GM Rednal's Northlands Saga Complete (Inactive)

Game Master Rednal

"A foe of our foe, it would seem. I am glad, it would have been a waste of Asta's skills to throw him back in the sea."

Asta smiles, pleased with Blommhilde's deadpan joke, and the compliment that lies within it. "Well then. Our enemies lie to the northeast. Captain?"

Hallbjorn was quiet for a long moment, just looking at what you'd drawn and listening to your conversation. Slowly, he inhaled, then let out his breath. "I swore to finish the job that had been started - to break the followers of this perverse god, showing them the fury of the North in revenge for their wolf-hearted acts." he spun the wheel, turning the ship in the direction the foreign one had pointed. "And by Odin, I'll not be an oath-breaker!" He looked the visitor right in the eyes, then smiled and nodded. "Help." he said, raising his gaze to the horizon.

For three days, you traveled across the ocean, following your new guide's directions. On the fourth day, you spot a fog-shrouded coastline that resolves as you draw closer into a small inlet and a village. The village is a small affair, not more than 15 hide-covered huts and maybe 20 kayaks pulled up on a rocky beach. The villagers panic as your longship approaches and can be seen fleeing into the tundra, their most prized goods in hand. You note that there are very few males among the villagers, and the few that can be seen are either very old or very young.

As the Long Serpent grinds ashore on the rocky beach, your guide vaults over the side and wades ashore. With his arms raised, he addresses his village, prompting one old man to come down from the tundra and stand near the water.

"You four, go ashore and see what you can learn from them." Hallbjorn said, nodding towards the old man. "Much as I'd love to hear it, I need to make sure we're ready for battle."

"Maybe there is another with more knowledge of the tongues in the village," Eydis voiced as she prepared to head ashore, but her voice carried doubt. It didn't seem like it would be that easy. Still, the ship's master spoke and she obeyed.

As they approached she called out, "Ho, the shore. We hear you are in need of aid."

"Well, maybe we're in luck and that old man speaks a tongue either of us understands. Would certainly make things easier.", Sigurd states, taking a moment to look at the villagers fleeing, trying to evaluate the direction most of them were going towards...running off into the wilderness was one thing, but more often than not, the villagers would meet up again in some other place, an outlaying farm, a shrine, a cave...whatever meaningful place was available to them nearby.
Perception: 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (15) + 12 = 27
Then he jumped down to the shore, drawing both of his Axes and approaching the old man without hurry or fear.

Asta strung her bow as the others prepared themselves, and then hopping onto the beach, made her way slowly towards the villagers. She kept her weapon at her side, and walked slightly behind Sigurd, a - hopefully - calming smile on her face. She decided she would try and look friendly, and perhaps that could help whomever addressed Eydis.

"That would be a gift!" Asta whispered, when Sigurd expressed his wish.

aid Eydis diplomacy: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (16) + 7 = 23

Before the assault, Blommhilde donned her breastplate again, dark steel over brown furs over wiry muscles. Her greataxe, Bjorntand, was strapped onto her back, hunt scenes carved on the bright surface: square in the center, the largest one depicts a tall man wrestling a bear.

As they moved towards the village, she spoke. "Should we come to dance the spear-din, allow me to be your shield. I may look like an old woman, but I am as strong and sturdy as the cliffs by the sea, weathering what could topple a ship."
"And one more thing. Should you allow me, I would pledge myself to your protection. It is a sort of magic, a gift that was bestowed unasked upon me, but not unappreciated. If my body can be a shield for yours, so can my soul."

If you agree, I'll use a Blessing on each of us: it lasts 24 hours and grants a +1 luck bonus to all saves.

No blessing for me - I'm superstitious and we only just met. Maybe someday later ;)

Eydis will take a Blessing, assuming Wotan won't Smite me. GM, will I get Smote?

Depends on the source. Wotan is pretty friendly with the Aesir and Vanir in general, and has no particular objection to his brethren offering help. For that matter, most Northerners wouldn't particularly object if they got into a situation where it was offered, as long as it didn't lead to something dishonorable or unfair - they see their gods as (very) extended family, so getting their help is a bit like having a distant cousin come help you move furniture around. Deities outside the Aesir and Vanir are considerably more suspect - who knows how insidiously they might try to subvert your opinion? Nature-sourced spells, like those of the wise women Neve's with, are broadly tolerated as long as they're beneficial for cultural reasons. (For one, such things are relatively rare - many people go their whole lives without even the most minor healing spell. For two, magic is strange and generally weird to the people of the north, but it's less likely to send people running for their weapons if it comes from a reputable source.) Arcane magic is mostly avoided even when beneficial.

All of which is to say... would you accept a power that came to someone unasked, and is therefore of very dubious origin and effect? XD

The locals seemed like they were trying to draw out of immediate relevance, though Sigurd's sharp eyes noted most of them were ready to either return or flee if need be. Your guide and the old man who'd come down to the water talked for a few moments - with the elder clearly getting the gist of the young man's encounters. Eventually, the elder hugged his fellow, then approached and began to speak in accented - but understandable - Nørsk. "I am Jarvi, Yilithi's father - and one of the elders of our village. If you have come to face the Children of Althunak, then come and listen to my tale. I will have the village prepare a feast for you and your fellows - you are strangers here, and I will not ask you to lay your weapons aside, but my kin would appreciate it if you leave them in your belts."

...that was a very long way to say 'try it and see'. Eydis will refuse the Blessing until she's more sure of what's happening.

"Greetings, Jarvi." Eydis raised her spear in salute. "I am Eydis Batia. You speak true. We come to put the Children of Althunak to the spear, the sword and the axe." Sliding the heavy spear onto a loop on her back was awkward - Eydis rarely did anything but hold it - but it was too long to do anything else but leaving it behind, and she had no wish to leave Rokksper when there may be fighting.

She waited for the others. This could be a pointless task, but the man had been polite - listening to his tale and meeting his conditions was a small way to repay kindness.

Aye, but the detailed explanation may be essential in explaining why a nice class feature will not see much use until we grow more accustomed to each other. If we stood in a few battles together, and there's a deeper trust, things might change - but for now, it makes sense to decline.

"Greetings as well. I am Sigurd Koshchey. You have nothing to fear from us - there is neither plunder nor fame to be gained here for us, and we came for revenge against Althunak's own.", he placed both axes back on his belt:"I can't help but notice that there's mostly woman, children and elderly. Where's the men?"
Asking quickly and directly would give the old man less time to make something up, or evade the question. Or so Sigurd hoped.
I don't remember which story or saga or myth it is from, but I vividly remember one where the men of a village are out raiding/in battle, when the enemy arrives prepared to slaughter everybody in the village. The woman(expecting their husbands/fathers/sons to return soon) welcome the enemy, prepare a feast, lay with them, generally get them to drop their guard, get drunk etc...then when they are utterly wasted way later, the villages own men returned home and slaughtered all of the enemies. Wouldn't want to experience that on the wrong side of the story.

Yes, I expected as much, that's why I asked. And I think that tale was somewhere in Celtic lore, but I'm far from sure.

Blommhilde placed her arm across her chest, bowing slightly in a housecarl's salute. "You honor us with your hospitality. As we are your guests, I shall not raise weapon or fist against you, and I will be quick to take them in your defense. So say the most sacred of laws."

The Northlands are not Generic Fantasy Realm™, so I try to provide context with explanations - especially context your characters would know. XD

Jarvi just smiled, a little sadly, and called something out in his native tongue. Slowly, the villagers began to return, and in twenty minutes or so a meager feast of salted seal blubber, lichen soup, and seabird eggs (eaten by chipping a hole in the shell and sucking the yolk out) was set out.

"I know of your kind, fair-haired ones. Many years ago when I was as young as my son, a storm blew me far out to sea. I paddled and sailed for many days, and made my way to a green and fair land, warm and full of game. I was foolish as to the ways of the southern folk, and was caught hunting the short-haired bison that are too stupid to run away. My captor pitied me for I was far from home, and took me into his household, where I learned of your ways and language. In time, I longed for my own people, built a new kayak, and returned home. Your people were generous and brave, and saved a young seal hunter wandering the Great Water. Now your people have come to my home, and I pray that this old man’s memories are true. I pray that you can be my salvation once again."

"Ten summers ago, a young man named Elvanti was in disfavor with the elders of the village of Alcanavt. He sought the hand of the happiest maiden that his people had to offer, but none approved the marriage, not even Klinqa, the maiden herself. Elvanti was angry, for his parents were rich in furs and seal fat, and his uncle was the village shaman. He turned to them, but they replied that he must abide by the wishes of his elders and the girl."

"In anger and shame, he fled across the tundra, vowing to return with the heart of a great-tusked one to prove his worth. He was gone that summer, and into the winter, and all feared he was lost. Before the ice broke the following spring, he wandered back into his village, his body sprouting shards of ice and cold fire. With great gusts of wind and snow, he laid low the elders, his parents, the shaman, and even Klinqa’s parents and brothers. Elvanti then proclaimed he was the Chosen of Althunak, the great God of the North, Bringer of Cold, and Lord of Winter. Those who would follow him found themselves gifted in strange ways, and those that did not froze to death, though their huts were warm and fires lit."

"For ten summers we have fought off the Children of Althunak, but the other villages were not as lucky, one by one they have fallen, and soon we will as well. Our sons and daughters die beneath our cousins’ spears, the hunting has gone poor for us, and the winters are ever colder. When I heard that the Dragon Riders had come with their skins of shiny metal, I sent my two sons, Yilithi and Kelvani to find them. One has returned and brought you here to save us; I only hope it is not too late."

Eydis chewed on the seal blubber slowly, considering the story. It sounded like this man's bitterness and arrogance - Elvanti - had attracted the eyes of this dark God, and the creature had lured him to one of his places of power. Perhaps it had been in some distant land, or perhaps it had taken time to learn the dark rites needed to embrace the Winter Gods powers. She doubted they would know, and did not especially care. What mattered was that Elvanti was the source of Althunak's power here, its greatest wielder and either the teacher or giver of power the others here.

He needed to die before their revenge could be complete.

"We come to take revenge on the children of Althunak. For it to be complete his warriors must die, his worshippers must die and this man, Elvanti, as his chosen, must die. Only then will our Gods be satisfied. Our goals meet in the Spear-Din." After a moment, she added, "What happened to the woman he craved, Klinqa?"

Sigurd listened intently, then agreed with Eydis:"Elvanti and those who follow him must die. This wolf-hearted kinslayer proclaims himself Lord of Winter and Bringer of Cold? I say we build him a Pyre and let him wrestle with Loptr’s Favor. The sword-sleep's too good for the likes of him."

The story told had agitated him, and Sigurd made no attempt to hide his anger. He himself had his eyes on the late Jarl Olaf's middle daughter, fair Fastvi, but he intended to earn both her approval and that of all others who mattered. Sigurd did not doubt for one moment that Elvanti had set out to try and prove his worth, but clearly, he had only proven his worthlessness.

Asta stops sucking on a seabird egg as Jarvi finished his tale. Placing her egg down in front of her, no longer hungry, the hunter considers the import of what the man has said, her brow creased.

"Your sons are brave, to take to the Great Water, and risk their lives for your people. You are proud, no doubt, wise Jarvi."

Still as a glacier, Asta sits while Eydis and Sigurd offer their questions and opinions, the young woman troubled. The villagers were brave, but obviously unable to turn the tide. It may be an unpopular opinion, but Asta felt she should share it regardless:

"Your people have done your part for the the last ten summers. We shall finish the children of Althunak, and fulfil our vengeance, as Eydis says. You should take your people and sail south, to our lands. You will be welcome there."

I hope.

Blommhilde gulped down the lichen soup, hoping that it would be more filling than it looked like, while listening to her companions speak.

She shot a dubious glance at Asta for her last phrase, adding a bit of her own. "But as this is your land, you shall be safer once we carry out our vengeance, and feed the Children of Althunak to Corpse-Eater. Such will be our guest gift for your food and shelter. Elvanti's bones will feed the ravens for his sacrilege against his own home."

But for her brave words, she was worried. Dark powers had emboldened Elvanti and his raiders, enough to attack Jarl Olaf, and she feared going up against the unknown.

"I heard from one, who heard from another, that Elvanti claimed Klinqa as the first of his 'snow brides'." Jarvi was clearly working to keep calm, but couldn't quite hide the look of distaste. "It is ever the way of powerful followers of dark gods - they take what they wish to take and care not how wicked they become." he shook his head.

"It saddens me that we must turn to the Dragon Riders for our salvation, even as it brings me joy to hear you are willing to put them to the spear. Do not hesitate to slay them without mercy, for they deserve none. Before you ride the waves, however, there are two things I wish to give you - a map of the other villages, and a second tale."

"They say that long ago we Ulnat came from a faraway place across the sea to the southwest, a land of warm springs and mild winters. There we had a great land of many stonewalled villages, much wealth in the form of yellow discs and shining stars plucked from the heavens. I know not if that is true, for it does not sound like us but the metal-skinned men who ride the dragon ships."

"They say that we came across the sea in great kayaks that were larger than even those of you Dragon Riders. Again, this sounds like so much old men’s tales, but it was an old man who told me, and one who told him, so that is what it is. When we first came here, so the old men say, we built many villages, the first at Gualivik. The other villages were built later, including a lost one high up in the Wailing Mountains to guard a pass called the Trail of Ravens. This I don’t know, for I have not seen it. What I have seen is the tombs on Heroes’ Rock, off the Seal Coast opposite of Gualivik. There a great stone cairn is piled, and a rock with strange carvings sits. Go there, and you may find the graves of those who led our people here. If they were men like you, then mayhap they had mighty spears to vanquish evil."

"Thank you for your tale, and the map." Eydis considered for a moment. She was not shocked that a monster like this would simply claim a woman like that. "That tale does sound like it was of our own ancestors, come in search of glory and fame. It might be that their spirits can help." Although Eydis was loathe to disturb the dead...

Asta listened, absently spinning the seabird egg, as Jarvi finished his tale. She looked over the old man and then the meager feast, hoping to spy the map he mentioned, her attention slipping from Jarvi's story while she considered the treasure.

A map! Hand drawn no doubt, of these peoples' lands? A rarity, unique, one of a kind! Father would have loved to have seen it!

Blinking, the hunter looked again to the elder, regaining focus as he spoke of her peoples' cairn. 'Heard of.' 'Mayhap.' There is a lot of speculation in the old man's story.

"Have you heard tale of these spears? Or is this just a guess?"

"Regardless, it would be wise to a pay a visit to our ancestors, and ask for their favor."

Blommhilde watched the elder and her companions, trying to judge their reactions. She felt disgust and aversion at the thought of disturbing the dead, but stronger than her uneasiness was her sense of duty. If having to scavenge graves was to be the price of vengeance, then so be it.

"The Trail of Ravens does sound like a favorable omen, as ravens are Wotan's eyes and ears. We are grateful for your assistance."

At Asta's question, Jarvi shook his head. "It is the custom to bury the fallen with their weapons, but I have never set foot on Heroes' Rock. I had no cause to beseech them for aid, and it is not right to disturb the departed without great need. In desperate times, hope is often all you have."

Even so, your journey north has helped you focus... and you've all leveled up! Please post your levelup summaries in the Discussion thread for approval. Once you've gotten that, then update your main profile sheets. ^^

"Disturbing these heroes rest doesn't sit right with me. The enemy is worthy, the need is great...but who says we would not be able to overcome him without setting foot on that sacred land? We should offer a sacrifice to the gods, and hope they are willing to offer guidance on the matter.", Sigurd replied thoughtfully. The story's of the man were intriguing, no doubt. But the suggestion to turn from noble warrior into a common graverobber was off-putting, to say the least.
Don't care if one of us performs it or a NPC, wether it's on livestock they have or a seal we have to hunt - I'd expect the gods signs to be favorable but I'd like some justification for that course of action in-game. As you say, not generic Fantasy Hack&Slash™...

"A sign would be good," Eydis mused. "Although at least once I have seen the dead decide the living worthy, and grant there weapons to them. The men who saved me, Hakon and Eindrid, earned such an honour." For herself, Eydis had no great wish to give up Roksper.

"Neither do I wish to disturb the dead, nor to leave my father's axe, yet necessity could warrant it, against such a heinous foe and his patron. Do any of you know how to read the omens?"
Blommhilde's gaze moved to Asta. Perhaps the young cunning woman knew how to foretell weal or woe from raven's flight or dog's liver.

Asta frowns, a blush of embarrasment creeping up the woman's freckled face.

"I'm afraid I am merely able to shift the fates in the present, at most a few seconds or minutes into the future. When it comes to interpreting the signs of the gods... I've never been very skilled. My mentor, Ebba, called me stubbornly untalented."

I took only fate sphere powers. Thought about swapping them out for divinations, but I never got around to it. And of course I didn't think about profession (fortune teller) until right now :/

I dare say if you want to start dabbling, and swap out that profession(sailor) for profession(fortune teller) at level-up, you would be good to go :) Other than that, I could try knowledge(religion) if that's any good-

For what it's worth, Profession (Sailor) will be MUUUUUCH more useful throughout this campaign. o wo Recommended skills are on the list for a reason.

Few could commune with the gods with anything resembling frequency - indeed, most clerics and priests failed to receive so much as a single spell during their lives. Attempts to ask for a sign could be made, but there was little guarantee of a response. For the most part, the men and women of the North were expected to rely on their own discretion and take responsibility for their actions. If the gods wanted to give a sign, they would. (And most people were accepting of this, figuring it wasn't their place to demand knowledge of others. Ask, yes. Demand, no.)

If you'd like to try, though, make a Knowledge (Religion) check as a group to remember/figure out a fortunetelling method.

Eydis considered what she had learned of the Gods, and of Wotan,
on her mothers knee, and her grandmothers knee. They were not as mortals were - their minds were greater, their passions grander, their memories eternal. Still, they would choose to answer the brave and the bold...if asked correctly, and not asked for too much. There was no saga in being granted power by the Gods. But knowledge? That seemed possible. As was a blessing to take up the weapons of old.

Knowledge (Religion): 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (15) + 6 = 21

Oh, much more useful, certainly. But having one 'harrower' along for the ride could be flavorful, regardless. A lady bound to the fates having a little skill in reading where the strings are headed (in a very limited fashion, obviously) could be fun.
Oh, Sigurd knew not to expect that ASKING for a sign would work. But the Gods still made their will known in Omens. One could not hope to garner any favor by being so reckless as to demand anything of them.
But what they were trying to do, it was a good quest. One to tell stories about. Chances are at least some divine attention was with them. Following the proper rites and asking for a sign in the proper way could be worth trying.

KN(Religion) - Assist Eydis: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (9) + 5 = 14

"I have memories of someone throwing sticks at the ground and reading runes in that. But I don't know whether that was foretelling or just a game."

Knowledge(religion)(untrained) - Assist: 1d20 ⇒ 17

While Odin was hanging from Yggdrasil, the runes were revealed to him as pieces of bark on the ground. Not sure if it's a legitimate method of knowing the future in the Northlands.

"There are signs all around us," Asta says nodding. "It is just a matter of recognizing the will of the Gods within them. The storm that ravaged all of us was both terrible and momentous, as it brought us together. Perhaps we start there? I remember..."

Asta closes her eyes.

"... Nothing particularly unusual or useful, actually."

religion aid another: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (4) + 5 = 9

Agreed Sigurd. I'll likely sink some points in fortune telling next level.

Well, I for one like it when people make flavorful character choices. XD

If there was one belief truly common to the North, it was the Wyrd - the fate decreed by the Norns, measured and cut before one's life even began. To try to fight it was hubris - to succeed was impossible, and the gods themselves could not overturn it. That was not, of course, to say that the Norns offered anything even vaguely resembling clarity most of the time. Few knew if glory or failure awaited them in advance, and to shy away from challenge was to be a coward, a fate even worse than death to the proud and hardy settlers of the frozen lands.

Eventually, Blommhilde picked up a bundle of sticks as the villagers looked on curiously, then tossed them onto the ground to search for a pattern.

1d24 ⇒ 7

As they scattered, two sticks of equal length landed in an 'X' shape on the ground just in front of her feet. It was recognizable as the rune Gyfu - gifts, generally symbolizing generosity and unexpected good fortune. Of course, there was no way to know if it was actually the rune, or just the way the sticks had fallen...

Yes, I had a list, and yes, that's the actual result on it. XD

Eydis looked at the rune - or maybe sticks - with a wary eye. "We shall have to go and see," she said slowly. There was not other way to truly know what it meant.

"If it is Gyfu, then perhaps these ancestors will bestow gifts upon us. We will not know for sure until we explore it ourselves."

"Well, we hoped for a sign - and that Rune is a valid answer to our question. Asking the gods for guidance on a matter and then doubting what insights they offer is something cravens do. We should stock up on water and provisions, then set sail there as soon as possible!", Sigurd stated decisively, looking at Hallbjorn, clearly expecting him to make a decision confirming his suggestion.
Not in a conceited way, but rather because he expects Hallbjorn to see things the same way.

Asta smiles, a large, toothy grin spreading across her face. "It's Gyfu. It has to be. Sigurd is right. Now is not the time for doubt. When shall we leave, captain?"

Hallbjorn glanced up at the late afternoon sun. "Morning, I think." he said. "A night on land is good when you've been at sea for a time, and if we're to beseech the parted for aid, better to do it under what sunlight the day has. Besides, Sigurd has the right of it - we shouldn't stop our attack to forage once we've begun lest we be caught at a vulnerable moment, so it's better to stock up as much as we can now." He glanced over at Jarvi. "Not to the point it hurts your own gathering, of course. Fear not - this crew knows what to do."

Asta nods, trying and failing to contain her excitement at the chance for a hunt. She spends the rest of the day and well into the evening stalking the lands of Jarvi's people, bow strung and ready to shoot fish, fowl, and anything else that crosses her path.

The land is barren; the winds biting. Still, a little after dusk, Asta happens upon a flock of arctic puffins, standing silent in the moonlight. One well-placed arrow kills a fat one before the rest scatter. Letting out a whoop, Asta strings her bow and jogs towards the animal. Small enough to carry back to the boat, but large enough to feed off of for a few days at least. Father would have been proud.

survival: 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (6) + 12 = 18

Food for 5 people.

Eydis agreed with a small smile, hefting her spear. It would be good to take such exercise as a hunt would provide. She began by hunting for the tracks of large game, something that would bring in a reasonable amout of food with one kill.

Perception: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (2) + 7 = 9

Unfortunately, it seemed the area had either been cleared by the local hunters or Eydis simply wasn't as skilled at hunting this far north. With a sigh she settled on hunting smaller game.

Survival: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (3) + 11 = 14

I think that's three folks worth of food.

Leaving her armor for warm furs, Blommhilde stalked the icy streams descending from the glaciers, until she found geese, swimming placidly in a pond. A javelin flew quick, skevering a young one before the flock could leave, and she carried it to the longship, ready for plucking.

Survival(untrained): 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (13) + 3 = 16
It should be four more people.

Sigurd had heared about the hunting technique of those far-northerners and wanted to try it for himself. Borrowing one of the villages single-seated small boats, he moves closely along the coast, where he soon comes upon a colony of seals.
Stalking one of the smaller ones as it separated itself from the group, he managed to take it down cleanly with a hunting spear. Tying it up to the boat, Sigurd returned to the village with some excitement - the lucky hunt seemed a good omen to him.
1d20 + 8 ⇒ (19) + 8 = 27
And that's 9 more people's worth of food...

There were a lot of seals on the coast - far, far more than necessary to make for an outstanding hunting trip all by themselves, if anyone cared to keep sailing this far north. (Given the magnitude of the storms you'd seen... that was a little doubtful, actually. There was a reason the northmen rarely visited these lands.)

Nevertheless, the four of you brought in a very respectable amount of food, and the villagers helped you prepare some of it for the voyage. Adding on to what the rest of the crew had found, you managed another week and a half or so of rations. Night came early, and mornings slow, in this part of the world. The air was colder than the day before, and didn't let up much as you sailed along the coast, following your guide's directions.

Jarvi had made it clear his boy wasn't going to set foot on the island - petitioners only. Hallbjorn, meanwhile, was staying with the ship... ready to quickly set off if the dead grew too angry. That left the four of you to actually disembark on the Heroes' Rock.

This steeply sloped island sits a mile off the Seal Coast opposite the
village of Gualivik - enemy territory, apparently. Dwarf firs shaped and stunted by storm and wave cover it. The island presents no serviceable landing, but a small cove on the leeward side allows enterprising folk to clamber out of a boat and up a 20-foot cliff. Atop the island, there are neither trails nor signs of man, merely a tangle of interlaced branches and large boulders.

At the center of the island is a rough burial mound made of stacked stone, mortared with clay and moss. Seeds from trees and sea grass have found purchase on the tomb, and it is nearly overgrown in its entirety. One rock on the southwestern side bears markings, but not in a language any of you know. The opening is barred by rocks that will need to be removed if you want to enter. That is a bit of labor, but easy enough, and reveals a stone door.

The heavy stone door is pushed aside with a sudden gust of stale air to reveal a darkened passage. It is low, the ceiling no more than 5 feet high, and lined with cedar planks to hold up the earth piled atop this tunnel. Ancient timbers shore up these planks but bow beneath the age-old weight they support. You see a faint blueish glow coming from the end.

Ahead, the passage widens into a dugout chamber, likewise roofed in planks of cedar. A passage opens in one wall. The floor is strewn with a number of dried flowering plants that stir in the faint breeze coming down the newly opened entrance. A faint glow glimmers from the shadows of an alcove at the back of the room. An alcove that, as the incoming light banishes its shadows, reveals the hideous, misshapen face of a snarling troll towering in the darkness.

"Ah, there is a riddle. Is it a guardian of the spoils, or a scavenger who nested here?"

Blommhilde fastened her breastplate and gripped the handle of her greataxe, preparing for a fight, her first not under the service of Jarl Olaf. Repressed rage boiled under her skin, tension about to turn into crimson, vengeful violence.

Staring up into the snarling Maw, Eydis readier her shield, the Celestial Lamp hanging from its sconce, and moved to cover the thing in blessed light. Her spear, too, was readied - preparing for the beast to charge.

The arrow is nocked and ready to fly before Asta registers exactly what the troll is. Teeth gritted, she stares the creature down (or up, as the case may be). The hunter's hand quivers a little in anticipation of the fight that may come.

"Stop! Why are you here, snarling one!"

Wow, that was fast-forward :)

Sigurd pauses a moment - it was not that he was afraid of the beast, he was simply trying to make sense of it...
The entrance was overgrown, and barred by rocks. What did it eat if it was trapped in here?...Maybe there is a second exit? Or...

Needing both hands for his axes if it comes to blows, Sigurd throws his Torch forward towards the hideous face, taking a closer look.
Perception: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (10) + 13 = 23 Is that really a troll, or just some kind of troll statue or something...
If he is convinced the enemy is real, he'll swiftly draw two axes from his belt, as ready for battle as h is companions.

Yeah, being honest, there weren't really any occasions for things other than nodding and going "yeah, we still want to proceed forward" in that bit of the book. XD I figured we shouldn't waste time on the obvious.

After a few heart-pounding moments, it becomes clear that the troll isn't moving. Despite the fearsome look - probably enough to scare off casual visitors - a close examination shows stitching where the body was sewn together.

In the alcove at the back of the room, you see a metal breastplate faintly glowing - though a large hole has been punched through the middle, and ancient bloodstains still surround the spot. It's rather obviously broken. Aside from the breastplate and the statue, the only thing of interest seems to be the side passage heading deeper in.

Eydis moved up to the Breastplate, examining it. The fact it was glowing suggested it had a certain level of magic. Does anyone have the skill with the hammer to fix this hole?"