I'll never turn down being a player in a Dungeon World PbP campaign - DMing one is a bit more of a commitment since I've already got a few campaigns I'm running, but I'm totally down to join a campaign run by you, Iorval.
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Ditto here, sadly this is the end of Baelgrin's tale. Darkness and woe! Fun game while it lasted though, hope you're able to come back someday.
My apartment flooded at 2 AM this morning...I'm beyond overwhelmed right now :'( Please don't expect anything of me today and possibly tomorrow. I will get back up to speed ASAP.
I leave the guidance to Tofa, who would know better than I.
Baelgrin studies Shareeva's face carefully, thinking back to the last time they'd met. He came to trust her a great deal in that short time, enough to allow her to put needle to flesh on him. He chews his beard a moment, turning to Tofa briefly before returning his gaze to Ulfgrim. "There's secrets here, Shareeva, secrets far beyond what you're willing to admit to me, even now. Keep them, I care not. All I care about is my clan, and seeing them safe. I can't fully trust ye...but..." the skald spits on his palm, offering it to Shareeva. "I'll lead ye to where I think they might've gone."
Baelgrin tries to smile at Shareeva, but the expression is wan. "Greetings, Shareeva. Brynjolvar went off in search of his daughter, and Iorval the priest followed him. So Tofa tells me, at least...I just got back here myself."
The old man narrows his eyes as he glances at the door. "He was searching for his daughter that had run off, yes? That's all we will tell them for now."
Baelgrin stands up and listens at the door, then turns to Tofa. "Listen, we'll go along with our hosts for now. Just don't trust them. The legends tell many tales of the Serpent and her thralls. I don't like the omens I've been seeing."
"The hospitality is a deceit..." the bard hisses, trying to keep his voice down. He sighs. "But your honor is a fine example to all, Tofa. We will wait, and hope your honor does not bind us to damnation. After all, I only have suspicions and worries, not true proof." He takes up a seated position facing the door, nervously drumming his fingertips on the table. "How long have they been gone? If they were in danger, would your honor permit you to go after them?"
It takes very little to make Baelgrin assume the worst. That slight facial twitch is more than enough to send him into full-on "we are f+*$ed" mode.
Baelgrin was trying to trigger a reaction, but it's not really to have a question answered - it's more to see if they react to the Viper analogy. If they do, it'll be confirmation in Baelgrin's mind that these people have an unnatural affiliation with reptiles. Baelgrin sits down with a heavy sigh as Tofa greets him sarcastically. "Hello to you too, spirit-talker," he murmurs. "We have a more important problem here." he sits close to her, leaning in and lowering his voice. "These people are not who they say they are. They speak with the tongue of snakes, and snakes go among them. It is a sign of the Gods. The Jotun itself is being turned to suit their needs. We need to find Iorval and and Brynjolvar and escape these caves as quickly as possible before they discover that I know."
On the way out, Baelgrin will nod to the scouts he's been conversing with, showing them deference and respect in the manner of all wise old men. Once outside the feasting hall, Baelgrin turns to Ulfgrim and Shareeva. "It's truly good news that your scouts have returned unharmed," he tells his hosts. "They seemed like strong-hearted fellows, when I spoke to them, and possessing the cunning of vipers." He smiles warmly. "They do your clan credit. Now if you'll excuse me, I must return to the others; they do worry about me when I'm off by myself for too long." Assuming they let him enter their home by himself, Baelgrin will immediately take in the details of the room, checking who is present and who is not.
"And they will speak with the tongue of snakes, and snakes will be their bedfellows," so say the legends, Baelgrin thought to himself, paying attention to the man's sibilant voice and the omnipresence of huge reptiles that go unnoticed. I must dissuade the man from suspecting us or it will go badly for the others. "In these tumultuous times, one must choose their allies carefully," the bard begins, choosing his words equally carefully. "The Berrywine clan is on its last legs. We lose more to death and disaster than we gain from happy new babies. I will do whatever I must do to ensure that we survive; whatever it takes." Baelgrin knows that a lie is easily spotted leaving his mouth, despite his way with words. Still, his long life and experience have taught him that it is not always necessary to lie to hide the truth. Speaking in generalities allowed the skald to avoid outright lying while still (hopefully) answering the man's question to his satisfaction. Baelgrin finishes his sentence and takes another long pull from his mug, disguising his glances at Shareeva with the action. She mistrusts me greatly, the old skald thinks to himself. There's something huge being hidden here. I can sense it. The skald's plan is to stay a few more minutes, then make an excuse to go back to rejoin the others. He will probably rely on his advanced age - it's a good excuse for many situations. Perhaps he will tell her that he is feeling incontinent. The clever old man smiles into his ale, the smile disappearing as soon as he lowers the mug to the table once more.
Thanks man. I hate feeling this weak
Baelgrin's suspicion is piqued when Ulfgrim and Shareeva don't register the snake. Still, during the first 20 minutes, he puts forth all his effort to be a charming skald, offering up anecdotes and jokes as they talk with others, but keeping his mouth mostly shut. His thoughts whirl around in his head as he considers what could be going on with this tribe. When he sees the snake slither up the pant leg of the scout, his mind is made up. Something is very wrong here, something his hosts are complicit in. His first instinct is to flee, to excuse himself and get back to the residence where they're staying, to warn the others. But, warn them of what? A creepy feeling I'm having? A premonition? They'd dismiss my warnings as the ravings of an old man. Maybe they're right. his voice echoes inside his own head. Sitting down across a table from one of the most isolated scouts, Baelgrin begins speaking calmly and openly with him. He tells him of the Berrywine clan he hails from, of the dangers he and his friends have had to survive, and asks the scout for any stories he could share. Eventually, he works his way to a question: "What do you and your clansmen most desire?" Charming and Open: When you speak frankly with someone, you can ask their player a question from the list below. They must answer it truthfully, then they may ask you a question from the list (which you must answer truthfully). Whom do you serve?
Baelgrin gulps when he sees the snake, but is unsure of the local ways here...maybe it's someone's pet. He watches Ulfgrim and Shareeva carefully to see how they react, or to tell if they even noticed the huge reptile.
Do you share this story of the Sons of Muspel, Iorval? They are not in any of the tales I have heard.
"Wait a minute, wait a minute," the old skald says, his voice scratchy, phlegmy and grumpy at this time in the morning. "I won't be left here again while you two go off to where everything interesting is happening. Ooh, my head." Morning headaches are very common for Baelgrin, making waking up a painful daily chore. "I'm coming with you," he says to Ulfgrim and Shareeva, his voice becoming more firm.
Baelgrin bows low to Shareeva when she arrives. "As I've aged, you've somehow stayed the same all these years," he comments, smiling. "The tattoos have an otherworldly influence on your youth, Shareeva, I've always said. Mine's been keeping me alive through this madness." He holds a hand aloft in farewell when she takes Ulfgrim away. Later, after Brynjolvar's tranformation, the skald speaks again, staring into the hearth."Jotun, legends and shapeshifters walk among us. What is around the next corner, a god?" Baelgrin shakes his head, the comment made only partly in jest.
Baelgrin feels it is his duty to remind the clan to be vigilant and alert. Raising his voice and waving the spear Gullvidr high overhead, he regales them with the tale of Horn Raventongue, who could speak with birds and beasts and faced down over a thousand demon princes in the years of legends long ago.
Baelgrin glances over at Rogallus when Ulfgrim asks him his question. "Well, to be honest, our priorities up until now had been to survive until the next breath. We hadn't had time to formulate a plan. What Rogallus mentioned about the deeper caverns had me interested, though. They could be related to the draugr we encountered before. Once we've had a chance to recover ourselves, I think we should investigate them." The old skald grimaces. "It's a grim prospect, dying under the caves far from the sun's dimming glow. But I'd rather do something than simply wait and hope that Jotun goes back to sleep again soon."
Yeah, now to decide on a name. The lady and I are deciding between Charles, Louis and Julian.
Baelgrin smiles as a wave of nostalgia washes over him. He had not seen the hanging orbs in what feels like a lifetime. "The city is as beautiful as I remember," he comments to Ulfgrim. "I presume your wife's beauty is similarly undimmed, sir." His face hardens again as Tofa brings up hard topics to hear. "What can possibly be done against a Jotun, Tofa? These creatures aren't just inhabitants of this world, they are the world. We walk upon their very bones as they shape the landscape around us. How can such a force be assailed?" he shakes his head. "The Jotun will rest when the Jotun sees fit to rest, or when the gods open the gates of heaven in their wrath. I don't see either of those scenarios happening anytime soon." the old man's voice is despondent.
Hell yeah!
It's a boy! Due date 4/20
"When last I visited, Luanith was next in line for the leader of the these people, the clan that Shareeva calls home. The clan leader, like ours, is the arbiter when controversial disagreements required final judgement. It's been long enough; it makes sense that she's risen to power. The former clan leader was old and frail, and Luanith is charismatic and persuasive. Already she had followers when I left; that appears to have held true." He gazes off in the direction the men left. "I had come to Shareeva for advice in spiritual matters after the attaining the title of skald. The tattoo was a memento of the guidance she gave me. I did meet Ulfgrim as well, but he kept to himself; I recall that now." He rubs his chin. "I wonder if the former clan leader, the Old Hwin, ever completed that old throne he was designing..."
"Greetings," the old skald begins, approaching the men. "Unfortunately, it is as you say, and we came bearing a funeral ship. But with the arrival of the Jotun, our priorities changed. We'll speak with Luanith quickly and be on our way." he bows respectfully before they leave. "Sir?" he calls out to the huge, tattooed man bearing a shield. When he turns, he smiles warmly. "If you happen to run into Shareeva again, tell her that her tattoos are just as vivid and recognizable as they ever were. When last I visited your people, she gave me this." He peels back his sleeve, revealing the forearm on his left side. Turning his fist over to expose where his veins pump blood just below the surface, Baelgrin displays his own tattoo - a stylized, tribalist depiction of a wise old storyteller, with the face of a sea lion. It's Shareeva's work, and she was the one who tattooed the shieldbearer's face.
Baelgrin peers at the Jotun's distant head. Are there ears or openings of any description in the giant's head? Obviously they have a sense of hearing, if they can be outwitted - so say the old tales.
The old skald turns to Tofa, fear plain in his eyes. "I thought we should just get as far from the Jotun as possible. What was your plan?"
Baelgrin points at the dangling ropes over the town of Bjornsfall. "Look there! Perhaps we could get off this giant before he moves using those? Let's get closer!" he sets off across the giant's "shoulder" at a brisk pace, fear giving flight to his steps.
Baelgrin moves to assist, but it's clear that the Einherjar has it well in hand without his feeble assistance. Baelgrin focuses his attention instead on finding a way off this Jotun's shoulder. Is there some likely path we might take, or are we forced to set up ropes and attempt to rappel down?
Baelgrin shakes his head in wonder at the shapeshifting that takes place before his eyes. "Jotun rising...men taking the shape of beasts..." he shakes his head and stares at the heavens in wonder. "What times are these?"
Baelgrin comes to himself again. Terrible as the situation may be, his clan needed him. He reaches for the rope he always carries; as a seasoned skald, he knows how often good rope factors into the stories. "Here!" he shouts, handing it off to Brynjolvar as soon as he's able to. As for communicating with them...the skald shakes his head. "In the old stories, the Jotun were ancient adversaries of the Gods, condemned to form the land that the worshipers of the Gods would live upon. They were vicious, and far stronger physically than any god; but they could be tricked. Somehow, they know the language of man; perhaps they hear the words spoken over stones through the ages, and learn of them that way." he lowers his voice. "They're fearsome, but stupid. Our best bet is to find out what it wants and convince it somehow that destroying us won't help him get it!"
"The Jotun are as old as the world itself...ancient enemies of the Gods trapped here as the very mountains' forms," Baelgrin says, recovering from his manic fit of giggling and wiping the tear from his eye. "Ohhh, we are so beyond screwed. If the Jotun are awakening, then my greatest fears are true. The Gods are weakening and their enemies are rising once more. These are the end times. Just...try to speak quietly so he doesn't notice us...we can try to cling to its shoulder until his rampage ends and he goes to sleep." Giants of a typical variety (such an ironic phrase) are extremely difficult to kill as they're unbelievably hardy.
Baelgrin's eyes turn skyward, and his mouth drops open in rising horror. "NO...THAT'S IMPOSSIBLE! THEY DON'T EXIST! THE LEGENDS ARE TRUE! THE LEGENDS ARE TRUE!!!! THE JOTUN!" Baelgrin's eye is blinking rapidly, independently of his other eye, which is wide and staring. Clutching his chest in mirth, the old man cackles as his mind refuses to believe what it's seeing. "Impossible...impossible..." is all he can manage to say between sobbing guffaws.
"NO!" Baelgrin shouts, "TOFA!" Despite barely knowing the strange woman, the old skald desired no more death today. Moving over to her as fast as he can, he grabs hold of her any way he can that would be firmly enough. Not trusting his old muscles to actually pull her up, Baelgrin only sought to keep them from slipping any further off, bracing them with his body until more help could arrive.
"Drop the funeral ship! Don't let it drag you along with it! Release your grasp!" the skald begins to shout, waving his arms about wildly over his head to warn everyone. "The ground is giving way!"
Baelgrin glances at the crumbling cliffs, hoping they aren't another omen. "The newcomer speaks wisely," he comments while rubbing his beard. He glances about himself. "To protect the living that remain should be our concern, as well as respect for the dead. Shall we lay the Draugr down here?"
"Gullviður," Baelgrin whispers, reverently, as he gazes down at the spear. "This spear was said to have been lost, but it matches every description perfectly! I am unworthy to wield it...but I will bear it, for a time." and he scoops up the spear to strap to his back. He deliberately avoided thinking too much of Bjornsfall Cliffs in his daily life, whenever possible. The old man leans heavily on his walking stick as they labor on. "Continue on with your labors, everyone," he says, trying to encourage the clan to labor on. [b]"Soon the daylight will wane and we will bed down once more. On the morrow our labor will be finished and those poor souls will be given the rest they deserve.
How about I just tell you that I heard about it in the Druidic Edda, an epic poem that details the lineage of Danu and his tribesmen for centuries? Now tell me something cool about it. :)
Baelgrin will nod in approval as the funeral ships are hewn and constructed. Disregarding his prior weakness from the battle, he helps by intoning ritual lines from the ancient past, beyond living memory of any clansman. He joins Sala as she gazes upon the spear that they recovered. "Its description matches the legends," he comments as he rubs his chin. "If it is truly the spear wielded by Danu, this is an ancient artifact indeed."
"Who needs a reason? There's no blasted decency these days...everyone willing to kill everyone they meet for looking at them wrong. I'm glad we have a priest of Thaenge here, your message is sorely needed," Baelgrin grumbles into his beard. |