Across the Northern Sea (3.5) IC

[hairy-joe]

It is getting towards winter, the sun now spends less time in the sky than the moon. The skys have been overcast for nearly three weeks now, snowing and sleeting on and off for the whole time and a storm seems to be building in the north. This wether is not unusual for this time of year, yet there is something different in this gloom. Fyrstheim, a hard town populated by hardy peoples, is usualy a cheerful place despite it all, recently there have been Roumours of attacks in the outlying mead-halls, a berserk madness suddenly gripping a farmhand at a smallholding and strange beasts capering and cavorting just beyond the light of the watch-fires of Fyrstheim itself.

The Jarl has put out a call to investigate, anyone willing to investigate shall be rewarded with a gold arm-ring as a sign of the jarls friendship if they can bring light to the source of these roumours. His Huscarls have been visiting the inns, temples and docks to deliver this announcement to all who will listen and inviting any that step forwards to a personal audience with the Jarl himself.

you are gathered together with about 12 other hopeful adventurers, looking to prove themselves to the Jarl, in a small entrance room in the grand Hall. at the given hour the doors are pulled open revealing the audience chamber. the walls are lined with trophies and shrines to previous jarls. at the end of the room sits the Jarl on a beautifully carved wooden throne covered in the pelts of bears and wolves. he stands and booms out in a voice like granite and ice "Greetings! i thank you for coming here today. you are about to embark on a great service for me and all of Fjordey. the rumours that have found their way into Fyrstheim are true. we have found survivors of two attacks, one on the furthest Mead-hall, and one from the farm that supported it. anyone who can find out what is going on will be a great friend to myself and all of Fyrstheim."

[Charcon]

At just a few inches under 8 feet tall it is hard for Geirrod to hide, but with his shy nature he will stand at the back of the crowd. The other adventurers will see a large half giant stride among them into the hall, his 24" long feet landing in long strides while one massive arm balances a two foot diameter greatclub over his shoulder. The crowd can tell there is a lineage of not just any giant but frost giant in his blood by his light hair, blue eyes and pale bluish skin. Upon making eye contact most expect the intimidating gaze of the giant race but instead they receive a solemn uncomfortable look that breaks contact.

[Wiz0rd]

With great anticipation and pride, Malk steps forward into the Jarls great hall. He stops alongside the other emerging adventurers and hopefuls at the front, careful not to step too far foward and above his station. While the Jarl offers his speech, Malk takes a moment to admire the trophies dotted liberally around the room before returning to the gaze of their great leader.

Malk stands as a young looking twenty-something human male, with soft and slightly handsome features. His hair is long, brown, shaggy and matted in places. His eyes are large and expressive, colored a dark brown to compliment the asethetic that his hair desired to make. He is donned in a simple leather jerkin and tunic, well worn and fortified in places with greying, dullish metal. His clothes sport the occasional tog or button with art and symbols local to Frystheim. He is armed with a crude, unsophiscated looking longsword - attached and sheathed at his waist courtesy of a simple leather loop on his belt, and in his hand, a traditional wooden heavy rounded shield, bound with iron, painted with the decoration of a heavy mule whom carries a heavy cargo burden. This portrayed the Byson family symbol, though it is a forgivable offense if it is not recognised or overlooked. Onlookers would likely presume that these were the arms passed down with family generations.

He bowed deeply. He held the Jarl in very high esteem. He waited patiently for the opportunity to speak.

[Trasilor]

Everyone in Fyrstheim knew of the blue one. Of course Terlee herself had never actually met him, but it was hard not to notice. Admittedly, she was surprised to see him here - he usually avoided groups. As she watched him, she noticed he would routinely avert his eyes from others.

She turned her attention to the Jarl - another man she had only seen from afar. Of course this one, she greatly admired. When she had heard the call go out to would be adventures, Terlee knew she wanted to go. So she spent the last few days polishing her steel and cleaning and patching her clothes as best she could.

Her armor and weapons were different than the others. As the daughter of a smith, she was able to get a chainshirt fitted to her size and a decently forged hand-and-half sword which hangs from her hip. A small round buckler was strapped to her arm - unadorned and simple in construction. The rest of her small frame was hidden behind the layers of fur and leathers she used to keep warm. While these northmen would find this to be a 'brisk autumn day' she found it to be bitterly cold. Of course, inside the great hall, she had dropped her hood showing her oval face and olive skin. Her jet black hair, was tied into a tight bun on the top of her head, held together with a bone comb making her angular features stand out even more.

As he finished speaking, Terlee stood as tall as her five and a half foot frame would allow. Bowing before the Jarl, she began, Jarl Torvald Haraldrsson I would consider a great honor to help stop that which plagues the good people of Fyrstheim. Your people took in me and my father all those years ago, now I wish to help the community any way I can.

As she finished, Terlee felt small once again. She began to bite her lower lip and tried to quietly slip back into the crowd. Her accent - despite all the years living in Fyrstheim - was still evident and made her self-conscious. Now she hopes that she didn't make a fool of herself in front of the Jarl.

[Charcon]

Geirrod sees the woman speak in front of the others to the Jarl and steps behind her, brings his tree trunk of a club down off his shoulder to audibly "thunk" the end on the floor (unintentionally loud since he isn't used to indoor life) and states " I am her second".

[Garmonbozia]

Syrine steps forward through the doors to come level with the half-giant. She wears slightly tarnished bronze-coloured scale maille, which catches the light of the fireplace and glitters subtly. She looks at him out of the corner of her eye, a little alarmed, and stands up extra straight, before going down on one knee in a deep bow, her long, wide, curved sword held in front of her. It has a golden lion's head on the pommel. This is the sword gifted to her by Sir Malachi, the crusader that Syrine came to this land as squire to, who resides in a drafty rented room by the docks, being nursed through an unending fever by his and Syrine's only other surviving party member.
My Lord.
In her head she thinks: ...what she said. The one with the topknot. And do I even call him "my Lord"? He's not my own lord. Well, for these purposes, I suppose...
My Jarl. I pledge myself and my sword to protect the good people of your land.

[Wiz0rd]

Briefly looking from side to side and hearing the statements of the others, Malk felt it appropriate to speak on his turn.

"My Jarl, I am Malk Byson, son to Hrafen Byson." His voice is deep and warm, "I have been an ally and friend to you long before this day, since I was born to these very lands. I have heard your call to action once before, and I will do so again. I will do what I can for you and the outer-realms." He nodded at the Jarl before stepping back in line.

He thought to enquire about further information, but he presumed that there would either be a steward or that there was no more news from the far reaches, and so fell quiet.


Edit: I have a spells known list, rather than a set of prepared spells. At the moment, Malk knows:
- Detect Magic
- Message
- Mending
- Lullaby
and has one use of bardic music for Fascinate or Countersong per day.

[Warmatt]

Standing much lower then the frost giant whelp, the stocky, broad figure of Matthazan of Clan Svartálfar is easy enough to overlook. Still, the smith looks over the others, critically eyeing their arms and armor, and his eyes narrow somewhat as he looks on them. While serviceable enough, for human smithing, few pieces in here are what he would call proper weapons and armor. Still, as he looks at the Jarl and the others, the short figure seems to mull it over, before giving a snort, and moving to stand beside the group, a faint look a grumpy sourness on his face, something that was normally there, save for when he was extremely deep in his cups, in which case it was an annoyed sourness that someone interrupted some serious drinking, or working on a piece at the forge, in which case he displayed content grumpiness.

Still, looking at the Jarl, he gave his normal short and to the point speech. "These youngsters weapons for the most part are crap, and they are for the most part beardless youths that need someone with some brains in their skull to help them find what their looking for."

While delivered caustically and just a bit insultingly, he was a scholar in addition to smith, and a wizard besides. It was not that he felt them true idiots, no, but how likely was it that they understood the deeper magical mysteries, and the hidden realm of the arcane? That, and their gear was shoddy human work for the most part.

[Charcon]

Geirrod will gives a sideways glance to the dwarf after his "to the point speech" and shake his head both used to insults from his own tribe in which he was raised coupled with knowing the ways of dwarves.

[Charcon]

Geirrod's thick hide armor creaks as he leans down to Terlee and in a rumbling whisper says "I am called Geirrod. I have never been allowed inside a hall much less indoors. I want to help but what do we do now?" . Geirrod was excluded from almost all indoor activities and his forehead is thankful of the high ceilings. He will eye the dwarf cautiously as he whispers.

[Stannum (IV)]

"Why, we have an adventure! Let none say that Young Merrin did not answer the call. We must go there, and kill the wicked beast! It shall make a fine trophy for the Jarl's hall, whatever it is. Oh, let us depart now and deal with it!"
The halfling is very evidently excited, though he is quite young and, as evidenced doubly by his remarks, likely inexperienced.

[Trasilor]

Terlee was quit surprised to find herself literally backed by the large blue-skinned half-giant. Even more so as the bent down and introduced himself. With a slight turn of her head, she whispered back "Terlee. I am glad that you want to help the Jarl. At this point, we are waiting to see if any others would be willing to volunteer. After that, I assume we will head to this farm and hall to investigate. Patience my friend, I am sure we will be on our way shortly."

With that, Terlee offers Geirrod a comforting pat on his well muscled shoulder before turning her attention once more to the Jarl.

[hairy-joe]

The Jarl stands patiently while the crowd introduces themselves and swears to perform various tasks for him. after a few minutes the raises his arms and continues "i thank you all for your willingness to do these mighty deeds for me, my steward has more details for you if you wish to know them. and there is stew and ale for all being prepared if you wish to partake."

With that he walks to a smaller door to the side of his throne and dissappears from view, followed by 3 of the 4 huscarls that flanked his throne while he spoke.

At the Jarls mention a wizened old man with a long grey beard, and a stack of scrolls tucked under his arm steps forwards to answer any questions those of you familiar with the court know him to be called Dan Grimmsson, those of you not so familiar with the court know him as Grey-hair Dan.

[Charcon]

https://cdn.artstation.com/p/assets/images/images/000/089/154/20140601143056/smaller_square/141154_Hyrkzag_the_Frost_Giant_Ghost.jpg?140165075 7Geirrod shakes his head in understanding at Terlee's statement then stands back straight. Geirrod watches the Halfling's speech to the Jarl and is pleased by the youthful Halfling manner. Geirrod was around the women and children mainly due to suspicious adults regarding his lineage. So Geirrod gives a half smile and recognizing nod to the Halfling after the speech.

Once the mention of stew (food), Geirrod's eyes light up and dart around the room as if he might miss out. As far as ale, a watered down version is all he has ever had due to bad water quality so the stout stuff will be deferred to water, snow or diluted ale.

Geirrod is not used to "proceedings" so he is watching Terlee's actions and sticking to her as not wanting to openly embarrass himself.

[Wiz0rd]

Malk does not hide his expressions as the others take their turn to speak and announce themselves to the Jarl.

His face does not lie nor hide his irritation to the dwarf's insults and comments. Everyone had heard the tales of the dwarves before; gruff, unsocial creatures, slow to warm to friendship and even slower to warm to jest. If this were to be one of his companions, then it would surely be a long trip indeed. Petty comments aside, what makes the utterance worse is that he undermines the value of the Jarl's volunteers openly, speaking rudely and out of turn, in front of the leader himself! The dwarf must learn quickly or undoubtedly suffer the consequences of a sharp tongue and little patience. Perhaps old dogs can learn new tricks. Perhaps.
He quietly side-stepped towards the dwarf and whispered: "I will not take offense this time, Dwarf. I will continue this conversation outside. Do not insult my lord's halls with your rudeness again, if you would be kind." He leaned away, what was said has been said.

He eyed the other acquaintances as they engaged in small-talk in the entrance to the hall. His gaze wore a warm smile as he acknowledged the other youthful upstarts, and felt at ease with the rest of his party. The group soon emerged as a strange combination of talented, yet unproven youth and those from further afield, coming to do their part from the goodness of their hearts, or the ambition of their coin-purse. He reserved the rest of his comments and thoughts to himself, as they were only first impressions, but he couldn't help but feel a quiet confidence. Malk would introduce himself more thoroughly once they would start their journey.

His confidence had faded as the Jarl raised his arms and said his farewells and left the chambers with his guard. The Jarls' presence had been very brief, even for this audience. Perhaps this trouble of the outer-realms way heavily on his mind, or perhaps there were other lordly issues to be attended to. Malk shook it off, perhaps it was nothing, perhaps it is only after the deed is done would a true audience and true conversation with the Jarl be more reasonable. He couldn't help but smile and nod at the offer of a small feast before leaving, it was a kind gift and one that he would graciously and gratefully accept. It isn't every day that you get to say you drank ale from the horns of the great-hall of Fyrstheim.

He traced the steps of the wizened greyish man, and followed him to where he stood, the grey-man still handling his many parchments and scrolls. Malk took a seat on a comfortable looking wooden chair nearby, his mind bounced with a few questions as he waited for the food and drink to arrive to the hall. He nodded to the man and spoke politely:

"Greetings steward, thank you for granting us your time and your wisdom. I am Malk Bryson, of the Bryson family. My questions are about the quest." His hands moved expressively as he spoke. "Firstly, could you provide us more information about the key details of the task? Where exactly is the hall and farmsteads that were attacks, which direction do we head?"
He paused between each question in order to allow the grey man to organize himself and to answer.
"What were the attacks like? Beasts? Bandits? Mages?" Another pause.
"Are there any roads or tracks for us to travel? How good are they? Are they secure?"
"Is the Jarl or the city providing us with any additional equipment, papers or supplies for the quest?"
"Who do we seek out when we arrive, may we have names?"
"Do your oracles or rune-readers have any insights into the weather or warnings?" He listened eagerly to the steward and to the conversation of his companions as he sits.

[Warmatt]

Nodding as Malk whispers to him, Matthazan nodded. Really, he could have phrased it better, but eh. Still, it's hardly his fault the humans and other short-lived whelps have thin skins, and such. Still, given that they outnumbered him, he would hold his tongue for the most part, to prevent them bashing his skull in while he sleeps. Still, they were a bunch of beardlings, young and dreaming of glory. Glory could be found, or it would not, but it rarely lasted. Duty, honor, what you built with your hands, that lasted.

Still, as he sat down, he listened to the bards questions, wondering if he should cast the bones himself.

[Wiz0rd]

Malk smiled very slightly, the Dwarf kindly nodded to his words unexpectedly. He immediately went up in his estimations. Perhaps there was much more to this dwarf than what meets the eye, as so often is the case in the adventuring business (or so Malk would presume).

Sitting at the table, in between his conversation with the steward, he saw the dwarf thinking deeply. He observed the various pouches and pockets on his person.
"Dwarf, what about you? You do not carry armor, are you a mage? Do you offer predictions, or do you disregard them as superstition from where you come?"

[Warmatt]

Looking at the bard, the Dwarf eyes him up and down, eyes taking in the little details, the signs in the mans weapons and armor. Still, he would not tell the man overmuch of what he did or could do, as he had little need too. "You want a prediction human?" There is a touch of amusement in his voice, although wondering what it is he wants to know. "So, what would you ask of fate youngling?"

[Trasilor]

Come Geirrod, let us honor tradition and break bread in the hall. It will be good to listen to what grey-haired Dan has to say.

Terlee sits next to the human male and motions for Geirrod to sit next to her. He's a smith too she says as she answered the young man's question about the surly dwarf. i've seen my father make similar remarks when he's been in his cups. For some reason, smiths feel the need to point out the shortcomings in the work of others.

Teepee then listens as grey-haired Dan answers the questions.

[Wiz0rd]

He thought on the dwarf's question, what would one ask of fate indeed? Other than reassurance that they would not perish upon this task and journey, there is little else to ask. He shrugged towards the stocky man, as he continued to wait upon and listen intently to the Grey Man.

Meanwhile, he regarded the female warrior who sat down beside him, who makes wise sounding comments about their fellow party member. "Aah," he nods "This speaks to me, this makes sense. I've seen others proud of their work and consious of competition act in the same manner. You know the old saying: 'never trust a skinny cook'? Well, if he is a smith; where are his famed arms and armor?" Malk wondered openly.

"You had said that you had wanted to help the community a short while back while we made our introductions. I believe we haven't met before. Your name is?".
The conversation flowed at the table freely.

[Trasilor]

Turning towards the young man, she extended her hand and introduced herself Terlee Sakura. You are Malk Byson son of Hrafen right? I know of your family, good honest folk of Fyrstheim. I am surprised your pup is not joining us, I thought he traveled everywhere with you. Blushing slightly Terlee realized that it sounded odd that she seemed to know so much about the young man Sorry, I grew up here too. My father owns a metal shop in town.

While nodding her head towards dwarf, Terlee continues I wouldn't be too hard on him. While his words maybe harsh and perhaps insulting, they are truth. My armor, while fitted for me, and my weapons, are not of the highest quality. My father told me so - and he made them. she said with a wry smile. But like you I imagine, my armor and weapons were inherited from family - for me, my mother. The sword was a training sword she had used, while the armor was something she had in her youth.

Realizing she was opening herself up more than she wanted (something about those beautiful brown eyes that made her want to tell him everything) she changed the subject.

Anyway, this is Geirrod indicating the half-giant next to her. Geirrod, this is Malk, a native son of Fyrstheim.

[Warmatt]

Looking at the bard, there is a hint of darkness on the dwarfs eyes, of vengeance planed and waited over, of one who has dreamed of little else, as he plots and broods over the wrong done to him, even as he cannot do anything about it, much to his hate and shame. His voice, when replying to this whelp was low and almost guttural, barely more then a growl, though the ire is not directed at him. Still, his response is delivered by two names, and two names only. "Star-Hewer and Night-scale."

After bringing it up, he turns more taciturn and silent then before, only giving a grudging nod of respect to the woman for honoring the weapons of her ancestors, as was proper.

[Charcon]

"Greetings Malk" says Geirrod stammering as he stands, reaches over or across Terlee extending his hand. He isn't trying to be rude you can tell but is just uneasy with social graces. He just knows people extend hands since most people avoid him.

[Garmonbozia]

Syrine has been hanging back as she observes the other adventurer's interactions, watching carefully the tension between the dwarf and the long-haired young bard, the tension of a different kind between the bard and her fellow foreigner, the halfling's excitement, the half-giant's unweildly awkwardness.
Special ability: detect evil.
Whether she detects any evil in the others or not, she decides to greet them all equally. After all, being forced to co-operate in this quest with an evil person would be more of an opportunity than a burden. If it is her duty to uphold good and eradicate evil, then she could provide a guiding light over to the side of virtuousness. And if she is unsuccessful? It is a test of her faith. (Things that Syrine finds unpleasant to endure, she prefers to think of as tests of faith. Illness. Cabbage. Period pains. Unexpected encounters with bats. All opportunities to strengthen her connection with the mighty goodness of Pelor).

She swaggers over to Malk. Malk Byson, ever so good to meet you! I am Syrine, of the kingdom of Laurensac, far in the south. She takes his hand and shakes it vigorously. She goes around the group grasping the hand of each of you, introducing herself with the same enthusiasm.

[Wiz0rd]

Malk reciprocated the handshake, gripping Terlee's forearm in the traditional nordic manner. He was suprised by the firm grip of the strong fingers that wrapped around Malk's arm. Her strength no doubt a result of her relative mastery of the martial arts and proficency of the sword. She gave an immediate impression that she was a lot stronger than she may first appear. He concentrated on the conversation at hand, only gazing upon her eyes and features as much as courtesy and politeness would allow.

"Correct," he bows slightly to the recognition of his family, "Ah yes! I remember your family name and your lineage, Terlee. My father once served as a worker for your father while the work was available, and he has told us many tales and stories. I apologise for not recognising you sooner, and regret our paths not crossing sooner, your family has been very kind to us. I am very glad to have now met you in person. My sword is yours."

He smiled warmly, "Correct again! I was not aware of my apparent fame around these walls of Fyrstheim. Well, my pup is a pup no longer. My companion, Alvis, is awaiting our return in the Jarl's stables, I am sure that he would be pleased to see you, and the rest of our party. We will be joined by my little pack while we travel, though they may require some more training before they share a table with the Jarl." he joked and laughed a small chuckle. "But yes, like your arms, these items were donated to me by my family for this adventure. I suspect these arms were more decorative and for self defense as I do not recall many soldiers in my family history."

He saw the Terlee's cheeks redden after their brief conversation, and greeted the friendly half-giant after his introduction. He stood up to reach the wrist of the thick arms and gave it a brave shake, again, the giant's strength becoming immediately apparent, his huge frame projecting a strength that one would expect, though there was a softness and consideration to his movements. He tried to maintain eye contact and wear a smile as he simply replied "Greetings Geirrod, it is good to meet you.", but granted any social comfort that he desired. These confining walls must be a concern for the looming man, and Malk thought to engage him in more conversation outside and out on the open road.

Syrine had shifted from her position at the end of the hall to join the rest of the party only after a brief period of peering and inspecting the party gathering around the party. As she swaggered towards the table, Malk stood once again to receive her handshake and welcome, and it became suddenly apparent that he was potentially the person with the least upper body strength. He blushed slightly, listening to the kind words of the new introduction. "Syrine of Laurensac, the pleasure is mine. Welcome to these lands. I trust you find yourself in good company? I will endevour to make your stay a good one." He remained quiet as she shared this sincere-if-uniform greeting with the others.

Sitting back down, he felt self consious of his arms and armor, and pulled down his sleeves to cover his modest biceps. With furrowed brows and slight anxiety, he looked once again to the Grey-man to begin his talk.

[Charcon]

Geirrod stops eating his third bowl of stew and extends his hand to Syrine... after he wipes from it on his armor. I am Geirrod. I am new to these types of tasks. My blood makes others uneasy, but I am strong and will not stand for wickedness. . He looks to Terlee...nods... then sits back down and attacks his third bowl of stew without looking back.

[Charcon]

Geirrod was raised by pretty much only women and Terlee is the only one here he is familiar with so he is confused with it when she blushes at Malk. He wasn't listening in to her conversation with Malk (only looking at the next mouthful of stew!) but when he sees her blush he tilts his head in a curious/confused manner and looks from her to him waiting to see if she has been offended. When/if no adverse reaction he turns back to his bowl but gives them sidelong curious glances.

[hairy-joe]

Dan nods while listening to the questions

"You cut straight to the meat of the matter."

he unrolls the scrollon a table, showing a crude, but intricately deccorated and boardered map. it details the settlements and halls that dot the coastline. Dan points to the eastern most hall and farmstead.

"these are the places that have been attacked so far the mead-hall of Fjarrihol and Brynjasstead the farm. the survivors say that the hall was attacked by shamboling dead things, we think he was talking about draugr, but there are stranger magics at work than we would normally expect. the farm was not attacked by an outside force, the survivor that a rider from the mead hall found told of one of the farmhands suddenly going berserk and attacking everyone there with a rake before fleeing into the snows."

he points at a line labeled 'Jarlsgata' which runs half-way along the coast to a line of mountains.

"there is one road that will take you half way there. it stops at the fort of Tivbalk where you will have to find your own way across land or charter a boat. alternatively, you could find a boat straight out of the harbour here. the overall journy should take you no longer than three days by land, and between 2 and 5 days by sea, depending on the weather."

he stands up from the map and folds his arms.

"The Jarl may be head of the town, but he is not so rich he can risk what wealth and resources he does have on outfiting bands of adventurers, even ones who do work for him. if you suceed there will be rewards, and as with any adventuring party: all you loot from those you fight and slay is yours, but any mineral wealth is the Jarl's, and any structures or encampments are to be reported.

as for people to talk to there is noone left at Brynjasstead the survivor died half-way back to Fjarrihol. at Fjarrihol who ever is in charge will make themselves known, if there is anyone left. the last report we had from them said that they were under attack nightly and losing defenders fast.

we have some seers and folk schooled in bone and rune lore, however they usualy charge for their services. if what we have seen in the skies is anythign to go on, then we are in for a heavy snow these next few days."

when Dan has finished answering the big questions and adressing everyone he anounces that the food and ale should be brought in and begins mingling with the rest of the adventurers, answering personal questions and spesifics.

the food is brought in in a great cauldron carried by two kitchen boys who are followed by another with a large, shallow dish piled with flat-bread. an older stout half-ork carries up two large barrels, one balenced on his shoulder and one tucked under his arm. The half-ork is followed by a fairly average looking man with a limp and a sack slung over his shoulder who moves from person to person handing out wooden flagons.

you detect a few strong and moderate auras from trophies on the walls, one or two skulls and a sword. there is also a moderate aura coming from a rather simply dressed man wearing a dager and an amulet with a flame symbol on it.

[Wiz0rd]

Malk listens intently to the information and wisdom of the Grey Dan as he replies to every question in turn without fail to good, trustworthy detail. Malk only begins to talk once again after the steward had finished his speech and the small feast had begun in earnest, the room becoming aglow with the joys of informal talk.

"Grey Dan, you are a blessing to us and this place, thank you for your wisdom. You have answered my questions and concerns to great satisfaction. I only have one other question before I consider myself fully informed and prepared for the task that lies ahead of us. May we either take or copy the map and papers that you brought here today? Or are they the protected property of yours and the Jarls, I know how valuable a decent map can be around these parts."
Questions aside, he thanked the servants who handed out the various cups and foodstuffs. Malk recognised that it was a strange feeling - he had never been served upon apart from within the various mead halls and taverns, but that was only to fill a flagon, a modest task. He raised his cup.

"A toast, to adventures new. We have nothing to fear of these Draugr and this maddness, we have in our midsts some fine warriors and two people of legend: a stout dwarf and a mighty giant! So here's to wealth, peace and prosperity in the land by our hands." And drank heartily, almost draining the whole vessel in a single swig, savouring the sweet, warm feeling of a quality alcoholic beverage.

Dillusions of grandeur and well-meaning aside, he re-settles and refills his cup. "Say, Grey Dan, we are in your company until the time of the meal has come to an end. Entertain us with your story, and your life's history. Tell us how one becomes steward to the Jarl in the biggest settlement on this icy land? You must be a powerful adventurer of your own, all of the laws and our culture makes this certain!"

Nodding intently to Dan's tale, he thinks upon the next few days. Where appropriate he turns and looks upon his party. "We must make a desicion sooner or later about how we travel to the outer realm. By land or by sea. Neither my dogs or I have ever travelled by boat before, so I'd prefer to travel by land, but I will listen to consultation on this matter."

[Garmonbozia]

Charisma check to try to catch the eye of the man with the flame amulet. If successful, I want to give him an intimidating look - a sort of 'I've got your number' nod.

[Charcon]

Geirrod raises his ale to the toast and drains his mug. He leans over to Terlee and states "I have never been on a boat. I am not afraid but how can I be ready for it? I have never seen the dead walk before either. Can my club stop one? Can they move if I break their legs? I will crush them to pulp."

[Warmatt]

Looking at the bard with a grumpy look in his eye, he snorts. Legends are rarely as glamorous as the short lived humans think, nor are they inherently better. Granted, they are compared to most humans, but when you have decades to learn compared to the handful of years allotted to men? No wonder.

Still, looking to the giant, he have a barking laugh. "The sea? My folk don't hold with deep water, but the walking dead? Hack 'em to bits, then setting the bits aflame is your best bet." Looking at the giant, he nods. "Though, you could just tear 'em limb from limb ter do that."

[Charcon]

Addressing the dwarf ..."so if they bite you does it make you one of them?"

[Warmatt]

He shrugs. "Some of them, not sure what these bloody corpses are though." Taking a swig of the ale, he looks at the giant. "Still, just pound the walking back out of them, got it?"

[Charcon]

"Is there a way you can make my club better? I want to be ready for dead and Alive enemies." Geirriod will look to the others "when do we leave?"

[Warmatt]

Looking at the club, he frowns somewhat. He is not a woodworker, he is a smith. Metal and stone is his trade. Still, as he looks it over, he can think of a few things. "So, spikes or blades?" Really, if he thought he had the time, he would just make the giant a metal greatclub, the standard fixings, make it a proper weapon, able to beat the living out of living dead and anything else that's comes along... granted, he was a giant. His last job for a giant did not end well, curse his name.

[Charcon]

"Or metal bands?"

[Warmatt]

He looks at the giant, managing to convey 'are you as stupid as you look, and who here is the smith?' without him having to utter a word. "Whelp, does your honking big piece of wood already bludgeon things to death?"

[Charcon]

Geirrod looks at him "many... many things I don't like get pounded" then looks away and sits back down next to Terlee

[Warmatt]

He nods at that. "So, while I could improve it's ability to bludgeon, what about giving it the ability to hurt those that are not so easy to bludgeon?"

[Charcon]

Geirrod will give the dwarf a grunt and turn back to Terlee after the dwarfs rude comment.

[Wiz0rd]

Quietly side-eying the Dwarf and the Giant, their bickering brought a wry smile to Malk's face.
"Glad to see you two getting along so well." he chuckled, "In any case, I am relieved to hear that we are in accord about our method of travel. Besides, I don't fancy those icy waters in a heavy snow. Do you?" he says as an open question, not directed to anyone.

[Stannum (IV)]

"With a light boat, one could make it across icy waters in any snow, at least before the pack forms. Might have to carry it across some areas, but lives are at stake, and heroes must be timely. 8 of us could fit in a launch, and likely be at no more risk than we would be from any foul beast we are going to meet," the Halfling pipes up, eager to contribute.
"Then again, I've not yet been here a year, and one can hardly tell the bluster from the truth when old men speak of rough ice. Still, we shall need to go by water at least part of the way."

Profession (sailing) modifier +3, shiphandling bonus of+2 from the boat if we use a launch. Neither stormwrack nor frostburn has the check DCs for navigating icy waters, so I honestly don't know if that will be sufficient.

[Trasilor]

Terlee raises her glass with and toasts with Malk then listens as the others discuss their means of travel.

Responding to Malk's open question, Terlee begins by addresses him directly, It is not about what we want. It is about a duty to the people. We agreed to help the Jarl the best we can, not in the easiest or least difficult manner but the best. We must ask ourselves: "What is best for the people of Fyrstheim?"

Looking around at everyone she continues.

Young Merrin has put it succinctly, people's lives are at stake. If we are to help the Jarl, and Fyrstheim, we must investigate this as soon as possible. Traveling by land will probably take longer than three days. The simple truth is without mounts, our dwarf, halfling and heavily armored friend travel slower on foot. A three day trip for a man will take us four to five days.

Looking at the dwarf, halfing and knight she says in a 'matter-of-fact' tone, This is not disrespect but a matter of truth.

However, turning back to the group at large traveling by boat this time of year is risky. We would be foolish to ignore the heavy storms brewing to the north. For weeks we have had snow and sleet and the sky continues to darken. An early winter storm would severely delay our journey. I propose a compromise, we travel by land to Tivbalk. If the weather holds or improved, we charter a boat for the last leg of our journey. If not, we continue on foot.

[Charcon]

Geirrod will nod his head in agreement.

[Wiz0rd]

Without begrudging, Malk nods his head to the words of Young Merrin and Terlee.

"Very wise, Terlee. I apologise, you are right: It is what is best for the people. If it is demanded of us, we should take the quickest course of action, that is what adventurers do. I fully support this motion that we travel by foot to enjoy the relative security of the countryside surrounding Fyrstheim, enabling us to keep one eye on the sky, and then to charter a boat at our earliest convenience should we be able.

I only have one additional consideration: speed is of importance, but when we arrive we need to be in a position to help people, and not require help ourselves. We cannot risk fatigue nor injury until our arrival, if at all possible. Perhaps the slower road would serve us, and the people, better."

[Trasilor]

I do believe we are all in agreement then, at least for the first leg of our journey. We travel by land to Tivbalk. Once there, we will then figure out our best course of action.

[Garmonbozia]

Syrine nods in agreement with what Terlee says. The idea of getting back on a boat when she has only just recovered from her sea journey here makes her heart sink, but she cannot deny that time is of the essence, and a few day's travel on foot before they embark makes the idea more attractive.

[Charcon]

Geirrod addresses Terlee..."I have some money for a wagon. Unless the Jarl will lend us one for transport? Or if he will lend me something to ride that is stout enough to carry me and my gear? When do we leave?.

[Trasilor]

Keep your coin Geirrod, with the weather we have had recently, I doubt a wagon on raods would be quick. Besides, who would pull it? she says with a smileI certainly don't have the coin for it. No, it looks like we will be using our feet to get us to Tivbalk. If you do have some spare coin, I suggest purchasing some travel equipment: tents and a mule to carry all of it. Perhaps the Jarl will be able to help us.

Turning to look for Grey-Dan, Terlee approaches him as he mingles with the other guests. I beg your pardon Grey-Dan, I have a simple request to help us in our journey. Would the Jarl be willing to suplpy us with some basic travel needs: a few tents and a mule to carry it?

[Charcon]

"Wouldn't be the first one I have pulled." Geirrod says returning the grin. " A mule or two would be a fine idea. And a map so we can stop at villages on the way."

[Warmatt]

With a nod and a grunt, the dwarf throws in his two coppers. "Just going to ask, but you know any place that has them wagons with exchangeable treads? Wheels for the good roads, runners for the snows?" While it would be a bit of work, with some able bodied minions, it would be more then doable.

[hairy-joe]

Grey-hair Dan wanders over to your group eventually. he stands for a while listening to your plan and finaly speaks up when you seem to have finished talking. " your plan seems sound if you are ready to begin i can offer you this" he reaches into his robe and pulls out a small plank of wood with a string of runes carved into it and a stylised sea serpant knotted about itself clutching its tail in its mouth. "It will let all who you show it to know that you are on the Jarl's buisines and should secure you favourable prices in most places you visit. your plan is to leave by wagon? there is a supply convoy preparing to leave for Tivbalk as we speak, you should hurry to the Jarl's warehouse if you wish to catch them."

your attempts to catch the attention of the flame medallioned chap succeed and as soon as Grey-hair Dan leaves your group he begins moving towards you.

i'm still working out how sailing will work, but the best way i've foud is the profession check to do both the sailing related activities and assist the person who is captaining the boat

[Charcon]

Geirrod tries to notice the chap approaching (horrible roll!!!). If he notices he turns to face the person. Otherwise he announces he is "ready to leave" since he has his pack and supplies with him (all he owns in the world).

Spot check [roll0]

[hairy-joe]

a rather plainly dressed man approaches your group, he has a small dagger slung in a sheath across the back of his belt and an amulet with a flame engraved and laquered into it. he heads more towards Syrine than anyone else. he gets to within an arms reach of Geirrod before the half-giant notices.

[Wiz0rd]

Disregarding the approach of the plain dressed man (naturally, the Jarl would keep many within the walls of the keep), he ate the remaining meal with great haste. He felt the issue of time and timings as a weight on his mind and heart. Slapping the cup on the table and scraping the last of the stew from within the bowl. Malk stood up immediately and started fiddling the straps of his pack which rested nearby.

"Thank you steward, I shall not linger here. Thank you for your counsel. Come, party, we should not tally, the caravans wait few people."
And with that said, he held open the door to the Jarls' Hall and looked to the rest.

[Garmonbozia]

Syrine stands and faces the approaching man, and gives him a small bow, then holds out her hand for him to shake, smiling serenely.

[hairy-joe]

when the man with the flame amulet introduces himself he has a voice like juninper smoke on rich velvet

"Greetings Paladin, at least i assume you are a paladin as only the can cary themselves in such contempt of my deity."

he extends his right hand as if to shake yours and as it emerges from his sleve it's missing the ring and little finger and the top knuckle of the middle finger, about an inch of the hand below where his little finger should be is also missing and the whole hand is covered in scars and misshapen like the bones have been broken and set rather poorly.

"I am Dagr Half-Hand, cleric of Loki and listenig ear for all those down on their luck."

a carnivorous smile spreads across his face like an oil spill in sunlight.

[Warmatt]

Standing up, there is a scowl on the dwarfs face, and more then a hint of distrust and disgust, as he almost pointy checks his pack and pouches, an eye on the cleric, even as the words wash over him, breaking like the sea on a particularly stout, stubborn and ill-tempered rock. "A priest of the prince of thieves and lairs." Looking at his mangled hand, he gives a somewhat smug smile. "Though it seems you got caught a few times to often?"

Still, his eyes on the priest, he reaches into a pouch take takes out a gold piece, before flicking it him. "Fer Borri Lokenjof's last rites, fer when I catch the ale stealing whoreson."

[Wiz0rd]

Still holdomg the door, tapping his foot; "Well met, Half-hand. Unlike the others, I believe Loki has their due time and place. Alas, time is of the essence, grant us your hasty audience, we need to be off lest miss our own chances and opportunity."

After these words he points at the packs and gestures towards the door, an unspoken communication of the desire of urgency.

[Garmonbozia]

Syrine stares Dagr half-hand down for a few moments while the others speak. At Malk's suggestion, she nods sagely, and says,
Alas, he is right. While I am fascinated to make your acquaintance, we are charged with a task that does not leave time for... Does not... Well. Some other time, perhaps? I would be fascinated to hear more about what being a cleric of Loki entails.
She gives Dagr a small bow and follows Malk to the door.

[Trasilor]

Terkel stands and regards the stranger with a quizzical look on her face. Religious knowledge was never her strength. While I agree with my comrades about our urgency Dagr Half-hand, I would be remiss if I didn't ask. Do you know anything about these strange deaths?

[Charcon]

Geirrods eyes widen with surprise at the mangled hand. At the mention of Loki he states with a sour expression "my kin have served Loki but I do not". Geirrod will slap his great club to his shoulder and follow Terlee and the group to leave. He will glance back at the mangled hand fellow with a scowl and continue on.

[Warmatt]

Looking at the priest of the trickster god, the dwarf merely snorts, and moves to the door, his pack heavy, even as he mumbles in dwarven under his breath and into his beard.

[Stannum (IV)]

"Adventure!" Merrin shouts, as he departs hurriedly after the others

[Wiz0rd]

Malk smiles warmly and looks into the eyes of his fellow companions as they rise and come to the door, all except the Terlee whom is still speaking with the mysterious cleric with a wise question.

He gently slaps Young Merrin on the back as he hurried past.

"That's the spirit little one! Adventure indeed." he says as he holds open the portal to the room still, peering out of the door every now and again, eager to continue onwards.

[hairy-joe]

as you hurry through the streets there are a few calls of support and encouragement, but most of the townsfolk keep their heads down as they go about their daily buisiness. you arive at the caravan yard just as the first cart is leaving, two other carts are also harnesed up to a pair of reindeer each and look ready to follow the lead cart.

as he spots you and your arms the driver of the lead cart shouts out a cheery greeting

"Hello, and whad to we have here then? come from the Jarl to guard our load? Heh!"

[Wiz0rd]

After collecting the awaiting pups from the Jarl's stable in a flurry of wagging tails and outstretched tongues, Malk strides purposefully through the streets. The few calls of support and respect are returned with a warm smile, a wave and a surging feeling of pride. It was good to get the adventure underway, to Malk, this was the culmination of all things that laid from before; adventuring, a natural response to one's own life's direction. He kept scanning to see if the rest of the party was in tow, hesitating not as their company was assured and purposeful.

As they arrive at the caravan, the group's haste was rewarded by a glimpse of the lead caravan just leading off. A moment later, they would have missed their opportunity. Malk burst into a brisk jog with his excited dogs as the driver gave out his call.

"Ho, driver! Aye. Your eyes do not deceive you, we are indeed the band that serves the Jarl, and you in this instance. Come, we will walk and talk, we have kept you long enough.
Your name, sir?"

[Charcon]

Geirrod lumbers/jogs along also. Looking over any of the carts that may be able to carry him on the long journey.

[Warmatt]

The dwarf would not speak, even as he hauls his pack, following the others, quiet for the moment.

[Trasilor]

The well wishing of the townsfolk make Terlee feel anxious. Unused to all the attention, she pulls the hood of her winter coat up high to hide her face more than to fight the cold.

Seeing the caravan, Terlee follows Malk as he jogs up to the caravan driver. Scanning the caravan, she looks for any others that might also be guards on this trip.

[Charcon]

Geirrod will ignore the encouragement by the well wishers. Out of habit at being heckled as a child he has learned to ignore much. At a safe distance from Terlee (who follows Malk). Once she approaches other guards or people of the caravan he will stay back so she can interact without the interference of his lineage drawing unwanted attention.

[Garmonbozia]

Syrine waves back at the townsfolk who make comments with a slow, graceful hand gesture, akin to that of a royal greeting their people.

[hairy-joe]

"right, well then you're all welcome along for the ride. if you can find a space to sit or hand you're welcome to, just be careful of the goods." he eyes up Geirrod "i'm not sure the carts'll hold you big'un but we'll hold for about an hour at noon for food and to rest the animals. we can shift some stuff around for you then."

there's a small pause as the caravan master negotiates the opening of the town's gate and you're off.

for the first mile or so you pass through farmland left to rest over the winter, then you move into hilly tundra, you can see for miles in the crisp air, a small herd of reindeer are grazing off in the distance. Appart from them and a few birds passing overhead, the whole world seems lifeless.

when the sun is nearly directly overhead the caravan master calls a halt and the rest of the wagoneers go about setting up a small camp-fire and cooking up a quick gruel with some dried fish, while others un-hitch the cart reindeer and tether so they can graze.

when the food is done the wagoneers invite all of you to sit with them and eat and the wagon master strikes up
"So, tell us a bit about yourselves. some of you are clearly from quite a way distant from these fine shores. what brings all of you here?"

[Wiz0rd]

Malk sits around the caravan campfire with a canine being pet in each hand. He casually eyes the other three as they freely wandered the camp, sniffing interesting things, pestering the other folk with wet noses for food or attention.

"Ah, I am a local boy to Fyrstheim, so I have not travelled far. Not too much to tell on my part, the Jarl called for volunteers and I heeded the call. Foolish, brave or otherwise." He gently patted the sides of his dogs appreciatively, "I trust my companions, my dogs and I will be enough to see us safe through our journey. I've been warned about travelling during these times. In truth, I am new to this, I am yet to slain an enemy with the blade. It is something I am not looking forward to."

As he spoke, he scanned the party nodding appreciation and only lingering for a moment on each.

He turns to the wagon master, "Thank you for your welcome, I hope our services will not be needed over the next few days. The countryside seems so still, peaceful and beautiful to offer us real harm at this time."

[Trasilor]

Terlee shifts uncomfortably on her impromptu seat. Direct questions about her always maker her feel uncomfortable, let alone speaking in front of so many new faces.

Emboldened by Malk's casual attitude, the corner of her mouth twitches into an almost imperceptible smile. Pulling the heavy cloak away from her face she addresses the caravan master. I am Terlee. Like Malk, I too am from Fyrstheim, although I was born elsewhere.

When the Jarl called forth volunteers, I humbly offered my services. I felt it was my duty and honor to help our community and the Jarl. Like others, I have been trained, but have not seen true combat yet. I hope my sword does not falter, if the need arise.

Now, If you will excuse me, I am going to check our perimeter. If no one objects, I will take the first watch.

With a slight bow, Terlee excuses herself from the group and check the encampment. Once complete, she settles into a comfortable spot, just outside the firelight; allowing her eyes to adjust to the growing darkness.