Jarl Overturner’s men begin haranguing the forum this season, free from the chill on their bones and warmed by the razed capital. Fortunately, we are able to hold them off with our local cadre, though it seemed more like play watching Sir Jacquline skipping around behind them slaying them left and right.

But why do they keep getting up?

They are beaten back by the dozen, knocked to their knees and sword bent over mine. As I looked to one after breaking his blade he looked to me with a fierce anger in his eyes, scrabbling madly at my plate and blade with his nails. Why won’t you stop?

My blade fell upon him once more, in anger, and again. But as I withdrew it, I felt regret. The man before me is no more, I had taken his persistence, his vigor, and ended it. He seemed a brave man, strong and skilled.

What a pity.

These Njords are new to this kind of conflict, they had been raiding in their traditional way for so long it seems a sport. But this is different, this is War.

I breathe deep, taking in the moment. An easy victory over these forces, myself left unscathed. I had swung too far and cut too deep. My sin is my own to bear, and my shame is dwarfed by a courageous soul’s absence.

On the wider battlefield, Sir Minona, Sir Jacqueline, and Lady Lorelai along with some Dunnick skirmishers led by the O’Craigs were able to claim their victory, and we plunge deeper into this conflict.

Naught but Glory.

Alfred Black