Perception:
Is it not true then? I should keep a piece fastened to my shield just in case then. That would at least make my marc worthwhile.
Sense Motive:
Kevkul takes a piece of blubber and skewers it to his shield with his dagger, making his shield slick and greasy looking.
Perception:
What is a "Bunyip"? I have not heard of these...is it perhaps a local word for them?
Profession, Fisherman:
Durwin takes a slow draw of his pipa, then smiles grimly;
"Bunyip's are big grundwiergen lad, like a huge seal with a mouth full o' razors and a bloody temper to match. Their roars can freeze even the bravest heartsThey use the Nirrus as an inlet feeding ground - anything fléotan downriver they devour..."
He screws his leathery face up in mock disgust
"Best not be gang fer a swim lessen yer packing some blubber or bunyip carcass like yer savvy dweorg companion here..."
Weather for the rest of the day should prove to be cold but calm. As usual there is always the chance of mist nearer the Lake and closer to the Icerimes the weather may turn more inclement... (roll again nearer Quern's Hermitage)
Strange... Skølrykk says, grabbing a chunk of blubber and smearing his shield with it.
Ragnar chooses to not rub down with putrefying organic matter, trusting in the strength of steel.
"They never seem to bother Muli when crossing with Durwin. Must think him the sweeter of us two."
Luke looks skeptically at the members of the party rubbing guts on themselves, and he simply shakes his head with a chuckle. He refrains from applying the blubber as well.
Durwin beckons you all aboard the ferry, nodding towards the oar seats should anyone wish to fill them.
As Durwin performs some final checks, he addresses the Ulfen in the group;
"So what brings ye Ulfen lads here to Berghof... 'sides being heroes o' the sagas o' course har-har!?"
Ragnar pauses before responding to Durwin, proffering only a single word in response "Frumcynn" before picking Liten Mun up bodily - placing him towards the bow before seating beside an oar. Continuing "The blod of Olof Skötkonung passed to here from Ulfen lands in gefyrnnes, and I mean to ábeþecian where it has taken root."
Skølrykk hops on board and stows his pack beneath one of the seats. I have no home, save the sea...Now I seek my own saga! Hah! Skølrykk says, half joking half serious. There is a truth and sadness to his statement, betrayed by only his eyes. He lays his spear lengthwise on the deck beside him and takes a seat at an oar. Let us be on our way! he says, sniffing at the air.
There is no stowing his pack under a bench. Muli carefully places his pack in the prow and takes a seat next to it. In his lap sits a stuffed bullfrog. "A bit of spice for the 'Nippers if they come calling," is all he offers to the questioning gazes.
With everyone aboard Durwin pushes off with a grunt;
"Damned Northmen! Like twa aurochs! Need tae make yea smaller fer my back!"
The cantankerous ferryman casts a mock glare at both Ulfen, then at Muli's towering pack before shaking his head once again.
The flow of the Nirrus is steady but the crossing relatively calm. As the Ulfen power the ferry, Durwin helms the small tiller and soon you are the better part of the crossing done...
Below the ferry you see a couple of large shapes scythe through the water... however the dark bulk of these creatures never appoaches too near the ferry itself - maintaining a healthy distance...
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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
från midnattssolen, där de varma källorna blåsa"
"Hammaren av gudarna kommer att driva våra fartyg till nya länder
Att bekämpa horden och sjunga och gråta, Valhalla, jag kommer"
"På vi sopa med, med tröskning åra
Vårt enda mål kommer att vara den västra stranden"
Luke seats himself comfortably, with his Axe resting on his knees near the stern, by the ferryman. he scans the water diligently as they cross.
Perception:
There are beasts in the meregrund, but they do not want to bother us, it seems.
Muli looks over the side kind-of-hoping he could see them better.
Kevkul tries to concentrate his gaze on the far horizon, trying his best not upset his stomach. He keeps quiet most of the time.
Skølrykk peers over the side as he rows, keeping time with Ragnar.
Perception:
Ahhh, 'tis these, are Bunyips! I know them by another name... yes, many a good Thane has been lost to their jaws...
Perception:
Taking enough time to spy one over the side, Ragnar says to no-one in particular "Do you want we should spear one for æfengereord?"
No need Ragnar, I will secure æfengereord for us when we reach land.
As the Northmen power the ferry Durwin grimly nods at Skølrykk's and Ragnar's words;
"Aye and some bad Thanes too I'll wager! Nei lad... Bunyips make fer poor eating!"
Soon the shadowy escorts for the ferry drop off and your journey's end arrives... The ferry grinds on the shallow's of the Nirrus and Durwin nods his satisfaction;
"Quickest I've pæðee the Nirrus in a lang time! I'll toast yer earmswíð Ulfen backs tonight lads... aside my warm fire while ye all freeze in the wilds har!"
Muli nods his thanks to Durin. "Tonight, keep the fire stoked, the door locked, and the pipa filled."
He works his pack out of the boat and sadly puts the frog back in the pack with one last glance out to the water. With a heave he shoulders into his pack and is ready to go.
As they begin to traverse their route to the Little Icerime, Luke again ranges ahead and to the front flanks taking 20 on his Survival check, to bring down some dinner for their evening camp.
Survival: Taking 20 = 26
Perception:
Ragnar farewells Durwin with a gruff nod before starting away with Liten Mun in tow. The hund is obviously grateful to be back on land.
Kevkul gratefully steps onto the firm ground, before prying off his dagger and tossing the piece of blubber back into the bucket at the fore.
Skølrykk gathers his things and looks out over the water one last time. He hops onto land and bids Durwin farewell. Fléotige oferfæreld, Durwin.
He then follows Luke into the wild.
Durwin nods curtly at the departing group. He beckons towards a weathered bell set into a post;
"When yer coming back this way... ring the bell and I'll come a rowing..."
He scowls and adds;
"... make sure you ain't light by anyone neither! Icerimes are dangerous lads... 'sides you Ulfen made light work o' the bunyip channel... would hate to have to row mesel again har!"
Light winds lift the frost across the tundra as you march towards the distant looming shadows of the Icerime range.
Back on eormengrund again. I had doubts whether we could get safely across. Happy to áyppan wrong.
áyppan=proven
eormengrund=solid earth
Back on the hard, snow kissed ground of the tundra you naturally fall back into your marching pattern. The heavy crunch of the crisp ice underboot forms a strange rhythm as you walk, punctuated by the baying of Liten Mun and the creak of Muli’s oversized pack.
As you reach the edge of the Icerime peaks, your intended trail turns northwestward towards Little Icerime and Quern’s reputed hermitage. Having marched for a couple of hours, you grab a quick stop at one of the ruined building shells that litter the Iobarian countryside.
Luke and Muli have told how many buildings, both grand and humble lie lost within the realm of Iobaria... a legacy of both settlers and nobles who underestimated the harshness of life in this cold place.
The ruined croft’s shell offers scant protection from the cold, but hunkering down it allows opportunity for some food and pause for thought...
You notice a set of tracks upon the tundra heading North from your position and hear the faint “crunch” of frosty footsteps in the far distance...
Some 100 feet ahead on the trail, you make out a midnight blue cloaked figure shuffling through the snow... Additionally you remember Gilstur’s sour grumblings about an Orlovian merchant’s tall alfur ferhweard who wore a cloak of deep blue...
Perception:
Crouching down to give Liten Mun a scratch, Ragnar speaks "Tracks to the benorþan here and I hear a hwa walking" he then stands and brings skaggig ready afore him.
"I kenna hear it too." He shoulders out of his pack and pulls out a squirrel and a weasel. One in each hand, he smiles a wicked grin, "Canna be too cépan."
Perception:
Hmm... Shall we investigate? Skølrykk asks, standing and stepping outside with his spear.
Hail, traveler!
Perception:
Aye
Luke notches an arrow and advances next to Skolrykk.
Hummph, try not to fire first and ask questions later. Whatever it is, let it prove hostile before it is dispatched.
Kevkul readies his crossbow in a firing stance.
Perception:
Your senses all hone in towards the distant crunch of footsteps; Some 100 ft ahead of your current position, a cloaked figure walks wearily through the snow kissed landscape.
At Skølrykk's hailing, the tall figure stops dead in its tracks. The deep blue cloak it wears seemingly unmoving despite the light breeze whistling across the Iobarian tundra...
Luke moves to J14 in the cover of the tree and readies a Blood Root arrow and aims at the Alfur, readying an action to fire if things go south with the conversation.
Bidding Liten Mun to stay put, Ragnar moves slowly over the rubble while keeping steady eyes on the alfur.
"Hail alfur, what brings you here and where is your céapmann?"
Will you join us and share tídunga, wegférend? Skølrykk calls, stepping through the rubble.
Sense Motive:
Muli stays in the rubble, but keeps his rodents ready for a sign of trouble. "Muli here. Not looking for áglác."
Kevkul stays where he is, training his crossbow at the lone figure. Keeping mum, he observes the scout open up conversation.
At your hails the alfur stops in his tracks, standing motionless as Ragnar, Luke & Skølrykk move forward towards the lone traveller.
As Luke secures a vantage point, the noise of the wheezing north wind noticably rises and the cloaked figure arcs like a wayfinder's arrow to face the warden's new position.
Even from a distance you see the being that once perhaps the alfur is now gaunt and a pale, sickly gray. Its body and cloak glitter not with magic nor fine thread, but of the ice crystals that coat him from hooded head, to booted foot.
Outstetched towards Luke, the alfur's hands in now in claws, each crowned with translucent icy blue shard.
Silent it still stands, save for the low keen of the tundra wind that seems to emit from its slack, hanging mouth...
Initiative
Ragnar
Skølrykk
Luke
Muli
Cold Dead Hands
Kevkul
Round 1
Skølrykk Dråthenborn recoils as he sees what has become of the man. He approaches with his spear raised.
Surround him! What....?
Gently pulling the trigger, the bowstring releases with a sudden twang as the bolt sails through the air towards the icy abomination.
ranged bolt attack:
damage:
What foul undead has the ice created now?
Kevkul searches inward for anything that could put a name to this figure.
Knowledge(religion): max 10 untrained..yet
Muli moves up past the next pile of rubble (L-14) trying to get a better look at what form of transformation has overcome the Alfur.
Luke fires the Blood Root at the Alfur.
LB ATT:
LB DAM"
Round 1:
Bringing skaggig to bear afore him, Ragnar moves forward with a stoic smirk of malevolent intent.
Aye no probs there using the spear butt as a staff
The cold thing that was once an alfur turns, its frozen eyes glittering beneath its rigid frost encrusted hood. Luke's arrow finds the mark but only loosely pierces the frozen folds of the creature's cloak. Kevkul's bolt is less accurate, well missing the mark...
It's slack jaw hangs even wider and a cone of howling frozen wind erupts from the once alfur enveloping the group's eager Northmen warriors;
Round 2
Reflex:
Skølrykk dodges aside gracefully, rolling to come up crouching with his spear ready. He shivers nonetheless.
HP: 20/25
He charges at the creature, spinning his spear in mid stride to swing the butt of it at the undead frame of the Alfur.
Spear-butt:
Damage:
Luke moves to G9 and fires a seconf Blood Root Arrow.
LB ATT:
LB DAM: