The bell was ringing persistently from the church, it's peals echoing around the valley. Getwin Weffanson urged his men on. "That damned Carretier again! Will he never leave us in peace?"
As they ran toward the sound of the bells a small figure suddenly appeared from the bushes at the side of the road.
"My Lord!" the boy called out "Raiders, they're coming toward the village"
"We know lad!" roared the warlord, "Damned Normans again - we'll soon see them off!"
"No my Lord, they're coming from the sea, in huge monster prowed ships!"
Weffanson paused for a moment, staring hard at the young figure before him. Then, gripping his dane axe with both hands he once more called forth his men.
"Vikings, lads, wolves of the sea - we'll send them and Charretier back where they came from!"
Last night John, Scrivs and myself got together at Maelstrom for a game of SAGA. We were hoping for a fourth player but he didn't make it, so for variety we thought we'd try out the Feast for Crows scenario from the back of the book.
We were all using four point warbands, I was taking my Saxons, Scrivs had Vikings and John had his usual Normans.
I deployed in the bottom left of the board, the Normans in the bottom right and Scrivs took the top right corner, leaving top left empty. A large village occupied the centre right of the board, with broken woodland on the left hand side.
The action was fast and furious, and I forgot to take lots of pictures, but a few follow.
As the light began to dim Scand peered from beneath the pile of wood and leaves where he had cowered since fleeing the Norman knights. Over in the distance, illuiminated by the burning village he could make out Norsemen leading captives back to their boats whilst Normans withdrew in the opposite direction, heaving valuable supplies from the burning buildings. Not far from the fringes of the wood Scand could see the corpse of Getwin Weffanson, surrounded by the bodies of his thegns and slaughtered vikings. Sprinting from cover he crouched over the body of his lord and began to pull at one of his rings, thinking to take it back to his village as sad evidence of Weffansons demise.
"Get off my bloody finger you theiving little git!" roared the Warlord. "Help me back to my feet, this isn't over yet..."