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She wanted to be part of the rigging. the Groom wasn't going to dispute that. 
As most of you move forward with some degree of caution, two of the brothers Bjólfr and Ingólfr let their lust for combat get ahead of them - charging forward headlessly with a roar "Blod och plundring" The young man in the smock reacts with horror at the sight of the charging northmen, skin paling noticeably as he withdraws within the spired building "Padre, padre, asaltantes vienen!" and you hear his call answered.
Varisian:
"Father, father, raiders come!" Closer that you are to the spired building, you can see some of the contents... and it does not appear to be as you expected. There are no pews, but instead tables and chairs. At least in the small portion you can see.
Perception DC 14:
Within the church, the 'padre' responds "Mierda. Romper las cuchillas." in Varisian
Roluo paces his steps to keep slightly behind the two huscarl who continue their measured charge. Drawing close, Njall is silent.. but Samr roars gutturally at the men, spittle flying from his mouth. Gummi keeps apace with Roluo slightly behind. The two foresters heft their axes and stride forward into battle unafraid. They both bear beards and similar enough faces that they could be brothers. Roaring back "No nos llevará, sin la sangre bastarda del Norte" their axes flash forward in the night...
Varisian:
"You'll not take us without blood Northern bastard" The halfling takes a step backwards and holds her staff forward. Chanting in the same lilting language as the foresters "Ven los espíritus de los árboles, fortalecer a mi personal para que yo pudiera proteger." though there is no visible change as far as you can see. Spellcraft DC 16:
The halfling has cast shilleagh upon her staff. Varisian:
"Come spirits of the trees, strengthen my staff so I might protect." Beyond them within the tavern there are another maybe six or more patrons preparing to emerge.
Jorleif acts with swiftness, claiming first blood of the assault. As his mace blasts into the man's chest - crushing it with a sickening sound of cracking ribs - he feels a surge of vigor suffusing him.
Kitta and Ellisif follow you in and find the man already dealt with, Kitta giving Jorleif an accepting nod. After a quick review of the house - they call to the Crestefalla "Come Jorleif, let us act against the andas before turning to plunder"
Calling upon the stories of his homeland and the tales of the bastard sons of the North that dwell in the frozen Eastern wasteland, Ragnar turns his sombre voice to an ode... The story tells of the Blackravens of Hagsreach sworn defenders of the Lands of the Linnorm Kings and their constant defense against the degenerates from Irrisen. Verses of their strength of arm and then also of how upon their raids they find the men of Irrisen subjected to buggery and worse at the hands of the ice trolls. Aid another to stir Skolrykk's patriotic loins: 
Jorleif walks on the water beside the boat, small discs of ice forming beneath his feet. Once they get close to shore, Jorleif signals them to put away the oars a little earlier than normal and guides the boats in by hand.
Jorleif isn't sure what the blood might mean, but he takes it as a positive sign. He pulls out the bow and makes sure he is ready, and will keep an eye out for any lookout in case he needs to call the mist and fog to cover their advance. (He'll tell Torgeir as well in case his eyes sees one first) 
Not sure what makes my stomach flutter more - prospect of a fine draught, a maiden's ass served up for takin', or the minutes before battle! 
Muli pulls a mug of ale in front of himself. He adds his spice which sets the foam to red, and upon drinking sets his right eye to twitching. But he carefully watches the contest, in particular the mannerisms of the opponents. 
Dingus carefully looks at the hanging corpse. He then tentatively reaches out and rubs the fabric of her clothing to determine if it is any higher quality than his new makeshift robes. 
Ok, we're probably not looking for this, but a nice island "inspiration."
Gylfir keeps his eyes sharp for a steeple breaking the horizon. He remembers his father 's description of southern churches, churches usually full of gold. They build them to be seen from afar..good for us.
Muli drops his pack at their table with a heavy thud. He paws through it and comes up with a vial of his beer spice. Upon hearing Ragnar's challenge, he rummages in the pack again and comes out with a stuffed amphibian and thumps it onto the table. "There! An Ice Toad! Muli figures they might want to see something familiar so far from their home." Whether this is meant to calm or inflate the situation is unclear. Perhaps Muli just thinks they might want to see the toad. 
Whispering a few words for guidance, Kevkul grips the trow head holding it aloft.
Kevkul bellows loudly to the barkeep Kevkul throws Gorruk's head, making sure it lands with a dramatic 'clunk' on the table. Once Kevkul gets the attention of those present he continues. Now, come closer all you fine folk and listen how Gorruk the Iss troww parted with his head and how Muk'luk left this world completely save his teeth with one fell blow! All of that with a soft nudge by the Spedig Wesa too.
"Well...I will at least wait till dawn....not sure how friendly the sea is tonight....and ya best hope these blades don't mention the nut ya now play with, instead of giving your Queen her proper respect. That is something ya will need to work before her pressgang catches up with ya...but good job taking down that bag of sog." He gives his unsettling smile at the end to lighten his sermon.
Aye, nice warm hearth and medu to match. Yonder there sits a group of ears ready to soak up our tales of bravery and daring. Which of you warriors would boast of our deeds thus far? It would be excellent way for all the medu we could drink. Kevkul pulls out the head of Gorruk he's been lugging around this time. Luckily for the cold Northern air, it has been well preserved.
Again Gylfir feels the pain of a horrible wound. Jorlief goes down beside him in a spray of blood. No! I watched a boy dragged away once under the hedge, afraid yet glad it was not me. It will not be repeated! Summoning the last of his strength Gylfir brings the Ancor up in a tremendous upper-cut from where it hung almost limply in his hand.
He feels the hard crunch of iron on iron and roars Defiance as he is standing on and amongst his fallen friends. Not today! Not Ever! I have seen under the Hedge. Those that dwell here beware!
Moving forward into the barrow, the dvergr and young vikingr draw near to the disturbed cairn. As you come near enough to potentially gaze within, a figure rises from among the stones. Garbed in old bronzed armor, shield on its left and sword in scabbard on its right; a skeletal figure stands and it's helmeted head looks at you with empty sockets. The air around the revenant is slightly foggy as though it is beyond freezing cold. A sound issues forth in an archaic dialect of Skald "Varför kommer den levande ... Detta är ett hus för de döda ..."
Perception DC 14:
The revenant's armor and skeletal claws are covered with blood. 
Yo ho! Thanks guys! No explanation needed for Dingus and the tulip wood btw ; ) I'm having a fine old time with this crew of crazies. Thanks for sharing the madness and in fact I believe some of you can boast far more Insanity Points than I. Here's to another year! and I truly appreciate the gift- they do float, right? ; ) very timely as this week is my real life Day o' Birth on March 22. Can't wait to see these beauties! I will post pics when they arrive. so grab some grog and I offer a toast:
Kevkul brings himself to a stand before taking in the scenario. The loud guttural speech of the giants rings all too familiar to his dwarven ears, although much of its meaning is lost on him. Sensing the feeling of cornered and with their backs to the wall, Kevkul gently prods Petrik awake and speaks in a low tone. Morning lad, be ready and alert, above all, display your ellen. Ask from the Spedig Wesa like how I showed you. Another of the troww comes visiting. Help us prepare for battle by assisting me in donning my armour. Mayhaps another of the warriors may require assistance too.
Observing his battle eager comrades, Kevkul observes and quips. Let our plant heald do what it is supposed to do. Perhaps it too wishes to avenge the death of its deceased master. When the beast is weakened, we shall strike. ellen=courage
Slow moving halfling seems to be the morsel of choice as the rats trail Dibbets around the room scurrying through his beard and up his pants. Kaul finally joins the party fashionably late.
Took a moment to check--the Freebooters are currently in 36th place for number of game posts, and only five of the ones running ahead of us are newer. Man, we talk a lot.
Torgeir - Dibbs wishes he was half rum gremlin... then he wouldn't need to keep worrying about running out of alcohol to drink... The mayor didn't have nearly enough inbred hillbilly wine to sate his appetite for long!
At the orders of the huscarl you set about making your new mobile home ready to sail. Supplies are checked, gear stowed below rowing benches and preparations made. Glancing around at your fellows, you gauge that most have been at sea prior - but Ellisif and Hrónarr are struggling with getting aboard and maintaining their balance. The ship is boarded and seats taken; oar holes uncovered and oars slip silently into black still water. After a hand of minutes your job is done and the huscarl bid you wait. Úlfarr gauges that a bench towards the front would be best for himself, as it would allow Surtr to lie flat on top of the packed supplies and be within close reach of himself.
Torgeir:
Looking at the quantity of supplies, there should be enough to get South to Varisia, but not to return. It would appear that you'll need to supply during the voyage if you are to make it back. After about ten minutes spent waiting, you see the figure of the Jarl emerge from the pre-dawn mist at the docks. He is dressed as he was the night before and spends a long time eyeing the vessel that seems to carry his desperate hopes Southwards with it. He then draws a deep breath and delivers a practiced speech that you gauge he has delivered many times in the past "Go with the dawn, ride the seas with unfurled sails and spray in your face. Come upon your fiende like a bestial tide and bathe your blade in their blood. Leave the fallen to the boneyard and return here heavy in the water or not at all. I will står vaka, and the skald await new words for their ballads." To this the huscarl raise their arms to the sky before thumping their chest with a roar. They then turn upon you and bellow
"Why kill the golden goose? We sell them and get a one time pay off. Or we come back yearly to collect our tribute. We can even make it all nice like, take care of anything that is harming them and keeping them from prospering. In return, we take a share of their goods to market. And well, I guess if they don't produce enough, then we make up the difference, with a pound of flesh."
Kjell treks purposefully towards his destination, the warming sensation of his last drink slowly leaving him colder as he approaches the fest hall. Balls, it is cold! Colder than a witch's tit! I cannot wait to warm my feet and innards with a strong drink...
Yea, a blessing from old Spedig Wesa to ease his journey to the boneyard. Better to have the fires separate than the one we will use to incinerate the trow. Their journeys beyond should not be from the same hearth. Kevkul helps gather the fuel for the fire, readying it to receive a spark. From the mug, he melts some snow before sprinkling the water over the hermit's body. Kevkul completes his blessing by saying a few words. All out of alcohol, apologies. I do not know you old Quern, but seeing from my friend Muli, I am sure your heart is in the right place. But we did the trow in and I hope you enjoyed watching. But it is time to go on, farewell. After everybody's given a turn to speak, Kevkul mumbles a few words and a spark jumps out from his hand and ignites the pyre.
Adding something from a pouch, the fire springs into a strong blaze despite the wind and snow. Upon the Trow, Muli spits, but upon Quern's he adds some dried herbs. "Quern, you coot. Get going. My Magester, Geir is waiting to finish your last argument."
Looking at the crumpled, frozen corpse. "Muli's géomagister was always ungemódness with everything Quern had to say, but he knew a lot of lore. It is a shame all those tales are reduce to a frozen dryhtné. Kevkul can give him a blétsung and then Muli will burn him, for his sake and ours. Burn him here on the shelf, in front of his home. Muli can tend the fire from inside the hermitage and it will keep anything from wandering in. The misgewidere should take care of any worries about the fire being seen."
Kevkul approaches the fallen troww, before smashing his neck in with a measured strike.
Now that is done and liberally shall the favor of Cailean Caydean wash over you, should we all move closer. Kevkul motions for the wounded to gather before holding aloft his tankard and pulsing out waves of positive energy. Channel x3 : Ach, Muli, the head would make a plenty of nights of free mead if it were a better condition, but much character does it have now. Kevkul takes out his dagger before severing Gorruk's head, trusting the cold to preserve it before offering any of the warriors to pack.
Muli diminishes in size and yells into the wind, "Stand back". He pulls out a fat rat and carefully bends over the fallen Trow. He stuffs the rat into the broken mouth and painfully straightens up. He then gives the jaw a hard kick, forcing the Trow's teeth to puncture the stuffed rat. A blaze of fire erupts for its mouth. "Chew well, that which is Muli."
Muli steps back from the flames and rests against the cliff wall panting. But then his eyes close and he slumps down to the ground.
"I don't like that he builds a bookcase when he has so few books. I am too beat to worry about it now, but will sleep against it if something tries to move it aside..from behind or beneath."
Maybe Kaul would rather we use the luau approach to lure in the bug? 
Kaul - in the immortal words of that Irish guy in Braveheart:
Round 1+2: The time for words spent, Ragnar sets his jaw and prepares for combat.
Muli quaffs from the hoof and grows greatly in size. "Muli most nagyobb, mint te és a szaga is jobban. Chicka-chicka-chickka" Muli finishes with some rodent verbalizations and chatter. Jotunn:
Muli most nagyobb, mint te és a szaga is jobban. = Muli now bigger than you and smell better too.
Is Jotunn = Hungarian? That was the closest match I could find. 
You can cast "Summon Party Member" but it only works while you're unconscious.
"OK, Step back, Muli needs room for this one." Muli shakes off his gloves to leave them dangling from his sleeves and he pulls a silver snuff box out, gives it a shake and partially slides open the lid. Putting the box to his nose, he takes a deep snort and bends over coughing and sneezing. His arms extend from his sleeves and the hair seems to grow even thicker. His hands stretch longer and his cracked and yellow finger nails grown even longer into white fresh claws. He even gets taller as his ankles seem to stretch and his legs develop a backward bent. His mustache grows to full blown whiskers and his teeth elongate into sharp fangs. Standing amongst the group is now a human-sized pine marten wearing Muli's clothes and pack. It fur brindled in a tortoise pattern. In Muli's voice but with a squeek-quality to it. "Oh that hurts! But should be good for getting up them clúd." Acting as if nothing unnatural has just occurred, he lopes over to Petrik, and gets in his face "Oy Petrik. Grab your senses and tell us what's up there. Where is Quern?"
Fort Save: Driven almost to his knees by the raking claw Ragnar somehow maintains his footing. A bloody rent newly opened up across his chest despite the chain protecting it. Spitting blood at the alfur in defiance, and grinning like a man condemned and yet fighting for his very freedom - he launches into a barely controlled rising cross strike with skaggig... Raging Greataxe: for ...returning the strike in kind to a bestial howl of delight.
Reflex: Instinct alone is what keeps Ragnar from the worst of the turned alfur's breath. The cold washes over him though doesn't penetrate the thick Northman's skin. Somewhere deep within Ragnar, a fire is stoked... embers burning. Giving voice to his growing blod fury "Feh, kommer min stål skära ner dig odöda kräk. Darrar när du möter en människa i norr!" Ragnar throws caution to the wind and charges the alfur, howling all the while. Bringing skaggig to bear in a wild horizontal bludgeon... Charging Raging Greataxe: for
Shaking his head slightly "Nae Kauly, I dinnae think they'll put us inna cookpot - they'd a put summat stronger in the tea wouldn't they? But there is summat goin on...." "Hey Jimmer, that pair o' walkin funbags seemed tae take a fancy to ye - care to go find 'er and see if you ken 'squeeze out some answers'?" he adds with a wide smirk on his face.
Ragnar ignores the ferryman's mutterings, instead concentrating on even and powerful oar-strokes. As he rows, he gives heathen voice to a Viking rowing song... "Vi kommer från landet av is och snö
"Hammaren av gudarna kommer att driva våra fartyg till nya länder
"På vi sopa med, med tröskning åra
"Under the Sea...Under the Sea...Nobody beat us...Fry us and eat us...In fricassee...We what the land folks loves to cook...
Pressing after their challenge and looking for an advantage, Betony tries to time her swing with Thistledown trying to grab the Taskmaster's leg.
At least distracted, Betony attempts to finish him off.
"We will finish you! So keep drinking," she yells
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