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"Methinks these villains may have left a trail we can follow to the Grove. We ought to be prepared for more of these things, among other horrors..." "Friend Dorvarr, let me assist you. I have tracked more than one stag through the forest and men be no different.." grunts the grizzled warrior.
Bolli's men arrive on a small launchboat and begin the task of rebuilding the tow cable winch. The trader says that his men will gladly keep watch over the night while you rest and prepare for your journey. After some time the sailors manage to jury-rig the tow cable and in an hour's time the ships are brought to the beach. A few of the other men quickly set about building cooking fires and a warm repast of mutton stew and bannock is ready to warm your bellies and restore your health. In addition, Bolli offers all of you a flagon of honey heather ale. You also see the trader take kindly to Trygvarr's children ensuring that they are comfortable and fed. Both youth exhausted from their ordeal soon fall to sleep. Kveldulf gladly joins Bolli's men in repairing the tow winch. The manual labor seems to lift his spirits. After helping the men bring both ships to shore with the newly repaired winch, he proceeds to celebrate with great abandon. He eats enough for two men and downs his flagon of ale quite quickly, then looks about sheepishly for more. Late in the night when deep in his cups, Kveldulf raises his head to look upon the full moon and begins to sing in a long sorrowful tone. Drink, for the wind blows cold and
Drink to the lasting nights
Drink to the Allfather's Eye
Drink to the truth of steel
Drink to the Glory-field
Drink for the wind blows cold and
He finishes the heartfelt tune, eyes misty and slowly nods off into sleep.
Kveldulf sighs as he watches the beast man nearly cleave the Pictish pirate in twain. "Dead men be tellin' no tales, but the markings on this ones arms tell volumes. This man shares the same markings as the bloody pirates that razed my captain's ship. What he be doing here and why he be working for a Frank, I know not. Nothing good can come of this though. If we only knew more of what they were after. The boy said they were searching for something deeper in the woods. Mayhap its still there. Mayhap they are still there! I say we turn from this river and head back the other direction in hopes we find more of what is unfolding. As for the children if Halfdean and his men want to raise children, then it is there wish, but I'll have no part of it. The only thing this warrior will be razing are the settlements of my enemies... Keep them quiet and keep them out of my way and all will be fine."
Seeing the pirate quickly slipping from his grasp, Kveldulf curses his poor shot and runs off after his target quickly reaching him, along with Ragnarr at the river's edge, a look of malice in his eye.
Surprise and shock wash across Kveldulf as he is brought from his nap. Not believing what he is seeing he rubs his eyes. "Dishonorable cretin!" he shouts shaking his fist at the ax wielding, tattooed man attempting to make a run for it. "I'll show you the price for stealing a sailor's vessel and then crossing his path again in this life." Wasting no time, the warrior draws his longbow with great alacrity as if it is the most common thing one does moments after waking. He draws an ebony fletched arrow to his cheek and furrows his brow as he draws down upon the traitorous pirate aiming purposely for his backside. He looses cleanly, arrow streaming towards the target as it gains distance, but falls far short of it's target sending a spray of dirt at the targets fleeing heels. "You can't outrun Thistle Wind. Drop to the dirt or my next arrow will find more than the dirty your boots!"
"Right, let's have a look in the lodge. By Thor, if anyone lives, we'll find them." Kveldulf begins to snore softly, eyelids fluttering softly. Uruz lays next to his master, eyes ever alert.
Uruz softly licks the gore from his masters right forearm. Kveldulf seems not to even notice as a soft snore emits from his cracked lips. It would appear that the grizzled warrior has fallen asleep from all of the exertion in the barn. He mumbles something unintelligable after a bit ending it softly with a clearly discernable, "More mead..."
Adrenalin still pumping through his veins, Kveldulf sprints at full speed out of the burning barn, the rage roaring in his head barely beating back the fear filling his gut from the threat of the burning structure collapsing upon him. Uruz follows loping easily behind his master, ignorant to the extent of danger in the moment. Reaching his companions, he approaches a full rain water barrel and sticks his head all the way under its icy surface. As if imitating a dog, his head bursts back up from the surface of water as he gasps for air. He shakes his head from side to side sending water droplets spraying in every direction. They light up like tiny fireflies as the sunlight causes them to sparkle momentarily. "The Gods of our ancestors have blessed us this day. We live to fight in their honor another day! May it be forever so." exclaims the grizzled veteran. Still gasping for air from the amazing amount of physical exertion displayed in the past minutes, he falls to the ground propping his back against the barrel.
Jumping clumsily again through the flames, Kveldulf once again extinguishes himself as he runs to his unconscious companion. Worry creases Kveldulf's brow as he watches Utgaror work his healing ritual on the unconscious beast man. "I'll not let the babes of theses demons consume you Ragnarr! Back to Nifelhel from whence you came demon spawn." He roars as he brings the head of his flail down squashing several of the demon insects, the head of his flail now so covered in gore from all the work its done this day that none of the bluish steel shows through the grime.
Careful not to slip on the grimy mess on the barn floor around him, Kveldulf moves hastily to assist Ragnarr and Vladimir. With a grunt he leaps through the flames with a growl. In his battle frenzy, he seems not to notice the flames as they lick about his body. In the brief moment as the warrior passes through the flame a portion of his hair catches alight. With an angered roar the great warrior swats at his head to put it out as if trying to swat biting insects. Uruz watches his master, whining with worry, but does not follow him into the flames. Acting as if he were not on fire just moments before, Kveldulf comes to his feet next to the his friends. "Though the flames may be hot, do not be afraid. I have traversed the flames and so shall you. Now let us fly from here before the whole cursed roof crashes down upon us!" He then places himself with his companions to form a bit of a human shield around the youths to try and protect them as they travel through the fire.
Kveldulf grins menacingingly as he spies the ettercap trying to rise from the floor. "Stay down demon, it will be easier for you.." he mutters quietly to himself. As the monster gets to it's knees, the raging warrior brings his flail back and brings the head crashing against the monster's already mangled face. The contact force of the blow skews the monsters head sideways in an unnatural angle, more of the ichorous liquid flying from the creatures fanged mouth as it does so. A heartbeat later, the massive hound jumps again onto the ettercap's back as it tries to rise. This time the massive hound rips the backside of the creature's neck open in a massive display of power. A sickening snapping sound is audible as the great hound tears through the creatures insectoid spine with it's large jaws. How much blood can one sack of flesh contain? the warrior thinks to himself while taking in the grisly scene before him.
"You fight like a clumsy tavern drunkard, Demon!" chides the warrior, "Odin will it, I'll end your life before you accomplish the task on your own." Kveldulf punctuates his taunt with a powerful overhead swing of his flail. Alas, the blow was reckless and the nimble spider demon dodges the blow. Uruz, with a thunderous roar, seizes the moment and pounces upon the demon as it is off balance while dodging Kveldulf's mighty swing. The hound's maw drips with ichorous blood as it and its victim head crashing towards the floor. The warrior replicates the hounds tactics and with a grunt and smashes the demon with his shield as it crashes past the hound mauling at it's legs as it does so. The sharpened spike sinks deep into the creatures back. "Odin be praised," adds the warrior with a smirk.
Still covered of with the sticky goo from the webs, yet free of their ensnaring grasp, Kveldulf grunts with effort as he brings Jotunbludder down upon the creature's bulbous, multi-eyed, purple head. The razor sharp head of the weapon creates a spray of ichorous fluid as it tears a gash of nearly a foot in length. His opponent seems to reel for a moment, fanged maw hanging agape. Seeing an opening Kveldulf thrusts his shield at the creature's abdomen, but with a show of unexpected dexterity, the creature bats the warriors shield away like a play thing with its twin clawed arm while hissing savagely at it's warm blooded opponent. Uruz lunges at the creature with such force that the hound actually leaves the ground only to be swatted away by the ettercap as it avoids the hound's attack. Kvedulf winces as the hound rolls to it's feet. "You are a worthy opponent demon. I will revel in your death."
Uruz, enraged by the ettercap's attempt to harm his ensnared master lunges at the creature, but goes tumbling past as it nimbly dodges out of the path of the deadly hound.
"Defend me, Uruz, or we will both end up as a feast for these demons!" Shouts the warrior through the vile shroud of webs. Despite his best efforts to keep the webs out of his mouth as he does so, much of the disgusting, sticky strands still cling to his lips and work there way into his mouth. Infuriated by his predicament, the warrior roars, his muscles bulging with effort. He throws back his arms and bursts from the webbing, sending the bulk of the sticky mass flying from him. "Now cursed ones, flee from this place! There is no easy meal here. Just a prickly dose that will make you wish you were dead. Begone now or perish!" yells the raging warrior.
"Hagalaz!" Kveldulf curses as he realizes his attempts to remain unnoticed have failed. His eyes then widen with shock as he realizes what is happening to the multitude of eggs about the barn. Kveldulf looks over his shoulder back to his companions coming up behind. "The babes of spider kin are not like those of our kin. They come forth from the womb cunning and strong. Have your wits about you!" As Ragnarr charges past screaming his beastial battle call, Kveldulf falls to his knees, mere feet from the spider demon, raises his head skyward as if he were looking through the barn's dingy roof. He then dramatically splays his hands outwards, fingers outstretched. "Father of all, I have served you all of my days. May you will guide my arm. May your son, the red warder give me strength. Until Valhalla, where we may battle until the wolf runs free. Hail Odin!" He then stands, drawing his flail from his hip as he does so. "Protect me, Uruz. This may not end well for our friends." The great hound tilts it's massive head to the left, causing it's massive ear to flop about. It then raises its hind leg and begins scratching itself furiously. "Or for me..." admits the warrior quietly.
Kveldulf shoulders his bow at the sight of the final arachnid horror's death twitch. He then springs from his covered position and lopes across the field, bringing his hound to his side as he sprints past Vlad and Dorvarr. "To the barn my companions, make haste!"
Kveldulf breathes in deeply and exhales, clearing his mind in the process. He then draws back yet another arrow and lets loose, his brow furrowed in concentration. "Bloody blast it all to hell!" Kveldulf exclaims as a large deer fly bites him on his shooting hand as he fires causing his arrow to fly wildly into the thicket.
As his companions lope into the open, Kvedulf looses his first arrow at the arachnid monstrosities. The twang of Thistlewind's bowstring being plucked can be heard across the open yard. His face draws into a grim scowl when he spots the beast-man falter in his charge across the yard. "This be no time for second thoughts barbarian," mutters the woodsman softly, "Be on your way about it as we talked, for the sake of the souls within the barn.."
"Aye Godthi, I can calm the horses, but let us see to the people first. My bow will cover your path to the barn. Now make haste!", shouts the grizzled woodsman. He then points at Vlad. "Uruz, guard Vlad and follow him. Now go!"
"Vlad, Kveldelf, you two have experience with horses, right? Maybe you can calm these and head to the barn while the rest of deal with these bugs." The stout man turns to Ragnarr. "What do you say lad, ready to show these monsters what Thor's wrath means?"
Kveldulf's face reddens with anger at the sound of the trapped ferrymen within the barn. "Let me ensure our path to the barn is a safe one. I'll pin down those overgrown creepers with Thistlewind! Come Uruz! We have work to do." Then, with bow in hand, he begins running towards the burning stead at a full gait, attempting to close the 800 feet to the property's edge as quickly as possible.
Unsure of where the stout gothi is running off to, or why, Kveldulf flings as much spider ichor off of his flail as he can, places it back in it's loop and gathers back up his bow. Knocking an arrow, he begins jogging up the hill after the stout Thorsman.
Surprised by the arachnid's ferocity and the new puncture wound in his side, Kveldulf drops his longbow. "Kill it, Uruz!" he hisses to his hound while drawing Jotunbludder. With a practice honed swing, he brings the flail's clawed head down on the beast, while the lumbering mastiff attempts to maul the creature. Fortitude Save (1d20+8=26)Handle Animal Check (1d20+7=15)Flail Attack (1d20+7=26)Flail Damage (1d8+3=9)Uruz Attack (1d20+3=10)Uruz Damage (1d6+3=5)Trip Check (1d20+2=14)
Upon catching sight of the arachnid monstrosities, Kveldulf emits a low growl that could have easily come from Uruz instead. "I hate bugs," he says in a low growl and then begins loping up the hill while drawing his horn bow and knocking a black fletched arrow. He stops 30ft from whence he started and draws back carefully, taking aim at the spider providing the cleanest shot before loosing.
Kveldulf puts his finger to his lips as he moves ashore. Finding the trail alongside Ragnarr, and upon spotting the nest of webs atop said tree, he carefully removes an unlit torch from his pack along with his flint and tinder, points to the mass of webs above and gestures to the beast man beside him with a shrug. I wonder if this is how this smoky mess began?
Kveldulf shrugs his shoulders at the Knight and Gothi's insistance to travel ashore. He then signals back to Bolli's men indicating that they should anchor and hold position. The grizzled warrior then begins guiding the longship, his hand moving intently, his brow creased with focus, through the unknown shallows towards the river's shore. "The smoke provides both a bane and a boon to our efforts. We can not readily ascertain the situation before us, yet with luck we approach unnoticed."
Kveldulf eyes the smoke obscuring the ferry warily, hand steady on the tiller. Uruz senses the unease in his master and whines softly before nuzzling Kveldulf's free hand assuredly. The grizzled barbarian then looks to Vlad inquisitively, "What say you, Knight, does this warrant our concern, or should we be on our way? If this be your problem it is mine as well. If not, let us put as much water as these lads arms will take between ourselves and this mayhem."
Kveldulf steps aboard the Wavestepper. He sniffs the morning air, perhaps not even knowing he is doing so. "Sunna's rays are bright this morn and the winds of Midgard be gentle. May our journey through Njord's realm be a safe one." He gathers the few possessions he is carrying with him and stows them with the supplies he provisioned earlier in the week. He then moves about to make sure that all is in order and the vessel is ready to depart. Whilst doing so, Uruz whines quietly and licks his master's hand with his forearm -sized tongue. Kveldulf gently rubs the hounds giant head. "Aye lad, you're right to be worried. The great bounty of the sea is a dangerous place indeed. Filled with blood and brine it is, but do not fear. For in our life, lad, all paths are dangerous. It is our lot. Now come here and lie down, it will be better soon. The hound reluctantly walks to his master's side and lays at his feet. Before departing, he removes a well worn ivory tube from his pack and opens one end with a dull pop. He pulls forth an age-yellowed roll of parchment and unfurls it on deck to reveal a large, detailed, map and studies it intently for a few moments. "This," he says to no one in particular while pointing at the map, "is where we are now. And here," he says while moving his finger a good distance up the coast, "is a harbor near Brattahlid where we are sailing to." He then moves his finger backtracking and draws an imaginary circle encompassing a good deal of the waters in between. "And here are waters often raided by the Pictish bastards who gutted the last crew I sailed with! All I ask is that if they try again we leave a bad taste in their mouth," he finishes with a hearty rumble. He then carefully rolls the aged parchment and fits it once again into it's water-tight ivory case. "Now I be a competent sailor and would be proud to steer this vessel along her coarse if no man be objecting. Ottar, if you wish, we may share the duty. Mayhap you could teach an old dog a new trick or two?"
[Gratuitous Metagaming]It would be nice to get one more day of rest, or nudge Dorvarr for a lesser restoration to dump the last of my strength damage before we set sail... [/Gratuitous Metagaming]
After a long, tiring, day assisting Bolli aboard his vessel, Kveldulf returns to the Alf to wash up. Afterwards he takes notice of the villagers gathering for Egil's sending. He files in, inconspicuously, with the a large group of villagers to watch the spectacle. He stands silently without emotion. "May your journey to the realm of your ancestors be a swift one. In death, may you be free of the frost that bound you in life," he whispers as the pyre is lit. Abruptly he turns and is one of the first to leave the scene. He makes his way back to the Alf and consumes just enough drink to calm his nerves and then turns in early. Before bed he removes the bandages covering the wounds inflicted upon him by the man being honored outside. He is pleased to see that they are nearly healed. He redresses the wound and then covers it with a fresh bandage. What luck I have. How many of my brethren have died from a wound just as this?, he thinks to himself. His brief optimism fades, however, upon assessing the shoulder damaged by the fell shades. The area is still covered in bruises but the dark, mottled purple blotch has begun to fade to sickening shades of green and yellow. He prepares an unguent and spreads it over the bruised flesh hoping to draw out the dark energies trapped within. In the morn, he will make another attempt and hunting in the wilds, bringing anything of worth back to share with his companions. Next he proceeds to the river and Wave Stepper. He assess the recent work that has been done to the vessel and gives it a further look over for anything his companion may have missed the day before. After which, he stows his recently purchased gear.
When the hour grows late and the stories of lore are being traded, Kveldulf raises his newly acquired pristine drinking horn and announces that he has a story to tell, as story of times most ancient... In the earliest of times, when the river called Elivagar which had flowed from the burning wound called Muspellheim, with its eternal flames burning amid the lands of Surt from the very beginning of time, it's poisonous flow hardened like molten metal pouring from a smelting pot into the water trough and became ice. When the ice solidified to the point where it no longer ran from it's source, poison fell from the icy rime like raindrops. The falling rain froze below in layers upon layers generation on generation until it grew into what we call Ginnnungagap. The Northern reaches of Ginnunagagap became thick with ice, which was covered with mist and thick blowing rains. Yet the Southern part grew warm and fertile because of the sparks that flew forth from the molten river flowing form Muspellheim. The Ice and the poisonous rivers of the north brought life and became the home of tose we call frost Jotun. The molten rivers and the sunbaked rocks of the south brought life and eventually became the home of the beings we know as Fire Jotun, which came to Ginnungagap from Surt's realm. In the middle, the land grew moderate and very pleasant the waters from the north and the warmth from the south created a pleasant place and these waters mixing with the heat from the south eventually gave life to the likeness of a man, and he was called Ymir. The frost jotun called him Aurgelimir, which means father in their ancient tongue. The oldest of stories say that at first Ymir was alone in Ginnunagagap and after an age he grew very sleepy and slept. While he slept the great jotun began to sweat. From this sweat formed the first frost Jotun who traveled north from their sleeping father to multiply and became the many clans of Frost Jotun today. After much time passed the jotun Ymir awakened with an insatiable hunger. In his sleep he saw that the icy rime of the north had been melting as he slept and the drippings from the melt had formed a great cow. This cow was called Audhumla and had four massive udders from which rivers of milk poured to feed the insatiable jotun. As the cow continued produce sustenance, she licked at the ice before her to get at the salt held within it. As she licked away, she uncovered the bodies of three men. These men were the three sons of an very ancient being named Bors. After the warmth of Ginnungagap was upon the, the men woke. One of the was named Vili, the other Odin, and the last, Ve. Awakened and also hungry, the three sons of Bors demanded that Ymir let them drink from the cow, Audhumla, but Ymir was a greedy jotun and refused their demand. Angered, the three sons did battle with the mighty jotun and did slay him. When the killing blow was struck so much blood did spill forth that it drowned all but a few of the frost jotun. Those that survived were of the clan of Bergelmir and are the only clan of frost Jotun that survive today. The sons of Bors then moved the slain body of Ymir to the center of Ginnunagagap where it was most pleasant and from his body made the world. His blood formed the rivers and lakes, his flesh formed the earthy ground, his bones formed the mountains and rocky cliffs, and his teeth and the bones that were ground and broken formed the stones and gravel. They took his skull and placed it above the land they had made and it became what we call the sky. At each of the skull's four corners they placed a dwarf. These dwarves are named North, East, South and West. They then caught the sparks and embers flying wildly forth from muspellheim and placed them about the skull to form stars in the night sky. The set these embers to a set pattern so that they would fly about and cause chaos no more and that is why today the stars move across the sky unerringly for our ships to follow. They allowed the jotun to settle around the outer edges of the world they created, but the took the eyelashes of the great Ymir and used them to form a great wall around the center of the world they had created and they called this place Midgard. They then took there hands and tore apart the great jotun's brain. They took these pieces and hurled them into the air, which form the clouds we see in the sky. The three sons of Bors then went about the land that they had created and thought it good. They were walking along the seashore one day when they came upon two great logs. They each worked to carve these logs until they had the same form as they did. The first son, Vili, then gave them breath and life, the second son Odin gave them intelligence and movement, the third son, Ve, gave them the ability to see, talk, and hear. The sons of Bors then called their creation man and woman and gave them clothing and names. They called the man Ask which meant Ash Tree in their language. They called the Woman Embla, which meant Elm tree in their language. Even today Ash Trees and Elm Trees are found next to each other in the forest. Ask and Embla were cared for in the walled safety of Midgard and brought forth the clans of men and women we are today. ... And that is why, my friends, that Odin is our Allfather"* He then raises his drinking horn proudly, praises his patron deity, and promptly passes out from overindulging. Kveldulf spends the day day after accepting Bolli's offer lazily. He awakens with a yawn and brushes the sleep out of his good eye. He puts a new edge on his hunting knife as well as the spike on his shield. The sound of metal rasping on metal finally awakens the sleeping Uruz who looks up at his master and whines impatiently. Noticing a pile of vomit adjacent to his hound he nods knowingly. "You've been into the ale slop again haven't ye lad? You know the herons of heedlessness caw loudest in the morn." He then chuckles heartily. "Come gruel and roast boar is what we need lad." With that he gathers his possessions and dog and master trot down to the Alf's kitchen together to consume what porridge is to be had. After which. he apples a fresh coat of beeswax to his bowstring sets out to hunt boar in the wilds outside of town. Survival Roll (1d20+4=8) Sensing that he is likely to have to settle for some crust and salted jerky for lunch, he returns to the village to make some preparations for his upcoming journey. He looks to purchase a fishing net, a weeks worth of feed for his hound, a weeks worth of dried rations in case of emergency, a pair of cured leather boots and a cured leather, hooded over-cloak, both treated with beeswax and tallow. Thereafter he makes his way to the river's bank and the pair of awaiting ships. He checks in with Bolli to assess the amount of work that still needs to be done to make the vessels worthy to sail. Profession Sailor Roll (1d20+5=8) Scratching his head whilst staring agape at Bolli's crew scrambling about in preparation, he realizes that the seasoned ship-master's method of preparation is vastly different from those that were taught to him by his previous captain, Kveldulf realizes that he may yet have much more to learn from the sea. Humbly, he besets Bolli with an offer to assist him in any way of the captain's choosing until the ships are ready to sail. He asks nothing from the captain in return, claiming that the experience gained from working with such experienced sailors is payment enough.
Kveldulf, despite feeling an overpowering sensation of his gut scrambling to climb out his craw, perks up for the first time all morning upon hearing Bolli's request. "He speaks of unknowing danger, old friend," he says in a low whisper while stroking his hounds ears and then shivers noticeably. "This will not end well, but you and I have never backed down and think of the glory to be had. So what do you think lad?" The hound looks up at it's master quizzically, tilting its head to the left just so as hounds do, and then paws at the air, disappointed that it's ears are no longer being stroked. "Aye lad, I knew you'd be up for it. Now lets be out into that forsaken morning light and see what this is all about."
Astounded by the warm reception at the Alf, Kveldulf is nearly speechless. His stomach growls and churns at the sight of the lavish feast prepared. After making his rounds about the room to find a suitable place to settle in. He procures a very large bowl and a hunk of bread. He then marches up to the gigantic stew pot and holds his bowl forth. "Moose stew is my very favorite. I hope you've got enough in there.." laughs Kveldulf heartily. When he and his companions are rewarded with the horns, Kveldulf face is awash with astonishment. "Th-thank you," he stammers face reddening, "I only did what I felt was the right thing to do at the time. I'm glad it has pleased the folk of this place. Hail the mighty folk of Raudurfoss! May your harvest be bountiful and your children strong!" As the night goes forward, Kveldulf eats moose stew until he can barely move and imbibes copious amounts of mead until he can barely stand. At some point very late in the evening, he breaks into off-key renditions of some very lewd drinking songs often sung by sailors. This goes on for some time regardless of the response of those around him before passing out cold on the the Alf's floor near the fire. Uruz spends the evening busily working the room, lapping up spilled puddles of mead and snatching bits of discarded food and bones about the hall before returning with them to gnaw happily at Kveldulf's side. Much later in the evening when Kveldulf has had so much mead that he's nearly senseless, Uruz's mood changes notably. He takes a guarded stance and does not leave Kveldulf's side. The hackles rise on his neck and he growls menacingly at anyone approaching his master.
Feeling much better, Kveldulf gathers his things and makes his way outside to find Vladimir.
"Come Uruz! Your dragging tongue looks like it could use a drink as well."
Kveldulf drinks deeply from his drinking bowl, letting the sweet ichor warm his gut. He belches softly and raises the drinking bowl high above his head. "Glory be to Odin, it is your will that I see another day. I am your son born in battle. May you own my death until the wolf runs free!" He then pours a generous draught of mead from the ancient bowl into the now restored fire. Hail the All Father! Hail Odin!" "It is said from the oldest of times that to honor the Father you most also honor the one who is sworn his brother in blood. The Trickster, Laufrey's son of Jotun blood, whose change brings pain and wisdom." Mirroring his previous offering he pours a portion of mead from the bowl. It hisses and the fire flares as the flames drink the libation. Hail the brother of Odin!" "Let us not forget the glory won in the name of the friend of man today! He who wards both Asgard and Midgard. Red bearded Jotun slayer, we give honor to you, may your wyrd always be entwined with that of man, until the serpent blinds your eyes." He then raises the horn again and pours an excessive amount of mead from the bowl until there is but little left. Hail to he who drank the very sea, Hail to Thor!" "Glory to the spirits of this place, the wights of this land be at peace and frithful." He says in a low whisper and then pours the rest of the mead into the fire. He then turns aside to face Dorvarr and the unconscious Egil. "You're a worthy opponent, Hersir, and your mead is sweet. May your death be as satisfying, or may you triumph over your travails. Then, most unceremoniously, he plops himself back atop the halls table resting his legs atop the well worn bench and produces a wad of cheesecloth containing a roll of wool bandages. He fills the now empty drinking bowl with fresh water. He then cleans his wounds and bandages them to the best of his ability.
As the majority of Kveldulf's new found companions exit Thorolf's hall to address the commotion brewing outside, his breathing finally slows and though still weakened greatly from the shade's touch he decides to right himself off from the hall's table. He then takes purchase of the wounds inflicted upon him by the possessed hersir. Not as bad as they look. He thinks to himself and searches the hall for three items common in any mead hall: a drinking bowl, fresh water, and the Earl's supply of mead.
Panting heavily, Kveldulf hoists himself upon one of the great tables, head between his knees catching his breath. Uruz nuzzles his left hand and licks it gently, but only once. The barbarian absently strokes the hound's head. You did a fine job, lad. A fine job indeed. He reaches into his pouch and retrieves a dried strip of meat. He gingerly hands it to his companion, who cheerfully gobbles it down. Kveldulf _cocks_ his head slightly at the noise outside and turns to his head to face Vladimir. "By the signs of it, there be an old fashioned riot brewing. Let us hope we are it's benefactor and not it's target.
Standing over the grisly mess, Kveldulf raises both arms above his head and pumps both his shield and weapon above his head while cheering in exaltation. "Victory be to Odin!" exclaims Kveldulf loud enough to bring a shower of dust down from the thatch overhead. "Know today, spirits of Hel's realm, that the folk of Midgard are not easy pickings. We will fight you tooth and nail, blood and bone."
Kveldulf cries in anguish as the shade's touch sends an icy sensation blasting into his shoulder, which stiffens with the icy chill as the muscles knot into painful spasms. He reacts by swatting harmlessly at the fell shade with his spiked shield.
This is followed by a roar as the raging warrior whips his arm in a wide arc bringing the deadly flail tip from the ground up high above Kveldulf's head and then back down savagely upon the prone Hersir.
All the while Uruz, in the midst of a snarling ruckus, instinctively lunges for his target's throat resulting in an oozing mess issuing forth about the beast's maw.
"Kill him Uruz!" shouts Kveldulf and with wordless grunt he whips his flail low, wrapping the chain behind Egil's legs. He then yanks back sharply attempting to take the fiend off his feat.
Kveldulf feels the icy chill sink deep in to his shoulder as Egil slams down upon him. "Fangs of Fenris!" he exclaims. "A servent of of Hel? It is a good day to die, he thinks to himself, let the bones roll as they may.
Kveldulf tightens the grip on the leather wrapped handle of his flail in response to the unnatural chill in the hall, its wicked paw-shaped head dangling at his knee. "May the All Father hasten your journey to Nifelhel, Egil!, yells the warrior as he begins to charge forward whipping his flail in a large arc above his head preparing to bring the clawed head around to smash into Egil's rotting head. "Ooooodin!" he yells senses already flooded with rage.
Kveldulf's eye narrows and his brow furrows as he assess the events unfolding before him. Unexpectedly he bangs the butt of his flail against his spiked shield resulting in a loud thump! "I, Kveldulf the Two-Cuts of Northshore, see a man before me ground fine by a life too big for him, addled of mind, and unfit to rule his father's stead!," he shouts boldly, "By the ancestral rites of our people past down from the oldest of times, I challenge you, Hersil Egil, may you or your man face me single handedly till you shall yield. Now accept and arm yourself or show all of these whom follow after you what a coward you are!"
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