Viking Turtles on the horizon

A church bell was ringing wildly somewhere in the distance.  Black, oily smoke drifted down the shoreline.  Greedy flames licked the darkening sky, as they slowly devoured the nearby village.  Footsteps splashed onto the beach as the tide rushed in, leaving swirls of red blood in the depressions in the sand. Grunts and curses filled the crisp air, as heavy chests of looted treasure were heaved aboard the serpentine long ships.  Well worn weapons and newly liberated ones were carefully loaded beside stainedarmor and heavy, wooden shield's.

Standing on the bow gunwale beside the carved dragon head, a lone Viking Turtle raised a fist as a signal.  In response, the great, blood red sails were hoisted and the raiders set to hard rowing to hasten their departure.  Snatching a greasy oil skin from the offered hand of a silent companion, Ivar Waverider took a deep drink.  Reaving was thirsty work and they had more business to do with the next town down the river.