Salt wind cuts across the fjord, carrying smoke from the cooking fires and the ring of hammer on iron. Ravens watch from the cliffs above while longships rest on black shingle below - some scarred from recent battles, others being fitted for the next voyage.
The longhouses cluster around the great hall like sleeping beasts, their timber walls weathered gray by salt and time. The settlement hums with quiet tension. Voices rise and fall over ale while thralls tend the fires. Down by the docks, a merchant argues price while shipwrights patch torn hulls. Near the temple stones, the gothi reads signs in scattered bones. Everyone knows everyone's business here, but not everything gets spoken aloud.
Summer means raiding season. Winter means survival. Honor and survival don't always point the same direction.
Welcome to Ravnholm.
The settlement stirs around you.
