The light of a fire casts a gentle glow on the ruined arch of a long-forgotten temple. Brambles and thorns cover the face of the ancient structure, and the area is choked with weeds and thorny flowers. Though the campfire is only fifteen feet from the arch, the space between seems distant and removed. A strange, barren circle rings the archway, as if plants refused to grow there.
One of the men tending the fire prods it with a long stick, causing the flame to jump up as fresh wood catches light. The light flickers and dances, briefly highlighting fragments of verse written across the collapsed arch.
"...chambers of the sun, that now from ancient melody have ceased... left the ancient love that bards of old enjoy'd... words shall return to end the pained night of... and fill the void of torment..."
The fire is ringed by nine men. Most sit idly in quiet conversation, though one tends the fire and prods the coals, an iron pot bubbling with soup made of trail rations. Another sits, idly tuning a lute for several minutes before launching into a quiet song, lamenting long-lost poems.
A man turns and idly tosses a stone toward the collapsed arch, bouncing it off the only curve of the arch which has not yet collapsed under the weight of time. The stone arch totters for a moment, then collapses backward into the brambles which lay behind it, crunching and tearing away the foliage which hid from sight a stairway leading down into the earth.
The crashing brings the men to their feet in a start, several of them drawing blades or quickly moving to string bows. A few moments pass, the crunching of stone down the stairwell echoing up into the night, before a ringing silence fills the air.
Deep in the ruined temple, the echoes of the collapsing arch can be heard. Sympathetic collapses throughout the temple knock drop loose stones into hallways. One such stone falls onto a dusty, old bookshelf, causing it to topple forward. An old, jewel encrused tome falls to the side, open to a page with a long-forgotten divine symbol, and an unnatural breeze begins to stir the halls. The symbol glows, and a rushing sound like that of thousands of voices slowly raising in a cry echoes out of the halls, carrying up the stairs and breaking the silence of the night.
The sound abruptly stops, and a man stands where the jewelled tome lay, holding the tome in his hands, looking slightly bewildered.
A deep, joyful laugh rolls out of the man to fill the long-forgotten space.
He laughs again, then closes the book and attaches the straps to his belt.
He casts about the room for some indication of where and when he may be.
The only illumination in the dark, dusty room is a flickering light within the jewels on the front of the tome. Though very dim, it provides enough light for Baergar to see that he is in an old library. The walls are lined with shelves, and the shelves are lined with books in varying states of decrepitude. Dust filters through the air, stirred up by fresh collapses within the temple, filling Baergar's nose with the smell of decay and neglect.
A faint, flickering light echoes off a wall at the end of a long passageway. The source of the light isn't visible, but it doesn't seem like it had been there a few moments before. The other exit from the room is shouded in darkness, the faint light from the jewelled tome only providing limited illumination.
The room Baergar is in seems to be threatening complete collapse, though not immediately.
Is that fire light? Baergar moves toward the flickering light and what he hopes is an exit from the condemed structure.
"Hullo! Be you man or beast; friend or foe?"
A sudden chattering of voices echoes down the passageway, eventually being silenced with a loud "SHHHHHHHHH." After a few moments of silence, a voice calls out down the hall. "We be men. Who be you?" The light from the flame seems to have stopped approaching, but it's fairly evident that the source of the flame isn't too far from the approaching bend in the path.
A faint crashing noise echoes from behind Baergar, seeming to have come from the other exit from the library.
"I am Baergar, and something about your presence seems to have freed me. I shall reward you with a tale of wit and might this night!"
Baergar bounds forward until meeting the men.
The men seem a little taken aback by the sudden presence of this huge man. A torch swings to the side, held by rather a large man in a thick leather vest, who raises his eyebrows. "Freed you? Were you imprisoned then?" The men all seem to be warily resting their hands on their weapons, some of which Baergar notes were already drawn as they advanced down the passage. "Why were you imprisoned?"
The men nervously shift, their leathers creaking. One man palms a holy symbol, raising it to his mouth and kissing it.
"Betrayed and trapped more than imprisoned, but that might make for a better story." Baergar smiles and spots the holy symbol. "Ah! The Lucky Drunk still holds sway! Cayden is quite the tough drinking companion I can tell you."
The amiable man nod nostalgically then snaps his attention back to the group of men. "Now! What say you stowe those blades for another day and we share some öl and I'll sing for my supper?"
"You... you've... You've shared cups with our lord? But how..." They suddenly seem very helpful toward Baergar, and nod, stowing their weapons. "Please come share our food and drink. We have a campfire just outside. This sounds like a tale worth telling!"
Suddenly, from around the dark corner behind Baergar, a thin, wispy man with a short barbed tail, wielding a short sword leaps out, stabbing at his turned back! A second, similarly wispy and horned face peeks out around the corner.
for
"It truly is a tale of tales, and will tell it gladly! Have you heard the saga of Bae...?"
His mouth snaps shut and Baergar spins instinctively away from the clumsy stab while simultaneously drawing a large sword.
"Valhalla awaits the brave! A coward falls to Hel!"
With his first swing Baergar splits his foe in two, leaving a bloody mess and spraying blood into the eyes of the second would-be assassin. With a shriek, the man drops his blade and starts rubbing his eyes trying to get the blood out right as Baergar's second swing catches him, flinging him backward against the wall, unconscious and on the edge of death. He quickly bleeds out, having acheived nothing more than redecorating a small portion of the floor and walls with his insides.
The men behind Baergar ready their blades, successfully drawing them onlf a few moments after both foes are already slain. "WHAT JUST YOU THEY DIED HOW" is about the most Baergar is able to understand from the utterly astounded men. They seem torn if they should run in terror, applaud, or fall on bended knee.
Baergar shrugs and smiles. "Glory clings to men who do not hesitate. Take heart from this display and remember this story when loathesome fear clutches at your breast. The All-Father wove the skein of your lives a long time ago. Go and hide in a hole if you wish, but you won't live one instant longer. Your fate is fixed, and fear profits a man nothing."
"Be bold my friends and I shall sing your great deeds to the heavens until Ragnarok comes and all goes silent."
"Now! I believe there was talk of food?" He raises an eyebrow questioningly.
Baergar's words fill the men with vigor, and they seem once again bold and lively. "Aye, there's food and drink to be shared. Join us when you're ready, we're camped right outside the exit." The men hurry off, seeing that Baergar intends to inspect the bodies, leaving him a torch.
Baergar finds two shredded tieflings, 200gp worth of gold and items, a pair of masterwork shortswords, two light crossbows, two sets of studded leather armor, and catches a glimpse of a rapidly decaying pile of metal, which was likely once a holy symbol. On one of the bodies, he finds a note. Find enclosed your payment. You shall be frozen until such a time as this temple is disturbed - pain is the reward for any who disturb this place. Should you need any further clarification, I will be at the temple in Bildt. -MF
Baergar pockets the coins and gear, buckles the shortswords to his belt, and slips the leather armor into a sack. He batters the crossbows against the stone stairs until they break and tosses the mangled pieces down into the ruined temple. Vile machines. No skill required.
Exiting the complex, Baergar takes a seat beside the fire, and thankfull accepts some beer and a bowl of stew. He eats slowly, waiting to see if the men will ask him questions, and contemplating how to tell his story without giving himself away completely.
The chatter around the fire dies down a bit as Baergar emerges, lapsing into a slightly awed silence. After a few moments, the man with the holy symbol musters his courage. "You... You said you had drank with Cayden Cailean? That sounds like a tale worth listening to, if you would be willing to share it."
The men around the fire lapse into an expectent hush, and even away from the fire, the tall pines seem to be waiting for a story.
Baergar smiles around a mouthful of soup, swallows, and says, "I said Cayden is a tough drinking companion. I did not say it was myself that drank with him."
"What do you know of Baergar: Proclaimer of Deeds, Knower of Secrets, The Voice and Word?"
The men turn, looking at each other with furrowed brows. After a few beats of silence, they turn back to Baergar. One man at the back pipes up, "Baer-who? He sounds a little pompous, claiming all those titles..." but is shushed before he can say any more.
"No, sir. I don't think any of us have." All of them look a little puzzled, as if they'd forgotten something they feel they should remember. "It feels somehow... strange to say that. Hm. Is he important?"
Baergar bursts out laughing. "Pompous! Aye, he may be that. But he is important too. A god is Baergar, whose task it is to gird the hearts of men and sing their songs of bravery to inspire the workd to be better to each other."
"I am Taliesin, and I will tell you what I know of Baergar if you have the hearts to listen."
The men seem immediately captivated, and it's quite obvious that this strikes close to what matters most to these men. "Aye sir, we are always interested in tales to share. 'tis odd that this Baergar is foreign to us, he sounds like our sort of god. Not uh... not that we have any problem with Cayden Cailean, obviously. He's marvelous." The priest turns a bright red, and quickly kisses his holy symbol, then takes a deep draught from his tankard.
"I will be brief then as I would not steal your hearts from the Drunken Hero for a god who is dead."
"Baergar was of Valhalla and a mighty bard the like of which you have not seen. A warrior rarely matched with the gift to peer into men's souls and know their worth and mettle."
"Each night, the All-father's mead hall was filled with poems and songs of the mighty deeds of men, and where Baergar went, courage was unshakeable."
"But Baergar was betrayed: robbed of his power and doomed to die."
Taliesin smiled then. "But some say Baergar was so brave in the face of death that she could not bear to take him. They say his essence passed into mortal flesh and he will rise once more and reclaim his place."
There is silence around the fire for nearly a minute as each man contemplates Taliesin's words. Finally the cleric tears his gaze away from the fire, and looks to Taliesin. "Then we shall pray - either for justice for Baergar's betrayer, or for strength for Baergar to rise again." Each traveller nods in agreement, voicing their support and agreement.
"The hour grows late, and we have travelled far today and must take our rest. We are travelling north, toward Kalsgard, we expect to be there within five days. These woods are dangerous, far moreso than just those two you slew below. We would be glad of your company and your stories, if you would care to join us."
"Aye, I will come with you. Please take your rest tonight; I will stand the watch."
Then men look a little puzzled, but do not question him. The night passes uneventfully, and dawn breaks to a gloriously bright gray sky with a light drizzle starting. "Miserable weather, this. Still, could be worse." The men quickly pack their camp, and set out on the road to Kalsgard.
To lift the hearts of his companions as they travel in the inclement weather, Baergar chants a tale about a Skaldic king whose daughter was stolen by a troll in attempt to marry into the kingdom and thereby take over. The story recounts the king's relentless overland pursuit of the beast through wind and rain and blakc of night.
Despite the constant drizzle, the men are filled with inspiration, and make excellent time on their journey. The rain lasts the first day, the gentle patter on the pines a constant companion to the party. One of the men brings down a deer with a series of increasingly well placed arrows.
After recovering all six arrows (he's learning, okay?) and the deer, the men make camp early, preparing the meat. The meal is good, but not outstanding. The remainder of the meat is turned to trail rations, and two days worth are given to Taliesin/Baergar.
You're walking. What, did you expect a random encounter? This isn't final fantasy.
"Well shot!" Baergar exclaims. "We will eat well tonight" He flashes a soft smile. "Though the beasts will thank you for making some careful practice with that bow."
As the meal is finished, and the remnants of the meal either packed away or buried, Baergar begins to tell his tale. The men are filled with awe and enraptured. Once the tale is finished, the men begin to ask questions about Baergar's divinity, his origin, his domains and the like.
His answers are poetic yet direct, and his understanding of how the pantheon interacts teaches even the cleric much about the divines. The men go to sleep with words and stories dancing in their minds.
The night passes uneventfully, though howls of animals in the distance give Baergar reason for pause more than once. Shortly before the breaking of dawn, several of the men arise, stoking a fire and preparing a hot, sizzling meal.
By mid-morning, the travellers reach the edge of the forest, and as trees begin to thin, the grassland beyond becomes visible. The road seems to stretch endlessly north.
"This is fine country!" Baergar exclaims. "Please, tell me of these lands and it's people."
The men are very happy to oblige, and give a full, sometimes excessively detailed description of their individual lives, down to the number of siblings, locations in the country, second cousins, third cousins, best friends of the third cousins, and major cities within the LandS of the Linnorm Kings. "...and once her next movement came, my great aunt Belumpa felt much better and we were able to safely recover the compass."
"Uh. Right. Thank you, Norbog for that... illuminating story of... loss," the cleric breaks in before the man can launch into another tale. "Mostly, we travel place to place, spreading the word of our lord, entertaining those we come across, and selling our travelling wares. Kalsgard is always our big destination, we anticipate being there at least two weeks before continuing to the northwest."
Baergar nods, filing the information away for later use. "Do any of you know of Bildt? I hear there is a temple there. Does anyone know the story of the place?"
All of them nod. One pipes up, "Aye, it's out west. Mostly ships and shipyards, but it's the one of the biggest cities in our land. It can be quite brutal, we tend to steer clear of it. Money is decent, but it's easy to die in that place."
As the first man falls silent, a second begins to speak. "And then there's Ingimundr. They call him the Unruly, because he's trying to persuade everyone to take up reaving again." More nods confirm the man's words, but the way they are nodding indicates that they're not too fond of the idea.
Finally the cleric chimes in. "I'm sure there are at least shrines there, though I'm not sure about temples. None to Caiden Caylean or this... Baergar you've mentioned though. Is there a particular temple you're looking for?"
"Not in particular, no. Just something I heard. Why is Bildt so dangerous? I would hear all you know for I may have need to travel there."
"Many who live there support reaving, and some have covertly taken it up again. At atmosphere of violence pervades the place. A man had best be well armed if he intends to visit."
"What of your king? Surely he would not condone such behavior? Why not put an end to it?"
"Ingimundr has broken no law. He advocates for reaving, but to date has respected the wishes of the King. As for the people... there are only rumors of their reaving, no solid evidence. The king would look foolish if he brought his might to bear on a problem that didn't exist."
"It sounds to me that the king could use an agent in Bildt..." Baergar says contemplatively.
The men nod. "Aye, that he could, I'm sure. Could be lucrative too..." The men suddenly seem rather contemplative as well. "An agent would be useful... but an agency..."
"Are you lot volunteering then?" Baergar says with a smile. "I think my path will take me there, and you are welcome to join me if you wish."
There are chuckles all around. "Well... we'll see once we get to Kalsgard. If there's no pay in it, then we could likely be persuaded to accompany you at least part of the way. Depends if you're going overland or by water." The men nod their approval. "If there's money to be had... well... we're certainly willing to earn our keep."
"I notice, you do not employ guards. This is odd for merchants is it not? Are you all skilled in fighting then?"
"Aye, most of us have served as guardsmen or soldiers. We find that it's best to balance word and blade - A well armed merchant finds a much fairer price," grins one of the men.
"Men after my own heart then! It is a shame you did not hear of The Voice and Word before allying with the lucky drunk."
Baergar walks along, wondering if they suspect him. Wondering if these men are worthy of his time and effort.
"Aye. I do not regret my allegiance, but it seems odd to have lost all memory of a divine." The cleric looks a little bemused as he further ponders this, but gives a shrug. "Well. With the stretch of road ahead it's best to be vigilant, there are often bandits. I should return to my post in the caravan."
The cleric hurries forward, grabbing the side of a wagon and swinging up onto it's side. Baergar notices that most of the men are clearing their weapons in their sheathes, and the few archers in their company have bows strung and near to hand.
The road ahead seems to be cresting up to a hill, the tops of a few sparse trees barely visible over the ridge. The sun is strong, and it is midday.
Baergar moves to the center of the procession for easier access to the forward and rear positions should they be attacked.
He draws his greatsword and rests it over a forarm and wipes idly at it with a bit of cloth.
The caravan rises over the lip of the hill and Baergar can see that there is a long valley, with a thick stand of trees ahead. Nothing is visible moving in the trees, and despite the bright sunshine light seems unnaturally muted under the branches of the trees. It seems the caravan will reach the edge of the trees within about a minute.
The caravan descends into the valley, and the trees loom oppressively close. A growling, snuffling noise deep in the trees reverberates, filling the area. The men nock arrows, and tension continues to mount throughout the caravan as the last men enters the dark trees.
Time seems to crawl, as the caravan moves onward, twisted roots jutting up from under the road, creating a rough and uncomfortable ride. Strange rustlings and creeping noises surround the caravan, and the darkness seems to grow deeper. The leaves rustle, and the environment seems alive and heavily inhabited, but nothing is visible.
There is a cry up ahead and everyone turns to look, drawing blades and rushing forward. Word quickly spreads back through the caravan - a man twisted his ankle on a root. The man is loaded onto on of the wagons, and the caravan creeps onward, minutes slowly passing.
Finally, a faint light is visibile at the end of the path. A sigh seems to ripple backward through the men, and the first wagon breaks out into the daylight.
With a rumbling, bumping crunch the last wagon pulls out of the woods, and the men seem to settle. "That's usually where caravans get raided. Those trees are nasty places, all sorts of bad things live in there," says one of the men near Baergar, shaking his head.
"Then I am glad we did not have to test their resolve." Baergar raises his voice. "Stay vigilant my friends, your fate can come for you at any moment; always be ready for it!"
As Baergar speaks, grass nets are thrown back, revealing many bugbears who jump up from their hiding spots in the grass. They rush in toward the caravan with a roar, and the men draw steel.
The soldiers draw their blades, stepping up to the bugbears nearest them, and slashing at them.
for
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One of them lands a nasty cut, slashing across the bugbears chest. It roars in fury. The cleric turns to one of the uninjured bugbears and shouts a command.
It locks in place, freezing mid motion, looking like nothing so much as a very odd taxidermy project.