End of the Northerners - Dungeon World (Inactive)

Game Master kdtompos

"Ragnarök is the doom of the gods, and the end of the world.
It begins with three winters of wars in Miðgarð. Then Fimbulvetr follows, the winter of winters, with bitter frosts and biting winds. Three such winters will follow with no summer between them.
Then the end will begin...."

Basic Moves


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Feel free to dot as well, if you like to track things from your campaign tab. If we have to drop some, I'll remove the character so you won't have this stuck in there for ya.


M Bard 2 18/18 HP, 1 Armor, 0 XP

Baelgrin the Old is ready for his last adventure.


Male Human Shaman 1

dot.


M Bard 2 18/18 HP, 1 Armor, 0 XP

Just posting to say I'm back from Christmas vacation and ready for adventuring.

The Exchange

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Dot


;)

I'm still currently in the filler section of 'what to play'.

It seems every stat is going to be covered to some degree. Str/Cha, Cha/Int have characters built. I suspect our ranger will go with the class strengths and Wis/Dex or vise-versa. Berserker is pretty guaranteed to do Str/Con, yeah? Fighter or Cleric will be strength or wisdom as priorities, but what else? Then there's the character I know pretty much nothing about.


I do believe we're about ready to start.

Who do we have here? What do you look like?


M Bard 2 18/18 HP, 1 Armor, 0 XP

Reference pic I found, credit to WojciechFus on DeviantArt. Baelgrin the Old, as his name implies, is one of the oldest surviving clansmen. He dresses in blacks or reds most often, with a long beard that touches his chest and a songbook that he likes to touch from time to time.

Baelgrin lives in the end times. As he feels his youth and strength leaving him, so too does he see the youth and strength leave the world around him.

His clan, a collection of families under the ancient name Berrywine, had been encamped near the cave network nearest to them for some time now. He respected Tofa's fire, but felt nothing but remorse for her when he looked at her. Women with her drive to battle never lasted long, except in old tales.


Valkyrie Scion
Bonuses:
Con +2, Dex/Cha +1, Int/Wis +0, Str-1
Death Channeler 1 26/26 HP, 0/3 Hold, 2/4 Control, 6/8 XP

The night that Tofa had arrived, her silver hair had shown with the barest hints of frost in the moonlight. She'd recovered well, being a hale youth, but her hair had remained so pale, that the blonde took on the color of metal in nearly every light. How she had arrived safely was easy to see; she had arrived with a half-naked man of incredible size, he bore a shield that was larger than Tofa, slip of a girl that she was, and seemed hardly affected by the cold, himself.

Of particular interest amongst the two, had been the spectral purple chain that had ran from the man's chest to Tofa's own, which then wrapped many times around her body to create an armor like heavy chainlink that seemed not to slow her at all. After her arrival, the girl had been sick for several days, but thanks to a lucky bit of hospitality (and the last of her coin), she had survived. As for the giant of a man? He had wandered back into the wilds from whence the two had come.

Now, sitting before a fire, trying to maintain her warmth, and oddly devoid of the spectra chain, Tofa sat with her hands inches from the fire. She was dressed in thick furs, and silks from far off lands, a thin, silver, runed dagger resting on her hip, thrust through her belt. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, yet still seemed to be windwhipped, despite having spent most of the day inside.

She holds herself with a practiced, regal, bearing, and tries to keep her eyes, like molten metal in the firelight, from lingering too long on one individual; perceived slights, and perhaps worse: perceived interest, was to be avoided at all costs.


The Funeral

Wind howls through the valley, whipping up spectral figures in the night air from the stale snow that crunches beneath your feet. The whole valley is cast in a red hue as the blodmani, or blood moon, pursues the dimming moon of old overhead. And jutting from the earth, amidst the copses of trees are giant stones that dot the valley like teeth of a great maw. That's why this passage has been dubbed The Gullet.

Those who walk amongst you carry a heavy burden, in every sense, though they still joke and tell stories quietly as they push forward. Two small ships are hoisted on the shoulders of a few of the men, with sacred remains enclosed. The waters now are either frozen or too treacherous to send them off as in the days before. So you carry them. You carry them to their new resting place of honor.

As you crest a small hill, where the path passes one of the large stone teeth--etched with rings of runes, you notice the banner before anything else.

Fluttering wildly in the distance below is a crimson banner, brilliantly colored even in the red glow that covers the valley and easily 20 feet in length as it winds and slithers in the stirring wind. Your hearts sink and all voices stall as soon as you see the grim totem, knowing all too well who leaves such a banner. The air grows heavier. Then you see the movement beneath the banner as well.

Surprisingly, you're relieved to see the lupine figure of a dark wolf, rather than what you had feared. There's other movement down there as well, most likely more of the same. Scavengers no doubt, amidst whatever carnage is left.

Luckily they haven't spotted your group yet, and the wind that bites at your flesh is in your favor as well. But sit too long and they'll likely still catch your scent or silhouette. Loruk, one of the men carrying the ships turns to you with a skeptical eye, curious where you will lead them next. What do you do?

----------------------------------

Questions: (Pick 1 from each group to answer, don't answer something already selected.)

  • Who lies still in the two ships (coffins)? Why would people go to such risk to commemorate their passing?
  • How many others accompany you? Tell me briefly of the two you deem "most capable".
  • Where are you taking these ships? What are the new burial rites for those you revere in these dark times?

and

  • Who leaves the crimson banner, such as you see below? Why does your blood freeze at the sight of it, even being confident they are no longer there?
  • Why do you continue to follow the old roads, rather than blaze your own trail? What is etched on these stone teeth that mark the path?
  • When was the first time you spoke with a wolf after the end began? Why didn't it devour you? How did it deceive you?


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Valkyrie Scion
Bonuses:
Con +2, Dex/Cha +1, Int/Wis +0, Str-1
Death Channeler 1 26/26 HP, 0/3 Hold, 2/4 Control, 6/8 XP

I'll choose one for now, then pass the stick.

Tofa's first interaction with a wolf was when she was burying the last of her people. In exchange for a bit of food and company, it aided her in the burial. Its deception was in the aid it provided; it was much easier to find the bodies when it knew where she had buried them... to what purpose, who knows? She still does not know of the talking wolf's treachery.((She buried a small fortune with these people, and their bodies were certainly a bellyfull without the need to fight for it.))


Tofa: Oh yeah. It most certainly went back and dug them up again! What did he/she give you as their name?

All:
I forgot to ask - What are each of you currently doing? What's your role in this caravan/group?


Valkyrie Scion
Bonuses:
Con +2, Dex/Cha +1, Int/Wis +0, Str-1
Death Channeler 1 26/26 HP, 0/3 Hold, 2/4 Control, 6/8 XP

The creature's name was Thorn. He was uniquely gaunt for a wolf, and without pack... perhaps that is why Tofa found it easy to trust the creature; there was a certain kinship in being alone. Or perhaps it was simply loneliness.

Is it safe to say that Tofa could already have her armor manifested? She'd have done so in a secluded area to prevent harm to others. It is unlikely to strongly come up, as she's much more likely to blast something in the face and lose that armor, than to keep it for very long, should combat arise.

Tofa is currently on watch, and ready to deal with trouble. She will leave the honor of carrying those in their coffins to their resting place to the people who knew them well, but she will impede anything from bringing harm to her allies in the meantime.


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F Human Berserker 1, HP 28/28, 0 Armor

The coffins bore a fool and his fool son, and it gnarled Signy's heart to have to walk alongside them. It was a waste of wood and time to give the two rites in this unending winter, but at this moment more than any since she's joined the people who called themselves Berrywine, Signy knows she must be careful of how she treads.

Still, in the old days, by the old laws, the fool and his son would both have been left to lie in the valueless field by the crossroads.

The berzerkr had strained her patience to its limit; in some dark little corner of her mind she was quite proud of herself for not giving arms to her anger - but how to explain to these half-men who cowered around their fires the amount of strength it took to have kept things from becoming worse than they were?

She'd been with the clan some weeks now, and she'd mistakenly thought that the time when some might challenge her was gone. Perhaps now it would be; most of the clan hadn't seen the beast yet, but they'd seen what happened when the hólmgang was invoked.

She didn't need the beast for that.

Fiǫlvarr was the fool's name, but Signy couldn't, just now, think of the son's. Fiǫlvarr's wife was pregnant, visibly so, and had been struggling visbily, ay, and Signy had even marked it. The promise of a child was a rare enough thing in these years that surely the entire clan had marked her every stumble. When he glowered and made comment about the berzerkr eating a man's share, that was insult enough, but Signy'd hunted often enough alone in the dark woods...She'd survived alone, and she knew how far she was from being truly hungry. She let the comment pass long moments, didn't even look at him, as if she hadn't heard. She simply finished chewing the bit of fish she had, then set the bowl down and spun what was left across to rest before him. That could've been the end of it, and a peaceable end, but he'd had something to say about not being a beggar. Alright. She hadn't called him a beggar, she'd just slid her meal to another, but then he had to say "...one who'd come scrabbling like a dog to honest folk, like you." and the "you" had been Signy, and for that alone, she could've killed him, but she still wasn't looking at him, she was watching Baelgrin trying to conclude a tale, the old man hesitant and uneasy as he became aware of Fiǫlvarr's disruption.

She could yet pretend she hadn't heard the man. But when he hurled the bowl back at her, well. That was not a thing anyone could ignore. To throw down food, in these times? That was the end of Baelgrin's tale, and the end of all words around the firepit, and in that silence Signy'd stood up and told him to find a cloak he didn't mind dying on.

They'd pegged the cloak out properly, with all the rites, furrowed the frozen ground perhaps twice so wide as they should, measured from the outside of each furrow to the next, all while shooting fearful glances towards the woman (was she a woman?) who sat with the long axe balanced across her knees, still and silent beneath the ice bear's skin, with its head pulled down now over her own.

Did they think giving their companion some extra space would matter?

Did they think she didn't know what they were doing?

The shields they brought out for her were trash, but that was to be expected. She carefully didn't watch to see who offered shields to Fiǫlvarr. It might be that she could still stay, if they at least respected the hólmgang's outcome. Signy simply sat facing the field as it was prepared, lowered her head beneath the warm, white fur and, after a time, deliberately snored. She almost had dozed in truth by the time one had come and called to her from outside the great axe's reach (what the fool thought was outside the great, back-spiked axe's reach; the bryntroll would've taken him if she only leaned a little to the side as she swung).

They wouldn't permit the bryntroll within the hólmgang. Noone ever did. It would've made a mockery of a duel meant to have survivors, biting through shields and the arms and chests behind them. Someone loaned her a sword. Signy weighed it in her hand, found it was adequate. She didn't look at it closely, nor did she look into the face of the one who handed it to her. If it failed her, well, it failed her. If she lived, the last thing she wanted was another reason to leave this clan. How many times does one get a second chance?

She shed the great bear-skin as well, deliberately. No beast here, and no question of whether it protected her. And when the hólmgang was called she simply walked forward straight into the middle of the square, planted her feet on the pegged cloak which a shieldless man could not abandon, and twisted her strike in midair as Fiǫlvarr came to her, plunging the sword into his throat rather than his thigh as he dropped his shield to block where she'd seemed to first aim. A lot of effort and preparation on their part for nothing, that was the message she meant to send. An hour or so's labor so she could kill a man in a moment. The first blood that hit the cloak was the last that Fiǫlvarr would ever bleed. There were no laws against killing in the hólmgang, only that it must stop when blood touched the cloak. Signy was turning away even before he fell, the borrowed sword left behind in his throat. She had no patience for shieldbreaking and her own throat was acridly dry, tight with trying to keep the beast's roar restrained. Well, the widow had a son of man's age to help her raise her coming child. That was more than some people had.

But then the curst son ruined it all and stepped into the hazeled ring, demanding to avenge his father. There was no vengeance for what happened in the hólmgang! That was what the hólmgang was. Differences were settled. It was done. The laws had been observed, and there were plenty of older, wiser, cooler heads to restrain the boy, and if only they had restrained his tongue!

But no, and no, and she had to go fetch the borrowed sword out of his father's throat, while the mother screamed and wailed and the world got greyer and greyer as the beast tried to have its way. She gritted her teeth against its voice, grunted once when the boy finally was allowed entry to the ring, and if they thought that was the beast talking then they were more foolish than she could believe possible. She left her shields where they were, hammered the boy's off of him as quickly as she could, and when he stood on the cloak still stained with his father's blood she feinted him with the same damned move she had his sire: glance low, swing low, arch it high over the shield.

The difference this time being that she leaned and stepped back as she did so, rather than stepping forward and punching in with her weight behind the blade. She didn't even take the boy's ear, just lopped loose a tuft of hair as she glanced the flat of the sword stunningly from his scalp. Head wounds bleed a lot, and there was no question of getting more blood on the cloak as he buckled. She doubted the clan - eager to put an end to things - had even waited for the drops to fall, and she almost couldn't pass the sword away quickly enough to the poor bastard who'd worked up the stones to come and take it from her. Was it his? She had no idea.

Honor was served. If the idiots had eyes, they could see that, and they could see that she could control herself and pick and choose the deaths she gave.

And if the healers had been a whisker better, perhaps that would've been the end of it. The boy shouldn't have died from it. She hadn't cloven his skull, probably not even knicked it. She was fairly sure of the flat of the blade and she didn't think the sword had twisted in the previous fight. But even if it had been the best mercy-blow she could give him with the bear gnawing at the back of her mind, for some reason it simply wouldn't staunch. The blood wouldn't stop; the boy fevered and died in the night. And thank whatever gods still watched the foolishness of men that she'd struck the blow with another's blade, handed to her but a moment before entering the ropes, or no doubt the wife would accuse her of witchery.

Well, let them go talk to him whose blade it had been. She'd chopped the gods-own parcel of wood while burning off her anger, just far enough from the posted men that there was no question in anyone's mind how she'd spent the dark-hours, and they could warm themselves with it and not thank her if that was what they chose. It was unintended (for how could she know?) but likely just as well that she'd been watched all night being so angrily noisy while doing something that clearly wasn't laying curses or invoking spirits, all the while the boy lay dying on the far side of the camp. Her anger, disgust and frustration weren't at all feigned when they told her of his death, either.

Some days it seemed that everything she touched was doomed.

And so here she was, trying to show in earnest her honest regret for the boy's death (though it was hardly her fault) while walking with one parcel of fools to bury another. She was as far from the rest of the burial party as one could be while still being a part of it. Most of the others huddled on the far side of the coffin-bearers, clustered around the widow, but there were those who stood as if between Signy and the mourners (who she ignored), and then there were a few who walked behind and beside Signy, who she had not yet marked, unwilling to raise the bear's head enough to see if they were there as companions or guards.

Signy stops at sight of the scarlet banner that licks the air like a serpent's tongue. Her great axe, until now mostly serving as a walking staff on the treacherous ice and the deep snow, she takes in both hands and looks about as best she can between the trees and great stones.


Tofa: Sure, your armor's already up. What's it like to maintain channeling for a long period of time? How do you keep it up?

Signy: Background and World Creation stuff like that can be as long as you'd like. So don't worry about writing a book. Lots to work with!
What are you looking for, out amongst the trees and great stones? It sounds like you're Discerning Realities. Which of the following best fits (and feel free to modify):

  • What happened here recently?
  • What is about to happen?
  • What should I be on the lookout for?
  • What here is useful or valuable to me?
  • Who's really in control here?
  • What here is not what it appears to be?

Then roll 2d6 + your WIS bonus.


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M Bard 2 18/18 HP, 1 Armor, 0 XP

Baelgrin's thoughts were with the young boy, Agwelf, whose body rested in the smaller of the two "ships", burdens on the shoulders of the survivors. He had struggled with the rest of the healers to save his life, but Agwelf was always less than hale. It was foolish madness that drove him to challenge Signy. Though he labored through the night to stitch the wounds and stop the bleeding, he died by morning. Another young corpse...another young corpse... the words haunted Baelgrin all night long, leaving him exhausted and haggard.

As the funeral procession marched on it seemed that those who lived and breathed in the Berrywine clan were followed by a host of spirits in their wake...the legacy of those who died before their time. The Berrywines were on their way to the high-cliffs of Bjornsfall, to offer the slain's bodies to the Sea-God. Baelgrin shivered as a loose thread in his cowl allowed the frigid air to touch his underclothes, and tugs his cloak tighter about himself. He needed to focus, to remember the words to the Song of Parting that would be sung by the entire clan when the spirits were released from the bodies forever.

When he catches sight of the banner below, however, he cries aloud and clutches his forehead wordlessly, falling to his knees. The Song of Parting flies from his head. He gnashes his teeth and beats his own head in despair, crying, "The Red Banner, standing alone! The Stormheralds! The Stormheralds!"

The Stormheralds are an order of frightful heretics that sought to harness the elemental power of the storm, and kill the Gods. Their madness drove away the other clans, but even without any allies they held a dominion of fear over the entire land in their heyday, when Baelgrin was very young. Their red banners were once dotted throughout this land, when their power was greater. Were there a Stormherald standing beneath the banner, they could have struck us dead where we stood.


2 people marked this as a favorite.
Valkyrie Scion
Bonuses:
Con +2, Dex/Cha +1, Int/Wis +0, Str-1
Death Channeler 1 26/26 HP, 0/3 Hold, 2/4 Control, 6/8 XP

The conduit is like a faucet with water pressure that is unreliable. At times, it can be a trickle when she needs a stream, and at others it can become a fountain. The water that pours forth is lasting, in its own right, for most, but Tofas conduit summons forth the spiritual, which has no permanent hold in this world. Any channel that she performs disappears when she uses another channel, her will no longer holding its tenuous bonds together, and even those that she does not overwrite lose their hold at dawn. Sound good?

Tofa was one of the folk that stayed nearer to Signy. For her own sake, she wished the woman had killed neither man, nor boy, but likewise, she wished the two fools had not challenged her in the first place. A fool's errand it was to assault a bear in its den, and that was the choice that both had made.

The daughter of a chief, Tofa was well appraised of single combats, when honor ran thicker than blood. It was clear from the first combat that the woman had meant to kill Fiolvarr, and in performing the same stroke, but 'missing' it was clear that she sought only blood in the latter.. perhaps she saw something of her beast in the boy, and understood him. Or perhaps there was still enough woman to not bring harm to a young man, who in another life could have been her son.

Neither mattered, as she had received her justice, and broken no rules in doing... yet the clan was smaller for the sake of her honor. It was this that occupied Tofa's mind as she walked with the bodies. She could not help but think that the clan was stronger for the loss, having cleaved one of weak will and one of weak spirit... but it still felt a waste.

If she walked near to Signy, even she knew not why, for she knew not even where her heart rested in regards to the two coffins they carried even now.

They walked along the old bones of the path, the stones marked in wards of protection, etched ages ago, which marked the paths between halls and villages for safe travel. It was said that the roads could not be traversed by the beasts and the giants who called man their enemy in the olden days, but whatever enchantment held then had surely weakened by now. Still, it was reasonable to believe that monsters would avoid the roads, for they surely still weakened the beasts. Even regardless of that reason, the roads were lined with occasional shelters, which could be used in event of Thundersnow... Or less dangerous, but still deadly weather, and only fools tread where they knew not where shelter could be found, in these days.

Her golden eyes, like those of the wolf, were drawn to the red banner as the bard called out. The Storm Heralds had been before her time, and as such held little grip on the rational side of her mind... yet the stories that had been told in her youth sent a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold along her spine. Her eyes fixed on the banner for a moment before they were drawn to the shapes flowing around it. "Should we hail the wolves? I have spoken with a wolf who acted as a man, and, should they be intelligent, they will likely have knowledge of what lies nearby... And if they are not, surely they will flee from a party as large as this..?

The old roads are indeed warded, and those wards are indeed waning. Monsters once could not strike a man along the road except in deepest winter, while any friend of man could travel the roads with no fear in their hearts, but the depths of winter always seem to be upon the world of late, and so the roads offer only limited protection at best.


Tofa: Sounds well thought out, and works great.


With your group on the crest of the hill, the wolves will certainly notice you shortly if they haven't already.

Loruk, a large man with a braided blonde beard scoffs audibly at Tofa's suggestion of speaking with the wolves. You hear him mutter something to the man behind him about speaking with animals.

As Signy surveys the area below, what are the rest of you doing? And what of Tofa's suggestion?


M Bard 2 18/18 HP, 1 Armor, 0 XP

Baelgrin recovers from his shock and rises to his feet, turning his head to look at Tofa. "Hailing them may indeed be wise. If they have minds as of men, then greet them; if they are dangerous beasts, the shouting will alarm them, and they could leave us in peace." He doesn't mention aloud the third possibility - that the wolves were hungry enough to try their luck at catching human meat.


F Human Berserker 1, HP 28/28, 0 Armor

Signy purses her lips slightly at mention of talking to the wolves. The man's question could be either wise or foolish; anyone can talk to a wolf, but there are few to whom a wolf will answer, and fewer still who'd be wise to try the conversation.

Is Tofa? Signy doesn't know.

What she does know is that Bael's cry was more like to draw attention from the wolves than any gods, and if those who left the Red Banner are still about, then, well...

Signy'll deal with that as best she can, should it happen.

For the moment, she's remembering every whit she can of the craft with which she stayed alive when she first went out into the cold and dark. Between herself and the gods, though, it was more likely luck or the still-lively scent of the bear-hide that kept her alive the first nights, and she stood more often by her axe than by any subtlety.

Still, Signy looks about the red-lit snow near the graves, trying to ascertain if there's ought but wolves to be feared...And if wolves, how many? It'd take more than a few to try the double-handful and some of the burial party's number, but then if the wolves have found a corpse they can get at, they'll want to keep it.

Signy's Discerning Realities, yes.

Discerning Realities (Wis 9): 2d6 + 0 ⇒ (5, 2) + 0 = 7

In order of importance:
1. What is about to happen (Ambushes suck!)?
2. What happened here recently?
3. What here is not as it appears to be?


Valkyrie Scion
Bonuses:
Con +2, Dex/Cha +1, Int/Wis +0, Str-1
Death Channeler 1 26/26 HP, 0/3 Hold, 2/4 Control, 6/8 XP

Tofa didn't have any raised hackles over the man rejecting the sort of wisdom she had to offer. If she hadn't been the one who had been greeted by the wolf in the first place, she would be just as unlikely to believe it. As a point of fact, she was still uncertain that she did believe it. Hard is the work of burying a cousin or a father, lonely is time spent in an empty hall. Had she invented company for the days she spent honoring the victims of the Svartjotun, created a companion to distract her from her labors, and aid her in the brunt of the work, no one could have blamed her. People had done worse things when stricken with grief... her eyes moved to the smaller of the two bundles for a moment.

Both hadn't been particularly noble men in life, so far as Tofa could see... but perhaps their deaths had been made honorable by Signy. She was glad she was not a chooser, for the boy's afterlife hung on a razor's edge. Honor in that he died from a wound in battle, but dishonor in dying from her having not intended his death at all. Easier, then, to call it the will of the gods. They needed more bodies to fight whichever war they were fighting. That was the only logical conclusion Tofa could come to for all the deaths that had occurred in the last months.

She decided to simply shrug lightly at the naysayers suggestion that she was mad. Perhaps she was, after all.

"I will leave the hailing to another, I am still a stranger, and while I am willing to advise with what counsel I have... it is not my decision to make."


Signy, as you survey the area below, you find it difficult to make out a lot of details. The red glow from above is hardly a powerful source, and the strange tint messes with colors as you're used to seeing them. But you can still see movement. There's about four lupine shapes below, and one is clearly larger than the other three.

But the real gem here is that you notice just a bit of movement off to the right of your group, amidst the shadows cast by the trees that dot the valley and climb the steady slope to where you all are currently. There's another slight movement, and you are almost certain you note the tip of a tail.

So while there may only be four below, you are fairly certain there is at least one or two more in the wooded surroundings, and they must certainly be aware of your group judging by proximity.

What do you do?


M Bard 2 18/18 HP, 1 Armor, 0 XP

Baelgrin wrings his lips in frustration and crosses his arms. "This is folly. I will not have Stormheralds or wolves disturb the offering of our two tribesman's bodies."

He turns to face the wolves down below. "Haloo! Haloo down there!" he shouts loudly, cupping his mouth.


F Human Berserker 1, HP 28/28, 0 Armor

The berzerk swears softly under her breath as Baelgrin makes even more noise. She keeps her own voice lower, shifts her grip on her axe minutely.

"There are more to our side, possibly to both sides, and if they're that clever, they may well be behind us."

Signy wrings the bryntroll slowly, tilts her head slightly back and shakes it, letting the bear's skull come down around her own, and looks again through the dead bear's eyes. Yes, the wolves are still there. "If any of you have offered sacrifice to the goddess of bloody corners, now might be a good time for prayer." She growls.

"If not, look to your weapons...They, at least, you may rely upon."


At your bellows, shapes begin to scatter below, startled by the burst of noise amidst the howling winds. But one form, the largest amongst them turns to identify the outburst, its eyes reflecting the dim celestial light.

Seeing your group, Baelgrin at the head, the larger beast snarls at the others, who reluctantly halt their flight. They then fall behind the first as it begins a calculating climb up the sloping hill toward your group. You can see by the way his eyes flick about that he's watching for any tricks.

About twenty or so meters away, the wolf stalls his ascent. He's the size of a young horse, with long streaks of black that stripe his grey fur. He wears a silver chain around his neck as well, dazzling in craftsmanship. The wolves climbing behind him snarl at your presence and superior numbers, steam rising from their snouts and ears pressed flat against their heads. But the first shows no agitation or hesitation.

"Not many beckon us." he calls now in reply, almost grinning. His voice is rough and guttural, much like the growls and barks you'd expect. "What leads a man to speak with 'beasts' such as us?"

You note a touch of sarcasm in the way he says "beasts".


With the insight Signy provides, the rest of you notice as well a bit of motion to your flanks, confirming her words.

The rest of your caravan begins to back away from those of you at the fore, where the large dog is yipping and snarling. You hear Nessa, Fiǫlvarr's widow, say something about getting to safety amidst the woods should the more able bodied engage. Many others seem equally uneasy with this strange exchange.


M Bard 2 18/18 HP, 1 Armor, 0 XP

Baelgrin has never before seen anything like this, in all his years. He almost makes a holy sign with his fingers, before catching himself for rudeness.

His voice falters somewhat, but he strengthens it immediately. "The Berrywine Clan is here to bury and mourn our dead. Forgive me for calling upon you, but I thought you to be merely simple wolves, which I can see you are not." He swallows, trying not to let it show too obviously. "I am Baelgrin, teller of tales. What is your name, ser?"


Valkyrie Scion
Bonuses:
Con +2, Dex/Cha +1, Int/Wis +0, Str-1
Death Channeler 1 26/26 HP, 0/3 Hold, 2/4 Control, 6/8 XP

preferably before the patriarch shows up. She'd still say it after, however, if necessary.

"Do not approach the woods," Tofa says, an edge in her voice, "While you stay near, we are able to protect you from any monsters that may fall upon us. Should you leave the roads, the jotun may have their way with you." She consciously moves to the side where the wolves lie in hiding, though does her best to disguise it as idle pacing. She is careful not to look in the direction of the woods as she does so. Her hand doesn't even move to the ornamental dagger.

Once the wolf did approach, and stated it's interest in speaking, Tofa acknowledged it by adding her own introduction. "I am Tofa of Himminholl, well met."


Tofa, it would likely be after the patriarch's approach, as that what has really set the others on edge.

Also, please roll to Defy Danger, using either Wisdom or Charisma depending on which angle you feel you're trying to leverage most to convince the others. The Danger is that the others with you take this situation into their own hands, likely toward the surrounding wood.

The patriarch wolf grins, drinking deep of your flattery. You also notice that its eyes light at the revealing of your title. "Teller of Tales are you, brother Baelgrin? And well met also, 'Tofa of Himminholl'" With a strange reaction, he sniffs for a moment. "But you do not smell like a sister, Tofa of Himminholl."

He shakes for a moment, as if loosing snow from his thick fur. At this action, the three other wolves behind him appear to relax their own posture. "I am called Pursuit.

"So, brother Baelgrin of the Berrywine Clan, I assume that the place for your dead is beyond here," he continues as one of the wolves behind him, with a chopped ear and a blue cloak draped somewhat haphazardly over his back, also sniffs at the air while curiously eyeing the sealed ships you carry.

"We have no business with you, if passing is all you wish. But I ask for a tale in recompense. Then let us continue our business. Tell me of a man with red fur, who marks himself with the raven. Or, if you prefer, of a spear that smells like the living trees."

Baelgrin:
You're so familiar with this game, I'm sure you know that this could be an opportunity for being Charming and Open. So I debated even pointing it out to you. But I decided to do so only in case there was a question whether wolves fit the parameters. As far as I'm concerned, anything that you can communicate with should be susceptible.

Also, in telling either of these stories, feel free to make up whatever you wish. But if you do so, roll Spout Lore with it as well. I will add to the information you present accordingly.

*Let me point out first: the "man with red fur, who marks himself with the raven" is/was a contemporary. While this may be slightly outside your expertise in Legends of Heroes Past, I feel it only fitting that you would be an expert in Legends of Heroes Still Living/Recently Passed as well.

Another of the four, an extremely shaggy one with a brilliantly white snout and forelegs, is watching Signy intently. He is not as relaxed as the rest, still maintaining a posture of alert. He is growling softly in her direction and unwilling to break eye-contact.

What do you all do?


Valkyrie Scion
Bonuses:
Con +2, Dex/Cha +1, Int/Wis +0, Str-1
Death Channeler 1 26/26 HP, 0/3 Hold, 2/4 Control, 6/8 XP

DD:Charisma: 2d6 + 1 ⇒ (5, 1) + 1 = 7 As Tofa is trying to use her noble bearing, and personal charms to convince them to rally around her, rather than simply pointing out their folly of thought, she uses Charisma.

Am I t assume that he is pointing out that she is not kin to the Berrywine, or is he pointing out that she smells slightly not-of-man?


Tofa, it seems that the others respect you enough to heed your words. They turn their eyes from the possibility of retreating from the path, but most continue to back up from the exchange between you three and the beasts.

Your group is slowly separating, though you're fairly confident that if things get heated they won't simply scatter.


Valkyrie Scion
Bonuses:
Con +2, Dex/Cha +1, Int/Wis +0, Str-1
Death Channeler 1 26/26 HP, 0/3 Hold, 2/4 Control, 6/8 XP

Actually, what I am to assume doesn't really matter. It's what Tofa would assume.

"No, I am not kin to these people. I am grateful for their hospitality in these darkening days."


F Human Berserker 1, HP 28/28, 0 Armor

Signy, gazing through the bear's empty eyes, seems just as unwilling to break eye contact with the wolf. She releases the haft of the bryntroll with one hand, fingers fumbling a moment at a strap on her chest, unbuckling it to let the circular shield on her back thump behind her in the snow. That done, she raises both her arms slowly, spread wide with the axe held aloft one-handed; the bear's white pelt draped from her arms making her figure seem suddenly broader as well as taller.

The berzerkr leans slightly forward in the red snow, swaying her lowered head slowly from side to side, still without breaking eye contact.

Signy's own jaws gape beneath the bear's ivory daggers, a mouth within a mouth, teeth within teeth. The gape-jawed head-sway is a threat language, but not of wolf, nor of man. The bear's skull lends her own growl a hollow, rumbling echo, and while she twists her head slightly as it sways, displaying her ready jaws, her wild-eyed gaze never leaves that of the white-marked wolf.

After a drawn-out moment the growl forms raggedly hoarse words. "I...am Signy. These died by my hand. These...men." She will give the boy that honorific, whether his mother hears it or no, whether his clan agrees or no. To Signy he became a man when he faced her in the hólmgang on his father's behalf, unflinching. "...Interrupted a story to which I listened."

She lowers her arms slowly, points with the axe...And it takes some sinew, in those bones, to hold the bryntroll by its haft untrembling at arm's length, even for the short moments she does so. "You..." she almost coughs it out. "Your leader calls for a story. Will you interrupt?"


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M Bard 2 18/18 HP, 1 Armor, 0 XP
GM Mogthrasir wrote:
"We have no business with you, if passing is all you wish. But I ask for a tale in recompense. Then let us continue our business. Tell me of a man with red fur, who marks himself with the raven. Or, if you prefer, of a spear that smells like the living trees."

Baelgrin glances around himself uncertainly. "Man with red fur? Pursuit, know you of the tales of Immenrock? The druids that reside there speak with the voice of the wind and are said to take flight for many miles among the ravens when the mood suits them."

He begins warming to the tale now. "The man with red fur you speak of was the greatest of their order, the Chief Druid known as Danu. It is said that his two legs could match the speed of any of Machra's animals, that when he chose he could call down the wrath of the God of Storms himself, who loved him like a brother, though he was yet mortal."

"It is said by the seers who beat upon the sun-stones of Immenrock that Danu's downfall could only have been wrought of his own design, and his fall would bring about the end of Immenrock itself. He knew nothing of the designs of the Gods, but he knew that he loved Immenrock and its people more than his own life. He fled the island, thinking to put its halcyon shores beyond his grasp."

Baelgrin's voice grows bitter. "It was all a trap. While the God of Storms demanded answers from the One Above All Others, the God of the Sea, who was jealous of Danu's favor, sank his ship. Even the mightiest of mortal druids was no match for the God of the Sea in his own domain. Nearby, on Immenrock, the people gnashed their teeth in despair, for their Lord that they loved had forbade them from ever aiding him or assisting him."

Baelgrin gestures to the raging sea behind him. "Now, to prevent a similar fate, we sacrifice to the God of the Sea, and offer him our dead in our rituals." He sighs, keeping his last thought, for all the good it ever does, to himself.


M Bard 2 18/18 HP, 1 Armor, 0 XP

I may have even believed the story, once... Baelgrin thinks to himself. There's a sharp taste of bitterness like ash on his tongue. If ever the Gods did exist, they care not for our sacrifices now.

Defy Danger: CHA: 2d6 + 2 ⇒ (5, 1) + 2 = 8


The shaggy, two-tone wolf clearly cowers at Signy's blatant display. The other wolves, beside the alpha, can't help but shrink a bit at it as well. You can only hope that those in the shadows of trees beside you all are equally cowed.

Pursuit grins wide at Baelgrin's story, a flash visible in his eyes as he mulls over the tragic tale and its implications. "I think you have false information, Brother, but it's a story well told." comes the gravelly voice. "So if you will let us continue our business, then we will let you continue yours."

His footsteps crunch lightly in the snow as he takes a few paces backwards and to the side, a gesture allowing you to continue if you wish down the hill and past whatever chaos was left by the Storm Heralds. The other three wolves move to one side as well, now avoiding contact with Signy.

None of them move so far away as to let you pass more than a few yards from the possibility of their lunging jaws.

What do you do?

Initial impressions of continuing down the path...[/b:

There's been a slaughter at the heart of this valley, where the ominous crimson banner snaps and whips. The banner continues to grow as you approach, reaching the height of nearly three grown men by the time you can fully observe it. The footprints beneath it are hard to read as so much of the snow has been packed by the trampling wolves.

Curiously the bodies that remain, maybe a dozen of them, have been dragged to one area where they lie in heaps upon each other. Men and women of adult age, all of them, rigid and blue from the cold even beneath the blodmani (bloodmoon), and tragically mangled. The degree to which the bodies have been desecrated would make it extremely difficult to identify any of the bodies. Though some of their garments display a black raven stitched onto the breast.

Away from the bodies, in a pile of their own, are stacked the weapons, shield, and jewelry of those that fell. You're surprised, in fact, to see so many spoils still left after the victor has taken leave, especially in these dark days. For even one of lasting honor would likely take the armbands and tokens of silver as spoils, while leaving a warrior his blade.

Amongst the pile of possessions, poorly hidden, is a remarkable spear crafted of rich, dark wood. The grain of the wood itself is almost golden, twirling amidst the wood like ripples frozen on a lake. You suspect, by the blatantly self-serving curiosity of Pursuit, that this spear likely "smells of living trees".

With that thought in mind, it also occurs to you that there might be "a man of red fur". And sure enough, one corpse that now seems to be slightly separated from the rest, has a wild red mane of hair and full braided beard of the same fiery hue. He's a giant of a man, and one of the few in relatively distinguishable shape, though clearly far beyond life. His chest has been opened from sternum to groin, and emptied like a coffer.

Nothing else catches your immediate attention.

The four visible wolves are trailing closely behind the back of your group as well.

Where are you all within this caravan, currently. What are you doing? What would you like to do?


M Bard 2 18/18 HP, 1 Armor, 0 XP

Baelgrin immediately turns his gaze skyward, his eyes rolling back in his head. "Eviscerated! Emptied! Their entrails have been taken! Witches have been known to use the entrails of men in their fortune-telling. This is an ill omen."

Ill Omen: 2d6 - 1 ⇒ (1, 3) - 1 = 3


Valkyrie Scion
Bonuses:
Con +2, Dex/Cha +1, Int/Wis +0, Str-1
Death Channeler 1 26/26 HP, 0/3 Hold, 2/4 Control, 6/8 XP

Tofa doesn't overly worry about the fangs, she trusts the wolves to keep their word, and wouldn't deign insult them by suggesting otherwise with her actions.

Upon her approach she frowns visibly. She had once more returned to her position nearer to Signy as they moved down the pathway (This time, more to keep herself between the wolves and the folk who might have bolted, had they been forced to keep the wolves at their back.)

Spout Lore: Raven symbol: 2d6 ⇒ (3, 5) = 8
spout lore: Evisceration: 2d6 ⇒ (4, 4) = 8

"Or it is possible that the wolves found unburied bodies and simply decided to eat them. Even deer will pick out the tender bits of a corpse if you fail to bury them. Do you think that the folks here had pledged themselves to Goddess Sighel?" she asked as she motioned to the corpses, before she curses, looking over the spoils strewn about, including weapons. "And they've been picked clean of that which belonged to them. How are we to determine to whom the weapons belong? To whom the niceties belonged?" She shook her head. "I would bury them as well, but... what would become of burying two men with each other's weapons?" She looked to Baelgrin, waiting for him to finish carrying on.


Tofa first, for narrative reasons...

Tofa, there are a number of clans that mark themselves by various means: many fly a certain banner, or mark their flesh, or even cut their hair to identify themselves. Likewise, symbols upon clothing can have a similar effect. This raven symbol, with its wings spread and beak open wide is the symbol of a druidic order much like those described in Baelgrin's tale. They may, in fact, be from the isle of Immenrock but you don't recall that name. Their presence also brings the trustworthiness of his yarn into suspicious light, as they should all have perished with Danu's downfall to the sea. Druids, amongst other things, can often take the shape of certain animals. There must have been something urgent to draw them all here together, as druids tend to be isolationists, and only band together when something significant draws them from their collective homes.

The evisceration very well could be from the wolves, but your insight makes you skeptical. As for more human sources: evisceration can be used to humiliate or dishonor, certainly. But you've also heard tales of wicked men and women taking possession of specific pieces of a powerful foe in order to wield their particular forces even beyond death. Even the gods themselves have been known to keep the hand of a craftsmen or head of a sage in order to keep from losing their prowess. You suspect the latter, as something within this "man of red-fur" has clearly been taken with precision.

Where have you heard of or encountered these druids before? What name do you know them as other than Immenrock?

As you're recalling these sinister possibilities, and vocally noting the mistreatment of what must have been honorable men and women, you're interrupted by Baelgrin's loud lamentation.

Baelgrin the Old wrote:

Baelgrin immediately turns his gaze skyward, his eyes rolling back in his head. "Eviscerated! Emptied! Their entrails have been taken! Witches have been known to use the entrails of men in their fortune-telling. This is an ill omen."

[dice=Ill Omen]2d6-1p

Baelgrin marks xp.

Indeed, a bad omen. You can feel the foulness in this wretched valley through every bone of your body, Baelgrin. It makes you sick to your stomach, and your blood burn within your veins. Though the cause is not witchcraft as much as the fury of those so dishonored...

In one moment, you are overcome by the sickness in your soul, warning you of this foul portent; then in the next you are staring into the cold eyes of the "red-furred man" himself. You never saw him rise to his feet, but there he stands with head akilter, wild hair hanging about his lifeless face, and open chest splayed and hollow. With the silence of a gentle snowfall he lunges at you with impossible speed, and tackles you to the snow. His mouth is wide open and you can smell the breath of death herself spilling out as he tries to bury his teeth into your cheek.

What do you do?

Tofa, you likewise didn't see the slain man rise to his feet, but saw the creature lunge with inhuman speed. The rest of the corpses are also rising, though much slower, as the banner beyond them begins to flap now with a ferocity beyond what the weather reflects.

You can hear the rest of your group behind you shouting and scurrying to react, though you can't see precisely how. Where would you like to focus your own efforts, and how?

Signy, where were you positioned when this began? As you all descended into this valley you were keenly aware that the wolves have been giving you quite a bit of space. It would be no stretch to assume that you may have used that influence to direct the wolves in a manner of speaking prior to this outbreak. Keeping them distant from wherever you decided to position yourself relative to the others.

But where does that leave you now?


M Bard 2 18/18 HP, 1 Armor, 0 XP

With a cry of "I was riiiiight!" Baelgrin is knocked to the ground, the breath knocked clean out of his lungs. He tries to wiggle free of the wight's grasp! Defy Danger; Dexterity: 2d6 + 1 ⇒ (2, 2) + 1 = 5

XP marked. This is no country for old men...


Valkyrie Scion
Bonuses:
Con +2, Dex/Cha +1, Int/Wis +0, Str-1
Death Channeler 1 26/26 HP, 0/3 Hold, 2/4 Control, 6/8 XP

"No... wait, the bodies are cut too..." she begins to say, then suddenly the dead are upon them. "To arms!" she shouts as if the clan were her own, forgetting her place, but she doesn't have time to think of that.

Depending on how far I am from Baelgrin, Tofa would use one of two attacks, all that differs is the damage dice. She would prefer closer, with more damage.

Channel: 2d6 + 2 ⇒ (1, 5) + 2 = 8 Tofa allows it through.

7-9:
✴On a 7-9, the same, but the power is too much. You can use your body

as a dam and take 1d4 damage (ignores armor) or allow the power through. If you allow the

power through, the GM will tell you of one or more complications, such as:

• The magic flows out of a different part of your body or is of a different element

• The magic has an unintended effect on the environment

• The magic causes a blast wave and you are thrown backwards


Damage: 1d8 ⇒ 3 (2 piercing)
Damage: 1d6 ⇒ 1 (2 piercing)

The chains wrapping around Tofa's body constrict, for a moment, then begin to fly back into her chest, even as she draws the runic blade from her belt, and makes a hurling motion towards the man-of-red-fur.

What Tofa intended to happen:
A spear of spectral energy flies out of Tofa's chest, following the same motion as her 'throw'. The spear pierces the Draugr, before vanishing, as the chain that connected it to Tofa's body fades from view.


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Valkyrie Scion
Bonuses:
Con +2, Dex/Cha +1, Int/Wis +0, Str-1
Death Channeler 1 26/26 HP, 0/3 Hold, 2/4 Control, 6/8 XP

They hail from Gjalfrgard, perhaps, a long thin stretch of land that neighbors the beach where the Berrywine have settled. It was a small group of people who inhabited the entirety of the island. While they were located in the mouth of the bay, they remained mostly isolationist, and never grew large enough to be pillaged, before the Blodmani. Tofas people had very limited dealings, and they had never been this organized, to her knowledge. To see them together likely means something befell Gjalfrgard, something enough to turn mostly individual households into allies, and to will them to march across the frozen bay. Perhaps they were coming to the Berrywine, or maybe to Himminholl.


The hollow creature digs its teeth into Baelgrin's cheek, even as the Skald tries unsuccessfully to wriggle from its grasp. Not only does it tear at Baelgrin's flesh, but for a moment the wound burns unbearably as frost clings to the skin and stretches across the right side of his face and jaw.

The pain only lasts for a moment before it is numb from the spreading frost, and the Skald finds himself unable to even call out in pain save for a strange groaning noise from deep in his throat.

Damage Inflicted: 1d6 + 1 ⇒ (2) + 1 = 3
3 damage, armor negating I'm afraid as your cheek is rather defenseless. Half of your face is frozen for the moment as well.

There's a flash of light as a spectral spear pierces straight through the undead creature's empty torso to hang a foot or two out the other side. However, even as the chain the connects it to Tofa's chest fades like mist the spectral spear remains.

"Red Furred" Undead takes 3 damage, ignoring his full armor.

In another flurry of movement that defies the limitations of such a mangled body, the creature hoists Baelgrin into the air as a barrier between itself and the Valkyrie, pulling the spear free now with its other hand.

The rest of the dishonored dead have gained their feet now. They clearly don't have the impossible speed that this other possesses, but they are quick enough to bring their own forces down on the bulk of your clan surrounding the funeral ships, like a tide of frozen flesh and bone--crashing upon the hastily formed shieldwall of Berrywine's remaining warriors.

They appear to care little for Tofa and Baelgrin at the moment, drawn inexplicably to the others and their cargo.

None of you currently have any idea of what Pursuit and his lupine companions are up to currently either...

What do you do?

And Signy, I give you some liberties to retcon a bit. Time is fluid, right?


Valkyrie Scion
Bonuses:
Con +2, Dex/Cha +1, Int/Wis +0, Str-1
Death Channeler 1 26/26 HP, 0/3 Hold, 2/4 Control, 6/8 XP

You didn't provide any sort of backfire for Tofa's use of her ability... unless it keeping the spear was the drawback. :S


Yep. It's not huge, but the spear is sticking around for a little bit. That's the only drawback this time.


Valkyrie Scion
Bonuses:
Con +2, Dex/Cha +1, Int/Wis +0, Str-1
Death Channeler 1 26/26 HP, 0/3 Hold, 2/4 Control, 6/8 XP

Awww, I wanted to contribute to Baelgrin's death, by pinning the two of them together! Errr... wait!

Summon Einherjar: 2d6 + 2 ⇒ (4, 6) + 2 = 12
Control: 1d4 ⇒ 1 Great roll... followed by a -terrible- one. XD Let's hope he likes us.

Einherjar:
Tofa is conjuring one of her drunken warriors. The intended tag is Forceful. Visibly, I was thinking mostly-naked, unarmed, and massive. Ideally, right beside the main Draugr... preferably behind him.

Tofa hurled another spear, but this one seemed to go wide, the chain hanging around this time, though, as the spear seemed to lodge into nothing. She took a step back, and people could see Tofa struggling to reel the chain back into her chest. Link by link, the chain was drawn back towards her... and from the space the spear had vanished, a spirit, connected by that chain was pulling himself through the parted veil.

At 1 control, her control over the einherjar will not last long at all, sadly, without some great rolls.


CE Male Human (Chelaxian) Shfiter (Beastmind) 1 | HP: 15/15 | AC: 16 (13 Tch, 13 Ff) | CMB: +3, CMD: 16 | F:+6, R:+5, W:+1 | Init: +5 | Perc: +4, SM: +4 | Speed 30 ft | Spell Pool: 5/6 | Active conditions: nonlethal (1); Move 40'; AC 14

The Red Man rises quicker than Bryn's mind can work. Having never seen - no, never expecting to see such a thing, the former fence stands, mouth open, mind turning to no conclusion, just turning, turning. Then the corpse pulls the elder - Baelgrin - into the air, and Bryn curses as chains, gods damned chains, shoot out of the woman, Tofa, and a a man, Bryn thinks it is a man, anyways, larger than the beserkr and naked pulls itself from nothing into this world. And that man-thing pulling itself into the world is enough to spur Bryn into action. Do something, fool! You're daughter's in danger!

Looking quickly around, Bryn grabs Ingrid with both hands and pushes her, hard, in the direction of the nearest warrior or guard. "Stay close to that man!" Bryn barks and turns on his heels, mind again not working, this time due to adrenaline and instinct kicking in, as Bryn feels for the first time in years Hungry Wolf stirring inside him.

Brynjolvar can feel his back hunching as his limbs stretch, and then his hands hit the ground in an uneven thump and then the Ironeye's on all fours, his gait evening out in a couple of strides, hair splitting out of skin, mouth elongating, teeth falling out and behind them more teeth, growing long and sharp like daggers, as Hungry Wolf leaps, and somewhere inside Hungry Wolf is Bryn, barely aware of a deep growling that rumbles, like a far off avalanche, from the wolf/man's own mouth.

Shifting to the form of Hungry Wolf, a large, snow-white wolf with the flat grey eyes of the Ironeye clan, a creature all teeth and fur and insatiable appetite.

Shapeshifter move: 2d6 + 2 ⇒ (2, 2) + 2 = 6 Hold 1 plus whatever GM says
Hack and Slash: 2d6 + 1 ⇒ (4, 1) + 1 = 6

Yikes!


M Bard 2 18/18 HP, 1 Armor, 0 XP

"Grrrk...ggrrrrnnnnhnnnn" is all the normally erudite bard is able to grunt out as the ice from the vicious bite to his face freezes his lips and mouth. The creeping ice...the spreading winter...this is how it ends...I'll see you soon, Ylva.

He tries to make sure the wight has to pay for its meal, though. He struggles and manages to draw his shortsword, swinging feebly at the arm holding him aloft. The wight only tightens his grip in answer.

Defy Danger: Str: 2d6 - 1 ⇒ (1, 2) - 1 = 2


CE Male Human (Chelaxian) Shfiter (Beastmind) 1 | HP: 15/15 | AC: 16 (13 Tch, 13 Ff) | CMB: +3, CMD: 16 | F:+6, R:+5, W:+1 | Init: +5 | Perc: +4, SM: +4 | Speed 30 ft | Spell Pool: 5/6 | Active conditions: nonlethal (1); Move 40'; AC 14

Hungry Wolf circles around to the back of the Red Man, and then charges, all teeth and fur and anger, one thought - more emotion than reason - running through the wolf's head: the color red, the scent of entrails, the metallic taste of blood...

Too much explosion of movement, too much anticipation, too much instinct. Hungry Wolf's right front paw hits a slick patch of ice and for a brief moment her gait falters as her legs stop moving together, and then her back legs swing out from under her, and then Hungry Wolf is tumbling, shoulder over paw over shoulder, glancing off of the Red Man's leg. The wolf stops in a tangled thump in front of the Red Man, her back legs kicking the air, belly pushed up to the sky in an unintended show of submission, the thought of howling and running and the smell of wind pushing through the redentrailblood, and beneath it all, somewhere in Hungry Wolf, Bryn screams Upright, before your juicy throat feeds the Red Man!

Still not sure if I'm approaching this right, but I figure the "6" I rolled above can't be good - I'll retcon if necessary (or GM Mogthrasir, you can do it for me). Perhaps the prostrate wolf will be too tempting a target for the Red Man to finish off Bealgrin, though?

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