Albrecht places the stone in his pouch. Looking bewildered at Lutke and this new halfling tossing shoes at him Albrecht hardly notices.
"Lutke...things have changed."
The information of these multiple realities folding over on themselves infinitely has been pressed into his mind.
"Speak no more of what we witnessed...I have to think on this."
Albrecht is quiet and seems to stare off into the infinite pondering the consequences of his actions.
"Errrrrrr, zo, it zeems we may be getting paid afterall!" "Look Krak, ve must have been mit unz illusion"
Hoping out of the wagon Boom looks around
"JA! Dis iz MUCH better!"
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Krak blinks several times and stands up surveying the new landscape. He then hops down and walks towards Donkey
"I Dunna like da looks o dis Donkay"
"HEEEEEEEEHAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!"
"Exactly mah thoughts!"
The longer each moment passes, the more normal and sane the scene around you becomes. It almost feels like you're drowning, your sanity slipping away into a dull stupor of acceptance. Already it's become something of a fight to remember your former lives and the Old World you knew. Somethings changed? But what?
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It is profound.
For precious moments everything seemed warm, kind and forgiving.
There were smiles all round as each of you took glances at eachother.
Then the vision faded and you were back where you were before....the snow, the bitter wind, death frozen all around you.
It is like waking from a comfortable dream only to realize that your immediate life was indeed miserable.
Unsure of what just happened, you each look about confused and disoriented, especially you Albrecht.
"VELL!!! Zat vas interesting!"
"No pay it iz zen...."
Boom says throwing up his hands and looking about with skeptical unbelief
Krak shakes his head vigorously and then looks up at each of you.
"Wee best be gettin outselves to de fortress anna oot of deez woods. No tellin what mah happen again. Damn deh blasted chaos winds"
Krak climbs up on the wagons and takes the reigns.
Donkey shakes his head as vigorously and raises his snout
"HEEEEEEHHHHHAAAAAAAAWWWWWW!!! SNORT!! SNUFFLE!!"
Albrecht thinks to himself, he doesn't know whether to be glad to be back in what he knows to be the real world, or sad to see what looked like a far grandeur existence fade away. Regardless, he grips his hand to his chest in weary.
"Krak has the right of it. Let's... get going."
No longer rocking back and forth, Gretta stands, looking about nervously.
"Just a dream then?" she whispers, clutching the side of a half burned wagon.
Caspar finds himself in the snow once again. Even far more depressing in his mind is what he holds in his hands. His old, smashed lute rests in his hands. In pieces. He manages to keep his composer and drags himself to his feet. Dusting the snow off his cloak, a single tear freezes on it's way down his cheek.
Lutke is shaking Albrecht's arm when a large crack! is heard and he and Albrecht are covered by a whole branch's worth of snow.
"Wha...what?" Lutke says looking around in surprise. The dead hag's frozen claw like fingers feel mere inches from his throat. With a squeak, Lutke leaps back. His mind retreats to a safer place in order to cope with all of the strangeness he has just witnessed.
I jumped at least a 33 degree angle at a speed of 25ft/sec...I must have launched myself almost four and a half feet from that hag, Lutke quick calculated. Math was the only thing that made sense anymore. Oh Ulric, I hope it still makes sense.
At the far edge of camp, a figure kneels in a circle of fallen Kurgen, his long locks of matted dark hair hang before his eyes. The eyes themselves can barely be seen, cast down into the blood covered snow, cold blue gems filled with the proud honor of his people, yet brimming also with a deep brooding shame.
"Blóð ok dauði," he mutters with a voice as deep as a slave pit.
The figure shifts his grip on an impressive two handed blade of red iron, the common ore of the peoples of the north. Strong as the will of the warrior who wields it, weapons forged of red iron resist any attempts at repair or reshaping, normally shattering in defiance instead. Still, those who wield such weapons rarely have need of such repairs. They are hardy and often last far longer than the warriors who carry them, life being what it is in the north, short and bloody.
As you draw closer you can see that the man is well muscled, bits and pieces of scavenged armor cling to his bloody body. A plate pauldron rests upon his left shoulder, a medium length chain skirt reaches to his knees. High wrapped boots of leather, wool and chord (maybe dried entrails?) wrap the Northman from foot to knee. He lifts his proud gaze as you approach, cocking his head to the side.
"Who then be you?" he asks, broken Riekspeil tumbling from parched lips. "And have you anything to drink? Killing Kurgen leave me parched..."
At the sound of the Norseman's heavy accent, Lutke jumps another "four and a half feet" landing quite certainly behind Albrecht. Clutching Albrecht's robe, Lutke peers in suprise and the beginning of fear over Albrecht's shoulder at the newcomer.
"Are...are...you real?" Lutke says in a strained voice. "Is he real?" he whispers in Albrecht's ear.
Krak furrows his eyebrows and stares menacingly at the northerner.
"AY, we be havin some ale ifn yer friend, but cold steel anna fire ifn yer not"
Boom pulls out a blunderbus from the back of the wagon and cocks back the trigger
"Excuse us if ve zeem jumpy, but all you northerners look alike. What kind of ze god do you vurship?"
Lutke, you can see the face of the Norseman is roughly painted to resemble a half skull. You're reminded of the grinning face of the chaos moon, Morrslieb...
You see the shackles then. Heavy lengths of chain wrapped around his ankles and hands. Red bands of broken skin show the tormented signs of wearing such a burden. The barbarian attempts to stand, grunts and slides back down to his knees, straining under the weight like a gallows prisoner in the deep cells of Altdorf.
"Cursed chains," the barbarian mutters, rattling the heavy locks that constrain him.
Krak and Boom look at eachother and then back at the Norseman[/b]
"I think its ok Boom. He dunna look like a Kurgen. He's too clean anna he's wrapped in chains. Anna never have I seen Red Steel among dem."
[i]Krak looks up at the sky and scratches his beard
"Come ta think o it, I havent seen Red Steel, just read about it. I need to take a look!"
With that Krak jumps down from the wagon and purposefully strides towards the newcommer.
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Lutke feels an odd twinge as he sees the locked manacles on the Norseman's body. He feels his fingers twitch and one hand instinctively go to his satchel where he keeps his lockpicking tools. Lutke finds a desire to work with his cold numb hands on those locks building inside of him.
The Norseman turns his gaze from Lutke and Albrecht, locking his eyes on the pair of Dwarves who approach him. You can see that for long moments he struggles to find the proper words, then speaks.
"Me not Kurgen if that's what you fear," he says at last, his broken Reik-talk difficult to understand. "As you see, many have I slain. They are hated enemy to my tribe and my peoples..."
"We have saying where I from," he continues, muttering then in a strange dialect you've never heard, "Anægja er miði bardagi!"
He laughs then leaving each of you confused. Still, there are similarities to the Northman language and Dwarvish!
As the Norseman stands up, he turns around looking behind him and showing you his back. Seemingly as if plastered to it is a halfling...covered in snow and in a uncomfortable pose. He face frozen in a smushed look. He hands and feet in chains connecting him to the Norseman.
Krak and Boom look at eachother in disbelief. "Is that....." They have not heard this dialect since they were children studying it in school!! It's an ancient Dwarven dialect!!!
"Crgenægja Mi Farnoff miði garadinga!" Says Krak
Njord: take Dwarf read and write
Anyone that can speak Dwarvish can understand Njord perfectly.
Also a sweeping calm and a bit of joviality sweeps the group as the humor of the haflings predicament and the good nature of the Norseman immediately break any hostility.
The tense moment of meeting this strange savage man is suddenly disarmed when both he and your dwarven companions bust into a chorus of laughter. You have no idea what they are saying to each other, but they appear amused...
"We have saying where I from," he had said, muttering then in his native tongue, "Pleasure is battle and mead!"
You can't help but agree. This is the motto of every living dwarf since the dawn of time!
Njord: take Dwarf read and write
Despite how he may appear to the peoples of the Empire, Njord is actually remarkably intelligent and well learned (at least when compared to the others of his tribe). Not only has Njord mastered the art of the sword, but he has learned how to read the rune speak of his ancestors and to craft runes of his own.
Albrecht sees the potential in this norseman.
"Well then, bring yourself closer and perhaps you could explain why you're in chains? Both of you. I wouldn't want to free you from them only to find my innards dashed across the ground eh?"
Caspar jumps at the site of Njord as well. Trying to keep what little composer he has.
"Well, you seemed to be able bodied enough! If killing Kurgens is your thing there are more than enough where we're going!" Caspar says to the Northman and definitely someone to hide behind Caspar thinks to himself
Shifting his gaze from each of you one by one, the Norseman holds a long vigil of silence and then finally speaks, lifting his shackled wrists upwards in a motion of frustration.
"Men of Empire," he begins, focusing hard to phrase his words correctly, "Free me from chains, I vow slay many Kurgen..."
"Njord is man of word," he concludes, lifting his chin with pride.
Lutke composes himself, brushes the snow from his hair, and says,
"What says the halfling cloak you wear? Will he vouch for your? If there is one thing you can trust a halfling for, it's no love of Chaos and its minions."
Ummm hello would someone be so kind as to pry me from my beast of burdan. Oi blaster turn about so I can see, Mud begins to flail wildly about trying in vain to free himself from his norse anchor. After severl minutes he gives up and jus goes limp waiting for someone to help.
The tension slips away and you all laugh at the hafling's predicament.
The group helps the newcomers and makes formal introductions. You all gather what supplies you can salvage from the site and make off toward Wolfenburg.
Much of the way you follow the Kurgen warparty's path as it seems the most direct route, but you will soon need to come up with some kind of plan.
What will you do?
Will you attack the rear lines of Kurgen?
Scout them?
Or will you try and find a way into the city?
It is night and you are camped around a fire discussing each of your recent adventures, horrors and the way forward.
Boom is on watch. He wears an odd headgear with what seems like a telescopic lens with numerous circled ocular lenses attached to delicate instruments. When sliding a lens over his eye, it glows a dull green. With "thumbs-up" and a grin, he steps out into the dark. A "flame-spitter" in his hands.
Krak and the Norsemen have been speaking in that odd guttural Dwarf-speak and their laughs and joviality begin to annoy some of you as it seems everyone else is left out of the joke....not to mention the keg of ale.
Gretta is very quiet and keeps to herself. She had cooks the meal that you are all eating but had barely said a word.
Caspar, you and Gretta make eye contact here and there throughout the day and night, but it has been incredibly awkward and fleeting...each of you desperate to try and forget what had happened at the cave.
"Another great meal! Now if only I could wash it down with some ale..." Caspar says. Looking at the dwarf and norseman laughing amongst themselves, he realizes his words aren't heard by them. "No? hmm....Well how about a little song!"
Fear not for winds and rain so cold
Fear not ye young or ye old
A mighty storm comes for the wicked and evil
The fury of Ulric shall save his great people!
Hurrah! For the Grey Wolves!
The saviors of Wolfenburg
Hurrah! For the Grey Wolves!
and a swift death to the Kurgen!
Fear not ye tired, hungry and beaten
Fear no evil, no hag or false priestess
The mighty wolves will rend their wicked flesh
and send them to Morr our father of Death!
Hurrah! For the Grey Wolves!
The saviors of Wolfenburg
Hurrah! For the Grey Wolves!
and a swift death to the Kurgen!
Njord and the red bearded Krak lean close over the flickering flames of the roaring fire, examining a long red steel blade. You can hear the Norseman recounting a story in his strange rolling tongue, sweeping the blade about slowly as he remembers hard fought battles on the distant northern frontier of the Old World. The grim story is broken here and there by a loud 'guffah' of laughter from Krak who is working hard on getting black out drunk.
vs 41 (FEL + 10%): FAILED!
The story Njord is weaving is a bit hard to swallow, but that doesn't seem to bother Krak in the least. The ale goes a long way to ease the absurd tale that the Northman is telling. Krak laughs at all the wrong times. Njord doesn't seem to notice.
Krak stops mid-laughter when Caspar sings and when done, there is a serene and proud smile across his face
"Kemere lad. Well said. We're not through yet r we? We've got uss a mighty band anna no Kurgen rabble isn gonna stand up to it."
With a slap on the back that almost bowls you over the pain is replaced by a tankard of ale slamming you in the chest.
Caspar: You catch Gretta smiling at you. She blows you a kiss and quickly gets off to her tent
Njord: no worries on the failed fellowship. Krak is extremely interested in your red steel so much so that he tends to get "lost" looking at it...mumbling to himself. You think you catch..."hero" and "clan" in some of those mumblings
As Krak passes his massive ale jug to Caspar, Njord regards the man from across the blazing fire, his own cold northern eyes now embers of thought.
"You men of Empire very small," he says at last. "It is miracle Chaos not kill you already."
With a good natured grin, Njord stands, towering over Caspar, and re-slings Sverð Sigr, his fierce two handed blade.
"Still, you sing better than womens of my people!" Njord concludes without an ounce of sarcasm, brushing past Caspar and slapping him on the back, moving into the trees to attend to the calls of the wild.
vs 16 (INT/2): FAILED!
If there is anything out there in the dark, Njord doesn't see it. An evening spent by the roaring flames has ruined his night vision, and the half barrel of Dwarvish ale has done little to sharpen his wits. With a mighty groan he lifts his chain kilt and begins to create yellow snow.
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It had been a very long night and day. After the strange hallucination brought on by Albrecht touching the glowing stone the hag had been wearing, the party had rummaged through the wreckage and destruction of the desperate camp made by The Gray Wolves. The Kurgen hadn't left much behind that wasn't ruined or defiled, and their evident cannibalism had been nauseating.
Removing the crude manacles from Njord and Mudnucles had been childsplay. Lutke didn't even know why the Kurgen bothered. Even Njord probably would have been able to pick the single-pin key lock. Lutke already been imagining what he could do with the heavy manacles and made sure to stow it on the wagon. A trap design intended to launch them like a bola came to mind...in fact, Lutke was sure some of the dwarves explosive devices could manage it. Lutke decided he would approach them about a way to propel this in a directed manner...
Caspar and Gretta had managed to find some rations that they knew the cook had buried in the snow behind the former mess area. The cook had always insisted on doing this for some of the officers' food. Fortunately, the Kurgen hadn't known about it, and it had been unspoiled. Not that it had been too much better than the food served to the regular soldiers. Times had been tough.
Fortunately, there had been plenty of clothing and blankets left (bodies not being in short supply), and the party had been able to scrounge enough to replace or augment their rather meager inventory. Everyone but the halfling was able to add a second pair of worn boots (Gretta looked a little odd in soldier's footwear, but the hide boots she had been wearing had needed a little cobbling) and some socks or foot wraps. Mudnucles refused to even hear any suggestion of the kind and pointedly ignored any attempts to convince him otherwise.
The only other tools of survival they had an overabundance of was tent canvas. While much of tent poles and stakes had been broken or burned, plenty of the thick rough cloth lay about in various degrees of destruction. Using tree branches, broken spear hafts, and even a snapped pitted dagger as a stake, the party was able to get together enough materials to set up two full tents for three and enough tarp for the dwarves to make a half tent using the side of their wagon. Lutke had assumed the big Norseman Njord, Albrecht, and he would be in one tent while Mudnucles, Caspar, and Gretta shared the other. However, the unusually tense air between Caspar and Gretta seemed to indicate that sleeping arrangements might be different.
As the ragged band sat around the fire eating the warming meal Gretta provided, Lutke find himself trying to divide his attention between Albrecht, Gretta, and the two newcomers. For once he couldn't seem to keep track of everything. The laughter of Krak and Njord was somewhat irritating...being ignorant always bothered Lutke. He cursed that he had never had a chance to learn Khazalid. Instead he tried to focus on the things pressing on his mind. He found himself tinkering with the ancient dwarven lockbox absently as he did sometimes, a single lockpick tracing the familiar contours inside the lock itself. He forced himself to stop, stowing the tool and the lockbox.
Albrecht worried him. Even after the mental hijinks the stone in the hag's crude thong necklace had caused, Albrecht had insisted on taking it with him. Not the reaction Lutke had expected. Of course, Gretta's "episode" was probably the most concerning. She was hiding something. It had embarrassed and upset her, leading her to distance herself from the man for whom she seemed to have a strong infatuation, Caspar. She sure was pretty. Lutke shook his head to clear his thoughts. No time for that. Besides she had made her choice of course. Likely, it was better that way. Who knew what her secret was, but it didn't look to be something one would easily ignore. Lutke found his hands were once again busy with the lockbox and a lockpick tool. This time it was the other lockbox. Lutke didn't know how he could tell, but he could despite their identical appearance. He immediately stopped and once again put them away.
Running his nimble hands through his hair, Lutke moved the wooden bowl of half-eaten food from his lap. Standing he forced himself not to look at either the wizard or the pretty girl and instead made his way to the other side of the fire. Looking at the small form of the halfling, Lutke says,
"Hello friend, if you are willing to hear my story of how I arrived here, I would be more than happy to hear yours." Lutke gives Mudnucles a nervous smile, brushes some snow off of the fallen log they had pulled up close to the fire, and sits down near the body almost invisible in a pile of blankets.
As Lutke moves towards Mudnucles, Caspar sings his song, and Lutke notices that the strange tension Gretta had been displaying seems to melt away. She begins to give Caspar those flirty little smiles again, clearly the off-key song meant to instill bravery in men about to die having an effect few could understand on the mysterious young woman. Lutke does his best to ignore this and makes his offer to Mudnucles for conversation. As he sits, the giant Norseman Njord goes thumping by not seeming the worse for wear after all the dwarven spirits, and a brief moment later the sound of a keg being untapped and let to run unchecked comes from off in the dark.
The day had been a strange one for Albrecht Baer. But then, aren't they all? The mass hallucination, for surely that had to be what it was, that overcame the party when he took the charm must have been a last barrier of protection. Some sort of spell to cause stupidity in attackers. It was entirely possible Albrecht's presence had altered its mechanics in some way. Regardless, he meant to destroy the item in some way, though he was not sure if he could do so with naught but his flame. Idly his finger would droop down and toy at the sphere through the side of the pouch. Rolling it back and forth through the leather. He dare not touch it again, not so soon after the incident.
Albrecht's eyes were alive in the flames of the evening. He sat leaned back against a rock and continued his planning for their next few days. They were going to be gaining on the Kurgan soon, that he was certain of. And what then? If their paths should cross? He started to rise as Caspar's tune began. At the sound of the melody he adjusted his weight and decided against this meeting. He would let the group have their one night without further worry.
Tomorrow morning, he would ask Njord of his opinion on the matter, they would discuss it then.
As Albrecht drifts off into sleep for the evening his finger flicks across the shape of the orb hidden in his pouch.
Albrecht awakes with a slight glazing of frost across his face. A quick yawn and it all melts away leaving him to feel rather toasty. As the rest of the group awakens Albercht makes his way over to Njord.
"Njord, I would have words with you. You seem to know more about the enemy than I myself would. What do you think we should do? How best can we deal with them? I rather think we should avoid them and join our number back in Wolfenburg but any further intelligence we can give them would surely be of use? Perhaps we assault them at night, striking off some of their number here and there? Or perhaps we scout around them, leave some traps along the way. Something I'm sure Meister Lutke would be more than willing to help accomplish. Yes I think that will be our best course. Anything we can do to slow them down. Well? Speak man!"
Njord drops his chain skirt back into place and turns as he sees the sorcerer stride towards him in the darkness. Bowing low, Njord steps forward to meet the gaze of Albrecht.
"Yes, is true. I know much of Kurgen and their ways. Hated enemies they are to my people. Peoples of Empire assume we all same, but this not correct," Njord responds, shifting the weight of the large blade on his back. "But like my peoples, Kurgen follow strength. Kill leader, you win fight."
Njord draws his sword and spins it about dramatically, holding it then at arms length while looking down the length of the blade.
"All Kurgen different, but all Kurgen same. These worship Great Eagle who flies above steppes and sees all."
The Great Eagle? Could Njord mean...Tzeentch?!
"Attack then when worship. They distracted. Best time."
Njord then plants the red steel tip of his blade into the frozen earth at his feet, his cool blue eyes regarding you with ponderous thought.
"Men of Empire talk much. Blade thirsts for Kurgen blood..."
"Ah, you suggest we six and a half men attack the host so as to kill their leader? Even if we waited for them to be in prayer, you don't think they'd take a notice to us? Njord, I fear you are not thinking this through. I do not doubt your courage, or your knowledge, I believe them true but in this situation, impossible to pull off."
And your red blade thirsting for blood makes me think twice about you.
You all awake to the sounds of the camp coming to life.
Krak and Gretta make busy their arrangements, but it is obviously Gretta with her loud "storing" of items that is the sleep breaker. She seems angry as her brow is in a frozen furrow.
Boom walks back into the camp looking a bit worn. He ambles into the back of the covered Dwarven wagon.
Albrecht and Njord have gotten an incredibly early start it seems and are talking to eachother even as Njord relieves himself once again. In fact there is a CLEAR spot where Njord has gone time and again to "answer nature's call" and due to the amount of alcohol he has consumed, it has become a small puddle. It is possible, you think to yourselves, that he has not slept all night.
Albrecht and Njord: As a weary Boom passes you...
"You know der iz unz secret entrance in ze back of ze keep, Ja? Even unz elf Kun find it"
Boom snickers as he continues his pace and climbs in the back of the wagon.