From the Fjords of old Norway and Sweden, to the American wasteland and the Emerald Waters of the Gulf Coast, the legends of old Asgard and its gods and goddesses still persist in the decedents of the mother land of Scandinavia.
Among their songs, poems, and epic lays one legend, once that arose out of Sigmer the first, the first great Shamen of the Clan during its days of the voyage across the sea.
/The white Wolf sleeps, in a den of jagged metal and briers.
The child of Midgard, cast in to the Dragon's den.
War shall come to those forged in fire and blood.
When the Wild Hunt begins, the White wolf shall awaken once more.
To reveal in blood of War.
The White Wolf is a common term given to a legendary Warrior of the clan, a prodigal warrior who shall lead the clan on this great crusade...
The land once known as Key west...
Today was a good day.
The fishing boats took well, clearing the shallows ease and heading to to deeper, blue waters to the east. The two scouting sloops had left prior in the week, 6 men each with a heavy machine gun and rifles characteristic of a scouting crew. The rest of the fleet was in preparation. The large black sails of the Thor stood proudly above the rest of the fleet at dock as it lay in moorings.
Today was not boarding training, nor disembarking, rather close combat training, which meant the crewmen, for once, picked up the knives, axes, and rarely, swords of their raiding brothers ans sisters and practice the more...primitive ways of the clan's combat.
Tera was not native to the Clan, having been captured as a bright eyed, knife wielding pre-teen found in the drug den of one of the Cartel's outer outposts. The raid was a small one, two sloops and a brig, her adoptive father taking her in after said pre-teen, through a combination of drug fueled fear and mis-placed anger, subdued and nearly killed one of the youngbloods who had tried to take her as a slave. She still had that knife, a small, simple black folding pocket knife, its plastic grip cracked and stained. It was the only remnant of her past, her only demon she let lay with her.
She sighed and stretched, putting her arms high above her head as she blinked away at the mono-chrome green and black screen of the computer terminal. Electricity was one of the few luxuries the Dock-master's house that allowed her to keep such records. in truth, it was the modification of an old pre-Ragnarok shipping tug hooked up and fuels with spare MF batteries that supplied her room, and her computer and one working desk lamp, with enough power to run it.
The man responsible for this set up, as well as the engine aboard her prized ship, lay naked in bed behind her. The 20 something blond women turned to her lover as he lay there, quietly sleeping the early morning away. The two were an unlikely pair. He was not inclined toward combat, having been native to some far way a nation to the far, far west that had been captured by the Legion some time before they had come across him as an escaped slave.
He had been able to demonstrate his technical prowess by using a modified Pipboy-2500 as a mobile "Hacking tool", a modification to it she did not understood. They had grown closer as he had set up the computer and introduced Tera to its parts and functions. She used it for two things, manly. To keep a detailed record of the inventory manifest and slave count, as well as a list of needed supplies and stored supplies.
Secondly, was a password protected journal of her life up tot that point. The encryption was of her own making, Even Shawn being hard-pressed to break it. The side of effect of their bonding, other then her learning to read and wright in old English as prerequisite, was that the two had grown closer then the Chief had thought.
She was drawn back to the present with the feeling o his hands on her shoulders. "Come one love, its 4 in the morning, you need some sleep." She would normally rebuttal him, but for once, Shawn was right. If her fathers plans on launching a second "Wild Hunt" of the Texan and Alabama Coast was going to succeed, then they would need the captain of the Thor to be well rested.
She reached over to the lamp and turned it off. Groaning, she got up, being lightly pulled over to the small queen bed the two shared by her still naked companion. She wiggled out of her tank top and shorts and practically fell in to bed, slipping under the covers and curling up in a ball. He fallowed suit, wrapping his arm around her and spooning with her. The two drifted off to sleep shortly after.
Economics.
The tribe had few large workshops,but the three dozen or so craftsmen worked diligently, and while they forged many different things, from nails to hinges, most, roughly two thirds, were focused on producing the home made ammo for the various weapons, with special attention being played to 40mm shells and 12.7x99 ammo. The singular dockyard was hard at work the first if the longships, a simpler, older design meant for work in the shallower river the clan would soon trade through.
Diplomacy.
Knowing the wags of old, namely the raiding of coastal settlements, will soon have to change; the Chief orders to things: The sending of an envoy to the northern neighbors to establish a line of contact and open trade as well as hopefully gain official recognition as a formal state and not just a tribe of raiders.
The envoy would be sent in one of the Clans brings, escorted by a pair of sloops to the port of Cape Canaveral.
