"Breggir... follow me. I give my word, in faithfulness, to let you free, so long as you aid us loyally. I will not bind you, and I will arm you to defend yourself, as a freeman serves a thane. If you perform well, I may reward you. I will trust you. Do not betray me."
I'm not sure if I can trust the goblin, but Tyr will watch this...
Vlad passes Breggir his handaxe.
"My father made this weapon for me. I would like it returned."
Then, surprised by Hrafn's exclamation, Vlad turns and sees the beautiful dagger.
Such fine work... clearly a lord's weapon. I could not claim this, it would not be right.
"Perhaps you should take it, Hrafn. Ullr, god of the hunt and of skill, smiles on those who find such things... perhaps he meant you to have it, unless someone else cares for it."
Ragnarr has already left the party behind as he crossed the bridge, and so missed the discussion concerning the dagger. He shurgs the cold off and gazes through the woods with concern, twirling between his fingers the amulet of Mjolnir that Ragnhild gave him. He looks over his shoulder and waves his companions forward. "Campfires... flocks of ravens..." he calls to his companions, as discretely as possible above the rush of the river.
Breggir looks up at Vlad his mouth hanging open in a stupefying and rather disgusting expression as he reveals his jagged teeth and blackened gums. He nods eager to please. "Yes helps big ones." His expression suddenly alters to sorrow "But if clan see me help you..." Drawing his stumpy finger across his throat. "I's do what you want. Breggir used to it..." He accepts Vlad's axe and assures loudly that always returns what he borrows.
Knowledge (history) or Craft (Metalsmithing) 10
14
Dorvarr
Leaving the bridge behind your band carries on the last leg of the journey. The goblin keeps to himself but still glances nervously to and fro. The fires of the camp blaze across on the plain while the dark trees of the Darkmoon seem to loom menacingly to the north and west. You espie a few shapes of loggers walking back and forth. Most would be preparing for the evening repast before retiring to their barracks. No signs of trouble can be seen.
As you near the site you can discern that the entrance of the camp is marked by a single rather crudely constructed wooden watchtower. A few men clad in hauberks and clutching spears stand (though somewhat innatentively) at guard.
Ragnarr hesitates for a moment, then quietly steps aside and waits for his companions to take the lead. His grave manner suggests that something about the logger camp is making him nervous...
Vlad approaches boldly, letting himself be seen as he rides his weary steed, and raises an (empty) hand in greeting.
"Hail! I am Vladimir Kjelsbergsson, in the service of Earl Thorolf. We come to give aid against the goblins!"
Vlad dismounts and approaches, a wary eye on Breggir and the loggers' reactions to him.
"Keep that dagger safe. It is something rarer than you can imagine. Men of old called the metal Black Mithral. It will see you through difficult times and serve you against the darkest of foes."
Dorvarr prepares to follow the others into the logging camp.
"Keep that dagger safe. It is something rarer than you can imagine. Men of old called the metal Black Mithral. It will see you through difficult times and serve you against the darkest of foes."
"I have no use for it, whatever its powers. Metal does not sit well in hands made for forest tools. Will you take it, to wield at need?"
Hrafn follows the others.
"Keep that dagger safe. It is something rarer than you can imagine. Men of old called the metal Black Mithral. It will see you through difficult times and serve you against the darkest of foes."
Spot DC 12
Vlad approaches boldly, letting himself be seen as he rides his weary steed, and raises an (empty) hand in greeting.
"Hail! I am Vladimir Kjelsbergsson, in the service of Earl Thorolf. We come to give aid against the goblins!"
Vlad dismounts and approaches, a wary eye on Breggir and the loggers' reactions to him.
A booming voice sounds back at your greeting, "Kjelsbergsson! You earsling!" A mountain of a man appears from around the corner of the watchtower. Clad in a leather jerkin, the man is at least six and a half feet tall with big beefy arms but a corpulent gut. His blazing red hair is a tangle, and a great bushy, untamed beard adorns his worn and scarred face. He holds a leg of mutton in one hand, and his shield in the other.
Vladimir"And who else do you got with you there? Goblins? I haven't seen any..." The giant pauses as he catches sight of Breggir, "... except the one you got there."
You see the other guards react, gripping their weapons tightly.
"A prisoner?" asks the man. "All right I smell something's afoot. String up that vermin over here. Why don't you all come in I've got some nice mutton and stew on the fire. Take a load off and tell me your tale."
He beckons you over and adds "Oh name's Bjalfi, people just call me Ox. Sent here by the noble Lord Halfdeane to keep an eye on his precious timber. Thought having me sit out freezing my arse off in the middle of nowhere would be suitable punishment for a few hasty words to his daughter after some cups of mead..." He winks and lets out a bellowing laugh as he beckons you to the warmth of a glowing fire nearby.
"Keep that dagger safe. It is something rarer than you can imagine. Men of old called the metal Black Mithral. It will see you through difficult times and serve you against the darkest of foes.""I have no use for it, whatever its powers. Metal does not sit well in hands made for forest tools. Will you take it, to wield at need?"
Hrafn follows the others.
"I will gladly keep the blade safe should you wish." Dorvarr turns to Ox, "And a bit of mutton and cup of ale would sit well after today's excitement."
"I will gladly keep the blade safe should you wish." Dorvarr turns to Ox, "And a bit of mutton and cup of ale would sit well after today's excitement."
Hrafn, unsure of himself again in company, looms silent at the back of the foursome. Still, seeing Dorvarr at ease, he relaxes a little.
"I will gladly keep the blade safe should you wish." Dorvarr turns to Ox, "And a bit of mutton and cup of ale would sit well after today's excitement."
Ragnarr shoots Breggir a fiery glare and grunts in a quasi-whisper in Dorvarr's ear. "'ware the goblin. He yearns for your new prize. I saw it... in his eyes..." The man-beast then stands back with Hrafn, uneasily eyeing Ox and his men. Could this be the Big One the goblin spoke about? Is treachery afoot here? Ragnarr's appetite quickly overcomes his doubts aside as Ox makes his offer of food and drink. Though wary of the company of strangers, he licks his lips in anticipation of his meal and waits for Vlad to make the introductions.
"Bjalfi!" Vlad's face breaks out in a smile. "Can we enter? It's been too long, my old friend! You and I should cross blades again soon."
He glances warily behind him at the forbidding and darkened forest.
"Although we may be busy tonight... Let us in, old friend, I have a lot to explain."
Then he turns to Breggir.
"Breggir, you gave me your word. I still trust you. Will you come in with me? You will be given food and drink for your trouble."
Breggir nods submissively to Vladimir's intonation. He casts several nervous glances at the armed guards and remains close to the knight. As you pass the guards, they look down at the captive goblin. "Make sure you keep a tight leash on him or we'll have him roasting on a spit." growls one of the men.
Bjalfi beckons you to the fire and after the ardours of the road and battle, the thick aroma of mutton and stew is a welcome respite. Several log stumps ring the fire serving as seats, and the big man gestures at your company to make yourself comfortable.
Despite his joviality, you mark that Bjalfi eyes the four of you warily, particularly the dark wild figure of Hrafn.
"Sit and rest easy friends." Bjalfi offers his hand to each of you, cracking a smile at Ragnarr, a flash of curiousity crosses his face upon greeting Dorvarr. He offers his hand to Hrafn albeit with a measure of wariness. "Interesting company you keep Vladimir." A slight pause, "Well plenty of food to be had. Have your fill and drink hearty." Marking Vladimir's earlier words to the goblin the warrior gestures, "There's some scraps in the midden that should serve this vermin."
Bjalfi sits himself on one of the stumps and lighting his pipe looks up, "When you've a chance why don't one of you tell ol' Ox what is afoot here?"
Breggir nods submissively to Vladimir's intonation. He casts several nervous glances at the armed guards and remains close to the knight. As you pass the guards, they look down at the captive goblin. "Make sure you keep a tight leash on him or we'll have him roasting on a spit." growls one of the men.
"That was my idea," grumbles Ragnarr, in agreement with the guard's suggestion.
"Sit and rest easy friends." Bjalfi offers his hand to each of you, cracking a smile at Ragnarr, a flash of curiousity crosses his face upon greeting Dorvarr. He offers his hand to Hrafn albeit with a measure of wariness. "Interesting company you keep Vladimir." A slight pause, "Well plenty of food to be had. Have your fill and drink hearty." Marking Vladimir's earlier words to the goblin the warrior gestures, "There's some scraps in the midden that should serve this vermin."
Bjalfi sits himself on one of the stumps and lighting his pipe looks up, "When you've a chance why don't one of you tell ol' Ox what is afoot here?"
Without further ado, the rancid-smelling man-beast takes a seat on a stump by the fire and devours noisily all the food that he is offered, washing it down with cup after cup of mead. He is taken aback by the smile that Ox flashes him, but returns a grin in-kind. He keeps his axe at his side and initially keeps his eyes Ox and his men, as well as on Braggir, while he grasps a mutton leg with both hands and gnaws on it lustily, belching loudly at regular intervals. But eventually, the food and drink take all of his attention, and he soon loses interest in his surroundings. In a matter of minutes, the barbarian's already dirty face and hands become smeared by a fresh layer of grease. He clearly has no intention in telling any stories to Ox, leaving that up to his companions...
The stout man leans back in his seat, enjoying his mead in moderation, wary to lose himself completely to the comforts offered. Other than the occasional remark (usually punctuating the prowess of his companions and the divine might of Thor that courses through their veins), he is content to let the young knight do the majority of the talking.
Dorvarr also spends some time examining the strange dagger. No one can mistake the occasional he shoots at the goblin as he looks at it. Dorvarr will also keep an eye on the loggers, to see if any covetous glances shoot his way.
Without further ado, the rancid-smelling man-beast takes a seat on a stump by the fire and devours noisily all the food that he is offered, washing it down with cup after cup of mead. He is taken aback by the smile that Ox flashes him, but returns a grin in-kind. He keeps his axe at his side and initially keeps his eyes Ox and his men, as well as on Braggir, while he grasps a mutton leg with both hands and gnaws on it lustily, belching loudly at regular intervals. But eventually, the food and drink take all of his attention, and he soon loses interest in his surroundings. In a matter of minutes, the barbarian's already dirty face and hands become smeared by a fresh layer of grease. He clearly has no intention in telling any stories to Ox, leaving that up to his companions...
The food and drink while not extravagant by any standards sates your appetite and judging by the richness of your belches hits the spot.
As you can scan about the logging camp you can see there is still a reasonable amount of activity. Many of the loggers are retiring for the night while the sentries begin picket duty by the large bonfires (one planted in in the east, north, south and west). Your keen ears betray nothing unusual save the occassional bark of the guard's dogs, a raven's cry and other such mundane noises. Darkness descends and the shadows of the black forest of Darkmoon deepen and thicken.As you listen to Ox's good-natured banter you do not detect any insencerity though he does seem troubled and often glances in the direction of the Darkmoon forest.
The stout man leans back in his seat, enjoying his mead in moderation, wary to lose himself completely to the comforts offered. Other than the occasional remark (usually punctuating the prowess of his companions and the divine might of Thor that courses through their veins), he is content to let the young knight do the majority of the talking.
Dorvarr also spends some time examining the strange dagger. No one can mistake the occasional he shoots at the goblin as he looks at it. Dorvarr will also keep an eye on the loggers, to see if any covetous glances shoot his way.
As you inspect the dagger you notice Breggir makes a warding gesture across his face. His eyes widen and his expression is troubled.
Examining the weapon, you appraise its worth is significant. It is an old blade but it stil retains its edge and hardness. The expert craftsmanship used to forge such blades is all but vanished from the present world. On a guess you would expect such an item in light of its age, metal and craftsmanship to fetch perhaps 400gp.
Bjalfi wipes his mouth after finishing his leg of mutton. "It looks like its been a hard march from Raudurfoss but would any of ye care to shed some light on why ye've a goblin in tow?"
As he asks that question another older man strides up. As the light of the fire reveals him you see a tall gaunt man with a weatherworn face and graying beard. A bow slung over his shoulder without much ceremony he sits down helping himself to some of the stew. "Not much to report on sir. Dogs in the north are a little restless but calmed down now. Pickets are pretty quiet if a little complaining of this cold. Seems like we're in for an early winter. Svein's minding the lumber."
Bjalfi nods "Er.. thanks Olaf..."
Abrubtly the night is broken by a chorus of loud barks of dogs from the northern end.
"Goblin raiders," grunts Ragnarr in reply to Ox's question, just as the dogs start to bark. "They had taken the bridge, but we killed most of them and took this one prisoner... others fled back to the woods... to warn their comrades, who are planning an attack on this camp... here they come... take arms!" The man-beast drops his bowl of stew, grabs his axe, and turns to face the direction from which the barking can be heard, looking over his shoulder to see if his companions are ready to join him.
Vlad stands, buckles on his shield, and tries to wipe away his fatigue.
"Breggir. Stay with us and I'll see that you're rewarded. Here!"
He tosses him a small haunch of mutton, knowing that the little goblin's sharp teeth will finish it quickly. Then he turns to the door and draws his sword, holding it high so that he can be seen.
"Alright men, let's be ready to fight. Be worthy of a dinner table far grander than this one." He smiles at Bjalfi. "No offense."
Dorvarr stands and readies his gear. "More of these swine, eh? Good thing Thor favours the bold!" And with a hearty laugh readies himself for battle.
As you stand the night sky becomes alight with a host of flaming arrows from the northern woods. The fiery missiles strike down upon the thatched roof of the barracks. The camp descends into chaos as screams resound and men shout desparately. From the west a band of goblins brandishing wicked spears and wooden shields charge the pickets. You can discern at least three bands of four apiece at that end. Two groups swoop down upon the one fire circle while the third continues into the camp. The guards brandish their weapons quickly but many of the loggers are ill prepared for such a dreadful onslaught.
In the north numbers cannot be gleaned as the force remains screened by the trees whilst they rain arrows down upon the camp. However the sound of wolves howling echoes through the trees.
As Olaf and Bjalfi wrest their weapons, Breggir pipes up, "Svein I know that name. That's what the one eyed big one called himself!"
As Olaf and Bjalfi wrest their weapons, Breggir pipes up, "Svein I know that name. That's what the one eyed big one called himself!"
As the attack begins, Hrafn growls grim-faced, "This camp is lost unless help arrives along the road. I say we pay Svein a visit."
"Svein? So the goblins have a leader? Excellent! We'll draw him out and cut him down. That would break their morale, wouldn't it, Breggir?"
The layout:
The camp is situated on a stretch of plains. The woods stretch along the north and west side of the camp. The watchtower and road access lies at the southern end. Several stacks of lumber are situated two hundred feet to the west from the watchtower. The barracks are near the northern perimiter. The east is open plain that runs along the valley floor.
The fire you're sitting by is a hundred feet from the south watchtower. Large bonfires are at each picket at the north, west and east ends of the camp. At the centre of the camp lies a crude longhouse that is the messhall.
The twelve goblins have charged from the west forest. The goblins are running in 3 groups of 4. Two of the groups are encircling the three guards at the west bonfire. The other group continues to charge into the camp making a beeline towards your band. The north bonfire lies four hundred feet from your position.
The edge of the forest to the north is roughly 1000 feet from your position. Judging by the hail of arrows there is probably at least 8 goblin archers. The barracks which not yet enflamed lie 700 feet from your position. Three guards and two dogs were watching this side. One guard has been skewered by a goblin arrow.
Two guards are at the bonfire at the eastern perimiter. At the fire Bjalfi and Olaf are with you and two other guards were left posted at the watchtower.
Bjalfi roars as he grasps his mace, "Kill the bastards!" he shouts. Olaf slings his bow.
Bjalfi looks towards the hail of arrows from the north. "Olaf with me to the north." He raises his voice shouting to the guards at the eastern fire "To me! To the barracks. Get those men out of there." The giant looks to you, "Take my two men from the watchtower with you. Do you think you can help to the west? Svein's by the lumber stacks if he's betrayed us gut the bastard where he stands. I've got to help my men."
"We'll need soemthing to give ourselves cover if we're goign to deal with the creatures to the west. Grab something to try to block the arrows. Is there any cover between here and the goblin groups?"
"Svein? So the goblins have a leader? Excellent! We'll draw him out and cut him down. That would break their morale, wouldn't it, Breggir?"
Hrafn almost snarls, "Svein is a man. A traitor. Olaf said he's minding the lumber. I say we go and kill him."
"We'll need soemthing to give ourselves cover if we're goign to deal with the creatures to the west. Grab something to try to block the arrows. Is there any cover between here and the goblin groups?"
The ground is mostly open with little or no cover. An ox-cart does sit halfway between your position and the lumber-stacks. The lumber stacks run for several hundred feet and sit in four rows of five.
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"THOOOOOOOORRRRR!!!!" screams Ragnarr at an inhuman pitch that begins low and deep in his gut and ends in a high pitched bestial whine, as he charges, axe held high and heedless of danger, towards the group of goblins to the west that is headed in the party's direction. "ON YOUR KNEES, VERMIN!" howls the man-beast at the goblin troops.
"THOOOOOOOORRRRR!!!!" screams Ragnarr at an inhuman pitch that begins low and deep in his gut and ends in a high pitched bestial whine, as he charges, axe held high and heedless of danger, towards the group of goblins to the west that is headed in the party's direction. "ON YOUR KNEES, VERMIN!" howls the man-beast at the goblin troops.
Ragnarr breaks away from the group charging towards the advancing goblin band. He sprints axe high until he crashes into one of the charging goblins. The creature deftly holds his shield up to ward the barbarian's blow. It is to no avail. With brute strength Ragnarr's axe shatters the shield into splinters and his blade bites deep into the goblin's neck. A fountain of blood gushes as the stunned goblin hits the ground twitching and gurgling. The three other goblins roar in anger and move to close in towards the half-orc.The three goblins are out in the open. The ox cart lies nearby (about 40 feet from Ragnarr).
"Cut him down at the knees, makes it easier to cut his head off!" shouts one.
Hrafn 19
Dorvarr 17
Goblins 9
Ragnarr 7
Vladimir 5
Dorvarr shakes his head, ah, to be young and impetuous, hefts his hammer and works his way to Ragnarr's side. "Thor be with us all..."
Dorvarr shakes his head, ah, to be young and impetuous, hefts his hammer and works his way to Ragnarr's side. "Thor be with us all..."
Hrafn watches Ragnarr for a stunned moment. A wild boar, but at least he's charging in the right direction. Huh! and that goblin won't be troubling us again. Then charges after him, club in hand.
Hrafn tries to flank one of the goblins engaged with Ragnarr, snapping and snarling in rage.
Vlad summons his courage and attempts to make sense of the battle beginning around him. Seeing his new friend Ragnarr rush off into combat distracts him, and he hesitates a few moments before catching himself, then runs off after the man.
The three goblins rush across the open field. Two of them roaring in blood frenzy close in with Ragnarr in a flanking position. Hrafn moves quickly across the field and his cudgel catches one of the running goblin's square in the chest sending the creature toppling backwards his chest caved in.
Goblin B atk 18+2=20 dam=5[/ooc]
The goblin focused on Ragnarr lunges low catching the barbarian in the leg. The spear bites a deep gash and as blood is spilled from Ragnarr's wound the goblin roars triumphantly.
The third espying Hrafn's approach grips his spear and thrusts.
The spear lunge strikes Hrafn in the shoulder rending flesh.
Two goblins remain engaged with Hrafn and Ragnarr. Beyond them the two bands of goblins have encircled the guards at the bonfire. A fierce melee rages as the guards though outnumbered and surrounded fight valiantly. Two of the goblins are felled but now only one guard remains standing with a friend at his feet clutching his bloodied stomach and gasping for air. You can hear the macabre yelps and cries of the bloodthirsty goblin warriors as they sense victory.
The two guards from the watchtower are rushing to your position. Meanwhile at the northern end of the camp another hail of fiery arrows flies from the darkened forest. Bjalfi and Olaf move to get people to safety and arm the loggers but the fires on the barrack's thatched roof are spreading and gaining in intensity.
Spot DC 12
Spot DC 15
Ragnarr howls in pain as the goblin's spear punctures his leg. His eyes start to glaze over and he begins to snort loudly, like a mad bull. He swings his axe at the offender, burying its head deep in the latter's torso . The man-beast screams in triumph as the goblin falls to the ground.
Ragnarr's keen sight enables him to detect some other goblins prowling in the darkness. "Over there, by the lumber stacks," croaks the monstrous shepherd to his companions as he moves to flank Hrafn's opponent, desperately trying to maintain control over his mounting rage. "Two more sneaking... with flasks in hand..."
Ragnar's foe drops to the ground joining his companion. The remaining goblin though shaken holds his ground with fanatical fervour.
As Vladimir rushes to the scene you see Breggir shaking with fear lets out a wail and begins fleeing in the direction of the road leading out of camp.
Ragnar's foe drops to the ground joining his companion. The remaining goblin though shaken holds his ground with fanatical fervour.
As Vladimir rushes to the scene you see Breggir shaking with fear lets out a wail and begins fleeing in the direction of the road leading out of camp.
Hrafn is focused on the foe before him, and is not distracted by the shadows moving near the lumber pile. Let them burn it all, the trees should never have been felled.
He strikes swiftly, aiming to finish the remaining goblin before any more arrive.