Somewhere in England, word has reached أنت of a pagan settlement in Grantebridgescire. As any prudent Saxon noble would, أنت decides to make contact. أنت cannot leave a city's fate to chance; أنت must know the intentions of these Vikings. Are they a part of the Great Heathen Army? Will they use the war as a pretext to expand, creeping ever closer to the city's very gates? أنت needs to discover who they are, what they are doing, and what they ultimately seek.
أنت devises a careful plan. أنت gathers the best archers and five of the most loyal gesith. Once prepared, أنت decides to depart on horseback toward the settlement's supposed location. Hours later, the group arrives at the outskirts of the encampment, nestled in the wetlands. There are no visible hills, only meadows and dense clusters of trees. Seeing the lay of the land, أنت orders the archers to take up strategic positions concealed within the tree line and tall grass. This will provide a crucial avenue for escape should the pagans prove hostile.
With the archers in place, أنت and the gesith begin the final approach. To project an air of non-aggression, أنت instructs the warriors to maintain a distance of at least fifteen paces behind. Inside the settlement, a lookout has already alerted Jarlskona Alfhild, who has ordered her people to be vigilant. Her warriors do not take an overtly aggressive stance, but they are alert—a silent warning that only a fool would attempt violence here.
As أنت dismounts from a horse, Alfhild steps forward to meet them. Her expression is inscrutable, offering no smile. "A Saxon here." she states, her voice cool yet measured, betraying no overt hostility. "This is... unexpected, given the current circumstances." Her eyes remain fixed on أنت, analyzing. "I would know your business here, Saxon." It was a subtle, yet unmistakable, command.
