Round 2:
Ragnar grimaces as his first strike misses, whirling skaggig around for a second attack.
Greataxe: for
Stepping back after his attack, he turns to Muli with a jaundiced eye to see what he has planned...
Gilstur easily dodges the arrow shot by Luke, but as he does so the hunter's guard is dropped and he takes the full force of Skølrykk's charge through his hip.
The young viking's longspear easily punches through the rusty chain-shirt inflicting a deep wound, which sprays the frosted ground with steaming crimson.
Gilstur screams, dropping his bow and arrows, before hissing through gap teeth and lashing angrily with a fish-knife;
"Huuuurhh! Northern whelp, I'll have your sýna for that!"
:
Slick with blood, his knife slips from his grasp, and he is left standing grimacing, wounded and apparently defenceless...
Meanwhile Ragnar's mighty axe finds it mark, crushing the chitinous menace momentarily flat, before it skuttles bloodily forward intent on making a meal of this new foe...
:
:
The tundra bug's large pincers close round Ragnar's waist as he feels its barbs attempt to lock and hold him...
:
Muli goes to snap the cord holding a squirrel on his pack. But as the bug crawls onto Ragnar, he hesitates.
"Stuff it!" Muli takes his hand off the rodent and moves to get behind the bug(5' adjust). From there he slashes at the bug.
Kevkul walks behind Ragnar and touches him, calling upon the blessings of the Spedig Wesa in his next actions.
Round 3
Skølrykk jumps back away from Gilstur's clumsy fish-blade and aims his spear at him. Surrender, you are weaponless! If you stand down I will not send you to your gods.
17 Luke & Skølrykk
16 Gilstur
15 Ragnar
11 Forky Tail
7 Kevkul & Muli
Gravely wounded, yet still clinging to bitter defiance, the crooked half elf hunter warily eyes Luke as he mulls Skølrykk's terms...
Luke moves to G-8 and fires at Gilstur.
Give no quarter, Skølrykk!
LB ATT:
LB DAM:
Skølrykk yells as he sees the arrow fly past.
Round 3:
Guttural growl building in his belly Ragnar's eyes go wide as he gives voice to a thunderous cry heaving Skäggig in a belligerently extravagant overhead blow
Raging Greataxe: for
Driving the metal beard deep into the creatures mid-section, though missing any vital organs.
Death howls through the clearing as at one end Ragnar's greataxe cleaves the forca-tægl in twain.
Its two halves wriggle independently, spilling bright ichor upon the frosty ground, before it ebbs and lies still...
Meanwhile Luke's arrow finds it mark, taking Gilstur full in the chest. With a wheezing groan he slumps backwards against the tree, the paste headed arrow he was reaching for falling from his grasp, before he lies motionless.
Both foes down - tundra bug is clearly dead, but Gilstur's soul may linger still...
Only because he dropped his herewæpen! This is the second time he attacked us! He is a hinderling and rumored murderer...there will not be a third!
Almost disappointed that the forca-tægl has fallen so quickly, Ragnar kicks at it's corpse "Pah, ærist lama beast. The blod fire awoken needs more satisfying áfédan." before resigning himself to the fact that it is dead, spitting on it's corpse and taking a knee for breath.
Liten Mun bounds from hiding to his master, nuzzling against his side where blod seeps through the rings in his mail.
Strike in anger if you are prepared for the spannan, he knew what he was doing, Skølrykk when he let loose the first arrow. The most decent we could do is at least give him a burial. Left out here he'd be food or worst, undead. Does anyone need treatment currently?
Luke walks over to Gilstur, and spits near his corpse.
You had it comin', hinderling, Back to the mud with you.
he looks through his possessions, specifically at his bow, cache of arrowsd and he attempts to retrieve his own. He gives a careful examination of the paste-covered arrow that Gilstur reached for.
Again, be wary of the traps on the northern side of the fierdwíc.
Knowledge Nature:
Muli picks of each half of the bug. He takes a stick and whirls it inside the carapace to help clean out each piece.
Holding the two pieces back together he sees Ragnar looking at him. "A little sap to seal the split and he will make a nice container. Even has a handle for throwing..oh yes, Muli is pleased."
I was not there when he first attacked, but yes, I see now that he had no indryhtu. Skølrykk says, eyeing the pasted arrow warily. He wipes the blood from his spear off in the snow, then on the dead elf. Let us remove those traps. he says, going over to them cautiously. He drops a rock on the mechanism to release them.
Muli tramps up with his pack, looks at Skølrykk, looks at Luke, looks down at the trapper. "Twas this what the giellende were about? Muli found a éarwicga back yonder...big one"
Without a pause, Muli sets to walking into the camp looking around. "Muli wonders if he has any critters today."
Looking at Muli's actions view askew for a few moments before shrugging his shoulders, Ragnar ruffles Liten Mun's coat with one hand before standing and moving to where the others stand around Gilstur's corpse.
Moving up to the body, Ragnar kneels again and puts one hand to Gilstur's neck, seeing if his heart still beats.
Luke takes his time mulling over the pasted arrow head but arrives at a clear conclusion:
It is blotrote or "blood root"; a venom made from the distilled peduncle of year old blod pine saplings. It saps both the willpower and stamina of those afflicted.
Luke retrieves one of his own arrows, the one missed lies broken near the tree. Of Gilstur's equipment he wears a rusted chain shirt, cold weather clothing (soiled) and a fur trimmed cloak ().
His Longbow is comparable in quality to Luke's (), fishing knife is normal for the region but with a fine antler handle ().
A quiver of 16 arrows is slung across his hip; 10 of which bear the same paste as the arrow he held. The remaining 6 arrows are all cold iron and of exceptional balance ().
A purse with A purse with 8 gold marks, 22 silver scillings and 18 copper cypren hangs around his neck. Keeping his coin company is two gold capped human teeth () and a small moonstone ().
A sortie of his camp reveals little other than the 4 bear traps. Seems Gilstur was seeking to trap more than his typical fare...
Aye it grows faint but his black heart beats still...
Ragnar retrieves the fish gutting knife that Gilstur's accomplice dropped in Kustnir when they confronted the party. Leaning in close to Gilstur, Ragnar whispers something to Gilstur before forcibly returning the knife via entry into the gut, rising under the ribcage to perforate the half-elf hunter's heart.
Ragnar wipes off any of Gilstur's blod on his hands on the other's clothing before standing and turning to Skølrykk in particular "I'd not have him nesan to stand against us eftcyme..."
Luke looks at Ragnar, and nods grimly.
Aye...
Luke puts his recovered arrow and those of Gilstur in his quiver.
This Long Bow would fetch a good price.
Kevkul watches as the Half-elf dies without a sound.
You granted him the mercy, burgwígend. I thank you for making it swift.
Ragnar nods an acceptance of Luke and Kevkul's words before adding "If we do take the flánboga and blade, best not to show it in Kustnir... some might remember it's previous ágniend"
And what about the líc? Shall we make a pyre? Skølrykk asks, looking around for suitable wood.
Perception:
Aye, that or a cairn of stone in a shallow grave.
Best we give him a burial, I would say a few words before we lay him to rest.
Kevkul easily finds a number of stones on the edges of the clearing; all that remain of ancient ruins from a bygone age.
Without much effort a small cairn is built across the body of the crooked hunter, before the priest adds his words to the blackheart’s burial…
Ragnar says no words over the cairn, knowing that if the Green disapproved of his ways it would soon be ravaged by beasts - body torn apart by scavengers so his spirit would not know rest.
Luke again takes the point in route to the ferry.
Skølrykk eyes the cairn suspiciously, clearly uncomfortable. Where I come from, we burn our dead to send the souls to the gods...but I suppose it is different here... He turns his back to the dead elf and follows Luke towards the ferry.
Responding to Skolrykk "A warrior's bebyrgung is to be earnt youngling. He was unworthy of an ád. A shallow hlæw and the Green as his dómsettend for that one."
Truly spoken burgwígend. Not by choice, but in death he returns what he has taken back to the earth.
Kevkul resumes his position in the march, just ahead of Muli.
Muli ties the insect carapace to his pack to air-dry. He will help gather stones but has no words for the dead man.
After burying the half-elf hunter’s body in his cloak under a mound of old stones, you all begin the slow hike towards the Nirrus Ferry.
Within the hour the ramshackle ferryhus appears around the bend, and 50 yards to the shoreline, stands a long figure, apparently performing checks on a large rowboat.
As he see’s first Luke, then the rest of you appear, the man slowly places a bucket he holds down and reaches for a gnarled cudgel resting by his feet. Only when Muli trudges into view heralded by his massive pack does the man’s brawny shoulders relax, he shakes his head and returns to work.
As you draw closer you clearly notice the run down nature of the ferryhus, with makeshift repairs evident. However the building is still sturdy and well fortified against both the elements and attack. Wisps of smoke trail from a thin chimney and the smells of fish stew and peat permeates the air.
Old Durwin eyes you all cautiously as approach. On the road Luke and Muli informed you the more knife tongued Kustnir locals call the cantankerous ferryman “Dourwin” (although never to his craggy face).
It strikes you all as perhaps an apt description, as the weather-beaten Iobarian humourlessly weighs up your company, his storm grey eyes wrinkling in appraisal as he greets the group with a cursory nod.
Muli calls out in a playful banter, "Durwin. I brought some paying ballast for that collection of driftwood y'call a ferry. Hur-Hur."
When he approaches close enough, he will give Durwin a nod, a flash of teeth poking through his beard. "This be Luke, mind you probably seen him about. This here's Ragnar, Kevkul, and Skølrykk. As we talked about, a bad bit a trouble down in Kustnir. With Geir gone, we are set off to find Quern for any help."
The ferryman hard eyes seem to mellow a little when Muli addresses him, before looking you each over as the alchemist gives your names...
He gives a harsh bark of a laugh;
”Heh! Muli o’ the Wudu come calling again! And this time he brings fellow æðeling with him. Quern’s place eh? Then it’s five tae cross, six including the docga... Should charge extra fer your pack boy!"
The ferryman shakes his head again with a bemused look;
"That’ll be an even 30 Scilling fer ye all in... Muli goes free... rest pay up front o’ course. Too pricey for ye an ye can cross with the bunyips nipping at yer boots har-har!”
He laughs momentarily, then adds;
”You Ulfen boys 'll be handy with an oar... Good! Save Old Durwin's back fer once... (he gives a grumbling sigh) ... Well there's soups in the pot and peat on the hearth... Warm yer bellies and hands afore we cross if you like. Any o’ you partial to a smoca... Got me some fine Taldan baccy here... (he shoots a wry wink at Muli) ”... as I never cross the lafian without first a smoka...”
The burly old ferryman pulls out pipa and a small bag, and awaits your actions.
Aye, that's 10 Scillings a'piece...here's mine. Thank you. I will take that food now.
Luke hands the ferryman a single Marc. He grabs a bowl of soup and sits near the fire to warm his bones before the crossing.
Aye, I could go for some soup as well... Skølrykk says, counting out ten silver Scillings and handing them over.
Standing before the ferryman resolutely, but not aggressively "If you want me to row, I'll not be paying. You can choose for gold or for your back - but not both." He then awaits a reply, skaggig laid flat across his shoulders and Liten Mun sitting at his heel.
The craggy ferryman eyes Ragnar, his neck almost crooking as he looks up at the big Ulfen with packed pipa in hand...
He nods, wieghing his schillings collected thus far... and smiles wryly;
"Heh... You lot only needed cross mi hand with 30 schillings... 6 per head... I've 20 already, so once mi dweorg friend here parts with his téoðe, then yer more than welcome to row for free Ulfen... Heh!"
He shakes his head once more with a scowl
"Damned Northmen - always drive a bloody hard bargain! Never knew one who didn't! Har!"
He holds out the baccy bag for any willing to join him and nods towards to ferryhus;
"Fill yer boots boys - good Nirras oypera in that stew! Smoka anyone?"
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Muli sets down his pack and flips open the top. He rummages a bit...then gets down to his biceps in rooting around...then he sticks his head in get a good look...before he has to fully climb in he comes out with his pippa and his tobacco pouch.
"Be a shame for Muli to take some of that back." As he loads his pipe from his bag. "But Muli will share your soup. Got a bowl right here in the pack." His head, with pipe in place, is soon back in his bag and a smell of burning fur and feather can faintly be smelt before he reemerges triumphantly with his bowl.
Kevkul scowls before fishing out a marc and flipping it to the boatman. He climbs aboard, untrusting of the vessel's worthiness.
Kevkul scowls a little before fishing out a marc from his pouch and flipping it out to the boatman. He takes a ginger step onto the boat, unsure of its worthiness.
Durwin takes the coin with a nod, then adds in a matter of fact tone;
"We'll be a while yet Master Dweorg. Rest assured she's sound o' hull... Besides I've still got to hook the bunyip meat tae the sides..." (he taps the bucket he was holding earlier with his boot) "...they hate smelling their own dead like..."
You notice the bucket contains cured flippered claws and strips of blubber. Additionally several rusty hooked chains are fastened to the ferry itself.
Bunyips, aquatic predators are know to be fearless, but will hestitate at the stench/presence of their own dead.
Perception:
Ragnar just offers a scowl to the ferryman's words, before moving towards the ferryhus. He does not enter, preferring to place his bulk upon the ground outside, eyes ranging the surroundings and Liten Mun at his side.
Perception :
Luke finishes the soup and crosses over to Ragnar. he squats down next to him in silence and begins to check the sky for a weather prediction. He occassionally rustles the fur on Liten Mun's neck when he ranges nearby.
Survival - take 20 = 26