| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Rangar shakes his head "Nay, no sleep beneath the earth for him. If you worry he'll rise again I'll see him butchered and body broken... but I'll not see him buried."
Unless opposed by Maclise, Ragnar empties Swige's pockets before hacking through the corpse at each major joint... ankle, knee, hip, shoulder, elbow, wrist and neck. Kicking the severed limbs apart as he does.
Burning would have worked too, no...?
Spitting on what remains of the butchered meat on the ground Ragnar shakes his head "Burning him would hae still given the bastard more honor than he was due. Sky buried, flesh consumed by animals, spirit given no rest... that was what is deserved."
The search of Swige's body bears little fruit save the fellowing;
A Masterwork Dagger
A ring of usually fine workmanship and wrought from heavy gold
A small garnet gemstone (hidden inside a pouch containing flour)
A vintage Auld Iobarian platinum coin (also inside the flour)
12 GP, 8 SP and 13 CP
Ǽdensor also casts a grim stare at the dead drover's body;
"Agreed Nordmann... he was a blight on min honour and I'll not see him buried... let him rise and wander for all I care... this dwoerg would enjoy killing him myself..."
Maclise shrugs and acknowledges her employers wishes.
The auld merchant turns once again to your company;
"So debts are paid? We should go our seperate ways now... it would be for the best I think..."
Kevkul steps forward, a weary look upon his bearded face;
"Some of us shall part. Others shall journey together anew... The Splendig Wesa spoke to me whilst in my cups last night. I am to escort this beloved artificer of the Drinker for such time as the cup is empty..."
The dweorg priest claps each of you in turn before bidding Petrik to gather their gear and load it upon the Highmettle wagon;
"Sheordan my friends! We shall geflndan again... I have geleafful in that and the Spledig Wesa's plans..."
With a grin the dwoerg raises his flask and toasts you all.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Luke approaches Kevkul.
It was an honour to have met ya', Kev. Sheordan, always, until you return to the mud.
He turns and joins the others.
At this Disa also chooses to stand, her otherworldly beauty hidden by a hood, but her voice rings melodic and strong;
"I too takk my leave. The wyrde decree I am needed elsewhere, though we too shall meet again brothers and sister of the blade. But I do not go ídelhende..."
With that the rune caster bids farewell to each of you in turn, with a hand clasp and a whisper...
Ware the mountains upon mountains. All cloaked in frost. All most fell.
Both ills and cures - the past provides...
Mind that the Withered Hand In Iron is still indeed withered
When the fire burns brightest - honour the dead in your deeds
To reclaim this realm's lost legacy - you must face the fore bear
Nadia hugs Disa. Until we meet again. She walks over and stands next to Luke.
Muli bids his new friends farewell,"Muli's wanderings shall surely bring our paths together some day."
He moves to join the others fixing to continue, "We survive treachery, yet lose two companions....Does not seem right to Muli." He shoulders into the giant pack and watches the centaurs move about the perimeter of the dwarven camp.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
The burly northman pockets Swige's possessions, curious momentarily over the coin - but thinking it a matter best raised when clear of the merchant.
Ragnar nods grimly at Kevkul's words of parting... his leaving willingly forestalling harsh words that might have needed be said after the dweorg came upon Ragnar while the black thirst was upon him. To Disa he offers a handclasp before waving her away in silence... she had left before and come again, perhaps that was to be her way again.
He had also spent all words he wished upon the merchant, bidding him upon his way and sharing a lock of eyes with the centaur as they padded onwards at his side.
Luke unrolls the map on which he has outlined the Dwarven caravan's anticipated path to Hálbriden.
Gather 'round here and take a look at the map.
He scratches his facial hair, thinking that he needs a shave, and ponders a route to get them there quicker due to their smaller numbers as he points to the map.
The Púca plague the village of Hálbriden, here, far more than my home of Ciselwella, located to the north, here. The Púca’s fortified lair is located in a hillock due east of Hálbriden, from all accounts. We can take a similar route as the caravan, but I would prefer to approach from the north after a stopover in Ciselella to supply and prepare for an attack on the Púca.
Hefting skaggig back across his shoulders Ragnar bends to give Liten Mun a scratch behind the ears "By your word warden, lead and I'll follow."
Luke's pathfinding takes the drained group to his home in less than a day... The march is uneventful but the loss of companions and voices are noticably missed...
As the sun's last light ebbs and the hus fires are lit, you find yourselves in the simple logging community of Ciselwella.
With Luke amongst you, the hospitality is simple but welcome to your weary bones. 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 all welcomm and the Headman of Ciselwella; Heáfodman Barrett bids you tell him of events in Berghof.
Ragnar stretches, which forces pained and loud creaks and cracks from his bones "Best we spend a night and come upon the bastards fresh nei? Depending upon the morrow we might be wading in blod... our own and theirs."
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
I agree, brother, it would be best to approach at dawn. Let us rest well and move on the Puca in the morning.
With that, Lukle retreats to his old bedroom to sleep. thoughts spin through his mind regarding the best way to scout the stronghold in the morning.
"Muli appreciates the kindness you have shown him and your brother's friends, Miss Falgren. You have kept up a very nice house in such a rough town."
Luke retreats to his old room, sleeping soundly over the watchful gaze of his old wooden unicorn Pedro
His mother smiles at Muli's compliment
"I try Master Dyren... without a man around to help it can be diffcult... and lonely..."
Ragnar spends the evening mostly outside in the cold with his hund before finding a spot within on the floor to take his slumber. No doubt Luke's mother gets little sleep in between his sonorous snores.
Skolrykk gladly accepts the shelter of Luke's familial home.
Thank you, madam Falgren, it is a welcome place. he says, taking a place near the hearth.
Fireday 19th Lamashan [Late Autumn/Early Winter]
Weather: ; Snow...
It has been 5 long days since you left the mournful howl o’ the wolf at Gánnáhwǽr; 2 distant days since the parting of the ways with the dweorg merchant Highmettle and his Company, and one long eve since the fires and simple hospitality o' Luke’s hearthfolk warmed both bones and spirits anew.
Luke's expert tracking skills have been fruitful, and now, as noon looms and the snow gently falls, your depleted company huddle before your goal: the Lair of the fell Púca – where perhaps some answers to the riddle of Kustnir’s ills may be found...
The Púca are also known as the woad-geblin in local Iobarian cant. They are goblin like creatures, though with a seeming perchance for blue body paint.
Long have they troubled the region; petty and cruel raiders who oft keep the forca-tægl as watch beasts.
The Púca have been driven from lair to lair over the decades, but of late have settled in this abandoned ruin – once an ancient Iobarian watchtower – little save the foundations and underkeep now remain...
As you near the Lair, thickets of young blod pine, heather and tundra gorse peek through the stark, hoarfrost kissed landscape.
Then some 50 feet before you it appears - the snow covered ruins that can only be The Púca Lair...
Above ground an old fortified wall still stands, whilst to the fore, a small entrance to the underkeep can still be seen amid piled snow and sparse undergrowth...
A warding hand goes to Ragnar's side, warning Liten Mun to be steady. The hund goes low to the ground as the Ulfen brings skaggig from shoulders to ready pose before him. Sniffing the air...
Perception:
...Ragnar begins to take measured steps through the snow... frost crunching underfoot as he moves closer.
Luke smiles upon reaching the destination, and he approaches silently without leaving a trace of his passing, even in the snow and ice. His longbow is drawn and an arrow notched.
Perception:
Stealth:
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Muli pauses to pull what looks like a shrunken Raccoon head out of a pouch. He gives it a shake and it sloshes a little. He scratches a wax plug off and he drops a pinch of something (dirt?), before drinking from the hole.
After drinking from the raccoon head, Muli doubles over and the taste gets him to gag a little, but he tries to remain quiet. When he straightens, his brown bushy eyebrows had turned jet black, despite his hair and beard remaining brown, his ears have enlarged and his mustache has taken on whisker qualities on an obvious elongated...snout?
He puts the head away and his hands come back out with two stuffed animals, the ice toad and a ground squirrel. "Muli is ready..<chitter-chitter>
Ragnar's scowl see's little outwith the ruin and the promise of redhanded deeds.
Like an tundra cat, Luke moves silently and quickly scouting near the ruin, before heading back to the group...
You notice there seems to be little signs of activity or inhabitation within/near the ruin... which for a lair of raiding creatures seems a little strange... presuming of course this is the primary entrance...
Luke gathers the group close with gestures.
Seems to be little going on around the ruins on this side. It may not be the main entrance. Would ya have me circle around, or to you want to make our way in here?
Frerin has spent the past few days in quiet thought. After several years alone, he was finding it difficult to relate to his new companions.
He had been happy by himself in the grove for the past decade, but things had changed. The signs were all there...the change in migration patterns; the severity of the cold, harsh winters; the silence of the fey...not to mention the death of his good friend, Quern. Yep...Frerin knew it was time to step into action.
As the group walks toward the Puca Lair, he bends over and picks up some snow. He takes a bit on his index finger and licks it. He looks around and then watches as Luke sneaks up closer to scout the area.
Looking on with pride, he whisper to no one in particular:
That Luke is un duguþ now.
Ragnar keeps eyes on the entrance and frowns "Circle around, see if there's any other way in... I'll keep eyes on here." knowing that the others would be more likely to be able to circle the compound unseen. He then catches sight of what Muli has become and his brow creases even further... but he says nothing.
Luke, very at home in his wintery element as a Warden of the North, nods curtly at Ragnar. He then smiles at his old friend and teacher Frerin.
Care to follow me at a safe distance so that we do not become too exposed, old friend.
Luke stays low with his bow drawn and circles around the outskirts at a safe distance to see if there is another more prevalent entry or activity of the Puca.
Perception:
Stealth:
I am afraid I will be too loud Luke. I will walk a ways back though so if you see anything I can stop before I alarm it. I have been study morphing magic and soon I will be able to transform into an animal and sneak with you! Frerin walk behind the ranger as he heads around the ruins.
Muli shrugs off his pack and it lands with a heavy dull thud. He spends a few moments rousting about in it, chittering. He comes out with additional animals and stuffs them into a smaller satchel.
He shrugs, Now Muli is ready. Fighting Puca is no place for that pack." He bites the tip of his glove and pulls it off, a black furred and clawed hand is revealed. He does the same with the other.
In the ruins ahead, the crest of a spear can be seen - wavering rhythmically in its wielders hand , with the rusted crown of their helm also just visible...
You see no tracks to where the guard is stationed, nor hear no sound saw the rattle of a spear shaft in the wind...
Your keen dweorg eyes however see more than the human ken... a thin wire runs from the ruins where the spear and helm crest can be seen... a wire than runs into the entrance of the underkeep...
The ruin looks like it could be easily scaled, although stealth might prove difficult...
Luke returns to put his head together with the others.
I see one sentry by the spear shaft and helm. How do we want to proceed? I suggest scaling the walls. Should be easy to climb, and maybe the more silent folk go first, with the others behind?
When Luke returns: Do not look, but there is a wire from the entrance of the underkeep to the helm and spear. Someone is trying to lead us away from the entrance.
Frerin frowns at the tactics.
Good catch, Frerin. let's move on the entrance then.
The ruins before you glint with a sheen of winter frost, the remainer of the keep wall sits some 30 feet high at its zenith, whilst the Underkeep entrance is barely 5 feet due to undergrowth and banked snow and ice...
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Levelling his axe at the entrance Ragnar intones "Straight in... they are just puca..."
"The Puca will not want to live up there, it is down we must go. Just avoid the wire and watch for more as we enter."
Aye, in we go!
Frerin smiles at the barbarian's comment. I like your style Ragnar! Lets burn the fools out! He prepares to follow the others in while keeping a watchful eye for an ambush.
From beyond the ruined wall the snap of a tree branch sounds out like a shot from an Alkenstar firearm.
"Ic i áwierge!" The mutterings of a feminine voice carries over the quiet snow.