Bamburgh Castle would never shy away from its bold magnificence no matter who resided within its stone walls. There was a sense of respect from the Balderklan who seized it shortly after the Battle of Hastings, who guarded its gates, patrolled within, and maintained it so the infrastructure remained as glorious as a precious artifact, and above all else, towered on the hill with its defiant fortitude. The message to Primus was clear; only those truly worthy ever set foot on the property, lest they be overtaken by anyone greater in earnest.
And here they were, galloping up the long path to where they'd stage the majestic Sleipnir, and a couple other horses were already present, meaning that they were not the first ones to arrive. One steed was lean and purely brown with a black mane, while the other seemed more sleek with a bright white coat and blonde locks. Both had finely detailed saddles that were clearly custom made, and made Primus wonder how much they would cost.
Manning got down off Sleipnir and helped Primus down to his feet, before they looked off in the distance, witnessing three more horses galloping through the village below with sheer tenacity.
"Let's get inside and find the King's Hall." Manning stated, as he tied the reins to a post and put a hand on Primus's back, guiding him to the main entrance. The guards posted there were like massive statues, their armored helmets that hid most of their faces offered the young Primus a sense of anonymity from the traditional Balderklanian Úlfheðnar who didn't budge upon them passing by. Intimidated and equally inspired by their facade alone, Primus felt put in his place as the mere trainee amongst legends who have already gone through the rigorous process of earning their place amongst the Balderklan.
"You know," said Manning, as they made their way into the castle's walls, "you might be the youngest of our clan to have ever set foot in here."
"I guess I'll feel honored for that much." Primus said faintly, as he was so overcome with amazement from the sights that he barely uttered his words loud enough to be heard by his father. It was like setting foot into history without the context of its true significance. After they passed the guards, Primus wanted eagerly to explore the entire grounds so much that he almost went up the stairs to his left, but caught himself veering from his father and quickly followed suit. On either side there were walls until the constructs within its confines towered and tempted Primus's curiosity to an extreme extent.
They walked up to the main castle tower and could see out to the ocean again, and in the grassy yard there were teams of Úlfheðnar training, utilizing their Vættirtols with illustrious chimes and apparent yelling from instructors as they struck targets with potent beams in an assortment of shimmering colors. What came immediately to the young trainee was how during actual combat, the color schemes would be less diverse and, depending on the situation, would generally keep their auras and energy a translucent red or dark gold for tactical purposes. Others further away from those attacking formidable dummies were practicing shield wall formations, which illuminated the domes of defense as spears and beams erupted out from their center with the potent potential that easily surpassed that in which a child could naturally accomplish. It came with age; the older you were, the stronger and more potent you became when utilizing Vættirtols. Primus could feel the boom's bass rattle his bones as they walked by, almost like he was in the middle of a heated battlefield, which shook him and made him stop to observe with mouth agape before his father patiently nudged him to follow.
"We can see the sights after the meeting, Primus."
When they entered through the main castle doors, the building was alive with bolstering Úlfheðnar and dainty philosophers, the former towering and stomping as the latter held scrolls and tiptoed to their respective destinations. The young Primus would take in the artifacts hanging in the walls as though he were in a museum, though when they made it to the King's Hall, he was greeted by the sight of magnificent craftsmanship that the illustrious room provided. The wooden beams that decorated the ceiling was like that of a church's, so much so as it was illuminated with bright cyan gemstone torches that properly lit up the entire keep with a humble churn of passive energy.
Hanging along the far wall was the illustrious Bayeux Tapestry Primus was hankering to see in person, which depicted the Battle of Hastings. From beginning to end, it displayed in its vast 70 meters of detailed craftsmanship the events that led up to the Balderklan's conquest of England, where they intervened in the battle between the then king of England, Harold Godwinson, and the invading Duke of Normandy William. Primus noted the surprising insight of the artist who depicted all three party's perspectives that led to the historical battle, where the technologically advanced Balderklan made the weary armies surrender after working together to try and hold their own against the unexpected foemen, to little avail.
Primus was fixated on this tapestry, and while he studied it, there was a hushed discussion taking place between those who were awaiting their arrival. Sitting at the large table at its center was Balder, Mathias, and the Randi sisters, Ingrid and Ylva, whose horses they saw earlier. For a moment, Primus wondered where the Ugelstads had stationed their steeds, but quickly recalled that they used Elevation thanks to their Drives to go next to everywhere, which was a perk of understanding that Primus's parents had not yet mastered. Unlike his blood family, the Ugelstads could practically go anywhere they knew the geological location of on their own, and even places yet to be discovered with the proper amount of competence. This was apparent once he saw Mathias, as Primus recalled the other evening where he came and went from their home without so much as a noise the other night, rather stepping into thin air as soon as he reached their longhouse door.
The awaiting party would look up and greet the two as they got up and exchanged traditional forearm grips, shaking firmly before the sisters became less modest.
"Look who it is!" Stated Ylva, the eldest sister, as she firmly shook the thin Primus's forearm as though she was going to rip it off and eat it. "If it isn't the Odhinkar men!" Stated Ingrid as she informally greeted Manning with an aggressive bear hug, lifting him off his feet as the two laughed daintily. It felt like an eternity since they all last saw one another, and being as close as they were over the years, it almost shocked Manning to see them in person.
"You ladies never change! How was it to scout Gwynedd for us? Are the Jomsvikings well established for our offensive?"
"They certainly aren't holding anything back as far as initiative goes." Said Ingrid with a casual tone, whose volume shook the room like a mighty roar of thunder above them. "We certainly have our work cut out for us when it comes to hacking down their defenses."
"They've learned much of our techniques over the past decade." Stated Balder nonchalantly as he shook forearms with Manning and then Primus, who did his best to grip with all his might so he may seem tough. "It would be wise not to go in without a good strategy or two."
"Perhaps three." Said Mathias with a jovial tone in his voice, who hadn't stood up from his seat to greet them when they entered. He was reading a scroll that had intel that the sisters wrote up for them, and he was studying it vigorously as he spoke. "That Brynjar Wilder knows best how to work around our technology better than I'd care to give him credit for."
Ylva walked up behind Mathias and held him by the shoulders firmly, gripping while he didn't even pretend to be annoyed by it. "He's determined, I'll give him that," she said, "but since he's not making things easy for us, the least we can do is return the favor tenfold."
Brynjar Wilder. That was a new name that Primus hadn't recognized immediately. Apparently, whenever it happened to crop up in conversation between the elders, they would only speak of how he was feared for his cunning and unnatural ability to use traditional warfare to its absolute value. Without the use of a single Vættirtol, he and his chosen men would almost always halt and cause trouble for the Úlfheðnar as they expanded throughout England over the past decade, and while they hadn't necessarily lost against them over the years in battle, their final hold on Gwynedd was by no means a stroke of luck. Brynjar had learned many of the Balderklan's tricks and could compensate for raw talent and cunning for their lack of technology.
"Brute force won't suffice here, Manning." Balder sighed, "We're hoping to pick your brain for how we will deal with them and finally put an end to their defiance once and for all. We need to send them back to the Baltic sea and cut the throat of the bear. Without them, the English will have no choice but to surrender and be absorbed, or die in vain."
Manning snatched the intel from Mathias in a childish way before he began skimming through what the sisters observed on their reconnaissance mission prior to this meeting. "It won't be easy, but war never is." After sifting through the documents and getting a general idea of where to begin, he would offer the scroll to Primus. "Here son. Read and tell me what you think."
Primus's eyes widened suddenly, and reluctantly took his eyes off the tapestry and gripped the intel before reading the jotted down notes with relative interest. "Let's see… they built a fortress… unusual numbers of troops… unforeseen patrol routes… they're on that island off the coast, too… staging for war…"
While Primus read to himself out loud, the other attendees of the meeting, which consisted of the true Úlfhéðinn Ingolf Hávarðr, the Arðrmen and whaler Gudmund Hvalman, and the father of Primus's adversary Gabe, Birger Christainsen entered the King's Hall. Ingolf seemed worse for wear, though he was dressed in his wolf pelt and chained armor and seemed ready to get this show on the road. He was a stocky fellow who had more muscle than anything else, which was apparent by his huge arms and sturdy frame, not to mention his thick neck and rustic dark brown beard; it had complementary gray hairs that made him look more like an animal than a man, which was only further implied by his deep growling tone of voice.
"Praise Odin, there's a child amongst our ranks now!" He said as he ruffled Primus's hair violently, which almost made him drop the scroll. Primus forced a smile and shook his forearm, though Ingolf used this opportunity to lift him up by the arm high off the ground before setting him down with a clunk. "What, are we to expect this feeble thing to kill anything with these twiggy limbs?"
"He's just here to observe and learn from the best." Manning stated bluntly, "Fret not friend, he won't get in the way."
That's when Gudmund, a short and weathered man, who smelled like the sea and was twice the thickness of Ingolf, placed a firm hand on Primus's shoulder, pressing down hard as though he were using him for support. "Ah, that's alright!" He exclaimed with a robust chuckle, "I was about his age when I first killed a man!"
Mathias swiped the scroll from Primus and smoothed its edges with his hand, as though Primus had tainted it with his bashfulness. Sitting back down with his feet on the table, he continued studying it in silence.
"Let's get this going, ladies and gents." Said the impatient Ingolf with a sneer, "I want to know what I'm doing with my men sooner than later."
No one objected, and they all sat down to discuss the skirmish, which seemed to be escalating to a massive battle with what the intel provided. Primus sat next to his father, while Birger, the shield of the Balderklan, sat on the opposite side of him.
"Ingrid and Ylva," Manning said, "Give us a brief summary of what you discovered. It'll help me to better plan our approach."
Ingrid nodded and leaned back casually as she spoke. "I won't lie, things are going to be challenging. They've heavily fortified Gwynedd and the Isle of Anglesey with forts and a means to protect them. There was no easy way to get through without being seen, which almost compromised our mission. They have us beat in numbers, they patrol with unusual patterns, staged men along the coastline, and are as ready as ever for our approach on land and sea."
Ylva continued for her sister. "Many English and Scandinavians fled from our previous victories to reinforce their manpower, which was a surprising number that is only further backed by the number of Jomsvikings they paid to provide assistance from us taking their land. We're going to need more than the previously stated number of Úlfheðnar at our disposal if we are going to break the front lines."
"Making a dent with our Vættirtols won't be a problem in and of itself." Stated Mathias, who was confident in his inventions, "It's the tactics they use against us that will be our downfall if we don't try to work against it."
"So what do you propose, then?" Asked Ingolf with a serious glare.
Ylva began placing stone markers on the large map of England on the table before them while Manning spoke. "I'd say that since each route in and out of Gwynedd is well protected, we aim to try and use the untraversable terrain to our advantage using our Arðrmen. Gudmund, what say you?"
"Well, I would say that that is exactly what they would expect from us at this point. That is not to say that we can't, but finding a hole in their defense would be the first thing to discuss. Ladies, were you able to find any patterns in their unusual patrols that would benefit us? How many men do they truly have at their disposal? It couldn't be enough to maintain the entirety of their territory flawlessly."
Ingrid stood up and pointed to a marker that her sister placed on the map. "They're not necessarily thinning their men to keep watch of us. They have two scout fleets that patrol the hazardous terrain and the traditional routes respectively. If I had to guess, I'd say we're talking about roughly 9,000 capable fighters and 300 scouts. If we aim here in the southwest, we could carve a path northwest and through their first fortress, but if we aimed to make paths through the sea from multiple angles, we could thin them out considerably."
Manning studied the map carefully before he spoke. "I'd say that since sailing is out of the equation due to the cold season, we could aim to try and attack at two fronts; one from the north-eastern front, between the shoreline and the mountain range up here, and another from the southeast, where they have a fortress between these two mountain ranges. We can move through land, which will be quite the hike even with our Arðrmen, but that's where their fortress is staged for whatever reason. Smart and cunning though they may be, we have the advantage of carving through the terrain with our Vættirtols, and could easily spread their manpower at the very least that way."
Balder wondered about that. "The aim of the game is to render them too thin to fight in numbers, sure, but it is also important to try and not let their skilled warriors outperform us on every front, regardless of the paths we carve. Their first stronghold between these two mountain ranges. Suppose we get there. How do we fight them in such a confined space when they have the fort?"
Mathias chimed in, breaking his own silence. "It's simple. You surround that fort from a distance and have Gudmund carve through the mountains that lie on either side. You could topple the mountains and let the avalanche of boulders and rocks fall on top of them on both sides, then thin the stragglers out. As far as fighting them in close combat, we merely look to the past and see what worked and didn't work."
Gudmand nodded and crossed his arms. "Interesting. That would definitely work if they weren't expecting such a feat. I can't recall the last time we threw mountains on the Jomsvikings, so perhaps this handy miscalculation on Brynjar's strategic placement would be an easy first step for my men. Hell, we could raise the sea and topple the other mountain between this chokehold in the northeast, then make to each fort that remains in the way between there and the isle."
Ingolf chimed in. "So that's one avenue covered. Brute strength used to work fine, but from the last few battles, they seem to be keen on avoiding projectiles and getting in close quickly. On the other front, what we do is simple; hew them before they get too close, by maintaining effective supporting fire that doesn't give them an inch forward. Even if they close in, we could have a line of men who can fight on par with them in close proximity, or, even better, have those with projectiles assisting those in close quarter combat so that when they fight, they have to face at least two supporting Úlfheðnar on top of the one they fight with head-on."
"That still sounds like brute force," said Mathias, "but honestly, I don't see an alternative to that strategy. Your Úlfheðnar have always proved effective, but now that Brynjar is in charge over there, they have been productive by creating a whole new combat style and can predict our every move. The only thing they need to worry about is getting close, and even that is not a big concern since they can fire a volley of arrows with more accuracy than we fire our projectiles."
"That's what a shield wall is for, Mathias." Said Birger suddenly, "My men have always proven effective when it comes to their petty arrows, flaming or otherwise. I don't think we need to overthink this, my friends. It comes down to fundamentals at the end of the day. Something that comes naturally to all Úlfheðnar."
"That's right!" Exclaimed Ingolf, "Every Úlfhéðinn knows how to fight fine enough. When it comes to the Jomsvikings and their tactics, all we can do at this point is adapt just as they have. There won't be a moment where they strike hard and we don't strike harder. That's all I will say about that, Mathias."
"So," said Manning, "We attack on two fronts. We thin their men as much as possible, encircle the first fort, cut through the others by means of the Arðrmen, force them to retreat to the Isle of Anglesey, and face them head-on from there until destiny and competence reveals the victor. Primus, my lad. Have you anything to say that hasn't already been said?"
At this point, Primus had been busy trying to understand the complex planning, but wondered about something that was bugging him regarding the factor of attacking the Isle of Anglesey. "How would we get to the east of the Isle without longships? Would that be something the Arðrmen do? If so, how many of each division do we need to make sure that the paths don't get compromised?"
Gudmund slowly nodded his head. "It's true that the pathmakers need to maintain the solidified terrain when it comes to the sea. The way it works is like this; for a path big enough to lead us from the shore of Gwynedd to the Isle, we'd need three of our most tempered Arðrmen to keep it solid from the shore. To answer your first question, we merely stage men to protect them. As for how many Úlfheðnar we will need, I'd say at least 10 per Arðrman just to be safe. You never know with Brynjar's ability to outflank and attack more diligently than ever before with his Jomsvikings. We can work around their competent skills along the shoreline in the north until they retreat to the isle, and try to destroy their bridges and ships between the isle and Gwynedd before they reinforce their final stand."
"How many Úlfheðnar do we need in total then, with everything taken into consideration?" Balder asked to anyone in the room.
"6,000 should be just fine." Stated Manning without a flinch. "We will need as many men as we can spare, with the remaining 900 for reinforcements."
"That's nearly all we have at our disposal." Stated Mathias coldly.
"Well, maybe if you ever invent a way for our people to fly, we could use less than half of that number." Said Ingrid with a grin.
Mathias didn't respond to her. He merely placed the intel down on the table and looked over at Primus with an odd glare. "You get all that, kiddo?"
Primus nodded hesitantly. "I think so. I mean, it sounds dangerous and complicated, but I have faith in all of you. I'll do whatever I can to help out."
"Good." Said Balder suddenly, "We have six days to stage for hopefully the last war we need to fight on our land. Primus, I'll let your father dictate who you help and when. There's plenty of work to do, and it sounds like we're going to need every last one of us to see this through to victory."
"I won't disappoint."