From the Scots Skald: Tha Coo Reed

Tavish McTavish, th' laird o' th' nairth,
Staun in th' entran’tae his stoatin loaby 'n' keeked oot.
Ha staired intae kenspeckle feecies.
Feecies o' fowk ha’ad groon up wi', faot wi' 'n' git blootert wi'.
Th' feecies staird back a’im. 'Twas a' thay cuid dae.

“Wha Euan, ha cam? Wae went weel, tames wur guid.
Whit maed thaim thenk tha’ thay cuid raemaeve me as laird?”

Hae tairnd awa’ fae th’ heids oan speers 'n' stairted
Tae donder back intae th' loaby.
Th’ raivault craishd 'n' th' gaffaz essacutied fa tha desloylty.
“Laiss hawp thess’ull bae a lais’n tae thaim a'.
Ah'm th’ laird o' th' nairth, nay’n’kin tak' tha’fa mai!”

“Laird! Reedas oan th' sath’n bairda!”
A maisager bolted ap tae Tavish.
“Ay thenk thair efter oor haylen coos!”

Swiflay, Tavish saent aff hais Thayns tae support th' Waryers
awready keekin efter th' coos.
“A'll gather mair men 'n' catch ye up.”
Awa' th' fields th' Soer-Chele wur waiten whin th' Thayns arrayv'd.
Th' haird wa' sprayd-oot.
Maist wur in thray groops tae thair richt fernent
A-marshy neuk o' th' feld.
A wee groop a'coos wa' fa' tae th' laift.

“Hair tha' cam”.

Leif th' Jammy
Staun wi' a unit o' Bonnachts aitha saide a' hin
Wi' twa wee groops a' Narsmen aith' saide a' thaim.
Aff tae th' laift a wee groop o' Narsmen
Wur smoukin up oan th' wee group o' coos.

“Laive thaim fur noo, wakin git thaim efter.
Th' mayn pairt o' th' haird as marem pourtaint”.

Th' mayn boady o'Narse-Geels
Avanc'd apaun th' haird
Wa' th' Scots mairchd tae ketchup wi` thaim.
Th' Narse-Geel Bonnachts
Avanc'n tae wi`in chargin' distence
Hairld thair javlens at th' braive Scotsmen,
Killen ba yin.

Th' unet wi' Dean exes gaed plooin' intae th' Thayns.
Th' haun tae haun comba' wis bludy
Bit th' wis Scots hame groon.
Th' Bonnachts stugg'd bak wi' th' loss o' faive o' th' echt,
Th' stroanger Scots staun fairm wi'oot lauss.

Th' Narse-Geel Waryers wi' javlens chairgd
Intae th' Soer-Chele.
Mair bludshaid,
Agin th' Bonnnachts stugg'd bak,
Lusen saix main, th' Scots ba' lusen fower.

Twa' th' Scot tairn tae atteck:
Baith unets hairld thair javlens.
Th' Thayns waipd oot th' Bonnachts
Causen feteeg oan th' nairby Narse-Geels.
Th' Soer-Chele wur nae sae keyn
Bit th' Bonnachts tha' faut wa doon tae yin Jimmy.
An' chairgd in tae dicht oot th' wen man laift.

Twa unets o' Narse-geels waiped oot.

Th' Narsemen chairged intae th' Scots Waryers
Killen tae 'n' drayven thaim beck.
Maenwheel th' unet o' Narsemen
Sneekie sassenachs
Steelin' ap th' laift saide o' th' feel twar th' wee groop o' coos.

A' lest Tavish arraiv'd wi' hi' Waryers
Thay dooble-mairchd tward th' ainamy
Hailden thair groon 'n' rownden oop coos.

Enspayaird bai Euean's roosen spaich
Tavish 'n' hi' maen
Shreg'd aff thair feteeg!
An' et th' doobel kutup wi' th' Narse-Geels.
Th' Scots Waryers hed a go agin
An' agin
Tae destrawy th' wee unet o' Narsemen,
Bit fayled 'n' avenchalee
Gev oop.

Realaisen th' reed wa' faylen,
hes Narsemen smoukin up th' lef haun saide
Wunnae git awa' wi' th' coos,
Leif dasaidid ta'ettack.

Tha Narsemen oan th' richt
Chairgd th' Thayns.
Failen, 'n' wur dustrayd.

Seyen Tavish claise oop,
Leif chairged in tae kell th' Laird.
Bit naytha ded nae damedge.
N' Tavish fayell bak awa' fae th' bloaws.

Anreeg'd ba' th' batter oan thair Laird,
Th' freish Soar-Chele hairld tha' javlens a-Leif,
N' Tavish haird hez tae.
Th' Soar-Chele chairg'd
An' faytel bloaze fayell oan th' Narse-geel Warlaird.
Hae fayell dayed tae th' groon
En a pulavis awm blud.

Th' bettle woan,
Th' dregs o' th' Narsemen gied the pitch
A-runnin' awa' levin' th' coos bahin.

Euan laft alood:
“Nae mair Leif th' Jammy,
Jus' Leif th' Dayed”

Ba Tavish shuk haes haed.
“Ah shuid hae murdurred haim wi' mah ain hends,”
Hae sayed.
“Thes wayen’t ba th' lest taim wa sae they Suthen basteds,
Thay wull ba beck, merk ma woards.
Afta'oor heilen coos
A-spaylen fa' ravenge.”

Ba Euan jus' smaild.

“Layt thaim cam, Tavish, layt thaim cam.”

From The Skald: The Battle of Jutland

And so Leif's warband, who had landed on the coastline of this very flat land, moved quickly inland. Cnut chose to meet him in a broad open area between two hills, where the ravens gathered, waiting for their feast.

His priest by his side, Dane-axe armed hearthguard to the left and warriors to the right, with two pairs of his hearthguard scouts to his far right, Leif advanced his line without hesitation. The gods were favouring him, it seemed, with more sixes on his Saga dice than he knew what to do with.

Opposite, Cnut stood ahead of the line of his men, his warriors on his right facing Leif, two units of hearthguard on the left facing the two pairs of Norse Gaels and the berserkers lurking at the back, trying to stay safe for the time being.

"Call that an Invasion?" Cnut taunted, and his men laughed. But it was as if Leif had not heard him, for the Norse Gael advance continued undaunted and there were even more sixes on the dice. Cnut, becoming slightly unnerved at the confidence of his opponent and the lack of space to move in, stepped a few paces back, feeling a little more comfortable closer to his men.

"It's a very aggressive invasion," he muttered to himself. He exchanged glances with the men next to him. It was time for the Danes to be aggressive now. On the left flank, Cnut's hearthguard charged one pair of the Norse Gael scouts. Backed by the confidence of a six in their How Brave Are You? box, one of the Norse Gaels stepped forward and challenged: "Who's next?" he shouted. After a short pause, briefly considering and dismissing the alternatives, one of the Danes stepped forward. 

The dice gods are fickle, and at this point they changed sides.

"Er.. you were next..." said the Dane as the Norse Gael hearthguard fell in a pool of his own blood, and melee ensued, another man falling on either side.

Cnut smiled. With few Saga dice left on the Norse Gael battle-board, it was time to send the berserkers in, and so they charged the unit of Dane Axe-armed warriors ahead of them. The combination of Dane Axes, Ragnarok, Valhalla and very large handfuls of dice made mutual annihilation inevitable, and thus they all died.

"The boats are still there if you want to go back!" jeered Cnut, trying to hide the worried look on his face. But Leif was having none of it. On the Norse Gael right flank the second hearthguard pair joined the fight, while Leif's remaining warriors threw their javelins at the bondi opposite, rather rudely killing one of them.

With his last unblooded unit of hearthguard beside him, Cnut led a charge into the Norse Gael warriors, three of his men falling for the loss of seven of the enemy, the last Norse Gael warrior fleeing for his life.

A temporary success, but the situation was touch and go. Cnut stood with one faithful bodyguard beside him in the centre of the field, a unit of five of his warriors some distance to his right, two hearthguard running to support him, but still too far away, on his left. Leif stood dangerously close to Cnut, his priest at his side, supported by three Dane axe-armed hearthguard. His last surviving warrior was prudently keeping a safe distance away at the back.

"We shall lose the game to win the game!" Cnut cried, confidently. And as his men puzzled over exactly what he meant, Leif and his remaining hearthguard charged. Now Troll-Hide and Son of Odin are all very well, but even with two extra defence dice and an ablative hearthguard it's a challenge to survive thirteen hits. And thus Cnut fell to the ground.

Leaderless they might now be, but the Danes refused to surrender. Calling to Valhalla, the warriors charged the Viking hearthguard, seeking vengeance. calling to Valhalla, the blades of both sides flew as they gloriously chopped each other to bits, and all were slain. 

The last two Danes on the field, the two hearthguard who had failed to get to their Lord before he had fallen, backed away, but not quite far enough. Leif called on help from the dice gods, and again the sixes came. Three Saga dice became six, and thus Leif, alone, his battle board loaded, charged and cut down both of the enemy where they stood.

Victorious, Leif laid claim to the land.

Cnut, who had somehow survived, nursing his wounds, sneaked away to fight another day.

And the ravens began their feast.

The Saga of Einar Jonatansson - Chapter I

With the coming of the thaw my warriors grew restless for the vik.

I led them across the whale road to Ireland, the land of bog dwellers and little kings.

We landed in the north where the Norse Gael dwells. The race is a sorry dilution of noble Nordic blood with bastardised bog trotter.

In the early dawn we moved inland and found an abandoned longhouse with heart embers still glowing red. I sent my archers into the building and had them cut arrow loops in the walls while my hearthguards and warriors formed a shield wall outside.  To our left front loomed the only high ground in the area and opposite the longhouse on the other side of the clearing was a small wood, wreathed in an early morning mist that hung heavy across the land.

It wasn’t long before shadowy figures could be glimpsed in the misty half -light of dawn moving in the wood and to our front. Our visitors seemed nervous and over cautious.

I sent the warriors forward to tempt them in and ordered the archers out in support. Two groups of Norse Gael hearthguard appeared from the mist brandishing their dane axes and cursing us to the gods.

The archers shot two of the enemy down, forcing them to retire like whipped dogs.

My warriors moved bravely toward the wood and revealed enemy warriors also wielding dane axes. Our archers quickly send one of them to hell.

Finally the enemy found his courage and their warriors launched themselves at my warriors. Two of my brave lads met the axes of the enemy in personal challenge and went straight to Valhalla. 
Overwhelmed by the fierceness of the attack another five of my men fell to the deadly axes but took four of the enemy with them in red death.

My surviving warrior fell back as the archers shot down the last three enemy warriors and my shield wall advanced on the enemy.

The bloodletting seemed to have cowed the enemy who hung back from the fight again. The archers went forward and killed three more of their hearthguard with well-aimed shafts.

This proved too much for the Gaels who ran off into the mist.

A search of the longhouse rewarded us with hidden silver and an arm ring.

Hear my song of red war and tremble.