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Through ravens eyes we are witnessed. Our Gods have judged us. Our leaders and their followers are slain for their arrogance and heresy. We have battled and lost. Have fallen on our knees and given homage to those who bested us and those men and women have accepted our shame and by doing so given us honour and respect. We are Northmen, we are warriors, but we no longer live on the shores of our beloved homeland. We live here now, in the lands of Tir Nan Beo.
Our King, King Oswald of the Usipetii, has given us land and purpose. We have survived the terrible winter that fell after our knee fall and few of our families died. A blessing, foretold by the priests among us. They had seen the ravens hunting crows and the wolves who gave no interest in our weak state of living. We have song our songs of honour to those who deserved it and have dismantled our boats for the wood for houses. Planted crops and built fences. Have chosen new chieftains and have buried the grief deep in the blackened soil of our land. The priests speak of tests of Faith in the coming years. King Oswald has given a task and we, the Tir Nan Beo, will stand beside him were we can. The land of tears is said to be unconquerable. Is said to be without lasting joy, but we shall fight to alter these telling. Our King has accepted our shame and has forgiven it. Has killed its roots and for that we must be ever grateful. Now we can enter the afterlife once more. Now the Valkyrjar can find our fallen hero's again and Carry them of the battlefield. We are blessed once more. Blessed in a cursed land.
After our revival we have travelled home and counted our losses. Few of us remained after the fighting, a couple hundred perhaps, but enough to challenge these lands for dominance. Our strongest women have taken the path to become shield maidens, so they can strengthen our shield walls when King Oswald calls for us. We still have berserkers among our ranks, although their powers are different when called upon. They are more dark and vicious than normal. Our better warriors still remain, strong and tall as ever and anyone still alive believes that the Gods have not forsaken us. Something most of us have not felt in years. We have armour and weapons. Smiths and priests and above all, we have purpose. We shall rid these lands of anything King Oswald sets upon us. We are his chosen men, his champions. We are the blessed in the cursed lands of Tir Nan Beo. We shall laugh in these lands of tears and shall grow stronger with every battle won and every child born. We, chosen Northmen of King Oswald, shall redeem ourselves in the eyes of the Gods. Their blessings shall Judge us great once more. The coming age is one of testing. It shall separate the worthy and the unworthy. Those unworthy in our clans have been separated already; all that remains is us, the chosen ones, those who are worthy.