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Baelgrin comes to himself again. Terrible as the situation may be, his clan needed him.
He reaches for the rope he always carries; as a seasoned skald, he knows how often good rope factors into the stories. "Here!" he shouts, handing it off to Brynjolvar as soon as he's able to.
As for communicating with them...the skald shakes his head. "In the old stories, the Jotun were ancient adversaries of the Gods, condemned to form the land that the worshipers of the Gods would live upon. They were vicious, and far stronger physically than any god; but they could be tricked. Somehow, they know the language of man; perhaps they hear the words spoken over stones through the ages, and learn of them that way." he lowers his voice. "They're fearsome, but stupid. Our best bet is to find out what it wants and convince it somehow that destroying us won't help him get it!"
Tofa began to help Bryn to quickly unravel the rope. Then she sets her legs wide apart, as she wraps part of the rope around her arm several times, to lend her support in whatever he decides to do with it.
Sighing and closing his eyes, Bryn channeled his thoughts toward a creature he'd heard his relatives speak of in his youth, one his mountain clan relatives rode in times of great hunts and war. Casting his will out, past the jotun and the mountains and into the forest beyond, he heard the whisper of feathers gliding on a stiff breeze.
Dropping the rope and standing on it, Brynjolvar's face elongated and feathers grew from his skin, while the man's hair fell out in great clumps. Bryn's arms at once shrunk and elongated in proportion to his body, while his head turned 180 degrees, and large, slate-grey eyes blinked at Baelgrin.
In a matter of seconds, where the northerner once stood, a large, snowy white owl flapped its great wings. Grabbing the end of the rope in his talons, Silent Owl lept into the air and, trailing the rope behind it, made his way to Jorael, landing at the man's feet with a soft flutter and thoughts of the scent of fir trees and mice.
Bryn: The cascading snow and debris takes little effort to navigate as you flutter down to where Jorael covers herself from the downpour. Though she likely isn't sure what's going on, she takes the proffered rope and wraps it around her arm a few times, grasping it tightly with the other hand. You can hear her heart beating furiously in her chest, and the shortness of her breaths.
Tofa: To your surprise, the sturdy Brynjolvar shifts to an owl in a flurry of white feathers and screeches down below with the other end of the rope in tow. Suddenly you feel a powerful tug on the other end, threatening to pull you off with it.
Before you can panic however, a spectral hand grips hold of your end of the rope as well. "There better not be a damn ship on the other end of this thing." the Einherjar snarls, flashing you a smirk as he sets his incredible weight against the pull on the rope.
Tofa nodded her thanks to the sturdy Einherjar, proferring him an actual smile... then begins the work of hauling up Jorael. "No promises."
Baelgrin shakes his head in wonder at the shapeshifting that takes place before his eyes. "Jotun rising...men taking the shape of beasts..." he shakes his head and stares at the heavens in wonder. "What times are these?"
"A time for heroes, clearly." She looks over her shoulder with a smirk as she continues to pull the midwife up, with the aid of the Einherjar. She wasn't quite sure of how she was managing to haul her up. Was it the Einherjar doing the majority of the work? Or was it her heart thrum-thrumming in her ears? She was so close to the edge, one totter could toss her off. Would that be an ignoble death? Best not to think on it. Just keep hauling rope.
Baelgrin moves to assist, but it's clear that the Einherjar has it well in hand without his feeble assistance. Baelgrin focuses his attention instead on finding a way off this Jotun's shoulder. Is there some likely path we might take, or are we forced to set up ropes and attempt to rappel down?
Silent Owl lifts himself into the air, and flapping his wings, catches a gust of wind and rides it up into the sky, circling to the side of the moving mountain. Cocking his head, Bryn blinks and begins focusing the owl's keen eyesight on the terrain that makes up the Jotun's skin, taking in every detail that they, man riding owl, can.
With the help of the Einherjar, Jorael is soon pulled free of the cloud of powder tumbling from the rising earth. She's covered in ice and soil, and choking as she's dragged over the lip of the new cliff and pulled onto the relatively stable path. "Th-thank you, *cough* Tofa," she stammers. "I don't think I would have...." Her voice trails off, not wanting to continue that line of thought. So instead, she pulls herself to her feet, wincing at some serious bruises and scratches, and brings a forced but appreciative grin to her face.
The Einherjar snorts at her resolve, drops the rope to the ground, and wanders back towards the others further up the path.
Baelgrin, there doesn't seem to be any obvious paths unless someone fancies themselves a rock climber and wishes to rappel. With the "arm" extended out like it is, planted in the valley to help raise the awaking giant, one could theoretically travel over the land that covers the span from shoulder to wrist. But that distance is several miles of difficult country. You'd need to move quickly and pray to whatever gods may be that the Jotun's position doesn't change.
Your keen eyesight is able to gaze over top of the rolling trees and landscape to where the peak of the mountainside is raising up as a sort of head. You can see the ramshackle steading of Bjornsfall at the base of the neck, with their own holes and caverns carved into the cliffside. But beyond them, further up the cliffs, new passages have opened where you would hope to see eyes, or the nose. There is a large opening just below the nose that gapes open like a great maw, with stones churning and rumbling within. Inside the eyes sockets, a glow is building like flames.
The nose seems the most blatant and least treacherous, should you wish to avoid the caverns created by the Bjornsfall scavengers. There are likely passages where one would expect the ears to be, but they are buried beneath the cover of the sparse trees. You imagine you could reasonably guess the general area though.
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Should you all approach Bjornsfall, you find what remains of the city at a slant, where the "collar bone" area curves down toward the chest. The poorly assembled buildings are falling apart and tumbling down the front of the rising form, but half of the steading still sits level on the shoulder you've been travelling. In the other direction, at the edge of your eyesight at these cloudy heights, you can see where the tree-covering tips downward at what must be the back and the shoulderblade.
Bjornsfall appears to be completely abandoned at the moment. You would question whether anyone occupied the fort at all had Brynjolvar not seen guards posted there earlier. A couple dozen ropes dangle through the town and over the front side of the rising Jotun. Following them with your gaze, back toward the source, you can see the 8 caverns that have been dug into the side of the neck. These are where the ropes originate and must be fastened.
Climbing them would not be incredibly difficult for those of able body, but you can only guess where they lead. But what of the crumbling steading that now lies vacant?
You also hear a steady thumping, reverberating through the stones. You don't imagine you're close enough to the "heart" to be hearing that... if a Jotun has such an organ.
What would you all like to do?
Baelgrin points at the dangling ropes over the town of Bjornsfall. "Look there! Perhaps we could get off this giant before he moves using those? Let's get closer!" he sets off across the giant's "shoulder" at a brisk pace, fear giving flight to his steps.
Tofa worked to support Jorael as she followed after. She certainly couldn't hold her up, but she could steady her for hours. She hurried after as she spoke. "Wait, Baelgrin. Leaving the giant may not be in our best interests just now! While I agree we should bury the dead... the avalanches have surely done that. But what do we gain from falling beneathe such a creature? Would it not be better to wait until it needs to rest to leave, that we may avoid being crushed by its wrath... or even, possibly, by its ignorance? We can also be assured there will be no way to fight him once we reach the ground, should he take notice of us!
The old skald turns to Tofa, fear plain in his eyes. "I thought we should just get as far from the Jotun as possible. What was your plan?"
"Figure out how to break it." she shrugs with the shoulder not supporting Jorael. "It was put to sleep by the gods, we either put it back to sleep, or we kill it. You said yourself the gods did it to protect us. So... if we don't do something, it will, right? We can't just let it run rampant, can we?" Again, while Tofa seemed to fear death... given her unique position, she was not at all opposed to dying gloriously; she -knew- where she'd go if she died gloriously.
Bryn lands on a branch near the others, catching the end of Tofa's comment, and then Silent Owl flutters down to the ground, and his feathers fall to the ground, and his back elongates and curves, hair and beard growing back, fingers separating from wing - but still those flat grey eyes remain. Standing tall, wiry middle-aged man again, Bryn shrugs. "It has a nose, and eyes that glow like fire, and a mouth that rumbles with boulders. Probably ears too, but I could only guess as to where they would be. Perhaps we could get inside its head, and either bring it down or trick it back to sleep?"
"For now though, we should get into the Bjornsfall caves, up by its neck, and see if there are any there that know the layout of this land. Er, creature."
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Tofa looked over her shoulder to Bryn. "So... where do your clothes go when you do that?"
Brynjolvar shrugs. "I've often wondered that myself. It just kind of folds into the animal."
Tofa gives him a simple nod, then goes back to heading towards the caves, which she now knows is attached to the neck of the creature. Good to know.
Baelgrin peers at the Jotun's distant head. Are there ears or openings of any description in the giant's head? Obviously they have a sense of hearing, if they can be outwitted - so say the old tales.
Even with the rumbling of the cliffs as stones shift and the creature lazily continues to raise itself high into the atmosphere, the ascent toward the caves is relatively simple. The ropes creak at the strain of your weight, and feel smooth and well used to your touch. There are notches every foot or so up the Cliffside, close enough together that even a young child could reasonably be expected to navigate it.
You climb the half-dozen knotted ropes that pour from the largest opening. While there are four or five other smaller caverns, this seems the most obvious.
No one visibly notes your climb. The sun has fully set now, and you feel the familiar chill of night fall over you almost instantly. The air is thin up here as well, and you find yourselves short on breath even with such a simple climb. There's a faint red light creeping across the landscape as the blodmani rises, but most of your light comes from a brilliant source about to or so miles above where you currently are, upon the mountain itself.
[ooc]Who's at the top of the rope? And who's at the bottom?[ooc]
Pulling yourself over the first ledge, the lead climber is hit with a strong smell of sulfur and spices. It's overpowering at first, like something repulsive but unique enough that your curiosity prevents you from covering your mouth.
The cavern is wide enough for about 20 men to stand side-by-side within, and about twice your own height. But darkness fills it like a thick soup, preventing you from seeing anything beyond a few yards beyond this opening. There are two men here, one quite large and fit, but wirey rather than bulky. He has long hair swept all to one side of his head, shaved close on the other. He turns as he hears a noise behind him, and reacts with alarm seeing someone at the entrance. You notice the two spears at his feet has he quickly lifts one in each hand and jerks in your direction.
The second man looks middle-aged, perhaps twice the age of the first, with a bald head covered in tattoos from ear-level down the back of his neck and disappearing beneath his leather tunic. He ignores the other and continues to fiddle with a massive metal shield on the wall, easily the size of a full grown man.
What do you do?
Baelgrin: You can't tell from your current perspective. It's difficult to describe the sheer magnitude of this thing, but any ear would be about a mile above where you are at the base of the neck, which is an odd angle to observe even without all of the trees. Dusk is just ending as well, which is quite limiting to your vision.
"What of the pack?" Tofa asks, regarding the fact that wolves are likely not designed for rope climbing.
Brynjolvar helps the others get onto the rope and underway, lifting them up, and pushing them as high up the rope as he's able. Turning to the wolves, Bryn kneels, bringing himself to the level of the wolves. "Hunt the lands around here - we're going to see if there are any humans above, that may know the area better. I'll come back and find you all later, and you can tell me what you have found as well. It is important to me - for my daughter - that you are kept happy. Since Hungry Wolf would never ask, let me - what do you all want?"
Nodding at the answer, Bryn makes his way up the rope to meet the others.
Letting however the wolves respond wash away like whispers in the wind, Tofa begins to climb the rope, meaning that she would crest first, and speak quickly.
"Hold your weapon." she says between pants from working her way up the face, "We are travelers along the Gullet," she had to swallow down that particular irony, "And we are seeking refuge from this... upheaval. We request hospitality, and bring more wood to stoke your flames. We bear a Skald, a Priest of Hospitality, a Shaman, a Midwife, two nobles of Landstardt and a Shade of Honorable Death within our numbers. I, myself, am the Scion of Himminholl. Will you share your fire with us, or shall we share ours with you?"
Dusk ponders for a moment, licking his lips between two large fangs. "Come back with knowledge of what's going on... what's really going on. Pursuit thought he was on to something, and it had him excited. But I don't know what it was... I need to know more."
You can tell he's a little uncomfortable talking to you in human form, but you imagine he's also feeling emboldened knowing that he'll take the alpha role for a while during your absence. "The woods should be in a panic..." he barks at the hounds behind him, "let's go take advantage of that."
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The man takes an involuntary step back when you call out to him. "You talk?" he remarks with surprise. "So you're travelers then? I hope you didn't bring any corpse ships, as it isn't exactly the best time for funerals." The mountain beneath you suddenly jerks, causing him to brace himself on the cavern wall with the butt of one of his spears. Those of you still climbing feel the tremor, but shouldn't have any trouble hanging on. Not yet.
The man behind him curses and pounds his fist into the giant shield before him. "This is worthless if the thing keeps moving. We're gonna need to go back to sprites... oh, travelers?" He suddenly takes note of your presence Tofa.
Tofa finishes climbing, quickly, to free the others from dangling from a rope... when the whole thing is jerking. "We did not bring them up with us, no... I think they're being buried as we speak." she sighs. "Sprites?" Tofa wasn't familiar with the word.
The man laughs at your comment, absently looking over your shoulder Tofa at the descending world outside. "Well, I suppose that's similar to casting them over the cliffs, but we may still want to do some rites. For a price we can help with that. But we don't usually allow outsiders in here... I may need to go see Luanith."
The older man scoffs, but doesn't turn to make eye-contact with any of you. You can hear him mumble something about how death increases death... an idiom similar to "when it rains it pours".
"Go see if you can find Luanith, or at least that stooge of hers. Tell her we've got a skald." He looks back at you Tofa, as well as the others climbing up into the cave behind you, with an eyebrow raised in skepticism. "And let the red watch know we're up here as well."
He seems surprisingly unalarmed, given the present situation, as the older man grumbled as trudges into the thick darkness beyond this entrance. Is there anything you'd like to do while you're waiting?
Brynjolvar hoists himself over the side of the cave lip to find the large and wiry man conversing with Tofa. Getting to his feet, Bryn dusts himself off and says to no one and everyone, "The wolves are on the hunt - I'm to find them later and tell them what we know of this Jotun."
Making his way to Ingrid, Bryn grabs her in a strong embrace, and then letting go, looks his daughter over, pulling at her arms, turning her head from cheek to cheek, looking for bruises and wounds. "Are you hurt?"
"Greetings," the old skald begins, approaching the men. "Unfortunately, it is as you say, and we came bearing a funeral ship. But with the arrival of the Jotun, our priorities changed. We'll speak with Luanith quickly and be on our way." he bows respectfully before they leave.
"Sir?" he calls out to the huge, tattooed man bearing a shield. When he turns, he smiles warmly. "If you happen to run into Shareeva again, tell her that her tattoos are just as vivid and recognizable as they ever were. When last I visited your people, she gave me this." He peels back his sleeve, revealing the forearm on his left side. Turning his fist over to expose where his veins pump blood just below the surface, Baelgrin displays his own tattoo - a stylized, tribalist depiction of a wise old storyteller, with the face of a sea lion. It's Shareeva's work, and she was the one who tattooed the shieldbearer's face.
"I would love to secure final rites for those involved... there were many, not all of which were ours." Tofa acknowledges. She looks to the others.
Ingrid embraces you back, Bryn, though you can tell it's more for you than out of a need she's feeling for herself. In fact, she seems positively energized. We're on a Jotun, father. she whispers in your ear, then turns to look you in the eyes with that vibrant spark in her own.
She seems taller now, older even? Not like anything is wrong, but you suddenly feel like you're looking at a woman rather than that child you usually see.
"What's it like, father?" she asks, ignoring your question. "What's it like to change like you do? And why do you trust those wolves?"
At the mention of Shareeva, the tattooed man turns almost violently on you Baelgrin, but he softens quickly as you show him your own tattoo. He steps closer to examine it, suddenly seeming much larger as he approaches but with a smirk on his face. "You look like sh**" he laughs, breaking the moment of silence, "but that ink looks as good as the day she placed it. And of course you'd remember her instead of me, everyone does! Besides, we only met briefly before I was heading out for a month. But she told me about you... Ha! It's me, Ulfgrim."
He looks much older than the young man you met before, now with a shaved head and weathered face, but you begin to recognize Shareeva's husband.
The taller, more wirey one watches your skald and Ulfgrim converse, then turns to face you, Tofa, as you speak. "Oh, yeah. Well... maybe I better go get Luanith then. We've obviously got some serious stuff to deal with right now, but we aren't looking to add Draugr to that list either. She'll have more information for you, hopefully."
Then he heads off, presumably to get her.
Sala doesn't feel herself here. There's a lot of voices in her head right now--it's a loud place. Not for the rest of you, but certainly for her. Iorval takes a seat to rest beside where she has dropped to her knees, placing a hand on her back as she struggles to adjust to the noise. Though he seems unconcerned.
The Einherjar wanders over to the incredible shield on the wall where Ulfgrim was previously, raising a spectral hand to trace his fingers along the outer rim of it.
"Who is Luanith, Baelgrin, and who are the members of this... Red Guard..? What are they?"
Brynjolvar hugs his daughter, a great melancholy welling up in him. Yes, we are on a Jotun, but now what? Too much youthful enthusiasm, too little thinking of the future.
Sighing, the man lets go his embrace and steps back, and affects a smile, regarding the young woman standing before him. "The shift feels, well, wonderful most of the time. I am freed the constraints of this feeble human body, and can do, and notice things, that I would never otherwise be able. But - and this is a big 'but' - sometimes I don't ride the animal. Sometimes it rides me, and that is a terrifying thing. To be a passenger inside something else, subject to its instinct and gratifications. And I would never wish that experience on you."
"As for the wolves - I don't trust them. But if we can align their interests enough with ours, that won't matter. They are good to keep close, and more bodies to put between us and a funeral ship."
"When last I visited, Luanith was next in line for the leader of the these people, the clan that Shareeva calls home. The clan leader, like ours, is the arbiter when controversial disagreements required final judgement. It's been long enough; it makes sense that she's risen to power. The former clan leader was old and frail, and Luanith is charismatic and persuasive. Already she had followers when I left; that appears to have held true."
He gazes off in the direction the men left. "I had come to Shareeva for advice in spiritual matters after the attaining the title of skald. The tattoo was a memento of the guidance she gave me. I did meet Ulfgrim as well, but he kept to himself; I recall that now."
He rubs his chin. "I wonder if the former clan leader, the Old Hwin, ever completed that old throne he was designing..."
Tofa, the shield appears to be a large device, rather than an actual shield. It is constructed of concentric circles that all spin separate from each other. The center of the gigantic shield, the large boss at the heart it all, is made of a foggy stone rather than metal like the rest. Should you mess with the circles that spin around it enough, you'll notice that the boss at the center adjusts ever so slightly with their motion. Whatever it does, it requires a lot of work for very fine manipulation.
Ulfgrim either doesn't notice you messing with it as he speaks with Baelgrin, or he doesn't care. He seemed pretty frustrated with it earler, so the latter appears as likely as the former.
Ingrid speaks to you for a while, Bryn, as you all wait. At times she jokes with Halidir the woodsman. He is a bit out of breath from their climb, and your daughter takes no pause in pointing that out. He defends himself by describing his flight through the trees to find a good space for leaping onto the "jotun's shoulder" before getting trapped behind where the others were.
Baelgrin, Ulfgrim seems in much better spirits talking about the old days. He seems less pleased with the current state of things. "A lot has changed around here." Ulfgrim tells you, with a snort. After Bjornsrisar plummeted over the Cliffside, many of the survivors left for neighboring steadings like Himminholl, or far north to the great Landstardt. Those that remained became "scavengers" as Ulfgrim describes them. Picking the bones of the old civilization from the wreckage below and building something new within these caves. "...and it didn't take long for us to realize this was more than just a mountain once we got inside. We knew this day was..."
Before he could finish, he's interrupted by the arrival of the wiry one who left earlier. He carries with him a glass orb harnessed by a sparse netting of rope, with a small but flickering light dancing around within. Standing beside him is a person that appears sickly thin, but stands tall and strong in spite of his or her clear malnutrition. You can't see the person's face, but the way his/her purple robes fall about the frame you can tell there's very little meat on those bones.
"Heh. She sent the stooge. I figured." Ulfgrim whispers to you out of the side of his mouth.
"Luanith should be more than happy to have a skald in our midst, though she is currently unable to welcome you herself. We haven't any great-hall ships here for you to stay in, as visitors aren't invited within our caverns... but present circumstances..." he laughs because, you know, you're all standing within a waking Jotun.
Should you follow at his invitation, after a couple small turns in the tunnel, you notice a growing light of several different colors just below the floor of your present passage. Then, reaching the end of it, the cavern opens incredibly wide, with a natural ceiling far too high for the light to reach; which is saying something because a few stories below you the jagged cavern floor sprawls out to reveal a sprawling village large enough to comfortably keep nearly fifty families. There are small homes built from the remains of what must have been salvaged ruins, strung together with bridges and stairs that climb over the rugged floor that dips, or rises, or juts in so many places. And woven over the whole city is a web of strings from which these glass orbs dangle, with dancing lights inside them of almost every imaginable color.
It feels surprisingly warm, even muggy, for the inside of a cave; and your voices echo quite well now that the space has opened up so significantly. "It's been suggested that they stay with you and Shareeva," the wiry man says to Ulfgrim, "and could likely use some food."
Tofa wasn't much for watching the stars, so she didn't really glean anything from the gears ans spheres. Likewise for the glass orbs. They were both pretty, but she had other things on her mind.
"What do you know of the Jotun?" She asks their host. "Why has it awakened? How can we bring it to a stop? Or can we even do so to your knowledge? Every day that it moves is going to deal more damage to the world as we still know it."
Bryn scowls a little as Ingrid jokes with Haladir, but then quickly lets it go. She's got every right to find her happiness in this world, as her mother did with me.
As they walk, Bryn keeps a close eye on the three locals, especially the thin one, trying to read how the three interact. Gasping as the cavern opens, Bryn says, "It is beautiful in its way."
Hanging back as they make their way down to the town, Bryn continues to observe the locals, and paying attention to how they interact with any of their people as well. Realizing quickly that the group will not blend well, Brynjolvar decides to make the most of it, and smiles and makes eye contact with any stranger that he can, making sure to mention that they are grateful for the hospitality.
Baelgrin smiles as a wave of nostalgia washes over him. He had not seen the hanging orbs in what feels like a lifetime. "The city is as beautiful as I remember," he comments to Ulfgrim. "I presume your wife's beauty is similarly undimmed, sir."
His face hardens again as Tofa brings up hard topics to hear. "What can possibly be done against a Jotun, Tofa? These creatures aren't just inhabitants of this world, they are the world. We walk upon their very bones as they shape the landscape around us. How can such a force be assailed?" he shakes his head. "The Jotun will rest when the Jotun sees fit to rest, or when the gods open the gates of heaven in their wrath. I don't see either of those scenarios happening anytime soon." the old man's voice is despondent.
I look to the others in our group. "Do we have any coin? My robes have seen better days, and I seem to have misplaced my staff."
I turn to Ulfgrim. "Thænge's blessings on you all for your hospitality. We must all strive to remember that we are one community, especially in these trying times. There must be some way to repay your kindness. I have some practice in the healing arts, perhaps I could assist there?"
"More than you," Rogallus laughs at your inquiry, Tofa, of what they know of the Jotun, "which still isn't much at all." If you were trying to ask Ulfgrim, or the incredibly thin figure, neither took the cue to answer. But Rogallus is chatty enough, sharing his name if interested.
He brushes his long hair to the other side so he can look at you in his peripheral as you walk. Both sides of his head are shaved close beneath the long strands on top. "But he's... or maybe she's... been slowly waking up each night around time the Blodmani rises. Last night was quite the tremor, so we knew we were close. But we thought there might be some more steps before a full rise. He... She's active tonight eh?
"But if the pattern stays true, come sunrise she... he, should settle down. Wherever the gods deem that to be." His jovialness is a little stressed, as you can tell he's probably as uncomfortable with the situation as anyone else... but doing his best to deal.
"As far as stopping it, we've already sent as many of our own into the deeper caverns to figure something out. The dead won't go there at all, and we've sent all the living souls we're willing to lose. So that plan was abandoned about a month ago."
Bryn, your daughter seems to be equally enchanted by this place. The various lights and colors add an air of festivity to what ought to be a dank tunnel of stone. She smiles as you all walk by a bright orange globe, her face lighting up with the luminescence that dances inside. "It's alive..." she remarks, more fascinated than surprised.
Rogallus intersects, pausing his conversation with Tofa, "Ja. Those are the sprites. A bit mischievous if they get free, but beautiful when contained."
You're busy, however, observing the three that guide you. Ulfgrim seems friendly enough toward Baelgrin, but conveniently ignores anyone else. Rogallus is quite the opposite and eager to converse. Both of them avoid any interaction with the cloaked figure, though he is the one who leads.
As Ingrid draws attention to the colored sprites in the dangling orbs, you notice that the small creatures push toward the outer edge of their confines as the cloaked figure passes, straining to put as much distance between as possible.
- That's hard to say. As strange as this situation seems, you don't feel immediately in danger. The planks and bridges you walk across seem sturdy enough, and you really don't pass any people along this route... though you see them at a distance sometimes as they rush about. The town seems to be fairly busy currently, and few people are around their own lodges or huts. -- Your best discernment would be to anticipate people being less than welcoming of outsiders such as yourselves. Rogallus' openness is likely an exception to the norm.
- The Jotun, clearly. But within your particular microcosm, the silent and cloaked figure clearly has the authority, though not necessarily admiration.
- The gaunt, cloaked being that leads you all. Perhaps it's because you are so tuned into the natural world as a druid that you are also so quick to discern the clearly unnatural. This being is not living... not in the traditional sense, though it clearly moves and thinks. Your fine senses pick up the faint smell of death, and the subtle chill that is always left in its wake; despite the thick, humid atmosphere within the cave.
Again, you don't sense immediate danger from it. But you are certain that this large figure that is leading you all is one of the undead.
As if in confirmation of your suspicion, Rogallus turns to answer Iorval, flipping his long hair to the other side of his head to better see the priest. "It's a fine offer, ja. But we don't fear death much here, and don't lack for the healing arts in a manner of speaking, though you may feel your own is superior. But if you have silver, we boast a pretty healthy store of items you could trade for. It's a big part of what we would offer in the fort outside anyway. It'd be up to the individual whether you could perform a task in payment, as I haven't anything to trade you myself."
---------------------------
Ulfgrim's hall isn't far from the edge of town, so you don't get to see most of what this place has to offer. In fact, you suspect that may be intentional. He welcomes Baelgrin in, allowing the rest of you to follow, while Rogallus and the cloaked figure stand outside.
The interior is a single room, like most houses with a hearth at the center. It's adorned with tanned skins, covered in extravagantly detailed ink. At one end of the room is a hide that is still mostly bare, though there is some ink etched into one corner that has only begun to spread.
Ulfgrim steps past you all to lift a glass orb from beside the hearth, beginning to rub it methodically. The action seems to be slowly stimulating the sprite within, as a green glow builds and further lights the interior.
"So what's your plan here?" Ulgrim blurts, grinning slightly toward the Skald. "Sure you're stuck, but how long do you intend to wait it out?"
"The dead? How would you know whether they would go further in or not, willingly?" Tofa asks, curiously. To her knowledge... she was the only person who could command the dead at all. And then it was more polite asking, lest she anger them before their time to go. She looked to her spectre tilting her head at an unvoiced question.
The Einherjar shrugs his shoulders, seeming somewhat bored with the current situation. "I'd be willing to go deeper if it meant some action." he yawns. Then pointing at the back of the cloaked figure, "But I'm sure I don't have the same rules he does." With that, he looks to you Tofa with eyebrows raised, as if to say that your rules are currently his, not anything else.
"Strange. So I take it he'll stay longer than dawn?" She frowns after a moment, seeming to possibly stumble upon something. "Would you like to go ahead and head home, or stick around til dawn, just in case?" she asks the Einherjar. "Either way, I'd like to investigate the deeper caves... if the rest of you aren't completely against it."