Kevkul’s counter thuds into the trow as its claws and bite ineffectually scrape at the doughty priest’s armour and shield.
As the battle rages the Northmen arrive to the party, with Skølrykk assists his fellow Vikingr up and over the lip of the icy crevasse, before joining the frey himself - gamely attempting to wrestle with the brute!
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The warrior fails to lock a hold on the snarling iss trow, but manages to avoid its flailing claw as Gorruk shrugs off the Northman.
Behind the melee Luke wrenches his axe free of the clawing ice and launches a chopping blow at Gorruk. However as the mighty trow reels away from Kevkul’s hammer and Skølrykk's wrasslin, the Warden of Berghof’s strike becomes a glancing blow which shaves a lank braid from the jotunn scalp, but naught else...
Gorruk HP: 30/45 10 un-healable fire damage; 5 can be healed
Surrounded by foes Gorruk’s sloping brow furrows and he presses home a ferocious attack on the weaponless Northman bold enough to test his strength against a jotunn;
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The iss trow's wicked talons pierce through Skølrykk's armour and it attempts to tear him asunder... However the Ulfen's thews hold and while greviously wounded the Northman remains in one piece for the time being...
Round 7:
Cresting the cliff only to see his fellow Northman go down bloodied, Ragnar is further incensed. Stepping up and drawing alfr smarta he beats the blade upon his shield bellowing in jotunn
He then explodes forward with a wide arced strike bringing alfr smarta around in a descending arc into trow flesh...
Gorruk HP: 30/45 10 un-healable fire damage; 5 can be healed
Round 7
Gorruk HP: 7/45 10 un-healable fire damage; 18 can be healed
Overzealous, Luke’s hacking axe and Kevkul's hammer both fall just short of their mutual target...
Ragnar’s bellow draws Gorruk’s attention momentarily, but the strike that cleaves the big trow from hip to navel draws far more - a keening scream that cuts through the howling wind.
The brute staggers, growling like an animal – straight into the claws and fangs of the jotunn-sized Muli-marten...
While the beast man’s first claw merely clips his foe, his second is far more powerful; tearing the trow’s undershot jaw free of his skull, leaving it hanging like a crimson decoration. Muli’s needle teeth bury themselves deep into Gorruk’s shoulder as the jotunn reels, grievously wounded...
Torn tongue lolling like a bloody rag, the iss trow utters a gurgling moan that becomes a laugh as its wounded tissues slowly begin to knit and mend...
... then furiously it stabs his own icy talons at its beastman tormentor:
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Round 8:
Sensing that the tide of battle flows away from the jotunn and back to the party Ragnar lunges forward with alfr smarta...
...it's sharpened edge scything through the trow's defenses and into it's underbelly. Face to face with the beast at the end of his lunge Ragnar shows a killer's grin and drinks in the look on the creatures face.
Luke’s blow buries his axe head between the trow’s shoulder blades and with a grunt the jotunn falls to its knees. Though bloodied and almost spent, Gorruk mumbles a defiant taunt as his shattered jaw slowly reknits into a crooked smirk...
”Hülye, gyenge kis ember ... Egy kéz a vas szabályok ilyen hideg földeket most ... Heh-heh-heh ... Hamarosan elválik a csontok, mint én a régi bölcs heh heh-heh-... Gyere nem a legrosszabb, hogy Gorruk!”
... before Ragnar’s blade cleaves open the trow’s gut...
Instantly blue-grey blod sausages uncoil from its sundered belly and pile, slick and steaming, upon the snow covered clifftop.
Hülye, gyenge kis ember ... Egy kéz a vas szabályok ilyen hideg földeket most ... Heh-heh-heh ... Hamarosan elválik a csontok, mint én a régi bölcs heh heh-heh-... Gyere nem a legrosszabb, hogy Gorruk! = Stupid, poor little men... A hand of iron rules these cold lands now... Heh-heh-heh... Soon it will sunder your bones like I did your old sage heh-heh-heh... Come do your worst to Gorruk!
Muli diminishes in size and yells into the wind, "Stand back". He pulls out a fat rat and carefully bends over the fallen Trow. He stuffs the rat into the broken mouth and painfully straightens up. He then gives the jaw a hard kick, forcing the Trow's teeth to puncture the stuffed rat. A blaze of fire erupts for its mouth.
"Chew well, that which is Muli."
Muli steps back from the flames and rests against the cliff wall panting. But then his eyes close and he slumps down to the ground.
Kevkul approaches the fallen troww, before smashing his neck in with a measured strike.
Now that is done and liberally shall the favor of Cailean Caydean wash over you, should we all move closer.
Kevkul motions for the wounded to gather before holding aloft his tankard and pulsing out waves of positive energy.
Channel x3 :
Ach, Muli, the head would make a plenty of nights of free mead if it were a better condition, but much character does it have now.
Kevkul takes out his dagger before severing Gorruk's head, trusting the cold to preserve it before offering any of the warriors to pack.
Now that the trow has been brought down, Ragnar's breath grows heavy and laboured and the effort of the the last minute catch up with him in a moment. Wiping his blade clean on the parts of the trow that have not been touched by blood he sheathes it and re-stows his shield upon his back. Feeling Kevkul's blessing flow over them Ragnar turns his hands to Skolrykk and Muli, helping them back to their feet.
Giving a nod to his companions "It was a worthy end to an unworthy foe."
Muli opens his eyes again, as he suddenly feels better. Through the snow, he sees Ragnar offering him a hand and takes it. Pulled to his feet, he looks off to the north, "Quern is down there in the æwiell. Lower me down there, as we need to check on his dryhtné to ensure he does not rise again. Need to bring up Petrik as well, as we should rest up in cave."
ferociously chopping its heavy hook deep into the winch.
The impact tears shears through the winch post, causing it to buckle and splinter. The chain drops the dangling Northmen a foot or so, and as they feel the rent timber begin to fail...
Wrenching his wicked hook loose, Gorruk roars, showering the snow nearby in red flecked spittle as the cold wind howls ever louder.
Without the heat of battle to warm your collective bones, you feel the biting cold of the still whipping snow storm.
Gorruk’s rent and ravaged corpse lies before you all. Limited in garb and gear, the trow offers only its cruel hook weapon and damaged hide armour. However in sack at the brute’s belt are a set of bloodstained fine looking bracers and several small belt pouches containing assorted coins (130 gold marc, 40 silver scilling and 33 copper cyphen) and a potion bottle containing an amber liquid with fibres floating in it.
To the North-West of your position, lying in partially frozen water is a crumpled body of a human male. Thick crimson trails billow from the figure and cloud the surrounding icy water of the stream.
To the North-East the enterance to Quern’s hermitage stands before you; its rusted iron gate wracked and asunder, while dim light flickers from within, an inviting beacon from the cold...
Below Petrik will tie on Liten Mun to be raised and any gear, before he himself is pulled up...
Looking at the crumpled, frozen corpse. "Muli's géomagister was always ungemódness with everything Quern had to say, but he knew a lot of lore. It is a shame all those tales are reduce to a frozen dryhtné. Kevkul can give him a blétsung and then Muli will burn him, for his sake and ours. Burn him here on the shelf, in front of his home. Muli can tend the fire from inside the hermitage and it will keep anything from wandering in. The misgewidere should take care of any worries about the fire being seen."
Yea, a blessing from old Spedig Wesa to ease his journey to the boneyard. Better to have the fires separate than the one we will use to incinerate the trow. Their journeys beyond should not be from the same hearth.
Kevkul helps gather the fuel for the fire, readying it to receive a spark. From the mug, he melts some snow before sprinkling the water over the hermit's body. Kevkul completes his blessing by saying a few words.
All out of alcohol, apologies. I do not know you old Quern, but seeing from my friend Muli, I am sure your heart is in the right place. But we did the trow in and I hope you enjoyed watching. But it is time to go on, farewell.
After everybody's given a turn to speak, Kevkul mumbles a few words and a spark jumps out from his hand and ignites the pyre.
Adding something from a pouch, the fire springs into a strong blaze despite the wind and snow. Upon the Trow, Muli spits, but upon Quern's he adds some dried herbs. "Quern, you coot. Get going. My Magester, Geir is waiting to finish your last argument."
The sparks dance on Quern’s pyre and slowly against the bitter cold and wind, flames soon lick the wood and consume the wracked body of the old hermit.
What was clear to those close enough to lay him at rest was the trow tore the bracers from the old man, with enough force to shatter his left forearm and completely remove his right arm at the elbow.
Quern, the Great Sage of Berghof – a man who lived in relative peace, who died a painful death, now lies at rest...
Great atmosphere to Quern’s passing lads – 50 bonus XP each to you three for some great roleplaying... Almost brought a tear to my cold...cold yeti heart :)
The pyre burns brightly and against the odds on such a stormy night, the evening sky is kissed with borealis of green and rose.
Battered and weary you all trudge inside the entrance of Quern’s hermitage, the promise of shelter and rest welcome relief from the storm.
As you step towards the dancing glow of a fire or lantern, Liten Mun gives a throaty growl...
The acrid scent akin to vinegar fills the air...
... the fell odour can only belong to the plant known as Hagol Blóstm or Calathgar – a semi-intelligent predatory plant of the frosty tundra...
= Hail
= Blossom, Flower
At the sound of Liten Mun's growl Ragnar tastes the air and kens the acrid scent. Recalling the teachings of his mother Ragnar tries to place it...
Perception:
Knowledge (Nature):
...eyes narrowing in wariness as he recognizes it. Gesturing to Liten Mun "Out hund, there is a grædig blóstm within." retrieving skaggig from his back and holding the axe afore him. To the rest of the party "Ware yourselves and æfterfolgian me in." and Ragnar starts moving down the corridor...
While the others are preparing Quern's pyre, Skølrykk gathers wood and piles it over the Trow, building a hot fire to purge the world of the monster. He leaves it burning and watches silently as the others say ther goodbyes.
He then gathers his belongings and takes one last glance at the burning trow before entering the cave.
Perception:
Knowledge, Nature:
He readies his spear as the hound howls, looking around for the source of the disruption and not finding it. Sniffing at the air, he furrows his brow. The cold is in my nose, and I smell nothing.
You know that Quern probably had ways of communicating with his plants and that some source of communication is probably close.
Likewise the vinegar smell signifies threatened rather than offensive or predatory.
However Hagol Blóstm are still dangerous plants, somewhat intelligent and draw strength from the cold...
Your keen eyes both notice the Hagol Blóstm lurking in the dim light of Quern's cave. It lurks some 30ft from the entrance...
The acrid scent of vinegar wafts from this shield-sized blossom. Amid shocking blue petals slowly twitches a cluster of sharp stamens arranged like a ring of teeth within a leafy muzzle.
The bracers seem of high quality (if bloodied) at first glance. No druidic or nature sigals or markings are apparent.
The amber coloured potion however smells faintly of vinegar...