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Edwyn waits a moment to gauge the results of Thorgrim's "diplomacy," and, if necessary, will attempt to shake any enchantment from the girl's mind with his music. He tries to recall an elven song from one of the most peaceful moments he has ever experienced: his head resting in the lap of an elven girl who sang sweet children's lullabies to him while she stroked his hair, lying on a patch of cool moss in a starlit meadow, completely at peace.

At least, until her lover returned.

Arcane Art:2d6 + 2 ⇒ (2, 2) + 2 = 6

(Aaand it seems she isn't a supporter of the arts. Man, my feydar is totally off lately.)

Terrace

Edwyn is even less perceptive than the barbarian and paladin, if such is possible, but will still attempt to pick through the wreckage they leave behind to see if he can find anything they've missed.

Discern Reality:2d6 - 1 ⇒ (2, 4) - 1 = 5

(Probably too distracted by the pretty statuary.

Baths

(This is slightly dependent on the results of my and Erland's defy danger results, but most likely Edwyn's next action will be to try to "cure" another wendigo.)

Edwyn stands, cradling his lute like a precious child, and resumes his song, trying to free another of the attackers from the cannibal-madness that holds the lot in thrall.

Arcane Art:2d6 + 2 ⇒ (6, 3) + 2 = 11

Well, poop. Probably should've paid attention to my health first, huh?

Edwyn falls back with a sudden grace, seeming to discard his aloof, foppish persona on a moment's notice, as if unshouldering a heavy pack in order to move more freely.

Defy Danger (Dex) 2d6 + 1 ⇒ (3, 5) + 1 = 9

He drops backward and prone, trying to surprise the possessed man by scissoring his own legs around the other man's and rolling, twisting his opponent's footing out from under him in the process.

Damn! Getting stuffed in a trunk was totally part of Edwyn's five year plan. And by that, I mean "stuff he drunkenly scrawled on the back of a bar rag in a child's wax pencil to impress a tavern wench."

New plan.

I please!

Edwyn's fingers glide over the gilded strings of his long-necked rosewood lute, its supple body letting out soft moans like a willing maiden.

This, then, is the song of Summer: first the heavy, thrumming notes which bespeak sodden air thick with life and promise, then the quick plucks that hearken to the frantic, buzzing, mid-air flittings of thousands upon thousands of insects, and finally the longer, harmonious chords of the warm rain and soft breezes, the swaying grasses and leafy bows.

Edwyn reaches out, weaving his song into a graceful blade not unlike the one riding at his hip. Thrusting at the nearest afflicted, he attempts to pierce Winter's hold upon his mind.

2d6 + 2 ⇒ (5, 2) + 2 = 9

I don't suppose Wendigoism is considered a mental enchantment I can break with my Arcane Art? Just wondering if we can avoid bloodshed if at all possible.

"Our patron here is a beautiful specimen of hamadryad, cousins of the fey whose souls are bonded with specific trees." Edwyn expounds to no one in particular.

"This one, if I'm not mistaken, is one of the meliai, an ash spirit. They're nurturers and healers, and her concern for the afflicted is, I believe, quite genuine."

Edwyn casts a lusty glance back over his shoulder as the party passes through the portal and continues in a low, conspiratorial tone, "I'm also told that, despite what one might expect of their, err, topological texture, their caresses are nonetheless quite--"

Aaaand a prime opportunity for someone to interrupt him, presumably with a smack upside the head.

Let's see if that voice carried in the quiet grove. Discern Realities: 2d6 ⇒ (2, 3) = 5

Lucky half-man.

"Milady, thy will be done."

Edwyn straightens once more and nods amicably in her direction, satisfied that, since she must answer truthfully, she isn't deceiving them or sending them to their (at least immediate) deaths.

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).

Edwyn's eyes go wide and he theatrically stumbles back a few steps and sketches a deep, courtly bow. "My lady, I humbly and sincerely beg your forgiveness. I did not expect to meet a beauty of the Summer court in such a place. For that, I both feel--and am visibly and publicly proven--foolish. I beseech you, grant me the honor of earning your good graces and undoing the sleight I have unwillingly offered."

He looks up earnestly into her eyes, and offers his best gleaming smile, holding out his hands as if begging alms for the poor.

"What do you wish I would do?"

"Don't expect an honest answer out of them. They speak in riddles and half-truths meant to taunt and entrap."

He steps forward and turns his head as he speaks, as if to address the entire area. "Know that you won't glamour any of my companions while I draw breath, fey. You may know winter's song, but so do I. And I know the sweet strings of summer's song to counter it. Don't make me use it."

Edwyn poises his fingers on his lute and plucks a few loud, resounding notes as a warning.

Weaving a performance to free from enchantment: 2d6 + 2 ⇒ (4, 1) + 2 = 7

Sorry for the delay! Let's get lorical!

Spoutin':2d6 + 1 ⇒ (5, 3) + 1 = 9

Well, looks like it's not going to be quite on the mark. Guess I'll let his lack of focus and attention span reflect that.

"The fey exist as an innate duality: Seelie and Unseelie, Summer and Winter courts. Some divide them further into Spring and Autumn sub-courts, but..." Edwyn notices quite a few rolling eyes, and continues.

"Right, but, err... to the point. The Winter fey are cruel. Not by human standards, mind you-- they won't cheat you at cards or dice, per se. They're quite simply outside of the human concept of morality. The same goes for the others-- the Summer are by no means benevolent, just merely different. Winter is the harsher side of the natural world. It's the choice a mother wolf makes to leave one of her pups behind in the snow, or the chance a different mother's child, a blind faun, will stumble into that same mother wolf that same night instead of a patch of clover. It's pitiless, but no less beautiful than anything else, no less an equal part of things, and certainly no less dangerous."

"Many claim the Trolls are related to the Winter courts, whether they're the eventual awkward de-evolutions of whatever forms these fey dreamed for themselves upon entering our world from theirs, bogged down over the years with the banal and (to them) immutable nature of our reality, or just maybe they like to smash things, and sometimes the true fey need some stuff smashed." He grins to himself, as if thinking of an anecdote, but upon seeing the stern faces of his fellows, discards the thought.

"I was, uh... going somewhere with this, wasn't I? I think what I really meant to say was something along the lines of, 'Thorgrim, put that down, and lets get you to something to slay.'"

So can my Bardic Lore tell me anything about this flower? Edwyn's instincts are screaming fey, and that'd be a really cool excuse to work in lore from my favorite game supplement of all time, Dark Ages Fae.

Noticing the strange and eerie behavior of the fire, Edwyn suppresses a shiver. He's never before considered the potential repercussions of his performances, and the thought terrifies him. He goes silent in mid-verse, slumps his shoulders in defeat, and nestles his lute protectively in the crook of his arm.
"We, ah..."
He casts furtive glances over his shoulder at the smoldering green flames.
"...We should get going."

Way to put the fear of not-God in me!

So what are the limits of my healing performance? Can I heal myself? Is there a limit to the number of times I can use it on each person/in general?

Edwyn begins composing his ballad of Thorgrim's epic triumph over a roving band of giant trolls, addressing one verse to each person present to share the healing warmth.

"Hey guys, anyone have an issue with slant rhyme? Think I can get away with hewn and doom?"

Perform for Sparrow 2d6 + 2 ⇒ (2, 5) + 2 = 9
Healing Sparrow 1d8 ⇒ 1

Perform for Erland 2d6 + 2 ⇒ (3, 6) + 2 = 11
Healing Erland 1d8 ⇒ 8

Perform for Uqalik 2d6 + 2 ⇒ (2, 2) + 2 = 6
Healing Uqalik1d8 ⇒ 1

(If able) Perform for Thorgrim 2d6 + 2 ⇒ (1, 4) + 2 = 7
(If able) Healing Thorgrim 1d8 ⇒ 6

(If able) Perform for self 2d6 + 2 ⇒ (2, 6) + 2 = 10
(If able) Healing self 1d8 ⇒ 7

Edwyn rises on shaky legs, leaning comically on his thin blade which is bent in a wide arc, point-to-ground.
"Even if you find flint," his voice carries over, surprisingly loud and commanding, "this is a poor place to make fire, let alone coax it to thrive and grow. There's a better way, friends."
He limps over to the smaller troll, strongly favoring his right leg, and with several quick, disturbingly calm and precise flicks of his saber severs its neck, letting the head roll free.
"As with all things which live, it must have breath. Breath is life. And we are standing over the greatest destroyer of breath, the greatest" he spares a quick glance to the bear-druid "force of nature in existence. Allow me to demonstrate."
Edwyn holds the troll head by its ratty, greasy hair with one hand while with the other he roots in the snow with the point of his sword. Feeling the expected clang, he bends down and picks up a rock. He then proceeds to unceremoniously pry open the troll's mouth and force the rock down its throat in a grisly display and casually toss the head over his shoulder into the drink.
"Done."
He dusts his hands together.
"Now, who needs seeing to?"

So did my 6 damage go through or was the attack negated due to my craptastic attempt at danger defiance?

Rather than rise, a white specter in the snow, and invite further ruin rained on his ragged form, Edwyn wisely lies still. Then again, the fact that he has two hundred or so pounds of corded Northman muscle crushing his lower back doesn't exactly bode well for standing up, either.

So he does what he can, and what comes naturally: he sings. He sings to no one in particular (though the beneficial effects, healing 1d8, will go to Thorgrim by virtue of proximity) and the first song that his trauma-addled brain can think of is a lullaby sung to him by a heavy Southern nursemaid every night as a child. His voice is steady, soft, and sweet, and it flows into Thorgrim as a healing light, suffusing his body, soothing his pain, and knitting his wounds back together like a sonic string of silk.

Roll+Cha: 2d6 + 2 ⇒ (1, 6) + 2 = 9
Healing Thorgrim: 1d8 ⇒ 5

Edwyn curses the cold creeping into his joints, which would make any kind of acrobatics a risky gamble at best. Thinking quickly, he kicks up a spray of snow in an arc and hopes the ruse distorts the giant's awareness of his exact position enough to give him the opening he needs to avoid being absentmindedly swatted like an irritating horsefly.

Defy Danger (Dex): 2d6 + 1 ⇒ (1, 3) + 1 = 5

Damage? 1d6 ⇒ 6

While Thorgrim has it pinioned on his mighty blade, Edwyn will sneak behind the giant and whip his saber like a switch against the monster's impossibly thick hamstring.

"I may not be a true warrior, beast, but that man is. And when he bids you fall, you FALL!"

Hack and Slash (precise, piercing 1) 2d6 + 1 ⇒ (6, 2) + 1 = 9

I'll draw its ire. Especially since the other hasn't focused on me... yet.

Edwyn resumes his musical damage-enhancing support for Erland while at the same time moving towards Thorgrim to stand against the greater foe.

Weave a performance into a basic spell, roll+cha: 2d6 + 2 ⇒ (3, 3) + 2 = 8

Defy Danger, roll+con: 2d6 ⇒ (3, 6) = 9
Edwyn does his best to hop up and down and frantically rub his upper arms in a desperate self-hug in a poorly-contrived attempt to regain circulation.

"I'm on it!" he assures her with rather more confidence than he can reasonably muster at the moment.

He draws his dueling rapier and flicks the water off with a quick flourish.

Edwyn frantically rummages through his pack with his free hand and uncoils a length of hemp rope and an attached grapple.

Aid her aid?

Roll + Dex: 2d6 + 1 ⇒ (1, 3) + 1 = 5

Should't have had that extra haunch of mutton...

"S-sorry, love! It's all m-muscle, I assure you!"
He manages to wink, probably just by suppressing the spasms on the opposite side of his face. He lowers his voice in her ear, then, soft and sincere.
"But honestly... thank you."

If I spout now, am I a waterspout?

Edwyn shouts like a raving madman in a likely vain attempt to warm his blood and keep his body from going into shock.

Fire! Acid! None of which we have, gods damn it! Just put something sharp in its soft bits until the... w-wounds s-s-stop c-closing!

He tries to claw his way desperately out of the frigid water and clings, barnacle-like, to the side of the bridge.

He may lack flames, yet mighty blows
the Cronar-son's quick-flashing blade has drawn
apart the stunted giant's shaggy pelt
and sent it loping back-- um, help?

Inspiring Cronarson for +1d4 forward to damage. And in focusing on that and not fully climbing out, his fingers are slipping by the last note of the simple verse...

Apologies! I hadn't noticed we'd moved to this thread already. It isn't listed under "Campaigns" for me, which was what confused me. Just assume Edwyn's a little sluggish due to the differing climate. But in general, I'm guessing there's no initiative system... but how would that work with my inspiring people? Is it best to let me start off so everyone can get the combat bonus?

First, Bardic Lore. When you first encounter an important creature, location, or item (your call) covered by your bardic lore you can ask the GM any one question about it; the GM will answer truthfully. The GM may then ask you what tale, song, or legend you heard that information in.

My specialty is A Bestiary of Creatures Unusual. Do I need to ask you about the regeneration and vulnerabilities? Or am I assumed to know that and just need to Spout it? If I don't get that for free, my question is "What are its strengths and vulnerabilities?" If I do, my question is, instead, "What also lives around here that a troll might hunt in tandem with that fits the thing approaching's size and position?"

And, um, I should probably do something about those incoming troll claws.

Defy Danger! Roll+Dex:2d6 + 1 ⇒ (2, 6) + 1 = 9

Edwyn's mind reels at the troll's approach, and he's happy to note the fighting men react far quicker than he. Just as he's sure something important is clicking into place in his head about these beasts, he notices the incoming strike and tries to dance backward and save his pretty face.

Um, no scheming or PvP on my end. The bonds are just internal monologue flavor, really. They don't exactly dictate my actions.

Uqalik does not trust me, and for good reason.

He's got eyes, right?
But seriously, it's odd... I'm sure he definitely can't have heard of me, so it must be this barbarian business (but then, what isn't up here?) If I didn't know better, I'd think the thigh-high actually means the brute well, for whatever frozen walruscicle spiritual claptrap reasons he may have in that tiny head of his. Maybe I should reinforce my alibi by insisting that whenever I do something, it's because the ghost of a smelly dead fish told me it was prophesied.

I sang stories of Erland Cronarson long before I ever met him in person.

Well, actually, I didn't. You caught me -- never heard of the guy. But have these Cronarsons back South. We call them Cromwells, after their supposed mythic ancestor who slew the warring tribes, chased the dragons from the air, bedded the fey maidens of the forest, and generally shot [primal force of lightning, fire, etc.] out of his [name of tender orifice]. Yes, they're totally the life of the party in my lands, too. Maybe this supposed holy warrior is different? He bears watching, and maybe he can help us ensure the other slash-happy idiot doesn't cause too much carnage...

I am writing a ballad about the adventures of Thorgrim.

Or at least I'd like him to think I am. I'm betting good times and better stories follow this brute around like crows stalking a battlefield -- reference intended. I may be many things, but a mighty warrior I am not. So chronicling his "mighty deeds" may be my only bet at keeping in his company.

Catharina trusted me with a secret. (Analogous to the thief's "_____ and I have a con running.")

I'm sure she figured out right quick that where there's killing, there's spoils. She and I keep Thorgrim pointed in the right direction: cask-deep in wine, and hilt-deep in monsters and women, and the rest sorts itself out. Well, hopefully...

Perhaps an analog of Brage, son of Odin and Norse god of poetry and music?

What are you interested in?
Personally, I envisioned the classic rakish bard from a noble family: an extremely gifted and handsome musician who's all-too-aware of his talents and uses them to have his way wherever he goes. However, the setting everyone seems to have decided upon is actually a great roleplaying boon to this concept, since he can be a total fish out of water. So, my adapted concept will be:

Edwyn is known and adored to everyone all across the civilized lands. His hands can flawlessly strum beautiful music out of a lute or a nubile maiden, and despite his many misadventures, he has never lost any honor he couldn't reclaim at the point of his dueling sword.

But what about the lands we know nothing about?

The question, of course, came from his rival -- Fenthon Blackerly. Tired of having second pick of performance venues, wealthy friends and patrons, and especially women, Fenthon had planned this ambush well in advance. And that night, at the gala for Lady Arianna Vance's fourteenth consecutive twenty-ninth birthday celebration, the trap was sprung.

You keep singing the same songs. Fearsome dragons, cunning trolls, gracious damsels. How boring! Who here hasn't heard these a thousand times before?

Edwyn tried to ignore this and finish his anecdote to his gathered crowd of admirers, stroking the hair of the woman seated to either side of him, but the party had fallen to a hush already and all heads were turned.

Seems to me, any minstrel worth his catgut would be out seeking new lands to write songs about -- and to spread our songs to!

To keep his reputation intact, Edwyn knew he must rise to the challenge, and things just got worse from there...

How did your characters all meet? How well do you know each other?
This is a good question, and one I'm very open to working with everyone to answer. Edwyn could certainly just have arrived in these lands, constantly griping about the cold and the bizarre customs as he gets a feel for things. Or, if it's easier for everyone else, he can have been here for months, just starting to make a name for himself and carve a niche. Either way, he'd naturally gravitate to adventurer types who are fertile ground for planting seeds for ballads.

Are you from around here? If not, where, and if yes, which settlement?
I think I covered this. I'd rather not detail the lands he actually comes from too much, since the focus on world-building should be here. But suffice it to say it's essentially somewhere between Medieval and Renaissance Europe.

A final question: Cronar, the god of the hunt, honor and mankind is definitely worshipped here. But I feel like there should be more gods-- I have a few in mind, but what do you think?
Well, he probably isn't a very religious man unless it's dire straits, and he doubtful brought much from the gods of his homeland up north with him, but that isn't to say he can't discover some local god of art or song.