After it got too boring for Snorre den blodlystne, to burn down Ireland, he decided to visit Dublin's famous jail.

So he rode directly into the capital of Ireland and asked the irish guardians to show him that place, he has often heard about but never seen personally.
Requested and done! Immediately he found him self bound in chains. What a uncommon feeling for somebody, who used to be the Noaidi of the Finns not long ago.
The irish guardians, were really nice, they helped to orient himself better, by kicking into his back, when he chose the wrong direction on his way through Dublin.
The footmarch of about 2 miles ended up right in front of an old castle-like building in the middle of nowhere.
A really romantic place, if it would not be that creepy, looking a little bit like many people found a cruel and painfull death inside this stonen walls, perhaps easy to find a ghost inside it.
The feeling mediated by this place was nothing more than absolute fear, but it seems to be better than the feeling you get when you are followed by a bear in the northern parts of Finland.

The guardians had been so nice to guide him inside. Snorre found himself between cold and wet walls in the middle of a hall, propably the entrance area of this building, in which the screems of tortured persons resounded.
He found his way into a mouldy cell in the cellar and the guardians faces began to smile.
Not a nice place, but good if you like to have death-fear all day and all night.
A pot to piss in, one with more or less clean water and a strawstuffed bed was all he found inside it.
So caused by a lack of social activities with other prisoners, he decided to go to bed, it was not so easy as it seemed to him first, because the guardians like to walk around once an hour and knock loudly at the doors of each cell.

The sun of the early day was waking up Snorre, after he found a short moment of sleep, it was the first moment he saw the cell completly, nothing new for him but the death rats in his waterpot were not ancouraging what the quality of the watersupply concernes.

"Hopefully, the pest will get me before my thirsty throat forces me to drink this water...."

With this words began his second day inside Dublin's prison...

A message arrives to the personal scribe or Molly Cumhaill.

QUOTE:
Personal Scribe of the Banrion of Ireland
Mr. Lewet,

My dearest scribe. It has come to my understanding that Snorre den blodlystne sits with in my dungeon. Along with his notable combative nature of past, and I am sure present. I believe it time the young ruler learn to grow a little. For this reason I authorize the rack to be used for lessons of behavior control. Please do remember no abusing my prisoners, except with the stretching of his limits. Keep him well hydrated as well! Inform Snorre den blodlystne this is a gift of the blessed mother, on the day of her child's birth.

Lovingly,
Molly Cumhaill
Banrion of Ireland.

With the whistle of his nose being extra loud. He rushed to inform the dungeon guard of the Banrions orders.

A couple of days later, he had only survived because he licked the dew, that was running down the moos-covered walls of his cell, Snorre decided to use one of the activities provided in the irish jail.
It was the rack, he had some pain in his neck, so he thought it might be a very good idea to stretch a little bit.
As far as he heard the rack was a good thing to unloosen the pain in the limbs combined with the possibility of growing a little.

So he asked one of the guards to help him a little with that problem.
The guard was so nice to help him out of his cell by massive kicks into his back, it was almost like his way through Dublin, and enchained him on this instrument of pain.
First it was a nice feeling to get stretched a little, he lost his pain but later consciousness too, so he couldnt remember all of it.

As he woke up he found himself laying down on a meadow, his face licked by his horse, his clothes wet from the mud he was laying in and his limbs aching, but he didnt know why.
Of course he felt bigger but not that much as he promissed himself.
Even if he looked like a tramp on a horse he decided to find the way to his men, to guide them home after the glorious victories they had on this island.

A long time has passed since Snorre found himself in the prison of Dublin.
A long time of travels, a time of peace for Finland.
The war with Ireland was over and bigger adventures waited to be experienced.
Snorre's time has come to follow new ways, guided by ancient stories, ways never been walked by any Finn before.

Serklant this unknown place, seen only by few nordic warriors, attracted him.
He knew nothing about it, excepting these few words scratched into a stone he found in Kopparberg a long time ago, as he was a young knight of nearly twenty years in age.

QUOTE:

....furu trikila fiari at kuli auk austarlarni kafu tun sunarla a Sirklanti...

"... they travelled like men, far for gold, they gave to the eagles in eastern lands and found death in the south, in Serklant"

Where is this region? What is there? Why these warriors in that tale have died there? Many question were in his head, but all guided him to the decision to find out what happend and where these ancient lands are situated.
"Into the dawn, then heading to the noon....", this was the only thing he knew, this was the way he chose.

After a longer journey he found himself in a region called the Land of the Oarsmen, he heard of this name before, the land where the swedish Waräger rowed their boats along the mighty rivers.
This had to be the place where his men had to turn and heading into the noon.
A big celebration they found there, a big celebration with tourneys and mead.
This tourney was a good training for Snorre, especially because of the bigger dangers, the Finns might find on their way. Even though he lost after few rounds, he felt experienced enough to seddle his horse and face the danger waiting for him and his men, waiting for them in Serklanti....

An Ocean of grass, that was everything existing here.
Great plains only devided by some mighty rivers, nomansland, not a good place to be.
No wood to repair boats, no wood to enlight a fire for the smith, nothing to built a hut or a house.
It was quiet, the only sound to hear was the wind blowing over the meadow and the step of men trampelling down the grass, following their way.
Cold nights followed by warm days, wind and grass and columns of Finns moving on to Serklant...

The boat pitched and tossed on the waves, it was like dandle a baby to sleep.
For several days the Finns were sailing southwards, entering their boats in a region with big villages hewn in stone, a region where people live that are speaking a language sounding similar to some dialects Snorre heard in Sweden before, calling themselfs Greutunges, Goths.

In his eyes, this had to be the correct way, Serklanti had to be very close.
He smelled the fresh air blowing over the sea, it was salty but there was something different too, perhaps imagination perhaps he smelled silver, gold and the great adventures waiting for the Finns.

"LAND STARBOARD AHEAD..."

This scream from the lookout went through marrow and bone.
Snorre jumped to his chest girding himself with weapon and coat of mail, his lips began to shiver, the bloodthirst awoke inside him.
Golden crosses, standing on the top of white cupolas, arose at the horizon, so much gold, he never saw such treasures before. These orthodox lands had to be Serklant, only waiting for some brave nordic warriors to loot what they can bear.
Superabundant riches, bad protected, in monasteries and churches just waiting for some Finnish hands to carry them away.

The Russian ships veered round, Snorre rose his head and followed them with the eyes.
Somebody stood on the rear deck of one of the Russian ships screaming something he could'nt understand but getting louder the more they came closer after veering round to them.

"Dont attack! Wrong target!!!"

Snorre couldnt believe his ears, for weeks they had been sailing southwards, for weeks no real food, just dried bread, bad water and monotony.

So they sailed back northwards without any target, the time past by slowly, so slow that a leaf, falling from a tree, seems to fall fast. As the Bosphorus came closer he decided to attack alone, he wont need anybody than his Finns, nobody could stop them.

Upon the wings of a gilded pigeon arrives an unusual request.

QUOTE:

Snorre den blodlystne,
King of the Finns,

Once a time not long ago was a magical moment. Two spirits united in one unbelievable cause. An offer was made, and then denied. Now the wounded pigeon comes. She comes to ask for help.

Humbily yours,
Molly Cumhaill
Banrion of Ayre
Queen of Saxony
Blessed mother."

Snorre looked at the letter and raised a brow...
"Molly? What does she want from me???"

In front of his eyes the letters formed words and getting more confusing than the epistel.
She asked for help from the Finns, strange but true.
So Snorre answered briefly on the request...

QUOTE:

Dear Molly,

No!

Snorre den blodlystne,
Noaidi of the Finns

He fixed his answere on the pigeons leg and let it fly home