Sometimes you have to do what you have to do, lad.
Kevkul wryly says to Petrik as he splashes some of the liquid upon the shield on his back.
Keep the dagger handy, but stay back where it's safe. Remember the prayer I taught you and everything will be fine.
Kevkul crawls forward, ready to loose off a bolt once he spots the troww's scalp.
Ragnar holds himself ready until Kevkul gets closer to the ledge... put steels himself to act before the dwarf can get off the first shot.
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Surprise!:
Ragnar waits until the dwarf has wormed his way forward to a spot where he can shoot from... but before the dweorg has a chance to act... the old blood rises ascendant within Ragnar. Muttering as much to the wind as to anyone who can hear he speaks evenly "Bränn mina ben om jag blir pojkar" Ragnar takes a deep breath and surges from his position of hiding.
Thick legs thundering into the snow as Ragnar is propelled forward at speed, his core begins to burn with the slow fire of the svart vrede. Cresting the top of the cliff, Ragnar does not slow as he spies his foe afore him... a lanky trow that needs for killing. Throwing his head to the sky as he launches from the top of the cliff Ragnar looses a blood-curdling howl of the vargr.
The newly airborne berserk flies through the air before twisting violently as skaggig is brought to bear... then crunching heavily into the trow...
Ragnar’s battle cry echoes throughout the calm morning peaks of the Icerimes. The Northman launches himself towards the trow, who grins maliciously at the human’s folly.
The lanky trow hunter draws a bead on the flying berserk, eyes narrowing at its target.
Yet as Ragnar plummets to glory those same malignant eyes widen as it realises death has come knocking…
Whatever curse or epitaph Mukl’uk was about to spit is cut short by Skaggig cleaving the jotunn from crown to crotch.
The greatax bites through the brutes bow, fur armour and sallow hide - ploughing a bloody furrow before Ragnar crash-lands in the ruinous red cleft that a moment before was a fell iss trow...
:(
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The impact crushes flesh and bones, leaving a blod covered Ragnar battered and bruised but breathing… The same cannot be said of the trow…
All that remains of a defiant Mukl’uk is a dark red pulp draped over shattered bone and steaming offal; a glistening pile at the heart of a crimson splash that extends almost 20 feet in every direction.
As a seasoned Gífr-banamaðr or trow slayer, you know how best to send these brutes to the next life...
Benefit: When in combat with trolls (or any other creature of the Giant subtype) you gain a +1 trait bonus to flanking attacks and a +1 bonus to confirm critical hits.
Bathing in crimson waters as he lands heavily on the turf, Ragnar is blind to the sanning of the fight. Rising with an expectation that there is still trow left to kill he finds himself as a bild av död among the strewn remains. Planting skaggig into the snow to stand erect as though a banner post Ragnar howls in exhilaration before turning his head back to the cliff-face and his comrades hidden above "Come... this one will fight no more..." letting his svart vrede ebb away to be replaced by fatigue.
Kevkul continue his crawl right until the moment the barbarian takes a moment of lunacy, jumping over the ledge with ax ready. Standing up with haste, the dwarf witnesses the crimson carnage that is the pulped iss troww as its lifeblood slowly flows into the nearby stream, streaking its clear water sanguine.
Calling out to the exhausted and exhilarated barbarian, Kevkul calls out,
Any chance of that one regenerating?
He makes his way down to the remains and looks them over.
Muli makes his way to the edge after the northman disappeared. He is rewarded with a panoramic view of the carnage.
"Wood. We will need to burn this one as well."
Muli carefully makes his way down and starts by collecting the Trow pieces and piling them in a spot blown clear of snow.
With laughter in his voice, Luke yells over the edge of the cliff,
Well done Ragnar! Now if you are done with your heroics, fly back up here so that we can prepare ourselves to move on!
Calling back to Luke "Do not worry, next time I will share" Ragnar helps Muli with the tinder gathering and trow burning.. but goes through the trow's ruptured body first for any possessions and in search of a trophy.
Skølrykk walks up to the cliff edge, a little worried what he will see at the bottom. When he sees that Ragnar has come out on top, he laughs out loud, throwing his head back. Ha! A fine kill, but take care no Trow grows from your beard now!
As he picks through the trow's carcass, Ragnar notices the numerous shards of sundered longbow, identifying them as fey grown dimhíw firgenholt... He also spies that while mundane, the trow had runic patterns carved into his fangs - potential trophies that glisten with the jotunn's spat blod.
dimhíw firgenholt is the Iobarian form of darkwood. There are enough shards of this fey wood present from the trows Large size longbow to fashion either a normal sized shortbow/comp shortbow or arrows...
Meanwhile Muli (and any others helping) collect the larger parts of the trow and heap them upon the balefire lit to scorch the jotunn's corpse.
As you do thoughts turn to the morn's events and the pathway ahead...
Knowledge (Nature): take 10 makes it
Ragnar crudely removes the trow's fangs from it's jaw and slips them into a pocket as a trophy. Giving Luke an elbow, he draws his attention to the splinters of wood "Some strong wood if you want to be saving it."
Once all is done he opens the discussion "We have two ways ahead brothers, either we continue to the puca as we planned last night... or we track this trow back to its brethren." turning to Kevkul "The beast talked of dwarves and death earlier, it may be that some live."
Luke nods and gathers the wood, thinking that he will get darkwood arrows made as soon as feasible.
Aye, the sure thing is the Puca, no? I would not want to leave anyone in danger of the Trow, though.
Luke looks to the ground to see if he can locate the tracks of the Trow and if he is able to follow.
Perception:
Survival:
Kevkul collects the broken troww's longbow and starts to stuff them in his pack.
He then decides to examine the troww's gastric contents, fathoming if the beast recently ingested some dwarven flesh or bones which is still being digested within.
Muli climbs back up to the cave. In the shelter, he will make final preparations for the day and then proceed to stuff an interesting selection of books into his giant pack and Quern's kettle.
Kevkul pokes at the trows offal, but cannot find any of his kins flesh... Seems the lanky trow was somewhat undernourished.
Luke easily picks up Mukl'uk's tracks, while the iss trow hunter was a canny tundrasman, he is no equal to a Warder of Luke's skill.
Luke leads the party away from the Hermitage, following the Trow tracks.
Your doughty group once again sets forth across the tundra, the crisp ground crunching underfoot as the morn passes...
As you trudge, following the signs indicated by the Warden of Berghof, a clearly worried Petrik shares his concerns to those around him;
”Surely I should efestan to Kustnir, tell Pater Fisc of the carsíþ that befell Quern, and has déaþfæge us all?”
The trows trail takes you across a ridge just an hour East of the trade post of Gánnáhwǽr. Near the river fork you clearly make out signs of an encampment; sites of several camp fires are visible, as are tracks of horse, man and wagon leading south...
Luke looks down over the ridge, and squats examining the trail and off into the distance. He gestures for all to gather around.
The Trow tracks have led us to this spot. We are an hour east of Gánnáhwǽr. Down by that fork in the river, there are clear signs of an encampment, several campfires are visible, and there are tracks of horse, man and wagon heading south. I will need to scout down closer to the site for more infortmation. Should I bother or just push forward to the trading post to the east?
You can discern that Mukl'uk was scouting the encampment, spotting where the trow crouched in the treeline...
Crouching to show Liten Mun some attention while the party speaks "I've of a mind to ken the purpose of the camp..."
At Petrik's gloomy words Ragnar just smiles and gives skaggig a pat "Fate is what you make of it youngling..."
Laddie, Old Quern was oft not seen at Kustnir for times at end, such as his calling as a hermit. Oft not courage is doing something one fears doing but does so because it is the right thing to do. Now, the troww have an interest in the camp ahead and their interest is usually unwanted.
Kevkul speaks out to young Petrik, breath misting in the cold Northern air.
Petrik nods at the dweorg’s wisdom, eyes misty as he looks upon the others in the group descending cautiously onto the campsite.
In whispered tones he addresses Kevkul;
”I...I... sprecan with the spledig wisa as you bade Héahleornere... I dreamt of him Kevkul... Cwoni the morn, I æðe I could taste medu upon my lips...”
Nervously he quickly glances at Kevkul, gauging the priest’s reaction perhaps before affixing his gaze once again on the camp scouts.
Depending on how you want to handle him, Petrik is on the cusp of becoming a follower of sorts . Should you nurture his faith I envisage him becoming a cohort down the line... Of course you may not want the extra baggage and extra cup to fill :)
Several yards from where Petrik and Kevkul converse, Muli sits rummaging through his pack, his first opportunity to indulge in the treasures taken from Quern’s hermitage...
Amongst the tomes, scrolls and writings that has peaked Muli’s interest are:
An untitled, aged notebook that has a battered leather cover and loose binding.
Quern’s Comprehensive Chronicles of Iobarian Flora, Fauna & Fiends (volumes 1-3; these are all small fieldbooks written on odd, mismatched sheets of parchment, paper and skins.
A wooden (blodpine) placard with the curious line “One is never truly alone... There are spirits in the earth and spirits in the bottle.”
A charred copy of what appears to be a prayer book in the Dweorg tongue.
Several letters addressed to Quern from one Narcyz Van Arthog...
And of course the Ánéged & Eallísig: An Ealdwrítere au Berghof which Muli has already started to dissect.
There is also numerous pots, scroll cases and bottles containing dried herbs, seeds and powders... These will require much more time to identify... but could be somewhat useful ;)
Ragnar, Luke, Skølrykk (and Liten Mun) approach the past campsite slowly and with keen trepidation...
It’s clear that the camp was only broken a few hours ago. A disused fire-pit sits with faint embers still visible at its heart. Wagon trails and horse tracks lead south...
The whole area is littered with over a dozen footprints and half dozen horse tracks. Two wagons trails peppered with oxen pats move in single file, with the riders flanking and leading them. Judging from the deep grooves ploughed through the tundra ground, the wagons are laden heavy...
You notice that the riders remained mounted throughout the encampment, there are only the odd footprint next to horse hoof prints, not enough to signify mounting/dismounting. You gauge that with a two hours start the dweorg (????) could be caught up by late afternoon...
A glint catches your eye, half hidden in the churned mud of the trail lies a metal cloak clasp depicting a hand clasping a tankard. The craftsmanship is detailed and fine and the two part clasp (hand fitting mug) is inlayed with silver (worth 20gp)
perception:
Perception:
Smiling, the usually grim dwarf looks on to young Petrik with a pat on his back.
In a low tone he replies, "He listens but he watches more. Proudly display courage and never fear. Soon all of your drink will taste of medu."
Handing over Petrik his heavy crossbow and quiver, Kevkul adds, "Here, make use of this, think of the dagger as a gift, for receiving the Spedig Wesa's favor.
Luke will circle the campsite quietly to determine what, if any tracks are leaving and discernable.
Stealth:
Pereception:
Luke will take 20 on Survival to follow tracks and further investigate the time when the fires were doused = 29.
Perception:
Liten Mun Perception:
Ragnar stalks forward with skaggig unlimbered and held in one hand. His eyes look, but they cannot ken anything from what he sees.
Liten Mun sniffs curiously around the perimeter of the encampment, then is drawn ever nearer to the firepit at its centre.
He paws at the ground then stoops to lick at a bone of cooked goat chop. Eyeing the rest of you warily as you enter the camp, the hund gathers his trophy and trots several yards away to chew in peace...
Luke silently discerns the ken o' the encampment;
In addition to the Perception info above, you can also tell that the fires are some 2-3 hours coldened... the tracks head due South towards the outskirts of the Finadar Forest
Petrik looks genuinely shocked and humbled by Kevkul's gesture. He grins for the first time since joining your ranks and slips off a glove to run his hand admiringly over the weapons craftsmanship.
"Min geþancian Kevkul... Sðpe. I shall wealdan her well, gewurþian both you and the Spedig Wesa..."
Proudly he raises the crossbow to his shoulder, drawing a bead first on Ragnar; then thinking better of it, a shrub of tundra gorse.
Ragnar smiles as Liten Mun finds his bone, giving the hund a quick ear scratch. Turning to Luke he asks "Which way they went Luke?"
Fires have been out for two to three hours, and the tracks head due south to outskirts of Finadar Forest.
Luke looks sternly at Petrik.
Petrik, watch where you point that weapon. It is no toy.
Muli looks up from the book he is reading. He already had his pack off and was sitting on it, "We are not stopping?"
He closes the book and stows it in his coat. With a groan, he shoulders the pack back into place. The books he now carries adding significant weight to his load. Feels like Muli is carrying Quern away in this pack...but in a sense...that is true
Aye lad. Never point a weapon at one who ye consider friend and ye finger on the trigger when you mean to shoot. May ye shots be true.
Looking upon the scouts, Kevkul voices out,
I would only guess at the camp's purpose here, only it would mean a host of migrating people settling in for the night. Therefore we should abandon tracking them and continue with our current quest. I would be keen to visit the trading post, only to ask news regarding the lay of the land and to properly have our new findings examined.
Petrik nods meekishly...
K - Local
Perception
... then narrows his eyes and points to near where Ragnar stands;
"There by your foot Master Ragnar... something beorhtian in the ádela!"
Ragnar reaches down to pull out the clasp, taking a short appraising look at it before throwing it to Petrik "Keep it lad, looks a fine piece... and not the sort ye'd leave behind if ye had the choice." thought turning to perhaps a situation where the encamped were turned to flight.
A fitting find for such keen eyes! The tankard is a the Lucky Druncan's signs, and such luck passes your gaze to set upon it. It may be worth a few weeks of food if times are hard.
I suggest that we stop at the traders, then head onto our destination with the Puca. Thoughts?
Ragnar shrugs "Aye, if ye think that best" leaving the choice of forward destination to their Warden as he re-stows skaggig and crouches near his hund to give him a scratch.