After Byron dug a pit deep enough to bury the Kalmar Union up to its neck, he drifted away.
But the Kalmar Union still had to swallow the bitter brew of their own making.
The storm had long since passed.
Under the blood-red setting sun, in Bergen Port of Count Hodalan's Domain, the closest to the Faroe Islands, separated only by a fjord, the pungent smell of gunpowder had not yet entirely dissipated.
Three or four massive sea monsters, whose original species were nearly indistinguishable, lay grotesquely dead on the beach, with their vividly colored blood forming small streams trickling into the sea.
A group of soldiers dressed in leather and armed with iron tongs were carefully cleaning up, digging a deep pit on the beach to reaccumulate the scattered limbs.
"Be careful not to get the blood of these freaks on you. Someone call an [Artisan] to light them up with whale oil and burn their corpses to ashes.
