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It had started many years ago with a Barbarian raid into the Bretonnian Northlands. The Yargar tribe of Northman came arcoss the Sea of Claws in longships filled with battle hungry men. Among them, Zulgan the Chieftain, led his men to the shores of Brettonia insearch of riches and slaves. Thier first successes had been small settlements and individual farms set fire to applease the Dark Gods. Many were slaughtered, and thier heads were placed on pikes. Those that survived but were wounded, had been tied to wagon wheels nailed atop large poles. Left to die, left to become a warning to those that would follow them. Those captured that were fit to walk were bound and forced to travel into the Yargar homelands in Norsca. Many of them would become sacrifices, a few would become servant-slaves or currency to other Northmen tribes for goods they needed.

The Yargar finally made thier way to a large village called Chailai, along the Lairen river. The villagers, caught off guard by the barbarian approach, surrendered quickly in meek and pleading voices which the Yargars ignored. They too were slaughtered. Buildings burnt to the ground, Shrines desecrated, any object of civilation meet with fierce destruction. It was not long before Zulgan called for the construction of poles from the rubble. Soon, they would leave Chailai, moving north back to the Sea of Claws, thier longships, and Norsca. They left behind the terror stricken faces with no bodies, the charred remains of worship, wailings of the tortured who begged for death.

They also took captives from Chailai, one of them a fairfaced girl of 16 summers. Lithe and well formed with the brown hair and green eyes common among Brettonians. She was considered a great prize among the Yargars and Zulgan took her for himself. He tied her to his horse and marched back to the Sea of Claws, she became little more that a symbol of power in those first days. The girl, Llyssia, walked on her bare feet given little food or water. Her feet blistered on the hard trails, she weakened and became sick. It was not until her journey to the longships ended that she had anything along the way of rest. She was given fine fur rugs and blankets to lay apon in the longships hold. Tankerds of wine and salty meat were made availible, while her people starved in pens. The crossing was long and cold with frequent storms. The dead captives were fed to dogs or tossed overboard. One they dragged from the pens Llyssia recognized as a farm boy that came down to the village with his father during the harvest season. His body was bloodied and had looked gnawed apon.

It had been a week and half into the crossing that Zulgan visited her in the hold for the first time. The lastest storm had passed, allowing the northmen a moment to relax. He came with several of his men, worn from the ocean's fury and sullen in demenor. They spoke to each other in gutteral tones that possessed a sing-songey quality to it. They seemed relieved and quite tired, soon many of them fell asleep including Zulgan. It was this way for the better part of the day, and as the sun began to set, they shifted from thier slumber. Zulgan dismissed his men and drank some wine. He wolfed down several pieces of salty meat, then looked on Llyssia with a knowing glare. He ate a few more pieces of meat, then turned to her again. He approached her, and pulled away the rugs that covered her body. Then bedded her against her will.

Zulgan did not return for the rest of the crossing, it had stormed clear into the Yargar homelands. Even with the bad weather, the homecoming had not gone unnoticed. The remaining tribe had come out to greet the raiders in the rain, and help with the stolen goods and slaves. Zulgan did not return for Llyssia, instead two men dragged her from the hold, taking her to the great hall of the Yargars. Inside, Llyssia was taken aside to a platform away from the other captive. She sat apon a wooden box covered in anthor fur rug. But from her position, saw the horde of wealth that the raiders had returned with. Chests of glittering trinkets, fabrics in different shapes of repair, tools and weapons, barrels of wine and grains, some jewels and Brettonian coinage. The starven captives were lined up in steel manacles along the walls, a few of them had come from Llyssia's village. They now looked so different to her than before the raid, thinned and pale like lepers or the corpses that walk. She felt as if she had not seen them in a year's time for so much had changed.

The crowd's shouting faded quickly into reverence as an elderly man began to walk among the captives. He was frial and wore a robe with runic symbols painted on the sleeves in smears of red dye. His eyes, dispite his age, were still full of wild anger, and did not speak, he shouted. He was attended by a small boy carrying a bowl of red paste to which the old man dipped his fingers in. As he walked by each captive he would shout in his native tougue, and then draw symbols on thier foreheads. Then in turn they would be dragged away. Once the last captive had disappeared into the back end of the hall. The Tribesmen began again to divide up thier loot with laughter and cheers. There was more shouting and revellery, everyone had forgotten about the old man who slowly made his way to Llyssia.

The old man walked throught the crowd and stepped up onto the dias that showed off the best prizes of the raid, including Llyssia. He looked her over with his wild eyes, then dipped his fingers into the paste once more. His shaking hand reached out for Llyssia's forehead, then he suddenly stopped. His eyes blinked, then lightened as he looked down at her belly. He made a gasping chuckle throught blacked teeth and lowered his hand. Moving the remaining tore pieces of her dress to expose her belly, he made that gasping chuckle again. He painted on her a mark below her navel, it was a runic symbol...a symbol that bore a resemblance to a chair...or a thorne.