of value. Ivar frowned for a moment, watching them with distaste as he turned back towards Loth-Holm.

The ancient fortress still stood, though barely. It's walls had been battered down by Menalus' siege engines, and the great tower that had once stood at the center of the Keep was now all but rubble. Yet most of the citizens had survived, even if the soldiers had not. It was the fourth time in a hundred years that the Fire Giant had tried to take one of the last free cities in the Blight, and it was the fourth time he had failed.

If only barely this time.

Were it not for the intervention of the northmen the Blight Orcs might have succeeded, a fact which was sure to anger the ancient ruler of Molthal.

Ivar stared at the broken ruin of a city, and then slowly began to trudge back towards it. Pyres were being built, and he could hear songs being played as a celebration of victory began. It was a dour thing, tinged with those lost. Yet the people of Loth-Holm had a reason to cheer, it was another day they would survive, another year that they might yet go on free.

That was something.

By the time Ivar reached the city gates the party had already started, as meager as it was.
 

Ianthe

The Smuggler
Fae Courts
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Cheers went up as Ianthe strode down the main market street.

What was left of the city were out in full force pulling down boards which had been nailed across windows to protect the glass, hurryingly hustling out all the good chairs from inside so the elderly could sit but still enjoy the festivities, or fetching out whatever food was left inside the cupboards to add to the growing feast. People were laughing with neighbours and kids had appeared in streets that had lain deserted for days, hurtling through the crowds chasing one another without a care in the world. The cheers, of course, were not for her though they were directed towards her. What they were really cheering was the site of the pathetic looking cart the equally pathetic looking mule behind her was pulling. Six large barrels of good whisky along with tobacco, dried meats, cheeses, and a range of luxury goods were stuffed into the back.

War might have been a bad time for many - and it had been once for Ianthe - but now? The worse the war the greater the profits.

She raised her hand in greeting to those who waved and answered calls about where she was setting up her trade in the town. There was already a steady stream of people walking beside the wagon though they wisely kept their hands to themselves - enough people had learnt the hard way the smuggler was not the forgiving type when it came to thieves. It wasn't long before the street widened like the mouth of a river to spill out into the market square where the main festivities as much as they were were taking place. Ianthe led her mule to her standard spot and made a show of taking her time unhooking the wagon and setting her mule up with its feed; the bigger the crowd the more people would haggle. Once she was done in her own time she turned to the gathered townsfolk and took her first bid with a grin.

Oh yes, Ianthe had certainly learned the joy of war.
 
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Ivar

Son of the Exile
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270
Character Biography
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Loth-Holm was a port, or it had once been a port.

The docks were now a smashed ruin with only two or three ships being able to come to them. Luckily most of those ships had been carrying supplies. The Northmen of course had come from the river, their longships having been able to go further inland.

That was how they had gotten behind Menalus' forces, and how they had actually managed to win the day despite their smaller numbers.

"Ivar."​

The Berserker looked up from the fallen monument he had placed himself on, a stone running along the half-moon edge of his ax. One of the other Northmen was standing there, leaning on his sheathed Greatsword and with a wide beaming smile.

Behind him stood a few others, though they were half engaged with the crowd.

"Get down off the rock, join the revel, there's even an auction or something going on. Come on, you deserve it after that fight."​

Ivar let out a grunt. "We just earned the coin, Thorst, so eager to spend it?"

A smile touched his face.

"Oh aye, might not live to spend it once Menalus hears about this."​

"Well, can't argue with that logic." Ivar said, hopping down off the monument and sliding his ax onto the slot on his back. His shoulders rolled, and then he motioned for Thorst to lead the way into the revels.