Ragnarr the Fatherless's page

Hrafn finishes bandaging his arm, using his free hand and his teeth to tie it tight.

He growls "Bind it and bring it with us. I want to talk to the chief's big friend and I don't see any other way to identify him."

"I still think we should keep him for dinner," insists Ragnarr. "We can find others like him who will lead us to their chief's big friend. And we will find more of them soon, since that other one ran away and will warn the rest of his people. They will be expecting us..." The man-beast licks his lips as he eyes the goblin captive and begins to sniff it.

You all catch your breath warily eyeing the filthy brute. Dorvarr strides up to the group and glares at your new captive. As Vladimir parleys with the goblin the foul smelling wretch lifts his head cautiously and then pathetically nods at the young knight. The creature's jagged yellow teeth gnash together excitedly, "Oh yes I's helps big clanky one and friends. I's Breggir. I tell's you goblin secrets and let me go? I's never hurts big ones or their bridges again... I's go into forest never see's me again? I can tell you big secret."

"Or maybe I eat you instead," grunts Ragnarr. "I've never had roasted goblin before... Say all you know, or I while make you our evening meal..."

Intimidate: 15 + 8 = 23.

As he prepares to race after the fleeing goblin, Ragnarr looks over his shoulder at the whimpering goblin. He raises his axe high with a wicked gleam in his eye, ready to come back and deal the coup de grace, but then, looking at his companions, he hesitates for a moment. "Kill?"

Your assumption was fair...

Cursing, Ragnarr takes aim and fires another arrow at the fleeing goblin, but a sudden gust of wind blows it well off target and into the woods. The man-beast roars at the top of his lungs in frustration and seems ready to snap his bow in half. His eyes are wide with disbelief and anger, his chest heaves and falls quickly, and his nostrils flare as he watches his target escape. With great effort, he manages to restrain himself, shouldering his bow in disgust and kneeling to retrieve his axe before giving chase.

Attack roll: 5 + 3 + 1 = 9... The suckiness continues...

Ragnarr drops his axe and quickly grabs the bow that he had been carrying on his back. He knocks an arrow, and, with a quick burst of throaty, ape-like laughter, lets it fly towards his fleeing target.

11 + 3 = 14... If that's enough to hit, the damage is: 1... ugh...

The one goblin shouts a desparate war cry and swings at Ragnarr but misses his mark. The other worker trembling after the sight of his fallen leader and his near death by Ragnarr's cleaving swing takes a step back and leaps off the bridge to the rushing waters below.

This invites AoO from Ragnarr and Vladimir

Ragnarr screams and lashes out at the fleeing goblin, but its companion's assault on the man-beast throws his timing off.

Attack roll: 9 + 4 + 1 = 14... not sure if that hit or not. If yes, 4 + 4 = 8.

Ragnarr howls in pain and surprise as the goblin spear bites into his side, and his eyes widen in surprise as the pipe-smoking goblin dodges his blow. Just a scratch... but Loki is surely aiding them... In frustration, he heaves his greataxe again and takes another swing at the pipe-smoker, bellowing with fury.

Attack: 13 + 4 +1 = 17; if that's sufficient to hit, the damage is 12 + 4 = 16!!! If that's enough to drop/cleave through the pipe-smoker and another worker is close enough, Ragnarr will attempt to attack again, but without success... 4 + 4 + 1 = 9...

"Hrmph... least risk to me... I am not afraid of a few goblins... Thor as my witness, I could take them all myself..." Ragnarr creeps as stealthily as a bull towards the edge of the woods, to a spot overlooking the road where he might drop onto the unsuspecting goblins. He curses to himself as branches snap noisily underfoot... and, the element of surprise likely lost, prepares to launch himself into their midst with axe held high and a wicked gleam in his eye.

Hide: 5 + 1 = 6; Move Silently: 5 + 1 = 6... at least I'm consistent... If he is close enough to jump/attack as a standard action following his move to the edge of the woods, here are the relevant checks... Jump: 18 + 2 = 20. To hit: 10 + 4 + 1 = 15; Damage: 9 + 4 = 13; assuming that's enough to hit and drop a goblin, Ragnarr's cleave feat would enable him to attack another: 1 + 4 + 1 = 6... miss...

This evidently doesn't correspond with Vladimir's plan... but given Ragnarr's alignment, approach to combat, and failed Hide/Move Silently checks, I hope my fellow players can forgive me for messing up the plan...

"We're there... ready to charge the bridge?" whispers Ragnarr in his gravelly voice above the roar of the stream, evidently willing to throw caution to the wind. "A battle should warm our blood before night falls... and it looks like it will be a cold one..."

Failed my Listen check...

"Goblins as are looking for trouble, as I see it. Six of them. We should fall on them from the woods and kill them before they know we are there. The road, I think, will be trapped. I say we follow the wolf trail to the bridge."

Frustrated by his inability to make the wolf carcasses hang from the trees without using rope, Ragnarr tosses them further into the brush. He stares at his now bloody hands in wonder, sniffes at them, and then cautiously licks the blood stains before grasping his axe again with a look of satisfaction in his eyes. The man-beast grunts in response to Hrafn's suggestion. "Yes... more sacrifices for Thor... We will surprise them from the woods..."

"Ragnarr, can you help me drag these spawn of Fenrir off the road? Hrafn, make sure that man can ride back to town and warn Egil. Once he's off, we'll ride on- we must take that bridge!"

Ragnarr grunts his assent, and prepares to drag the carcasses. "Maybe we should hang them from the trees in warning to other of their kind... and their masters... and in honour of Thor... Was that the best Fenris could do?"

Dorvarr leaving the wounded logger hurls himself forward swinging his warhammer down upon the wounded creature. 10+4=14. damage=7+4.. The wolf's back is broken by the force of the hammer and it hits the ground with a thud.

A silence falls over the scene as you all recover your breath. Scanning about you see now other signs of pursuit.

Ragnarr grins at the carnage, then notices the other purusers skulking about. "More foes come... more blood to spill... Thor will be pleased..." He hefts his large axe and, with a bestial howl, moves to confront the stalkers in the woods...

Spot: 9 + 2 = 11... does the initiative order remain the same among party members? How far away is the nearest opponent?

When it's Ragnarr's turn again, assuming that neither Vladimir or Dorvarr finish the job...

Ragnarr turns and bellows at the top of his lungs while swinging his axe at the wounded wolf... but he stumbles on some deadfall, which throws him off balance...

Attack roll: 2 + 4 = 6... crap...

I forgot... Should anything actually enter one of my threatened squares during this round, I just rolled a nat. 20 + 4 = 24... Confirmation roll = 13 + 4 = 17. Normal damage = 11 + 4 = 15 (double damage, if it applies, would be: 20 + 8 = 28).

If that's enough to drop my first opponent and another one should be in a threatened square at that point, then my cleave feat would enable me to attack again: 17 + 4 = 21, damage = 2 + 4 = 6. Wow, I can't believe my luck! And now I understand why villains in low level modules usually seem so tough to me... they're designed to withstand the blows of a barbarian or fighter with a greataxe, which my players have never had in their party!

"Ragnarr, don't get too far away from us - there are more than wolves here!"

Heeding Hrafn's call, Ragnarr halts perhaps 10' down the wooded hill. Hmmm... should I draw my bow or wait for them with my axe... the axe it is...

Ragnarr readies an action -- he will strike any foe that steps within 5 feet of him...

Ragnarr grunts as he catches a glimpse of movement in the woods. "Wolves... the goblins can't be far... Thor wastes no time testing us..." The beast-man lumbers off fearlessly into the forest, in the direction of the wolves.

Ragnarr snaps out of his reverie at the sound of the thundering hooves, steps to the side of the trail, tosses his walking stick on the ground and draws his great axe. He stares at the approaching slumped rider with wide, fearful eyes and laboured breath. "Thor, what is this that comes our way," he mutters to himself, clearly unsure whether he should swing his weapon or try to halt the steed.

Ragnarr arrives a few moments later, twirling the amulet of Mjolnir between his fingers, his bleary eyes staring out into space. Clearly preoccupied with something, he barely acknowledges his companions and marches ahead of them on the path. Honesty and brave deeds... honesty and brave deeds, Gurdrun said... and a bath... I'll start with the brave deeds, that should be the most important... we'll see about the rest later, maybe I won't need them...

As the meeting is settled and the townsfolk bolstered by the outcome, Egil and most of his men take leave. The Earl's son thanks you for your valour but "I will be riding in the early morning as defenses for winter are prepared and Bolli's men prepare for the transport of the lumber. I will not forget this nor my promise of reward to you." He gives a final wary glance to Unn and takes his leave of the hall. Most of his men follow behind him including the maiden Ragnihild. As she passes by your table she leaves a wooden amulet of Mjolnir upon the table in front of Ragnarr. She quickly whispers to the half-orc; "May it keep you safe." She then quickly darts to follow Egil's train.

Ragnarr's eyes widen in surprise as Ragnhild leaves the amulet of Mjolnir upon the table. He is too dumbfounded to react, and watches her leave with a starry-eyed stare. "She never spoke to me before..." he murmurs to himself. Then, turning to his new and inebriated companion: "friend Vladimir... do you think she likes me?"

But I'm sure he makes some friends... how about it, Ragnarr?

"Okay!!!"

The short red haired woman clad in leather armour approaches the gathering. She looks at your group and clears her throat; "I may be able to help you out if you truly seek the cure for this pestilence. My name is Gudrun I've done some trapping in the vale. There's a man by the name of Olaf who works at the logging camp near the edge of the woods. The men say he's seen where Uzimila lives. For my part I might know where the oldest trees grow in the woods... There's an old grove deep in the forest with the greatest Waleska trees I've ever seen. They must be very ancient." She takes out a piece of parchment and marks it on the map of the vale. "But be warned I've heard tale of some loggers that have tried to take wood from there. They never return. As for Droskarfell I have only tales of such a place. Olaf has been in this land for many winters he might know."

Sense Motive = 11.

"You are coming with us, Gudrun?" asks Ragnarr with unconcealable glee at the prospect of having a beautiful female join the party, oblivious to the effects of his rank breath and body odour.

Failed all of my knowledge checks.

With a twinkle in his eye, the stout man stands. "Aye, I'll join the young ones to keep them out of trouble... assuming Thor sees fit to keep me so as well."

Ragnarr grunts as the fourth man rises and speaks. A servant of Thor... yes, I think Eyja was right... Thor has chosen us...

The man-beast seems a little overwhelmed by the things that are going on around him. First, two other strangers come to his table, bringing tankards of mead... and stay! He looks sheepishly from one to the other, and without motioning for them to sit, grabs one of the tankards and starts chugging its contents... Hmmm... this may be my day! New friends! Thor must be smiling!

Then, he is shocked as he hears wise Unn speak and then sees the young man and the bearded fellow who came to his table rise in response to her request. In the middle of a deep gulp, he seems paralyzed with uncertainty, his eyes wide above the rim of his tankard. Hmmm... maybe this is the moment Eyja was talking about... maybe Thor is calling, and not just Frigga... After a long moment, he sets down his mug and belches again, then rises tentatively to his full height of 6 and a half feet tall while grabbing his axe. At last, he speaks slowly, in a deep, gravelly voice... "Me too... I will go..." He looks towards Ragnhild, across the hall, with a big grin on his face.

Ragnarr takes another quick glance at the people assembled in the room. Many important people are here... even Bolli, from far away... what is going on? His eyes fall for an instant on the man seated across the table from him. He grunts, takes another pull from his mug only to realize, with dismay, that it is empty. Seeing no bar wench nearby, he turns his gaze back to the table top...

Seeing an almost empty table across the hall, Hrafn mutters an half-audible apology to his neighbors, and gets up. He almost halts when he sees the hulking figure who sits there, but then shrugs and sits.

A grunt, it seems, will do as a greeting.

The ugly giant, in the middle of a hearty pull from his mug of mead, stops swallowing and stares with wide, dumb-founded eyes over the rim of his drinking vessel at the bearded man who has taken a seat before him. At the latter's greeting, the giant slowly lowers his mug, wipes the foam away from his mouth with a dirty sleeve, and belches his acknowledgement. His open maw reveals unusually long and pointy teeth. He stares at the newcomer for a few long seconds. Hmmm... he's not so different than me, but...??? Not sure what else he should say or do, the hulk looks down -- shyly or longingly, perhaps? -- at his axe by the tableside. His overpowering stench soon assails Hrafn, and lets him know exactly why no one else would wish to sit next to this beast-man...

A massive, broad-framed, bestial-looking man sits alone at a table, trying to appear inconspicuous, but achieving the opposite by the very fact that he is alone at his table and that all who pass by seem to wrinkle their noses and give him a wide berth. He has a high forehead with a prominent brow, jutting jaw, flat nose with wide nostrils, and stone grey eyes sunk deep in his skull. Long wisps of stringy, matted blonde hair fall away from a balding crown to the middle of his back. A scraggly beard grows in uneven patches along his jaw line. His arms and legs are like tree trunks, and his skin has the consistency of burnt clay. The woolen cloak he wears over a studded leather jirkin is worn and tattered. A walking stick, short bow, and great axe rest against his table.

Hmmm... this was not a good day to come... too many people... bad feelings... there will be no songs or tales today... where is Unn? Why did she tell me to come? Hmmm... He tries to conceal his discomfort by taking frequent pulls from his mug of mead. The hulking man seems eager to make himself smaller than he really is.

He gazes hungrily at the red-headed warrior woman... Mmmm... Gudrid... if I can't have Ragnhild, then maybe I can take her... or maybe I can have both of them... heh heh... He scans the room to see if Ragnhild Hrafnsdottir might also be in the Alf... Spot: 7 + 2 = 9.

Succeeded on both Knowledge (local) checks. 11 + 2 = 13; 16 + 2 = 18.

Note: italicized text = thoughts, which haven't been spoken aloud...

Spoiler for other PCs who succeed on a DC 10 Knowledge (local) check:

Hello Wyrd Wiklund,

Ragnarr the Fatherless, reporting for duty (all character stats, background, etc. can be found in my profile).

I like the info you've provided in this section.

Let me know if I need to make any modifications to my character.

Let's play!!!