An Account of the Rime Wars

The mud squishing under his horses hooves, he rode toward the village. Some of the buildings had damage from Rimelander’s raid, but the village still stood, mostly intact. Murmuring a quick prayer of thanks to Melandiel and Mithriel that he and Solace had gotten here in time, he continued on.
We do not even know the name of this place yet, but I feel responsible already. The knight commanders in Fenristadt had done their work well. Shaking off this thought he touched his heels to his horse. There should be a hetmann, assuming they survived the raid, and if not there should be someone who was able to tell him about this village and the region around it. Tonight they would celebrate and embrace life, but for now the details that crowded in on a commander at the end of a battle were piling up.
Morvald had not been much of a Warlord, none of the Ironbloods they had found since arriving from Vissvind had been worth their Brands. Upon reflection, Ivar had fought a good fight against Manfred, even if his followers had attacked as soon as he had fallen. The Inquisitor had taken their survivors for questioning, but he doubted they would know much really.
Ingvar wondered idly how Sven’s pursuit of Havdan had gone. Elf-Blood had been crushing the Ironblood army when Ingvar had begun moving to the southwest. But the Ironboods had been in the region longer, so most likely they knew the terrain better. Some of them may have been able to slip away. The unconfirmed reports of Coldhands warbands in the region also were a concern. They were not as good in a stand up fight as the Ironbloods, but were much more cunning. Regardless, the first battles of this war had gone in their favor. Now we just have to maintain that momentum. He had been pleasantly surprised that the Brands they wore had already drawn men to Sven and himself. The only thing faster than birds wings are men’s tongues. More would undoubtedly hear of their exploits in battle and would come to swear. My oath ring will become polished with the oaths of Karls.
The levies he had gotten from the Markgrafin stared back at him as he rode by. Their eyes a little less bright, but their backs more straight. No longer the green troops of two days ago, but not seasoned veterans they would be something to build on. He continued toward the heart of the village where his Karls had set up. They were the core of this new legion and with each victory more would come. It is the start of a long and bloody war for us, regardless.
He spied Ketil, the leader of his Karls, standing outside of the small hall that served as the hetmann’s home talking with an older man. Once again setting heals to his horse, Ingvar rode ever forward.

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