GM Rednal's Northlands Saga Complete (Inactive)

Game Master Rednal

It's what the thread name says it is.

Dotting von dottingtire.

It's been a long winter, and only recently has the harsh chill began to give way to... slightly less chill. Truthfully, winter in the North tends to be on the boring side. It's too cold to farm, and while the animals are taken care of, that certainly doesn't take the whole day. As a result, people have developed many ways of passing the time. Some train their bodies, others play games, and a few like to weave tales for the enjoyment of others. (Some folk even go raiding just because they've nothing better to do, but none of you were quite so fortunate.)

Charisma (Eindrid): 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (18) + 3 = 21
Dexterity (Hakon): 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (2) + 3 = 5
Intelligence (Laralai): 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (12) + 3 = 15

The party has collectively earned 800 XP. This represents your past accomplishments during the winter as your abilities have started to mature.

Now, you have been ordered to appear before your jarl, Olaf Henrikson, Jarl of Halfstead, greatest city of the Northlands. For young members in service to his household or visitors who have wintered there but have no immediate plans for pursuing their wyrd, this is a moment of both hope and fear. Hope that he assigns you a glorious task that allows you to prove your mettle, but tinged with fear of his wrath should you fail. Your jarl is a good man, strong and battle-tested, with many famed heroic deeds to his name. Most importantly, he is a ring-giver, one who is generous to those in his service who prove themselves deserving.

After making yourself presentable, you and a few of his other retainers and guests walk through the gates of the great hall’s stockade and present yourselves to the guards at the carved wooden doors that mark the main entrance. After exchanging a few jests with these household warriors that you have known for as long as you’ve been a part of the jarl’s household, Ari Hrokson, your jarl’s herald, comes for you. "I needn’t remind you to keep polite and let the jarl speak first. And do not keep too much of his time, this is a busy day," the old skald states. He then announces you to the jarl, in order of your social precedence.

"My lord. I present Hakon Grunson, son of your cousin - Jarl Grun - who is half of the way through his stay here to learn under you. I also present Eindrid Lawspeaker, traveling skald, who has spun many excellent tales for our entertainment this winter. Finally, I present the newest member of your household, Laralai the healer."

The hall is dimly lit, for this is a normal day and not a cause for feasting. Only a few huscarls stand about the room, but several thralls busy themselves putting up garlands of flowers and green boughs, preparations for the upcoming Feast of Freyja. The jarl is seated at the end of the feasting table in his chair, an ornate piece of work carved from the trunk of an oak. He is leaning in and talking with a stranger, a well-dressed man with the bearing of an envoy. As you approach, you hear the jarl say, "...and thirty-five cattle, that’s all her dowry will be."

The jarl turns to you. "Good, you have come quickly and well comported. This speaks kindly of you and your kin. Sit and partake of an early meal; you will need it, for I have a task for you. My three daughters, Inga, Fastvi, and Runa, wish to go out this afternoon and gather flowers for the feast. As this is a rightful thing for young girls to do, I am allowing it. They need to be guarded, and this is the task I set before you."

"I know you have longed for a chance to prove yourselves and rise in my favor as well as allow your mind’s-worth to shine, but there is no spear-din today and no chance to shed battle-dew. All I have is this task: Spend a spring afternoon watching young girls as they pick flowers in the meadows. When you have your own halls and have seen the swans of blood sip on many a foeman’s wound-sea, such a day as this will be a boon beyond naming. So remember it well and pray that you have many more like it. Now, let us eat. But before that, allow me to introduce our bread-brother this morning, Ottar Gundrikson, skald and herald to the Jarl Ref Solumundson of the Vale."

The food available is simple, but hearty, and consists of black bread, butter, the last of the winter’s pickled flounder, fresh spring greens (cooked with white beans and a ham hock), and several pints of beer.

You are free to talk amongst yourselves. However, to speak with either the Jarl or his guest without coming across as rude - they're still busy talking to each other - you'll need to make a Diplomacy check. You may also attempt Knowledge (Nobility) to learn more about Jarl Solumundson, and Knowledge (Local or Nobility) - a separate check - for more situational information.

Rolling some checks that will inform my post:

Check to learn about Jarl Solumundson
Knowledge (Nobility): 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (10) + 5 = 15

Situational Checks
Knowledge (Local): 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (4) + 5 = 9
Knowledge (Nobility): 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (9) + 5 = 14

If it's an "or" check, only roll one. You don't get multiple chances, just a choice of which skill to use. ^^

Jarl Solumundson is a landholder of middling importance in the Storstrøm Vale, but more importantly is joined by blood though his wife to the powerful Gat family, one of the two most-powerful clans in the Northlands. He has three sons of marrying age, all well accomplished in deed. And your own Jarl's eldest daughter is sixteen, just old enough to be wed... coupled with talk of a dowry, it's not hard to figure out what's going on here.

You did not pass the Situational check.

It has in truth been a long winter, bitter cold and with cruel winds that force all but the bravest or foolhardy to stay indoors. Trapped within the longhouses, with fires burning low and with cups of heather beer in hand, it's too easy for tempers to fray, for mocking comments to become insults, for idle competitions to flare into challenges and violence.

Were Hakon at his father's hall, he would understand the currents and political nuances intuitively, and ride them without thought. Here are Olaf Henrikson's, however, he is a visitor, unproven, untested, and thus deprived of the natural camaraderie that those who have fought in a shield-wall together share. He doesn't resent the indifference of Henrikson's huscarls, nor does he vie for their respect; only in martial deeds can such respect be earned, and till he's given an opportunity to prove himself, he resigns himself to being a shadow within the jarl's great hall.

Instead, he spends time with the jarl's skald and Eindrid Lawspeaker, adding his voice to their songs and learning old tales of valor and great warriors. He challenges the older huscarls to henfatafl and the younger ones to games of wrestling or sword play. He's courteous to the jarl's three daughters, but doesn't risk being overly familiar, and always he keeps an eye on the jarl himself, watching and listening and seeking to discern the political currents of this foreign world.

When word finally comes to him that he's been summoned for an audience, his heart leaps. At last! A chance. That's all he seeks. A chance to break the tedium of the frigid dark days, to prove himself, to finally accomplish something - anything - that will earn him gold and recognition.

He pulls on his finest shirt of blue, vivid and brilliant like the noonday sky of summer, and dark leggings to better offset the color. He then struggles and swims into his chain shirt, its weight reassuring on his shoulders, each link scrubbed to a high shine from rolling it in a barrel of sand. Straps his black leather belt tight about his waist with its silver wolf's head buckle, and then takes up his family ax and holds it up to the light.

It's a beautiful weapon, with a stout haft of ash and a steel head that was rumored to have been forged in a foreign land, far to the south and the east. His grandfather brought it back from a trading voyage that took him seven months, and his father in turn wielded it in countless battles. Now it's come to him, and as he examines the wicked edge, he thinks of the glory it's won his forebears, and how it will in turn strike true for him so that he may forge his own legends. He slips it into his belt, and then heads toward the jarl's longhouse.

Eindrid he recognizes, and gives a familiar nod, but the healer he's only spoken with a handful of times. Something about her hair, her otherworldly gaze, has always prevented him from easing into a comfortable conversation with her; as such his nod to Laralai is more formal.

When the herald calls forth his name, his heart sings. He steps forward, chin raised high, shoulders back, gaze respectful, and bows low as is proper to his jarl. He does not speak, but waits as the other two are introduced, and only then does he straighten to stand proudly and listen...

...and ultimately feel underwhelmed. This is how his mighty career is to begin? Guarding three young girls as they go to pick flowers. It takes all his will to keep his expression grave. Still. One of the might be betrothed to Jarl Solumundson. Henrikson's eldest daughter would make a fine peaceweaver, and bind their two clans together. Who might stand to lose from such a union? Who might think it opportune to launch a cowardly strike against the girls? Perhaps there is more to this guard duty than he thought.

Still mulling over these thoughts, he sits at the table and begins to partake of the food. Chewing slowly, he watches the jarl confer with Gundrikson.

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (16) + 5 = 21

When he deems the moment opportune, he rises and approaches.

"Ottar Gundrikson, I bring you greetings from my father, Jarl Grun Bjartson. Our family holds the Gat clan in high esteem, and I know that he would have me pay my respects."

It's a simple statement, but one that he hopes is delivered smoothly. That said, he bows, steps back, and returns to his meal.

Pulling on the bearskin robe - the same bear she had killed years ago, taken by her claimed and pulled home by her father and skinned and tanned by her mothers hand - always made Laralai feel warm. Not only was the thick, white-tinted fur protection against the cold, but the memories of family and home helped warm in the strange hall.

She had come to learn, and she had. But the hall did not feel like home. People were polite, respectful, but also distant. It helped to remind her of a time before her calling had begun. The power she had accepted separated her from her kin, but it also served them. She knew she had saved at least two lives, one and infant racked by fevers and another a youth stranded in open water she had created a pier of ice for.

"Hurry, child, or you will miss the Jarls summons." The small voice, from the tiny Thrush hidden inside her hood, didn't really need to remind her. But she pulled on the formal slippers she wore anyway - a pair, even if she didn't really need one on her wooden foot - with a little more haste. She didn't feel like having the strange little creature harass her the entire time.

As she entered the meeting hall, she nodded greetings to the various guests, including Hakon Grunson and Eindred Lawspeaker. She even exchanged a few words with some of them.

The willowy healer bowed her head to the Jarl and his guest, acknowledging his request and accepting it as well. It wasn't exactly the task that she would have chosen herself - a hunt would have been better after such a long winter - but the protection of the young was important. And it was just as important for children to be children. A Jarl had enemies, even in the Northlands. Only a coward would target a child, of course, but such people occasionally existed, and there were still plenty of other creatures that would attack humans regardless of age.

The Jarl was right that such quiet, simple days would be a pleasant treat when they had more responsibility, but it would be good to get out and stretch. Most of her winter had been reading and occasionally helping people, often the parents of children, whose sickness had defied herblore and who had been brave enough to risk spells. It was an honour to be chosen to guard the Jarls own household, and Laralai intended to see it done well.

To do so she needed her strength. It would humilate her family and herself if she fainted during such a task. She set about eating the meal with relish, looking up in mild surprise when Hakon made his announcement. It was a tricky matter, sometime, bringing such thing to the Jarls attention. But to fail to do so would insult his own father. Hakon seemed to have timed it well, though. Laralai nodded slightly to him again, acknowledging the skill it took to find the correct moment.

Hmm, I always have trouble with intro posts.

Eindrid is rather quiet throughout dinner. Halfstead has been a quiet, peaceful settlement, with few rules broken and few disagreements to mend—when the summer comes, there will be little to do but work the fields, which has historically been his cue to slip away back to the road. This knowledge, combined with his recent arrival at the Jarl's court, has given Eindrid few ties to the locals, and he finds himself wanting for small talk or merriment during feasts such as these.

If Jarl Olaf has nothing better to do than issue a proper summons for three men to watch his daughters pick flowers, it may be a long, slow spring as well. But the tall pale skald says nothing of this, as he sits at the table, watching the fire quietly, and waiting for someone to call out the name of a song he knows.

It's never easy to politely get a word in when others when they're speaking, but Hakon managed it with aplomb, and Ottar raised a hand in greeting. "Well met, young feeder of ravens." he said with a smile. "I've heard much of your father's mind's worth, and I've no doubt I'll soon hear tales of your own to match."

Ottar and Jarl Olaf soon returned to their discussion, though, and the rest of the meal passed peacefully. After a quick trip to the stables (where those who didn't have riding horses could pick up their steeds), you arrive at the stockade wall to find the gate open and three young women astride fine horses waiting there impatiently. The oldest wears a dress of blue linen with a squared border of small yellow flowers embroidered around the neck. She is tall and fair of face, her golden hair coiled about her head in braids and covered in a silver net. Her face favors her father, and she is introduced by your escort as Inga, the Jarl’s oldest daughter. Next to her upon a skittish mare sits a girl of perhaps thirteen. Her dress is a plain green smock, and her hair and eyes are dark like her mother’s. She is named to you as Fastvi.

The third girl is the smallest, perhaps nine or ten years old, with a distant and dreaming look on her face. Her hair is fair like her older sister’s but the resemblance ends there. You have heard the rumors of Little Runa’s troubled birth near ten winters ago whispered around the hearth fires out of the jarl’s hearing. The truth of these tales seems to be told in the angry red birthmark that covers her face from left ear to chin, the girl seemingly unaware of the rough, wrinkled texture or the ill portent it marks. Worse from the standpoint of omens are her eyes, one blue and one pale green, the eyes of the aglæcwif — the witch-wife. Nevertheless, though dreamy and precocious, the jarl and his wife have loved Little Runa dearly, and she has enjoyed the privileges and upbringing of a devoted family despite the ill omens of her birth. If anything can overcome the spinnings of the wyrd at her birth, it would have to be the good Jarl Henrikson, a man favored by fate as much as any man can claim.

"Ah, Hakon." Inga said, smiling at her relative. "I was wondering who father would send to escort us. You two, get into position. We've done nothing but stand around already, and we'd like to get going." she added a bit haughtily, looking back towards Eindrid and Laralai.

Fastvi just snorted slightly. "And you flirted a bit too much with Elias, so you want to get away from him for a bit." the middle sister said. Inga thumped Fastvi upside the head, glaring slightly as Runa just smiled, apparently unconcerned with everything going on around her.

Knowledge (Local) for a bit more info on Runa's birth.

Hakon rides his palfrey with ease, leaning back in the saddle, reins lying on his lap, body moving liquidly in time with each step of the horse. If anything, this mission is redeemed purely by the chance to get up on a horse. It's been too long since he rode, and he has to restrain the urge to simply dig his heels into his steed's flanks and enjoy an exhilarating all out gallop.

Gratuitous Ride Check: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (19) + 7 = 26

Hakon guides his horse to where the three daughters wait, and an easy smile is on his face as he stops before them. They're kin, albeit distant kin, but their blood runs in his own veins, and it's a quiet but indisputable fact that he would die for each and every one of them.

Diplomacy to be charming: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (13) + 6 = 19

"Good morning, Inga. What a fine dress you're wearing - that cerulean blue offsets your golden hair wonderfully. Pity the man who gazes upon you today, for his heart shall be irreversibly lost forevermore." A winter spent singing eddas has left him with a proclivity for overwrought language.

"Fastvi, have you grown an inch since I saw you last?" Probably not, since it's been only three days. "At this rate you shall be a maiden ready for betrothal within the week! And Little Runa." Hakon bows to her, his smile wry and affectionate. "Return from your dreams to the land of the living, for today there are flowers to pick and horses to ride and a warm, warm sun for us all to enjoy. Shall we?"

Knowledge Local on Runa: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (14) + 5 = 19
Knowledge Nobility on Elias: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (14) + 5 = 19

Ride: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (11) + 3 = 14

Riding was always a little awkward, but Laralai managed to at least get to the gate without any issues. She didn't fall out of the saddle on the way there, at least, but she wasn't especially practised at riding despite her fathers gift of a horse. Still, the creature's saddlebags made a good place to store things she couldn't easily carry.

Although she knew the young ladies somewhat, and what to expect in terms of Inga's behaviour, she couldn't bring herself to like the young much. She commanded life a southern princess, but perhaps that was simply what happened growing up by those who jumped when she said leap. Laralai was more impressed by Fastvi, for her control of her skittish mount and the way she handled her sister, and Rune for her sunny disposition. Even a Jarl's daughter would not be immune to the words of children, and Runa must have heard people talk of the omens on her, but she kept a pleasant view of things.

"Ladies," the healer said with another nod of respect to each of them. Like them or not, they were the Jarls family, and her respect for him flowed down to them. "Was there anywhere you especially wanted to look? When I was younger I liked to gather snow drops and primroses near a river close to my home."

Inga fluttered her eyelashes at Hakon's compliments, clearly pleased by them. "And you might turn a few heads yourself, what with your... prowess with that axe of yours." she said with an amused smile, not even glancing up as Laralai spoke.

Fastvi, on the other hand, actually paid attention to the young witch (and to Eindrid). "We're heading off to the meadows, about an hour away. Father won't let us go anywhere truly dangerous, so I suppose it'll have to do for now. Have you been in any battles? Did you see anyone get killed? Was there a lot of blood?" Her rapid-fire questions were delivered with a cheerful tone.

Runa just tilted her head, whispering for a moment before laughing quietly - the whole time, she wasn't looking at anyone.

???: 1d20 ⇒ 19

Her behavior is a little discomforting - there's ill-omens there - but it's not so disturbing as to frighten you.

Ride: 1d20 + 3 - 3 ⇒ (13) + 3 - 3 = 13

Eindrid does not ride fast. But he never rides fast. His horse, like its rider, is lean, methodical, and very sure-footed, keeping a level pace with the others. While the others speak, he keeps pace behind, eyes on the horizon. Later, perhaps there will be a time and place for a proper story, but for now he figures someone should be alert to danger.

Hakon settles in for a slow and liesurely ride, but as they leave the confines of the village behind he becomes more alert, scanning their environs with a careful eye, even as he keeps his easy smile. It truly is a beautiful day - relatively speaking - and it feels glorious to be out of the smoky longhouse, away from the old huscarls who cannot help but repeat their old tales of glory, embellishing them more and more as the winter months dragged on.

Out here, with new companions, young relatives, and a day of ease before him, Hakon realizes that he can finally breathe deeply and enjoy himself. At Fastvi's question to the witch, he half turns, interested in her response.

Perception: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (1) + 5 = 6

"No battles, I'm afraid, although I've treated some of the blade-sworn who have come back, and see the injuries they carry." Laralai glanced over at Runa and her odd behaviour. It was...in keeping with what she'd heard of the girl. That sometimes she behaved oddly. Perhaps she could look into it when they returned back to the hall.

"But when I was younger," she added, "A bear was stalking near my village and a youngling was lost. I helped to look for him, and we found the bear as well. It killed many good men and woman, and it wounded me gravely." Laralai used the cane-like weapon she carried pull up the hem of her riding skirt a few inches and reveal the wooden leg, carved by herself and crafted with blessings into its wood.

"There was blood then, yes, ours and the beasts. Its roars were like the northern wind in the storms, and its claws and teeth like the finest swords. Our spears cut its flesh and its talons rent our sheilds asunder. But a brave heart counts for much, even against such a terrible foe, and none turned and ran. As for how things finished..."

Laralai smiled and held out the bear-skin cloak she was wearing with one hand.

Hakon listens, surprised at how good a tale the witch woman tells, and when she finishes with her flourish of the cloak, he can't help but laugh, delighted, and applaud.

"A tale worthy of the greatest skald! Brave, well-spoken, and steeped in glory - there is much more to you than I had thought, Laralai." Hakon grins at her, both hands on the pommel of his horse, at ease and happy to have discovered new depths in his companion for the day.

Gratuitous Diplomacy Roll: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (13) + 6 = 19

Laralai laughed a little. "My thanks, Master Hakon. A true tale is always easily told," even if you leave out some details, such as the spirit posessing the bear and driving it to madness had since entered you and granted strange gifts, "Although I am no equal to a true word-smith, as I understand Master Eindred is. Perhaps you have your own tales to speed the journey along?"

Fastvi listened raptly to Laralai's tale, clearly interested in stories of battle and bloodshed and urging for more, though neither of her sisters seemed terribly interested. Still, you've a fair ways to go before you actually reach your destination, and the first place you come to is one of the main landmarks on your way.

The main Coast Road crosses your trail here at One-Eyed Sven’s Spring. Named for the old huscarl who has taken this natural spring and enlarged it, ringing it with stone as a service to travelers and others taking the main road, the spring is the best watering hole in the area. An older fellow sits under a lean-to by this spring pool whittling, a small pile of wood shavings at his feet. It is the huscarl, One-Eyed Sven who tends this spring when not called by his duties in Jarl Olaf’s hall. He hails you as you ride up.

"Morning young folk, care for some dried apples? Well, it’s a nice day to travel, and I envy you a peaceful task for it. Me, I have to head back to the hall this afternoon and see what ol’ Olaf is planning for the season. Probably going whaling. The godi and cunning women are talking about a dry summer, and that means a poor harvest." he said, cheerfully and amicably.

As Hakon slows his horse and considers the old huscarl, he tries to recall what he's heard of the man amongst the other warriors. Casting his gaze about the well, he reflexively checks for anybody who might be hiding or lurking close by.

Knowledge Local - do I know anything more about Sven?: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (11) + 4 = 15
Perception: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (8) + 5 = 13

"It is not my way to know of such things," Eindrid comments, "But it seems strange to worry about summer before spring is upon us."

"And I have tales for the road," he replies to Laralai, "The tale of King Ungar the Mad, to whom a hundred jarls turned for wisdom, until he offended Wotan with bad sacrifice and was driven to sacrifice his sons as punishment. The accountings of Iron Bjarn, who dug through to Svartalfheim using a shield as shovel and took a mighty ransom from the Chief of the Dark Elves himself. The Outlaws of Gelwood, and how every last man of them died by the hand of Jarl Calder while I rode vanguard as witness and scribe. But the stories of marchers and drinkers and men waiting long nights by the fire are more fit for warriors than children or healers. I will need a few... minutes to think of something more suitable."

"Thank you for the hospitality, kind Sven." Laralai accepted his offer of an apple despite the meal she had eaten. It rarely hurt to h\ve more in your belly when it was this cold. "We have come to assist these ladies in there task, from the hand of the Jarl, to find the finest blooms to grace his hall and there hair. Have you seen some choice flowers for them to gather?"

Turning to Eindrid, she murmued, "The choice of seeds, which field to till and how deep, whether to sow late or early...all depend on what the seasons turn shall be," Laralai explained. "We grow in summer what we sow in spring, and reap in autumn what shall be eaten in winter. The best choices mean the fewest go hungry. But a dry summer will make things...hard for crops, and more whale and fish flesh on the table will help."

Old Sven rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Not too sure about flowers, but you young folks should keep an eye out, I heard that a couple of outlaws have been spotted out on the Moors, not to mention the trouble that Jasil the Nûklander ran into in the forest — damned fairies. And keep a look out for troll sign. We may not have got them all when we burned ’em out of the hills last winter. Oh, and keep an eye on the weather, I’ve got an awful crick in my back, sure sign of a storm coming." he advised.

Fastvi snorted slightly. "We're not going that far." she said - though from her tone, she wouldn't have minded a little more of an adventure. Runa simply giggled to herself, and Sven eyed her for a moment... then cracked another smile.

"Be good to your sisters, Runa." he said. She waved vaguely in his direction, and nodded a few times.

Hakon, you do not know more about him than what's already been mentioned. There's no sign of anyone lurking here.

Hakon's easy smile fades as Sven recounts the various possible perils before them. While some might laugh off such a list of troubles, the jarl himself has placed the safety of his daughters into their hands. If anything, Old Sven's warnings help the final piece of caution slot into place.

"Thank you for the warnings, Old Sven. They're much appreciated. My companions and I shall be sure to keep a weather eye out for trouble."

He hesitates a moment, and then turns his horse's head, touching his heels to its flanks so that it begins walking anew. He nods his head respectfully to the old huscarl, and then continues on their journey.

Laralai glanced at the old man and the young girl. The man clearly knew something about the girl, or suspected it at least. It was the girls affair for now, however, and the witch chose not to pry.

It certainly made sense why the Jarl wanted guards for his children, even one near full grown and ready to wed, with these kinds of problems. Issues with bandits were poor indeed, but troubles with the fae and trolls...well, those were more worrisome. She wasn't sure if they could kill a troll. But they could slow it down long enough for the children to flee, if it came to it.

"Yes, thank you. We shall make sure to be back before the worst of the storm, if we can. No one needs to be soaked to the bones in this weather."

"True, true." the old huscarl said, waving. "Olaf's put his trust in you three, and I'm not going to start doubting him now. If the storm gets bad, you're welcome to take shelter here on the way home."

He gave one final tip of his head as you continued on your way, and your horses travel at a trot as you make your way toward the Meadows. On the muddy track ahead of you (about 20 minutes outside of town), you see an armed group of warriors riding your way. Their horses move more slowly, as if exhausted from long riding, and they and their mounts are spattered with the mud of hard travel.

Once you're within hailing distance, you recognize this group as huscarls and householders of the jarl. They are Hallbjorn Bolverkson (one of Jarl Olaf’s most trusted huscarls), Kraki Hallason (an up-and-coming householder), Young Ljot (no relation to Old Ljot), Hauk Arinbjornson (a hotheaded Vastaviklander), and Berg Geirson (a sour-spirited warrior). They have been out on the Moors for a week, hunting down an outlaw called Styr the Ugly who was spotted trying to sneak into the barn of an outlying farmstead.

The group of them came to a stop as you closed in.

"Ho there, where are you bound?" Hallbjorn asked as he looked at your own group.

"Some people get all the luck..." Kraki muttered, even as two of his companions focused on your charges.

"Hello, Inga. You look pretty today." Young Ljot said, and she smiled warmly at him even as Hauk gazed at the girls.

"What have we here? Ladies off for a morning ride?" he asked, not sounding nearly as welcoming as he could have been.

Berg was the only one truly hanging back. "I think I may be catching a cold..." he said morosely.

"Greetings and blessings, Huscarl." Laralai replied. "Jarl Henrikson has bid we three escort his daughters to the meadows, so they may gather flowers. Was the hunt for Styr the Ugly a success? Much has been said of his misdeeds." The witch kept one eye on the young men approaching the young women, but trusted that the Huscarl would keep his men from making more than smiles at them. She wasn't sure why Hauk seemed to object, nor was she sure he hadn't tried to include Hakon and Eindred in that 'Ladies', but for now it didn't matter to her.

Eindrid eyes the newcomers, noting no obvious wounds from a fight, and prepares to deal with any frustrations they may be about to voice.

"Ah, flowers just make me sneeze." Berg said, blinking a bit. Hallbjorn glanced back at Berg for a moment before returning his gaze to Laralai.

"The Meadows, eh? Sadly, we weren't able to find him. Keep an eye out, eh? He’s tall, dark haired, and has a scar across his chin like a serpent’s tail. Rumor is he may have fallen in with the witch Sibbe the Unkempt, but for what reasons none know."

Hauk just snorted, seeming rather less impressed than any of the others. "Must be proud warriors who escort little girls to pick flowers; fine warrior’s work that is."

Laralai nodded at Hallborn. "If that's true he would be even more slippery than ever. Someone with the skills of Sibbe could well make such a hunt a great challenge. Thank you for the warning - we will keep an eye out for such a villain, and pass any news we hear back to you." She glanced at the girls, especially Fastvi. She wouldn't put it past her to hunt the man herself, if she thought she could sneak away.

Glancing over at Hauk, she smiled sweetly. "All wise obey the Jarl. We hold in our hands three of his greatest treasures. None who the Jarl doesn't favour would be chosen for such a task, and so we obey and take pride in our duties."

Laralai's words perfectly express Hakon's own feelings, so he simply sits quietly, that easy smile on his face, looking completely unfazed by Hauk's jibes. He studies the other man, trying to recall what he's heard of him and why he might be trying to instigate a fight.

Sense Motive on Hauk: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (2) + 5 = 7
Knowledge Local about Hauk: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (3) + 5 = 8

Eindrid tenses for a second, formulating a witty response, and then decides to back his words down a bit. "I'm sorry you failed to find your quarry," he replies. "With any luck, the flowers we seek might turn up more easily than your Styr."

Hauk scowled anyway at Eindrid's words (and possibly Laralai's), but Hallbjorn gave him a firm look as Inga and Young Ljot finished talking. "Right you are, Laralai. I hope there will be no need for your particular skills, but at least they'll be available. Come on, boys, we're almost home - the sooner we get there, the sooner we can enjoy having a fire again." Hallbjorn jerked his head, and his group slowly started moving again. Fastvi watched them go, a thoughtful expression on her face. Runa just yawned widely, and the group started moving again.

200 XP.

All was quiet for about fifteen minutes as your group continued along the road - and that was when Fastvi suddenly let out a cry and cracked the reins of her steed, turning and jumping over a ditch before spurring her horse to start charging away across Old Ljot's fields.

Init (Eindrid): 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (14) + 3 = 17
Init (Hakon): 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (18) + 4 = 22
Init (Laralai): 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (18) + 3 = 21

Somewhat impressively, all of your reflexes were in top-shape... although the question of whether or not you'd be able to catch her still remained.

You all beat her Initiative of 15. XD To catch up to Fastvi, you'll need to make a DC 15 Ride check to get over the ditch - if you fail, you fall and take 1d6 points of damage. Following that, you'll need to make a DC 10 Ride check to catch up to her and slow her steed down, and you can roll twice on this check.

Ride: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (16) + 3 = 19

Laralai sighed and kicked the her heels into the mounts side. The horse sprang forwards with vigour, having been kept inside much of winter and having been kept to a trot now that it was out. It yearned to run and took it's chance. It cleared the ditch with a wild leap that made Laralai's stomach take flight, but they landed smoothly and hit the ground at a full run.

Ride: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (18) + 3 = 21

The big mount quickly ate up the ground behind the girls mount, and Laralai soon caught up to her.

Lost my post. Please excuse this one's brevity.

Ride: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (7) + 7 = 14
Falling Damage: 1d6 ⇒ 3

Hakon saws his horse's head around as their charge makes a wild break for it, and lets out a fruitless yell for her to stop. Cursing under his breath, he digs his heels into his steed's flanks and urges it to leap right after - but his spot is poorly chosen. The far bank reveals itself to be crumbly under the thick undergrowth, and gives way beneath his horse's hooves. With a yell Hakon slides right off his horse's back and onto the rocks that line the ditch's bottom.

Cursing, face burning with shame, he climbs to his feet and seeks to scrabble out of the ditch and mount his steed once more.

As the young girl’s steed tears across the field toward the nearby treeline, a stooped old farmer rounds the corner from behind his low-thatched barn waving an old hoe over his head. "You lazy, pig-brained wastes of breath! Look what that damned-fool girl did to my field! Don’t just stand there with your teeth in your mouth! Do your duty to your jarl and go get her. Letting a slip of a girl get the drop on you and run off, and this is what the jarl plans to bring into his hall?" As if to prove him wrong, Laralai actually did catch up to Fastvi a few moments after Old Ljot started yelling and escorted the girl's excited steed back to the group.

"You sure didn't get very far." Inga said, smirking. Fastvi glared at her, then turned back to Old Ljot.

"Your field's fine." she told him. "And perhaps they're better guards than you give them credit for, hm?" she seemed a bit miffed about not getting to keep riding, but at the same time, having such a talented and reactive guard was hardly objectionable... and her opinion of Laralai seemed to have risen slightly. Old Ljot just flapped a hand in dismissal and stomped back around the barn, muttering under his breath as your group got moving again.

For successfully catching Fastvi before she could get very far, you've earned 135 XP.

Near the end of the ride, the road turns southwest and heads into the woods. This part of the forest is fairly tame, and you soon find yourselves on a side path, little more than a dirt double track through the trees, muddy in the low places due to recent rains. After a few minutes, you hear the lowing of oxen and the raised voice of a man cursing his beasts. Coming around the corner, you see a small, heavily laden cart stuck in the mud, completely blocking the trail. A one-eyed elderly man is trying to goad a pair of oxen into pulling the cart from the mud, with little success. Standing off to the side, out of the mud, is a strikingly handsome blonde woman of middle years and a young red-haired boy.

Ignoring the pain in his back where his shoulder blade had cracked against a sharp rock, Hakon urges his horse forward to where Inga is riding and speaks in a low voice.

"Ah, what do we have here? An opportunity, Inga, for you to show your true colors as the gracious daughter of a famous jarl. Shall we ride around them and prove ourselves of small spirit and no honor, or help them and prove the praise that is heaped on our family's heads are well deserved?"

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (9) + 6 = 15

Riding up closer, he examines the area for any signs of this being an ambush, and then swings a leg over the pommel and slides down to the ground, walking up to the three strangers with a friendly smile.

"You seem hard set upon, friends. We are of Jarl Olafson's village, and are pleased to help. Here. Perhaps if my friends and I set our shoulders to your wagon, and heave in tandem...?"

Perception - is this an ambush?: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (15) + 5 = 20

"Well said, Hakon," Laralai added, "It would do the people good to see that there Jarl has raised three fine daughters who care for the people around them." She smiled at the girls.

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (9) + 8 = 17

Glancing down, Laralai considered. "Perhaps if we could find some wood for the wheels to roll on, and had some of our horses help, that might make the job easier." She didn't dismount, however, not willing to leave the girls on there horses. Not with there behaviour so far.

Oh, whoops, missed the update. Oh well, guess I miss out on snark.

"Right..." Eindrid mutters... "Or we can just push the thing free. Laralai—the cart's trapped in wet earth. Maybe you have an idea of how to make the ground less wet. Hakon, help me push? I'll give you a prayer if you do. Magni, Modi, heave and haul..."

Taking 10 on perform (since there's no rush) to set up a serendipity, which should give +1 to all party ability and skill checks.

Strength (aid other): 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (17) + 1 = 18

Jarl who, Hakon?

With a quick grin, Fastvi saw her chance and took it, darting her steed to the side and towards a game trail. There was nothing to jump over this time, so catching up to her would be easier [ooc(Ride DC 10)[/ooc] than before.

"Aye, that would be much appreciated." the older man said in response to Hakon's words, inclining his head. "I'm afraid I'm not quite as young as I used to be, and my boy isn't big enough to do it himself, but I'll help as I can."

There's enough room for everyone to help with this cart, and since the party's smaller than usual, we can use the highest roll for the main check and the others as Aids. ^^ In addition, someone will need to make a successful Handle Animal check - DC 12 - to keep the oxen calm as you move the cart.

Hakon stares, incredulous, as Fastvi gallops off. Again. Leaving the wagon behind, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity, he leaps astride his steed and gallops after her, face settling into an iron mask of control.

Ride: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (8) + 7 = 15

Grabbing her reins, he pulls her steed short, both of their horses snorting loudly as they slow to a walk.

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (11) + 6 = 17

"Fastvi." His voice is hard. "What exactly are you trying to achieve here? You know you won't escape us. You know we take our duty to your safety seriously. Are you simply trying to annoy us by acting like a little girl? Enough! It's time to be the woman you are. Where is your dignity? Stop with this nonsense, and start behaving like the jarl's daughter that you are!"

Handle Animal check for when they get back: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (6) + 6 = 12

Sighing at Fastvi bolted again, Laralai watched until she was once again caught. It would be terribly rude to manacle the child, but it was oh so tempting if she did such a thing again. "I can freeze the water in the mud, if you think it would help," she replied to Eindred's comment as she slipped from the saddle, speaking is a hushed voice. Eindred and Hakon would know something of her powers, but these folks would not. "We'd just have to make certain the wheel did not get caught in it."

Eyeing the cart dubiously, Laralai put her slim shoulder to the rear and pushed.
Strength: 1d20 ⇒ 12

Well, Fastvi is thirteen years old... XD

The Jarl's second daughter tossed her hair back slightly, seeming more amused than anything else. "I'm just going for a ride, and it's not like I can help people lift a cart. There's no harm in galloping a bit when the meadow's so close." the young girl answered.

The old man, meanwhile, was helping out with the heavy cart and doing what he could to help lift.

Strength, Aid Another: 1d20 ⇒ 17

Even with his help, however, the heavily-burdened cart simply squelched in the mud, proving unwilling to move despite the effort you had exerted thus far.

How long does it take to Take 20 on a strength check?

Hakon smiles sweetly at Fastvi as they ride back, and simply insists that she dismount when he does so.

That said, he frowns as the wagon refuses to budge, and begins searching for stones and branches to lay before the wheels. That done, he looks to the others.

"Anybody have rope? Our horses are vastly stronger than we are. Hitching them to the wagon would make this job far easier to accomplish."

"I'm afraid I didn't bring much beyond the basics," Laralai said, frowning at the cart.

@Eindrid: Longer than the girls would put up with. XD I wasn't kidding when I said diversified ability scores would be useful. Frog God Games likes these kinds of challenges, and does them more than any other publisher I've seen.

Runa yawned a bit. "Or you could just take the stuff out of the cart before trying to move it." she said dreamily, chuckling and whispering to herself a few moments later.

Hakon grunts, and then moves back to the cart.

"Let's give it one more push. Good sir, will you guide the oxen? If we can't move it, we'll examine other options. Everyone ready? On the count of three!"

Strength Check: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (19) + 1 = 20

Add 1 to Hakon's roll, for Serendipity bonus.

Aid another: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (5) + 1 = 6

Glancing at the clouds, and the girls, Laralai sighed slightly. She wasn't sure they had the time for this before the weather turned on them, but it needed to be done.

Strength: 1d20 ⇒ 3

For whatever reason, neither Eindrid nor Laralai was quite able to manage exerting their strength here, and despite the old man's own efforts, the cart remained squelched and stuck in place - clearly, it was going to take more something to get it out of the mud.

Inga looked like she wanted to say something tart, but Hakon and Laralai's words were still in her mind, and she bit it back. She (and her sisters) were definitely starting to get impatient, though.