So not really sure how much more I want to further Jorvik's story. I might just leave it there.
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What a wild road this game has taken. Now that I am done (or very nearly done), I am so sad that this is ending. But such is life and rather than dwell on the sadness, I am so, so happy for everything I was able to do in this game. GM You have and will always be my GM. No one ever has or will have run games like you. I am blessed to have been a part of it. Thanks for taking a flyer on a old guy that tried too hard. Ice and Kuragin You both have been such a part of my life for such a long time. I hope this is not the end of both our friendships and gaming together. Email or PM, I will be around. Everyone Thank you for helping me to make Jorvik what he was. He would not have been him without you. Everyone All of your characters are awesome, and I am so glad that I got to be a part of it with you. You really are the Superstars. Quick Primer on Jorvik death
If you want:
Silence fills the chamber, the cloying stench of deaths hangs still in the air. The small child kneels in the river of life blood, potions, and tears. Through swollen eyes, she looks for signs of life. Moments before, they though that they saw his chest move. Now they wait with baited breath for any signs of life. Without warning, Jorvik farts. As body system after body system ceases to function, built up gas is slowly released into a comically long flatulence. The sound rises and falls, emitting a foul odor. But the corpse simple lays there, shrouded in giant blood. Instead of running off the body, or sinking into the clothes, it just envelops the corpse in a thin blanket of death. Starting where Jorvik's heart is, the blood shroud begins to move. A small, circular opening in the blood shroud forms, Other small circles appear as it seems the demon god's blood is slowly absorbed into the corpse. As the blood seeps in, the corpse's skin changes color to a dusky blue hue punctuated by white spider web cracks. As the right arm is encapsulated, it begins to throb with a rhythmic movement, each beat the arms grows larger, then smaller, then larger again. This is repeated with the other arm, and both legs. Neither appendage is morphing at quite the same time so the corpse jerks on the cavern floor as if demon possessed. Aoife is pulled back as they watch the scene unfold. The corpse begins to jerk and flop around the cavern floor, still enlarging and shrinking. The entire skin is now a pale blue while the white streaks shifts around the skin. The corpse's mouth opens as far as physically possible to emit a silent scream. Then it all stops. The corpse once again lays motionless on the cavern floor. Skin turned blue, white colored cracks still moving about the skin, the corpse goes stiff and rigid. Then the chest rises, falls, and exhales a breath. And another. And another. Turning its head, it's eyes open now and bulging in their sockets, terror framed in its face, one word can be heard escaping its lips. "Eoferwic."
I am still in the process of writing the final Death of Jorvik post. It has proven much harder then the previous 5. I will get myself on my writing horse right quick.
Thank you everyone for the kind words and sorry for thread blasting. I 'died' about a half an hour before I left on vacation and it has been quite surreal. Walking with my family and a Jorvik death post ruminating in the back of my mind. Finding time to post between fun family outings. I am saddened by all that is happening, my 'death', the game ending, and I just haven't been able to fully come to grips with it and mourn with all of you properly. I don't want to miss this, but that is part of growing up and life in general. Weird how that works. Tomorrow is a travel day for me. I have one more part to go in Jorvik's death. GM told me a post a day, but I don't know if physically or emotionally I can finish it tomorrow. Regardless it will get done. I can't wait to see most of you at GenCon and Jyri I am not losing hope that we shall game together in the very near future. I have ideas.
Darkness Stillness Quietness Floating through the ether was a shapeless, formless mass. It possessed no defining characteristics. Just a floating blotch. A loud voice was heard, This voice carried weight where there was no weight. Another loud voice boomed for nowhere and everywhere. . This voice carried cold where there was no cold. A third voice joined the conversation. . This voice carried the feeling of loamy soil where there was no earth. came the cold voice. came the weighty voice at the same time. came the cold voice. Silence once again came a fourth voice. The voice carried cold and electricity where there was none. came the cold voice. came the earthy voice. came the weighty voice came the earthy voice. came the cold voice. came the weighty voice came the earthy voice. came the cold voice. came the weight voice. came the cold and earthy voice together. came the voice of cold and electricity. came the weighty voice. The shapeless, formless mass began to swirl and form in a humanoid shape. The form of the fourth voice, of cold and electricity, strode into the middle of it. The shapeless, formless mass began to dissolve into the fourth voice, penetrating every opening. It began to vibrate at an incredible speed forming and reforming faster than the blink of an eye. came the voice of cold and electricity. "You are wrong. This is ME. It has always been ME. It will always be ME." came a voice form the merged masses. A voice true and strong. Confident. Familiar. came the weighty voice. In a flash, the mass was gone.
Rounding the corner, Jorvik found the boys, as he knew we would, by the fountain. For everyday Jorvik passed this fountain to attend his morning tutelage with the aged master Sloveng. And every mooring they all showed up late to their tutor appointments so they had the opportunity to harass him. This was as much a part of his life as food and water. "Ah, right on time. Jorvik Half-bastard. Wonder what other unnatural beasts his mother f@~$ed this week. She is probably in the stables right now looking for a donkey dick to suck. How funny would he look if he had donkey ears instead of pointy efly ears? Or a pig tail? Or a goose butt?" the four boys all guffawed and slapped their thighs in exaggerated frivolity. Gogarto. His nemisis. And his four friends. The boys looked to be cut from the same cloth, dark hair, dark eyes, hairy arms. "Today is a different day, Gogarto.". Without waiting, Jorvik drew his long bladed dagger, and stabbed out at the boy's face. Caught unawares, Gogarto still only took only a slice on the cheek. Jorvik's thrust was more ambition than skill and Gogarto besides being a bully possessed a bit of skill. The look alone on the boy's face should have been enough to dissuade Jorvik, but the blood was in his eyes. There was only attack. As he pressed forward in an upward stab towards Gogarto's soft belly the boy lept backward as the other boys rained club blows up and down his back and arms. One shot broke his wrist causing the dagger to clatter to the floor. Using his other hand, Jorvik drew a second dagger, but by this time the boys had formed a circle defense preventing Jorvik from moving forward. Secure in their defenses, the boys were restless in their beatings. The sound of clubs hitting soft flesh, sometimes the sharp crack of bone, then another dagger had fallen to the floor. Jorvik dropped to one knee, then to his belly. Covering his head with his hands, he tried to keep conscious under the rain of clubs. The entire fight lasted only seconds, but Jorvik felt like he had been beaten for a week. Barely able to hold onto consciousness, his battered body was unable to even rise to his knees. Drooling blood, spitting out cracked teeth, Jorvik could barely hear the laughter from the boys. It was as if cotton was stuck in his ears. Subcoming to the pain, Jorvik fell once agin to the floor. Unable to close his swollen eyes shut, he saw rims of light and dark before blacking out. How long he lay unconscious was anyone's guess. He woke up with dried and crusted blood on his face. Every inch of his body was in horrendous pain. If he'd removed his shirt he would see purple and yellow splotches up and down his body. Framed in the one eye he was able to open was a beautiful woman. She bent down and looked him in the eye. Softly she spoke to him in a caressing tone, "Jorvik. You are and always have been a worthless piece of shit. I am forever embarrassed that you share my blood. I should have left you to die the moment you were born." She drew a wicked spiked club from her side and bashed his skull in.
The youth held up the small, white rimmed hand mirror. A youth such as himself at this stage in life should have possessed a full length mirror, complete with whale bone inlays. But this was just an ordinary hand mirror with a hairline crack spidering down the right side. The youth thrust his chin out, fingering the peach fuzz there, searching for the tell-tale signs of a manly whisker sprout. Try as he might to concentrate on his chin, his eyes inevitably rose towards a paper thin white scar bisecting his pointed ear. He sighed audibly and placed the mirror down. Moments later the door to his chamber burst open with a loud bang. In stepped a beautiful woman richly dressed and adorned with jewels. A bystander would be hard pressed to determine her age. High cheekbones, unblemished skin, and almond shaped eyes all spoke of her great beauty. Yet her face was twisted in an angry look that chilled all who passed her. "Jorvik. I was told that you were injured and I should see you. How many did you kill?" "None, mother." the boy replied sheepishly. "What do you mean none? Then who attacked you? I need to know so we can exact revenge upon them. No one touches one of my blood unless I permit it" "It wasn't like that mother. I did it. To myself." The blow came swift and hard, like a viper of the Mwgani Expanse to the boy's head. He crumpled like a doll carelessly tossed in the corner. "What?!? That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard. To yourself. What did you do and why?" Rising slowly to his feet, the left side of his face turning a crimson red, "The same boys, mother. You know they mock me, and my .. heritage. I thought if I could hide the more obvious features I would have a chance to be more accepted. So without my pointed ears. ..". Another blow, as hard as the first sent the boy once again to the floor. "If I did not carry you in my womb I would never have believed that you are my son. You are a fool. This is the north. You take what you want. You fight for what is important. I have tried my best to rear you" I haven't seen you in three weeks "cared for you" you beat me every chance you get "provide for all your needs" my hand me downs are one step better then the Ulfen slaves "and given you a name" yes, mother. Bastard "If they call you names, hit them. If they hit you, stab them. If they stab you, kill them. That is the way of the north." "But mother, there are five of them.". This time he expected the blow and was able to mime a worse hit. "Then be faster, stronger, more cunning. Or die.". With a flourish, she spun to leave the room. "And bring five knives." she spoke matter of factly as she left the room.
I will save my thank you for in person. I am so very grateful for EVERYTHING! Sorry for Jorvik delays , some business came up on vacation and I deleted a large portion of Jorvik's death accidentally on the iPad So much so little time.
Thanks guys. Out of town and I wrote that on the plane. Just need to find a few minutes to finish up.
Heafoc looked over at her master. She saw the giant horse man thrust his spear into his side. A loud grunt emerged as he was lifted off his feet. The pained expression on his face told the story as the fire of his rage slowly started to extinguish. Then the spear came down again, bursting through his breastplate like a hot knife through butter. Blood and fluids erupted from her master's side spilling down his body, soaking his clothes. Her master's eyes were now filled with fear. Real fear. The hunter had become the hunted. He turned his head right and left. Looking. Maybe for a way to escape, maybe for his friends, maybe for something else. Then it came again. The spear. The metal tipped point of death. The large creature in front of Heafoc was grinning wildly. The spear once agin was thrust into her master's chest so far this time that the tip emerged in a spew of organ and a spray of blood out of his back. Gurgled cries could be heard from him as his body lost power. Once the massive creature removed the spear form his body, he slumped to the floor. Placing one had on the rocky floor of the cavern, he tried to rouse himself up. The grunts and groans of dying prey angered the majestic bird. They were hunters. Strong and proud. Not prey weak and scared. This was not right. This was unnatural. She winged about to fly right at the horse beast's face once again. Before she could close the distance she saw it raise a hoof. Crying out in rage, she knew what would come next. Looking down, she saw her master rise to one knee. He too knew what was about to happen. The grim determination on his face told the story. She heard him begin to shout in his foreign language. "I am Jorvik Rybalt. The Bloodspeaker. Son of the North. Chosen of Baba Yaga. You. Will. Not. Win. " came his strangled cry through cracked lips, red spittle bubbles bursting with each enunciated word. Staring inevitable death in the face, he growled as the hoof descended. The hoof came down with such power, such force, that the cavern floor shook. His body broken and crumpled melded into the cavern floor. The widening pool of blood and fluids radiating from his body spread thick. The light in his eyes faded like a snuffed out torch. His ruined chest stalled and remained unmoving. Laughter. Laughter from the beast. Quick as a darting snake, the other hoof crashed down. The snaps of broken bones, metal creasing, wood snapping was drowned out by the massive of the hoof resting through the man, onto the floor. Unrecognizable, her master was no more. A broken, bloody, ruined mass of red was all that remained. Screeching in anger, Heafoc wanted to wing and dive. To peck and pluck. To claw and carve out this thing's eyes. But she felt a pull. A pull as if some hunter had laid a snare trap and tightened a rope around her body. As much as she struggled and flapped her wings she made no progress. No movement forward towards her prey. Slowly she was being pulled backwards farther from her master. The cavern, the ceiling, her prey all began to blur. Her world shifting, Heafoc tried to blink the vision away and continue the hunt. For him. To show that they were warriors destined to hunt. The world went blurry. Then reformed to a frigid landscape. Unformed and unfamiliar. Snow drifted down covering the fir trees like a white, fleecy blanket. The cool crisp air chilled her feathers before she could puff them out to keep in her heat. She took to the sky in a few powerful strokes quickly ascending above the tree line. She circled in long arcs, surveying her surroundings. A hunter never forgets a hunting ground and this one was all to familiar to her. Spotting a snowfoot hare bound through the powered snow, her hunter's brain quickly snapped on, gauging speed and angles. Folding her wings back she streaked downward. The ground approached so fast that an observer would never believe how quickly she pivoted her body to extend her razor sharp claws. She struck the hare so hard that they both somersaulted a few feet before coming to a stop. The hare tried to hop away but the falcons claws were dug too deep, her grip too strong for it to break free. Before her beak could rip the hot fur and flesh, an elf strode forward. He bent down and plucked the hare, quickly snapping its neck. Drawing a hunting knife, he quickly field dressed the hare throwing meaty chunks to the falcon. Standing in the snow, she snapped the morsels up and quickly swallowed them down her gullet. The elf deftly cleared some snow, piled some dead tree branches, and started a fire. Heafoc took to the lower branches of a fir tree to avoid the licking flames, but watched the elf intently. Se saw him spit the hare and begin to roast it. While the fat and juices crackled in the heat, he vanished into the woods. Moments later, he emerged with a a pair of flat top stones that he arranged on either side of the fire. The elf gracefully sat down, slowly turning the roasting coney. Moments passed. Blinking the sight from her eyes, her master appeared. Naked and whole, lying on his side in the snow. She saw him push himself to his knees in much the same way while fighting the giant horse monster. Looking around he spied the elf. He began speaking in his language again. "Where am I? Who are you? What happened?" "So many questions. Always so many questions. You cannot find the answers to this world by asking every single person you ever meet all these questions. Here you must be hungry." The elf extended the spit to her master. Taking the end he began to slice off charred slices of meat. Melted fat and hot juices ran down his face and into his beard as her master devoured her prey. She had done well. She would be rewarded. Alighting off the branch, she swooped down ready for him to throw her the reward she richly deserved. "Heafoc? What are you doing here?" he called as he threw her a hunk of meat. "You really are daft boy. More questions." "What do you expect me to do? One moment I can feel my ruined body in Artosa about to be trampled and now I am here with you. Whoever you are. Wherever I am. " "Sweet Desna. Will you never learn? Eat." Her master did as he was instructed quickly leaving only a pile of bones. She too was satiated as her master had given her as much as he consumed. "What no...." "Don't say it. Don't finish that thought boy. Come with me." he angrily pointed to her master. Her master rose and made to follow. She would have liked to land on his outstretched arm like always, but he was still naked in his pink flesh and her talons would have shredded his arm. She contented herself with circling tightly over head, looking for more prey, but keeping her master in sight. The slow elf and half-elf plodded along as she scanned the ground and sky.
This hurts my heart... Just busting chops. Super scared for GMs first damage roll. I have just over a 100 hp so let's see how long I can stay up. :)
As Jorvik stands before the mighty Vsevolod, he is heartened by the fact that his friends will soon join him in the fight of their lives.
Sweet Desna. This might be the end. But this son of the north will show these soft southerners how a half-elf can die! "Vsevolod. Know were are servants of Baba Yaga, her chosen. We mortals have heard the voice of a god speaking to . We have no fear. Prepare yourself for death." Working himself into a frenzy, the magically altered northman grips the abnormally large handle of Frostreaver in his meaty hands. the sounds reverberates throughout the cavern as Jorvik hits the ground. "AHHhahahah!" With a roar of rage, eyes bugging out of his sockets, Jorvik has eyes only for Vsevolod. Holding the head of Forstreaver high above his shoulder, his furred-boots stomp as his running stride covers the distance in a mere heartbeat. Holding the hammer high above him, Jorvik leaps up, and pikes his body all while swinging the hammer as hard as he can into the chest of this beast.
Unbelievably fast, uses the momentum of the back swing for the soft underbelly of the great beast.
Jorvik drinks his potion of enlarge person.
Updated tagline. Just spent 15 minutes updating my dice rolls in SimpleNote. Oh vey! Are we prepping in any way for this fight?
"Jadrenka. Baba Yaga has seen fit to appoint you rule of this place." Jorvik waves his bloodied hand in a wide arc. "We have fought for every inch of ground we have crossed in this place, killed giants, demons, and even your own coven. And you say we may be worthy. Ha. I tire of this place as much as I tire of the condescension we have encountered since the beginning. Show me this foe, this last test, and I will show you what a son of the north is made of." His words full of boasting hide the fear that Jorvik felt deep down. The fear that was always there. Was he worthy? Is this the fight that finally does him in? Never to meet his father. Never to know who gifted him the mighty Heafoc. Never to finish his epic. So be it. There will always be one more foe, one more obstacle. To fight. To live well. To die in glorious battle. What more can a son of the north ask for? With a quick prayer to Desna, he unslings Heartseeker from his back and readies an arrow. Looking to his friends, there is no other place he'd rather be. No other group of people he's rather be with.
A lot sad that this will be the end of the AP for Icy, though... really got to like the little fellow. Very sad. We are all sad. Hoping somehow, someway, it is not the end, end.
PFS - Character #: 75655-8
Also, if you feel like it, you may LEVEL UP TO 9 for the final encounter (when we get to it, I'll ask if you want to roll it out or not - and I'll hand out chronicles during the combat). You certainly don't need to do the level up, just thought I'd offer it. Wow. Did not expect that. So I will do that for sure, and I would vote for roll but that is only if, and that would be a big if, we had time to. Honestly, I too am about to depart for warmer weather and my posting will be somewhat limited until just before GenCon so story mode works for me. Having a difficult day posting. I have written and rewritten 4 Jorvik posts only to delete everyone one of the as they were complete shite. I will try to get one up tonight I hope, even if it is a Jorvik farts post. My apologies to GM. As always, thank you so much for running. The time. The detail. I really appreciate it.
Jorvik's normally yellow-white beard now appears silty grey as the dust and pebbled rain down on him. Sweet Desna. One of those and I am a red blob on the floor of Artrosa. Jorvik thinks as he ducks down. Whipping Heartseeker from his back, he quickly flits an arrow to the string. Pulling back, rocking ever so slightly in his crouch, the ends of Heartseeker curve dramatically towards each other. Seeing Ishbaad foolishly charge the Frost giants, Jorvik loudly curses. He closes one eye and relaxes his two fingers, letting the tension of the bowstring rocket the shaft towards the massive opponents. The arrow whistles through the air, sailing high above Ishbaad's head, yet hitting the frost giant squarely in the stomach. Knowing that he needs to do more, much more, he begins to chant in his native tongue. The cadence of the sounds, rising to a crescendo, inspire the others to swing stronger, throw farther, and hit harder. This is going to be bad. Very bad. he thinks as he nocks another arrow.
I would bet a million dollar the author was watching this movie when he wrote this book.
Thanks for the feedback everyone. :)
Another spiral-patterned door
Watching Aoife and Ishbaad save the goblin, Jorvik camls himself down. "Ice Melts Quietly in Sunglight, are you ok? You had me worried for a moment." Jorvik breathes a sigh of relief after Kuragin cures the tiny goblin. "That was too close." Moving through Artrosa proves to be as great a puzzle Baba Yaga's avatars in the hut claimed. "We should have paid attention to the lunar patterns more. Or are they just random like everything else here?" Stepping into the room Jorvik's heart melts. He knows what rejection feels like. he know what longing feels like. "Well met maiden. We are seeking keys to find Baba Yaga. Deeper into Artrosa we must travel. Do you know when the moon will wane? Is there something we can do for you?"
So good news is that I had a chunk of time today, and that is few and far between for me. Spent the lions share of that doing some character crunch and boy was that fun. So for Jorvik, I have yet to level him to 8. Story mode, life, procrastination, whatever, went back to the books today. Going to do a serious retool as we are allowed to between books. I am going to drop two levels of ranger and add three (my 6-7 +8) of Barbarian (Mounted Fury Barbarian). Should that be straight Barbarian or Unchained Barbarian? Any opinions as both are available to us?
"But you know that already, or you would if you listened. What else is it that you would have me do?"
Wow. This First Word is truly impressive. Yet one has to remember that this is all an illusion, or can be. Sensing that Aofie is about to move forward, Jorvik places a restraining hand upon her shoulder. "A moment little sister. See those children, they are of the first world, and not like children of our world. And you, you are not really a child any longer. Not like them. "As a child I often tried to join groups of children like that. I, in my naivety, though that children are children and playing is fun. Yet time and time again my attempts at joining were met with scorn and ridicule. Are you prepared for that should you wish to join them? Best stick with us. With us." he glances at Kuragin "You will always be included, never scorned or left out. Sadly the game we play is different. Deadly. You have grown up too soon. Yet proud you should be. I am. We are." the sadness in his eyes is obscured by a lone tear falling from the corner. Turning to the group, "If that is not the mother I shall call the sun the moon." his half-hearted attempt at a joke is poor at best. "Come let us see what Artrosas's mother has to say." Walking towards the lopped off stalagmite, "Greetings mother. I am Jorvik the Bloodspeaker and these are my companions. It warms my heart to meet the mother of Artrosas and see these beautiful children play. "We are on a quest to find Baba Yaga having been given the power of her Black Rider. What aid can you give us?" Jorvik looks at them expectantly and grins at the children frolicking.
Watching the witch disappear, and the bull appear, Jorvik not for the last time curses the instability of the First World. Was that even Jadrenka or was that some fancy of the mind? Self doubt can kill this party faster than that massive bovine. Watching Ishbaad twist it's head off, Jorvik is amazed at how powerful his companions were becoming. It was truly a testament to the length f time that they had been together. They were truly becoming one. "What was that you say Kuragin? "From one stage unto the next, let my light always guide your path.". What light would guide you from one stage to the next? The light of the fading sun? That would be west - symbolic of the maiden at the entrance while to the west, the figure points to a triangular, knot-shaped symbol.." Jorvik walks up to the bowl and plucks the he third one holds a triangular knot in her hands.
Ah, the why. "For me, my lady, it is much simpler. i am now, and always have been, and always will be an outcast. Shun by my people for my heritage on both sides, I have no home, no family, no place. To add to that I am a chronicler. What better place to observe than to be part of one of the greatest adventures of all time. To rescue a god?! "I also carry with me a sense of right and wrong. Not strong enough to be called a morality, but a codex for me to live my life by. This quest is right. I aim to right the wrongs of the north. Queen Elvanna is wrong. The North must be the North. To make that happen we needed to take the mantle of the black rider on, to find Baba Yaga. "To live, to fight, to love, to be loved, to die. What else is there?"
Upon hearing the fey's sultry words, Jorvik loins burns with desire. He begins shedding weapons one by one. Reverberates Forstreaver as Jorvik tosses it aside. flits Heartseeker as Jorvik throws it the other way. Fumbling with his britches, trying to drop his pants, Jorvik begins panting in a primeval way. Censored:
You guys are pervs. Watching the blood flow from the beheaded fey, Jorvik blushes a scarlet red trying to hide himself from Aoife.
"Well met Jadrenka. I am Jorvik the Bloodspeaker and these are my valiant companions. What have we done? Ha." he laughs a hearty laugh. "We have done everything. The blood of our foes blazes a red trail from our world to here. The skulls of those that have stood in our way line it. The souls of the departed light the way. "Yet we shall parley if it suits you. We are here at the behest of Baba Yaga, wearing the mantle of her Black Rider. We seek the keys to find her. In you, we hope to finally find an allay, as you are also chosen."
"So be it, witch." Before he has a chance to act, Caigreal begins her grotesque transformation. Momentarily stunned by her awe, Jorvik begins to tell the tale he heard as a young boy, of a an old warrior, advanced in age. With one last heroic quest, he takes to the woods to die with his warrior's spirit. He traveled for many days, cold, tired and hungry, he came upon a snow bear. A bear as old and wounded as he was. The two fought back and forth for a day. The warrior slicing off white fur, staining the snow red. The bear gave back as much as he received, raking and biting the man time after time. At the end of the day, both retreated to nurse their wounds. At the break of dawn the next day, both returned to the small clearing in the forest. Their great battle began with a roar of rage from man and bear. Both attacked so viciously, so determined, that they had time for no other thoughts than to emerge the victor. The man's sword was notched and dull, his shield in splinters, his axe battered. The Bear was covered in splotchy blood, cracked claws and broken teeth lined its mouth. Again the man and bear retreated as the sun slid down the horizon. And again they emerged the next morning. This pattern repeated for days and weeks, until they both met one morning and were too weak to fight. Collapsed in the snow, they lay with their life-blood pooling around them. They looked to the heavens. Suddenly the mid-morning sun, round and orange, was blackened. A bright corona of light filled the sky in a flash as both bear and man died. In the winter night, their forms can still be seen twisting and turning in eternal battle. For what better way to die than to constantly battle your greatest opponent. Feeling his friends bloodlust rise around him, Jorvik strides in with Frostreaver held his. Heafoc swoops in and distracts Caigreal just for a blink of an eye and he buries Frostreaver into the hag's chest. Feeling good that he could hear the crunch of bone under his hammer's head, Jorvik smiles.
Jorvik looks to Ishbaad. "What say you? Is this creature trustworthy and most importantly can she aid in our quest?"
My are you beautiful. I have not seen one such as you since ... Snapping out of the trance the witch momentarily cast upon him, Jorvik studies her. Remembering the words of the satyr, this is Caigreal, Jadrenka's mother. Yet she is playing the part of maiden? "Greetings. I am Jorvik. A Bloodspeaker. Your story will merge into ours and be a part of the grand ballad that we are currently living. You say, Caigreal, that you are the maiden. Yet you are the mother, the mother of Jadrenka. Why are you not the mother and she not the maiden? And where will we find the crone?" The last more a question to himself than to her. "We have reason to believe that you are the leader of a Hag Coven. Where is your coven? I tend to not make friends in this wold as I am wont to ask many questions. Something that seems to anger many. Yet I will not spill blood wantonly. Before we decide, what do you have to offer us if we did decide to help you against your own daughter?"
"Proyphanes," Jorvik begins approaching the apparently flying satyr, "Much and many names have been thrown at us since our arrival here in Artrosa. Knowledge is power. We have heard of Vsevolod, centaur prince, now you tell is of Jadrenka the keeper of this place and Caigreal who would kill us. These are strange names. Who and what are they and where are we to find them?" Jorvik's military mind begins curing as he prepares for an apparent invasion. "Do they get along, are there factions here in Artosa, as in the real world? Bah, I thought this would be more straightforward but when has it ever been easy for us?" "Correct me if I am wrong, but isn't the purpose of Artrosa to imprison Kostchtchie? Who guards a Giant god by throwing in a bunch of random powerful beings?" Baffled, Jorvik moves Ishbaad to the side. "So your armor, what is it you were thinking? Honestly, my decorative abilities are not my strongest art but I will do my best to represent your fighting spirit and your love of lupines. Here are some ideas."
Must we all be haunted by our past? When is the suffering much? Why can't she be healed? While pondering these questions, Jorvik pulls his handaxe from its holster. The approaches the limb that holds tightly, tenderly in its well-worn grip. Uttering a cry of rage, Jorvik begins to chant an old Iron Guard Marching song. Those that don't speak skald can still feel the rhythmic rise and fall of the bloodspeakers chanting and feel inspired by his words. THe others can see the vivid images Jovik depicts, the blood, the cold, the screams, the stench, the war. Striking as hard as he can, the half-elf almost severs the limb on his first blow. "Aoife, come back to us. We need you." he whispers as splinters of wood spray everywhere.
I will be offline until tomorrow evening. Might be able to sneak one in but unlikely. Have fun boys. Ishbaad Yes we need to figure out carvings on your armor. Excited to do this when I have a bit more time.
Releasing Heafoc with a cry to the air, Jorvik draws Heartseeker from his back and nocks an arrow before pulling the bowstring to his cheek. A second before he loosens, Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight's bombs arc through the air decimating the Ettin. "What is done is done, Ishbaad. Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight was merely doing what he does through no fault of his own." Jorvik gives the goblin a reaffirming pat on the back before searching the remains of the pseudo-giant.
"Sweet Desna!" Drawing Frostreaver, Jorvik steps in front of Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight as his other companions dispatch the demon.
Jorvik had travel all across the frigid north, seeing many strange sights and wonders. Yet a talking tree. And none of them blinking an eye. Not wanting to look a fool, Jorvik listens in as his brothers and sister parley with a tree hiding his amazement. Finally the bloodspeaker chimes in, "Come my woody friend, there is much we have to offer, and much you wish to have. Blood you seem to have abundantly, and blood is a gift we wish not to give. Is it gold? Riches? The three ravens found us worthy, I seen not why you should not feel the same. 'What must we do to prove our worth?"
Done
"I understand." Jorvik nods along to Ishbaad recap of all that they have learned. "Zorka, will the hut defend itself if we leave it unattended while searching Artrosas? Is there more to learn in the library before departing?" Face flushing in embarrassment, the young man asks his last question. "Is there a place to equip ourselves in this world. I have, improvements that I wish to make to my weapons, and defensive gear."
Watching his companions dealing with the Frost Giants Jorvik nods in agreement. "I knew we should have just killed Auraenos. We are different now, in a different world with different rules. To keep to our honor code will be to expose us to weakness to these first worlders. Yet, I shall leave the judgements to you Ishbaad." After listening to the histories of Zorka, Jorvik is stunned. Growing up in Irrisen he should be more familiar with these fables. Did he not pay attention? Did it not matter to him as he was destined to join the Iron Guard? He felt like he should be able to contribute more. "Friends, I will not lie. I should know more. It seems that we still have much and more to learn. Now what does this all mean in our quest to free Bab Yaga?
Internet issues here in suburbia. Post was eaten lat night. Looking forward to leveling up, might take me a bit to figure out my path to Mammoth Rider.
He partially overhears the conversation about controlling the hut as he picks himself up, and begins to pat off the dust and debris he accumulated on the floor. "Might be a magical hut, but it wouldn't hurt you to push a broom around it once and a while." he complains loudly to no one in particular. "And for Desna's sake, Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight, hands off the egg until we read the book." There is a book detailing how to work this hut and we didn't even read it. Too concerned about our own petty desires. We have to start thinking bigger.. Jorvik's silent musings make him think what other clues had they missed. Walking back to the library with his friends he turns to Kuraign, "Both. And we also ..."
"Rest. Just some rest and I will be good as new." Jorvik responds to the goblins concerned questioning. "Though I do appreciate your concern Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight. Desna willing, I have many years before I go the way of Coramus. Desna willing." Jorvik nods as Ishbaad speaks. "Yes. 'Tis always better to know than not, and I for one do not fancy leaving anything unexplored in this magical place. If it is here, it is important for us to know about. "And Kuragin. Very astute with your observations. So I had this dream about Nadya, a pot of honey, and a badger. What do you think that means?"
Jorvik instinctively raises his hands off to ward the blows that bypass his material defenses. He can feel pain. Pain he has never felt before. His mind reeling, he is transported back in time to his youth, the beatings and torments of the Jadwiga women. For the briefest of moments he believed it. He was that tortured youth. The outcast. The loner. The anomaly. But from the corner of his eye he can spot the concern from Aoife, hear the pleas of Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight, and he knows that those days are long gone. Here he was surrounded by people that loved him, cared about him. He had taken upon the mantle of the Black Rider. With a willful push, he tries to throw off the strange denizen's mental attack. But he can do nothing. It is only when she feels that he has suffered enough that she relents. He slumps to the floor, struggling to breathe. Through his chest heaves he is able to breathe out "No." to Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight's question.
"I am Jorvik Rybalt, called the Bloodspeaker. I am here as a representative of the Black Rider to find Baba Yaga. It appears that to be found worthy of this undertaking, I must complete three riddles by the ravens that call this place home. To solve the last remaining riddle, we need your dreams. Or that is how we are understanding it." Jorvik looks impassionatly at the woman, ancient royalty. He knows that he should soften his words, speak with the eloquence Desna has blessed him with, but he is tired. Weary. And looking forward to more boar steak.
(unless they are kidding themselves with delusions of grandeur, which is fine also). I like that option. Jorvik compensating for his self-conscious makes sense to me, role-play wise.
"Sweet Desna! Sometimes a blind man just finds a diamond in the dung pile. What a luckily turn of events."[ Turning to the child, Jorvik whispers, "Honestly I have read much and it was a guess. A lucky one at that. Methinks Kuragin is the one to answer these raven riddles." He bows to the raven as he places the amulet around his neck. Jorvik understands the curative power of the amulet he has been gifted and is pleased.
Jorvik glances at Kuragin, knowing how the man detests the commonness of it all. And Ishbaad and Aoife. Those two have no secrets between them. And Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight, who knew the dreams of goblins. Who wanted to know for that matter?
Emerging from the blanket of darkness, he spies the raven. A white raven. That is unnerving. "A battle of wits you say? You shall not find us wanting." Looking to his friends, "It seems that he have yet another riddle to solve. Marking night's coming could mean a device of some kind, like an hourglass or some such. But I could make guesses all day. Best to keep moving and drink from the chalice in the grotto. If we have any luck it will be filled with crystal mead to warm the body. Unless any of you have something intelligent to say to this unnatural denizen from Baba Yaga." He looks to see if any have questions before moving down the passageway.
The smell of roasted pork fills the room with a sweet aroma that makes Jorvik thinks back to the last time he ate and the contents he left in the corner after their terrible travels. Drawing a hunting knife, he slices off a small cutlet and begins to eat nosily. He small repast over, Jorvik joins the youth by the downed beast. Checking to make sure that she is not in any eminent danger, he grabs the other tusk. Removing his work axe from its holster by his side, he grips the tusk in one hand and the axe in the other. He raises the axe and chops the other tusk off. "Aoife, you are the one to have solved the riddle, you can take the other tusk." Jorvik extends the bloody tusk to the small child.
Jorvik stares at the oread and his ward. Eternity's End is the end of all things. So dark for one so young, but I am fool to say that I did not help lead her to it. "Riddles? I would not have expected it from the queen of witches. Yet it talks of strength, something that is know and respected in the north. Twins that do not live - speaks to me of rocks or metals. But crescent shaped and symbol of the warrior's pride? This I should know. "Hopefully when we enter the chamber the answer will be made clear." Jorvik glances sideways at his homeland companion looking for something that has triggered in the witch's memories.
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