Ragnar's face grows ever darker over the course of the three days, as the corruption seems to grow ever stronger. Wotan help us..., a thought crosses his mind as he glances over the putrid sight of the Black Oak itself. Is the Oak the source of all vile wyrd in here, or is it the pool?, his brows furrow as he steps forward, only for the woman's voice to stop him in his tracks.
Turning to the direction of the voice, the skald's voice booms through the woods. "We are warriors of Halfstead!", he shouts. "We've come to end the curse of Thorvald! And who are you, who dwells in this heart of corruption?", he asks, looking around.
EDIT:
Signe’s heart is heavy as they get closer and closer to their destination. The oddities they encounter seem to grow in number as they progress. Her nose wrinkles in disgust as she wonders if she’ll ever get the smell of skunk out of her gear. When the Black Oak finally comes into view she halts mid-step. Her will wars within her – she desires to flee such intense corruption but knows she cannot. She gave her word to help and so she takes a hesitant step forward even though the evil is palpable.
It is then that a woman’s voice fills the air. Even though a shudder goes down Signe’s spine from the tone of the voice, she immediately nocks an arrow and looks for the source. ”We do not seek Thorvald, we seek peace for Thorvald’s Gift.”
This Black Oak I shall fell and rive, and shall carry with me as a spear.
Þyrnir's heart is heavy and saddened by the state of the forest. It must have been such a beautiful place once, but now it is corrupted and inimical. He is more and more withdrawn and quiet as they advance into its depths, and the days pass without him speaking more than a dozen words.
As they finally reach the twisted oak, the voice jolts him and he tightens his grip on his shield, reaching out with his other hand to touch his companions.
"Frigg help us all!"
The mist seems to grow thicker, obscuring vision beyond a few feet . The cackling continues, sinister and cold. It emanates from different directions, bouncing here, then there, yet the water remains undisturbed.
"We are warriors of Halfstead! We've come to end the curse of Thorvald!”
”Curse? It is a great gift, what has become of Thorvald. You shall see. You heroes of half stead.”
”We do not seek Thorvald, we seek peace for Thorvald’s Gift.”
”Ah, my young one, but there shall be peace. For none rest more gently than the dead.”
This Black Oak I shall fell and rive, and shall carry with me as a spear.
At this, only more laughter.
””Frigg help us all!”
A hiss. ”She has no power here, godi. Feel the name die on you tongue even as you speak. Here, Althunak’s seed has taken root, and the great tree chokes out the weeds that are the Æsir and Vanir.”
And who are you, who dwells in this heart of corruption?
”I am the mist that hangs about you, the leaves that shroud you, the trees that have closed upon you and led you here, to this place. Yet you are not an invited guest, and it is not for you to ask questions of me. If you are creatures of honor, as you pretend to be, then tell me your names...”
fail
fail
pass
fail
fail
Signe, Ragnar, Ramundr, Thyrnir, Otryggr
Signe's eyes widen as her mind is probed. She tries to find who or what is responsible by looking everywhere around her, her nocked arrow following her eyes.
Signe calls out a warning to her companions, "I think it wants our names for some reason because it tried to take mine by force, by trying to invade my mind. To be prudent, do not give it your name." The ranger has no time to contemplate how crazy her own words sound because she is focusing on finding the threat.
Ragnar lets out a bolsterous laugh as Signe reveals the voice's plot. "Two servants of Althunak have faced us, and two servants of Althunak have failed.", he chuckles, slamming his spear on the ground. "And I owe no honour to wolf-hearted witches.", he reasons, pointing at the tree. "And you'd do wise to remember, witch, the Æsir are more powerful than you can imagine." His voice, once again overtaken by the unnatural echo, begins filling hearts with courage and fury.
His battlecry echoes in the woods as he moves next to Ramundr and raises his shield. "Come and stop us!"
Starting Raging Song. Remember it also gives +2 to Will saves!
GM - would Ragnar's bonus of +4 versus language-dependant effects help against the mind-reading? Skalds and names are kind of intertwined, but I'd understand if it doesn't!
By my name you shall die, witch, for today it is the Wyrd. This sword Ramundr gives the command and watches as icy crystals form I plundered from the Althunak's temple in the North. Now its blade will plunder you. Ramundr sighs at his bad oratory. Let's get on with it.
"My name i would not give to you even if I knew it, for it was stolen from me with my freedom. And you are wrong that the dead rest gently, for we have seen many who do not. And by this I know you to be a liar and a deceiver!" He steps forward to stand by Ragnar and Ramundr, adding their shield to theirs.
"Stand fast, friends, against this witch's trickery. We know the truth in our hearts and our faith shall protect us!" Reaching out with one hand, he touches Ramundr's frosty blade, blessing it with the power of goodness.
In response, the cackling, once far away at the edge of the pool, draws near with terrifying speed. A gust of wind, hot and putrid, disperses the cloud of mist surrounding you. There, just before Ragnar, stands a terrifying sight. The creature might be a woman with gray, sloughing leathery skin over a skeletal frame, webbed hands and feet, fiery red points of light in hollow eye sockets, and a single nostril in the center of her face, all shrouded in the tatters of a rotten robe. Her her is long and unkempt, and her hands end in razor-sharp claws.
Initiative (Bold may act):
Ramundr
Signe
Þyrnir
Ótryggr
Fen witch
Ragnar
Otryggr: 70/70
Ragnar: 45/45
Ramundr: 58/58
Signe: 51/51
Thyrnir: 44/44
Ramundr feels himself wretch, strength draining from his limbs. His shield droops from fear. This flesh is not...its not.. He could not complete the thought.
The creature emerging from the mist is a thing of nightmares - and not of childhood nightmares, but adult ones. Signe's insides clench at the repulsive sight of the woman but she manages to shake off whatever effects. She releases her readied arrow and reaches for another.
His gut told him that this decrepit creature could move fast, so he wanted to make sure his blow hit. Stepping forward to the front of the line, he swings his blade flat at her midriff.
The sight of the creature makes him go weak at the knees and it is all he can do to hold on to his shield. Terrified, he calls on his goddess's protection once more.
Otryggr dives forward through the muck, swinging his blade to deliver a powerful blow.
Signe hits with one arrow, though the arrow seems to get stuck in the sloughing skin . Ramundr’s and Otryggr’s blades also cleave into the rotted flesh, with similar results. The hag effortlessly glides back five feet , and points a bone finger at Ragnar. ”Sssspeak your name!”
Initiative (Bold may act):
Ragnar
Ramundr
Signe
Þyrnir
Ótryggr
Fen witch
Otryggr: 70/70
Ragnar: 45/45
Ramundr: 58/58
Signe: 51/51
Thyrnir: 44/44
Fen witch -17
Signe watches the witch glide without hindrance through the terrain and realizes that she needs whatever advantage she can use. Reaching into her bag she grabs the vial containing what she was told would make her faster and quickly drinks it.
With a wordless cry, Þyrnir shoulders past Ragnar as the skald rallies their spirit with his words, struggling through the watery swamp, tendrils of vegetation grasping at his legs. He leans forward behind his shield, powering towards the witch as he calls upon Frigg's blessing.
Ragnar's rhythmic, echoing song starts echoing from his throat, as the man begins to sing. The blood boils and the minds resist, as the fen witch shows her face. "The name, you will not know, hag!", he roars. "But know that I bear the word of Wotan!"
starting raging song.
+2 to Str, Con and Will, and -1 to Ac if you accept it.
Ramundr follows the witch, slashing with his blessed sword of ice. Die Demon Witch...feel the bite of the blessed.
Ragnar’s song sends some of you into a frenzy, though Signe retains her presence of mind to produce the magical elixir. For all his fury, Thyrnir’s swing misses, but Ramundr and Otryggr are able to strike with their swords. While the icy magic of Ramundr’s blade does little to impact the hag, the good infused in his weapon sears and burns her flesh.
She screams in pain and rage, her breath hot and sour, and then the hag’s claws come for Ramundr’s face, gashing his flesh and barely missing his eyes. "You shall not have him!"
Initiative (Bold may act):
Ragnar
Ramundr
Signe
Þyrnir
Ótryggr
Fen witch
Otryggr: 70/70
Ragnar: 45/45
Ramundr: 42/58
Signe: 51/51
Thyrnir: 44/44
hit
Þyrnir steels himself against the fury of the witch - quite literally, as a metallic sheen appears over his skin, to protect him from harm.
"You cannot stand against our righteous cause!"
With these shouted words, he swings his shield again, aiming to catch the witch in the chin.
Ramundr ignores the blood streaming down his face to deliver death, by sending a flurry of blades and shield at the demon witch.
Thyrnir and Ramundr, on the wings of Ragnar’s song, hack the fen witch into pieces. Her pitch blood further darkens the inky waters below the Black Oak.
Otryggr: 70/70
Ragnar: 45/45
Ramundr: 42/58
Signe: 51/51
Thyrnir: 44/44
Ramundr wipes his blade in the waters of the clearing, and kneels in the muck. He breathes heavily, trying to wipe the memory of that foul witch's flesh from his mind. Blood seeps from her scratches, and worries about leaving it untreated in such a place.
Þyrnir stands breathing heavily as the witch topples over, dead. After a moment, he shakes his head as if to clear it, then looks around. Sheathing his seax, he turns to Ragnar.
"Let me help you with your wounds. What strength and fury you had, both of body and of mind!"
That done, he moves to look at the great oak tree. "The witch said something about 'passing between the roots'. Perhaps the one we seek is within the tree."
Wading into the waist-deep pool among the roots of the tree, you feel about in the murky waters and discover a hollow within the tree itself. Within, there’s a short, muddy, and water-filled tunnel that leads under the pool and up into the hollow at the base of the tree.
The Black Oak is alive (such as it is), but its heartwood is corrupted and in many places has completely rotted away, creating huge hollows in its interior. These hollows are so large as to be carenous. The interior is humid and oppressive, with no internal light. The walls are wood, though it is far too wet to burn.
The murky waters surrounding the great tree are pooled here in a large cavern of roots and thick, brown mud fed by a constant trickle from the water above. This hidden pool is chest deep, and the mud sucks at your feet as you struggle toward what passes for a shore, where the tangle of winding roots has formed what could serve as a crude ladder to ascend into the dark interior of the tree itself.
Here you find a large strangle weed accompanied by a large mud elemental, which attack the moment you enter.
Otryggr: 66/70
Ragnar: 46/45
Ramundr: 38/58
Signe: 47/51
Thyrnir: 40/44
Þyrnir wades through the foul water to the shore, now drenched to the skin and slathered in stinking mud. Once the inner guardians of the oak tree are dispatched, he moves to take a closer look at the ladder and curses as he stabs his toe against something hard buried in the mud.
Thyrnir's able to extract a rotten knapsack that's been buried in the mud beneath the water, possibly the belongings of some lost wanderer, or perhaps a lone druid who once commanded denizens of this swamp. In any case, bound up within the cloth is a rotten scabbard. Within is a find most unexpected: a shimmering seax of immaculate construction that has proved impervious to the environs. Its blade actually seems to shimmer despite the gloom.
The gleam of the seax attracts Þyrnir eye, and Ramundr watches as the the man pulls it from the muck. Ei, what that!? Þyrnir, I do believe you've found yourself a seax worthy of Frigg! It looks wondrous indeed!
Þyrnir calls into being Frigg's magical light to illuminate their surroundings and give a better sight of his finding. He holds the seax gingerly, at a distance, as one might hold a foul garment or a wild cub.
"Ehh, I'm not sure that I want to have anything found in this foul and cursed place. It might be cursed itself, who knows."
Ragnar scratches his chin, taking a look at the seax. "To have resisted the foul wyrd of this place, a weapon must be mighty indeed.", he posits, glimpsing at the weapon. "It is possible whoever placed it there wanted to corrupt it, but I do not believe I sense a curse upon it."
Staring at the oak, he clears his throat. "We will burn the oak to a husk. But first, the witch mentioned Thorvald being here. To find him, or whatever remains of him, should be our goal for now." And, the village would be more want to believe our tale.
Trust Ragnar, he know his craft. Take up that weapon, and exceed the valor and deeds of its former wielder.
Ramundr pulls his blade once again and hefts his shield. I will lead the way in if you can provide the light.
Otrggyr grunts his ascent to all aspects of the conversation, and once
Þyrnir has made up his mind shoulders his way around the oak's insides, probing with his blade as he seeks some means to continue their explorations.
Next to the scabbard rests a rotten knapsack that still holds a potion of water breathing, 502 hacksilver, two pearls (75 hs each), and an emerald worth 300 hs.
This large chamber is framed by both a floor and ceiling of thickly interwoven roots and leaves. It is dark, musty, and moist. A low rustling in the darkness seems to be coming from the shadowed vines far above your head. A pungent odor lingers in the room.
This chamber is home to swarms of disgusting, mutated squirrels who slip in and out of the tree through tiny knotholes and glide with their rudimentary wing-like membranes that extend between their hind legs and forelegs. The racket from your entrance rouses them. They swarm and attack en masse! They leap for your faces, and from their maws extend tiny, fleshy tentacles!
The squirrels swarm into your space and leap for your head . They claw at your faces and necks, securing purchase so that their worming tentacles can invade the orifices of your nose and ears.
Initiative (Bold may act):
Mutated squirrel swarms
Signe
Þyrnir
Ragnar
Ramundr
Ótryggr
Otryggr: 62/70 (-1 Int)
Ragnar: 41/45 (-1 Int)
Ramundr: 50/58 (-1 Int)
Signe: 41/51 (-1 Int)
Thyrnir: 36/44 (-1 Int)
Ragnar's song begins echoing once more, though his voice is muffled by the screeches of the ravenous beasts. "Burn them with Wotan's fire!", he roars.
Signe is both horrified and fascinated by the strange creatures. She has never encountered mutated squirrels before but she knew enough about the habits of swarming animals and the intent of the squirrels to know the danger they posed. "They will feast on our brains until we are unable to think enough to defend ourselves. If we cannot find a way to affect the area they are in, we are surely doomed."
Believing that her arrows are of no use against such small animals, she pulls a different weapon and begins to smash at them with her battleaxe.
This sickness in the heart of this forest will end, the Northlanders declare it with their shields and spears, axe and blades! Ramundr roars with frustration and determination. He swings his icy sword, but the raging song sends Wotan's fire along its edge and he swings hard, he follows swirling with shield, and another try with his sword.
Otrygrr grunts more in annoyance than alarm; on some primitive level of his brain, he can't help but see these foes as squirrels, no matter how twisted, and so the very thought of battling them pricks his pride.
Slashing, he seeks to hew as many of them apart as he can.
Þyrnir shouts in disgust as he leaps to the side and swings his shield arm in a sweeping arc at the deformed creatures.
Ragnar’s words stir an inner fire, for Signe’s axe cleaves the rats into pieces , and the might of Ramundr’s frost and fire leaves them a pulpy, bloody mess and sends the remainder scurrying into the wood. Otrgyrr fairly finishes the second swarm, but many of the squirrels leap over his and Thyrnir’s blade, continuing their search for fresh meat.
Initiative (Bold may act):
Mutated squirrel swarms
Ragnar
Ramundr
Signe
Þyrnir
Ótryggr
Otryggr: 61/70 (-2 Int)
Ragnar: 40/45 (-2 Int)
Ramundr: 50/58 (-1 Int)
Signe: 41/51 (-1 Int)
Thyrnir: 36/44 (-1 Int)
It's getting harder to think straight. His thoughts are coming more sluggishly, but one thing remains clear: these bastard little squirrel must perish!
Ramundr just grits his teeth and blends ice and steel to send tentacled pulp in all directions.
Ramundr and Otryggr send the last living squirrels scurrying in fear.
Once the swarms have been dealt with, you have to find their own way to continue your ascent in the tree, as the root ladder ends here. This can be anything from flying to cutting footholds in the inner walls of the tree, to using hooks to pull down the ceiling of tangled branches. The tangle is too dense for anything as large as a man to pass through, though you manage to cut through with a determined effort.
There is a palpable sense of danger in this chamber. Movement through the area is hindered by thick, sticky webbing that coats the walls and floor in sheets. Countless pairs of red eyes suddenly flash to life in the heart this massive nest of enormous spiders. They immediately attack, eager for a new meal beyond the squirrels upon which they are accustomed to feeding.
After soundly defeating the spiders, you discover the remains of past victims encased within their webs. These desiccated, skeletal husks include not only forest animals but loggers and travelers that have gone missing over the years. One corpse wears 2 gold arm-rings (250 hs each), and clutches a wash-leather in one hand. Within the pouch are 22 hs, a small jade statuette of a Dvergar (500 hs), and a sapphire (650 hs).
Clearing the webbing near the top of the chamber reveals a ceiling of solid heartwood. Set near one edge is a small man-made trapdoor that provides access above and has obviously not been opened in many years…
A surprising sense of serenity pervades this chamber. A solid stairwell carved from the chamber’s walls wraps around the room and up into the darkness above. The floor of polished heartwood is blackening around the edges as if slowly giving way to the corruption that infects the great tree, though this corruption does not reach the center. A circle of graceful luminous sigils has been inscribed into the wood. Within the confines of this circle, you see that the floor is pristine and the wood still fresh and vibrant. More shocking is the beautiful Alfar maiden who stands within the circle. She is clearly a Nûklander, her glossy black hair is vibrant and lush, and her deep brown eyes are dimmed with sadness. She gasps in surprise upon seeing you and reaches a hand tentatively in your direction. A shock of green energy lances from the runes at the extended hand, and she cries out in pain, quickly drawing it back.
Ragnar raises his hand in the air, as if to indicate the others to stop. "Alle vindene, fortell meg alt du har hørt!", he says, as the wind around his mouth shimmers, and the skald touches his ear, mouth and eyes.
"We're here to tear away this corruption. If you tell us how we can set you free, we will.", he speaks at the Nuklander, before his eyes are drawn to the runes on the ground. "What is the purpose of those runes?", he asks, his eyes sparking for a moment as he takes a step forward to inspect them.
Teach me what you've heard, winds - Casting Tongues.
Casting Detect Magic on the circle, and trying to figure out what it is.
Ramundr is shocked to find such serenity and beauty in the heart of an evil tree. The beauty of the alfar maiden, her angular cheekbone, her gray eyes, even her pointed ears, these stirred within him a longing. But with that longing, a warning, learned under a greenlit willow, against all that dwelt in this forest. He pushes down all affection, raises his sword, and awaits her response to Ragnar's query. The runes. Did they signify a demon magic?. He had his doubts, but thought back to the legends, and the old man's tales around the hearth fire.
Þyrnir runs his hands over the unspoiled surface of the heartwood, feeling both wonder and sadness at the state of this majestic tree. He then turns to take in the woman and the sigils and frowns in confusion.
"It looks to me a circle of protection against the corruption, but it is also imprisoning this woman. Unless she is not what she seems... this cannot be a wholly good thing."
Whatever apprehension the woman might have is eclipsed by her desperation and relief. ”By the gods, you’ve come” She says in the common Nørsk. ”I did not think the turning of the sky candle would ever lead others to this place.” She pauses, clearly debating whether to speak further. Her eyes spot Thyrnir’s shield, and she relaxes, then continues.
”You are Northlanders, like Thorvald. I am Elk-Running, a druid in allegiance to Thorvald’s company when we came to this accursed tree a generation ago. I was exploring within when I sensed a coming darkness flying faster than raven’s wings.” She glances up at the ceiling. ”Acting swiftly, I wove a powerful enchantment to protect myself, using the magic from an ancient scroll I found in the far North. But the spell was more powerful than I knew, and I have been imprisoned here ever since, lingering for decades, my life-force extended by the same magic that binds me.”
”Have you come to end the corrupting influence of the oak? If you release me, I will help you!”
Otryggr scratches at his thick, coarse beard, and eyes the beautiful Alfar maiden. Still rubbing at a pair of inflamed puncture wounds in his forearm from their battle with the spiders, he grimaces and then spits.
"I trust nothing within this tree. Her tale may be true. It is most likely a cunning snare. I say we leave her be. If after we defeat Thorvald and cleanse the tree she is still here, then I say we release her once she cannot interfere."