Black Dow's Iobarian Saga (Inactive)

Game Master Black Dow

Toilday 9th Lamashan [Late Autumn]

As the dawn kisses the Icerime Peaks to the West, you begin your journey from the trade-post of Gánnáhwǽr to the beleaguered fishing village of Kustnir to the North.

The expansive tundra heath of Iobaria spreads before you; snow heather bush speckles the landscape, with the occasional tor or copse of bloodpine catching the eye.

To the East the logging community of Ciselwella lies about a day’s travel, while similarly afar to the North, the aforementioned Kustnir sits on the shore of the eerie Lake of Mists and Dreams.

The Northern route typically heads up past the small mountain of Little Icerime, then scouts the lake’s edge until reaching the Nirrus Ferry. However this path skirts the Icerime Peaks, inviting danger to those travelling in small numbers...

East, the river can be forded with relative ease, and the inland country offers relative protection until the stockade of Ciselwella can be reached.

The air’s chill, makes your breath crisp and visible, as the cold Iobarian wind whistles hauntingly across the tundra.

The road gentlemen, and Kustnir await...

Kevkul, we áfaran east to Ciselwella. This be me eard. Where be your eard?

Translation:Kevkul, we are traveling on a journey east to Ciselwella. This is my home. Where is your home?

His breath steamy in the cold air reminds Kevkul to wrap his winter clothing tighter around him.

Off to a march then. If you think all dwarfs are besolcen Luke, then think again, looks can be deceiving. *winks*

Translation: Hmph...I do not think you dim witted at all. I did not mean to offend in the least. Come...we will make the best of our journey to my home, Ciselwella. let's find suitable fords at the forks of Nirrus, eh?

Luke smiles and leads Kevkul on the half-day journey to find suitable fords across the Nirrus in an easternly route to Cisewella. I can take 20 on the survival check for a 26 to find the appropriate locations. If you need the swim checks to pass, let us know Black Dow.

Kustnir

The mournful skirl of pipes drifts from the ale-house as you mull over your lineage forged centuries past in this cold land. Thoughts soon turn to destiny and what the fickle Norns may have in store for you...

Liten Mun growls as another curious villager furtively passes you both. Since you arrived in Kustnir two days past, the village has remained shrouded in a thick lake mist.

Upon arriving at the stockade you were directed to their drinking lodge “The Kelpies Net” while the village council argue and fret over the best course of action for their blighted village. In due time a meeting with the village ealder; Pater Fisc, is promised…

In the meantime all you have discerned to date from the taciturn drinkers (who fear to meet your gaze), is that someone or something has been visiting murder and death upon the village.

Yet since you arrived no one has been slain or went missing… Perhaps the fell assassin rightly fears the presence of a Northman huscarl… or perhaps it merely watches and waits…

Luke's skill and knowledge of the land makes for an easy fording of the Nirrus and traversing o' the land. Your legs get a little numbed but nothing major - so no Swim chacks required this time ;)

The advice of Gánnáhwǽr's captain of the guard (weardgeréfa) Garrick Emberspear echoes in your ears:

"Been reports of a Déofol Docga pack in the Icerimes boys. Don't think they will venture across land, but best keep an eye for fótlást an' make for Ciselwella at haste."

Déofol Docga = wild dogs crossbred with winterwolves. Iobarians call them "devil dogs"

fótlást = track/spoor

Garrick was probably the source of your rumours as he likes a drop, but is a brave and hearty man. Luke you consider him a friend. Kevkul you found him to be somewhat of a kindred spirit

As the light begins to fade the stockade of Ciselwella comes into view, their longhouse and timber watchtower a welcome sight...

Loving the Old English hybrid speak gents - works well and is setting my mind as a standard of how the game will go - cheers for the effort - much appreciated

ealu: strong drink/ale
hlísan: rumors of fame and glory
nihtslæp: night's sleep/rest
seledréam: festive pleasure of the joyous hall

As your travelling West to Berghof, I see two possible/plausable routes. Disa arrives in Kustnir via boat from Okirmirr or Orlov (and thus alone) or she is currently stopped in the logging hamlet of Ciselwella (where Luke and Kevkul are about to shelter the night). Your call - either works fine for me.

You press North through the Berghof hinterlands, following the stretched fingers of the Nirrus to where they meet the fabled Lake of Mists and Dreams. Several days of travel sees you overnight in the odd steading and hunter’s lodge. The usually stoic Berghof folk know you well, and their hearths are always open to you, for the simple trade of advice, remedy or your skill at healing. Through them you hear your regional rumours...

Your journey veers North West as you skirt the trade trails of Gánnáhwǽr. Two hunters seek your council on strange tracks they found in the tundra a Knowledge: Nature check please – roll will determine your thoughts.

Upon leaving these men you plan to make for the Nirrus Ferry situated just before the river mouth. A mooted diversion to visit your dead master’s associate and fellow sage Quern has been delayed due to Kustnir’s plight.

The ferry is operated by Dirwin (nicknamed “Dourwin” by the blunt locals) a man who, like you who is an outsider who evokes gossip, but whose expertise is invaluable to the community. Dirwin is cantankerous, but he always had time and a dram for you and your Master (and more surprisingly never charged for crossings).

Actually meant Knowledge: Arcana rather than Nature. Same bonus I guess :)

Muli trudges under his enormous pack. Somethings never change. Losing his master, inheriting his estate, buying that Cyclopean treatise, all changed his life, but here he is, back in the wilds of Iobaria trudging under his enormous pack.

The news is always bad. I've been away, but it seems things weird things are on the increase. What with those tracks, and the gossip going around the hearthfires. A plague is coming, that is what the people fear..I can't dismiss that. Master Geir could always read the signs and be in the right place at the right time...is Kustner the sign?

Muli plods up to the ferryhouse. The hour was late, so he hoped Dirwin was up for company instead of just ferrying him across. Of course, Dirwin was never up for company, but that doesn't mean much for Muli. Where ever he set his pack, that was where Muli would stay, people found it easier that way rather then trying to move the pack or him.

He sees the door open, and Dirwin inside beside his fire. Muli quietly steps in. In a familiar voice as if the two had just talked yesterday and not nine months ago, [b]"Ho Dirwin. What's the word. Can you tell me something that doesn't have people's heads full of spooks and spirits." With a rattle and clank, his pack plops down just inside the door.

The tracks you were shown inland from the Icerimes were unmistakeably of Déofol Docga, or “Devil Dogs”. These beasts are a crossbreed between wild dogs and winter-wolves.

You know they rarely hunt alone, often allied with humanoids. They are renowned for tearing the throats of downed prey and possess a baleful howl that freezes courage like ice.

Old Durwin raises his head and momentarily his hand slips to the gnarled cudgel by his side. As he recognises your voice you swear you see a momentary smile play on the old ferryman’s craggy features.

”Heh. Wild Muli come tae call… still carrying that godfersaken jotunn sized pack I see laddie! Well come in I suppose – warm yer bones by the fire”. He watches as you unload your gear, absentmindedly stoking the fire as he mulls your question…

”Aye bad business in Kustnir. Don’t tell me much, but just that there is fell business going in the village. Murders and the like…”

He passes you a bowl of watery fish stew before continuing;

” Ferried a merchant and his Ælf guard a couple of days back who’d been through Kustnir. Said they seen strange writings on walls in blood no less… Talked o’ a fell creature blighting the village, moving without a trace…Me I reckon that’s all pish! It’s just one o’ them villagers gone a bit crazy… mark my words. Drinking from that Lake’ll make you crazy… Heh! Eat up lad – good Nirrus cypera that is!”

Ælf = Elf
Cypera = Spawning Salmon

ácennicge - mother
eard - home
cwén - consort

Luke and Kevkul share many ales, and as the night grows dark and cold, they move to the childhood home of Luke. After a good night's rest, they rise to a hearty breakfast cooked by Luke's mother. The homecoming is warm, but short-lived. After a fry-up of eggs, bacon, beans and tomatoes, the satiated travelers step out of the dwelling to head north on the last leg of their journey to Kustnir and the trouble that awaits.

The hospitality is sparing but welcome none-the-less. Kevkul you notice that Ciselwella is a simple logging community. No airs or graces, the loggers are hard men and woman, and typically much more insular than Luke or his mother.

Luke's mother bides you both fairwell and the Headman of Ciselwella; Heáfodman Barrett warns you to be "mindful o' whatever threatens Kustnir and if it be o' any concern tae the other communities o' Berghof"...

The morning air is still crisp and the heather glitters with hoar-frost. To the North of the logging community the familair sight of the heavy timber North Brycg spans the bubbling Nirrus River.

Any parting words or equipping can be done here before you make the last push North to Kustnir (just under half a days travel)

Heáfodman = Headman

Brycg = Bridge

Me Heáfodman, as always, i'll be keeping you informed of any troubles that would impact our lands.

After grasping forearms with Barrett, he turns to Kevkule anything you need before.

Well, my friend, we are off. Are there any feorhnest or bebyreþ you may need before we head to North Brycg? We are only a half-day from our destination.

Heáfodman - Headman
feorhnest - provisions
bebyreþ - supplies
North Brycg - North Bridge

The boys have pulled out of Ciselwella and are heading North across the North Brycg (North Bridge). Franax is also a fishing village in decline, so Kustnir's plight will have been whispered about there.

Part of me likes the idea of Disa arriving in Kustnir through the mist by boat... They are more likely to drop her NE of Kustnir for fear of the blight affecting the village returning to Franax

Laughing, Muli opens the bag to reveal a stash of Taldan tobacco.

reikna = reckon
lifandi = alive
dauður = dead
dryen = animal
posi = small bag
kona = woman

The craggy ferryman’s eyes light a little at the appearance of the pouch and he reaches eagerly for his old clay pípa;

”Talden eh? Good… Bloody good! I’ll take a good smoca over a kona anyday… Much quieter har! Join me in a smoca Muli? I’ve another pípa somewhere around here…”

He looks around the cluttered ferry-lodge as he readies his pipe for smoking. Almost as an aside he questions you;

So set on being Kustnir bound lad? Bad business like I said afore… Ye’d be better off out of it Muli… stick to the wilds I say… You and that pack o’ yours. I know Geir would’ave helped them, but that old man was too giving o’ his heortscræf so he was. Well he took in you didn’t he har-har!”

The ferryman’s laugh is as grizzled as he is, but he seems genuinely relieved to have company this eve, and genuinely concerned at your intentions...

Pípa = pipe
Smoca = smoke
Kona = woman
Heortscræf = heart

Believe Randall is away for the week, so unlikely this wee preamble will move too much for a few days. Am happy to move it on or wait until Randall is back [Sunday/Monday is looking a likely bet for the game thread to kickoff]

In the meantime Luke I noticed your still packing a bow and crossbow in your equipment :)

The Saga begins...

The haar lies low and thick as the Franaxian fishing boat you’ve chartered kisses the pebbly shoreline of The Lake of Mist and Dreams.

The gruff héafod of the crew gives you a yellow toothed smirk. It became quickly became clear that they rarely see women of your calibre in these plague blighted parts, but any designs on your virtue were quickly tempered by the weapons and arms you bear.

”This is as far as we go swanmay…” Fear and a little contempt dance throughout his words; ”Kustnir is a place o’ awyrgda. We’ll not have their taint landing on our village!”

The other two unctuous fishermen; one a weasel thin, the other fat like a hog, both nod and murmur at their héafod’s apparent wisdom on the matter.

Kustnir… (he spits overboard) … is westansúðan, just follow the smell o’ misery and you’ll find it soon enough-heh-heh!”

His tone becomes brusque again as he wipes his dripping nose and gestures to shore:

”So out you get gúðcwén, get those dainty feet cold and wet lest you’d rather stay warm here with us har-har-har… Once you’ve paid o’ course… in coin or any other way you care for…

The three louts chuckle and eye you hungrily, but none dare act.

Héafod = head
Awyrgda = the cursed
Gúðcwén = warrior queen
Westansúðan = Southwest

Muli finally taking to the warmth of the soup and hearth, sheds his coat and boats. Durwin must wonder why he bothers, from above his tunic, out of his sleeves, over his feet sprouts the thickest hair on a man this side of Thurn the Half-Bear. His face carried these same traits with short thick beard, sideburns, and a mustache that one could almost imagine served as whiskers if Muli ever tried to stick his head in a hollow log. From under a fur hat fell a long mane of hair that partly fell across his face.

The smoke now helped obscure what little bit of human seemed in his appearance, his eyes and nose, but in the fire's light Durwin could see the dark shine of of an animal's eyes, and thoughts go to nights sitting around lonely campfires and seeing similar eyes watching how low he might let the fire go down.

Muli breaks this thought when his pipe is stoked to his satisfaction. "Aye, I here ya. I'm not to clear why I do it now that Geir is gone. The fólk don't see me the same way as they did him. But the börn...the börn are always glad to see the like of me. And as long as I can help them, I can put up with the suspicions and names from their foreldrar."

fólk = people
börn = children
foreldrar = parents

Need to check this, what language are we speaking...I am using an icelandic translator...should it be norse or sweedish?

Luke & Kevkul – happy to have you guys retrofit any additional supplies that you wish to purchase or trade for in. Neither of you are particularly flush with wealth tho…

The heavy timber North Brycg looms from the light morning mist. As you both clomp over the bridge locals using the bank to fish for a breakfast of Nirrus Cypera give cursory nods.

Soon the undulating hills separating Kustnir from the valley come into view. Beyond the hills it becomes obvious that the lake haar sits much thicker, and thus visibility suffers accordingly. Whatever ills or threatens the fishing village, with such seasonal weather conditions as a cloak, it would be relatively easy to move undetected and unopposed.

Careful steps through thick snow-coloured hæþ and treacherous gullys are slow, but between Luke’s observations on the outdoorsmanship and Kevkul’s interesting take on personal theology, the conversation is clement, even if the weather is not.

By the time the distant glow of Kustnir’s fish oil lamps beckon the way, the autumn sleet has become an unwelcome travelling companion…

Unsurprisingly the wooden gate of the village’s stockade appears closed, although through the fog’s gloom, movement is evident along the timber palisade…

North Brycg = North Bridge
Cypera = Spawning Salmon
Haar = Mist/Fog
Hæþ = heather/heath

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (19) + 4 = 23

Durwin nods as he draws on his pipa. ”You pay them dysig fools no heed. What do they know o’ the wilds eh?”

The ferryman mulls his words then leans in close as if afraid someone will hear his utterings;

”Ask me lad, the áwiergednes on Kustnir comes from the hills and Peaks. Hinderlings are back. Know everyone seems tae think them dead and gone, but they live deep in the caves, and are nasty bastards...”

Suddenly looking weary Durwin, shoots you a look of serious concern;

”Something was lurking around my ferry couple o’ days ago – deep o’ the night. Smelt and felt áfor like... Only Hinderlings smell like that... like death gone bad.”

The grizzled ferryman hobbles stiffly to the lodge door, checking the heavy locking bar is set.

”Heh. I may be cantankerous bastard, but least here I’m safe... (pats his club) ...in the village tho... in the haar... in the night. Hinderlings will cut you quick and eat you slow... You go to Kustnir, for Geir’s sake be careful... Right enough talk - you've an early start iffen your going to be a hero!”

Dysig = ignorant
Áwiergednes = wickedness, curse
Hinderling = mean, wretch, sneak. Local name given to cave dwelling degenerate humans.
Áfor = sour, bitter
Haar = mist, fog

Height 2d10 ⇒ (7, 3) = 10

At the héafod's words the six foot three inch tall woman quickly stands up. She jumps over the side shattering the glass of the lake's calm surface. In water to her thighs, she grabs her belongings and begins walking to the shore. Casually she pulls out a handful of coins and flings them behind her. The sounds of the few coins which land inside the boat are mocked by those that hit the water or the side of the hull before splashing down.

Walking up the pebbled shore she calls back, "Sounds just like your hlandende; landing every place but where you átyhting. Of course, rihtscytte like yours explains how your dóttir maintains her andsumnes."

Disa hikes up her flag in a final salute to the sailors and heads southwest toward the city of Kustir. Fool! To dare the tongue of a skald.

As she walks, Disa looks to the forest on her left, alert for any sounds or flashes of movement. She sniffs at the scent on the breeze for woodsmoke to indicate how close the city might lie.Her thoughts roam back over the past several weeks and her trek through the plague landss. [i]I hope those miserable oarmen are wrong. It would be too bad if the plague has reached a large city like Kustir.[/b]

Hlandende = pissing
átyhting = aim (verb)
Rihtscytte = aim (adj)
Dóttir = daughter
Andsumnes = purity, chastity, virginity

Your call is quickly answered as fish oil lamps gather above you on the wall. The clear voice of a woman hails you;

”Luke of Cisewella eh? With an æweweard no less! In these grim times and dark nights féðegest are not welcome, but you both surely are... Pater will be pleased. Open the gate!”

With a creak, the stockade’s heavy gate opens, inside the village of Kustnir beckons. The shapes of three spearmen stand, oil lamps in hand, as the sound of light footsteps descending from the wall drum your arrival.

To the right stands a dwarf bearing shield and axe who waves you inward;

”More beornwigan eh? Tarry not then – I’ve smocan to be done!”

Æweweard = priest
Féðegest = guest on foot
Beornwigan = warrior heroes
Smocan = smoking

Love it – Disa is an awesome character – not to be trifled with!

Unsurprisingly there is no murmurs of protest from the oarsmen. As you walk Southwest you hear their squabbles and are heartened that your earlier auger foretold shining death for one of them...

Soon they are long gone and as your skirt the Lake’s coast, the haar thickens, but your serene resolve welcomes its cloak.

Thoughts turn to your mother's hearth wisdom;

”The things in the haar, in the dimma, they will fear you my dottir. Remember the sun, the light... rísa – while the nótt... bylta. Rise always and never fall, my light of the North.

Onwards you push, your thoughts only interrupted by a whispered scream on the wind as death and greed and fate intertwine...

Then in the fading light you see the dim glow of fish oil lamps and the dark outline that can only be the village of Kustnir... place is actually a small village rather than a city. Disa may be a tad disappointed lol

As you approach voices in Auld Iobarian are heard in conversation as light spills from the stockade’s opening gate...

Haar = mist/fog
Dimma = dark
Rísa = rises
Nótt = night
Bylta = falls

We'll shift your breakfast and arrival up once the others have arrived from the night before... Looking forward to Muli's development - great character.