Ottarr briefly looks over the horns before continuing on to the feast. Later on, after much eating and drinking, he attempts an ode to the days events. It wasn't very impressive.
"I believe, my friend, that he said it would be a few days yet... though I can't believe you'd feel the cold through that thick hide of yours!" Vlad has a great time at the party, enjoying seeing Bjalfi and his friends again, and listening to Ottar's attempts at epic ballads of their deeds, singing along when he can guess the words.
He is proud and joyous to be granted the mead horn, and drinks with it (carefully) all night. In the morning, he washes it out and packs it away in some of his spare clothes, anxious for it not to be damaged. He has a headache again (too much of that demon drink) but probably wakes before many of the others, having drunk much less. He passes the time by trying to talk with Uruz, offering him scraps from the table, but the animal's loyalty to his master is beyond question
Utgardr, tho slightly out of place, still welcomes the hospitality and takes in a giant's serving of food, drink and even women (if the gods find it pleasing that he should do so lol) He tells stories to any who will listen (mostly the lasses) of great things he's seen and done (all of which seem slightly far fetched and very "tall-tale". before eventually passing out in his chair just before the wee hours of dawn.
Thora and her serving wenches ensure that your horns are always full. The night passes with revelry, dance, songs, and cheer. You sense that the villagers are truly glad of your presence but every once and awhile you catch a villager staring out into the night warily before being pulled back into the crowd. As your horns is filled once more you push such dark thoughts away.
The crowd listens respectfully to Ottar's ode some nodding polite approval but the skald knows that his words failed to quicken the pulse, and stir the blood.
Vladimir espies Ragnhild, the maid and offers her a seat between him and Ragnarr. The maid shifts uncomfortably, "I thank you both for your great help to Raudurfoss..." Looking at Ragnarr, "I hope the carving of Mjolnir favoured you in Thor's eyes and made your journey safer. You saved many lives including those of my family." With that, the maid bows and takes her leave.
After you have gorged yourselves on Thora's fine spread the tall well dressed figure of Bolli approaches. The trader's well kempt hair, beard and fine clothes stand out amidst the rustic crowd. "Greetings, and my hearty thanks for all your work." The trader lifts his own drinking horn in salute, "Your name and deeds are sure to spread beyond this village. Some of you may know me others not. I am Bolli, Captain of the Sif I have a proposition for you but it can wait until the morn. I will speak with you then. Drink, make merry!"
The remainder of the night passes amidst tales, other songs and many more horns. After your ordeals it is good to be in cheerful company.
Vladimir espies Ragnhild, the maid and offers her a seat between him and Ragnarr. The maid shifts uncomfortably, "I thank you both for your great help to Raudurfoss..." Looking at Ragnarr, "I hope the carving of Mjolnir favoured you in Thor's eyes and made your journey safer. You saved many lives including those of my family." With that, the maid bows and takes her leave.
Ragnarr is completely tongue-tied as Ragnhild comes to sit beside him. He fumbles to show her that he still has the Mjolnir amulet she gave him. A big dumb grin spreads across his face, but before he has a chance to say anything, the maiden is already gone.
"I can only dream," he murmurs to himself, gulping down another horn of mead... and then another... and then another...
At some point in the evening (possibly later in the rounds of horns), Dorvarr returns to Vlad to once again relieve him of his sword.
"I told ye, lad, Thor hisself has spoken of the blessings ye deserve. A blade to cut through the veils of death itself, made from the oldest parts of Midgard!"
The stout man's strange accent seems thicker than usual as he gets excited talking about reforging the knight's blade.
Morning dawns slowly over the quiet village. You awaken to the sound of drums resounding in your head. Slowly the realization occurs that these drums do not herald the approach of an orcish warband but are solely the dire effects of Thora's raudur-mead. The past night is somewhat of a blur but you recall a cheerful celebration and good company. You also vaugely recall that Bolli was curious to confer with your band.
As Thora prepares a light breakfeast and some warm juniper tea to ward off the beating drums in your head a boy comes rushing into announce breathlessly that the Earl has roused from his coma.
Morning dawns slowly over the quiet village. You awaken to the sound of drums resounding in your head. Slowly the realization occurs that these drums do not herald the approach of an orcish warband but are solely the dire effects of Thora's raudur-mead. The past night is somewhat of a blur but you recall a cheerful celebration and good company. You also vaugely recall that Bolli was curious to confer with your band.
As Thora prepares a light breakfeast and some warm juniper tea to ward off the beating drums in your head a boy comes rushing into announce breathlessly that the Earl has roused from his coma.
Sorry, the earl awakes Day 1? Or after a few days of downtime?
Sorry, the earl awakes Day 1? Or after a few days of downtime?
The boy adds that the Earl while responding remains bed-ridden and is not lucid most of the time. Unn tells that it may be some more time before the Earl fully regains both his mind and body.
At some point in the evening (possibly later in the rounds of horns), Dorvarr returns to Vlad to once again relieve him of his sword.
Vlad nods, unbuckling his sword-belt and passing it to the stout craftsman. He notes the odd gleam in his friend's eye, but says nothing of it.
"Let us hope, this time, that I do not require it in the meantime, eh my friend?"
A bleary-eyed Ragnarr rises and prepares to go visit Unn and the earl, but waits for Vlad and Dorvarr before leaving the Alf.
At some point in the evening (possibly later in the rounds of horns), Dorvarr returns to Vlad to once again relieve him of his sword.Vlad nods, unbuckling his sword-belt and passing it to the stout craftsman. He notes the odd gleam in his friend's eye, but says nothing of it.
"Let us hope, this time, that I do not require it in the meantime, eh my friend?"
"Aye, lad. I think we all might hope for that."
The next morning, Dorvarr will pay a visit to the Earl, to check on his condition. Also, that of Hrafn
A bleary-eyed Ragnarr rises and prepares to go visit Unn and the earl, but waits for Vlad and Dorvarr before leaving the Alf.
The next morning, Dorvarr will pay a visit to the Earl, to check on his condition. Also, that of Hrafn
You head up the hill to the Earl's estate. You notice servants gathering wood for Egil's pyre and the tall figure of the Guard Captain, Thord moving among them. Unn has moved Thorolf to another building on the property away from the site of last night's battle.
You step inside the small log cabin and find the crone seated by the fire sewing. The crone greets you warmly with a toothless smile. "He is beginning to rouse but still very weak. His mind is not yet whole... Yet the things he speaks of may be more than just fevered imaginings. Smith Thorshammer, when a man is so close to joining the cold ranks of Hel he is sometimes touched with visions. You may speak with him if you wish but as I said he sometimes seems to know where he is other times he drifts..." Unn gestures to the curtained doorway at the far end of the chamber. The crone hesitates for a moment but adds quietly, "And though my family and his have long been enemies I do not have the heart yet to tell him of his son..."The Earl lies upon a crude bed covered in furs and quilt. You can see in the light his forehead glistens with fevered sweat. His eyes lock on you as you step inside. A recognition slowly dawns upon the Earl. He croaks in a faint voice, "The blacksmith, yes? Thorshammer. Unn has told me of you and your comrades. You have my thanks. I am not well but my son is certain to reward you and your fellows... I am not well. Dreams of fire in the earth and shadow. Egil was there.. Have you seen him?"
Shortly after Thorshammer sets out to see of the Earl's condition, the well dressed figure of Bolli the Trader appears on the doorstep. "Good morrow, lads. I trust Thora's hospitatlity has served well?" The trader lights a short pipe carved of ash drawing a great puff, "If you are feeling up to it after last night I'd invite you take the air with me. If you recall I have something of a proposition for you men."
"Indeed, my friend. Thora has been most hospitable. Let us walk and discuss this business of yours."
"Does that include me?", Ottarr says hopefully.
Yes my bad overlooked that
"Does that include me?", Ottarr says hopefully.
Bolli puffs from his pipe nodding eargerly, "Of course all of you. I may have need of your skills against the unnatural."
The trader beckons out to the street, "Shall we?"
Kveldulf, despite feeling an overpowering sensation of his gut scrambling to climb out his craw, perks up for the first time all morning upon hearing Bolli's request.
"He speaks of unknowing danger, old friend," he says in a low whisper while stroking his hounds ears and then shivers noticeably. "This will not end well, but you and I have never backed down and think of the glory to be had. So what do you think lad?"
The hound looks up at it's master quizzically, tilting its head to the left just so as hounds do, and then paws at the air, disappointed that it's ears are no longer being stroked.
"Aye lad, I knew you'd be up for it. Now lets be out into that forsaken morning light and see what this is all about."
The Earl lies upon a crude bed covered in furs and quilt. You can see in the light his forehead glistens with fevered sweat. His eyes lock on you as you step inside. A recognition slowly dawns upon the Earl. He croaks in a faint voice, "The blacksmith, yes? Thorshammer. Unn has told me of you and your comrades. You have my thanks. I am not well but my son is certain to reward you and your fellows... I am not well. Dreams of fire in the earth and shadow. Egil was there.. Have you seen him?"
Dorvarr wishes the young knight was at his side, who may know more soothing words. The stout man reflects for a moment, then takes a deep breath.
"Aye, Lord, I have seen your lad. He oversaw the village while you slept. There is more to tell, but you need your rest if you are to recover." He turns to Unn on his way out. "The Earl is in no state to hear bad news right now. He must be stronger or the mental blow could kill him. I'll understand if you want someone else to deliver the news. Come find me or my companions when the Earl fares better"
The stout man will head to Hrafn's room next, then settle at the Alf for breakfast.
"Aye, Lord, I have seen your lad. He oversaw the village while you slept. There is more to tell, but you need your rest if you are to recover." He turns to Unn on his way out. "The Earl is in no state to hear bad news right now. He must be stronger or the mental blow could kill him. I'll understand if you want someone else to deliver the news. Come find me or my companions when the Earl fares better"The stout man will head to Hrafn's room next, then settle at the Alf for breakfast.
The Earl nods slowly and then settles back in his bed with a low groan. Dorvarr finds Unn outside conferring with one of the Earl's thralls. She agrees with the cleric's words and adds that she will be retiring to get some rest now that the Earl is beginning to recover. Preparations continue on the grounds for Egil's pyre this evening.
"Shall we?"
"Indeed."
Smoking from his pipe, the trader leads you through the muddy streets down to the banks of the River Wend. The morning air is brisk and a light fall of snow is gradually thawing on the ground. The river moves swiftly but here and there patches of ice can be seen. Looking ahead you can see the Sif and another vessel being readied for the journey to Halfdeane's stronghold of Brattahlid. Sailors are loading the wide Waleska timbers onboard while others ready sails and miscellaneous provisions. Your eyes wander to the far end of the wharves where Egil's black ship, Wave-Stepper lies. It is an impressive vessel with fine lines and an impressive prow.
Bolli pauses looking over the sight and then turns to regard you all. "Your deeds these past few days have truly been impressive and Raudurfoss will tell your tales for generations. As it happens I may have need of talented men such as yourselves. As you know my knorrs sail soon for Brattahlid bringing the timber for Halfdeane's ships to replace those lost at Krakenvik. The last journey from Raudurfoss is always hard as the winter gales begin to blow. Even the Wend has its share of hazards to navigate. It is a devilish time to be out on the sea. However, there is more. I have heard reports from whalers and others that Uurad the Red and his three warships have come to these waters. Uurad's brood are a vicious band. Berserk Pictish bastards that show no mercy and worship their savage gods. I've had a few close calls with his band in the waters near Albion. I can't say I care to see those crimson sails again. I lost many good men and a few ships that day."
Bolli draws from his pipe his eyes heavy with worry. He continues, "Uurad's timing is I'd say too much of a coincidence. Aside from raiding and pillaging up the coast he maybe another of Sihtric's catspaws. As long as Halfdeane gets this timber and rebuilds his fleet I'd say he's got a fighting chance in the spring against Vesturmark or at least he'll be able to defend the Mosfell coast."
"So I'll come right down to it. My men are good but I want better and I need a fast ship capable of holding its own in battle. My knorrs will be loaded down and slow as pigs. Egil promised you the Wave-Stepper and I've rarely seen a ship move so well. So what do you say? Will you sail with us to Brattahlid? A thousand crowns of gold to each of you upfront and I do not doubt that Lord Halfdeane would wish to show his own generosity to such as you. The finest blades and armour of Norvanbard can be found in the forges of Brattahlid."
The stout man will head to Hrafn's room next, then settle at the Alf for breakfast.
The unkempt, over-ripe-smelling man-beast nods, and, without uttering a word to anyone, follows Dorvarr back to the Alf, where he messily wolfs down the equivalent of three full meals in one sitting. His meal consumed, the man-beast then engages the cleric in conversation. "Friend Dorvarr, I should like to learn more tales of the gods..."
His meal consumed, the man-beast then engages the cleric in conversation. "Friend Dorvarr, I should like to learn more tales of the gods..."
"Aye lad, that I can do. You know, of course, of Thor's mighty Hammer, Mjolnir?" The stout man hefts his own hammer to drive the point home. "It was crafted by the Dwarf craftsmen Brokk and Eirti," a strange and distant look crosses the stout man's face, "and possessed many great powers. Most well known of these, of course, is the capability to throw bolts of lightning and the hammer's ability to return to Thor's hand. It cannot be lifted by mortal hand, though Thor hefts it as though it were light as the purest mithral.
But the hammer has many capabilities beyond simple destruction. On a journey to the frost giant stronghold of Utgard, Thor and his brother Loki stopped at the homestead of a simple farmer. Reaching the end of a long day's travel, Thor had hoped for a feast, but the farmer and his family had little to offer even in the presence of a god.
Thor offered up the two goats that pulled his chariot. He warned the farmer's family- 'Eat what you will of the meat, but leave the bones intact.'
The farmer's son, an able lad, looked at the grand feast and ate his fill. But once the meat was done, he couldn't help but look at the thigh-bone of the goat and the marrow within. Loki saw the boy's hunger, and said to him- 'Ah, my brother will not mind if you break but one bone and suck the marrow. Why should he?' So the farmer's son broke the bone and sucked the marrow, hiding the broken bone as he cleared the table.
The next morning, Thor arose early to continue his adventure. He gathered the bones of the previous evening's feast in the skins of the poor slaughtered creatures and pointed Mjolnir at the remains. At the behest of the God and his Hammer, the goats were brought back to life, though one had a pronounced limp in his front left leg.
Thor spoke to the farmer's family, anger etched across his features-'Who has broken my command and the leg of my goat?' The farmer's son stepped forward without hesitation-'It was I, I did not think you would notice one small bone amongst the whole of the feast.'
Thor hefted the Hammer Mjolnir and for an instant seemed as though he would smite the boy, then his features softened. He turned and put down the goat with one swing. 'You meant no harm in your actions, but a price must be paid. You shall serve me as a retainer for a period of a year and a day, on my quest to the lands of the Frost giants.'
So lad, you see that Thor has both the power to smite his enemies and the power of life from his Hammer, which in turn can be used by men like me to see to his work here in the Midgard..."
The stout man gets up from his breakfast, it is obvious that the idea of smithing still lays heavy on his mind.
Ragnarr beams like an overgrown child as Dorvarr concludes his tale. "Thank you, friend... I had never heard that story before! I would so like to know all the tales of the gods, and to be able to tell them like you do. Unn has taught me some, but there are so many I don't know..."
He pauses briefly, and then, a melancholy expression washes his bestial smile away as quickly as it appeared. "And who would listen to me if I told them stories, anyway...? I am just a fatherless shepherd, that some men rely on to do their bloody work... that no woman will ever want to be with... unless..." A feral glint returns to the man-beast's eyes as he utters those last words.
Wow, nice work, Boxhead! Thanks for indulging me![/ooc]
After his repast, Dorvarr begins the process of re-smelting Vlad's blade.
On the waterfront Kveldulf's expression turns grim as Bolli speaks. The one-eyed barbarian growls, "It was Uurad himself that gave me this", gesturing to his grisly scars. "The Picts slaughtered my friends. If it pleases Odin, I shall wreak my bloody vengeance." Kveldulf puts his hand out to the trader, "Uruz and I will sail if the others accept."
Vlad likes the idea of fighting off Pictish raiders and returning home to Halfdeane's keep faster than a cross-country trip, and simply nods.
"Aye, my friend. I will serve."
Vlad likes the idea of fighting off Pictish raiders and returning home to Halfdeane's keep faster than a cross-country trip, and simply nods.
"Aye, my friend. I will serve."
Bolli nods gratefully to the knight and the one-eyed barbarian. He turns to the others present, "And what say you men? I should also like to speak to your other comrades, Ragnarr and Dorvarr. Their aid would be invaluable I am sure."
After Dorvarr leaves the Alf to his work at the forge, Ragnarr hears the tell-tale cawing of Byr, Hrafn's raven. The wild man slowly enters into the hall his wounds bandaged but still in pain as evident from the clenched expression on his face. Hrafn nods at Ragnarr as he pours himself a flagon of water.
"Good morrow, brother. I assume the others are elsewhere? Very well I've never been good at farewells. This is to be the parting of our ways. Raudurfoss is secure, the scourge is gone and the forests call out to me to return. My place is here in these wilds but I think other fates await you and the others. If the norn wish it so perhaps our paths will cross again. Until then, may the gods watch over you brother and the others."
"I would be glad to sail on your ship."
The stout man toils away in his forge, unwilling to take visitors. That evening, he will be at the Alf, and is quick to let any attempted visitors know.
A few of Bolli's men saunter up to the group by the riverbank. After a few quick words the trader sighs while stroking his beard, "It seems I have some ship business to deal with, lads. Well I thank you for hearing me out. If you're not certain yet give it some thought. Please pass on my offer to your comrades. If you need to see me I'll most like be onboard the Sif. We won't be ready to sail until three days from now. Also, speak to me or my men if you need anything for the Wave-Stepper. Fine ship, that one." With that the trader gives a hearty farewell and follows his men back to the Sif.
The stout man toils the days away working on Vlad's sword, strengthening it with the black mithral, and consecrating it to Thor for strength, as well as Odin for wisdom. He suspects the young man will need much of both in the times to come.
Most nights he can be found at the Alf, though not drinking as liberally as might be expected of a returned hero. He needs to keep his wits sharp for the forge.
After asking around, the folk of Raudurfoss tell that Jokul has survived the pestilence thanks to Unn's cure. The smith is found the following night at the Alf. The big bellied man is still pale but his eyes are alive with mischief as he tells jokes to his friends gathered at one table. Upon noticing his fellow smith, Jokul heartily beckons him over to the table offering a flagon of mead and entreating him to the roast duck that the company was enjoying. "May Thor bless you and your comrades, Dorvarr. I'll admit I was cold to you in the past what with the competition. And for that I'm sorry. You're a brother smith and I shall never begrudge you or your trade in this town." Jokul leans in inquisitively, "I've heard tale that you're working on a masterful blade for that young Kjelsbergsson. Love to see it or if you need help you can put my boy to work for you for a few days. It'll be a little while till I stoke the fires at my forge."
With that, more mead if offered liberally and Jokul regales the table with embarrassing but comcial anecdotes of his bowel movements during his sickness.
After Dorvarr leaves the Alf to his work at the forge, Ragnarr hears the tell-tale cawing of Byr, Hrafn's raven. The wild man slowly enters into the hall his wounds bandaged but still in pain as evident from the clenched expression on his face. Hrafn nods at Ragnarr as he pours himself a flagon of water.
"Good morrow, brother. I assume the others are elsewhere? Very well I've never been good at farewells. This is to be the parting of our ways. Raudurfoss is secure, the scourge is gone and the forests call out to me to return. My place is here in these wilds but I think other fates await you and the others. If the norn wish it so perhaps our paths will cross again. Until then, may the gods watch over you brother and the others."
Ragnarr seems taken aback, uncertain how to react to Hrafn's abrupt farewell. At last, he nods solemnly, in understanding. "Fare well... friend? The word is... strange to me. Good journey... may the gods keep you also..."
Over the next few days, Ragnarr pokes his nose in the tanner's shop from time to time, wondering when Graypelt's hide will be ready.
As the others inform him of Bolli's offer, the man-beast seems hesitant to join the party on their overseas voyage. "Water," he mutters. "I have never been on the water... I don't think I belong there... I've never even heard tales of Thor sailing... and..." His voice trails off.
"I've heard tale that you're working on a masterful blade for that young Kjelsbergsson. Love to see it or if you need help you can put my boy to work for you for a few days. It'll be a little while till I stoke the fires at my forge.
Grimacing at the tales of bowl movement (though relating them back to Thor's thunder if young Ragnarr is present), the stout man gladly accepts the smith's brotherhood.
"Aye, send the lad to help. I could use another pair of hands. When you're up to it, come by and see the blade. It ought to be worthy of the smith's of old, truly a match for any Dwarven blade..." The stout man closes his speech with a wink, as if to share some inside joke.
As the others inform him of Bolli's offer, the man-beast seems hesitant to join the party on their overseas voyage. "Water," he mutters. "I have never been on the water... I don't think I belong there... I've never even heard tales of Thor sailing... and..." His voice trails off.
"What? You never heard of the time Thor ventured out in a fishing boat and caught Jormungandr itself? Well then, let me begin..."
"I have never been on the water... I don't think I belong there... I've never even heard tales of Thor sailing... and..." His voice trails off.
"Aye lad, Thor has sailed. When the giant king- Thrymr- stole his hammer- Mjolnir- Thor was forced to take to the boat, among other things.
Thor sent his brother Loki to see if he could find the mighty weapon. Loki found the home of the giants using the Feathered robe of Freyja- goddess of beauty and love.
loki found the hammer- and it's captor. The king refused to return the hammer unless Freyja married him. The giant princess refused the request, being enamored of another ("more of this later", the stout man promises with a wink).
The god Heimdall suggested that Thor dress himself up as the bride and travel to the land of the Jotun . Thor refused, seeing such a ruse as womanly. Eventually, leveller heads prevailed and Thor was thusly disguised. They then sailed to the giant's lair.
Thrymr was much taken by his new bride, though she seemed to eat and drink more a certain man-beast *wink*, than a bride to be. The giant king attributed this appetite to nerves, and laid the hammer in bride's lap during the ceremony.
With his weapon once again in hand, Thor laid into the giants, slaying them all. This tale shows the use of both canny disguise, and of sailing ."
As the others inform him of Bolli's offer, the man-beast seems hesitant to join the party on their overseas voyage. "Water," he mutters. "I have never been on the water... I don't think I belong there... I've never even heard tales of Thor sailing... and..." His voice trails off.
"What? You never heard of the time Thor ventured out in a fishing boat and caught Jormungandr itself? Well then, let me begin..."
Ragnarr is visibly emboldened by the tales told by both Ottarr and Dorvarr. "Good stories," he mumbles, an innocent smile temporarily lighting his bestial features before hesitation once again sets in. "I wonder why Unn never told them to me... but no matter... I think that Thor would be ashamed if I refused to take this test... so I too shall sail with Bolli and his men, and make the Thunder God proud."
The hours pass into the following day. Word travels that the funerary pyre shall take Egil on his last journey this eve. Also some say the Earl's fever has broken and he has arose from his bed beginning to walk though with the assistance of a cane.
During the day, Bjorn the trapper arrives in town a bundle under his arm. After seeking out Kjelsberggson and the beastly shepherd, the tall blond-haired woodsman's face flashes with a wide grin. Unravelling the bundle he reveals the fine pelt cloak fashioned from the hide of Graypelt. It is as the trapper and his wife promised a small masterpiece. The pelt trails back in a wide, shaggy and warm cloak while the head of the beast rises up over the head of the wearer. The worg's face still contorted in beastial fury. An impressive piece of worksmanship and despite Ragnarr's bulk the cloak drapes well over his sturdy frame. The trapper adds, "I should think the tale of how the beast of Droskarfell was slain shall be told many times over the years in this hall."
Dorvarr's hours in the forge are productive as the knight's new blade takes form shimmering with the curious irridesence of the black mithral. The cleric-smith quickly finds the metal though hard to craft with gives the sword a diamond-hard edge. Preparations continue on the riverbank as the sound of Bolli's curses and shouts occassionally ring through the streets. The ships should be ready to sail in two day's time. Next to the Sif and the Whitehorse, the black frame of the Wave-Stepper remains alone.
When the hour grows late and the stories of lore are being traded, Kveldulf raises his newly acquired pristine drinking horn and announces that he has a story to tell, as story of times most ancient...
In the earliest of times, when the river called Elivagar which had flowed from the burning wound called Muspellheim, with its eternal flames burning amid the lands of Surt from the very beginning of time, it's poisonous flow hardened like molten metal pouring from a smelting pot into the water trough and became ice. When the ice solidified to the point where it no longer ran from it's source, poison fell from the icy rime like raindrops. The falling rain froze below in layers upon layers generation on generation until it grew into what we call Ginnnungagap. The Northern reaches of Ginnunagagap became thick with ice, which was covered with mist and thick blowing rains. Yet the Southern part grew warm and fertile because of the sparks that flew forth from the molten river flowing form Muspellheim. The Ice and the poisonous rivers of the north brought life and became the home of tose we call frost Jotun. The molten rivers and the sunbaked rocks of the south brought life and eventually became the home of the beings we know as Fire Jotun, which came to Ginnungagap from Surt's realm. In the middle, the land grew moderate and very pleasant the waters from the north and the warmth from the south created a pleasant place and these waters mixing with the heat from the south eventually gave life to the likeness of a man, and he was called Ymir. The frost jotun called him Aurgelimir, which means father in their ancient tongue. The oldest of stories say that at first Ymir was alone in Ginnunagagap and after an age he grew very sleepy and slept. While he slept the great jotun began to sweat. From this sweat formed the first frost Jotun who traveled north from their sleeping father to multiply and became the many clans of Frost Jotun today.
After much time passed the jotun Ymir awakened with an insatiable hunger. In his sleep he saw that the icy rime of the north had been melting as he slept and the drippings from the melt had formed a great cow. This cow was called Audhumla and had four massive udders from which rivers of milk poured to feed the insatiable jotun.
As the cow continued produce sustenance, she licked at the ice before her to get at the salt held within it. As she licked away, she uncovered the bodies of three men. These men were the three sons of an very ancient being named Bors. After the warmth of Ginnungagap was upon the, the men woke. One of the was named Vili, the other Odin, and the last, Ve. Awakened and also hungry, the three sons of Bors demanded that Ymir let them drink from the cow, Audhumla, but Ymir was a greedy jotun and refused their demand. Angered, the three sons did battle with the mighty jotun and did slay him. When the killing blow was struck so much blood did spill forth that it drowned all but a few of the frost jotun. Those that survived were of the clan of Bergelmir and are the only clan of frost Jotun that survive today.
The sons of Bors then moved the slain body of Ymir to the center of Ginnunagagap where it was most pleasant and from his body made the world. His blood formed the rivers and lakes, his flesh formed the earthy ground, his bones formed the mountains and rocky cliffs, and his teeth and the bones that were ground and broken formed the stones and gravel. They took his skull and placed it above the land they had made and it became what we call the sky. At each of the skull's four corners they placed a dwarf. These dwarves are named North, East, South and West. They then caught the sparks and embers flying wildly forth from muspellheim and placed them about the skull to form stars in the night sky. The set these embers to a set pattern so that they would fly about and cause chaos no more and that is why today the stars move across the sky unerringly for our ships to follow.
They allowed the jotun to settle around the outer edges of the world they created, but the took the eyelashes of the great Ymir and used them to form a great wall around the center of the world they had created and they called this place Midgard. They then took there hands and tore apart the great jotun's brain. They took these pieces and hurled them into the air, which form the clouds we see in the sky.
The three sons of Bors then went about the land that they had created and thought it good. They were walking along the seashore one day when they came upon two great logs. They each worked to carve these logs until they had the same form as they did. The first son, Vili, then gave them breath and life, the second son Odin gave them intelligence and movement, the third son, Ve, gave them the ability to see, talk, and hear. The sons of Bors then called their creation man and woman and gave them clothing and names. They called the man Ask which meant Ash Tree in their language. They called the Woman Embla, which meant Elm tree in their language. Even today Ash Trees and Elm Trees are found next to each other in the forest. Ask and Embla were cared for in the walled safety of Midgard and brought forth the clans of men and women we are today.
... And that is why, my friends, that Odin is our Allfather"*
He then raises his drinking horn proudly, praises his patron deity, and promptly passes out from overindulging.
Kveldulf spends the day day after accepting Bolli's offer lazily. He awakens with a yawn and brushes the sleep out of his good eye. He puts a new edge on his hunting knife as well as the spike on his shield. The sound of metal rasping on metal finally awakens the sleeping Uruz who looks up at his master and whines impatiently. Noticing a pile of vomit adjacent to his hound he nods knowingly.
"You've been into the ale slop again haven't ye lad? You know the herons of heedlessness caw loudest in the morn." He then chuckles heartily. "Come gruel and roast boar is what we need lad."
With that he gathers his possessions and dog and master trot down to the Alf's kitchen together to consume what porridge is to be had. After which. he apples a fresh coat of beeswax to his bowstring sets out to hunt boar in the wilds outside of town. Survival Roll (1d20+4=8)
Sensing that he is likely to have to settle for some crust and salted jerky for lunch, he returns to the village to make some preparations for his upcoming journey. He looks to purchase a fishing net, a weeks worth of feed for his hound, a weeks worth of dried rations in case of emergency, a pair of cured leather boots and a cured leather, hooded over-cloak, both treated with beeswax and tallow.
Thereafter he makes his way to the river's bank and the pair of awaiting ships. He checks in with Bolli to assess the amount of work that still needs to be done to make the vessels worthy to sail. Profession Sailor Roll (1d20+5=8)
Scratching his head whilst staring agape at Bolli's crew scrambling about in preparation, he realizes that the seasoned ship-master's method of preparation is vastly different from those that were taught to him by his previous captain, Kveldulf realizes that he may yet have much more to learn from the sea. Humbly, he besets Bolli with an offer to assist him in any way of the captain's choosing until the ships are ready to sail. He asks nothing from the captain in return, claiming that the experience gained from working with such experienced sailors is payment enough.
"The finest blades and armour of Norvanbard can be found in the forges of Brattahlid."
There's the selling point for Dorvarr. He'll gladly accompany the young knight and the rest of the group, now that he knows they're going. Someone will have to keep them out of trouble.