THE MARCH OF BLACKENED BANNERS

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THE MARCH OF BLACKENED BANNERS


GRIMHJALL CIRCA 2001, COLORIZED

"IT IS ONLY FIT THAT WE DO AS GRIMNIR DID."
"EDUCATE THE YOUNGER RACES. THAT IS OUR DUTY."

In Grimhjall, the final nights of offered peace were ones of celebration and drunkenness. Flagons were raised, merriment had, and much rowdy talk about their plans. The Huskarls could be seen grinding axes against millstones, the Sentinels could be seen offering their prayers, and the Acolytes of Ymir saw no better time to take to singing the praises of their dead God amidst the streets. The Jarl boasts of slaves to be taken and mines to be worked; sparing no harshness in his perspective of the grim fate of Delphina.

But on the morning that followed, the tone changed. Men came by the longboat-load, offering their service and taking upon the marks of Grimnir; the final clans readying themselves. So set forth an army of great size and ragged composition, ranging from the Ursine and their Sentinels, to the Forge-Priest of Folhammar in columns two-dozen with and two-dozen deep. It is a ragtag army, outfitted with steel and fire; dozens of independent clans' banners stained black with ink raised high over an army that seems to be more sea of moving flesh than Man.

"WHERE THERE'S A WHIP, THERE'S A WAY."
"FOR EACH GIANT, A TROPHY."

And so, the siege camps are erected in the valley around the mine.
Skald-song and tales will be written of the day their armies meet. Clan Folhammar marches with their banner blackened, many of their warriors marked with Grimnir's Tears, and their forges churn out arm and armor for Vdalion's peoples. The Sentinels loudly profess their hunting of the bugmen and their fevered worship of Nemea loud throughout the valley. Jotunhalr's men sit around the raising bonfires, making bets of who will take the most slaves and gold from their land. The Zealots offer blessings to all brave warriors, and a final initiation to induct men before they shed their blood on the battlefield, offering to initiate any who dedicate their life-taking to Ymir.

The first of the border skirmishes are already beginning, and there is no sign that there will be another chance at negotiation. 
[DATE: TBD. SUNDAY, 6:30 PM EST IDEAL.]

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UPDATE:
TIME 8/15, 6:00 EST

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THE FIRST BATTLE OF ELMYRA

Banners raised, it is said that if one stood upon the peak of the Mountains and gazed down, the fields of Elmyra would appear as a sea of black flags billowing high. Clans of every denomination, of every banner, held high with pyres lit and torches burning bright. When armies collided, none could deny that the results seemed to be insurmountable. Giants set fire to towers and the frames of homes, dragging Faeborne from their homes and pillaging whatever they could set their hands upon. The Hunters of Nemea zealously persecute their crusade against the Greathive, leaving many to limp from the field sporting terrible wounds.

Morale is high in the camp of the Giants, and great bonfires are raised in praise of Ymir.
This battle was only the beginning of their war upon Delphina, and already captives are hauled back; any non-Magi unfortunate enough to live upon the outskirts, too close to the battle taken as slaves, some cut down on the spot in the throes of frenzy. Cheers resound through the bloodied but yet savage horde, and promises abound that the next battle will tear that mediocre settlement from Delphina's clutches and take it as their own. 

It is said that none of those captured survived, subjected to ritualistic blood duels to satiate the never-ending battle-lust of Ymir. The collective spirit of Grimnir's Throne roared out with a thousand mouths of chanting Giants, held beneath the banner of all clans; witnessed to their amusement, their bloodsport circus. The words reverberate down the mountaintops like rolling thunder as an omen for what is yet to come.

"WE WILL MAKE THEM KNEEL."