A trio of warrior lords quibble over who is to inherit a large swath of land, for the will was lost in the fire which killed the former ruler. To avoid a war, the three visit seeress, who leads them to a shine of Wothynn, with the foretelling that the one who is the best Poet shall be judged the rightful heir to the land -- Deathshead419
Things were done differently in the Northlands. Politics was often settled with the sword, when it couldn't be resolved via the marital bed. Might often made right. Attacking an enemy the day after they'd just had drinking games in their mead halls was a legitimate war tactic. The Northmen were tough, hardy, and fond of their booze. The North women were even more fearsome.
Thork Thorvigsson had been a mighty warrior with thralls all across the fjords. Until, after one night of drunken revelry, someone set his longhouse ablaze.
Nobody knew who did it, and there was a passing chance that one of the feasters had knocked a candle or lantern into the threshes anyway. What was certain was that Thork Thorvigsson left a lot of land ungoverned and an enormous power vacuum.
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