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Ulven begins to recite the Tale of Red Thomas Against the Beasts of Numer. The version where Thomas kills them all, of course, not the real account where the Beasts eat Thomas and then proceed to devour a village full of orphans... Inspire Courage +1 to all who can hear and Ulven sets his feet for the attack.
Init
"So, we are about to face a large wet cat, eh? What could be dangerous in that?"
"In my homeland, to get wet is death by slow suffering, a cold chill that creeps from your toes to your head and covers all it touches in frost. But let us not stop for such a small thing as a frostbitten death!"
"He drew a bad hand then!" Ulven steps on some of those poisonous ants, making a squelching noise.
"Aye, this place is not made to be friendly to visitors, is it?" Ulven rumbles, deep in his chest.
No objections here.
"The let us cut both with action!" Ulven steps forward to the coffin and nods at Mouse. "Help me open this, friend Mouse?"
"Truly it would take an army of priests to cleanse this place. We will be respectful of the dead, but they are dead! Their spirits have fled to join their ancestors. They reside here no longer. Let us honor their lives by seeing what it held!"
"Aye, an adventurer's life is never boring!" As Ulven follows.
Ulven returns to the center chamber, dusty and covered in cobwebs. He sneezes once, then returns to his normal size and shape. "By the Hairy Balls of the Frost Giant Jarl, that was a dusty set of cracks! Reminds me of a joke about the Chieftain's Mother in law!"
Ulven will continue exploring tunnels until all are explored that he can fit down.
"Very well, I do not enjoy this." Ulven steels himself and begins to hum a tune under his breath. Halfway in, his form shifts and shrinks down to a diminutive halfling. Once changed, he looks at Mouse and nods toward one of the holes, moving sideways into it. As he goes, he hums a light song and a his belt buckle begins to glow.
"Do we have any interest in exploring the small passages here? I have a song that allows me to change my form into something a bit smaller, a halfling say. Would it do me any good to check them out?"
"Or perhaps his nose is damaged from too many bar brawls." "Bar brawls? I do not fight in bar brawls! I START bar brawls, then sleep with the brawlers' women while they fight! I have style, you see!"
"Look, fanged one! What a wonderful smell we've discovered!" Ulven brings up the rear, keeping his sword out and ready.
Fort: 1d20+6=11
Ulven will come down last to guard Ilona's rear.
"I know there is supposed to be much evil in this place, but I am not seeing it! Perhaps if we were to go deeper? I hear evil likes the deeper places!"
Ulven follows after, his sword drawn and his eyes open and searching. For once, he seems quiet. It doesn't suit him.
"Fret not, lad! 'Tis not a sin for ordinary folk to die of the pox, only for heroes destined for song! Come, when this is over, we shall sing of your family and ensure they live forever in the Sun-Drenched Lands, where the seals are plentiful and the whales are fat and tasty!" "Ah, beautiful one," turning to Ilona, "What is better in life than a fair maiden, a cold mug and a good meal? And if she be amply endowed, then that is sweeter, is it not? But worry not, lass, you'll always have a place on my knee!"
"Aye, squirrelly man! Let us get out of the rain before we are killed by the pox! It would less than honorable to die of such disease when there are perfectly good evil things in this place that would gladly kill us!" Ulven walks over to the man picking the lock. "Lad, this reminds me of the time that Fair Gwendolyn had to pick a lock while hanging upside down from her hair! She was a saucy lass that Gwen, with huge cleav..." Inspire Competence: +2 to your skill check
"The 'Loud One' stopped to take a p*ss, fanged one! Hail, strangers!" The man is six feet tall, blond with a thick beard and blond hair pulled into ponytails. His booming voice seems to make him seem larger than he is. A longsword is slung across his back and a drum hangs at his side. "The name is Ulven Northman, skald and storyteller of long tales. I hear you lot are seeking death in this vile place! We've come to join you!"
Ulven the Northman has been updated to 4th level using 3.5 edition rules and 5,400 gp for starting cash.
What? Ending so soon?
"In the north we have a saying: 'A man will speak truth when the weasel begins eating his privates!' In the North we take a man, tie his shirt and pants closed and place an ice weasel in his pants. When the weasel bites it closes its jaws and will not let go until the thaw comes. Men who face the weasel do not tell lies. Shall I fetch a suitable animal from the markets? Perhaps a rat? I saw some likely candidates on the way here. They appeared diseased."
Ulven watches the big Litorian giving the man the choice. He nods in approval and seems to be drinking in the scene, probably for a later tale.
"Aye, I do, twisty one!" Ulven moves over toward the rogue and examines the wound. As he begins to speak, his hands move and begin to glow with a healing light. "In the Northlands we speak of the Norns, the spirits of women whose men never came home from the raids. It is said that they come to the songs of men who hurt, infest the wounds and heal the hurts as they could never heal their own. There. Better?" Cure Light Wounds: 1d8+1=9
"As much as I like the idea of someone knowin' my name and face, I think the fanged one is right: we need to find the man responsible and ask him some pointed questions." Ulven grumbles.
Ulven follows, waiting for something to happen.
"This is not the matter of money, loud one. To put it simply, I do not require much in the way of comfort. But your offer is made with honor and it is my honor to accept it." "Ah! Then I am honored by your acceptance. My people have a saying, 'When the ice forms on your eyes, fret not over the luxuries you did not enjoy!'"
"I will live well this time! I will take the 1 gp room, and so will my fanged friend! I will pay for his upgrade. And I would very much wish to hear this bard!
"Indeed, we require strong ale and a warm bed, my good woman! Companionship would be duly appreciated, as well!" Ulven's voice booms. "And where is the entertainment? Or ought we provide it ourselves?"
"Alas, fanged one, we are in their home and when in Ptolus, do as the Ptolans do... But let us not lower ourselves to the level of these darkened fiends! Let us avenge their wrong doing and make a joyful song of their deaths!"
Ulven wanders in from outside where he was admiring a statue. "Truly fanged one, this town is not only darkened by the shadow of the spire, but by the shadowed souls of those who dwell within... Holy man, who is the wretched father of this child?"
"Ha! I like the little weaselly man. He will make for a great tale. Come! Let us get a room and some ale and wait for the time after dusk when we will strike these men for their crimes, fanged one! After we escort this woman to her church."
"This would make a good story! I am in for any bottom getting!"
"I am Ulven Northman, skald and singer from the great places of ice and snow! Welcome, little man!"
"This land has strange justice! In my land a thief has his hand cut off and a murderer is hung from a tree upside down with a light slit cut in his belly. The buzzards or the great bears usually finish him," Ulven steps from the shadows where he watched the entire scene unfold. "I take it you intend to make his rendez-vous in his place and turn the tables on these would-be assassins?"
"This is a strange land where a woman's scream does not draw more attention!" Ulven moves down the alley toward the scream, drawing his greataxe as he goes.
"By the Hoary B@lls of the Frost Giant Jarl! What has happened to you, man? It surely must be a story, eh? I tell you what, comrade! If you will tell me this story then I will purchase you a meal, a good ale and a bath. Come! Where is a decent alehouse?"
"Ah, I see your way, fanged one! I, too, seek to become a skald, a singer of the tales of the ancestors. First I must master my own tale, to add to the ranks of the Ancestors, so that I might live on after my death as one of the Honored Dead. Perhaps I will sing of your song, too, eh? So that you might live forever as well!"
"A Bladesmith? Do not your weapons already shine? They seem sharp enough!"
"Änother woman?! Excellent! My tale will abound with beautiful yet deadly maidens who look death in the eye and laugh lustily!" Ulven seems unusually buoyed by the sights and sounds of the city as well as his companionship. "We must find this Delver's Square and make it our own! They did know that they lacked until they hear us coming. Let us fulfill them!"
"Drinks? Excitement? This sounds like a place where tales can be made and epics can be forged! Come, fanged one, let us see where our lovely friend goes for fun!"
"Well Lady? You seem to know this place. I am but a humble man from a cold land who has never seen such a place as this, and I think the fanged one's nose seems to wrinkle in an unquiet manner, so I would wager that he has no knowledge of this land either. Where shall such as we find a heavy mug, tales to be told and warm company on cold nights? My ancestor's songs seek companionship with my own epic tale and I think you might know the proper place to see adventure in this warren of stone and people."
Ulven grins at the guard as he passes. "Sorry, friend. I'm with the lady there. Oh the buxom lass is a lovely lass with a light heart and a heavy..." Ulven sings in a lusty tone as he passes into line.
Ulven stretches and yawns as he drops off the caravan. "Cursed rolling carts! Never could stay awake on such bouncing beasts!" He looks toward the city and shades his eyes to look upon the Spire. "Come Ancestors! Let us find a tale!" he shouts aloud, claps the nearest startled traveler on the back and walks toward the lines, his greataxe slapping time against his back. As he reaches the line, he begins to sing a jaunty traveling song. He gets in line near the giant cat-man and the small dark woman.
Ulven could have joined the caravan to earn some coin on the way to Ptolus. Plus, there's safety in numbers in this barbaric land, you know.
I present Ulven Northman, recently come to Ptolus from the North, searching for his story, the epic that will define him to his people, who believe that the honored ancestors live on in such stories.
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