"If we do not have a silver tongue among us, perhaps our .. disguise will give us leeway." Wulfskald picked up a crate and prepared to move forward. His body heaved subtly as if chuckling.
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The Raider keeps his hood upward to shade a most cheery complexion. "I'm great at knocking, it's the quiet part where we part ways." He slowly arches his neck towards the warehouse, speaking in a solemn yet grizzled tone. "What, this two handed broadsword? It's for chopping fish." Tyr slides the weapon strap lower so the length of the blade dangles near his calve, concealing the pommel just under the massive silhouette of his shoulder blade. This arrangement would make it more difficult to run and draw steel but may provide improvisational cover.
Tyr remains silent and watchful. He nods to the development of a plan. "If a cart is used, others would be able to pass undetected within, relying on the acting ability of the fishmonger's new apprentices. Which leaves us with procuring the guts and guise if the plan.. doesn't .. stink." The humor if any was deadpan.
Tyr finishes the wine. "No." He straightens his body. "Let us go." The barbarian moves to exit the building when the party is ready. Though he knows not the direction Wolfskald orientates his body to face the waterfront.
Thank-you gentlemen.
Is there a spell or wand the rogue can use to sneak attack undead?
Through the slits in the tempered silver, Wulfskald observed the reading. The thought of purpose, even one as fragile as fortune or as pulling as the gravitational force of vengeance could drive a man. He did not expect Sil to be alive, but no matter. "Speed. A fast bear." As perhaps it was known or not, despite their size the creatures moved at a substantial rate when needed. He lifted the sword over his shoulder, harnessing it's weight against the scapula. "Fine." The barbarian flipped a finger against the lock without a key that held his mask shut. It was hidden beneath the platinum hair but resonated quietly. Wulfskald did not seem fully ready for the wide expanse beyond his haggard cell, and now this metal was something that acted as bridge to the unpredictability of their traverse for it held the strength of stillness. "Let us part with the knowledge that if I do this for you, the debt of freedom is paid in full." The man's calm purpose seemed ready to depart, yet respected this seer's further vision.
The man kept his arms crossed. "Tyr. Wulfskald. Son of Bjorn of the Ulfen people. My sword speaks clearer then any tongue." He made no motion to remove the mask and krpt resting against the wall patiently. "We have the wierding way in my lands as well Zellara. Though to call each of us here with accuracy is a potent gift indeed. I will await your sorcery."
Leaning back against the wall and touching his sword, Tyr listened only to interrupt once, speaking for longer then a single breathe. "I have experience. A scout would be useful to calculate numbers, entrances, routines. Ideally we should reach our goal with minimal risk and opposition. Guile is often useful to this end." He folded his arms over one another, as if defensive about the idea of a Ulfen approaching combat unhonorably, yet he was raised a raider.. it was what they did. "Magic or stealth would capitalize on the art of distraction, stealth, far seeing." The human shifted weight, his voice echoing into dry irony. "Or I could run at the front door screaming."
Wulfskald expected anger to broil hot inside of him at the mention of Lamm's name, as a fear of small pain reacts to the bee. Cause and Effect.
"More wine.." Ironically his knuckles went white and the glass finally shattered beneath his fingers. The ex-prisoner appeared willing to accept this information at any value and stood to leave. Slightly torn between his ready hatred and an emotional control in regards to appreciation for arranging his release, he nodded calmly at the seer before making eye contact with the band. They hand no reason to trust him and he them besides their mutual desire to see someone quickly dead. That would be enough.. for now. "I will see this through." His voice was low and husky as if it had not been used for many years.
The card "Bear" hit the table. It had his name written on it, but he said the words softly. "Tyr... Wulfskald." Looking around the table, the barbarian did not quite know yet know what to make of such an arrangement, or these several strange and interesting people. He slung his weapon beside him, allowing it to rest nearby against the wall. The long haired human enjoyed the meal far more then expected, for even simple bread and a bottle of wine of an unknown make was a spectacle against his dormant palette.
With a clean weapon comes a clean mind. Tyr's still broiled with images of blurred months, like the evening he ripped a throat apart with his canine teeth and bled the body through the jailhouse door. His mask was made from heavy silver much like a cross engraved crusader helm without the top, allowing his hair to cover the face. A sleeveless suit of copper colored scale mail fell from the shoulder blades meeting a large circular belt padded by fur. His pants were simple brown fabric as his boots leather straps weaved up his calves. The great sword grew from the right shoulder downward, with it's gruesome hilt carving melting together into the extended two handed grip. Tyr's arms were bare save leather and metal wristbands, showcasing scars, one tattoo and an engraved silver band. He entered the establishment softly, surprisingly; looking up and grunting once at the sight of the other collected members. He was not accustom to treating communication and exchange with civility for the last several years, so he simply sat. That was better then his usual greeting, because the great sword would bring that finality down even quicker. Through the mouthpiece he poured some wine and chewed a bit of bread casually.
Funny. They left his mask on. How Appropriate. Tyr spent several minutes unmoved outside of the Longacre building. He did not speak when spoken to, or react when breezed up against. Long locks of white hair fell down over a massive frame. The armor covering that heavy torso was old and rusted while the sword.. it would not even slide cleanly from it's sheath.
Greetings everyone, nice to meet you. Wulfskald's recent history takes place within a Korvosian prison which he has been in for quite some time. One (or more) party members may have had a hand in his escape just prior to the adventure. (Escaped to gether, old friends, or hired by a third party-Shaman,etc.). The adventure could also start with the party meeting him for the first time. Open to suggestions.
Trait: "What's that brand on the brute's leg?"
"You mean the self mutilation, the dots. Some sort of Ulfen hunter code. 'S bout family. Old Deadeye, their God Erastil." "Like I give a toss about the Stag." "Well that ancient buck watches the Ulfen blood like their own chieftain. The reaching lines indicate horns, and the central circular symbol might suggest protection, safety, and family. I'm betting good copper that whatever Wolfskald in down in this muck for.. it's over a relative that's come up missing. Couldn't take that raider's run back to the safety of Irrisen or worse."
"Tyr Wulfskald. That it's name?" "Aye, slave many long years to our beloved Korvosian monarchy. Said to have been left by the Ulfen when the horde broke the Cheliaxian blockade at the Arch of Aroden, sacking Absalom port. But if you ask me, he's a creature best left forgotten. Killed anyone we put in with him. Even the Orcs." "Tore the Greyskins to pieces didn't he. Why does the barbarian wear that metal mask?" "To keep him from eating you. And the chains are to bind his limbs from draining your bone even of it's marrow. He'll never see the pale light of the sun again, mark my words." - Tyr Wulfskald is a barbarian human prisoner left within holding to the Varisian military. He has been there for many a year, waiting for the moment when he would taste freedom once more. The man is savage, brutal, yet born from a noble line and honor bound to those who would set him loose from this horrifying captivity. He has long platinum blond hair, and his face is shielded by a thick silver mask. Muscular and well over six foot, he rises covered in warpaint, ready to punish Gaedren Lamm for aiding in his imprisonment and risk his life's blood to end the Curse of the Crimson Throne. -
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