GM Rednal's Northlands Saga Complete (Inactive)

Game Master Rednal

Looking back at Hakon, Laralai shrugs slightly. She'd never heard of an undead acting in this manner, but there was no real reason it couldn't happen. "Spirit, we seek to aid three children, wrongfully taken from from there parents by treachery, against all honour. We seek there return, if you shall allow it?"

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (16) + 8 = 24

The skeleton looked down at Eindrid's (poor) attempts at Diplomacy, then inclined its head and pointed to the side, where you could see a rough (but navigable) trail leading through the many graves and towards the foul magic occurring atop the Tor. It gestured to its retainers a moment later, and they returned to the barrow tomb, followed by their master - you hadn't conquered it, but you had lived through the experience... and more to the point, you'd acted with honor. Not everything in the Northlands would respect that, but many would - and most important of all, that was the behavior that would let you respect yourselves. A valuable experience, to be sure.

Valuable enough, in fact, to earn 200 XP - and bring the party to Level 2! Please post your levelup summaries in the Discussion Thread for review and approval BEFORE updating your aliases. Remember that your bonus progression is +2 levels on the table because of the low-item nature of this world, so you gain your first attunement for weapon and armor at this time - and you do not have to call this bonus 'magic'. It can also be heroic power - your weapons are better and your armor is tougher because of your Wyrd - your fate - as a Hero.

Hakon, not wishing to test their good luck, gives a gruff nod of respect to the skeleton and backs away, before finally turning to lead the three of them on toward the Tor.

"Valiantly fought, Eindrið," says Hakon once they've fought the skeletons behind."[b]

Moving quickly, he still tries to keep an eye out for trouble.

Perception: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (15) + 6 = 21

Oh, right... how injured am I?

Laralai followed, bowing slightly to the skeletons as she passed. They'd acted with honour and deserved such respect.

You gain the new HP from your hit dice. You do not heal the damage you took in fights just 'cuz you leveled.

The sky continued to darken as you got closer and closer to the Tor, and it seemed like lightning was flashing more and more frequently. Still, this was the Barrow Lands... and there was a reason it was feared by wise men, and why so few ever ventured into its depths.

When you came within a mile of the hilltop, there was a loud crash and a stone rolled away from one of the barrow openings, revealing a gaping hole into darkness. Out of the shadows strode a long-dead hero from before the Northlanders first came to this land. His raiment is grand - he's clad in rotting silks and fine cloths, armored with a cuirass of bronze, and carrying a two-handed sword of gold-and-silver-gilt bronze. The undead king mounts a nearby barrow and raises his hands in a silent command, a command answered by the hordes of undead crawling forth from the surrounding Barrow Lands. The way ahead is open but clearly won't remain so for long as hundreds of decayed skeletons lurch forth from the cold embrace of the earth.

No I just wasn't sure how much of that was nonlethal damage. If it's more than 5 points or so lethal, Eindrid would ask for healing from Laralai before we go much further.

Starring in horror at the writing bones that seemed to turn the Barrows white, Laralai turned to the others. "Do we ride and hope, or attempt to bring down the king and hope that banishes them?" Either plan was dangerous, and neither guaranteed they wouldn't have to deal with the undead. Laralai would prefer to ride, fearing it would take too much strength to defeat the undead lord, but...

"Do you think this one would be so receptive to a duel?" Eindrid muses. "I do not wish to fight the entirety of the netherworld. Let's ride."

Hakon let's out a cry, digs his heels into his horse's flanks, and seeks to gallop down the center of the closing channel.

Laralai followed, preparing her power if needed to help.

Ride Check: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (10) + 7 = 17

Readied Action - Ward - If a group of skeletons gets too close, Laralai will use her new Protection Sphere trick to stick a 20ft invisible wall between us and them.

*Looks back at when you tied the horses up because they refused to enter the Barrow Lands* ???

Eindrid, the Skeletal Champion's first attack was lethal. It switched to nonlethal afterwards, and did not do any lethal damage from that.

The undead didn't reach out to attack as you passed by, but they did close in, so near the one in the rear could almost feel them. As the three of you ran forward, the mass of skeletons closed behind you, forming a solid wall of bodies that blocked your retreat. They pursued for only a few minutes, but stopped once you got close to your final destination.

At the far corner of the field of barrows is the tall mound of packed earth known as the Tor. Crowning this hilltop is a ring of standing stones, tumbled down and long forgotten, built ages ago by the long-dead Andøvan that once inhabited what is now the Northlands. The Tor is steeply sloped, and the slopes are covered with grasses, herbs, and bracken. Two causeways march up from the surrounding plains, one to the southwest and one to the northwest. The stones themselves are cracked and worn with age; green lichen and moss cling to the lower surfaces and run up these fissures, contrasting sharply with the dark grey rock. Thunderclouds roil overhead and lighting flashes down to strike the few stones still standing.

It might be possible to climb your way up the sides of the Tor (Taking 10 is not possible here, given the dim lighting - you'd have to roll) - the causeways would be an easier route, but would also expose you to anyone on the lookout for intruders, and so you'd likely need to be stealthy if you wanted to get up undetected. Or you could simply charge up anyway, of course. There were many ways to ascend the mound...

And we have an interactive map up top! Note that your figures are not to scale, and on this map are more of a general idea of where you're at. XD

I think my brain is melting. No horsies for us.

Laralai glanced at the others once more. "I am better at climbing than I am at sneaking."

I'm glad my brain isn't the only one that is melting.

Thoroughly unnerved by the wall of dead that hem them in, Hakon fights to remain as calm as a veteran warrior. Which he's not. But he is the son of a Jarl, and it is from this fact that he draws strength and courage. Breathing deeply, turning his hand-ax over and over in his hands, he keeps glancing back at the barrows and then shooting looks up at the steep edges of the barrow.

"I can climb well enough if I remove my armor," he says hesitantly. "But I agree. If we can approach undetected, that would be best. Give us a chance to see what Helish activity is happening up top."

If we decide to climb: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (11) + 6 = 17
If we decide to stealth: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (17) + 6 = 23

"Laralai," Eindrid asks, "That skeleton roughed me up a bit. Can you do something to help the cut in my side before I try to climb up the hill?"

Laralai nodded and reached over to heal Eindred.

Cure: 2d8 + 2 ⇒ (3, 3) + 2 = 8

After a moment, Laralai also cast a small spell on herself, to improve her ability to defend herself.

"I am no climber," Eindrid responds, "But I am also not a man to practice hiding."

"Thank you for the healing, Laralai—but there is also a storm rolling in. Can you call to it in some way, mask our passage with rain or fog?"

Laralai considered the wind and then nodded. "I can make a small fog bank, yes. It will hide us, but a strong wind will blow it away."

Summoning up rolling banks of fog, Laralai started to head up.

Stealth: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (4) + 3 = 7

Eindrid follows, wary.

Stealth: 1d20 + 1 - 1 ⇒ (8) + 1 - 1 = 8

A few wisps of mist rolled through the air as Laralai focused her powers, but they failed to coalesce into a truly solid bank of fog. (See the Wiki page - unlike many fog-type powers, that particular ability requires a certain amount of existing water to manipulate, so you have to explain where it's coming from. ...Good synergy with the Weather sphere, by the way.)

...In fairness, that was probably for the best. A small bank of fog moving up the hill all on its own was pretty much a dead giveaway as it was, given the way the moonlight illuminated things, and you could hear a few shouts from atop the hill around the time you were halfway up the 400-foot length of the causeway. The important question was what you were going to do now.

Could I have been flanking with my climb?

I thought it was raining pretty heavily, and that's why we were trying to find cover for the horses? Or maybe that's just the rainstorm outside my house...Oh well. No fog for us.

Laralai paused at the shouts. "Do we have anything to loose by simply charging in now?"

Apparently not - charging up it was.

At the top end of each causeway is a shallow ditch only 2 feet deep and 20 feet long that symbolically demarcates the entrance to the top of the Tor. Each end of the ditch is anchored by an 8-foot-tall standing heelstone. They lean slightly inward toward each other and have tapered tops. Ancient Andøvan runes once marked their surfaces, but these have been worn to illegibility. Slowing down at least a little might have been wiser, though - as Eindrid (who was in the lead) crossed the ditch, a string snapped and a spear craftily hidden out of sight swung around, propelled with significant force after having been bent backwards.

Spear Trap: 1d20 + 15 ⇒ (5) + 15 = 20 for Damage: 1d6 + 3 ⇒ (6) + 3 = 9

Past the trap, though, you're through.

A ring of ancient standing stones is at the center of the Tor’s summit. A few of the stones still stand as trilithons with posts and lintels 10 feet high, but most of the stones lie on the ground or are leaning at precarious angles. The dark clouds above swirl in a great spiral seemingly only a hundred feet above the hilltop and are constantly illuminated from within by flashes of lightning. Other streaks of lightning flash downward in jagged arcs to strike the still-standing trilithons, and after each flash, the stones radiate a pale glow for a few moments as if absorbing the power of the storm.

At the center of the ring is a 3-foot-high-by-12-foot-long altar stone stained in ancient blood, and the lightning is fast and frequent enough to give the entire area normal lighting. An ugly old woman and Runa are together near the alter - Fastvi and Inga are tied up nearby. There were also two men there, nasty-looking fellows who were considerably bigger than any normal person could be. (Know Local to identify them.)

Without hesitation, the two men prepared to attack - and the witch prepared to support them.

Init (Enemies): 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (18) + 2 = 20
Init (Eindrid): 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (14) + 3 = 17
Init (Hakon): 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (7) + 4 = 11
Init (Laralai): 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (15) + 3 = 18

Without hesitation, the two larger men rushed forth - and one of them managed to get close enough to attack, using his extended range to his advantage.

Melee: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (1) + 7 = 8

Rather fortunately for your group, though, his attack was a clean miss...

Note that the two larger opponents are genuinely Large - and have a 10-foot reach with their weapons.

Knowledge (local): 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (2) + 6 = 8

Eindrid draws his sword and steps under the large man's swing, striking quickly before he gets a glimpse at the warrior's face.

Longsword power attack: 1d20 + 7 - 1 ⇒ (5) + 7 - 1 = 11
Damage: 1d8 + 4 + 2 ⇒ (8) + 4 + 2 = 14

Relaizing she couldn't reach the witch, Laralai attempted to defeat the huge man before her. Moving through towards the man, her hair whipped out in the wind...and then lashed out.

White-Haired Strike: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (13) + 7 = 20
Damage: 1d4 + 4 ⇒ (2) + 4 = 6
Grab: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (18) + 7 = 25
Constrict: 1d4 + 4 ⇒ (1) + 4 = 5

Knowledge Local: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (20) + 6 = 26

It would be easy to be overwhelmed by the enormity of the stones, the terror of the storm, the sensation of ancient evil that seems to ooze from the very rocks. Tempting, even, to simply gape and stand slack jawed. Luckily the outbreak of violence brings Hakon back with a snap, and he raises his ax and shield and rushes forward, hoping to flank the man that Eindrid is fighting, crying out for the girl's benefit, "For the Jarl!"

Hand Ax, -2 for two weapon fighting: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (10) + 5 = 15
Damage: 1d6d6 + 1 ⇒ (2, 3, 3, 2) + 1 = 11
Sneak attack if I can flank: 1d6 ⇒ 3

Shield Bash, -2 for two weapon fighting: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (5) + 5 = 10
Damage: 1d4 + 1 ⇒ (4) + 1 = 5
Sneak attack if I can flank: 1d6 ⇒ 5

Please add +2 to my attack rolls if I'm able to move in and flank.

One of the troubles of moving too quickly was that it left you exposed - Eindrid was close enough for a quick blow, but Laralai had to move further to get into range, and didn't try to duck around the attacks as she did moved. End result?

Attack of Opportunity (vs Laralai): 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (19) + 7 = 26 for Damage: 3d6 + 12 ⇒ (5, 5, 6) + 12 = 28
o wo;

There was a tremendous crashing sound as his greataxe came around, cutting through her hair as Laralai brought it up to strike and crushing deep into her chest in one tremendous blow.

Last Chance Stabilize A Hair's Breadth From Death I'm Not Even Doing The Normal Penalty For Lost HP Constitution Check - DC 10: 1d20 ⇒ 2
...It appears the Fates have spoken. Laralai, please see the Death Speech and Fate section of the Campaign tab for your options. Note that you can blast someone with your Destructive Blast.

Even as the man whipped his axe back, Hakon shot into the gap. There was, sadly, no reachable way to flank - not with the other big man there. In the space of a single breath, though, Hakon slammed the man's head with his shield in one hand, then brought his axe around from the other side and buried it deep in his skull. There was no chance of surviving that one, but even as he fell, the other man darted around to lash out at Hakon and take revenge.

Melee (Hakon): 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (18) + 5 = 23 for Damage: 1d8 + 4 ⇒ (7) + 4 = 11

Hmm... these guys seemed designed to do large quantities of damage. That's, like, a power-attacking minotaur right there.

Also, maybe Laralai forgot that white-haired witches, unlike standard Prehensile Hair witches, don't get a reach attack until level 4?

Staring down blankly at the gaping wound in her chest, Laralai simply murmured, "Oh." She seemed more confused than hurt as blood errupted from her lips, dying them a dark crimson. Looking down, Laralai pondered where the droplets of red were coming from. She felt...strange. Odd. Leaning on her hanbo, she considered what was happening. What was happening? It was a struggle to remember. She had been doing...something. With children? And...what was she doing now?

You are dying, child.

The voice of Bertok whispered in her ear, regret suffusing the spirit's voice. Laralai's head snapped up. Dying? her mind whispered in horror. She looked again at the wound in her chest. I can't be dying. My magic. I can save myself. I can heal myself!

All things pass, child. The voice whispered, more distant than before as she sagged to her knees. Her chest felt tight. Oh so tight. Why couldn't she catch her breath? Fate cannot be denied. Your thread has been cut. The Norn's have judged the length of your thread. Now is your moment.

No...the young woman thought to herself, feeling drowsy. "No," she said again. "NO!" She croaked it out as she rose, stiffly, back to her feet. "I shall die if I must. If this is my fate, so be it. But I shall not fail! With my life's blood I shall NOT!"

Turning to Sibbe, the young witch met the gaze of the old crone. "Hear me, Sibbe the Unkempt! I am Laralai Grahn, daughter of House Grahn, and I will not allow your ways to continue. Hear me! I slew the bear of winter and took the mantle of winter unto myself. Hear me! I crawled from my death bed, took back the will to walk and carved for myself a new leg. Hear me! I was chosen by the hand of Jarl Olaf Henrikson to help his maiden children, and by my vow they shall be saved. If not by my hand then by another's."

Blood flowed freely from the gaping wound and her throat as Laralai paused. The ground around her had turned crimson. How much have I lost? Too much. Far too much

Dropping to her knees, she reached out to her own blood, drawing something in on the ground. Laralai reached the last of her energy, Laralai hurled a final spell at the second henchman. The raw blast would hopefully kill the man, and the others would be free to deal with Sibbe. "Save them," the young woman whispered, her final strength spent. With that she collapsed to the ground, gone.

Destructive Blast (Ranged Touch Attack): 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (7) + 5 = 12
Damage: 2d6 ⇒ (6, 5) = 11

Almost unnoticed, a small Thrush flew from the dead woman's cloak and away, behind the altar.

Everything was happening too quickly. The thok of his ax-blade sinking deep into flesh, catching, and then being wrenched free. The spray of blood. The constant flicker-flash of lightning crashing continuously overhead. The looming giants, grotesque parodies of the criminals they had been before. Sibbe dragging Runa to the altar.

A brief moment of savage victory as Hakon's opponent goes down before ax and shield. A burst of hope. They could do this. In the center of evil, against all odds -

Then Laralai takes her mortal blow. Speaks her final words, throws her magic, and falls crashing to the ground.

The world slows as Hakon stares at her still form. Everything recedes, the sounds growing dim, and then he roars, a bellow of denial and fury. In some ways he barely knew her, but in other, deeper ways he had sensed her potential for greatness, her nobility of spirit, her humor and wisdom and all that she had to give.

"Sibbe! I come for you!"

Roaring, he charges across the Tor to where she stands, trusting that Laralai's last blast of magic had done for the other bandit. He brings his ax around in a terrible swing, shield coming in right after.

Charge Attack, 2 Handed: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (13) + 7 = 20
Damage: 1d6 + 1 ⇒ (4) + 1 = 5

Charge Attack Shield, 2 Handed: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (2) + 7 = 9
Damage: 1d4 + 1 ⇒ (1) + 1 = 2

To hit: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (1) + 7 = 8
Damage: 1d8 + 4 ⇒ (8) + 4 = 12

Eindrid takes a small step forward. "Blood will have blood, monsters," he calls out, unsure just what has happened to Laralai, and swings his sword wide, missing wildly.

Having yelled his defiance to Sibbe, Hakon takes a five foot step forward to deal first with her last minion.

Same rolls, minus 2 on the attacks due to lack of a charge?

Hakon's axe managed to bite into the enlarged man's side, but that was the only hit he took as he spun around, dodging both the shield and Eindrid's own blade. Without hesitation, he stabbed out again, aiming to skewer Eindrid and take the other man down as fast as possible.

Melee (Eindrid): 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (17) + 5 = 22 for Damage: 1d8 + 4 ⇒ (2) + 4 = 6

Even as he swung, the witch finally made her move - and as she got close enough, her eyes erupted with crackling, cursed flames, and the air around Hakon began to ignite. "Wretched, mewling infants! You know nothing at all - begone!" the witch howled.

Fortitude DC 16 (Hakon): 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (18) + 5 = 23

Whatever cursed powers she was calling upon, though, they didn't seem to be acting quickly enough to hurt the warrior. Runa, meanwhile, was continuing to cower by the main altar atop the Tor, and showed no indication of wanting to get anywhere close to the fighting. A bigger problem was what the witch might do if both her minions were slain...

Delaying until after Hakon. If he can take this guy out with his two attacks, I can charge Sibbe with my one, which should do decent damage if it hits.

Hakon roars as he shakes of the fell magics, and tightening his focus, brings all his weapons to bear as he seeks to drop the towering bandit.

Attack #1: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (8) + 5 = 13
Damage: 1d6 + 1 ⇒ (6) + 1 = 7
Attack #2: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (16) + 5 = 21
Damage: 1d4 + 1 ⇒ (2) + 1 = 3

(Will respond when I find out if that toppled the guy)

Nope.

Alright then.

Eindrid keeps swinging away, stepping around Hakon as he does. (so we're in position to both charge next round)

Power Attack: 1d20 + 7 - 1 ⇒ (18) + 7 - 1 = 24
Damage: 1d8 + 4 + 2 ⇒ (7) + 4 + 2 = 13

A heavy blow thudded into the other man, and he crumpled. The witch let out an angry howl, then pointed back to Runa. "Hold them off, wretched girl!" the witch snarled - and Runa moved forward in a daze of sorts, raising her hands as she did so. Sibbe darted to the side, even as little Runa raised her hands and a sphere of fire darted out, exploding at your feet.

Fire Damage: 1d6 ⇒ 3
Reflex DC 13 Halves (Eindrid): 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (10) + 7 = 17
Reflex DC 13 Halves (Hakon): 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (6) + 6 = 12

Meanwhile, the witch was running off to the side, moving away from the fighting...

Also, Hakon? I need you to keep the HP in your quick-reference bar completely up-to-date at all times. It's... often bad if you lose track of where you're at.

I think there's still a straight line between me and Sibbe? And the path is less than 60', so...

Eindrid charges the witch, swinging the sword over his head, and cursing it for not striking true before.

Power Attack, Charge: 1d20 + 7 + 2 - 1 ⇒ (2) + 7 + 2 - 1 = 10
Damage: 1d8 + 4 + 2 ⇒ (1) + 4 + 2 = 7

*Actually draws a line on the map* Looks to me like the stone's in your way...

HP updated. Do the fallen stones count as difficult terrain, or do they require an acrobatics check to cross?

Difficult terrain. Incidentally, they're about three feet high - much more than an easy step.

Taking a deep breath, Hakon ducks and runs around the outside perimeter of the stones, seeking to put as much distance between him and Runa as possible even as he seeks to come in on the far side of the dreaded witch Sibbe. When he spots his chance, he darts back into the circle, and comes in on Sibbe's flank.

Spending the round at full movement to run into a flanking position.

Oh! Well, a double-move gets me into the ame place. Ignore the attack, then.

It hurt. By Wotan's eye it hurt. Every breath felt like fire, and she could feel her heart straining in her chest as she tried to snatch each pathetic breath. But each one was sweet, because it wasn't her last. And so she dragged on another, and another, demanding that each wasn't the last one she drew.

The witch had caught her. Put her on the altar. Stabbed her in the heart. But she'd only nicked it, oh yes. Blood flowed from the vicious wound, thick and hot and red, but it was pouring out like it should and her heart still beat.

She'd only been vaguely aware of what was happening, but she heard the sounds of battle. Tried to raise her head, see what was happening, help these people, help those girls...
With my life's blood I shall NOT!
...but it was so hard. She was so tired. She wanted to stop fighting. She wanted to stop breathing in each flame-tainted breath. She remembered when she had walked into the fire, and how the smoke had burned. It burned now too. She so wanted to give up.

But she wouldn't.

So long as she could, she would keep going. There was too much to do. Too many things left undone. She couldn't face Grandmother, when she came for her soul - and who else would claim her soul? - not like this. Not until she'd fought for every breath, and saved those girls...
...If not by my hand then by another's...
Cold water on a frozen day. The energy poured into her, making her gasp in shock as she felt it pour into her heart. Wounded muscle knitted and was whole. Another gasp, this one sucking down pure air, free from the agony and pain.

Eydis. Her name was Eydis Batia. Eydis Valkurblood. Her hand reached up and picked up the spear the brutish men had tossed aside - a gleaming silver weapon, it's blade as long and sharp as any sword. Rokspur. Raven's Wing. A weapon blessed by Wotan. To the other other she grasped the darkened shield, black wood with a bright silver Valkyrie's wing emblazoned on it. Oxbrotna. Axe Breaker.

Eydis rose to her feet. Moving unsteadily around the altar, she saw the witch she had been sacraficed by fighting too men. On unsteady legs she moved, and raised her spear. Magic force surrounded the weapon, making it gleam, as runes of power emerged on the long blade.

Rokspur: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (2) + 5 = 7
Damage: 1d8 + 6 ⇒ (5) + 6 = 11
Destruction Damage: 1d6 ⇒ 4

...thanks dice roller, for helping with that dramatic return.

The witch snarled, but clearly had no intention of staying in close range with so many other people, and promptly moved to withdraw. Unfortunately for her, she couldn't evade everyone...

AoO from Hakon: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (20) + 6 = 26 for Damage: 1d6 + 1 ⇒ (4) + 1 = 5
Crit Confirm: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (4) + 7 = 11

...and Hakon scored a solid hit on her as she passed. She was fairly clearly running towards the path leading down and away from the top of the Tor.

Meanwhile, Runa - still completely expressionless - hurled another blast of fire that exploded on the ground where Sibbe had been standing a few moments before.

Fire Damage: 1d6 ⇒ 2
Reflex DC 13 Halves (Eindrid): 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (18) + 7 = 25
Reflex DC 13 Halves (Eydid): 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (19) + 2 = 21
Reflex DC 13 Halves (Hakon): 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (5) + 6 = 11

For a moment she watched as the witch ran. She was clearly hurt, fleeing for her life, while leaving some kind of possessed child to deal with them. Eydis considered letting her run for a moment, to turn and save the child, but the woman would simply go out and heal. And then she would find another child. More people to hurt.

Eydis felt the knife sink in again, remebered watching in horror as it pierced her armour...

Hefting Rokspur in one hand, she judged the witch's run...and hurled the spear. One more the energies glittered along it's blade as it flew.

Rokspur: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (10) + 4 = 14
Damage: 1d8 + 6 ⇒ (6) + 6 = 12
Destruction: 1d6 ⇒ 6

As soon as the blade landed, it seemed to pause...then vanished back to it's mistress' hand.

Eindrid continues to move after Sibbe, following her down the path, sword held wide. "Speak your last curse," he challenges her, "Before the gods mark yours a coward's death."

The lightning flash was suddenly accompanied by another explosion of flame by his feet, and for a moment Hakon considered turning to leap over the altar and grapple Runa to the ground - which is when he saw the stranger standing - staggering - to her feet, eldritch spear and shield in hand.

Grip tightening on his hand-ax, he tensed as she threw her spear, wandering frantically, friend or foe? But then the spear flew high overhead at Sibbe, and he grinned.

It seemed the gods hadn't abandoned them yet.

Judging Sibbe the greatest threat, he took off after Eindrid, racing straight south and then sharply turning around the fallen stones to sprint up through the dark and the night to cut off Sibbe's retreat.

Double move.