Prologue
Hear now, hall-dwellers, the howl of the tide,
The breakers that bellow where warships ride.
Oars bite the brine in the blue dawn’s gleam,
Steel sings awake from the cradle of dream.
For word came winged on a raven’s cry—
The People’s Imperial Confederation, sly,
Servants of Loki, the trickster’s kin,
Have summoned our doom with a serpent’s grin.
They whisper deceit in the northern mist,
They forge foul pacts in the frost and fist.
The sea herself stirred, her voice grown grim,
As thunder answered from horizon’s rim.
Then broke the storm with a hammer’s cry,
And Thor strode down from the shattered sky.
Red beard dripping with the rain of war,
The god stood bright upon Eiskotr’s shore.
He spake with a voice that split the sea:
“Will you yield to cowards and trickery?
Rise, wave-lord, rise with your oaken fleet,
And grind their banners beneath your sleet!
For the clouds are mine, and the storm is thine,
Strike now, Eiskotr, while the fates entwine!
Let iron meet iron, and foam meet flame,
That all shall remember the Water Vikings’ name!”
Then Thor’s laughter rolled through the gale,
And the sky was a forge where the gods drank hail.
Eiskotr raised his hand to the storming sky—
“By thunder’s oath, the Confederates die!”
And with that vow, the ocean roared anew,
Steel kissed steel, and banners were bathed in dew.
The tide took flight with the thunder’s roar,
As Water Vikings surged to war once more.
Invasion of Macorigintarum
We sailed by starlight to Macorigintarum’s keep,
Wave-steeds slicing paths where shadows creep.
Our banners snapped in the salt-slick air,
For the city lay open, and none would dare.
No walls held firm, no soldiers to fight,
No shields to lift, no challenge in sight.
Eiskotr strode forth with a grin full wide,
The lord of the town fell, though he begged and cried.
“Spare me!” he whimpered, trembling and small,
But the Water Viking laughed, and let steel fall.
A jest, a strike, his plea undone,
The lord lay broken ere the next sun.
We stormed through streets where no guard dared stand,
Axes gleaming, havoc at hand.
Hearths we ransacked, hall-fires torn,
And mangoes we crunched as the city mourned.
So drink, my kin, to the city undone,
By wave and wrath, by Eiskotr’s sun.
No mercy given, no quarter seen,
The night was ours, the victory keen…
Yet wyrm-tides stir, unseen, unseen.
Invasion of Rainnaburh
Lo! Rainnaburh gleamed ‘neath sky-veil gray,
Forest-haven bright, where meadows lay.
On this sun-turning, Driakven’s birth-day hailed,
By tide-lords’ cheer, her preordained lands unveiled.
Under Eiskotr’s command, the Water Vikings rode,
O’er sea-foam highways, to fight for lands bestowed.
Seventeen thousand tide-lords, line-steel drawn,
To claim the realm that would be Driakven’s by dawn.
Iron-helms of Rainnaburh, nine thousand strong,
Wedge-bearers gathered, yet faltered ere long.
Branches whispered with clash and flame,
Bounding shields danced, the forest knew our name.
Whirlpool encirclement, tide-born twist,
Raven-fire scattered, foes lost in mist.
Cross-shaped strongpoints, snow-fort towers,
Yet wave-sons pressed with the moon’s own powers.
V-formed vanguard along cove’s long breath,
Raking spears struck, cleaving the path of death.
Bounding watch, sweep of tide-foam wide,
Cubic lines crumbled, the city’s fate tied.
So fell Rainnaburh beneath wave-lord might,
Its gates now ours in the dawning light.
Driakven crowned Duchess, her legend begun,
Blessed by the tides, beneath the sun.
Yet in the whisper of sea-wind and hall,
A shadow looms over the conquering thrall…
Defense of Hrafnheim
Lo! Upon the frozen plateau wide,
Hrafnheim lay ‘neath sky-veil, snowy-tied.
The Confederation’s wrath burned fierce and red,
For twice their walls had fallen, twice their brave had bled.
Swift tide-lords gathered, wave-song in their veins,
Nineteen thousand strong, lords of storm and chains.
Eiskotr’s voice rang out, a thunderous cheer,
Hearts surged with fire, no courage knew fear.
The foes advanced, a phalanx cold and tight,
Their fury vast, yet sluggish in the fight.
Snow-fort towers shivered under clash and flame,
U-shaped lines of Vikings moved as one, none tame.
Catapults roared, yet the sea-born warriors stood,
Their flanks like water-billows, rising where they would.
Into the mines, shadowed halls of stone,
The Confederates entered, hearts of ice and bone.
Crossing corridors, the tide-lords swept,
A waterfall of spears, while angry foes crept.
Twisting, turning, stacked in plus and line,
The Water Vikings pressed, their numbers fine.
Then came the iceberg, a floating fortress wide,
Wave-lords formed wedge, the foe in square beside.
Raking strikes and anchor-holds, fatigue set deep,
Yet neither could claim the frozen keep.
The tides themselves seemed to pause and wait,
As both sides strained beneath the sky’s cold weight.
At last, the fjord’s citadel, twilight aglow,
Hearths burned bright where the sea-winds blow.
Banners flapped, horns bellowed, children ran through,
Decking shields with shells and feathers, bright and true.
Long tables groaned with feast and mead,
While skalds sang deeds of courage and speed.
Golden circlets crowned the brave, runes carved in cheer,
Firebeacons lit, their flames mirrored clear.
Njord’s blessing danced upon the waters wide,
And sea-spirits frolicked where the heroes bide.
Hrafnheim stood unbroken, its spirit untamed,
The Water Vikings’ legend forever named!
Yet winds grow restless o’er fjord and hall,
Shadow-shapes stirring where moonlit waters fall.
Whispering gulls cry of storm-wraiths near,
And ice-tongues tremble with a tale of fear.
The tide-lords’ joy may yet meet bane,
For unseen currents shift beneath the main.
Stars glimmer strange, their song turned low,
A portent murmurs: dark waters flow…
The Last Stand
When the mead still foamed and the hall-fire soared,
When laughter clashed like drawn-out swords,
Riabreida rose from the revel’s din,
A frost in her gaze, a storm within.
A raven came croaking from clouded skies,
Whispering warnings with watchful eyes:
“The Confederation comes by night’s last breath,
To cradle your kin in the arms of death.”
She turned from the hall where her kinsmen dreamed,
While war crept silent where moonlight gleamed.
From the hills they came, in shadowed file—
The People’s Imperial Confederation, vile.
Steel bit the dark, and horns split the night,
Through tents and halls fell terror’s blight.
Their brood crept silent where the sleepers lay,
And death whispered soft as it stole the day.
Then Riabreida halted on ashen ground,
And heard the storm in her spirit sound.
“I know this sin,” she breathed to the wave,
“Yet what is mercy to those we save?
Let gods curse me, let comrades weep,
Better they wake than lie in sleep.
If blood must drown both field and foam,
Then let the sea make judgement known.”
Nine runes she carved with a trembling hand,
And sang the spell the sea-gods banned.
The sky split open, the wave-winds roared,
Lightning wept where the surf was gored.
The sea rose howling, the earth replied,
And men of both banners cursed and died.
Blades turned blind, and throats were drowned,
The storm devoured the battlefield’s ground.
Friend and foe in the maelstrom reeled,
No victory gained, no fate concealed.
The wind-giant’s cry swept over the slain,
And thunder’s tongue spoke of woe and pain.
The gods looked down in grief and ire,
And both sides swore a fragile ceasefire.
They seized the witch whose wrath had grown,
And cast her forth to wander alone.
Her helm was shattered, her oaths undone,
Exiled beneath the dying sun.
And thus the seas grew quiet, yet hearts still burned,
A wary truce by blood and storm earned.
Yet still when sea and thunder wail,
Her storm-song rides the wind’s dark sail,
Whispering low through wreck and foam,
Of Riabreida, unbound, far from home.
Epilogue
They found their peace in her despair,
Bound their wounds through the curse they bare.
Two hosts as one, in ruin’s breath,
Made her the price, the bride of death.
For blood needs blame when gods fall mute,
And truth hides well beneath dispute.
So strife was purged by her alone—
The storm was gone, yet blame was sown.
Then shadow split and silence broke,
As Allfather rose through ash and smoke.
His ravens wheeled o’er blood and bone,
And in his voice, the storm intoned:
“Ye who would call her cursed and vile,
Yet shared her sin in thought and guile—
The hand that cast, the hand that slew,
Both bathed alike in the sea’s cold hue.
The storm was hers, yet born of ye,
Fed by pride and enmity.
Ye cast her forth, yet know this shame:
To curse her deed is to bear her name.”
But Eiskotr, voice like crackling ice,
Spoke loud against the Allfather’s vice:
“Father Odin, hear my claim—
Thor egged me on, he stoked the flame!
If any guilt lies here this night,
It rests with him who sparked the fight.”
Odin’s one eye pierced the smoky veil,
His voice rolled deep, a thunderous gale:
“Thor, god of storms, but young in thought,
Fell to folly, by pride begot.
Yet ye, both hosts, and he alike,
Succumbed to wrath, to envy, to strike.
Youth and age alike bear blame,
And none may hide behind a name.”
He turned away, his gaze grown grim,
The wind fell silent, the day grew dim.
No horn was raised, no boast was made,
Only stillness where wrath once played.
So sat they all, by ruin’s shore,
In thought deep-veiled, in silence sore.
Peace they held, yet peace was fraught—
Each soul weighed heavy with what they wrought.
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