The sea rolled gently with its waves as the cold salty winds blew towards the distant shoreline. As the clouds slowly parted, the full blue moon, surrounded by its twinkling stars made the once dark valley glow enchantingly as it danced about in the soothing waves.
Out of the mist there appeared shapes of dragons and serpents in the hundreds in the horizon. Their helms were ornamented in bronze and grey with fearsome jaws and piercing eyes. With its many long limbs it swam fast in harmony to its loud beating heart. Their wings in bright colors glided with the salty wind and seemingly glowed in the moonlight. And upon their bellies were hosts of men armed to the teeth. The Plunderers of the Northern Sea. The Coastal Raiders. The Vikings have arrived.
Of ships of wood and canvas, their shields were mounted on its sides, adorned in crimson stripes and in various figures and symbols. Garments of iron, steel and leather with their weapons clinked against each other as they swayed amidst the passing waves. Their faces were draped in fine beards of red and gold with fierce eyes that have seen its fair share of war and others more were eager to taste it.
Mooring onto the sandy shore, the wooden beasts spewed out its warriors who advanced into the beaches in great numbers with their weapons unsheathed. They cheered and hollered as more and more ships docked and more and more warriors disembarked.
Plunder bore from their hearts. Thirsty they were for adventure. Desired nothing more than the hunger for battle. As they began preparing a beachhead that want will soon be desired. To their dismay, a fury of arrow fell from the skies and gave them a large helping of iron and blood.
The entire beach was drowned by the sounds of whistling arrows that flew from out of nowhere in the thick forests in different sides. The screaming of men followed soon after as the warriors ran for cover. Despite their shields and armor deflecting the arrows, the sheer number of them from all directions made every lone soldier a sitting duck.
No stranger to unexpected scuffles, the Vikings soon maintained order amidst the raining arrows and closed up ranks, surrounding themselves with their shields.
Veterans and officers barked orders and maintained order as they regained cohesion and fixed their formation. By the time the fourth volley was fired most of the Vikings have organized themselves into various groups in long lines with their shields locked in together above their heads like fish scales.
Their archers could do little to almost nothing to retaliate. They were stuck in the open with only their shield walls to protect them and the only way to shoot back was to move out of it. That however led to the deaths of many who dared since it left them exposed and were shot down. Even as they returned fire the dark sheet of the dim moon sky blinded them. They would have undoubtedly hit and were too few to cause any significant damage.
Changing tactics, the Viking commanders hollered their warriors to move forward and march begin into the mainland. Their oaken shields were tilted high to face the Vikings treaded slowly from the soft sand to the damp earth.
The arrows flew relentlessly as they came nearer to the forest but did little to impede their march. Some Vikings fell from a lucky shot but the rest nonetheless pushed on, singing loud battle songs with their booming voices to maintain morale.
Silhouettes of Scottish archers were spotted as they approached the forest. They were aligned on the hills surrounding the beach and let immediately let loose flurries of arrows onto the beach. Countless Vikings fell screaming as arrows stabbed deep while the rest hid behind their shields. A few Scots were seen dropping as daring Viking archers fired their own volleys. To the Vikings delight, the Scots begun to route and hide into the shadows when they began their ascent to the hill. The arrows had begun to stop.
The warriors in the front of the Shield Wall cheered at the sight of their enemy run away from their army. From glee, their faces quickly turned to horror as something came out from the clearing.
Burning wicker balls, thrice the size of a man, tumbled down from the hill in great speed. The warriors in the front panicked and tried getting out of the path but were unable to do so. The Shield Wall made it hard for one to break off and those in the rear, namely the commanders, could not see what was happening in the front. Foolishly they ordered the others to stay their ground and halted any retreat from the regiments in the front, who themselves were beset in panic. By the time they took notice of the commotion it was too late.
The burning wicker balls tore through the Vikings like a bowling ball, crushing and burning the helpless warriors. Others busted into pieces as it collided at the shields blanketing the men with chunks of embers and flames. The very shields that protected them from harm became the cause of their downfall as it helped spread the fire along their lines. Their impenetrable Shield Wall was in ruins and left only panicked men on its wake.
"DINGWALL!" An earsplitting cry erupted before Scots surfaced from the rustling tree line. They came in such numbers that it shook the very ground beneath them. Their sigil, a Grey Rock in a dark green field, flew proudly on their banners. Hard as stone as their sigil, they forcefully clashed at the Vikings with such force that it flung them to the ground.
Rickety chariots then emerged and tore through the brawl. Amidst the visible smoke and flames, the panicked Vikings were turned to mincemeat as the scythes on its wheels tore through them while the horses trampled more in their wake. Aboard the wagons were a number of Scottish warriors who threw themselves at the Vikings. As they collided into the fray in random more havoc arose in an already chaotic battlefield.
Compared to the Vikings, the Scots barely had any armor. Only small shields, loose plates, boiled leather, animal hides and their own kilts as protection. Against the better-equipped and disciplined Vikings, many fell against their steel. The Scots in turn where no pushovers against these odds. They fought harder and wrestled against their more organized opponents. Screaming and cursing at their enemies while swinging their weapons wildly, the battle soon turned into a brutal slugfest worthy of any pub brawl.
Among these Scottish warriors was a notable character, In the sea of scarlet carnage, a man fought with righteous fury. He was a large brute of a man whose skin was as tan and tough as leather, his hands as large as boulders and his arms were strong enough to carry a great sword and an axe on each hand. He fought with the ferocity of a berserker that dwarfed the Vikings' own as he coldly cut down any man who got within his reach.
Armor was crushed, chunks of meat were spewed and steel rang upon every powerful swing that can cut man in half. Despite the noise around him, the man spoke not a word throughout the onslaught. Nor did he react as one shattered his club on his back. If anything else, the Berserker thought of it as a nuisance before continued with his cleaving. The Vikings soon saw their folly and soon began falling back. As powerful as this man was, he was not to whom others rally to. He was not the Lord of Dingwall. One would be surprised to meet him as something different.
Away from where the Berserker was carving Vikings like a cake to open a new path. Close to where the chariots were as they tore through enemy lines, chopping them to ribbons. In the center of the battlefield where the fighting was fiercest, under the green Banner of Clan Dingwall, the dwarfish Lord stood tall with spear and shield.
With a powerful roar, he battled the largest and most battle-tested Viking champions that came to his reach. Defeating every single one he faced. Despite his short stature, the Vikings trembled at the sight of him as the little Lord Dingwall's reputation preceded him. Going as far as to get ahead of the protection of his own men, Lord Dingwall slowly pushed them to the shorelines and onto their ships.
"Archers!" Lord Dingwall called out behind them after taking down another Viking. "Burn their ships! None o 'em are gettin' out of this! Let's get the rest o' them men!"
Skies flared red as the missiles rained down to the docked ships, setting them aflame. The Vikings could do nothing to save their ships as the Scots were pressing hard on them with the last charge. Those who tried were shot down by the arrows and burned by the flames.
It fared no better than to those who managed to make sail and depart from the massacre with what little survivors they rallied. The Scots were merciless and concentrated at those they can get in range from shore. The Vikings were singed and charred to death by the burning vessels. The rest who jumped ship where quickly taken by the waves. The very steel that protected them dragged them to their deaths.
"HURRAH FER CLAN DINGWALL!"
"FER OUR LORD! HURRAH!"
"LET THEIR RAGGEDY FLEET COME! WE'LL SMASH EM AGAIN! HURRAH!"
The victorious Scott cheered in awe and might of their valor in battle. Too drunk of their triumph to take notice of their own losses and injuries. The defeated Vikings moan and groan of their wounds and the red waves cleaned the shores of the dead. It was a complete massacre for them with hardly any left standing. There were survivors but they never made it far as they were mercilessly shot or ridden down. Those who can barely limp could only beg for mercy as Scottish spears slid down their chests and their pleas and cries were coldly ignored.
Lord Dingwall, his champions and other retainers set off away from the shore and into the forest until they came across a road that led them to Dingwall Keep. The Castle had cobblestone walls that were layered amongst the hills, and made natural choke points with paths that led towards a small clearing. A single tower stood in the clearing, higher than the hills and the walls themselves. Stone follies, houses and stables surrounded it as it watched over the entire land and sea beyond.
The doors to the grand hall were hardly opened before the Lady of the Castle met with Lord Dingwall. She was an ample woman with a modest face and dressed in a light green nightgown with her hair knotted to her sides. She carried herself well with a degree of authority in her appearance with her hand lying on her belly. It was however betrayed by her eyes, which were draped with tears of joy.
"There be me beloved Lady Tulloch!" Lord Dingwall chimed as he carried her up his arms and followed by a flurry of kisses. "Be naught of sleep, ma dear Lydia? Worry not about me every time I go on marchin' off."
"Ya be a hard man indeed ta go runnin' off to every war ye can get yer hands on." Lady Lydia said crossly. "But ye be a cruel man to set off in the middle of the night without even tellin' me.
"A' just didn' want ma dear pregnant wife ta fret. Didn' want ye ta stress yerself an' the child." Lord Dingwall said. Turning to his men, "I'll be wid ye at the hall in a moment. Get yerselves some food an' somethin' ta drink. I'll be right wid ye after I have a chat wid me wife."
The men cheered while others bowed to their liege before they made their way in to the castle. Their cheers and songs were heard soon after as the sounds of plates and flowing mead echoed the thick stoned halls.
"I don' think I will be gettin' any sleep with all tha' noise yer folks be makin', Love." Lady Lydia commented. "Pray they don' break anythin' I just had the place cleaned up afterall."
"Bah! Never you mind them." Lord Dingwall waved his hand away. "Dey earned it well after tonight's scuffle. Ya should 'ave seen it, ma Dear! Them raiders never saw what came hittin' them as soon as dey landed. We clobbered dem good we did and burnt deir boats right out da shore."
"Aye," Lady Lydia sighed. "I can see the flames an' smell the smoke from all over here. Why you folks enjoy this madness I can never understand. Even after seeing less boys come back ta this castle than out, ye still itch fer more."
"We all like a lil' fun an' excitement in our lives, ma Dear. Tha's why ye chose me yeah." Lord Dingwall winked.
"Aye. True." The Lady blushed. "But being married to ya an' seeing you off every time ya go off fightin' worries me a lot fer ya."
"I come back every time in one piece though right?" Lord Dingwall shrugged. "But wha's been happenin' lately is tha' I am getting quite tired of it. Der never seems to be anyone that I can take as a challenge. I can route an army at a throw of a spear, clobber da largest man I can get me hands on an' have enough ta keep ya happy every night. Hahaha!"
"And pray that there never will be anyone who will, save of course for me." Lady Lydia teased and kissed her darling husband. "So tha' we can 'ave this child an' raise him good in a kingdom his father worked hard to make."
"A-aye." Lord Dingwall said. After giving his wife and yet to be born child a kiss, he slowly made his way to his Hall. His men awaited him with open casks of mead and a roaring fire with a pig was being roasted. Apart from the Conan, the Berserker who stood in attention as Lord Dingwall entered the Hall, the rest were in their festive mood.
"TO OUR LORD DINGWALL!" the men exclaimed.
"TO THE CLAN! THEY FALL FROM OUR MIGHT!"
"FER THE COMING YOUNG LORD! FER THE FUTURE OF DINGWALL!"
A shattering plate broke the festivities and silence fell in the Hall. The men turned to each other in surprise before turning their eyes to their Lord who sat in his high chair with dark eyes a clenched fist. Next to him, right below his feet was a shattered plate.
"Somethin' the matter, Milord?" One of the men asked. The men kept quiet as they awaited their liege to reply.
"More than 20 years has passed since I came up sittin' on dis here chair." Lord Dingwall spoke slowly and heavily on each word. "20 years of fightin' an' wars, made dis ragged Clan into the largest force in the land. What have I achieved since then? Tell me, ma friends? Wha' have I done so far?"
"Ye led da Clan to many victories, Milord." One of the men said. "Against de Clans Ross, Mackay's an' da Munro's."
"Ye expanded our lands further than our forefathers!"
"Ye made us da Grandest and Greatest Clan of Scotland!"
"Ye pushed back the Donald's, Mackenzie's and MacDonald's when dey came marchin in ta our doorstep!"
"Ye led us ta victory against countless Viking raids one o' which we all had witnessed tonight!"
The list went on as his men told of countless achievements done by their Lord. The men cheered after each retelling and sang loudly and cheered even louder. They recalled the campaigns that Lord Dingwall led them through and the glory, lands and powers it brought them. They went on until they ran their pronouncements dry and said no more.
"Alas, Milord yer greatest act." One of his retainers and oldest of friends, Undin beckoned. "Ye became our Clan Lord!"
"Aye." Lord Dingwall gave himself a small chuckle after the ovation had ceased. "All tha' be true."
"Ye be done more than yer predecessors had done in one stack, Milord." Undin added. "So why do ye have a long face? We can't stomach ta see our Lord be so down."
"Simply put," Lord Dingwall huffed and leaned back on his seat. "With a kid on the way from me darlin' wife and de line between silver an' white growin' thin, just makes me feel old in me bones."
"Yer age 'asn't clogged you yet, Milord. 'A seen ye take down men thrice bigger than ya an' not break a sweat. How do I know dis? Cuz 'A saw ya do it da beach dis evenin!"
The Hall came booming with laughter at the wit of the joke. Even Lord Dingwall joined in the laugh. He knew the lad speaks true.
"Aye. I can beat any man who dares come 3 feet from me an' I swear tha' they'd get clobbered good. But tha' is the problem am 'avin exactly." Lord Dingwall lamented. "I won all these lands in ma sleep. None of it gave me da feel, da thrill of a good bout. There 'as never been a battle fer me tha' had ever tested ma mettle. No foe tha' can set me up straight."
"Simply put, I am bored. Am not contented wid all I 'ave done fer myself here. I wan' ta at least face danger an' excitement before sittin' back an' livin' the rest of me days raisin' a child wid me darlin' wife. Am not gettin' any younger an' I wan' ta feel da air in ma face the sweat off me brow an' ma lungs struggling fer breath da very least. Like if ma life was in the line as I face a bout that pushes me ta da limit."
Dingwall's retainers sat uneasily on their chairs. Their Lord was in distress and they didn't know how to attend to it. They whispered amongst themselves of how to make peace of the situation and satisfy their liege with new life. If they fail to do so, their Lord's lethargy would cause their painstakingly built kingdom to fall.
"Milord." One of the retainers, Donal said after much silence and thought. He was Lord Dingwall's most trusted men and one of the wisest as compared to most of his battle hungry champions. His words were always good counsel. "I might know a proper challenge tha' will suite you properly. One wer no one else 'ave ever achieved an' wer many men, Champions an' Lords alike test deir best an' mettle ta no avail as of yet. It'll be in the place of old wer old magic, mystery an' monsters lie. If ye were to do this, you will satisfy yer hunger for glory as well as etch yer name in Scotland's histories tha' none has ever achieved."
"Oh?" Lord Dingwall's eyes glittered in interest. "I am listening."
"Milord Dingwall," Donal stood from his seat. "Fellow friends an' champions. We be huntin' down now a monster of a Loch."
