Take that Bard! Loki smiles on me this day! You see how I pretend to lose so horribly and for so long and then I sneak in from the side and get......... almost half of my silver..... back.
Torvog can't shake his smile even though Alrik had taken him for almost a weeks wages. He leans in to collect some of the silver he lost from Alrik as the door of the hold swings suddenly open. A large hairy man, Alrik immediately recognizes as Oddlog, stumbles over himself as that no good son of a bitch Gilliog pushes him through the door. He stumbles and trips over himself, dumping the table and all the rune chips and silver go flying in every direction.
Ock! Me winnings! Do over! Do over!
Gilliog ushers in four more men. Alrik remembers Hildegarr as Oddlog's cut throat accomplice. He's witness first hand the two Viking brutes in battle before and Hildegarr shows no mercy to man woman or child. Behind Hildegarr, Gilliok shoves Ingvar and Weoulf who carry their friend Sigfurd. Sigfurd is badly wounded and barely conscious. His blood soaked tunic bares his family crest. Alrik knows it to be a sign of long lost nobilty. That sort of shield hardly carries any weight anymore, but Alrik is well aware of his family's brave and tragic history.
Last to enter is Edgar. Edgar mostly keeps to himself and is one of the most well mannered of all the Icebreaker's crew. How he got mixed up into all this, Alrik can only guess.
Gilliog walks up to Torvog (the jailer) and beams his pleasure in sending all these troublemakers to the hold.
The Captain wants you to hold this bunch till we reach Helluland Torvog. Now they're your problem. I wash my hands of you lot, though I will miss cracking my whip over your back, Ingvar you stupid lout!
The hold is a small room with two dingy looking barred cells adjacent to each other. Torvog's distilling equipment takes up a good amount of space in the back and of the rest of the floor is covered by Torvog's cot and his oversized table which he often uses for gambling events during long sailing expeditions. Inside one of the cells is Bergor. While most Vikings drink ale for fun and to celebrate the gods, Bergor drinks for a different reason. He drinks to stop the shaking..... a true drunk by every stretch of the imagination. Many times he's almost drank himself to death and he gets into more trouble than any Viking on board. He has no friends and many enemies. Plus he just vomited all over himself and his cell.
Torvog gets to his feet and opens up both cell doors. He usher Oddlog and Hildegarr into Bergor's cell and Oddlog cries his disapproval.
Orrr! There's fresh puke on the floor! It smells like your mother Gilliog you cock sucking goat herder! Tween her legs at least. Ha!
Gilliog snarls at Oddlog!
Aye! I'll be seeing you soon Oddlog! The whole lot of yah can go to Hel for all I care!
Hildegarr follows Oddlog into the cell and shoves Bergor off the only clean side of the single cot now mostly covered in vomit. Teh smell is wretched.
Move it skag!
Bergor resists but eventually moves for Hildegarr. Hildegarr was a scary man at the best of times. Still Bergor had to say something.
Fuck off! Yah wee cunt!
Weoulf, Ingvar, Edgar and Sigfurd are thrown violently one after another into the remaining cell. Edgar lies Sigfurd down on the only cot and he groans in pain calling out for his friends.
Ohhhhhhhhh! Ingvar...... Weolf....... Where are we?
Edgar immediately begins to tend his wounds. He looks up at Weolf and Ingvar.
We're in the hold son...... He should be fine! He just needs some food and some rest!
Torvog slams both cell doors shut and Gilliog storms out of the hold laughing. Alrik is dumbfounded by his own eyes. Where once the witch's prophecy concerned one man. Now he must deal with seven.
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