The dawn over the Crownlands was a bruised purple yielding reluctantly to a weak, watery grey. The remnants of the previous night's storm still clawed at the coastline, sending waves crashing against the jagged rocks, their roar a mournful dirge. But another sound began to pierce the natural lament, a rhythmic pulse that grew steadily louder, resonating with a primal, unsettling beat.
From the swirling mists that clung to the horizon, like the breath of some ancient sea beast, shapes began to coalesce. Not the familiar sails of Westerosi cogs or galleys, but the sleek, menacing silhouettes of fifteen longships, their dragon-headed prows slicing through the turbulent waves with predatory grace. Each vessel was laden with dark figures, the promise of violence clinging to them like the sea spray.
On the lead ship, her form a stark silhouette against the pale light, stood Freya Battle-Wise. The wind whipped strands of dark hair across her tattooed face, but her gaze, sharp and unwavering, was fixed on the shore. The massive two-handed warhammer, Skull-Splitter, rested on her broad shoulder, its spiked head glinting ominously. The wolf-pelt cloak billowed behind her, a banner of savage intent.
The rhythmic drumming that had preceded their arrival intensified, a deep, guttural beat that seemed to vibrate in the very bones of the land. Interspersed with the drumbeats were the long, mournful cries of warhorns, their notes echoing across the desolate beach, a chilling prelude to the storm about to break.
The longships, propelled by the powerful strokes of dozens of oars, surged towards the shore with terrifying speed. They beached themselves with a jarring crunch against the sand and rocks, the momentum carrying them far onto the land. Ramps slammed down, and from the bellies of the ships, three thousand Skardheim raiders erupted, their eyes burning with a fierce anticipation, their weapons, axes, swords, spears, held ready.
The defenders were few and ill-prepared. Three hundred men, a motley collection of local levies, fishermen pressed into service, and a handful of guards from a nearby watchtower, stood huddled on the beach, their faces pale with dawning horror. Their spears trembled in their hands, their courage failing before the sheer number and menacing appearance of the invaders.
Freya was the first to leap from the lead ship, The Sea Serpent's Fury. She landed on the wet sand with a heavy thud, Skull-Splitter held aloft. Her voice, amplified by the wind and the anticipation of battle, roared across the beach.
Freya: "No mercy! Leave them nameless for the crows!"
A deafening war cry erupted from the throats of the three thousand Vikings – a guttural, unified roar that spoke of centuries of raiding and conquest. They surged forward, a tide of steel and fury, towards the meager line of defenders.
The drumming reached a frenzied pace, and above the cries of the charging warriors, a raw, powerful chant began to rise from the ranks of the Vikings:
(in rough unison):"Fire burns in our eyes, Viking blood runs high!""Axe shall dance, hammer roar, the enemy's earth shall die!""For Odin, for Thor, we come, a storm upon the land!""Death's scream, war's laughter rings, the price of glory's hand!"
The impact was brutal and swift. The lightly armored defenders were overwhelmed in moments by the sheer weight of the Viking charge. Swords and axes flashed in the dim light, tearing through leather and flesh. Spears were shattered, shields splintered. The screams of the dying mingled with the triumphant roars of the invaders and the relentless beat of the drums.
Freya moved through the chaos like a force of nature. Skull-Splitter swung in wide, devastating arcs, each blow crushing bone and tearing through armor. A local guard, his face contorted in terror, lunged at her with a spear. Freya sidestepped the clumsy thrust and brought her hammer down on his skull, the sickening crunch echoing even above the din of battle. His body collapsed into a lifeless heap.
(chanted by a group of Vikings as they advanced):"Longship cuts through the waves, beneath a wrathful sky.""Rain may lash, and winds may howl, no fear within us lie.""Behold the shore! The foe stands weak, they tremble at our sight!""Raise high the raven banner! Brothers, forward to the fight!"
The slaughter was less a battle than a massacre. The surprised and outnumbered defenders had no chance against the seasoned Skardheim warriors, fueled by bloodlust and the promise of plunder. The sand of the beach ran red with their blood, the waves washing in pink foam.
(chanted as more Vikings poured onto the beach):"Giant's hammer, crush their walls, and shatter every bone!""Our axes shall not weary till the last of them is gone!""Blood shall soak the thirsty ground, the rooftops turn to flame.""This is not just war we wage, it's destiny's acclaim!"
Freya, her armor already stained with gore, bellowed orders in the harsh tones of the Old Tongue, directing her warriors as they fanned out across the beach, securing their landing zone and preparing to move inland. Small groups of Vikings began to set fire to the few fishing huts and makeshift defenses along the shore, the orange flames licking at the grey sky, sending plumes of black smoke billowing into the air.
(chanted with a rising intensity):"Hear their cries, the helpless sheep, before our mighty sway!""Our laughter echoes loud and clear, embracing death this day!""Valhalla waits, for heroes bold, who bravely meet their end!""To feast with gods, when harvest's done, upon this conquered trend!"
The final defenders were cut down mercilessly, their desperate pleas for mercy drowned out by the triumphant shouts of the Vikings and the relentless drumming. Freya raised Skull-Splitter high above her head, the bloodied head of the hammer gleaming in the weak dawn light.
(the entire force joining in a thunderous roar):"Fire burns in our eyes, Viking blood runs high!""Axe shall dance, hammer roar, the enemy's earth shall die!""For Odin, for Thor, we come, a storm upon the land!""Death's scream, war's laughter rings, the price of glory's hand!"
The war cry ended with a series of savage, guttural shouts and the clang of weapons striking shields. The beach was theirs. Three thousand Viking warriors stood on the soil of Westeros, their arrival marked by blood and fire, their War Chant a chilling promise of the devastation to come. Freya Battle-Wise lowered her hammer, her eyes scanning the land beyond the beach, a brutal smile playing on her lips. The game had begun anew.