"Alas, goodwoman, they were slain by a Rusalka- a nature spirit, which they disturbed." No death is easy, but these men were ensorcelled . He must be careful not to cause her grief.
"Their bodies were burned properly, but we recovered these of their possessions for you to remember them by." Vlad hands over Gisli's amulet and Berg's helmet with a sad look in his eyes.
Unn her hands trembling takes the amulet and the helmet laying them upon the table. Her gaze lingers on them as she speaks "Both my only surviving sons... I thank you for honoring them with the proper rites. It is a kindness I shall not forget... They died well in the name of a good cause. Now I shall see their deaths were not in vain." Her trembling ceases as her resolve steels itself. "Get some rest you all look ragged. The servants can find you rooms I'm sure. Careful to not disturb Egil. He hasn't quite been the same since the wound."
With that, the crone turns and continues barking orders for the fires to be kindled, for various herbs, pots to be brought. As you take your leave you feel the exertions of the night's ride and the past several days bearing heavy upon you.
The stout man lends what assistance he can to the preparation of the medicine. He leaves Ragnarr and Vlad with their grief. Once the healing process has begun, he finds time to locate his old acquaintances.
Leaving Thorolf's estate you head down the hill into town. It is still early morning and the town is just beginning to wake. A plume of smoke rises up from the Alf where Thora is beginning to ready the mead hall for the morning crowd. Outside with her back turned to you you notice Gudrud, the red haired huntress packing her things in her saddle-bags. Her manner seems distracted as a few curses escape her lips while she readies her horse.
Sensing your approach she whirls about dagger ready. When she recognizes you her manner relaxes, "Ah Master Thorshammer, tis only you. I'm glad to see you alive. What news?"
Taken somewhat aback by the huntress' reaction, the stout man takes a deep breath and explains the various adventures of his small party.
"We've recovered the ingredients to see off this plague, with any luck. Now lass, what has you so set on edge?"
"We've recovered the ingredients to see off this plague, with any luck. Now lass, what has you so set on edge?"
"It's Egil. Seems I've crossed the bastard by saving him and his men's lives." Gudrud's eyes continue to scan the street with wariness. "When we parted ways those days back I was scouting for Egil's patrol. He was still in a bad mood from the meeting at the Alf cursing Unn and her family. Thorolf's clan and hers have little love for each other. Question of claim. We were looking into the goblin attacks on the west shielings. Of course now we heard it was just a distraction to draw away forces from the lumber camp. Well we found some of their handiwork all right and Egil decides to go further into the bush and see if we can track 'em. Didn't think it was the best of ideas but I can follow orders. We follow for a few hours reaching a canyon with a narrow defile. I couldn't put my finger on it but the landscape, and the tracks. I smelt a trap. Told him my thoughts. The bastard scoffs at me and signals the column to follow him. Well not a few minutes and there's goblin arrows flying down at us. I saw an arrow strike Egil clean in the head and he falls from his horse. The men didn't know what to do. Running would just mean losing more so I order the men to scale up the hill. It was bloody work but we did it and lost much less than we would have. Only a few of the buggers but they were handy with their bows.
Well we get ready to clear off and take Egil's body home. Miracle we find him alive. The arrowhead must have struck his eyeguard taking the blow. The arrowhead had shattered and his face was a mess. Nothing to speak of for his left eye. We brought him back, babbling curses and swearing that Unn had given him the evil eye the night before. A few friends last night have said the Black-heart has accused me of conspiring with Unn." Gudrud slings the last saddle bag over her horse. "Mark my words that Egil is planning mischief. I am an escaped slave. I know when to clear off."
"We'll keep an eye on him for certain, then. Happy hunting and may Thor give you strength. If you need anything, you know where I am."
Ragnarr, weary from their journey and still saddened that Unn had had to learn from them of the death of both her sons, follows Dorvarr and listens wordlessly to the conversation between Gudrud and the cleric. If he is concerned by the exchange, he does not show it. "Can we go sleep now?"
Exhausted from your last several days each of you upon finding a place to rest fall into a deep, relaxing sleep. The day passes and feeling much rejuvenated rouse from your slumber. It is early evening. Thorolf's homestead is ablaze with activity as the various batches of medicine and herbs are now being sent out to the sick. Word reaches you that tonight in a few hours there is to be a grand celebration at the Alf where you are certain to be the guest of honour.
Breathing laboriously, Kveldulf shuffles into the village, face still half bloodied from the fresh arrow wound to the eye. Using his meager healing skills Kveldulf had cleaned his face in a nearby stream the best he could and staunched the bleeding with piece of sackcloth now stuffed into the sightless socket.
I must find a healer quickly. It will not be long before the flesh of the wound turns vile. It must be properly purified, or I will most likely die. This village must have a healer to care for them!
Kveldulf searches despondently from hovel to hovel, Uruz trotting dutifully alongside the haggard warrior, looking for some clear sign of a healer's practice. Kveldulf knows that his blood loss is not serious and that it will take sometime for the flesh to sour, but it's always best to get the hot irons and agony out of the way before going off to drink until he forgets about the whole ordeal.
Quickly becoming frustrated after fifteen minutes or so, he calls out to the nearest person, "Yea there! Where be the crone that tends to your battle wounded? The Norn have been unkind today and I must seek respite!"
Ottarr paces his room. "No, that wouldn't work. If I made it a eulogy, the rhyme scheme would be completely wrong. It would need to be completely rewritten. Besides, while he deserves the honor, I can't get paid for his eulogy. I shall write it after IU find some pay."
"Wait, that merchant has a ship leaving port soon. If I could convince him to let me sail with them, I would have an income. I will try to convince him to let me sign up at the celebration tonight. Wait, I know next to nothing about those being honored. I need to find out enough to at least write an ode to them."
With that thought, he heads out to find out about those great men who saved the village.
Taking great care to avoid any goblin ambushes, it is late in the day by the time Utgardr reaches the edges of town. He knows his best chance is to first seek Unn, she knows his people and will make interacting with the locals much easier. Once closer to the village he notices sounds of a frantic movement among the huts, as he investigates he notices a bloodied man searching from home to home, a viscious wound upon his face. Utgarder approches the boy and puts a firm grip on his shoulders and with a raspy growl says:
"Here boy!, lets get you sewn up before the magpies make a nest o' ye!"
Vlad awakens, pleased to be back in the town. He washes in the river, dresses in his chain shirt and girds on his sword, then makes his way around town, looking for food to break his fast. He leaves the Worg-skin with one of the local skinners, willing to admit that another could craft Ragnarr's gift better than he could, leaving a few coins to cover costs until he takes the finished cloak.
After leaving, Vlad hears of the skald looking for him. Amused, he strikes up a conversation with the fellow.
"Ho there, man, why is it that you're asking about me?"
The evening street in Raudurfoss bears witness to an unusual scene. Utgaror helps the bloodied warrior to the side of the lane where he tends his injuries taking great care of the vicious wound that has gashed his eye. Having done what he could passers-by readily tell the two that Unn can be found at Thorolf's hall where she has been readying the promised medicine for a disease that recently broke out in town.
With that thought, he heads out to find out about those great men who saved the village.
Gather Info
Vlad awakens, pleased to be back in the town. He washes in the river, dresses in his chain shirt and girds on his sword, then makes his way around town, looking for food to break his fast. He leaves the Worg-skin with one of the local skinners, willing to admit that another could craft Ragnarr's gift better than he could, leaving a few coins to cover costs until he takes the finished cloak.
After leaving, Vlad hears of the skald looking for him. Amused, he strikes up a conversation with the fellow.
"Ho there, man, why is it that you're asking about me?"
Bjorn the trapper regards you quizically as you deposit the gold on the skinner's table. He slides the coins back. "I'd be ashamed to take gold from one such as you. I will gladly craft this coat for your companion. Come back in two days and we'll have it for you then. I knew many that have suffered the pestilence. It is the least I can do to repay you and your friends."
As you walk the evening streets of Raudurfoss you receive many similar greetings as those about shake your hand or offer you a flagon of wine. Shortly you hear of the skald that has been asking of your band and he is readily pointed out to you.
As you greet the skald both of your attention is seized by the strange bloodied warrior that stumbles out onto the street. A vicious wound marks one of his eyes. A wild looking man quickly breaks from the crowd to help him.
After leaving, Vlad hears of the skald looking for him. Amused, he strikes up a conversation with the fellow.
"Ho there, man, why is it that you're asking about me?"
"Oh, excuse me, I am Ottarr Boddason. I am planning on writing an ode to your actions over these past few days. They probably will never be mentioned in the halls of kings, but this town shall always speak of your deeds, and that is good enough."
"I'll ask you about what happened at the celebration.", says Ottarr as he walks over to the wounded man. He kneels next to him and asks "What happened to you?"
"Here boy!, lets get you sewn up before the magpies make a nest o' ye!"
"Boy!," Kveldulf guffaws, "Learn some respect whelp. By the look the lines furrowed into your skin you may have seen a handful of winters more than I, but I am no cur boy. My mettle has been tested with steel and blood more times than most men have chance. I'd have me eye still if it twern't that we were outnumbered three tah one. As you can see raiders my be able to take may eye, but my pride and possessions I did keep. My eye needs the skills of a professional healer. No offense, but if ya were to stitch me shut now the wound will grow rank and I would most likely die. Neigh I fear nothing but the white hot end of an iron will purify the wound and grow the strong pink flesh that will weather the wound."
After calming himself so that he visibly stops shaking, Kveldulf continues. "If I have offended please accept my apology. It has been a trying few days and I just want to get the unpleasantries ahead out of the way so that I can find a mug of strong drink. This Unn sounds as if she possess the talents I seek. May I accompany you to her stead?"
Kveldulf extends his arm in an act of friendship.
"I'll ask you about what happened at the celebration.", says Ottarr as he walks over to the wounded man. He kneels next to him and asks "What happened to you?"
Vexed by the sudden rash of attention after getting none for so long, the haggard Kveldulf looks up to Ottarr, bloodied, sightless socket stealing all attention from the perfect steel blue orb next to it.
"My chieftain and his men, I among them, were set upon by raiders at sea near hear just out of sight of land. The ship, a great wide hulled black Longship with a fiendishly bat winged figurehead, was upon us from the fog before we could give pursuit. Outnumbered three to one we were. I fear I be the only survivor from both ships. My memory is a bit hazy. I awoke on the shore this morn among the wreckage bereft of my chieftain and companions. What chieftain's land is this?"
"Boy!," Kveldulf guffaws, "Learn some respect whelp. By the look the lines furrowed into your skin you may have seen a handful of winters more than I, but I am no cur boy. My mettle has been tested with steel and blood more times than most men have chance. I'd have me eye still if it twern't that we were outnumbered three tah one. As you can see raiders my be able to take may eye, but my pride and possessions I did keep. My eye needs the skills of a professional healer. No offense, but if ya were to stitch me shut now the wound will grow rank and I would most likely die. Neigh I fear nothing but the white hot end of an iron will purify the wound and grow the strong pink flesh that will weather the wound."
After calming himself so that he visibly stops shaking, Kveldulf continues. "If I have offended please accept my apology. It has been a trying few days and I just want to get the unpleasantries ahead out of the way so that I can find a mug of strong drink. This Unn sounds as if she possess the talents I seek. May I accompany you to her stead?"
Kveldulf extends his arm in an act of friendship.
Utgardr sizes the boy up like a cat ready to strike, suddenly he throws his head back in a loud bellowing laugh, and throws a heavy arm over
Kveldulf's shoulders"Son, you've got some mouth haha. In these parts one doesnt get far without the mettle to back it up, you've made it this far wtih only that (pointing to the wound), i think you'll do ok! Now lets get you to a healer."
After a refreshing break in his own homestead, Dorvarr awakens and quickly scours his room for his treasures from the adventure. Seizing the black mithral ingots, he attempts to discern just what he can forge from them.
Spoiler for Wyrd:
Once he's had look at his haul, the combined efforts of his growing hunger and a flurry of activity outside draw the stout man to his favourite tavern for a bit of breakfast and today's news.
Dorvarr
As you leave your workshop heading out into the street you are greeted warmly by passers-by who thank you heartily and promise to quench your thirst this eve at the Alf. You espy Vladimir standing over two men crouched on the side of the street. One appears greatly wounded with a vicious cut and a bloody hollow where his eye once was. Next to him is a wild haired man who is aiding him in standing. Adjacent to Vladimir, a young dark haired man in a chain shirt also speaks with the wounded warrior.
InterludeDorvarr, eyeing the ingots, considers whether it would be more useful to craft a mighty warhammer in the service of Thor, or whether the ingots are better suited to a blade for the young Vlad.
InterludeDorvarr, eyeing the ingots, considers whether it would be more useful to craft a mighty warhammer in the service of Thor, or whether the ingots are better suited to a blade for the young Vlad.
** spoiler omitted **
see edit spoiler a warhammer would also be possible.
The stout man wades through the crowd to side of Vlad.
"What have we here, lad? A ragged bunch if ever I've seen'em. Ho, boy, that wound in your mug looks grim, let's see if we can't staunch it. Thor does love to see a warrior through to another day..."
Quickly invoking Thor, Dorvarr leans in to have a hand stitching up the poor boy.
"Now, what is going on here? Who are your new friends, Vlad?"
*edit* Read the spoiler- holy crap.
*edit 2* and the tools? Masterwork?
"This fine fellow is Ottar Boddason, and the strangers seem to be fresh from some scrap off the coast.
"Relax, lad, you're in the town of Raudurfoss, ruled by Earl Thorolf. And the ship you've described sounds like no ally of ours, so rest easy. We mean you no harm."
He watches Dorvarr's miraculous healing with a smile, still eager to witness the magic of flesh-healing, then shakes his head to return to the moment.
"Ah, here, allow me to guide the man up to Unn's house." (And he does, let's move this out of the street...)
Dorvarr turns to Vlad when a moment presents itself, "Eh, lad, Thor hisself has spoken to me. Lend that blade to me and we'll see it reshapen to a form more your needs. Aye, I can run a few veins of black mithral through the steel to reinforce it's powers against the black fey you may encounter."
The stout man shoots the knight a wink and returns to his mug of ale, gladly celebrating his newfound acceptance among the men of the town.
Sorry, I'll have better pics soon, still learning this complicated camera...
http://s587.photobucket.com/albums/ss316/VinkingsandVampires/
Also, typoed the title, at least we don't have to share...
Password: computer if you want to add.
Also, typoed the title, at least we don't have to share...
Password: computer if you want to add.
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The stout man wades through the crowd to side of Vlad.
"What have we here, lad? A ragged bunch if ever I've seen'em. Ho, boy, that wound in your mug looks grim, let's see if we can't staunch it. Thor does love to see a warrior through to another day..."
Quickly invoking Thor, Dorvarr leans in to have a hand stitching up the poor boy.
Kveldulf stiffens and his face reddens at being called a "boy" by two villagers in the same day. If they think me a green gilled boy, these folk must have a touch of madness about them... Desperate for proper healing, however, he allows the Thorsman to work his healing.
"Sweet barley brew! That didna hurt a bit. Redbeard be praised indeed! If ya be needing a strong back or an experienced shield at yer side, I be in yer debt. If yer be speakin' ta truth that these be Thorolf's lands than I be a long way from home. Although not among enemies I am far from friends and allies. I be Kveldulf Weylandsson, known as "Two-Cuts" in my homeland and this," Kveldulf continues gesturing to a stout boxy looking hound well over a hundred pounds, "is Uruz. He's been a loyal and trusted friend for more than a couple winters now. I wouldn't go gettin' anything near his trap ye plan on getting back though..." He finishes by stroking the beast behind the left ear much to it's delight.
Vlad is impressed at Dorvarr's offer, and unbuckles his sword-belt, offering it to his stout friend.
"Well then, Kveldulf, greetings. And to your hound, as well. Once that wound properly heals up, you'll have a fine scar from it." The boy offers his hand in greeting.
"Well then, Kveldulf, greetings. And to your hound, as well. Once that wound properly heals up, you'll have a fine scar from it." The boy offers his hand in greeting.
Kveldulf takes Valdimir's hand heartily. "Ho, I can see a lotta resolve and backbone in you. I have a feeling the days of you earning your supper with your sword arm are just beginning lad." With that, Kveldulf lets out a rumbling chuckle.
"I am much appreciative for the fine help you folks have given me. How's about I buy all yer drinks this evening as a token of gratitude?" Kveldulf concludes with a sly smile.
Ragnarr spent most of the day checking up on his sheep pastures on the outskirts of Raudurfoss, and spending time fashioning himself a new walking stick. Yet as evening approaches, he recalls that he and his companions were to be honoured at the Alf that evening. That would mean food... mead... and perhaps a chance to see Ragnhild? He smiled wistfully at the tiny Thor's hammer amulet she had given him, so tiny in his huge palm
When the man-beast finally lumbers into town, he spots Dorvarr, Hrafn (?) and Vladimir in animated conversation with some strangers. He approaches the group, and grunts in greeting, greatxe hefted over his shoulder.
The man-beast is a towering, broad-framed brute, standing six and a half feet tall and weighing upwards of 250 lbs., clad in loose-fitting tattered winter furs and studded leather armour. His arms and legs are like tree trunks, and his torso as broad as an ale keg. The wild shephered's skin has a consistency reminiscent of burnt clay… but smells much worse. He has a high forehead with a prominent brow, jutting jaw, flat nose with wide nostrils, and stone grey eyes sunk deep in his skull. Long wisps of stringy, matted blonde hair fall away from a balding crown to the middle of his back. A scraggly beard grows in uneven patches along his jaw line. His age is difficult to judge...
Dorvarr is a short man, standing just a shade over 5 feet tall. He is very stout, however, weighing nearly as much as a typical man. His blazing red beard and hair contrast sharply with his ruddy brown skin. His weathered features and long beard and hair mark him as someone in his mid-life, though he moves like a much younger man.
"The blade is the least I can do as reward for your courage, lad. I'll get to work after the festival. Now, the rest of you needed to see Unn? Let's see if she has time to spare right now."
"Perhaps we should go see Unn first?" Vlad jokes with a wry smile on his face. "And then get roaring drunk together, eh?"
"Perhaps we should go see Unn first?" Vlad jokes with a wry smile on his face. "And then get roaring drunk together, eh?"
"Yeah... heh heh heh..."
With newfound companions the party takes leave of the street. Several townsfolk can be seen starting early in the revelry with flagons raised giving cheer. "We'll see ya at the Alf in a few hours lads! Many thanks."
The sound of the town fades as you stride up the winding road that leads up the hill. The road enters a small wood that separates Thorolf's property. The sun is sinking below the mountains to the west and thoughts of a peaceful evening in a warm mead hall dance in your heads. However, this peaceful moment is broken by the unmistakeable sounds of battle further up the hill in the direction of Thorolf's estate. A bellowing voice shouts out, "Bastards!" over the din of iron clashing against shield. The bend in the road and the screen of birch trees obscure your vision in the dimming light.
Dorvarr, Ragnarr, Vladimir Listen DC 12
Spot DC 10 (Ragnarr +2)
With newfound companions the party takes leave of the street. Several townsfolk can be seen starting early in the revelry with flagons raised giving cheer. "We'll see ya at the Alf in a few hours lads! Many thanks."
The sound of the town fades as you stride up the winding road that leads up the hill. The road enters a small wood that separates Thorolf's property. The sun is sinking below the mountains to the west and thoughts of a peaceful evening in a warm mead hall dance in your heads. However, this peaceful moment is broken by the unmistakeable sounds of battle further up the hill in the direction of Thorolf's estate. A bellowing voice shouts out, "Bastards!" over the din of iron clashing against shield. The bend in the road and the screen of birch trees obscure your vision in the dimming light.
Dorvarr, Ragnarr, Vladimir Listen DC 12
** spoiler omitted **Spot DC 10 (Ragnarr +2)
** spoiler omitted **
Ragnarr peers intently through the trees and fading ligt, to Thorolf's Hall a few hundred feet away, then mutters in his deep and gravelly voice. "Hmmm... See up there, seven men standing before Thorolf's Hall... two are fighting, and another man is on the ground. I don't think they're celebrating our victory... a blood feud, maybe? Should we get involved? Or should we mind our business, go see Unn, and go drink mead?"
With newfound companions the party takes leave of the street. Several townsfolk can be seen starting early in the revelry with flagons raised giving cheer. "We'll see ya at the Alf in a few hours lads! Many thanks."
The sound of the town fades as you stride up the winding road that leads up the hill. The road enters a small wood that separates Thorolf's property. The sun is sinking below the mountains to the west and thoughts of a peaceful evening in a warm mead hall dance in your heads. However, this peaceful moment is broken by the unmistakeable sounds of battle further up the hill in the direction of Thorolf's estate. A bellowing voice shouts out, "Bastards!" over the din of iron clashing against shield. The bend in the road and the screen of birch trees obscure your vision in the dimming light.
Dorvarr, Ragnarr, Vladimir Listen DC 12
** spoiler omitted **Spot DC 10 (Ragnarr +2)
** spoiler omitted *
Kveldulf peers intently towards the direction of the commotion, but unused to using only one eye, he sees nothing but vague shapes among the trees.
As Valdimir draws his weapon and runs off into the trees, Kveldulf reciprocates hoping the young warrior has better eyes than he.
"Come Uruz there is work to be done for the All Father let us boldly go!"
The stout man, his mind elsewhere, dreaming of working with his precious ore, suddenly realizes that Vlad has gone dashing off with a dagger in hand.
Muttering under his breath, he follows the rest of the group. "Just like the boy to run off while I'm holding his sword..."
Lost in his own thoughts, Ottarr jumps slightly when Vlad rushes into the undergrowth. "And so the eternal battle resumes again.", he says softly before drawing a shortbow and running after the rest of the group.
As the four crash through the bush the two combatants continue to mercilessly hack at each other but none gain a definite advantage. The men appear dressed in leather or chain and would appear to be Egil's spear-men. The men observing look up to the forest spotting the four figures rushing out through the woods. Three of them knock arrows while the others draw swords. One calls out, "Halt in the name of the Hersir Egil!" The big man attacking garbed in the clothes of a logger cries out, "The bastard's got Unn!"
As you near the edge of the woods you can better see the sprawled form upon the ground. It is hard to tell from here whether the unconcious man lives or is dead.
Vladimir, Dorvarr
Unsure of who is an enemy and who is an ally in the clearing ahead, Kveldulf halts his advance at the sight of the archers. He sheaths his flail and draws his horn bow, knocking a raven fletched arrow and drawing a bead on the situation before him. With a grunt he wonders just what he has gotten himself into.
Dorvarr hefts his shield and advances to where Hrafn lies prone (Likely still chasing Vlad).
"Halt yourself! What's the meaning of this? Who harmed our friend?" Vlad has his dagger drawn, and looks every bit as dangerous as an armed swordsman.