Kveldulf sets out bow ready, with his faithful companion into the bush outside of the village ascending the heights beyond the falls. After some hours the barbarian finds nought but old tracks in the area.
Bolli greets you warmly as you arrive at the ship. As you set out to help the men the trader regards you a little uneasily but with a few directions from the other sailors you're quick to get the sense of the work. The hulls are being inspected and reinforced here and there to provide some measure of protection against sharp ice of growlers and floes which empty out from the fjords lining the bay. Carpenters are at work adjusting the deck to provide room for the timber shipment but still keep a good balance. You try your hand with the carpenter's tools and later fixing sail. As the sun begins to set Bolli thanks you heartily for your aid and again pledges that if the Wave-Stepper should need anything to let him know.
By late afternoon, Dorvarr's arms are sore and stiff from the heavy work but the priest-smith sees that he has finished crafting Vladimir's sword. It looks to be a fine specimen, a hardened blade smelted from the strange metal of the empty places below.
Up on the hill by Thorolf's hall, mourners gather to pray and chant by Egil's pyre which is to be lit at dusk. A few espy the old Earl wandering out from the hall to gaze at the tall pyre of wood and straw. Word travels that the Earl has regained his senses. He is seemingly stoic in his loss having lost three sons previous to Egil but those that know him say the death of his last surviving son is no doubt a cruel blow to the old warrior.
For those inspecting the Wave-Stepper
Profession Sailor 10
Ottarr inspects the boat. "These sails are frayed. It should only take about an hour to repair them. If you don't mind, I'll try to repair them."
Grinning ear-to-ear, the stout man eyes the sword keenly. He then proceeds to try to track down the young knight to return it to him.
"Here you go, lad. Now hopefully you'll see to any fey or foul spirits that plague us in the future. How's our expedition coming?"
Dorvarr is once again to be found at the Alf, drinking to (and with), his fellow craftsmen.
[/ooc]
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."
Ragnarr returns the woodman's grin, his jagged and uneven teeth portruding awkwardly through his beaming smile. "'tis fine work... I am only too proud to wear this cloak, and to hear that the tale of Ragnarr, his friends, and old Graypelt will be told at the Alf for years to come. May the gods smile upon you and yours..." The man-beast hastily dons the cloak. The wolf-head, combined with Ragnarr's own feral appearance, create a truly fearsome look.
Ragnarr then returns to visit Unn, who has spent so many years providing guidance to the bestial shepherd. "Wise Unn... I have agreed to journey with my companions by ship to Halfdeane's lands... but have never been on the sea... I know not what I should bring, and I'm a little... uh..." His gravelly voice trails off momentarily. "Kind Unn, do you have anything that would grant me good health on this trip, and the continued favour of the gods?"
Vlad shows his respect and friendship for Egil by staying at the funeral all afternoon, a grim expression on his face.
This will mean war between Halfdeane and Sihtric, he muses. There can be no avoiding it now- Sihtric uses foul sorceries to strike his foes, and that cannot be allowed. For honour's sake, for all of Norvanbard's sake, he cannot be tolerated any longer. Perhaps this is better- we have had a few good years of peace twixt Thorvann's death and this new chaos, peace which might mean the land survives after. It is all we can hope for.
Ottarr inspects the boat. "These sails are frayed. It should only take about an hour to repair them. If you don't mind, I'll try to repair them."
Ottar with care and skill mends the gashes that mar the Wave-Stepper's sails. After some time they are ready to be raised.
Ragnarr then returns to visit Unn, who has spent so many years providing guidance to the bestial shepherd. "Wise Unn... I have agreed to journey with my companions by ship to Halfdeane's lands... but have never been on the sea... I know not what I should bring, and I'm a little... uh..." His gravelly voice trails off momentarily. "Kind Unn, do you have anything that would grant me good health on this trip, and the continued favour of the gods?"
The crone lays aside her sewing and gives the shepherd a thoughtful look. "It is good that you walk for a time outside of this little village. I think Ragnarr that you will be witness to strange peoples, great deeds, and strange lands. Whether this will change you for good or ill I cannot say. That is in your hands. But, yes these hands," Unn gestures "may aid you." The old woman stands up and slowly walks over to the far chamber of her hut where on shelves rest a cornucopia of herbs, draughts and charms.
Yes, we can assume Bolli will provide a weeks worth of food and drink for the voyage
After his visit with Unn, he will purchase whatever mundane supplies Bolli is not providing, and may try to snatch a last glimpse of Ragnhild.[/ooc]
As the barbarian strides back from Unn's abode whistling he notices the charming figure of Ragnhild by the town's well drawing forth a bucket of water...
As the day wears on, the time for Egil's pyre nears and many of the townsfolk begin the solemn march up the hill to the Earl's estate. The sombre crowd gathers for the ceremony...
Talking to Unn at some point (perhaps on the finer points of pronunciation regarding divinity...), Dorvarr aquires some items.
As the day wears on, the time for Egil's pyre nears and many of the townsfolk begin the solemn march up the hill to the Earl's estate. The sombre crowd gathers for the ceremony...
Dorvarr accompanies Greypelt's Slayers to Egil's pyre. Conflicting emotions cross the stout man's face as he realizes he could have been the bearer of his news to the earl, but wasn't. He watches Vlad's face carefully.
After a long, tiring, day assisting Bolli aboard his vessel, Kveldulf returns to the Alf to wash up. Afterwards he takes notice of the villagers gathering for Egil's sending.
He files in, inconspicuously, with the a large group of villagers to watch the spectacle. He stands silently without emotion. "May your journey to the realm of your ancestors be a swift one. In death, may you be free of the frost that bound you in life," he whispers as the pyre is lit.
Abruptly he turns and is one of the first to leave the scene. He makes his way back to the Alf and consumes just enough drink to calm his nerves and then turns in early.
Before bed he removes the bandages covering the wounds inflicted upon him by the man being honored outside. He is pleased to see that they are nearly healed. He redresses the wound and then covers it with a fresh bandage. What luck I have. How many of my brethren have died from a wound just as this?, he thinks to himself. His brief optimism fades, however, upon assessing the shoulder damaged by the fell shades. The area is still covered in bruises but the dark, mottled purple blotch has begun to fade to sickening shades of green and yellow. He prepares an unguent and spreads it over the bruised flesh hoping to draw out the dark energies trapped within.
In the morn, he will make another attempt and hunting in the wilds, bringing anything of worth back to share with his companions. Next he proceeds to the river and Wave Stepper. He assess the recent work that has been done to the vessel and gives it a further look over for anything his companion may have missed the day before. After which, he stows his recently purchased gear.
Also Unn offers 1 item for free and you also have the option of drawing an advance from Bolli's offer of 1000gp.
As the sun dips low in the horizon the crowd gathered on the hilltop stands in solemn assembly before the great pyre for Egil, hersir of Raudurfoss and son of Earl Thorolf. The funerary dirges sung by the townsfolk rise high echoing over the hills and woods of the Vale. The Earl stands supported by a cane and with a distant expression nods to the torch-bearers. The pyre is lit and shortly flames lick up high consuming the dried wood and tinder until a scorching blaze crackles sending Egil's spirit into the sky to the bosoms of the Gods.
Thorolf approaches your band. "I thank you for ending my son's suffering and saving the village. Such deeds should not go unrewarded." The Earl gruffly nods to a servant who brings up a coffer and lays it before your feet. Inside the coffer is a store of 3000 gold crowns. "I have heard that you journey with Bolli to Brattahlid. May the Norn bless your journey and reward you with a better fate than my son. Understand, I bear you no malice for the death of my son but I do not celebrate it. Still if your journeys should bring you here again know that you are welcome. My line has ended with Egil and I have decided that upon my death that the Earlship shall return to Unn's kin." With that the forlorn Earl casts a last glance to the blazing funeral pyre and returns to his empty hall.
Before bed he removes the bandages covering the wounds inflicted upon him by the man being honored outside. He is pleased to see that they are nearly healed. He redresses the wound and then covers it with a fresh bandage. What luck I have. How many of my brethren have died from a wound just as this?, he thinks to himself. His brief optimism fades, however, upon assessing the shoulder damaged by the fell shades. The area is still covered in bruises but the dark, mottled purple blotch has begun to fade to sickening shades of green and yellow. He prepares an unguent and spreads it over the bruised flesh hoping to draw out the dark energies trapped within.
In the morn, he will make another attempt and hunting in the wilds, bringing anything of worth back to share with his companions. Next he proceeds to the river and Wave Stepper. He assess the recent work that has been done to the vessel and gives it a further look over for anything his companion may have missed the day before. After which, he stows his recently purchased gear.
Heal Check (1d20+9=21), Survival Check (1d20+4=10), Profession Sailor Check (1d20+5=13)
Kveldulf's hunting is better than the day before as his bow plucks a trio of plump hares. A bull moose was espied on the far side of the River Wend but alas it could not be reached.
The preparations for the sail to Brattahlid are now all but finished. Your knorr stands ready to sail and Bolli has made it clear he is eager to be underway.
"I thank you for ending my son's suffering and saving the village. Such deeds should not go unrewarded."
"I have heard that you journey with Bolli to Brattahlid. May the Norn bless your journey and reward you with a better fate than my son. Understand, I bear you no malice for the death of my son but I do not celebrate it. Still if your journeys should bring you here again know that you are welcome. My line has ended with Egil and I have decided that upon my death that the Earlship shall return to Unn's kin."
Vlad nods his head gravely at the Earl's speech, and his forehead furrows at the end.
"I shall take this news to Halfdeane. I thank you for your blessing and hospitality, may it be by the Fates that I can offer you as much wisdom and generosity some day. Speak the word and I shall find aid for you, Earl Thorolf. Halfdeane will know of your loyalty."He turns away, saddened, and heads into town to raise a horn in Egil's name.
Thorolf approaches your band. "I thank you for ending my son's suffering and saving the village. Such deeds should not go unrewarded." The Earl gruffly nods to a servant who brings up a coffer and lays it before your feet. Inside the coffer is a store of 3000 gold crowns. "I have heard that you journey with Bolli to Brattahlid. May the Norn bless your journey and reward you with a better fate than my son. Understand, I bear you no malice for the death of my son but I do not celebrate it. Still if your journeys should bring you here again know that you are welcome. My line has ended with Egil and I have decided that upon my death that the Earlship shall return to Unn's kin." With that the forlorn Earl casts a last glance to the...
Dorvarr uses part of his share get himself a breastplate, handing his old Scale Mail to some promising young lad...
Vlad is ready and willing to leave.
Vlad is ready and willing to leave.
Suitably suited up, Dorvarr is ready to go.
[Gratuitous Metagaming]It would be nice to get one more day of rest, or nudge Dorvarr for a lesser restoration to dump the last of my strength damage before we set sail... [/Gratuitous Metagaming]
[Gratuitous Metagaming]It would be nice to get one more day of rest, or nudge Dorvarr for a lesser restoration to dump the last of my strength damage before we set sail... [/Gratuitous Metagaming]
Consider it done. It's not exactly like I've been using a whole lot of spells over the days...
Ragnarr thanks Unn for her guidance and gift of the charm against evil spirits. Given his newfound and unexpected (advanced) wealth, he decides to spend much of his coin on the various other substances the old woman has that can call forth and enhance the "beast within." In other words, he takes all the barbarian's chew, the two draughts of fish oil, and the two remaining doses of (magic) weapon oil... and perhaps the silversheen, depending on its effects, and if he can afford it.
As the barbarian strides back from Unn's abode whistling he notices the charming figure of Ragnhild by the town's well drawing forth a bucket of water...
Admiring the odd assortment of trinkets he has purchased from Unn, and smiling like the most innocent of children, the unwashed and malodorous man-beast approaches the well, then stops abruptly in his tracks as he notices Ragnhild. The wolf pelt covers his broad frame. He fumbles to retrieve the Mjolnir's amulet that the maiden had given him, while awkwardly juggling his new baubles, unsure which he should show off to her. He clears his throat roughly, trying to catch her attention. He stammers as he searches for the right words to say... "Ragnhild... the amulet you gave me... kept me safe... thank you... I... ahh... I... do you like these nice things I got from Unn?... I... will be going now... far from here... I... I..." His voice trails away as his goofy smile turns momentarily into a brief yet longing stare, then he turns his gaze towards his feet while keeping his bauble-filled palms turned toward her...
Admiring the odd assortment of trinkets he has purchased from Unn, and smiling like the most innocent of children, the unwashed and malodorous man-beast approaches the well, then stops abruptly in his tracks as he notices Ragnhild. The wolf pelt covers his broad frame. He fumbles to retrieve the Mjolnir's amulet that the maiden had given him, while awkwardly juggling his new baubles, unsure which he should show off to her. He clears his throat roughly, trying to catch her attention. He stammers as he searches for the right words to say... "Ragnhild... the amulet you gave me... kept me safe... thank you... I... ahh... I... do you like these nice things I got from Unn?... I... will be going now... far from here... I... I..." His voice trails away as his goofy smile turns momentarily into a brief yet longing stare, then he turns his gaze towards his feet while keeping his bauble-filled palms turned toward her...As the barbarian strides back from Unn's abode whistling he notices the charming figure of Ragnhild by the town's well drawing forth a bucket of water...
Ragnhild nods as she raises the bucket from the well. "I am glad it kept you safe, Ragnarr. I hope it continues to do so no matter where you go." Ragnhild looks about the street for a moment and suddenly plants a warm kiss on the side of the barbarian's face. The maiden's face is clenched from ignoring the shepherd's stench. "Farewell, Ragnarr."
The morning comes and Bolli's two ships stand ready to sail. The bearded merchant sends one of his men to request you join him in a short ceremony to appease the Norn and give good luck to their travel.
It is an overcast morning with a stiff breeze from the north. Bolli and his men stand on the riverbank by the boats. As you approach the trader hails your band and beckons you over. "Good morn, brothers. Now we ready to sail onward to the Brattahlid and Halfdeane's hall, the Jarnmur (Ironwall)." An old grizzled sailor lifts a great musk-ox horn to his lips and breathes a deep, bass boom that echoes over the wooded hills. As the horn blast resonates the sailors on deck raise the sails aloft in the stirring breeze. Bolli chants in a rich baritone a prayer to the Gods for fair weather and good fortune. After the prayer the sailors briskly leap aboard and the ships begin their journey down river.
As the ships leave the harbour, Ragnarr grabs onto a railing with all his might, and does not let go. His eyes are wide with fear. "Make Thor proud... make Thor proud... Make Thor proud..." he heeps muttering to himself, as if the words were a mantra.
Kveldulf steps aboard the Wavestepper. He sniffs the morning air, perhaps not even knowing he is doing so.
"Sunna's rays are bright this morn and the winds of Midgard be gentle. May our journey through Njord's realm be a safe one."
He gathers the few possessions he is carrying with him and stows them with the supplies he provisioned earlier in the week. He then moves about to make sure that all is in order and the vessel is ready to depart. Whilst doing so, Uruz whines quietly and licks his master's hand with his forearm -sized tongue. Kveldulf gently rubs the hounds giant head.
"Aye lad, you're right to be worried. The great bounty of the sea is a dangerous place indeed. Filled with blood and brine it is, but do not fear. For in our life, lad, all paths are dangerous. It is our lot. Now come here and lie down, it will be better soon.
The hound reluctantly walks to his master's side and lays at his feet. Before departing, he removes a well worn ivory tube from his pack and opens one end with a dull pop. He pulls forth an age-yellowed roll of parchment and unfurls it on deck to reveal a large, detailed, map and studies it intently for a few moments.
"This," he says to no one in particular while pointing at the map, "is where we are now. And here," he says while moving his finger a good distance up the coast, "is a harbor near Brattahlid where we are sailing to." He then moves his finger backtracking and draws an imaginary circle encompassing a good deal of the waters in between. "And here are waters often raided by the Pictish bastards who gutted the last crew I sailed with! All I ask is that if they try again we leave a bad taste in their mouth," he finishes with a hearty rumble. He then carefully rolls the aged parchment and fits it once again into it's water-tight ivory case.
"Now I be a competent sailor and would be proud to steer this vessel along her coarse if no man be objecting. Ottar, if you wish, we may share the duty. Mayhap you could teach an old dog a new trick or two?"
"I'll be glad to help you steer this ship."
The stout man takes up the oar opposite Ragnarr.
"It's alright, lad, Thor'll see us through this, thoguh 'tis always good to remember Aegir and Njord, gods of the sea. With any luck, our brave sailor friends will see fit to outwit any rough seas just as Thor himself outwitted the sea god himself. Aye, the tale of Hymir's cauldron. We'll find time to share it on this journey, I'm sure."