A/N:Hello everyone, I am newwarpath48, and I've decided to scrap and remove my previous work, Refund, for a new story. I apologize to anyone who was anticipating another chapter for that story. That being said, I feel like this one is something I've had fun writing.

The good news is that most of the characters I made and were either in or planned to be in Refund have been repurposed, and they will reappear in this story as well. I've had a multitude of ideas that kept popping into my head while writing this, so I hope that you'll enjoy it!

Remember to leave a review for me if you want to see more of this, along with any improvements I need to make this experience better. I enjoy getting feedback for things like this as much as possible.

Ocean water clashed against the icy shores of the kingdom of Atlas throughout the dark and cold night. The harsh winds made the waves more aggressive as they slammed against the land's somewhat jagged shores.

Not too far from these shores, groups of men and women alike in a group of similar narrow ships made from metal and wood used their oars to get closer to land. These were the warriors of a collection Atlesians tribes known as the Thanes, who lived in the far northern parts of the kingdom where no one dared to settle. They were fierce warriors and talented merchants, making them very desirable as mercenaries for hire. Whenever a contract gets rejected by every Huntsman in Remnant, the Thanes' most powerful warriors, known as the Degans of Neýr, will immediately take it up. These missions were described by Huntsmen who rejected them to be suicidal, yet these brave men (known as the Skealdovars) and women (called Skealdmawers) manage to prevail time and time again over these challenges.

What these people were doing, however, was not a contract, but instead what their people called a viking strike. This was an old traditional attack strategy that was first used against the kingdom of Mantle during the Great War over a century ago. Back then the outsiders of the Thanes saw those who used these attacks as scum; pirates who raided every defenseless village for slaves and money. The Thanes, on the other hand, were under the belief that performing these raids showed worthiness to the gods they believed in. Thanes during that time were considered to be the most feared and ruthless warriors in all of Remnant. It was said that a single Degan of Neýr can withstand an army of a thousand spearmen on their own.

All of that came to an end, however, when the Treaty of Vytal was signed by the four kingdoms and the ten Thanish jarls who lead each tribe. Under the treaty's conditions, viking strikes were considered to be outright banned for use. This was a rather devastating blow to the Thane's way of life. How were they to survive the brutal cold of Northern Solitas with very little resources on hand? After losing 5 tribes during the first winter after the war (now known as the Winter of Mordin's Wrath), the remaining Thanes decided to adapt to the changing times. They became mercenaries and traders to survive. They managed to get by doing this, trading goods with either their skills or what they obtain through hunting and fishing within the continent's area. Never again did anyone expect that a Thanish tribe would ever pick up the old tradition of viking strikes.

They were wrong...

Leading the fleet of warships was the Blod Margr. It was the leading flagship of the group. Its sail had a red, crowned heart symbol which made it easy to stand out among the other more traditional-looking stripped viking sails they used to get across. The ship's owner was the jarl of the Æsir tribe Svartur Björnstad, otherwise known as Svartur "the Bastard Jarl". The waves may have been tough, but the Blod Margr and the other ships were made to withstand the strength of a hundred Goliaths.

Svartur himself was standing near the front of his ship, his eyes peered through his steel helmet and oversaw their target like how the war god Neidar oversaw all battles that were fought. This was a White Fang outpost that his scouts have reported to be near his village, Dublin. Two weeks ago, Dublin was forced to fight back an assault from the infamous faunus terrorist group all on their own, resulting in a small number of casualties on Svartur's end. In response, the Bastard Chieftain immediately planned to get revenge.

"Jarl Björnstad!" Svartur turned to see his second-in-command, Grøn Dahl. He was a man that stood at 6 '5", which was tall unless you saw him stand by Svartur, who was nearly the size of what the frost giants are described to be in the tales by their elders. Grøn's blond hair was long and unkempt and his eyes were a sapphire color so shiny that even the god Njord would mistake them for actual jewels. His runic tattoos wrapped around his light brown skin in contrast to most members of the Thanish tribes. He held a steel round shield in one hand and had a sax sheathed on his hip. On one of his wrists was a leather arm ring. "The catapults are all ready to fire on your word." Grøn informed.

Svartur grunted. "Would they reach the target if I told them to do it now?" He asked, the mouthplate of his helmet made his voice slightly muffled. One of his hands gripped his axe, the Raven's Talon, sheathed on his back. He was ready to attack.

"They will not reach the target until we are close to beaching our ships on the shoreline, Jarl Björnstad." Grøn Dahl replied. He then sighed. "With all due respect, Jarl Björnstad, I personally believe that this idea is too risky. If they were to spot us at any point, we would lose many of our own men."
Svartur turned back to looking at the shoreline that was getting closer and closer by each row. "I appreciate your concern, Grøn, but I have told you many times before that our ancestors stand proud of what we are doing." As he finished, the ships were close to the shoreline. Svartur unsheathed Raven's Talon and pointed it towards the encampment. "Fire!" He ordered in a loud, booming voice that rivaled the sound of Cushor's thunder.

Rope tethers holding the arms of the catapults back from prematurely throwing away their payload of combustion and fire dust mixture were split by the blades of many Degans. Now free from their restraints, the arms of every catapult launched their explosive payloads into the air. The barrels of dust flew in an arc for a few seconds before crashing down on the White Fang encampment, unleashing the wrath of Lokisuelta's fires upon five barracks, an armory, both of their medical facilities, and their command center.

Survivors of the sneak attack- both from the untouched and burning tents -all sprawled out of their respective barracks and buildings. Many of the members from burning tents were either running outside as they burned alive or had obtained severe burn scars on their bodies. It was now a race against time for the remaining White Fang soldiers to prepare themselves for the Degans of Neýr's next attack.

Dublin's Degans of Neýr worked with the speed of a tiger shark to get themselves on shore with their weapons out. Many of the poor Thanes of the group were armed with only an axe or a spear and a shield, with a helmet and their aura to use for protection. Thanes of the middle class wore a layer of chainmail or leather armor for extra protection, and either had a gun or shortsword to replace the use of an axe or spear. Wealthy members of the Thorung clan had transforming weapons, and plate armor to protect themselves. Their armor was decorated in an extravagant manner that made the wearers look like the gods the Thanes worshipped for centuries.

Svartur slowly walked out to face his men before they charged into battle, and the wealthiest members of his clan scoffed at his armor. Despite being the Jarl of Dublin, and very wealth due to the status of being one, Svartur preferred to wear a set of black, reinforced leather armor with white and brown highlights. To the highest members of Thanish society, Svartur's choice of armor was seen as improper and rude.

His weapon Raven's Talon would also seem to be something rather primitive, as it was a simple war axe/hammer combination with a brown wooden handle to hold it with. While the head was decorated with such extravagance by an expert blacksmith, the wooden handle was rather plain. The only thing that was added to it was Thanish runes and some leather wrappings. Overall, some of the rich Thanes saw their jarl's appearance to be rather insulting and in poor taste. He removed his helmet, revealing his black hair to be shaved on the sides and back and a braided ponytail that went down to his neck. His face was pale, and the scars on his forehead, nose, lip, and left cheek- along with the double ring-braid tattoo that trailed down the back of his neck like a snake -made him very easy to identify. His eyes were a fierce shade of brown. They were so full of determination and authority that it would rival the eyes of many gods.

"Today, we came here knocking on the White Fang's door," Svartur began. His voice boomed as loud as how the Thanes believed their Allfather, Mordin, would speak to the fellow gods. "Not because our people are tired of their constant attacks, not because we wanted revenge, none of that is why we are here."
Svartur paused for a moment, his eyes now focusing on the burning camp. "We are here to restore the honor of our people." He said with confidence no man had ever seen before. "For too long, the Thanish way of life has been reduced to a shameful shell by the Treaty of Vytal. As a result of the jarls from before, many of our tribes have been wiped out from the face of history, and the gods have forever banished them and those who came after from entering the realm of Tírval. But we will change that." Many Skealdovars and Skealdmawers began to cheer with pride and excitement as their Jarl continued. "We shall make our ancestors proud on this day by returning to our old way of life and intermix it with our new one. Our people shall return for the glory of our lands." Svartur turned his back to his people and raised Raven's Talon towards the encampment. "For an Íoslainn!"

The Degans all raised their weapons and chanted, "For an Íoslainn!" in unison before charging boldly into battle. Around this time, the remaining White Fang members barely hadn't finished their preparations for an assault. Those who had a weapon fired upon the thunderous heard of Degans.

Svartur, noticing one of his fellow warriors dying from enemy gunfire, yelled out to his riflemen. "Kylers! Take out their own artillerists!" He ordered, his aura absorbing some of the hits he took as his men stopped to create a shield wall. A row of Thanish riflemen forced themselves in between shield holders to poke their weapons out through the wall's holes and took aim. In the rhythm of a drumbeat, one group of Thanes fired and took time to cycle their bolts as the second group fired to compensate. After two rounds of this process, many White Fang members fell to the ground and soaked the earth with their blood. "CHARGE!" Svartur screamed, breaking the defensive formation with only his voice alone. Many Degans let out a battle cry as they proceeded to slaughter the race of human-like warriors in the camp. Blood of both Faunus and humans were spilled as the camp was destroyed.

After the battle, Jarl Björnstad walked through the ruined battleground. He saw his men executing any surrendering forces all in line, for his people never took many living prisoners. The earth he walked on was soaked in the blood of his enemies, a perfect gift to please the war goddess Agrona. The word "Skol" was chanted by his men over and over again as they celebrated their victory. Svartur kept a cold expression as he reached his second-in-command. Grøn was standing in front of what was left of their command center. His left elbow was bent away from his body, suggesting that he was holding something. "How many did we kill?" Svartur asked in a bland tone.

The blond warrior turned around, his hand still holding whatever it was in place. "It was hard to tell with all of the charred corpses, Jarl Bjönstad. If I had to guess," Grøn put his free hand up to think, "I would say that we killed 30 men and women. A good trade-off for losing five of our own, I may say."

Svartur looked down, noticing that the arm ring Grøn wore was missing. "Dahl, where is your oath band?" The leader asked.

The blond-haired warrior put out his hand, revealing what was left of the band. "It broke during the battle, my Jarl. One of those bastards tried to attack my blind spot." Grøn then went down on one knee and bowed his head before Björnstad. "Forgive me, sir. I have brought shame upon my family's name."

A soft grunt came in response to the right hand man's plea. Svartur turned his back to him. "There is no shame that you have gained, my housecarl," said the raven-haired Jarl, "You have brought more drengskapr than whatever shame you would gain from your oath ring. Now please," Grøn raised his head in surprise, "rise Grøn Dahl: Oathkeeper from Shion."

As Grøn begun to stand up, one of the Degans came running to the two leaders of the party. "My Jarl, we've found the commander of the outpost!" The warrior informed, kneeling before the chieftain. Grøn took this as an opportunity to put the broken arm ring in a pouch on his belt.

Svartur raised a brow. "Dead?"

"He's alive, Jarl Björnstad." The Degan replied. "What do we do with him?"

Grøn grunted. "Bring the captive to him, Inge," he ordered, "his fate will be decided by our Jarl." With that, Inge left the two alone.

"I do not need you to tell them what I plan to do, Grøn," Svartur spat out. "I am Jarl, and I can speak to my people."
"Don't get me wrong when I say this, Jarl Björnstad, but even though you are an incredible leader on the battlefield and managing our resources, you aren't exactly the best at public speaking." Grøn shot back, getting a glare from Svarturin in response. "Think of me as your personal speaker for the tribe. You must remember that the riks of our tribe see you as being disrespectful to the Thanish customs of a Jarl."

Svartur groaned. "The riks should not worry themselves over such damn frivolous manners. I can speak on my own!" He let out in a hostile voice.

"Way to show off your charm, my Jarl." Grøn sarcastically replied as a couple of Degans came in dragging a bald wolf faunus by his arms. "Ah, you must be the camp leader." The blond noted, gesturing to the warriors to drop the faunus leader.

The two Degans tossed the bald leader face first into the blood-soaked earth. A low growl came out of him. The wolf faunus's bluish-gray ears flopped back as he began to get up. His face was coated with blood, his kind's blood. His golden eyes locked onto Svartur, who simply looked down upon the man with distaste.

"So you're the the infamous Grull, the one my people called 'The Wolfish Butcher?'" Svartur rhetorically asked in a restrained voice. "I thought a man of your reputation would have soldiers that fought better." Björnstad resisted every fiber in his body that wanted to kill the man in front of him, and tear him limb from limb. It was strongly considered dishonorable for a Thanish man to kill an unarmed prisoner. Such heinous acts were punishable by traditional execution.
Grull snarled, bearing fangs towards the Jarl. "Fuck off, you filthy human!" He yelled with hostility. "At least I don't slaughter my own kind." Svartur scoffed and his hand started to reach for Raven's Talon. Before his fingers could touch the knob, a tattooed hand from Grøn grasped his leader's wrist. Grøn gave Svartur a look that said 'Let me handle this,' and the braided leader complied with much reluctance. "That may be true, but you still kill people as well." Grøn countered. Grull's scowl disappeared as Grøn continued. "And you continue to do so for what cause? Equal representation? Peace with humanity?" Grøn paused to see if Grull would answer, but he only got silence in response. "Or is it because of revenge? You feel like the humans took something from you, and you want to even the score. Am I wrong?"

Grull said nothing. He glared at Svartur. "So you've captured me, congratulations. What's next, you brute? Are you gonna kill me?" He seethed.

Grøn opened his mouth to speak, but Svartur was first to answer in a dull voice. "As much as I would love to do so, my people see much shame in doing such an act, Lieutenant." Grull gasped in surprise, completely dumbfounded by the Jarl's response. A small smirk appeared on Svartur's face. "Fortunately, the Atlas Míleata would be gracious of us handing you over to them."

Grull growled lowly. "You bas-!" Before the man could finish, an arrow flew past both Svartur and Grøn in a gust of Njord's wind. The arrow pierced through Grull's throat, silencing him immediately. He fell back, his hand wrapped around his throat as he lifelessly crashed into the ground. Svartur and Grøn turned around with their weapons out, only to see the small silhouette of a person disappear into the hills hundreds of yards away. Svartur groaned, putting away Raven's Talon. "Damnit!" He cursed. The Bastard Jarl knew that capturing the assassin would be considered as a lost cause at this point. Due to the distance from where they were and where the arrow was fired, their assassin was already given an ample amount of time to escape. That made him pissed.

Meanwhile, Grøn decided to check on their captive. He pulled the limp hand out of the way to observe the damage. Due to his aura not being activated, Grøn suspected that the faunus died instantly once the arrow had pierced his throat. From where the arrow hit, Grøn's medical experience told him that Grull's thyroid and windpipe were both pierced. Furthermore, he knew that when Grull grabbed his throat the arrow shifted into another direction, which caused further damage to his throat tissue.

Grøn sighed. He pulled the arrow out and stood back up. "Jarl Björnstad, the prisoner is dead." He informed as he watched Svartur began to walk out of the camp. "Shall we turn in the body and evidence to Hæfører Ironwood?"

The Jarl stopped in his tracks as many of the Æsir warriors began to follow their leader. Svartur thought long and hard about the question. There were many questions that clouded his mind. Who was the figure that assassinated Grull? Who wanted to Grull killed, and why? Why did they use a bow from far away to perform the assassination? Why didn't they do the assassination before or during the raid? What was the overall goal?
In the end, he could only ask questions and speculate for the time being. Unless Mordin gave them all the answers, there was no use in asking them now. "Yes, but we have our own investigation to do first." Svartur replied, returning on his path to the Blod Magr. "Whoever killed Grull did it for a reason. It may be a message, for all we know of this killing."

Grøn made a confused look. "What are they trying to tell us?" He asked. Svartur simply shrugged.

"That I do not know," Svartur admitted, "but I believe that we will find out."

With that, the Thanes left the area, leaving Njord's icy winds the only thing that moved in the camp.