The Northlands Saga - Spears in the Ice IC

[Ghostfoot]

THE NORTHLANDS SAGA - SPEARS IN THE ICE

The Northlanders have many words for a woman who practices the dark arts: fiend-woman, aglæcwif, sorceress, galdricge, seiðkona, or often simply witch. Unlike the mysterious, but respected, cunning women who are accepted into Northlander society for the wisdom they bring and their connection to world’s unseen, a witch-wife exists on the very fringes of society. She lurks in the shadows, universally reviled, subsisting on what little she can find, ever wary of an angry mob or vengeful jarl who holds her responsible for a bad crop, a blighted crop, or simply bad luck on a voyage. Despite all of these disadvantages, there are always those willing to make whatever sacrifice is necessary to embrace the unnatural power had by trafficking in such things. And sometimes, if a Northlander is desperate enough, he might be willing to have dealings with such matters himself. But there is always a price, for no one can dabble in the dark arts and hope to escape without at least some small taint of the shadow clinging to him...


https://images2.imgbox.com/d5/cf/VigPqtQY_o.jpg

You have been ordered to appear before your jarl, Olaf Henrikson, Jarl of Halfstead, greatest city of the Northlands. For young members in service to his household or visitors who have wintered to the south here at Silvermeade Hall but have no immediate plans for pursuing their wyrd, this is a moment of both hope and fear. Hope that he assigns you a glorious task that allows you to prove your mettle, but tinged with fear of his wrath should you fail. Your jarl is a good man, strong and battle-tested, with many famed heroic deeds to his name. Most importantly, he is a ring-giver, one who is generous to those in his service who prove themselves deserving.

After making yourself presentable, you and a few of his other retainers and guests walk through the gates of the great hall’s stockade and present yourselves to the guards at the carved wooden doors that mark the main entrance. After exchanging a few jests with these household warriors that you have known for as long as you’ve been a part of the jarl’s household, Ari Hrokson, your jarl’s herald, comes for you.

“I needn’t remind you to keep polite and let the jarl speak first. And do not keep too much of his time, this is a busy day,” the old skald states. He then announces you to the jarl, holding to accepted traditions of status with the careful order in which you are called forward, "Gunnar Hallvard...Skorri Erlensen...Freyja Skirlaug...Dark Dreams Wanderer...Signy Stone-Eye".

The hall is dimly lit, for this is a normal day and not a cause for feasting. Only a few huscarls stand about the room, but several thralls busy themselves putting up garlands of flowers and green boughs, preparations for the upcoming Feast of Freyja. The jarl is seated at the end of the feasting table in his chair, an ornate piece of work carved from the trunk of an oak. He is leaning in and talking with a stranger, a well dressed man with the bearing of an envoy. As you approach, you hear the jarl say, “… and thirty-five cattle, that’s all her dowry will be.”

The jarl turns to you. “Good, you have come quickly and well comported. This speaks kindly of you and your kin. Sit and partake of an early meal; you will need it, for I have a task for you. My three daughters, Inga, Fastvi, and Runa, wish to go out this afternoon and gather flowers for the feast. As this is a rightful thing for young girls to do, I am allowing it. They need to be guarded, and this is the task I set before you."

“I know you have longed for a chance to prove yourselves and rise in my favor as well as allow your mind’s-worth to shine, but there is no spear-din today and no chance to shed battle-dew. All I have is this task: Spend a spring afternoon watching young girls as they pick flowers in the meadows. When you have your own halls and have seen the ravens sip on many a foeman’s lifeblood, such a day as this will be a boon beyond naming. So remember it well and pray that you have many more like it. Now, let us eat. But before that, allow me to introduce our bread-brother this morning, Ottar Gundrikson, skald and herald to the Jarl Ref Solumundson of the Vale."

The conversation between the two men immediately turns to tales of battles and adventures past, and you find it difficult to get a word in.

DC 10 Diplomacy check required if you wish to attempt to get a polite word in between the two older men’s telling of tales of battles and adventures past.

Knowledge (Nobility) DC10 (1d20+5)[21]

Jarl Ref Solumundson of the Vale is a landholder of middling importance in the Storstrøm Vale but more importantly is joined by blood though his wife to the powerful Gat family, one of the two most-powerful clans in the Northlands. The Jarl has three sons of marrying age, all well accomplished in deed. Considering that Jarl Henrikson’s eldest daughter is sixteen, and thus of marrying age, you realize that you have likely stumbled into a discussion over her dowry.

Knowledge (Local/Nobility) DC15 (1d20+5)[17]

An alliance between Halfstead and the Gats would be beneficial but would also put the rival Hrolf clan at a disadvantage. Hordaland’s køenig recently passed away, leaving a child (Køenig Leif Ragison) on the throne. As Jarl Olaf supports the child king, he needs allies in the event of a civil war.

When everyone is checked in and ready, we'll get things started!

[BelGareth]

Gunnar nods to his wife Svanhild, she was worried that the Jarl would ask him to go raiding, they were not ready for it, they had just planted the crops for the season, and they needed tending, but she would do, if it was asked. He could see it in her eyes and he melted inside, she was his world, along with Fell and Liv, his two children, who were tending the goats, or attempting to do so without their mothers direction. He smiled keenly at his wife, and bid her goodbye as he mounted his horse, and rode out.

He met the others, along with Ari Hrokson, who he nodded to with respect, and entered the hall, being first due to his land, and title. He nodded and bowed his head slightly to Jarl Henrikson, he was his Jarl, and he was his in his household, but he was still but a man. Only the weaklings down south went any further, some even bending their knees on the dirt!

He was hopeful, a good raiding would prove a great opportunity, but this was good as well, while it wouldn't secure him silver, it should be easier though, and the Jarl was correct, this would be looked back upon when his Children were grown, and he was fat in his own Hall.

Without saying a word, he nods his head again, and moves to a table, he had missed his morning meal, and this was a welcome surprise.

[PeacefulOak]

Mørkedrømevandrer runs his fingers across his close-shorn hair, not touching the thickly oiled crest of hair that falls down past his shoulders. His morning had been spent admiring what was quite possibly the self-same flowers they were to escort the maidens to, and the amusement of being asked to do for honor what he had done for pleasure was hard to keep from his face.

A response was, of course, required. "Worry not, Jarl. The spirits of the land and sky will watch over your girl-childs with me. No harm will befall them, from beast or man."

His piece spoken, he joins the landholder at the table and uses his knife to cut and catch a slice of meat. Tearing into it, he speaks with juices running down his chin. "It is Gunnar, no?
How fares your land?"

[DrK]

Freyja Skirlaug

The Giantess strides through the small holding, long skirts brushing the mud covering up her armoured boots and concealing the heavy coat of leather and chain beneath it. With her spear in her hand and shield on her back she looked every inch the viking sea raider of Wotan that she has been for the past few years since the day she was adopted into the hall of the Jarl and given to Wotan's protection.

Heading into the hall she leaves most of the man weapons she carries by the house guards near the door, hanging her shield upon the wall and giving a low bow to the Jarl. "Greetings Jarl. God's blessing on you and your kin." She settles where he motions, sitting gingerly lest her massive bulk crush the tables and bench into kindling. She pulls a horn bladed knife from her boot and carves a chunk of meat listening to the Jarl. "My thanks Jarl for the mead and food." She listens to the suggestion and nods. "Yes my Jarl. THey shall be kept safe from harm."

[Dexam]

Skorri cheerfully trades jests and jokes with the guards as he waits before the hall of his jarl; but also takes note of the others who have been called forth this day. He nods most respectfully to Ari Hrokson as he speaks, listening carefully, but he cannot help but entertain the idle thought that perhaps one day the position of herald to Jarl of Halfstead (be it Olaf or Olaf's heir) might one day be his - unless his wyrd led him down a different path, of course.

As his name is called, he gives a rogue-ish smirk and a quick wink to Signy Stone-Eye, trying to provoke some kind of reaction from the usually enigmatic woman.

Skorri nods respectfully and gives a slight bow to the jarl, listening carefully as he speaks, and idly wondering who the stranger is conversing with the jarl.

When the jarl has said his piece, Skorri quickly responds of with "Of course, my Jarl. I can think of no greater honour than guarding the brightest treasures in all of Halfstead, if only for an afternoon."

Taking a seat at the feasting table, the normally talkative young skald is momentarily speechless, his mind buzzing like a summer greenfly as he realises the implications of the Jarl's guest and the conversation they walked in on.

An impending wedding! Certainly a chance to compete against the other skalds during the celebrations. I'll have to tell father to hold onto that small cask of Southlander liquor from the last trading voyage; it will make a fine gift. I wonder when the celebration will be held? Lots of weddings around the Feast of Freyja, so probably sometime after... and where? Here, or in the Vale? If in the Vale, then if I can make a good impression today, then maybe there's a chance of joining the jarl's honour-guard for the trip. I wonder if this means that the Gats are making a play for the support of Halfstead? Though knowing Jarl Olaf, he's probably planning to marry one of his other daughters into the Hrolfs...

Skorri absent-mindedly sips at his mead and chews on some meat as on and on the thoughts chase each other around in his head.

[Ghostfoot]

Signy too enters the hall last of all in the shadows of the rest of the party, accompanied by a swishing of dresses and the occasional rattle of charms. You've grown to know the strangely raven-haired woman well over the winter months and while she fully acts the image of a mysterious cunning woman you know that, although possessing surprising innate talent, she is only new to start proper mastery of her sorcerous powers. "As my jarl wishes", her words spoken softly and lost amid the hubbub.

...........................

As the two men talk and boast in earnest you are largely left to listen to the tales and talk among yourselves, enjoying an early lunch of black bread, butter, the last of the winter’s pickled flounder, fresh spring greens (cooked with white beans and a ham hock), and several pints of beer. As the meal draws to a close Jarl Olaf bids you farewell, "There are horses for you at the stables, mind you don't leave my daughters waiting long at the gates."

You take your leave and stop by the stables, where several of the jarl's fine horses are ready and waiting for you. You know it is a great responsibility to be charged with use of the jarl's horses as they are extremely valuable and the trade of such brings much-needed coin to the region.

Light horse on loan for anyone who wants one - Mørkedrømevandrer, Skorri, Signy? Gunnar has his own horse and Freyja is too big!
You arrive at the Silvermeade stockade wall to find the gate open and three young women astride fine horses waiting there impatiently. The oldest wears a dress of blue linen with a squared border of small yellow flowers embroidered around the neck. She is tall and fair of face, her golden hair coiled about her head in braids and covered in a silver net. Her face favors her father, and she is introduced by your escort as Inga, the Jarl’s oldest daughter. Next to her upon a skittish mare sits a girl of perhaps thirteen. Her dress is a plain green smock, and her hair and eyes are dark like her mother’s. She is named to you as Fastvi.

The third girl is the smallest, perhaps nine or ten years old, with a distant and dreaming look on her face. Her hair is fair like her older sister’s but the resemblance ends there. You have heard the rumors of Little Runa’s troubled birth near ten winters ago whispered around the hearth fires out of the jarl’s hearing. The truth of these tales seems to be told in the angry red birthmark that covers her face from left ear to chin, the girl seemingly unaware of the rough, wrinkled texture or the ill portent it marks. Worse from the standpoint of omens are her eyes, one blue and one pale green, the eyes of the aglæcwif — the witch-wife. Nevertheless, though dreamy and precocious, the jarl and his wife have loved Little Runa dearly, and she has enjoyed the privileges and upbringing of a devoted family despite the ill omens of her birth. If anything can overcome the spinnings of the wyrd at her birth, it would have to be the good Jarl Henrikson, a man favored by fate as much as any man can claim.

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Inga's eyes settle on Gunnar, ignoring everybody else. "We've been waiting. I trust your companions won't keep us any longer? Let's be off". Signy barely stifles a snort at the insolent elder girls attititude.

Knowledge (Local) DC15
Gunnar (1d20+6)[26]
Skorri (1d20+5)[16]

You have heard rumors that Runa's birthing was a difficult one. You recall that at Runa’s birth the midwives of the holdfast were afraid that both child and mother would be lost. Fearing the worst, the jarl sent his best huscarls across the Moors and into the Barrow Lands to seek out a seiðkona — a witch for all purposes — named Sibbe the Unkempt. They found the filthy, rag-covered witch and brought her back to aid in the birthing. True, the witch’s magic saved Runa and her mother, but the child has never been quite “right,” marked by fate for the sorcerous interference at her birth. Furthermore, she seems to see and hear things that are not there, and has on more than one occasion spoken of things she could not know of or of things that occurred well before they happened. Still, the jarl and his wife love the girl and dote on her a great deal of time.

[BelGareth]

Nodding to newcomer, "Aye, Gunnar Hallvard, it is well, though we had several goats take ill this past season, so our herd is having a hard time, but the crops are settled, Svanhild will see to it all while I am busy though," he eyes him in return with a raised eyebrow, not knowing too much about him "How are the spirits today? Good I hope?" he asks, tearing a piece of bread, and nodding to the others as they sit


...........................

Gunnar rides up to the three on his on horse, Thor, his wife thought it amusing to call his horse after the gods themselves, even though it hinted of blasphemy. He often refrained referencing them by name because of it, which made some things awkward, making his wife laugh even more.

He nods his head to the three girls as they approach, "My apologies my Lady, we only just got word, we are ready as you will. May I ask which meadow we are going to today?" he completely ignores her imperious attitude, he'd talked to nobles who 'assumed' much more before, this was nothing new.

[DrK]

Freyja Skirlaug

The Giantess accepts the Jarl's curt dismissal without a word. She has become used to being treated as an outcast by many due to her tainted blood line. Indeed, if the Priests had not taken her in she would have probably been tied to a stone and dropped of the side of the longboat rather than being part of a crew of one of them. At least amongst the crew of the Riverserpent she had gained acceptance and even respect.

As they head to the stables Freyja looks at the horses and signs, "Aye, I'll run alongside and try not to slow you over much. It would take a beast like Sleipnir himself to bear my weight" Walking swiftly with spear sloped on her shoulder she follows th others through the town, happy to let the horses rather than her clear a path. her spear in hand and shield on her back clatter and rattle as she walks but the weapons on her harness make her feel better and she feels honoured to have the trust of the Jarl in protecting his daughters.

--

At seeing the 3 girls astride their mounts she approaches them nodding to them in a respectful manner. One that is dented slightly by the imperious tone of the eldest daughter. Her eyes longer on the yougest child, a feeling of sorrow as she knows how hard it is to find acceptance in the town. "Aye Lady. As Gunnar says we can be ready when you are"

[Dexam]

Skorri shakes off his reflective mood and hoes into the food with the enthusiasm of a young man who has spent far too often dining on naught but hardtack and pickled or salt fish while working aboard his father's longboat. As he eats, he chit-chats with the others at the table, wondering if any of them have realised the importance of the jarl's guest, but realising that discussing it in front of them would be impolite.

When they approach the stables, Skorri eyes the horses with only slightly more excitement than the giantess. "I'd rather the tiller or oars of a longboat under my hands any day of the week, than the saddle of a horse under my backside!" he jokes as mounts his designated ride. He nods to Freyja as attempts to bring his horse under his control. "I've seen some mighty horses bred by the southlanders that I would daresay could carry even you with ease; they make even the jarl's fine mounts seem as small as foals."

- - - - -

Skorri gives a dramatic sigh, as he hears Inga's complaint. "Ah, so impatient! Surely you must not begrudge the flowers of the field a few more moments of their glory, before you arrive in the meadow and outshine them with your beauty?" He gives a smile that is as completely innocent as fresh-fallen snow.

[Ghostfoot]

Inga doesn't even acknowledge Skorri's response, simply turning her horse and showing her back to him, the horse itself choosing this moment to break wind at him. Looking over at Gunnar she does give him the courtesy of waiting until his nod of readiness before she flicks her reigns and she and the other girls move forward out of the gates at a trot.

As soon as you are out of sight of the holdfast Fastvi bunches up her green smock and whips the whole thing off, revealing functional tunic and trousers underneath. "Hah, that's better!" She glowers at her elder sister's disapproving look before urging her horse forward, darting about the party and riding well ahead clearly enjoying her freedom away from the restrictions and expectations of her parents at Silvermeade Hall.

It should only take an hour's ride through farmland and well-coppiced woods to the Meadows where the girls want to pick flowers. The Meadows are beyond the settlements, just inside the boundaries of the forest and more wild, but still near enough to largely be safe. Freemen out in fields still spotted here and there with snow in the shadows, or traveling along the muddy road wave to your group as you ride past, and some of the higher-status hirdmen stop and call greetings. Inga continues her brusque manner with all encountered. She only deigns to give freemen and their families a slight wave or nod of the head and is too curt and short with the hirdmen who greet her. Runa rides quietly nearby, muttering to herself in an unsettling way and occasionally laughing softly.

Gunnar (1d20+4)[14]
DDW (1d20+7)[15]
Freyja (1d20-1)[11]
Skorri (1d20+3)[15]
Signy (1d20)[2]

Runa is obviously holding half of a conversation with some unseen (imaginary?) person. She's a peculiar wee girl.

Will Save DC10 for those who know of her origins:
Gunnar (1d20)[7]
Skorri (1d20+1)[14]

Knowing the background of Little Runa's birth, her behaviour is quite unsettling to you. DC10 will save or shaken (https://www.d20pfsrd.com/gamemastering/conditions/#TOC-Shaken) until further notice.
Your horses travel on at a trot as you make your way toward the Meadows, Fastvi darting about on her horse eager to be ahead. It's been not 20 minutes since you left the holdfast when on the muddy track ahead of you, you spot a group of five armed warriors riding your way down the trail. Their horses move slowly as if exhausted from long riding, and they and their mounts are spattered with the mud of hard travel. They've clearly seen you too but make no move to alter their gait, continuing to approach at their weary pace. At this distance you can't make out their identities.

[DrK]

Freyja Skirlaug

the Giantess bounds along beside the horses, her long stride more or less keeping pace with horses as she clatters along, longspear in hand and watchful for danger. SHe lets the men watch the two older girls as she stays closer to the youngest. A youth being spat upon and cursed and spending much of her time with the seers and priests having left her used to slightly odd behavior as she ignores the small child talking to herself. She looks at SKorri with a surprised look - "I'b be impressed to see horses that big. But I'm with you. A solid wooden deck, a strong rower and an enemy boat to board is where joy can be found." She glances back to the young girls, speaking more softly to the young bard - "Is there trouble brewing that Jarl would fear for the safety of his daughters so much?"

----

In the meadow she slows, still staying near the youngest of the girls although when the riders appear she darts forward in front of the girls, the massive door sized shield dropping into place as she levels the 15ft long spear towards the enemies, glancing left and right she calls "Form Wall..." wondering who will join her.

[BelGareth]

Gunnar gave his nod of assent, he appreciated that she even would listen to him, and he held no qualms as to why, she was following the dictates of this land, which would serve her well if she is married off to a foreign noble, but it would be good for her also to treat those lower than her with more respect. With a sigh, he kicked Thor into a trot and followed the young ladies, hastening to perform his stewardship as best as possible.

As soon as Fastvi ripped off her clothes to reveal another set beneath, he grinned like a wolf, he could remember another lady acting similarly, and he had married her. He canted up and picked up the clothes, stuffing them into his bag so she could get back into them on the way back, best to protect her modesty from others, and her fathers wrath.

He saw Runa talking to herself, but he couldn't recall the history, there was something he couldn't quite recall, and for some reason, he was fine with that, as he was thinking he heard Freyja call to form the shield wall, he frowned and looked out, No, there was no reason to do that...yet....these were warriors who had seen battle, and probably recently, and they showed no aggression.

He shook his head, "Not yet Freyja, let's go see what they need." Not wanting to split anyone up, he turned to the girls "Ladies, if you'll ride behind us, we'll go and meet these warriors who block our way, be sure to stay close." he eyed Fastvi, of course, they could ignore him completely, but he hoped they wouldn't.

[PeacefulOak]

Dark Dreams Wanderer

The journey so far had not been one of comfort, as the gait of a horse was much rougher than the dainty steps and bounds of a reindeer. Of course, comfort itself was a southern idea with no place in the mind of a Nuk, and so the wild-looking ranger had kept his eyes on the horizon as they travelled. His horn-backed bow (ah, the pride of wielding a weapon of his own make) was held at the ready with an arrow notched, eyes peeled for both foes and prey.

The affectations of the youngest high-blood were both strange and familiar to the Wanderer. Born into the care of the wise women of his people, he well understood that the girl was speaking with the spirits of this place. So young, though, to be hearing clearly enough to converse.

Sharp Nuk eyes easily caught the motion on the horizon, giving ample excuse for the Wanderer to slip free from his saddle, a simple glare and a spoken ”Stand.” holding the trained beast in place.

Stalking wide of the group, he scanned both the oncoming tattered warriors and the path behind, an arrow held taught on the string.

Wild Empathy [roll0]
Perception [roll1]

[Dexam]

Inga doesn't even acknowledge Skorri's response, simply turning her horse and showing her back to him, the horse itself choosing this moment to break wind at him.

"Truly, a fitting melody to herald the departure of our jarl's eldest daughter," Skorri half-whispers as Inga rides out of earshot. "It would seem that both rider and mount have airs about them, and neither particularly pleasant." He grins broadly, gripping the reigns and nudging his own horse in the ribs, spurring it into trot after the girls.

The young skald's eyes widen in surprise as Fastvi begins removing her smock, which turns into a pleased chuckle as she reveals the tunic and trousers beneath. Well, well - it seems that Fastvi has a hidden adventurous streak, he thinks to himself, as the girl rides around the group. The jarl is going to have his hands full with that one before long!


Freyja Skirlaug

the Giantess bounds along beside the horses, her long stride more or less keeping pace with horses as she clatters along, longspear in hand and watchful for danger. SHe lets the men watch the two older girls as she stays closer to the youngest. A youth being spat upon and cursed and spending much of her time with the seers and priests having left her used to slightly odd behavior as she ignores the small child talking to herself. She looks at SKorri with a surprised look - "I'b be impressed to see horses that big. But I'm with you. A solid wooden deck, a strong rower and an enemy boat to board is where joy can be found." She glances back to the young girls, speaking more softly to the young bard - "Is there trouble brewing that Jarl would fear for the safety of his daughters so much?"

"Ha! You wouldn't even believe half of the things I've seen in the southlander ports I've visited," Skorri replies, pleased to have an audience, even if it is only the giant-kin woman. "I think they're all a bit gods-touched, and not in a good way." His eyes can't help but stray to the strange, muttering young Runa. "Maybe it's all that sun and hot weather; it must cook their brains. They have some interesting drinks, though; and interesting girls..." he trails off, belatedly realising that such tales probably wouldn't amuse his current audience. He coughs, and lowers his voice "No trouble brewing yet, but..." he glances around, making sure that the girls aren't listening too closely. "It would seem that Inga there is getting wed, and when a jarl's child weds, that means alliances and politics. Some of the other jarls might take offence at the alliance, or seek advantage from the wedding - a bride-to-be is doubly valuable, to both her family and that of her intended husband."

When the riders are spied upon the trail, Skorri rides up alongside Gunnar and readies his shield, though does not reach for a weapon. "What do you think?" he asks, deferring to the experience of the older man. "Ride up and meet them, or wait here until they pass?" He scans the group of riders, looking for anything that might give some clue to their identity.

Perception: [roll0]

[Ghostfoot]

Cautious at the approach of the armed warriors your fears are soon eased as you note the familiar faces of the men as they grow closer. Hallbjorn Bolverkson and Kraki Hallason, huscarls of Jarl Olaf, are accompanied by a couple of household warriors Young Ljot and Berg Geirson as well as a somewhat violent mercenary recently arrived from Vastavikland known as Hauk Arinbjornson.

All are known to you by sight, but you have never had any dealings with them. Hallbjorn in particular is a barrel-chested man with curly blond hair and beard who is well-respected as a stout fighter and one of Jarl Olaf's most trusted huscarls. The group are bristling with weapons, mainly spear, shield & handaxe although Young Ljot also carries a longbow, Berg a sword and Hauk nothing but a heavy greataxe. None are readied threateningly.

The leader, Hallbjorn, calls a greeting as he rides closer "Ho there, hold. Where are you bound?". Following him, Young Ljot the archer can hardly keep his eyes off the girls, blushing when Inga looks at him. Berg sneezes and wipes his mud-spattered sleeve across his face. The mercenary axeman Hauk sneers "What have we here? Fine ladies all out for a morning ride?"

[PeacefulOak]

Dark Dreams Wanderer

The wild haired Nuk lowers his bow at the warriors’ approach, though he eyes askance the state of their gear. He might have held silence as the greater valor had the axe wielding oaf not spoken.

”Quiet your tongue, sell-soul, lest your words betray your true cowardice and lack of respect for the Jarl and his People.”

[DrK]

The giantess recognises them as kinsmen raising her spear and standing tall as they approach, although with an eye on their unkempt mud splattered appearance she makes sure to stay between the and the girls in her charge.

Her face darkens at the brutes comment. She echoes the nuk beside her. "mind your tongue mercenary. These are the daughters of the Jarl."

[BelGareth]

Recognizing their Jarls men immediately set Gunnar at ease, but he frowned as the sell-sword disrespected his wards, had he no clue who this was? he thought ruefully to himself as his own companions attempted to guard their wards honor, such as it was.

"Hallbjorn!" he says relieved, "we have been blessed to watch over the Jarls daughters, they are heading to a meadow to pick flowers, what of you?" he says, trying his best to be diplomatic as his companions throw threats like words in the wind.

[Dexam]

Skorri relaxes slightly as he recognises the men, and slings his shield over his back once more.

He nods towards the axe-wielding mercenary and then, grinning, half-whispers to his companions "You'd have to worry about either his eyesight or choice of 'company' if he can't tell a warrior from a fine lady!"

Skorri nudges his horse forwards a little, but still slightly behind Gunnar. "Ho there, Hallbjorn, Kraki! Looks like you've ridden far and hard today; what news? Anything that concerns us?"

[Ghostfoot]

Hallbjorn nods his head. "The Meadows then," he says, "Keep an eye out for an outlaw by the name of Styr the Ugly. He’s a tall man, dark haired, and has a scar across his chin like a serpent’s tail. We've hunted him this last week on the Moors but he's slipperier than an eel. A murderer with no qualms so beware." To his men he turns and says "Make way for the Jarl's daughters".

Hauk however does not abide by his leaders words and the Vastiviklander taunts the Nuk and Freyja further "Must be proud warriors who escort little girls to pick flowers; fine warriors work that is. What say you step off that horse and learn what the weather of weapons is all about".

"No need to quarrel. We all have a duty to do." says Kraki edging his horse forward to block the way between Hauk and your party. "Save it for Njarni the Traitor or Gufti the Clever. There's plenty deserve it."

The girls don't seem too worried by this interaction but watch your exchange with interest, safely back a few steps.

Knowledge (Local) DC15
Gunnar (1d20+6)[12]
Skorri (1d20+5)[19]

Njarni the Traitor is a wanted criminal from Storstrøm Vale who murdered his own jarl.
Gufti the Clever is likewise a fugitive rapist from Trotheim in Storstrøm Vale.
Both are rumoured to be in the area.

[PeacefulOak]

Mørkedrømevandrer

Catching the inference of the higher-born of the group, the Wanderer still casts his gaze hard on the mercenary.

"I stand on the spirits of the earth already..... warrior." The word is said with barely-suppressed derision, as the Wanderer does not believe the mercenary deserves the term.

[BelGareth]

Gunnar knows those names. This was not good, but at least they had a sortie to protect the Jarl's Daughters, he was wise as his years, and now Gunnar understood some of the reason for duty.

He nods back to Hallbjorn, "Many thanks, we shall keep watch." he says, completely ignoring the barbed threat from the Vastiviklander, he turns to the young women and nods again, "We best be off then my ladies, else all the flowers may pick themselves."


Sense Motive the Vastiviklander
[roll0]

[DrK]

Freyja

At the inference from Haruk about their lack of stature her knuckles whiten on the grip of the spear. Too long had she been victim of jokes and abuse from the drunken rabble that made up most fo the Jarl's household. But, before she could speak the well spoken Hallbjorn and Gunnar speak and she relaxes slightly. STill standing in front of the daughters she nods to Hallbjorn, "Thanks for the words of warning. I know not all those names but we'll keep an eye out"

At Gunnar's weak joke she smiles slightly looking the bard, almost level with the mounted man despite her horse, "Aye, lets be off and leave Hallbjorn and his companions to their business."

[Ghostfoot]

"Hauk, hold now! This is unseemly for our jarl's men. Enjoy your day. Be watchful." Hallbjorn reigns in Hauk, and the search party continue onward nodding politely to the daughters, their weary horses trudging through the mud as they head back toward Silvermeade Hall.

Fastvi wistfully watches the warriors depart, clearly somewhat taken by the attitude of the battle-hardened men. No sooner have you set off, Hallbjorn's party now out of sight, than she pipes up "Race you to the Meadows!". Spurring her horse forward she is off, leaping a nearby ditch and hurtling cross-country across the fields towards a nearby copse.

Only if anyone wants to try to stop Fastvi from riding off.

Initiative
Fastvi (1d20+2)[15]
Gunnar [roll0]
DDW [roll1]
Freyja [roll2]
Skorri [roll3]
Signy [roll4]

Ride DC15 to jump the ditch (otherwise fall for 1d6 damage Edit: let's make it nonlethal (https://www.d20pfsrd.com/gamemastering/combat/#TOC-Nonlethal-Damage) damage)

If you win initiative and make the jump then a DC10 Ride check will catch Fastvi (you get two chances).
If you lose initiative and make the jump then a DC10 Ride check will still catch Fastvi (but you get only one roll).

If you don't catch her or fall from the horse, then...I'm sure things will be just fine :smallwink:

[Dexam]

Skorri frowns and grimaces when he hears the names mentioned by Hallbjorn and Kraki; with honourless sharks like those prowling the area, there was small wonder that the jarl wanted an armed escort for his daughters.

He nods his thanks to Hallbjorn and Kraki, but continues to ignore Hauk. "We appreciate the advice; remind me to buy you all a beer if meet up in Halfstead, hey?"

* * *

"Gods' balls!" Skorri exclaims as Fastvi gallops off. "Why am I not surprised? HYA!" Without waiting for instruction, he digs his heels into his mount's ribs and sets off after her.

Ride check to jump the ditch: [roll0]

Damage, in case of fall: [roll1]

Ride check to catch up, in case of success: [roll2]

Edit: about what I expected... :smallannoyed:

[PeacefulOak]

Dark Dreams Wanderer

”Spirits of wind protect...” the Wanderer sighs, then dashes in pursuit.

[roll0] ride

[roll1] non-lethal

[roll2] chance 1
[roll3] chance 2

Success!


Catching up to the racing maiden, the Wanderer does not touch the other horse but calls across: ”Well run, lady! Caution, though. There is risk here, and you do not wish to bring shame to the men behind, do you?”

[BelGareth]

Gunnar is too slow to react, but watches as the Wanderer catches up, he scowls, but otherwise says nothing, someone had to stay with the other 2.

[DrK]

Freyja watches the bondsmen ride south before glancing at Skorri and the others, "Those names, are they known to you?". She restsger spear onber shoulder oce more when they are gone, eyes lingering on Hauk with hostility.

---

As Fastvi gallops off she spins, alert to danger before holding as Skorri and the Wanderer chase. Without a horse she could not hold to catch the girl.

[Dexam]

As Skorri and his mount approach the ditch, the horse shies in the hands of its inexperienced rider; Skorri is sent vaulting from the saddle, landing in the grass with a *thud!*

Momentarily winded, Skorri stands up to see that the Nuklander has easily cleared the ditch with his horse and is catching up with Fastvi. Rubbing a bruised shoulder, he turns back to the others. "And this demonstrates why I'm a sailor, and not a horseman. Truly, if I'd been in a longboat, I'd've made it jump that ditch with ease!"

He limps off to round up his horse, muttering "Get back here, you traitorous beast!"

[Ghostfoot]

Fastvi is off, laughing as she hurtles across the fields on horseback. As Skorri is sent tumbling in tangled bruised heap Mørkedrømevandrer urges his horse forward leaping over the ditch in pursuit.

Gunnar, Freyja and Signy all watch with frustration, unwilling or unable to join the chase. Inga and Runa wait too, little Runa muttering to herself while Inga rolls her eyes at her sister's antics and then sighs with embarrassed boredom as her 'guard' Skorri tumbles into the mud.

A stooped old farmer, Old Ljot, rounds the corner from a low-thatched barn, waving his old hoe over his head yelling curses "Lazy...pig-brained wastes of breath...tearing up my field!!!!". He starts to calm somewhat as the chase resolves. Fastvi tears across the field towards the nearby treeline but Mørkedrømevandrer is close behind. The tundra elf has a knack with animals and his steed responds, bringing him alongside the errant girl.

Fastvi reigns in her horse. "Can't a girl have fun. It's all so...boring!" but she smiles as she says it, clearly happy to have had a little freedom and to have been joined in the chase by Mørkedrømevandrer. The two return to the road, rejoining the group to continue onward and leaving Old Ljot to tend his trampled fields.

..................................

Five minutes or so later the trail from Silvermeade Hall west to the Meadows crosses a larger north-south road. This is the main Coast Road and it crosses your trail here at One-Eyed Sven’s Spring. Named for the old huscarl who has taken this natural spring and enlarged it, ringing it with stone as a service to travelers and others taking the main road, the spring is the best watering hole in the area. An thin, older fellow sits under a lean-to by this spring pool whittling, a small pile of wood shavings at his feet. A hunting horn and a well-used fighting axe rest within arms reach. It is the huscarl, One-Eyed Sven who tends this spring when not called by his duties in Jarl Olaf’s hall.

He hails you as you ride up, recognising you. “Morning young folk, care for some dried apples?"

[DrK]

Freyja

Freyja nods, smiling in amusement at the young girls antics but glad that the aelf was able to catch her. Seeing Rina talking to herself she walks beside her, a polite "shal I lead her for you?" rather than, "I don't trust you to not fall off".

The long walk is good for her after a season on the boats and she enjoys the fresh air, long legs keeping apace with the slowly walking horses. She nods to the hurscal. " Just the fresh water if it pleases you."

[Dexam]

Rubbing his bruises while rounding his recalcitrant horse, Skorri tries to placate the irate farmer Ljot.

"Hey, don't blame us; blame the horses! Damned beasts have a mind of their own!"


Freyja watches the bondsmen ride south before glancing at Skorri and the others, "Those names, are they known to you?".

With the excitement of the chase over, as they ride towards the Coast Road, Skorri answers Freyja's question.

"Aye, they're known to me, but by reputation only. Criminals, they are - murderers and rapists from Storstrøm Vale, fleeing the justice of their jarls. Rumours say that they're hiding around Halfstead somewhere."

As they approach the spring, Skorri returns the hail.

"A good day to you, too, Sven One-Eye; my father sends his regards. Some dried apples sound delicious," he says with the enthusiasm of the perpetually hungry young lad that he is. "Thank you for the offer!" Skorri dismounts from his horse and leads it to the spring for a drink. "Got any good gossip for me today?"

[BelGareth]

Gunnar pulls up and smiles, nodding with respect. "Ho Sven One-Eye! some apples sound like a good idea. You haven't seen anyone slinking about these parts?"

[PeacefulOak]

Mørkedrømevandrer smiles at the Royal lady, understanding somehat the need for freedom in the wilds. It is still strange to him that some people are treated so differently than others... but such is the way of the human-folk. When they reach the old buscarlo, the Wanderer veers from the group, riding a wide circle with eyes and ears open, watching for any sign of danger.

[Ghostfoot]

One-Eyed Sven hands around dried apples and water as demands, the kindness of his manner at odds with his scarred and rugged old body. He looks each of you over with his good eye as he caters to you, the other eye taken in combat, a sure sign of Odin's favour for the aging warrior. The three girls happily take a few apples as they chatter among themselves while Signy only a sip of water. One-Eyed Sven is well-respected at Silvermeade Hall and must be more like an old uncle to them as he often steps in to supervise younger huscarls and thralls when Jarl Olaf and Hallbjorn are called away. Mørkedrømevandrer stays some distance away, skirting the site as he stays alert.

“You young folks should keep an eye out, I did hear from Hallbjorn that a couple of outlaws have been spotted out on the Moors, not to mention the trouble that Sigfastr the dwarf ran into in the forest — damned fairies. And keep a look out for troll sign. We may not have got them all when we burned ’em out of the hills last winter. Oh, and keep an eye on the weather, I’ve got an awful crick in my back, sure sign of a storm coming.”

After Inga explains that you are headed to the nearby Meadows he responds to the rest of you,

"Well, it’s a nice day to travel, and I envy you a peaceful task for it. Me, I have to head back to the hall this afternoon and see what ol’ Olaf is planning for the season. Probably going whaling. The godi and cunning women are talking about a dry summer, and that means a poor harvest.”

After a ten minutes or so with the old veteran you are refreshed and invigorated from a fair few battle yarns he clearly loves to tell, although the Inga becoming agitated and restless at the subject matter (Fastvi however is entranced by the tales). Eventually you mount up continue onward, anticipating only a short final leg to your destination.

..........

Crossing the Coast Road you near the end of your ride, the trail turning southwest and heading into the woods where the Meadows are situated. This part of the forest is fairly tame, and you soon find yourselves on a dirt double track through the trees, muddy in the low places due to recent rains. After a few minutes, you hear the lowing of oxen and the raised voice of a man cursing his beasts. Coming around the corner, you see a small, heavily laden cart stuck in the mud. A one-eyed elderly man (not One-Eyed Sven) is trying to goad a pair of oxen into pulling the cart from the mud, with little success. Standing off to the side, out of the mud, is a strikingly handsome blonde woman of middle years and a young red-haired boy.

There is no room on the trail to pass the cart where it is stuck. To do so you would need to forge your way through the surrounding trees with the girls, a task that Inga and Runa are certainly not dressed for. Inga huffs in irritation at the blocked way forward and looks across at you as if to say "fix this!".

[DrK]

Freyja

The giantess strides towards the wagon, turning to a nod at the woman. "As you say miladie's." Approaching the nearby jammed wagon she nods to the old man and the woman. "God's greetings to you on this fine day. How can we help you. Yuo seem to be having some problems."



Diplomacy [roll0] if needed
Strength check [roll1] if needed

[PeacefulOak]

Mørkedrømevandrer

Something about this felt wrong to the Wanderer. Great potential for risk here, with the cart blocking the road. ”Ware danger, warleader. I go to move the beasts.” He casts his voice low to his companions before slipping from his horse, longbow to hand and terbuje strapped as always to his back. His steps are quick, an odd mix of low lander lanky strides and Nuklander light-footedness.

Moving easily to the oxen, he addresses the man. “Na, man go easy. Yanking on them will get you nowhere.” He proceeds to speak softly to the oxen in the Nuk tongue, urging them to lend their strength to moving the cart free. Still, his eyes scan the surrounds for danger.

Handle Animal: [roll0]
Perception: [roll1]

[Dexam]

Skorri happily chews on the offered dried apples, as he listens to what One-Eyed Sven has to say. His eyes wander to young Runa when Sven mentions the troubles of Sigfastr the dwarf. If ever there was one to attract the attention of faerie-folk...

He does take note of Sven's comment about the weather - Runa probably wouldn't even notice it was raining, and Fastvi would probably think it all great fun, but Inga's complaints would probably make an attacking troll seem a pleasant option in comparison! He only listens with half an ear to the battle yarns, having heard them all or variants of the same tales before.

* * *

Like the Nuklander, Skorri can't help but initially wonder if the stuck wagon is some kind of prelude to an ambush. He scans the forest, looking for any signs of trouble, before dismounting and approaching the wagon.

"Greetings, folks; I'd say 'good afternoon', but it doesn't seem that you're having much of one given your current predicament." He gives a sympathetic smile to the woman and boy. "Where're you headed, if you don't mind my asking?" He circles around the wagon, eyeing the depth of the wheel and the load on the wagon. "Might need to use some branches to lever that wheel out of the mud, or lighten the load a little, or both."

Checks if needed:

Perception: [roll0]
Sense Motive: [roll1]
Diplomacy: [roll2]

[BelGareth]

Gunnar nods to Sven One-Eye in thanks and rides on with everyone else, seeing the down cart, he too thought something was wrong, but still, it could be benign, and they might actually be stuck travelers, and Floki curse them if they were to be ignored by this lot of honorable men.

He staid back with the princesses as the others attempted to move the cart.

"Ho Freyja! Put your back into it!" he yells in jest.

[Ghostfoot]

The old man looks up at the huge solid form of Frejya with his good eye "Aye we're a might stuck here. Nothin' I can do to budge 'em." He gestures to the cart laden with heavy oak timbers "S'posed to be gettin' this to the Hall for the jarl for his new ship".

Freyja tries to budge the cart but it's stuck fast and the oxen low but don't move. Skorri's suggestion to lighten the load seems wise, and he and Freyja set to work lugging some of the heavy timbers off to one side.

"Hrumfph. Honestly these dirty freesteaders are just the worst-" a sharp word from Signy cuts off Inga's complaint and her eyes widen as Gunnar smooths things over with the family his jest eliciting a chuckle from the woman and young lad and thankfully distracting from the insult.

Freyja flexes her muscles again and heaves against the lightened wagon as Mørkedrømevandrer calms the tiring oxen and gently coaxes them forward. With a sucking sound the cart slowly shifts, and a few moments effort has it successfully free and out of the way.

No sooner has the obstruction been shifted than Fastvi spurs her horse forward eager to bolt for the nearby Meadows. But you're quicker. Freyja has the bridle firmly in hand as Mørkedrømevandrer blocks the path calming the confused horse and it stops firmly in its tracks. A wry smile crosses Fastvi's face and she relaxes as if to say "fine, you win".

As you load the cart again the old man looks at you gratefully with his one good eye. “Thank you for your aid. You are the sort of folk who make the Northlands proud. Have a pleasant journey, wherever you are going. Keep tight to your mind’s-worth, and may your fates soar through the ages.”

.....................................


The family depart with their load and you are free to continue on your way. Finally, after another fifteen minutes your morning trek seems to be nearing an end as you see sunlight through the woods ahead. It is a warm spring day, and the Meadows nestled in a narrow arm of the forest open before you. Insects buzz about, and the idyllic expanse of flowers is fragrant with fresh growth and new blossoms. Smiles on their faces the girls quickly dismount and spread across the meadow busying themselves with picking flowers (or in Fastvi's case exploring and climbing trees).

As they amuse themselves you observe the surroundings, Skorri and Mørkedrømevandrer noticing some movement in the bushes some distance away on the western side of the Meadows near little Runa as she stoops to play with a friendly pair of squirrels....

Handle Animal DC12 to coax oxen
DDW (1d20+2)[9]
DDW (1d20+2)[11]
DDW (1d20+2)[16]

Strength DC25 (DC20 once wagon unloaded) to shift cart
Freyja (1d20+4)[9]
Freyja (1d20+4)[15]
Freyja (1d20+4)[23]

Diplomacy DC15 to avoid a war of words
Freyja (1d20+5)[10]
Skorri (1d20+5)[10]
Gunnar (1d20+1)[20]
DDW (1d20-2)[-1]
Signy (1d20+4)[23]

Sense Motive DC15 to prevent Fastvi bolting
Skorri (1d20+3)
Gunnar (1d20+4)[9]
Signy (1d20)[14]
Freyja (1d20-1)[17]
DDM (1d20+1)[21]
Religion DC15 to draw some conclusions...
Gunnar (1d20+2)[9]
DDW (1d20+2)[11]
Freyja (1d20+4)[11]
Skorri (1d20+1)[19]

Could it be that the old man and his family are actually Wotan (Odin), his wife Frigga, and his son Donar (Thor) taken on mortal forms? Or perhaps they were mortals that Wotan had chosen to use to test your mettle. In any case you sense that the consequences of your actions favour you:

Each PC (irrespective of religion check success/ failure) receives one free re-roll of a failed d20 roll.
Perception DC15
Gunnar (1d20+4)[11]
DDW (1d20+7)[17]
Freyja (1d20-1)[4]
Skorri (1d20+3)[21]

[BelGareth]

Gunnar nods his head to the family and smiles warmly as they are blessed by the one-eyed man, something was off about him, but he couldn't place it, shaking the feeling off, he gladly escorted the young ladies past and through to the meadow.

Everything seemed to be going well, and he was happy for it.

"These are the good times, watching the Jarl's daughter is a blessing from Wotan himself, I tell you."

[DrK]

Freyja

Moving the logs and lifting the wagon around cheered the half-giantess up. Equally the casual acceptance from the Nuk also helped improve the day. She eyed the girls slightly frostily as they were unusually harsh to the family but as the old man and his family headed down the road she smiled happily and waved them off, "God's blessing on you all. Good day and well wishes." She follows the others, half walking and half running to keep up with the horses.

There in the meadow she stays close to the girls, watching them closely, probably too closely as she doesn't even pay attention to the wonder all around her. The long spear swishing around casually as she practices some thrusts and counter thrusts in the sunlight, enjoying the play of the sun on the spear head and feeling of the sun on her face. The meadow's joyful appearance has infected Freyja as well, and she almost skips around the field following Inga mainly as the elder girls collects the beautiful meadow flowers.

[PeacefulOak]

Dark Dreams Wanderer

Despite the peace of the morning, Mørkedrømevandrer is wary. Too many strange occurrences this morning had the Nuklander on edge, and his horned bow is held ready in his hands with an arrow on the string. At the sight of motion in the bushes, the Nuk readies himself and catches the eye of Skorri who seemed to have caught the same motion. He gestures towards Runa and softly says "Ward the child, I will guard from here."

[Dexam]

Skorri grins as he hears that the load of timbers is intended for a new ship for the jarl. As he and the giantess set to work moving some of the load, he happily hums a simple tune, the kind often heard to set a rhythm when rowing a longboat, or loading or unloading a ship. Given the warm day, and despite the shade of the trees, he quickly builds up a sweat while labouring away. When Freja finally manages to free the stuck cart with her prodigious strength, Skorri gives a loud cheer and quickly sets to reloading the cart with renewed enthusiasm, eager to be on their way while the day still lasts. With the cart ready to move again, Skorri thanks the old mad for his kind words. "Just make sure that you make mention to the jarl who helped out, eh?" he says with a cheeky grin and wink. "And maybe pass comment about what fine, well-mannered, and pleasant daughters he has, too." He gives a slight nod to the girls.

Once they reach the Meadows, Skorri is glad to relax - and to be off the untrustworthy horse. The sweat of the labour had chilled him as they rode through the forest, but as the sun in the meadow warms him, it begins to feel like a truly blessed day; even the bruise from his fall feels less noticeable. Standing watch towards the centre of the meadow, he catches sign of movement near the strange young Runa. He glances around and notices that the sharp-eyed Dark Dreams Wanderer has caught sight of something, too. He nods to the Nuklander, "Let Gunnar know that I'm going to keep a closer eye on Runa." He strides towards the girl, readying his shield on his arm and loosening his axe in it's belt loop.

[Ghostfoot]

Gunnar and Freyja are relaxed, enjoying the scene but still mindful of their duties. Watching over the girls in particular the older Inga who seems to take great pleasure in passing bunches of the sweet spring flowers to Gunnar to hold. Runa strays near the edge of the forest as Fastvi clambers in branches nearby. Signy dismounts and stands aloof in the shadows seemingly content to observe.

Spotting the rustle of something in the undergrowth not far from Runa, Mørkedrømevandrer and Skorri share a look, Skorri hastening forward ready to act at a moments notice. A small dog, flea-bitten and mangy, darts from the undergrowth yipping and bounding toward Runa who squeals with delight arms open wide encouraging the stray animal toward her embrace...

Knowledge Nature DC10
DDW (1d20+5)[12]

The dog actually appears to be relatively gentle-natured and harmless. Probably a farmer's dog lost or abandoned over the winter months it now looks eager for companionship and a new master.

[Dexam]

Skorri gives a start of surprise as the dog bursts from the bushes, then frowns in concern.

If that mutt has rabies, the Jarl'll have our hides to patch the sails on his boats...

"HEY!" he yells, letting out a shrill whistle and banging on his shield as he strides towards Runa, "Git away from her, ya mutt!"

Intimidate check to get the dog to stop / back away: [roll0]

[PeacefulOak]

”Easy friend, looks to be simply a wild pup, not a threat to any here.” He makes his way towards the dog, clucking softly in the back of his throat. “Hey now wild one, what spirit has you so excited, then?”

[roll0]

[Ghostfoot]

Skorri yells and bangs to no avail as the wee dog bounds forward and Runa hugs and tussles with the excited animal. Mørkedrømevandrer approaches calmly, helping Runa with the dog. A quick inspection shows the friendly dog is free of any obvious diseases, if a bit scrawny and malnourished.

"Can I keep him? Can I?" implores young Runa. Inga rolls her eyes and snorts derisively at her younger sister.

[DrK]

Freyja

The giantess watched the commotion with the small did with a smile on her face. Happy to see a child enjoying the world around her. She pitied Rina a little. She knew what it was to be different and knew that only the Jarl's influence would keep his daughter safe.

With no obvious danger she continues to follow the eldest daughter around at a respectful distance just enjoying the peace and tranquility of the glade as she stands guard with spear and shield.

[Ghostfoot]

"I'm going to call him Bogi" says little Runa, tussling with the happy mutt. She looks across at you "Swear you'll protect him just like you'll protect me?" she says, very seriously.

"Aiiiih!"....Crash.....Crack.....Thump....."Ohhh!" There is a loud crash as Fastvi, clambering about in the branches of a nearby tree, slips and falls. She looks up from where she's landed amid the flowers, clutching her arm, a pained look on her face.

Signy dashes swiftly over to the fallen girl. After a moment checking over she steps back to talk to you discretely as the two sisters fawn over the injured Fastvi "It's a clean break. I can splint it, but she'll need to be taken back to the Hall for rest and recovery......or, I have a healing elixir here that Odi helped me make. It should be enough to leave her with nothing more than a bruise, if you think that's the best thing to do?"

Signy (1d20+4)[22]
DDW (1d20+5)[15]

[BelGareth]

Gunnar watches as they scuffle about the yapping pup, smiling a tad when they realize, it was just a pup.

He frowns, not overly reacting to the fall of the young lass, and the subsequent broken arm.

Nodding to the others, "What say you, I'd think the Jarl would be vexed if we didn't try to do what we could." indicating his agreement with Fastvi

[DrK]

Freyja

The giantess strides across to where the girl has fallen and looks at her arm. However cannot tell much about it. Glancing at the young girl holding her herbal elixir Freyja pauses. "Maybe we splint it and take her home. Then one of the healing women can help with any elixirs or poultices."

[Dexam]

Seeing that the dog appears to be some harmless runaway farm pup or suchlike, Skorri relaxes.

"It's your father's call on if you can keep him, not ours," he says to Runa, "And if the rightful owner shows up and has proof of a claim on him, you'll have to give him up. But aye, I swear that we'll protect him, just as we would any other member of the jarl's household. Of course, if Bogi is going to be yours, you need to be responsible for him and care for him y-" he cuts off as he hears the cry from Fastvi.

Skorri runs towards the fallen girl, but backs off to let Signy examine her.

"I think that using the healing elixir might be the best course of action," he says in response to the young Cunning Woman's assessment. "Otherwise it's going to be a slow and painful ride home for Fastvi, and we'll have to leave immediately if we want to make it back by nightfall. I remember when I broke my leg as a child, trying to climb to the top of the mast on my father's ship - if it weren't for Odi's help, I'd be walking with a limp."

[PeacefulOak]

Dark Dreams Wanderer (Mørkedrømevandrer)

"It would seem the pup is safe enough, and like to enjoy your company.
If it wishes, carry it."

At the crash, the Nuk dashes over and kneels down to assess the damage, gently handling the fallen noble's limb. "It is folly to turn down the aid of those wise in the ways of the land. Apply your medicine, and let us return before more calamity arises, no?"

[Ghostfoot]

Signy unstoppers the vial and helps Fastvi drink the bitter liquid. The jarl's daughter winces in pain as she does but soon relaxes as the injury heals. She looks at her sister Runa with a puzzled look on her face "Runa, is everything okay?".

Runa stands close by in an awkward, rigid posture. Her eyes roll back in her head and a deep voice booms from her throat quite unnaturally "A storm is coming to sweep all away. Father will die from bloodied ice. The raven calls for us all.” After a moments stunned silence her eyes snap to and she looks back at you a little embarrassed "What, what's wrong? Why are you looking at me?". A punishing drowsiness comes over you all of a sudden. Entranced, Little Runa's eyes dilate and she turns and starts walking straight for the edge of the meadow, the wee dog yipping about her ankles. Inga crashes to the ground, comatose. Fastvi slumps unconscious too. As overwhelming fatigue assails you, you catch a faint glimpse of movement in the shadows of the treeline ahead of Runa. Then the world spins and the soft ground comes up to catch you as you pass into slumber...

Perception DC23
Gunnar (1d20+4)[17]
DDW (1d20+7)[27]
Freyja (1d20+3)[18]
Skorri (1d20+3)[7]
Signy (1d20)[17]

The faint snap of a breaking branch in the tree line catches your attention. Looking in that direction, you can just make out the dark forms of two burly men, well armed and armored, crouching in the shadows of the brush. They hold between them something large and heavy, a shield-sized stone plate with carvings on it. A rather tattered and dirty old woman is standing behind them, muttering to herself and waving her arms above the stone tablet.
Will DC15 or sleep
Gunnar (1d20)[9]
DDW (1d20+1)[12]
Freyja (1d20+1)[4]
Skorri (1d20+1)[10]
Signy (1d20+2)[5]
.................................................. .............................

You wake up, your head splitting in pain that no amount of mead or ale could have produced, and blood trickles from ears, noses, and even eyes. Your mouth is a dry roadbed paved with molded sail cloth. Signy holds her head, wiping the blood from her face best she can. The sun is slanting down in a mid-afternoon glare — you have been unconscious for several hours. Bees buzz among the flowers in the meadow. Of the girls — and your horses for that matter — there is no sign. The only other living creature you see is the mangy stray dog claimed by Little Runa. It licks at your faces as if happy for you to wake up.

Perception DC12
Gunnar (1d20+4)[22]
DDW (1d20+7)[17]
Freyja (1d20+3)[7]
Skorri (1d20+3)[6]
Signy (1d20)[9]

You note two flattened spots in the tall meadow grass where Inga and Fastvi must have lain. Booted footprints surround these two locations.

=> Party
time to turn this adventure up a notch

[DrK]

Freyja

Waking up Freyja slowly rises unsteadily to her feet. Confusion turning to panic as she see's the spaces where the two younger girls used to be. Signy the only daughter left. Guilt, shame and panic raced through her clearing any vestiges of fatigue as she grabbed up her fallen spear and scanned the trees for trouble and rapidly grabbed the opthers. "What's happened? We've been cursed by the feyri. Fastvi and Runa have been taken!" She looks at the eldest girl, worried as to why she was left behind but also glad they've still got one daughter. "Come, we must find the girls of the Jarl will curse us." She looks to the Nuk as she suspects that Mørkedrømevandrer will be their best tracker.

[BelGareth]

Gunnar wakes with a grogginess, which is quickly abated, and forgotten as he looks about and sees the indents in the ground.

He jumps up, weapons in hand, "THEY HAVE BEEN TAKEN" he growls, "Quick! check those tracks, we must be about!"

He kneels down and looks himself, his actions sure and swift, his ire having been raised.


PF so this is survival right?

[roll0]

[PeacefulOak]

Dark Dreams Wanderer (Mørkedrømevandrer)

The crimson-crested Nuk rises with a stream of curses that start in the dialect of the Nuk and continues into the common tongue of the norlanders before rising into a tirade of Jotun. Recovering his discarded bow, the wild ranger ignores his companions as he scans the ground for any and all signs of his new quarry's passage.

[roll0] Survival
I will use my boon in the OoC thread.

[Dexam]

Skorri

Skorri awakens with a groan, and sits slowly, clutching his head. The feeling of fogginess in his head is quickly ignored as he looks around and becomes aware of the situation, adding his own string of curses to the surrounding babble of his comrades.

"If we don't find those girls, the jarl'll have our heads on spears and our hides for sail-cloth! Did anyone see anything at all?"

Standing and gathering up shield and weapons, he casts around for any sign of where the girls and horses might have gone, looking mainly in the direction of the trees where Runa was headed before everything went dark.

Survival check, because what have I got to lose? [roll0]

The Survival rolling trend continues!

[Ghostfoot]

You cast your eyes about for tracks as the splitting headaches slowly abate. Dark Dreams Wanderer has the eye for it, spotting first the hoof prints of your horses. It seems the mounts have continued about their business while you were ensorcelled, with no signs of startled fleeing. Indeed it seems that they continued to graze about the meadow and judging by their pace shouldn't be too far away should you wish to track them down.

The Nuk also finds other, booted tracks. It looks like two large men have come from the woods and taken the slumbering daughters of the jarl, Inga and Fastvi. The smaller shoeprints of presumably little Runa converge with these men's tracks at the border of the forest where he earlier saw the old crone and her two accomplices hiding. Sure enough, here where they all meet he finds the barefoot tracks of a small human presumably the old hag.

Cast aside lies large stone slab the size of a shield. It has cracked in several places, and the writing on it is faded and almost entirely illegible, as if recently scoured away. Signy inspects it carefully, the cunning woman concentrating hard as she calls upon her sorcerous abilities. "Andøvan words of power. This is the ancient magic of the barrow people. This tablet must have been unearthed from the Barrow Lands. It's aura is fading quickly but I sense it held a very powerful sleep enchantment."

Further investigation finds signs of three horses having been hobbled not far away. The three assailants have clearly mounted up and departed to the northwest each with one of the three daughters of the jarl.

knowledge local or geography DC5 (untrained)
Gunnar (1d20+6)[22]
DDW (1d20+5)[20]
Freyja (1d20)[1]
Skorri (1d20+5)[21]
Signy (1d20+1)[11]

In the Barrow Lands beyond the Moors about 20 miles away is a legendary hill known as the Tor. A seiðkona called Sibbe the Unkempt, a wretched old crone known for her witchcraft and delving into the ancient magic of the Andøvan, is known to live in the vicinity of the Tor. Furthermore, skirting the Trollfist Hills would provide a fast route for someone mounted to ride to the Tor.

knowledge history or local
Gunnar (1d20+6)[25]
Skorri (1d20+5)[15]

The tors scattered throughout the Northlands are large hills or outcroppings of stone used long ago as ancient Andøvan fortifications or ritual sites. The Tor near Silvermeade Hall bears upon its summit a stone circle jutting up like broken teeth above the surrounding plain.

Legend says the stones of the Tor were used in powerful ritual magic performed by the Andøvan at the four corners of the year.

Andøvan stone circles are known to often contain spells written on stone tablets.

knowledge local or geography
Gunnar (1d20+6)[22]
DDW (1d20+5)[16]
Skorri (1d20+5)[13]

The burial mounds of the ancient Andøvan dot much of the central portions of the Hord Peninsula where the tableland is drier than the surrounding moors.

It is said that the Barrow Lands are haunted by the ghosts of the ancient warriors laid to rest here.
Tales of those who have journeyed into the Barrow Lands usually mention that the living never come back, remaining among the dead for all eternity.
knowledge local or geography
Gunnar (1d20+6)[9]
DDW (1d20+5)[12]
Skorri (1d20+5)[21]

The Trollfist Hills are rugged, barren, and have long been the haunts of trolls, outlaws, and giants. A path leads through them that loops to the south toward the Barrow Lands near the Tor.
Though the hills have recently been cleaned out of outlaws, trolls, and other threats, there is always the possibility that new dangers might have moved in to the old vacated lairs and caves.
knowledge local or nature
Gunnar (1d20+6)[22]
DDW (1d20+5)[17]
Skorri (1d20+5)[9]

These woods are fairly open and are composed of old growth forest that has only been logged around the edges. The trails through the forest are tricky and twisting, but are known to lead to the southwest around the Barrow Lands.

Though far removed from it now, the forest here is a distant extension of the Forest of Woe at the south end of the Hord Peninsula. Though not nearly as primordial and untamed as that legendary woodland, the forests around Silvermeade are said to be the home to several bands of wild fey, though none that are known to be overtly malicious.
knowledge local
Gunnar (1d20+6)[24]
Skorri (1d20+5)[16]

Sibbe the Unkempt is a seiðkona, a witch-woman, and has long been a feature in stories and tales of the area, often acting strangely, coming and going as she pleases, and is used as a local “bogeyman” to frighten children. She would have to be more than 80 years old for all the tales attributed to her.
Rumors more than once have placed Sibbe upon the Tor performing some unnamable ritual or other. It would appear that she has had an interest in the magic of the site for decades.

As you ponder your options Signy rests against a tree and tells you what she knows of Andøvan magic. "The Andøvan possessed powerful magic, but unlike the kind known in the Northlands today today. Instead, it used complex rituals, celestial alignments, and words of power magic to create truly momentous effects. The four corners of the year, often used in Andøvan rituals, referred to the solstices and equinoxes. The Cusp of Freyja (spring equinox) is tomorrow. This time of year would be perfect for an Andøvan magic ritual that would bring about a rebirth, such as making a person young again or recharging lost magic powers. Such a ritual would need to be performed at dawn on the equinox. Dawn tomorrow."

https://images2.imgbox.com/a9/a2/LLOKfVAz_o.png
=> Party
Gather horses first or chase the kidnappers immediately?
And if/ when making chase, which route?

West: Follow the tracks directly, through The Moors?
Southwest: Take a slower detour through the Trollfist Hills?
South: Take neither obvious route and instead use the game trails in the southern forest to find a way?

[PeacefulOak]

Dark Dreams Wanderer

The Wanderer quickly shares his findings with the group, and echoes Signy’s concerns. Loosing a shrill whistle, he calls to the horses knowing that a short time spent recovering their mounts will be greatly repaid in the miles they will cover on horseback.

[roll0] Handle Animal Check

Do I know if the hills will be easier to pass on horseback than the fens?

[DrK]

Freyja

The giantess watches the trackers and the flurry of activity as they look at the stone tablet, the mud on the forest floor and the map. SHe curses inwardly at her lack of help. A life of reaving on the seas does not it seem, help with land locked tracking. As she listens to SIgny's words she looks worried."Would these witches you speak of use the girls in these rituals?" her grip tightening on the massive spear. "Which way Dark Dreams Wander, how do we track these Loki cursed bastards down." She looks almost embarassed. "I cannot help you track but I can lead the charge when we meet them."

[BelGareth]

Following, Gunnar was steaming, usually a quiet man, with little words, he was bitterly silent as they followed the Nuk and the traks, upon seeing the tablet, he growled openly.

"This is not good. Bastards! The witch Sibbe is responsible for this! I'd wager my honor she's using the girls for some Andøvan ritual tomorrow. We must go to the Tor, but be warned, those circles contain deadly magiks," he points to the stone tablet "like that one," Seeing the tracks, he shakes his head in anger "And know that the Barrow lands are a dangerous place, protected by the dead that haunt it, protecting their halls in this life and the next. We should get going, we know where these honorless thieves are going."

"I say we go over the moors, we have no time to waste!"

[Ghostfoot]

You gather the horses, a simple task for the Wanderer but nevertheless every moment not in pursuit irks you. With still an hour or two before the sun sets you mount up, Freyja hastening alongside and the wee dog Bogi yipping about excited at the grim tension. With the sun lowering on the horizon you break from the Meadows and follow the trail out of the woods and through the Moors, the Trollfist Hills rising on your flank to the south. Observing the trail of the kidnappers Dark Dreams Wanderer notes that the horses are all being ridden hard; the riders clearly do not care if the horses survive the trip so long as they reach their destination quickly.

Muddy, heath-covered, and dotted with small bogs, the Moors run from the coast to the Forest of Woe far to the south, interrupted only by the Stonefist Hills, forested areas, and occasional barrow fields of the ancient Andøvan peoples. Only the barest hints of green have begun to spring up among the broken rocks and muddy hollows. The winds of a recent winter still blow across this flatland and chill through all but the heaviest cloaks, and the occasional bog pool still has a rime of fragile ice around its edges. There is no cover on the moors, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable to any watching eyes.

The horizon is a fair distance and the later afternoon sky is clear, so you can easily see for several miles. Storm clouds are rolling in and beginning to gather in a spiraling tempest over the Barrows far to the southwest, hovering low and sending down bolts of lightning to strike the stones below.

The poorly drained, soggy moor dominates the middle of the Hord Peninsula. This area, known simply as the Moors, is considered wasteland by most of the Northlanders and is known to be inhabited by strange beasts, crazed hermits, and outcasts from holdings all over the region. Adding to the dread that you feel when traveling through the area, the higher and drier parts of the Moors often contain rings of broken stones or ancient barrows whose occupants are assumed to be restless and hunger for the blood of the living. No one knows for sure what is out there, as few people are foolish enough to risk their lives and sanity by traveling the Moors to any great extent.

knowledge geography
Gunnar (1d20+6)[16]
DDW (1d20+5)[8]
Skorri (1d20+5)[24]

The strange localised stormclouds seem to be centered on the approximate location of The Tor, your destination ~15 miles away.

So do you want to hustle (https://www.d20pfsrd.com/gamemastering/exploration-movement/#TOC-Overland-Movement) while following the trail, or travel at a more measured pace?

All going well you should be able to reach The Tor in about 8 hours at normal mounted pace, although Freyja would need to hustle to keep up. If everyone hustles you will get there in ~5 hours.

Alternatively you could travel more slowly at Freyja's normal pace which would extend the journey by an hour or two, taking the trip over 8 hours and requiring some Forced March checks.

All of the above choices should get you to The Tor well before sunrise (all going as planned...)

[Dexam]

Skorri peers with worried eyes at the stormclouds gathering to the southwest.

"They're forming over the Tor," he informs the others. "I can only assume that this is somehow part of the Andøvan magic ritual you spoke of?" Skorri directs this question to Signy. "Which would mean that the kidnappers and the seiðkona Sibbe the Unkempt are likely already there. I'm tempted to say that the horses be damned and we get to the Tor as quickly as possible, though I fear our spear-maiden giantess would struggle to keep up... what say you, Freyja? Also, who knows obstacles those we pursue have put in place to slow us down? Gah!" he exclaims in frustration, looking to Gunnar for advice. "How do we proceed? If we were sailing after them, I'd have a better idea of what choice to make!"

[PeacefulOak]

Dark Dreams Wanderer

Mounts now secured, the wild-haired Nuklander looks to his companions, with particularly concerned eyes at Freyja. "I worry for our charges. I am swift and silent.
Should I ride ahead and find a place from which to watch? Warleader, lead us." He holds the reigns of his horse with a nervous tension that has the beast dancing in place as the decision is anticipated.

[Ghostfoot]

Signy

"Even if the witch Sibbe" she spits out the name "has made it to the Tor already, the ritual must wait until sunrise. The children are safe until then. But at sunrise their lifeblood will wash over the stones and charge the rebirth of the old hag."

[PeacefulOak]

Dark Dreams Wanderer

"Then we should make our way so as to arrive before the dawn, as fresh and ready as we can! This once, time may be our ally as the long hours of the night must pass before the sun sheds its bloody light once more."

[DrK]

Freyja

Hefting spear in hand she points the way that Dark Dreams has indicated. "I agree my Nuk friend. We had best make good time so that we may have a few minutes of rest before we strike come the dawn. Odin himself will guide our hand in striking those down who steal harmless children." She spins the massive 15ft long shaft of wood tipped with a razor tip angrily beheading many a blade of grass as she waits for the others to mount up. Then she jobs beside them, keeping pace with the laden down horses.

[Ghostfoot]

Mounted, you follow the trail of the kidnappers through the muddy Moors. Freyja and the wee dog Bogi walking swift as they can alongside. You make good progress as the sun sets and darkness sets in over the Moors. A bright moon illuminates the way fairly well and Dark Dreams is able to guide you well, and although a bank of cold fog hinders your progress at one point Skorri is able to set your bearings back to follow the trail.

DDW succeeds on all but one Survival check. Skorri casts Know Direction surreptitiously and gets you back on track :smallsmile:

After about three hours of travel you have passed the Trollfist Hills and are headed south, the forest to the east. The land is drier here, the ground higher than that of the surrounding bog lands. Occasional mounds of earth, elongated and low, dot the terrain. You suspect this is the edge of the Barrow Lands and dread what foul specters must lurk beneath the thin veneer of earth that covers them. You only hope that your passing has not disturbed any of them. Your hope is short-lived, however, as in the dim moonlight ahead, directly upon the path you follow, stand the remains of what must have once been one of the mounds. Someone has recently dug down into the very center of it, leaving a large crater surrounded by piles of freshly turned earth. More than one glint of bone can be seen in this churned furrow.

The horses whinny nervously and then with more alarm as shadows shift and several shapes rise up, earth falling from their skeletal forms. Clad in tattered rags and carrying bronze-bladed spears and swords, the dead of ancient Andøvan have come to deal with trespassers...

Knowledge religion
Freyja (1d20+4)[24]
These are normal skeletons (https://www.d20pfsrd.com/bestiary/monster-listings/undead/skeleton-medium/).

Surprise round
6 Skeletons stand up from prone

Round 1: Initiative
Gunnar (1d20+3)[11]
DDW (1d20+2)[10]
Freyja (1d20+1)[6]
Skorri (1d20+2)[17]
Signy (1d20+1)[16]
Bad guys (1d20+6)[10]
https://images2.imgbox.com/a8/6a/uWIH2gTs_o.png

Terrain effects: 20% concealment from night-time darkness unless you have darkvision etc or a light source
Note - you are all 'large' size because you are currently mounted (excl. Freyja). If you dismount into an adjacent square a horse icon will remain in your previous location.
Feel free to alter your starting positions if what I have chosen offends you :smallsmile:



=> Gunnar, Skorri & Signy
Post in any order & I'll resolve in order of posting unless you indicate otherwise

[Dexam]

Skorri, normally talkative, sits silently (and increasingly uncomfortably) in the saddle as they ride through the Moors and towards the Barrowlands. His tension and unease rise as the horses grow skittish; and his expression darkens as he sees the disturbed earth ahead.

"What truly depraved vermin they must be, to disturb the resting places of fallen warriors; there's no honour at all to these scavengers..." he mutters quietly, then lets out a sharp oath as those same fallen warriors rise up before them.

He dismounts as quickly as he can from his horse before the temperamental beast can bolt or throw him, and readies his shield while reaching for his axe. "Stand fast!" he shouts.


Ride check for attempted fast dismount: [roll0] vs DC 20. Free action on success, move action on fail.

Move action (once dismounted): ready shield.

Free action: 5' step towards the skeletons to P11.

[BelGareth]

Gunnar roars at the sight of the abominations, what evil deeds did their ancestors do to suffer such a fate? he thought, as he slid down off his horse with Skorri.

"SHIELD WALL!" he barks out, taking a step, and pulling out his shield.


Ride check for attempted fast dismount: [roll0] vs DC 20. Free action on success, move action on fail.

readies shield and moves out in front of the horses to M15

[Ghostfoot]

Your mounts whinny in fear their eyes wide as the barrow-spawned dead heft their cracked weapons and hurtle towards you. Skorri and Signy slip from their panicked horses, as does Gunnar raising his shield high. "The barrowmen of this cursed land are angered by our very heartbeats! Hold fast warriors!" breathes Signy, echoing Skorri as she clutches at her charms and trinkets. Freed from their riders, the panicked horses of the three bolt into the night.

Before the Wanderer or Freyja can even raise their arms the charnel ancients are upon you, broken and rusted spears and swords beating against your blades and shields! Mørkedrømevandrer's horse incurs a nasty wound for 2 damage even as nearby Gunnar is assailed by a small mob taking blows on his great shield. Outnumbered one slips a clumsy but brutal sword-chop past his guard hitting for 6 damage.

Signy
Move: Attempt fast dismount Ride DC20 (1d20+1)[8] Fail
Standard: Ready disrupt undead spell

Skeletons - charge!
vs DDW sword/ spear (1d20+2)[4] damage (1d6)[2]
vs DDW's horse sword/ spear (1d20+2)[8] damage (1d6)[5]
vs DDW's horse sword/ spear (1d20+2)[13] damage (1d6)[2] Hit
vs Gunnar sword/ spear (1d20+2)[8] damage (1d6)[3]
vs Gunnar sword/ spear (1d20+2)[19] damage (1d6)[6] Hit
vs Gunnar sword/ spear (1d20+2)[3] damage (1d6)[1]

https://images2.imgbox.com/83/b1/GJNbH6Yz_o.png

Terrain effects:


20% concealment from night-time darkness unless you have darkvision etc or a light source



=> Party
(DDW's horse will flee with the others on his turn given the opportunity. He can dismount or try to control it beforehand, as usual)

[DrK]

Freyja

As Gunnar rushes in front of her she sees watches the horde of the undead running forwards, as they advance she snarls, her massive 12ft long wooden spear shaft with a 4ft spear blade lashes out at the central one to try and intercept it before it can reach Gunnar.


20ft reach AoO on Central skeleton (L15)
- Attack [roll0] dam [roll1]



She spits, "Accursed undead. They should be in the halls of Valhalla or Hel itself." SHe looks to the others before lashing out over Gunnar's head with a cry of "For Odin!" as the spear lashes out towards the nearest skeleton.



- Attack [roll2] dam [roll3]

[BelGareth]

Gunnar grunts as a blade finds its way past his defense, slicing flesh and viscera alike, he had felt worse, but he was not caring to be raised to Valhalla by the Valkyries today!

He surged with the adrenaline of battle, swiping at the undead men before him with his axe, they would not take this man alive, not this day!

"Undead! It is our duty as sworn men of the Jarl to put them to rest, only then can their ancestors be at peace!"


[roll0]
[roll1] (slashing)

HP's: 5/11
AC: 18
Status: none

[Dexam]

Skorri

Skorri draws his axe from a loop at his belt and stepping forward holds it aloft. In a voice well-trained and strengthened by shouting above the crash of waves and roaring winds, he chants.

"The blood of warriors flows in our veins and guides our hand;
Against our valour these shadowed mockeries cannot stand!"


Move Action: draw weapon (axe), and 5' step forwards to O11.

Standard Action: start Raging Song - Inspired Rage: affected allies gain a +2 morale bonus to Strength and Constitution and a +1 morale bonus on Will saving throws, but also take a –1 penalty to AC. While under the effects of inspired rage, allies other than the skald cannot use any Charisma-, Dexterity-, or Intelligence-based skills (except Acrobatics, Fly, Intimidate, and Ride) or any ability that requires patience or concentration.

[PeacefulOak]

Mørkedrømevandrer

The Wanderer's lips curl as he feels the words of Skorri boil within him. His mighty weapon flashes from his back with astonishing speed, lashing down at the skeletal warrior to his right. Following the movement, he rolls off the back of his horse and barks an order in the Nuk language at the horse, ordering it to retreat rather than flee.

[roll0] to hit (+4 normal, +1 Rage, +1 high ground - mounted) for [roll1] damage

[roll2] Ride check to fast dismount, failed but still move action to dismount.

[Ghostfoot]

Battle is joined! Retaliating to the surprise attack Freyja lashes out at one of the ancient Andøvan warriors, striking for 7 damage shattering its battered armour and sending its old bones flying apart. The rest of you close, Mørkedrømevandrer's horse fleeing from the fray even as Skorri's bold words of valour rise above the din of battle and the barking of the dog. Gunnar, blood dripping, swings his axe the heavy weapon crunching down for 5 damage felling an assailant.

From the rear you hear your cunning woman Signy's strange words of magic and a pulse of energy zaps out from the darkness blasting another of the unnatural animated foes for 7 damage its bones tumbling to the dirt.

With the alarm and surprise of the initial attack now receding you're able to get your combat wits about you. The remaining warriors of old swing and poke with their ancient broken weapons but you are able to easily dodge and defend yourselves against their clumsy attacks.

Freyja's longspear is a reach weapon so technically needs a 5ft step as can't be wielded in close (5ft or 10ft) melee combat. Negligible game effect in this instance though.

Gunnar miss 1-20 (1d100)[34]

Signy 5ft step & cast disrupt undead
ranged touch (1d20+2)[22] damage (1d6+1)[3] miss 1-20 (1d100)[83]
crit? (1d20+2)[16] damage (1d6+1)[4]

Skeletons
vs DDW sword/ spear (1d20)[5] damage (1d6)[1]
vs DDW sword/ spear (1d20)[13] damage (1d6)[2]
vs Gunnar sword/ spear (1d20)[4] damage (1d6)[1]
https://images2.imgbox.com/98/72/cVlMgBfD_o.png
Terrain effects:


20% concealment from night-time darkness unless you have darkvision etc or a light source


=> Party

[Dexam]

Feeling emboldened by his own words and the courage of his comrades, Skorri keeps chanting and steps forward, hacking with his axe at the skeletal warrior before him.

Free action: maintain Raging Song (Inspired Rage: +2 Str/Con, +1 Will, -1 AC).

5' step to N11, attack skelly in M11.

Battleaxe: [roll0] ; concealment miss chance 1-20 [roll1]
Damage: [roll2]

[BelGareth]

Watching his axe fell the undead man before him, he quickly realized his weapon was not as efficient, but seeing the others fall, he kept at it, his weapon, slick with his own blood, wheeled back to slice at the skeleton before him.


[roll0]]
[roll1] (slashing)

HP's: 5/11
AC: 18
Status: none

[PeacefulOak]

Mørkedrømevandrer

The fierce Nuk lashes out once again with his mighty Terbutje!


[roll0] to hit for [roll1]

[DrK]

Freyja

Freyja feels the thrumming music filling her with a fiery thirst for battle and spins around, with Gunnar holding his own she steps to her left and lunges with a long thrust of her spear at the distant skeleton fighting the young Nuk.



5ft to the left
Stab M11
- Attack [roll0] dam [roll1]

[Ghostfoot]

With the initial horror and outrage of the blasphemy over you quickly fall back on your fighting instincts. The battle is over quickly, the remaining mouldering Andøvan undead falling to your axes and spears in short order.

All is quiet save your heavy breathing as you regain yourselves and the snuffling of the dog among the littered skeletal remains. Nearby you hear the horses whinny and it surely won't be a difficult task to recover them. The unearthed barrow from which the restless bodies were disturbed is marked by little more than a large trench in the earth strewn now with broken bones, battered ancient bronze weaponry & armour, and various stone trinkets and charms that have withstood the ravages of time.

[BelGareth]

Gunnar falls to one knee, panting, blood stained his left arm where the undead kin had wounded him, he was close to being overcome by the rage, no help to Skorri. He had hoped he would never fall to it again, but fate is what it is, at least he kept most of his blood this fight.

"Should we tarry to bury them? We don't have much time...Gather the horses, maybe we can inter them that their ancestors will not curse us."

[DrK]

Freyja

Smashing a skull nearby with her massive booted foot the giantess she shakes her head. "Their spirits are with Valkyries or with Hel. The bodies rot and we have the girls to save." THe giantess gestures onwards, "Come fellow warriors, lets continue to save the girls."

[BelGareth]

Gunnar nods, he stands and moves to gather the horses, regret clear on his face that he cannot respect the dead, but their mission was too important.

Perhaps he could come by afterwards and pay his respects...

[Dexam]

Ceasing his chant as the last of the walking dead warriors falls, Skorri surveys the battlefield through the mists, panting more from the thrill of the fight than actual exertion.

He nods in agreement with Freyja. "Aye, the needs of the living sorely outweigh the needs of the dead, restless or not. Let's find our horses and proceed; we can lay these remains to a more respectful rest on our return with the girls."

He notes the blood staining Gunnar's arm and approaches. "That's not too deep, is it? Leave a nice scar to impress Svanhild and the young ones, hey?" he asks, trying to make light of the injury while making certain the older man was okay.

[Ghostfoot]

You gather your horses, mindful of any further restless dead that may have been disturbed. Thankfully only this one barrow seems to have been desecrated by the witch and her accomplices. Despite the darkness you are easily able to retrieve your nearby mounts.

In the distance to the south you can still clearly make out flashes of lightning marking your destination. Clearly the Cusp of Freyja, the spring equinox, is channeling magical power from the lands around. Mindful of the girls you press on through the night. At some point the trail that you follow must have been an actual path or road cutting across the moor. After a couple of miles the ground grows swampy and a large bog, visible mostly as a misty depression of still and silent fog, stretches ahead blocking your path.

A wooden walkway leads directly into the misty bog, supported about a foot above the water by stout wooden pilings. The walkway is missing the occasional plank but otherwise seems like it would be wide enough (and sturdy enough) for horses or a giantess to travel single-file.

[BelGareth]

Gunnar reigns in his horse as he looks to the planking and back at the group, switching sides as his mount prances while he talks "We must needs push on, if one of the horse goes lame, best get as far as we can." he finishes by patting his horse thoughtfully "They have served us well, maybe we let them loose here and head on?"

[DrK]

Freyja

The giantess looks at the misty pathway and nods. "Aye, best to head as best we can. Shall I take the lead, if it can take my weight it will support the rest of you." She pushes forward, walking down the the wooden pathway as best she can, her spear pushing the planks looking for loose ones as she keeps her eyes peeled. Walking forward she utters a brief prayer to Odin and Thor as the crackles of magic can be seen at the summit.

[Dexam]

Skorri dismounts as they approach the wooden walkway, doubtfully eyeing the path that leads through the swamp.

"Well, doesn’t this look like a wonderful choke-point for an ambush?" he asks with false cheeriness. "It might be better if we take the horses with us ? We might need them for the girls when we rescue them. Probably better to lead the horses rather than ride them, though."

Reins in one hand, axe in the other, he waits for his turn to step onto the path.

[Ghostfoot]

Freyja leads the way, the rest of you following leading your horses single-file and the wee dog padding alongside. The mist is cold and dense, limiting your vision to 50ft although thankfully a little starlight still shines through from above.

She checks ahead with her spear, mindful of being cast unsuspectingly into the frigid still waters about. In the end the journey is tense but uneventful. After about half a mile of slow progress the walkway ends at a small boggy island some 20ft in diameter. A lone dead half-rotten tree marks the low rise but otherwise it is barren of feature.

On the far side the walkway continues onward into the misty bog. Just barely visible as a dark shadow on the misty walkway, a large canine shape pads forward...

The size of a bull mastiff, this great beast has slimy skin and fur stained black with long years of being submerged in stinking, swampy mud. Its long teeth are rotten but intact, and a pale fire of vengeance seems to burn in the hollows of its eye sockets. Blade wounds mar its hide, it's clearly seen battle recently.

The fearful undead hound pauses on the far walkway, watching, as if to say "you shall not pass"...

Will DC14 vs bog hound or shaken (https://www.d20pfsrd.com/Gamemastering/conditions/#TOC-Shaken)

Gunnar (1d20)[19]
DDW (1d20+1)[15]
Freyja (1d20+1)[12]
Skorri (1d20+1)[4]
Signy (1d20+2)[8]

[DrK]

Freyja

Freyja pauses, "By the all father, its a vile creature." She gestures at the beast, "Come. Try our mettle vile beast of Hel." SHe levels the spear forward, bracing the end of if it the narrow planks and readying if it charges forward to destroy it. Even though the visage chills her faith in Wotan is strong and she readies for the fight...



Brace spear and ready an attack if it charges forward

[Dexam]

Skorri halts in his tracks the moment the fell hound pads into view. His mind races with all the horrible tales he knows about ghost hounds and cursed dogs, told to frighten children into returning home before nightfall; and a long-suppressed memory of one of his uncle's dogs turning on him as child flashes in his mind's eye.

"By the gods, the old mothers' tales are true," he mutters around chattering teeth. Shakily raising his shield, he starts a battle chant that is somewhat spoiled by the quavering of his voice, but he feels his courage return slightly nonetheless...

"Stand aside, accursed hound;
A warrior's heart will give no ground!"

Move action: ready shield.

Standard action: start Inspired Rage: allies gain a +2 morale bonus to Strength and Constitution and a +1 morale bonus on Will saving throws, but also take a –1 penalty to AC. While under the effects of inspired rage, allies other than the skald cannot use any Charisma-, Dexterity-, or Intelligence-based skills (except Acrobatics, Fly, Intimidate, and Ride) or any ability that requires patience or concentration.

Conditions:
Shaken: –2 penalty on attack rolls, saving throws, skill checks, and ability checks.
Inspired Rage: +2 morale bonus to Strength and Constitution and a +1 morale bonus on Will saving throws, –1 penalty to AC.
Skald's Vigor: Fast healing 1

[Ghostfoot]

Freyja braces, facing off against the fell hound. A sharp intake of breath from Signy behind you as she mutters half-reassuring folk charms to herself. Skorri's voice carries over the small swamp island, shaky but nevertheless defiant.

The creature pauses, watching for a moment as if to acknowledge the challenge. Then, with a glimmer of cold hunger and hate in its evil eyes it lopes forward, cracked teeth bared to attack as Freyja stands firm it lets out a ghastly and forlorn howl that fills you with dread...

Freyja gets an AoO

then Will saves DC14 vs forlorn howl for all or fear (https://www.d20pfsrd.com/magic/all-spells/f/fear/)
https://images2.imgbox.com/08/23/zUuhGzY0_o.png

Bog hound is to the south.
Your horses are to the north, as is your friendly dog


AoO from Freyja
then Will saves for all
then => Party

[Ghostfoot]

Freyja's skill with the spear is evident. As the bog hound lopes forward she strikes, a nasty gash for 15 damage putrid slime oozing from the wound.

Dark Dreams Wanderer steps alongside, swinging his weapon but the creatures surprisingly tough hide turns the blow.

=> Gunnar, Freyja, Skorri

[DrK]

Freyja

Freyja's eyes narrow in disgust as her spear plunges into the creature's guts but it keeps going. She growls out an oath at the vile creature before praying for Wotan's guidance she plunges her spear again into the creature.



attack [roll0] dam [roll1]

[Ghostfoot]

Wotan guides her and her aim is true. The spear pierces the undead hound for 12 damage as it lunges forward, pinning it to the boardwalk. It struggles for a moment before finally expiring for good, its glimmering undead hate-filled eyes finally darkening as it slumps to a pile of putrid muck and bones.

Signy sighs with relief audibly from behind as you are left unchallenged to proceed onward though the fog from the muddy island...

[Dexam]

Skorri ceases his chant as the undead beast slumps to the ground at the end of Freyja's spear.

"Truly a mighty display of skill," he says in awe of the giantess. "No doubt that Wotan has blessed your spear arm."

Putting away axe and shield, he gathers the reigns of his horse and makes certain that the mutt Bogi is following. "Come along, dog; if you wander off, you might end up like that one!" He eyes the remains of the bog hound as he walks by.

[BelGareth]

Gunnar is assailed by the howl and it goes deep into his core, his hands loosed, and he was about to turn tail and run, leaving all notions of honor, family, behind.

But then the beast charged, and was slain, his dishonor covered up by a momentary lax of focus.

He gritted his teeth, tightened his grip, and moved onwards, silent as a spectre, and as angry as one too.

[Ghostfoot]

Signy shares a fearful, knowing glance with Gunnar, the two of them pale and shaking honour only preserved by the valiant actions of the others...

You skirt around the decayed sludge of the defeated bog hound. Its corrupted form reminding you of vague tales of how the ancient Andøvan who once ruled the region were rumoured to sacrifice bound captives and animals by casting them into stagnant kettle ponds to slowly sink to their watery death. Your mounts are nervous but you manage to coax them about the stinking mess to continue along the sodden walkway, the wee dog Bogi scampering about close, tail between its legs.

Thankfully after another half mile the ground begins to firm and the fog thins. The raised walkway continues for a few dozen more feet before ending at solid earth.

In the near distance, thunderclouds gather and roil as the huge unnatural storm builds in intensity unleashing its raging power upon the lands below. Unfortunately, this storm stays in one spot rather than moving with the southern winds, concentrating all of its fury in one location. In the continual flashes of lightning that lance down to the ground below, you can see beneath this gathering gloom a single tall hill some five miles distant. Multiple lighting strikes impale its peak, and from the crown of this hill can be seen a pale, muted glow. Dark magic is at work upon the Tor.

Immediately ahead a field of innumerable low mounds covers the dark terrain of the Barrow Lands. Built by the long-dead Andøvan tribes, the ancient barrows cover the highest points in the Moors. Some of the mounds are only waist high, others are as tall as a man, but all have a sinister air about them. Corroded weapons protrude awkwardly from the sides and tops of some of them, and a few have stone doorways marking their ancient entrances. Of these, a handful have no stone slabs blocking them, leaving them gaping open and revealing only darkness beyond.

Skorri (1d20+5)[23]

You vaguely recall the tales of heroes long past, the warrior Kein the Bearsarker who some 400 years ago led the men and women of the Northlands into battle against legions of Andøvan who had risen from their graves, finally defeating the Longnight King at the Battle of the Barrow Lands and ending the Forgotten Wars.

https://images2.imgbox.com/6b/ba/ktQMZvcg_o.png
Your horses balk and will not enter this field of earthen mounds.

[DrK]

Freyja

Bog Hound

The warrior maiden kicks part of the hound off the tip of her spear and pushes it away from her and the others. "Disgusting beast, Hel take you." she snarls before nodding to the others. "Wodan is with us eh?" she says on a note of triumph as she looks to the others and pushes on towards the barrows beyond the marsh.

The barrows

Freyja pauses on the edge of the barrow fields staring out over the barrows and caves and caverns. SHe shivers, feeling the spirits of the dead wandering in the fields. Before steeling herself and walking forwards, gesturing to the rest. "Come on, the heroes of old shouldn't bother us."

[BelGareth]

Gunnar shares the muted look of knowing, and moves forward, ignoring the dog, and what it implied.

As they got to the Barrows, he noticed his would go no further, and he eyed the grounds before them, especially the barrows without stone blocks to guard the living from the dead. He noted too, the thunder.

"Mighty Thor beats his hammer against his anvil, he is not happy with this dark ritual, and is showing us his displeasure!"

Turning to the others after watching the mighty display for a few seconds, "We will need to leave our horses, they will go no further, and we cannot chance they bolt off with a rider. It is not far, let us be off with haste!" he turns back to his horse with affection, stroking it's head, and touching his forehead, then pulls his gear off, and slaps the horses behind, sending it running off, hopefully back home.

[Dexam]

Skorri mutters under his breath and makes a sign to ward off evil as they approach the Barrow Lands. He struggles to bring his horse under control, awkwardly dismounting and retrieving his gear once the frightened beast temporarily accedes to its rider's commands.

"As much as I dislike riding, I'd have rather passed through here as quickly as possible," he says, watching the horses make their way back towards the bog. "If heroes of old lie here, then they are certainly no heroes of the Hordalanders! These are Andøvan barrows, and this is not the first time their occupants have been disturbed," he says darkly, his words emphasised by the flashes of lightning from the unnatural storm clouds. "Many centuries past, the Longnight King raised legions of these Andøvan dead to march across the Northlands. It was the mighty warrior, Kein the Bearsarker, who rallied the men and women of the North against the walking dead, finally defeating the Longnight King in a great battle on the very same grounds on which we now stand. Bear that in mind - those we seek are more than willing to disturb the eternal rest of the dead, and it is very likely that the dead will harbour their grudge against us across the centuries. So, keep the courage of Kein the Bearsarker close to your hearts; and keep your axes, spears, and shields close to your hands."

Hefting his shield and axe, and with a look of grim determination on his face, Skorri walks into the Barrow Lands.

[Ghostfoot]

You make your way forward through the darkened Barrow Lands, eerie lightning flashing ahead. Truly this is a cursed place and you find the skittishness of the horses might have clung to you as your eyes play tricks on you, shadows maybe moving at the corners of your vision and pebbles or stones shifting in the gloom out of sight. Signy mutters a stream of charms under her breath as you travel on, a litany of invocations that from anyone but a cunning woman would be called out and put down.

A mile or so into the barrow field your fears are realised as the hollow sound of a battle-horn echoes from the blackness of a nearby barrow opening. Clinking and shuffling, a long-dead form emerges, the skeletal remains of an ancient Andøvan warrior. The faint moonlight reflects from his bronze armor and shield and the finely crafted, though somewhat corroded, sword he bears. Behind him comes his entourage, four more dead warriors armed with swords of green-tinged bronze array themselves a step behind.

The leader raises his sword and points it at you threateningly, hovering over each of you momentarily as it waits...

Gunnar (1d20+2)[16]
DDW (1d20+1)[5]
Freyja (1d20)[2]
Skorri (1d20+1)[17]
Signy (1d20+1)[4]

This is clearly some sort of challenge and it awaits your champion to step forward!

=> Party

[Dexam]

Skorri, about to raise his axe and shield, gives a start of surprise at the behaviour of the dead warriors.

"It would seem that at least some small sense of honour persists across the realms of death for these warriors; I believe that we are being challenged to a contest of champions." He glances at Gunnar, then at the giantess Freyja. "So, mighty Spearmaiden, will you carry the honour of the Hoardalands on your spearpoint, and return this thing's spirit to Valhalla?" He reaches up and claps her on the arm for encouragement.

Casting Resistance on Freyja - no harm in giving a minor buff, just in case! :smallwink:

[DrK]

Freyja

Freyja looks at the undead warrior and offers her own spear in salute, the loud clatter as she hammers it off her shield accepting the unspoken challenge. "Wodan grant me strength and Courage" she mutters to herself as she readies for the fight. At Skorri's words she nods, "You do me honour, I will earn it now."

Challenge accepted she strides a few feet forward and plants the spear readying to meet the undead beast.



Advance to 30ft from the skeleton
Brace spear
Ready attack

[Ghostfoot]

The bronze-clad champion of old steps forward. It makes a strange gesture of honor, saluting Freyja with its weapon, then settles into a combat pose sword and shield at the ready.

Circling warily the two opponents face off, it's eyes glimmering with a cold blue light. Then, it advances, shield held high as it seeks to fend off Freyja's mighty spear and cut her down...

Move action: advance 30ft (not charge)
then: AoO Freyja
then: Standard: longsword [roll0] damage [roll1]
then: Freyja's turn (note it's inside her reach weapon range now, so unlikely to be able to be attacked w reach spear)

=> Freyja

[DrK]

Freyja

As the skeletal beast advances she thrusts at it, trusting the oar like length of spear to fend it off as it advances at her before she meets its attack on the solid steel boss of her shield. The beast so close now she steps back, drawing her battle axe and hewing at the creature's helmed head.


AoO: [roll0] dam [roll1]
Readied attack: [roll2] dam [roll3]

Then
Free: drop spear
5ft step back
Move: Draw battle axe
Standard: chop skeleton [roll4] dam [roll5]

[Ghostfoot]

The skeletal champion blocks Freyja's initial strike, and turns the second with it's sword. Advancing in close it swings but she blocks it with her massive shield even as she flings her spear down and draws her ax swinging wildly. It presses on relentlessly, slashing again but still unable to get past her defences.

No action: 5 step
Standard: longsword (1d20+6)[12] damage (1d8+5)[13]

=> Freyja

[DrK]

Freyja

Freyja's eyes widen as the undead warrior parries the spear strikes and the axe blow, spinning she pushes back with her shield, the door sized chunk of wood blocking its return stroke. "by Wodan, it has some skill..." she mutters to the others as she steps sideways pushing it back before swinging a low blow under her shield to try and take out its legs.

The solid thunk of steel on on wood suggests that it saw her attack coming and dropped its shield in time...



Attack [roll0] damage [roll1]

EDIT: as the 18 and 16 missed I've assumed the 15 misses.

[Ghostfoot]

The champion seems to smile in a rictus grin as it indeed drops its shield to block the blow its centuries of experience guiding it as it counters with a skillful slash. The corroded blade slips past her shield and cuts through her leathers deep into Freyja side for 8 damage even as the skeletal warrior resets its stance and looks for another opportunity...

No action: 5 step as needed
Standard: longsword (1d20+6)[21] damage (1d8+5)[8]

=> Freyja & others...?

[DrK]

Freyja

Freyja stumbles onto one knee as the blade slices into her side, blood streaking down her side and soaking her long skirts and boot. Limping she sweeps the axe blade upwards in a desperate attempt to catch the beast in the face. "Gods, he is skillful." she cries, the pain leaving her grimacing and biting her tongue.


AC 16
Hps 2/10!!

Attack [roll0] dam [roll1] +1 dam for Axe to Grind trait

[Ghostfoot]

Freyja swings her axe, the desperate stroke crunching into a pitted bronze pauldron denting it but the bones beneath protected. The ancient warrior swivels in his ancient fighting style. Shifting in he lunges Freyja realising that the blow will strike true. The blade punches through her abdomen a cold shaft of bronze for 11 damage bursting from the other side in a spray of blood from her drenched leathers.

Signy gasps in shock as the giantess slumps to the ground the skeletal victor standing tall Freyja's lifeblood dripping from his sword. But instead of proceeding to cut down the rest of you like so much wheat before him, it stands back, offering a salute to the fallen as its mouldering entourage backs away into the darkness.

As it melts away Signy stumbles forward in a daze to slump to her knees next to the fallen giantess. Hands slick with blood she tries to hold the wound together, poking back in writhing guts that threaten to spill across the barrow ground. "Truly the lass showed real bravery. If her wyrd is to die here, for the Norns to cut her thread, be assured she will be borne by the valkyrie's to dine at Wotan's table with our finest fallen heroes". Blood spurts again spattering the cunning woman as she wrestles with the leathers "Here, hold her together here. Tie this." She moves swiftly issuing orders as her world condenses to the body before her.

longsword (1d20+6)[19] damage (1d8+5)[11]

Signy heal (first aid) DC15 (1d20+4)[22] => stabilized

[Dexam]

Skorri lets out a cry of shock and dismay as he sees the skeletal champion defeat the giantess, despite her most valiant efforts.

He rushes to assist Signy, dropping his axe and shield. "This cannot be her time," he says. "The gods surely have her destined for greater stories."

Skorri begins a low chant, a call on the bravery of warriors of old, as he presses down on the bloody wound where Signy directs.

Surreptitious casting of Cure Light Wounds: [roll0]

[DrK]

Freyja

The blow slides into her side, the steel cold like ice. Then the blood and pain hit and with barely enough time to theink "do not scream" she slumps to the ground, toppling at the feet of the skeletal warrior. Even as the fog surrounds her and she hears the clatter of hooves and a distant hunting horn pain blazes into her mind. Seconds later she opens blurred eyes and looks up from the marshy ground at Signy and Skorri crouched beside her, both with bloodstained hands knelt in the blood soaked ground.

Grunting she winces at the blazing pain in her side and the other in her leg where the first blow had landed. "Where did he go, after I fell did you best him?"

[PeacefulOak]

Mørkedrømevandrer

The wild-haired Nuk had been swift to act at the giant's fall, horn-backed bow springing to hand as he warily watched the noble shades take their leave. His eyes wary, he leans down next to the fallen warrior as she speaks. "These warriors seem willing to accept the results of their combat, and have retreated to the cave carrying with them their secrets. A worrying portent, if one believes in such. Are you well enough to continue?"

[Ghostfoot]

With the worst of Freyja's wounds patched you stumble onward through the barrow fields, mindful that all around you stir the restless dead yet resolutely determined to press forward to free the jarl's daughters from their witch kidnapper. Time begins to lose meaning as the storm rages ahead, until finally you feel that you must almost be there, the Tor now less than a mile ahead illuminated by the flashes of lightning.

With a loud crash, a stone rolls away from one of the barrow openings, revealing a gaping hole into darkness. Out of the shadows strides a long-dead hero from before the Northlanders first came to this land. His raiment is grand, clad in rotting silks and fine cloths, armored with a cuirass of bronze, and carrying a two-handed sword of gold-and-silvergilt bronze. The undead king mounts a nearby barrow and raises his hands in a silent command, a command answered by the hordes of undead crawling forth from the surrounding Barrow Lands. The way ahead is open but does not look like it will remain so for long as hundreds of decayed skeletons lurch forth in all other directions from the cold embrace of the earth.

Looming ahead at the far corner of the field of barrows is the 100-ft tall mound of packed earth known as the Tor. Crowning this hilltop is a ring of standing stones, tumbled down and long forgotten, built ages ago by the long-dead Andøvan that once inhabited what is now the Northlands. The Tor is steeply sloped, and the slopes are covered with grasses, herbs, and bracken. Two long causeways march up from the surrounding plains, one to the southwest and one to the northwest. The stones themselves are cracked and worn with age; green lichen and moss cling to the lower surfaces and run up these fissures, contrasting sharply with the dark grey rock. Thunderclouds roil overhead and lighting flashes down to strike the few stones still standing and illuminating faint silhouettes among the stones.

https://images2.imgbox.com/25/0e/gLwLVTDf_o.png

You are about where the "S" is on the compass.

Undead approach from all directions except SW (ie the direction of the Tor)

400ft causeways lead up otherwise DC8 Climb to ascend the steep slopes.

[DrK]

Freyja

Still coughing and limping as she holds her still severe wound in her side Freyja looks with concern at the gathering hordes of undead. "We should approach the Tor then I guess..." Looking at the steep hill sides and the path she gestures with the long spear. "I do not think I can manage the slope I'm sorry. Shall I approach the path to distract whoever is at the peak. The less injured of you could skirt the tor and ambush them from the rear..."

[PeacefulOak]

Dark Dreams Wanderer

Bow held warily and eyes constantly scanning the slowly gathering horde of undead, the Wanderer turns to address his allies.

"Agreed in part, noble Freyja. Skorri and I can make our way quietly up the slope here and hold, waiting for you to arrive with the others at the far side. I will pull their attention with my arrows, turning their backs to you that you might engage them from the rear. What say you?"

[Ghostfoot]

"A fine plan," states Gunnar "Freyja and I shall ascend from the far side. The way is open so they'll see us coming but you will be free to strike at the foul witch while we close. Sibbe and her honorless cowards will fall beneath our blades and spears!"

"Yes," agrees Signy, "I will come too, and make for the jarl's daughters". She glances up at the lightning blasting down to strike at the stones atop the tor. "We still have some time before the vernal equinox and the sacrifice ritual. Let's not waste it".

[Dexam]

Skorri eyes the slowly approaching undead, the young skald trying and not quite succeeding to keep the fear from his expression.

"Yes, we'll out-manoeuvre them, and catch them off guard!" he says, using bravado to quell his rising sense of dread. He pats the shortbow strapped to his back. "While perhaps not as fine a shot as yourself, Nuklander, I can still help keep their attention. I'd much rather meet these villains shield-to-shield, it is clear that this witch and her cronies have no sense of honour, so an arrow to the gut is just as deserving for them as a spear."

Skorri slings his shield over his shoulders and pulls a boarding axe from a loop on his pack. Using the spike on the back of the axehead to aid his climb, he begins the ascent of the tor.

Climb: [roll0] (includes +2 bonus from boarding axe)
Stealth: [roll1]

[Ghostfoot]

Dark Dreams Wanderer and Skorri nimbly clamber the slopes of the Tor, mindful of the gathering undead below. Simultaneously Freyja, Gunnar and Signy make haste to ascend the Tor by way of one of the main causeways, the now-cowering dog Bogi following close.

At the culmination of each causeway a small old ditch marks the peak of the Tor, not a barrier to anyone but a symbolic boundary. The end of each ditch is anchored by an 8-foot-tall standing heelstone. They lean slightly inward toward each other and have tapered tops. Ancient Andøvan runes once marked their surfaces, but these have been worn to illegibility.

A ring of ancient standing stones is at the center of the Tor’s summit, some 200ft from the causeway that you have ascended. A few of the stones still stand as trilithons with posts and lintels 10 feet high, but most of the stones lie on the ground or are leaning at precarious angles. The dark clouds above swirl in a great spiral seemingly only a hundred feet above the hilltop and are constantly illuminated from within by flashes of lightning. Other streaks of lightning flash downward in jagged arcs to strike the still-standing trilithons, and after each flash, the stones radiate a pale glow for a few moments as if absorbing the power of the storm.

https://images2.imgbox.com/77/34/RLk5RBOg_o.png

All the stones of the circle are carved of the same blueish dolerite, a type of stone not native to the area. They bear no legible carvings, but some faded, weathered creases in the rock hint that at one time they were richly adorned. At the center of the ring is a 3-foot-high-by-12-foot-long altar stone stained in ancient blood. The area between the altar and the ring is open and covered with low grass. Roughly half of the stones are still standing, especially the main entrance stones at the south of the ring.

At the altar you spy the old witch Sibbe and the jarl's youngest daughter Little Runa at the altar, seemingly conversing in harsh whispers. The remaining two daughters of the jarl Inga and Fastvi are tied up nearby. Two warriors stand on guard duty, recognizable even at this distance as the wanted men Njarni the Traitor and Gufti the Clever. The former hefts an ax and cries out a challenge pointing to your group at the heelstone boundary. Gufti grabs bow and sword, and the old crone starts gesturing and cackling as she casts a spell of magic. Little Runa cowers down low next the the altar.

Before your eyes the two outlaws increase and grow, swelling with foul magic until they are the size of large trolls and looking just as murderous. The wicked seiðkona glances over to the two bound girls clearly eager for the time to draw nigh for the sacrifice and her restorative ritual!

Dark Dreams Wanderer and Skorri lurk on the far side at the lip of the Tor, about 100ft from the stone circle, apparently unnoticed so far.

Gunnar (1d20+3)[8]
DDW (1d20+2)[11]
Freyja (1d20+1)[2]
Skorri (1d20+2)[19]
Signy (1d20+1)[5]
Sibbe (witch) (1d20+1)[4]
Njarni (axe) (1d20)[3]
Gufti (sword & bow) (1d20+2)[5]

https://images2.imgbox.com/1b/a3/6kggsBPB_o.png

The flashing lightning of the storm and glowing stones give the entire hilltop normal lightning.

Njarni (axe) is to the north
Gufti (bow & sword) to southwest

=> DDW & Skorri
some distance away still (see map)

[PeacefulOak]

Mørkedrømevandrer

The Wanderer had scaled the face of the slope with ease, bow and mighty terbutje strapped to his back. Now, edging over the crest, he pulls forth his horn-backed longbow and draws an arrow, whispering a prayer to Ullr under his breath. "Guide our blades and arrows, hunter of truth and justice." He turns to Skorri and gestures vehemently, his hand tapping his own chest and jabbing forward, then pointing to Skorri and making a downward pushing motion. He eases forward stealthily, doing his best to stay low to the ground as he readies his bow to loose. Finding a steady point he takes a deep breath, draws to his ear, and looses the arrow with his exhale. The arrow sails near-silent through the air towards the witch... but the Wanderer sees none of this as he drops prone to the ground once the arrow is loosed.


Rollls rolls rolls!
[roll0] to hit for [roll1] damage (+2 to hit and damage for Favored Enemy)
[roll2] stealth

[Dexam]

Skorri nods his assent to the gestures of Dark Dreams Wanderer, pulling out and readying his own much smaller bow while whispering a short prayer to Wotan to guide his aim. Like the Nuklander, he creeps forward slightly, keeping low to the ground with arrow nocked to string. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees his companion ready and loose, dropping swiftly to the ground. Scant seconds behind, Skorri replicates the motion, drawing a bead on the distant figure of the witch Sibbe and falling flat once the arrow is in flight.

Attack with shortbow: [roll0] (includes -2 for range penalty)
Damage: [roll1]
Stealth: [roll2]

[Ghostfoot]

Mørkedrømevandrer and Skorri let fly with their bows, arrows sailing high across the lightning-blasted mound. Somehow the Wanderer's arrow finds its mark, catching the evil witch in the arm for 9 damage as she stands next to the altar, her face contorting in rage and fury.

Across the opposite side, Gunnar utters a battle cry "For the Jarl! Silvermeade!". Hefting his shield and axe he grits his teeth and starts forward to close the distance to the girls and their captors. He has taken but a step across the shallow boundary ditch when there is a twang as a cowardly snare is triggered. As Gunnar's boot catches the tripwire a coiled sapling launches a spear catching him unaware and sinking deep into his thigh for 8 damage. "Ungh!" he collapses to the ground a gasped "Go!".

The success of the treachery is greeting by howls of laughter and taunts from the two burly warriors. Njarni clashes his axe against a throwing spear daring you to come at him while Gufti spies your two archers hiding and lets fly an arrow vaguely in their direction.

The kidnappers all take cover from the archers behind the monoliths and the witch Sibbe ducks back wrenching the arrow free and casting a spell of warding upon herself. "Hold them back" she croaks at her servants, "The time is almost nigh!"

"Come!" says Signy to Freyja, "We must rid the world of these cowards. They dishonour all Northlanders with their tricks worse than Loki. I am with you!"

Luckily (?) it was the absent player triggered the trap...
Spear trap vs Gunnar (1d20+15)[26] damage (1d6+3)[8]
Gunnar is at -3hp so will be 'fine' but is unexpectedly yet conveniently not needing to be run by me anymore for this combat!

Gufti vs DDW
shortbow (1d20)[1] (incl -2 range), damage (1d6)[3]

All opponents now have +4 AC from cover vs DDW & Skorri.

Signy ready to follow Freyja into battle!

=> Party

[PeacefulOak]

Mørkedrømevandrer

Bouncing to his feet with a ululating battle cry, the Wanderer dashes towards an advantageous position, hoping to find an angle to strike the witch. He draws an arrow and releases it, his cry reaching a crescendo as the arrow takes flight.

[roll0] to hit for [roll1]

[Dexam]

Skorri clambers to his feet with a cry of "For Silvermeade, and the justice of the Jarl!"

Pulling another arrow from his quiver, he steps forwards and snaps a shot at the witch, hoping that his aim is significantly better than last time...

Move: stand up from prone.
Standard: Shortbow attack [roll0] (includes -2 for range, but not cover); damage [roll1]
Free: 5' step forwards. :smalltongue:

[DrK]

Freyja

Freyja lets loose a vile curse as Loki's luck strikes down Gunnar beside her. Glancing at Signy she nods, "stay behind me. I fear we may not survive what is it come but Wodan will bless us if we fight to the last" and hefting her spear she'll start jogging forwards, running towards the circle of rocks closing to 80ft from nearest of the savage criminals her spear low and ready to tear out either of their throats!

[Ghostfoot]

Dark Dreams and Skorri continue to rain arrows down upon the witch and her craven henchmen but the cowards take cover behind the ancient monoliths and the shots clatter harmlessly off the rocks. Freyja jogs forward massive spear in hand, with Signy hitching her skirts and following close behind with the pup.

Gufti the Clever hides behind a fallen column shooting wildly with his bow through the lightning-streaked skies, the shot flying well wide. Njarni the Traitor with a stupid grin on his face similarly hurls a massive throwing spear toward Freyja the throw poorly delivered falling well short.

At the altar stone Sibbe the Unkempt casts her hands to the heavens, foul words of ancient magic on her cracked lips as the old witch holds a severed eyeball aloft and casts a spell. Her eyes glow orange like hot embers in her withered face as she cackles above the winds "You'll not stop me! I've come for my dues! The jarl thought I had forgotten what he owed me, but I never forget! The girl is mine and I'll have her sisters too! I will live afresh for another lifetime with these gifts."

Next to her Little Runa stands rigidly upright. She reaches out grasping a dagger in her hands and turns to walk stiffly toward Skorri and the Wanderer her eyes showing all white, rolled back like one possessed...

Gufti vs DDW
shortbow (1d20)[6] (incl -2 range), damage (1d8)[7]

Njarni vs Freyja
throwing spear (1d20-7)[11] (incl -8 range), damage (1d8+7)[14]

Sibbe
cast spell

Runa
move east towards DDW & Skorri
https://images2.imgbox.com/2e/5f/fd7SAOHu_o.png

The flashing lightning of the storm and glowing stones give the entire hilltop normal lightning.

Njarni (axe) is to the north
Gufti (bow & sword) to southwest

Edit: An 80ft move from Freyja would put her on the outside border of the stone circle anywhere from 9 o'clock to 12 o'clock

=> Party

[PeacefulOak]

Mørkedrømevandrer

The Wanderer, now standing, moves forward and northwards in an effort to find a better angle to hit the witch with his arrow. Drawing to the cheek, he lets the arrow fly with a whoop!

[roll0] to hit for [roll1]

[Ghostfoot]

Mørkedrømevandrer's arrow flies true, arcing through the blasted skies to catch the witch a glancing blow for 3 damage.

=> Skorri & Freyja

[DrK]

Freyja

In range now Freyja, angry with the murderous scum atop the hill calls upon Father Wodan, power flows into her as she gestures at Gufti and feels the length of the spear charge with power.

Long legs flying over the rough grass she hurdles hummicks as she charges in, spear thrusting to impale the criminal



Swift: smite evil vs Gufti (+1 hit/dam/ deflect AC,)
Charge Gufti, stop at 20ft with long spear
- [roll0] dam [roll1]

[Dexam]

Skorri begins a steady trot towards the monoliths, pausing only to snap off another quick shot at the witch.

Move 30' towards the monoliths.
Standard: Shortbow attack [roll0] (includes -2 for range, but not cover); damage [roll1]

[Ghostfoot]

Freyja hurtles across the lightning-blasted ground closing the gap with the ancient magic-infused Andøvan circle. Spying the coward rapist Gufti with bow in hand she charges at him. He turns from his position beside a standing stone, he's big as a troll due to the witch Sibbe's foul magic and his normally agile frame is unable to duck away quickly as she strikes for 14 damage grievously wounding him. Even wounded Gufti seems unfazed and, uttering an oath against the gods he shouts at Freyja describing in vile detail the horrific things he will do to her when he has beaten her down.

From the other side Skorri jogs forward even as the girl Runa advances towards him past her two bound sisters, dagger in hand. Ignoring the girl for the moment he fires another shot at the ringleader witch, his arrow grazing her for 2 damage as she curses him in anger. Runa closes quickly eyes dilated clearly under some sort of bewitchment as she raises her dagger ready to strike at Skorri.

Behind Freyja runs Signy darting behind the bigger-framed giantess with the stray dog loyally by her side. As Freyja engages with Gufti, Signy focuses on the traitorous jarl-murderer Njarni lukring nearby. The massive warrior grins and raises his huge axe at the sight of the slight young woman but Signy is firm. She starts casting a spell, using the ways known only to the mysterious & respected cunning women to guide her magic even as he advances toward her axe raised.

Seeing Gufti & Njarni move to the western flank Sibbe too shifts her attention, fixing her evil witches gaze upon Freyja causing further doubt to creep into her mind.

Signy starts casting Sleep (casting time = 1 round)

Gufti frightening SA vs Freyja
Demoralize opponent DC10 (1d20+9)[16] => Frightened (https://www.d20pfsrd.com/Gamemastering/Conditions/#TOC-Frightened) 1 round

Sibbe hex vs Freyja
Evil Eye DC15 (1d20-1)[2] => -2 on saves for 4 rounds

Runa double move
Njarni double move
https://images2.imgbox.com/b6/d2/wenR56Fr_o.png

=> Party

[PeacefulOak]

Mørkedrømevandrer

Having a bead on his foe now, the wild-haired Wanderer dashes forward loosing another arrow.

[roll0] to hit for [roll1]

[Ghostfoot]

Mørkedrømevandrer's arrow flies true! As Sibbe focuses her hexes upon Freyja the arrow catches the witch square in the back for 4 damage. She sprawls across the ancient stones, her lifeblood pumping it's last as the burning embers in her eyes flicker and fade.

Nearby your ally Signy completes her own sorcery and a stunned Njarni topples to the ground like a mighty oak, unconscious and slumbering in a magical sleep. Gufti sees his two accomplices fallen and his bravado turns to panic. He turns and runs, fleeing even as lightning blasts down around. He doesn't last long, the last you see of him his escape ending abruptly as he hacks feebly trying to carve his way through the horde of ancient undead surrounding the rise. The skeletal Andøvan drag the coward down and you see their pitted bronze weapons chop relentlessly as they deliver him deservedly to Hel.

Back at the Tor, Little Runa breaks down in tears, the witch's spell now broken. She dashes over to her bound sisters freeing them and the three of the huddle together with the wee dog happily bouncing around and licking at them. Gunnar hobbles closer clutching his wound, badly injured but yet still alive.

It's been a long night, and not yet over, but for now you have saved the jarl's daughter's from certain sacrifice at the hands of the witch Sibbe and her coward thugs!

Njarni save vs Sleep Will DC15 (1d20+3)[13]

[DrK]

Freyja

Freyja skids to a halt, breathing heavily as the panic fades. Her cheeks blush unseen in the dark skies as she feels the shame of her cowardice whilst the others had not fled. She smiles slightly as she watches Gufti's brutal death even as she feels some sadness it was not her spear or Wodan's strength that had delivered the justice. WIth the witch dead she runs up to the girls, a shouted "Girls, Runa, you are alive. It will be well. Gods be praised but it will be okay."

She looks at her allies and smiles a weary smile. "DO we wait here for the light of day to disperse these restless dead and this dark storm?"

[Dexam]

Skorri drops his bow and draws his axe, tentatively raising it in order to knock aside the young girl with the flat of the head. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the flash of Mørkedrømevandrer's arrow reflecting the lighting as it sails through the air and strikes down the witch Sibbe. He lets out an exultant shout, followed by a sigh of relief as Little Runa returns to a semblance of normality. He turns his attention to Gufti, only to see the coward flee into the horde of undead and meet a fitting demise.

Confirming that the girls are unharmed, and happy to see that Gunnar has recovered somewhat from his wounds, Skorri makes his way to Signy and the fallen Njarni. The young skald gives a slight bow to Signy. "Lady, you posses great magics that are matched only by your courage. How long will this traitorous cur remain asleep? Long enough to haul him to the jarl's justice?"

He nods at Freyja. "The giantess makes a good point - did we rescue the girls from the witch, only to meet our Wyrd at the hands of long dead warriors?"

[PeacefulOak]

Mørkedrømevandrer

As the witch falls a ululating cry emits from the Wanderer, who stands shaking his horn-backed bow to the sky. Personal celebration complete, he swiftly kneels and gathers a handful of dust, spits in it, and scatters it into the air with the heat of his breath. That done, he moves to join his companions in the circle of stones.

"Ullr's justice is done here. Let us bind the scum that he might face a more earthly justice soon." Keeping an eye towards the slopes of the hill in case the horde of undead approaches, he kneels next to his kill and begins to search the body. Over his shoulder, he speaks to Runa seeing that she is distraught. "Hey there wild one... all is well, yes? See to your sisters there, that all might face the night on their feet."

[DrK]

Freyja

The giantess looks at Mørkedrømevandrer, "Aye a good suggestion" and runs over to the downed Njarni where she binds him tightly, but gently so as not to wake him from his sleep. When he is thoroughly bound with the full 50ft of rope in her coil she draws a dagger out and shaves off his beard beginning to plait and slave leash to wear around his neck in shame (before his eventual execution). She'll also search the vagabound even as Mørkedrømevandrer searches the vile witch.

Glancing at the undead lining the base of the Tor she motions to Skorri, "Can you get the girls into the centre of the Tor. THere we will make our stand I guess and if the Norns have cut our threads here we will fall."

[Dexam]

Skorri

The young skald nods, but frowns with mild concern as he sees Mørkedrømevandrer searching the body of the slain witch. "What should we do with that?" Skorri asks, indicating the corpse. "I'd hate to see her come back again some day to trouble Silvermeade Hall, like that lot out there." he gestures to the undead milling around the Tor.

He goes to gather up his bow and search for any other weapons that might be given to the girls. "Gods' willing it won't come to it, and we'll defend you with our lives and honour; but if you need to defend yourselves, better to meet the enemy with a weapon in hand like a true Northlander, hey?!" he tells them cheerfully, as he herds them to the centre of the stone circle. Once there, he goes to examine the large altar stone in the centre - if the witch Sibbe was so interested in it, perhaps it held some clue as to how to dismiss the unnatural storm or the walking dead warriors?

Skorri turns his gaze to Little Runa. "You weren't tied up like the others... what was the witch saying to you?"

[Ghostfoot]

Skorri gathers the girls within the boundary of the Tor, seeking safety or at least a more defensible position within the stone circle. Signy helps too, urging the tired girls to make haste and gather next to Gunnar who hobbles his weight resting heavily as he leans on a dropped spear taken from Njarni and hands a few more out "Girls, grab a spear. Better to die with a weapon in hand. You father will be proud of you".

When Skorri inquires with Little Runa she lowers her eyes and looks away "I....I don't know. I don't remember. I swear I've never seen her, but it seemed like I'd known her all my life. I....I couldn't help myself. Please, let's not speak of it".

Signy points out Sibbe's dagger of ancient bronze, and similarly ancient amulet taken from about her neck. This is a necklace made of small animal bones and laced with dead roses surrounding a faintly glowing blue crystal. Despite its obvious age, the delicate bones and flowers that comprise the necklace are still in good repair — every dried rose petal remains in place as if locked in time.

"These items carry the power of the Andøvans still. We would be wise not to leave them for witless brigands to happen upon"

Link to loot page (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showsinglepost.php?p=23060554&postcount=3)

On Njarni:

studded leather armor,
greataxe,
6 shortspears,
sap,
pouch with 4 hacksilver (ie 4 gp)


On Sibbe:

Andøvan dagger (bronze +1 dagger),
Andøvan barrow charm (unidentified),
ragged peasant’s outfit,
spell component pouch,
pouch with 26 hs and a chunk of amber with a large moth suspended in it (unappraised)


https://images2.imgbox.com/96/47/Sv9cgJFi_o.jpg

The sounds of many pounding hooves and the jingle of harness and armor rise from the Barrow Lands below. Below where stood the ranks of the dead who allowed you to pass to the Tor now can be seen a large party of armed warriors riding hard toward the hillock. In the flashes of lightning, you can make out the forms of the dead moving aside to allow them to pass without a fight. As the riders make hard for the causeway, you can see that though their harness and armor are mudspattered and travel stained, the weapons they bear in their hands are bright and their faces grim. These are men going to war, and riding at their head you can see the boar-headed helm of Jarl Olaf Henrikson himself leading three full hands of huscarls and warriors.

From the mud that grimes his armor and the blood that dries on his face, you can tell that Jarl Olaf has had a long night as well as he and his huscarls gather around you and the girls. Kraki Hallason is there, and Young Ljot, sourspirited Berg Geirson, surly Hauk of Vastavikland, One-Eyed Sven, and even Old Ljot. Hallbjorn also looks on approvingly, his helm clutched under one arm, his eyes tired but bright.

“It seems you young-spears have had a night of it, too,” your jarl begins. "At first I had thought that you were young and foolish, unable to oversee my girls, then I thought you defeated or your mind’s-worth broken by what strange signs we found at the Meadows when you did not return. But when we began to follow the trail to find the girls, we realized it was your trail that we followed, and we saw the signs of your own battle-dew shed upon the path as you fought to fulfill your sword-oath to me. You have fought and bled for my household, and in my mind that makes you a part of it.

“Glad I am that you have saved my daughters from that evil witch, and happy I am to reward such warriors as you. When we return to Silvermeade, you eat, drink, and fill yourselves with good mead, for you have done well this day. And here in the sight of my own householders take from my hand these armbands that have graced my own arms since I slew the giant Hastral in furious spear-din. Truly you are warriors of Olaf Henrikson.”

each: an arm-ring of gold taken from his own arm (a great honor) worth 300 hs

[PeacefulOak]

Mørkedrømevandrer

Efficiently having gathered the supplies from the witch into his travel sack, the Wanderer had risen to greet his Jarl standing tall and proud on the earth and rock of victory. Though not his people's custom, he was still deeply impressed and touched as the Jarl took armbands from his own arm to present to them, and he immediately placed it on his own arm, though it rose all the way to his shoulder before finding catch.

"It was our duty, Jarl, no more or less. The earth would scarce have borne my tread were I to turn tail and run from that." He stamps the ground firmly to demonstrate his point. "Happy I am to stand beside these worthy in your service."

[DrK]

Freyja

The giantess offers a low bow to the Jarl. "You honour us. the Gods and the all father have seen fit to give us victory this day." She looks at the barrow and the sea of undead warrriors, "We will need Wotan's blessing to escape this place. I would be honoured to lead the charge my Jarl to see you and your girls to safety."

Rested she dons the golden arm band and then hefts spear and shield and walks to the edge of the stones to look down into the mass of the dead to see if there is a "leader" amongst them or a patch where the dead are thinner. The patch wher the bandit was ripped apart does not appeal to her.

[Mercurion 2]

The man—or so Knorron thought of himself, and was painfully self-conscious in doing all he could to make others think so as well—stood with his arms folded across his chest, the better to hide their unnatural length. Hands were tucked under the folds of his dun colored cloak, the better to hide nails that were more akin to claws. There was less he could do to disguise the fact that his skin marked him as something other than fully human with its frostburnt appearance, but he wore his hood pulled low across his face to cloak it as much as possible.

He watched, silently, as the scene unfolded on the hill. The ride had been difficult and he was splattered with horse-strewn mud kicked up on the trail, but it appeared the Jarl’s daughters were safe, so all was well. Now he watched, and waited, to see what new need Henrikson might have for him.

[Starbin]

Heltinne Thrainsdottir, Speaker of Spirits

The Jarl and his huscarls were a formidable force, drawing all eyes as they arrived. They immediately headed to the heroes responsible for saving the Jarl’s daughters while the rest of the retinue spread out to cordon off the area. Amidst the rank and file warriors, however, was a cloaked figure that was given wide berth from the others. Perhaps not as wide of a distance as the elf riding a polar bear. As the warband settled into their stations, the figure pulled back a hood to reveal a face that clearly demanded attention. She did not appear to be a spear maiden or battle fury, but there was an undeniable sense of importance around her. For those who looked closely, her lips would occasionally move in a seeming murmur ... and she periodically tilted her head to the side, as if listening to something.

Her gaze swept across the Tor, lingering momentarily on each of the new heroes, and a select few of the Jarl’s band. However, when her gaze reached Runy, the woman froze, staring at the young girl for long moments before finally tearing her gaze away. Whatever she saw had clearly affected her.

http://thecage.wdfiles.com/local--files/pc:varrid/Varrid01.jpg
Joining the party with a little mystery :smallsmile:
AC 14 HP 9 Init +1 Move 30
F +1 R +1 W +3
Weapon: longspear (+2, 1d8+3), Morningstar (+2, 1d8+2/3)
Spells (Unl/3): ghost sound, mage hand, guidance, create water, detect magic, spark / cure light wounds, bless, obscuring mist
SLA: 1/1, Ice armor: 1hr
Key skills: Perception +6; Sense Motive +5; Diplomacy +7; Heal +7; Spellcraft +4; KS Religion +4; KS Geography +5; KS History +4
Effect: Child of Winter (+2 Initiative/Reflex; endure elements vs cold; no penalty on ice; 1/2 pen deep snow); ER 5 vs cold, acid, electricity

[atlastrembles]

White That Walks (Vitsomgår)

~~Earlier~~

It had been a long, but blessedly uneventful journey south from Nukland to Silvermeade Hall. The first thing he noticed was the trees, then the green. So much green. In the far north of Nukland, the only colours were blue, white, black, brown, and the occasional splash of red when a kill was marked. Other colours were only given by Sky when she danced across Night. Sometimes, too, sparks of Sky settled in the eyes of special Nuk. But here were a riot of colours so bright that it hurt White That Walk's eyes. Yellows, purples, oranges, and all manner in between that the northern elf had no names for. The tales he had heard of the summerlands seemed to be true after all, and White That Walks gripped his Bear's fur harder, comforted by his familiar bulk and warmth beside him.

Short days later, the Nuk ascended the steps to Silvermeade's Hall, polar bear in tow and huffing his encouragement to the young druid. His entrance causing a stir - moreso because of the polar bear at this side than the sight of a Nuk - Vitsomgår announces himself and his reason for visiting...

~~Now, on top of the Tor~~

A few minutes after the Jarl's party mounts the rise to the standing stones, a fur clad youth about 5'10" carrying a shortspear and a wooden shield also crests the hilltop and approaches the Jarl. Right behind him, keeping pace and swinging its thick head from side to side, scanning in all directions, is a bear with shockingly white fur contrasted against night-dark eyes and nose. Resting his spearhand on the bear's head, the newcomer shakes his head to lower the hide hood covering his head, revealing similarly white hair closely, but roughly, cut to his scalp. He nods respectfully at the Jarl and reports No beast tracks our steps, but we should not wait long here.

After giving his report, the Nuk then scans the assembled group until his eyes rest on Dark Dreams Wanderer. His body stills as he catches sight of the fellow Nuk and the polar bear gives a sympathetic huff of surprise. The white-haired elf approaches the other and places one hand on his heart and the other on the bear's head. Great Bear Mother has sent me to you, child of the in-between time. We have been searching for you many moons. Our claws will join with yours.

[Dexam]

Skorri Erlenson

Skorri frowns as Little Runa gives her account of what transpired between her and the witch. He does not press her, but makes a mental note to speak to Signy about it later - perhaps the young Cunning Woman could make sense of both the witch and the girl child's strange ways?

As Jarl and his entourage ride into view, Skorri beats his axe on his shield and lets out mighty yalps, his skald-trained voice carrying clear above the din of the storm. He happily greets the riders he knows, grinning and clapping huscarl Kraki Hallason on the shoulder as he dismounts. "Glad you finally decided to show yourselves; I was getting worried that we'd have to deal with this lot by ourselves, and then there'd be no glory to be found for you!" he jests.

As Jarl Olaf approaches and speaks, Skorri grows more serious. He accepts the arm-ring with a mixed expression of pride and awe. "Your honour is our honour, Jarl Olaf; were we to shirk in our duty, we would be no better than the dirt for honourable men and women to walk upon. I look forward to continued service in bringing glory to your family and Silvermead Hall."

[PeacefulOak]

Dark Dreams Wanderer

Brows rise in muted surprise as the wild-haired Wanderer sees a fellow Nuk approaching from the ranks of Nordmen. "You are far from the homeland, White that Walks. What brings you on my trail to the south?" (Spoken in Nuk)

[Ghostfoot]

The coming dawn glows pink over the endless field of barrows that surrounds the Tor. Fresh horses are brought for the girls, as indeed are your own mounts having been secured by the warband as they tracked you. "You will stay close to them and finish your oath to see them safely home" Jarl Henrikson instructs. He barks orders to his warriors, having decided to make a break for the forest to the south to try to get out of the accursed Barrow Lands as quickly as possible and risk the forest eves rather than the unquiet dead. The troop gathers at the foot of the causeway preparing to make a fighting retreat as the forms of scores of skeletal remnants of the ancient Andøvan still shuffle about dimly visible in the half-light. The Jarl's men and women eye the surrounding Barrow Lands nervously, a grim cast to the warrior’s eyes and the barely contained fear of the supernatural on more than one face, at the prospect of a battle against the spawn of Hel.

As you steel yourselves to punch through the masses, an attempt from which most must surely not survive, there is activity. The hordes of shuffling undead part at the base of the causeway, and one dead warrior steps forth in front of the others. The rotting silks and fine cloth still covers his cuirass of bronze below his hollow-eyed skull, though now in the early light you can see that traces of ancient dye still show where his raiment was once of the finest fabric. And he still carries that massive bronze sword of magnificent make, now point down in the earth. It is the barrow king who first allowed you to pass to reach the Tor, and he seems to want something. Fixing its deathless gaze on Mørkedrømevandrer it points to his travel sack where he has stashed the witch's belongings. It lifts its hands to mimic the shape of a necklace and then holds its arm out waiting.

[PeacefulOak]

Mørkedrømevandrer

The Nuk steels himself at the foul undead king's approach, but realizes the wisdom of accommodating the demands of a vastly superior force. Reaching into his bag, he pulls forth the charm so recently retrieved from the corpse of the witch, his finest prize from this battle. He lifts it so that it is highlighted in the rising sun, then steps forward and pushes it into the waiting hands of the Andøvan King. "My prize by conquest, but yours from me. Take it and let us pass."

[DrK]

Freyja

The giantess, standing head height to the mounted Jarl looks to Henriksen. "My Jarl. That creature let us pass. If it wishes the witch's necklace we should let the Nuk return it. When we duelled with one on the way here it let us pass when honour was satisfied." She steps a few steps after Mørkedrømevandrer as he advances, her spear held ready, but non-threatening. A mutter of "Baldur guard you.." under her breath as she watches carefully.

Her eyes roam over the assembled guards and hurscals, gaze focusing on the hooded one with longer than normal arms. Another half blood she surmised and nodded towards him. She had already seen the white witch that had arrived staring at little Runa and the strange Nuk with the bear. THe Jarl had brought a strange collection with him. Stopping looking around she focused back on Mørkedrømevandrer as he offered the necklace to the undead creature.

[Starbin]

Heltinne Thrainsdottir, Speaker of Spirits

Heltinne turned away from the snarling visage superimposed over the Jarl’s youngest daughter. The feeling of foreboding was strong, even from a distance. Shaking her head, she slowly moved closer to the new heroes and the young ladies, listening as the Jarl charged the group with continued protection of his children.

With his children’s safety addressed, Henrikson turned to his forces, preparing to attempt to breakthrough the undead forces. Even as orders rang out, the Oracle quietly said to no one in particular, ”Wait ... something sturs ...” Even as the words hung in the air for those nearby, the barrow king stepped forward, making his demands. Heltinne watched as the elf from the saviors approached the barrow lord to give him what looked like a necklace necklace. Silently, she wondered what the item meant to the old king.

After a moment, she turned to the others still standing to the side and murmured, “How did the witch die?”
Responding to the situation
AC 14 HP 9 Init +1 Move 30
F +1 R +1 W +3
Weapon: longspear (+2, 1d8+3), Morningstar (+2, 1d8+2/3)
Spells (Unl/3): ghost sound, mage hand, guidance, create water, detect magic, spark / cure light wounds, bless, obscuring mist
SLA: 1/1, Ice armor: 1hr
Key skills: Perception +6; Sense Motive +5; Diplomacy +7; Heal +7; Spellcraft +4; KS Religion +4; KS Geography +5; KS History +4
Effect: Child of Winter (+2 Initiative/Reflex; endure elements vs cold; no penalty on ice; 1/2 pen deep snow); ER 5 vs cold, acid, electricity

[atlastrembles]

Dark Dreams Wanderer

"You are far from the homeland, White that Walks. What brings you on my trail to the south?"

The Nuk bows his head, acknowledging the distance both Nuks had travelled from their own lands. Far, but we go farther still, Dark Dreams Wanderer. I have no answer for you except that I was so sent by the old gods of snow, earth, and fur to find you. Our paths are joined if you will allow it, or else resist the swirl and cycle of the spirits that were old when the Aesir appeared.

~~~~LATER~~~~

White That Walks puts a restraining hand on the neck of his bear companion, Brother, who only allows a low rumbling growl to escape his throat as the wight lord shows himself. This is not for us, Brother, let the Nords handle their own ancestors. he whispers. Although he does not interfere directly, he does betray surprise by way of a sharply indrawn breath when it is his fellow Nuk who approaches the Andovan skeleton king. What strange days these are, the Great Bear Mother is long sighted to send us south.

[Ghostfoot]

The Andøvan lord takes the barrow charm from Mørkedrømevandrer, skeletal fingers clasping it tightly. A barely discernible change in stature ripples out across the surrounding hordes of undead warriors as they seem to settle somewhat, becoming less agitated.

Holding the necklace in one hand the warleader holds forward its own blade in exchange. The greatsword is truly remarkable. An ancient bronze blade of Andøvan heritage the like of which is rarely seen, runes of the forgotten language decorate the well-crafted metal. "Hægtesse," utters Signy as she reads the markings "The blade is named 'Hægtesse'. Fury."

Murmurings of awe and approval arise from the gathered group of seasoned Northlanders at the spectacle of the scene and the sight of the famed blade of old passing back into the land of the living.

A relic of the ancient Andøvan kings who once inhabited the Northlands, Hægtesse is a +1 furyborn (https://www.d20pfsrd.com/magic-items/magic-weapons/magic-weapon-special-abilities/furyborn/) bronze greatsword. Though the blade is crafted from bronze, its enchantment gives it the hardness and durability of steel (it does not have the fragile condition as bronze normally does). It is a weapon of legend in the Northlands and brings great honor on the warrior who wields it.

[Starbin]

Heltinne Thrainsdottir, Speaker of Spirits

Heltinne watched the exchange hawkishly. She didn’t realize she was holding her breath until she exhaled in relief once the tension drained from the undead army. Glancing around, she could sense rather than see a change in the aura of those surrounding them. However, her breath caught in her throat when she saw the Barrow Ling Hand over his mighty blade. Blinking, she raised a hand to her lips, murmuring ”That ... is quite a gift. A kingly reward ...”
[i]Responding to the booty!
AC 14 HP 9 Init +1 Move 30
F +1 R +1 W +3
Weapon: longspear (+2, 1d8+3), Morningstar (+2, 1d8+2/3)
Spells (Unl/3): ghost sound, mage hand, guidance, create water, detect magic, spark / cure light wounds, bless, obscuring mist
SLA: 1/1, Ice armor: 1hr
Key skills: Perception +6; Sense Motive +5; Diplomacy +7; Heal +7; Spellcraft +4; KS Religion +4; KS Geography +5; KS History +4
Effect: Child of Winter (+2 Initiative/Reflex; endure elements vs cold; no penalty on ice; 1/2 pen deep snow); ER 5 vs cold, acid, electricity

[atlastrembles]

White That Walks lets out a long, quiet, low whistle as the blade is handed over by the wight lord. His eyes trace the runes, drawn by their arcane might. He can feel the pressure of its power pressing into his eyeballs even from where he stands. He blinks and shakes his head slightly to break eye contact, the movement aped by the polar bear at his side in synchrony.

[PeacefulOak]

Mørkedrømevandrer

Slender fingers tremble as the hard bony digits of the undead king pluck the charm from the Wanderer's hand. Grey eyes widen as the heavy ancient sword is presented, and the most perceptive of the observers might note that the wild-haired Nuk's spine visibly stiffens. He accepts the sword, lifting it point up into the air and allowing his eyes to wander the intricacies of the blade. Unspeaking, he reaches over his shoulder and unlimbers the great terbutje his people had gifted him before he first left. He holds it up next to the sword, balancing the two, before extending the weapon of his people toward the ancient king. He says nothing, but holds the two blades before him. One, upright and accepted, the other horizontal and offered. Wiry muscles tense with the effort as he waits for the king to accept his offer.

[roll0] Strength Check to manage the two very heavy weapons

[DrK]

Freyja

The giantess holds her breath as the Nuk approaches the eight. The wounds from duelling the last one still pained her, but somehow she knew that Mørkedrømevandrer was in no danger. The undead thing was a shard of a warrior, with honour still present.

Looking at the daughters of the Jarl she nods a reassuring smile. "All will be well children. The gods reward us."

[farothel]

Bjorn Ulgardson

This had been quite a night. First the ride with the jarl, the first time Bjorn had been selected to ride directly with the jarl, being one of the youngest huscarls in his service (and the most recent come into service). Having a polar bear in the middle of the group was also something he hadn't expected, even though after a while the horses got used to it and they didn't move away from the creature anymore. And the scene on the Tor was also not something he thought he would see soon, if at all.

After handing back the horses that he had been leading to it's current owners, he looked around, inwardly glad that he didn't have to fight the undead at the bottom of the Tor, although he would have loved to show his combat skills in front of the jarl. Stayin in the saddle he waited for his jarl's commands.

[Ghostfoot]

The wightlord fixes his gaze on the Nuklander in front of him. Seconds pass by. Just when Dark Dreams muscles begin to burn with effort the undead warrior acts, reaching out and taking the offered terbutje. Pausing for only a second longer it turns and strides back to rejoin its skeletal army, disappearing into the midst.

"The skalds will sing of this moment," says Jarl Henrikson. "You bring honour to these lands Nuklander, and are always welcome at Silvermeade Hall. Now let's be off before we outstay our welcome."

Everyone mounts up, the three girls now very much more obedient and respectful willing to follow instructions. Njarni the Traitor is bound and tied to a spare mount, with Kraki Hallason and Berg Geirson guarding the fallen huscarl closely.

The masses of undead shift and, though still milling somewhat aimlessly, a route opens up through the horde. With grim nervousness and weapons held tightly your group of warriors rides swiftly but carefully along the open path finally breathing with relief as you all pass from the Barrow Lands and the ancient undead and gain the relative comfort of the nearby forest as the sun dawns.

From here, it is a matter of some wearying but uneventful hours riding through the forest. The forest is relatively open. Few people venture here because of its horrid reputation, and thus few trees are felled these days. It is an old forest, with soaring towers of tree trunks spreading out above to form a tightly closed canopy, leaving the forest floor in deep shade with only an occasional shaft of sunlight breaking through. A low mist hangs about in dells and crannies, and seems to flow away as you approach.

By mid-afternoon your group you reach the easternmost edge of the forest and find open farmland ahead of you. All are weary but with the spring sun on your faces and welcoming fields ahead you find your spirits reinvigorated. The journey to the Coast Road passes quickly and from there the ride north to the comfort and safety of Silvermeade Hall is but a footnote.

The freemen and hirdmen (and women) of the Hall call out in welcome as the troop arrives and soon the small town is abuzz with murmurings of seiðkona and Hægtesse. "A feast! Mead!" calls the Jarl, "For the rescuers of my daughters!". The womenfolk of the hall quickly hustle away the three girls while Kraki and the spearmaiden Aase drag away Njarni to await his fate on the morrow. Healers are brought to tend your wounds and Odi the old cunning women checks everyone for signs of lingering charms.

https://images2.imgbox.com/8d/eb/YIJDRM7r_o.jpg

As the feasting begins Jarl Henrikson calls for his skald, Grimr Wisetooth. "Heroes, tell your tale, such that the skalds will know of your bravery and all will see how Northlander, Nuklander and giant-blooded are true warriors of Silvermeade and of Hordaland."

[atlastrembles]

White That Walks stays as close as possible to Dark Dreams Wanderer, naked awe and reverence on his face warring with protective pride. The other Nuk, the one he had been sent to find by the Great Bear Mother, the one he had been called to join his tale to, was even more impressive than he had imagined. No wonder the spirits saw something in this strange child of the In Between Time.

The Nuk and his bear companion still find time to drink mead and hot wine, eat heartily, and converse with the Jarl's nordlings and the handful of other strange companions and warriors who had ventured to Silvermeade. But when the skald beckons for the tale, he becomes still, turning to his fellow Nuk. His attention is riveted on him, waiting for him to share what had happened while White That Walks hunted his destiny.

[farothel]

Bjorn kept with the other huscarls, drinking and eating and talking with them. When the skald called for the stories, they all fell silent, as it was only polite to listen to another's story. The day you had a story to tell, you wanted everyone to listen to you too.

[Starbin]

Heltinne Thrainsdottir, Speaker of Spirits

Heltinne watched with no small amount of relief as the undead made a path for the Jarl’s forces. It was time to return back to the Stead, so she returned to her horse and followed the group, taking her place amongst the others called forth.

It was long trip, punctuated by quiet reflection and speculation - at least on the part of Thrainsdottir. By the time the company had returned and gathered in the Feasting Hall, Heltinne still had unanswered questions. Like how that much power and life had been on display by beings from the other side of the veil. What force had called them forth? Was it the witch, by some head or spell? Or had their duty forced them to serve from beyond the grave? Perhaps there was an answer in the tale of the heroes ...
Not my story to tell, so sitting back for the ride!
AC 14 HP 9 Init +1 Move 30
F +1 R +1 W +3
Weapon: longspear (+2, 1d8+3), Morningstar (+2, 1d8+2/3)
Spells (Unl/3): ghost sound, mage hand, guidance, create water, detect magic, spark / cure light wounds, bless, obscuring mist
SLA: 1/1, Ice armor: 1hr
Key skills: Perception +6; Sense Motive +5; Diplomacy +7; Heal +7; Spellcraft +4; KS Religion +4; KS Geography +5; KS History +4
Effect: Child of Winter (+2 Initiative/Reflex; endure elements vs cold; no penalty on ice; 1/2 pen deep snow); ER 5 vs cold, acid, electricity

[Ghostfoot]

Jarl Olaf calls to the skald Grimr, "Come, our young skald is slaking his thirst. Or more likely sparring with a comely spear-maiden somewhere! Grimr, tell us another tale of our heroes while we wait. The brothers of Jarl Skur Skulisdottir is a fine tale! And send for the blacksmith Graf and Sigfastr Wyrmhammer. Let's see if the dwarf's wares are worthy of my daughter's saviours!"

The middle-aged skald, Grimr Wisetooth, stands and takes his position, mead sloshing as he gestures about the hall fixing his eyes on each as he launches into the well-known tale, starting as always with the shouts from a drunken sell-sword...

"A tale! A tale of heroes, of adventure along the whale-road…though you have had neither, skald,” the battle-scarred woman called. Snorri eyed the feasting warriors lounging at their ease around his mother’s hall — some mighty heroes, some family huscarls, others… loafers who had spent the winter drinking her mead and eating her bread; loafers, like the drunken Kadlin Ottarsdottir who had wandered in off the moors just yesterday with her band of free-swords and imposed upon the good name and hospitality of the jarl.

“Truth, yes, I have never traveled the whale-road, nor had an adventure. And ‘tis also true that I have never seen the world beyond the sight of my mother’s hall.

“Once I had an uncle who—”

“Heroes, I said,” the woman spit the words as much as she spoke them and underscored them with a dashing of a full cup against the wooden floorboards. “Heroes, not scum like that!” The band of nameless men who followed Kadlin echoed her words and pounded their tables.

“None about those of his ilk, eh? Perhaps, then, you would rather hear how my uncle died? How in the end the evil in him won through, and his own brother had to slay him? My mother loathes this tale, but she is already to bed for the hour is late and the moon has set. She would surely not mind a short telling beyond her hearing.”

“My tale begins ‘ere I was born, before the cunning woman drew me forth from my mother’s womb, all twisted legs and broken spine. It begins with the birth of twin sons to the former jarl of this hall, Skuli Valison. Skuli’s young wife had a hard pregnancy, and the cunning woman did all she could. The efforts of that wise crone were for naught, though, for fair Ingithora died bringing two sons into the world. One screamed and thrashed, his tiny limbs flailing about, the other lay like death, blue of face, and worse, his body was misshapen and deformed, much more so than my own broken shape…”

*****

Through some witchery or perhaps a union between man and Jötnar in the distant past, Skuli’s late wife died birthing a monster, a thing not fully human — a thing part giant. That his wife should die bruised his heart; that she would do so bringing this cursed thing into the world broke it. Skuli ordered the cunning woman to take both the mewling things out into the snow and leave them for the wolves. For if one child be so cursed in the womb, surely they must both be; such was the wisdom of my Skuli Valison.

The cunning woman wrapped the babes together in a cloak and carried them out to be left to die. The next morning all were awakened by the sound of what the hall assumed was a dog whimpering in pain, but it was no dog. The giant-blooded son, his skin pinked and blood invigorated by the cold night air, stood like a child of a year or more, though he was but a day old. His brother, the normal one, lay wrapped in the cloak, asleep and safely nestled between his stubby misshapen legs. The brothers were in the center of a circle of snow, reddened with the battle-dew. The misshapen infant, not only twisted but also strengthened with the blood of the Jötnar, had fed the eagles well during the night — fed them with not one but a dozen of Gunnr’s horses. These wolves lay scattered about, twisted in death, save those few still trying to drag their wounded frames away and whimpering like pups not yet weaned.

Not even a man completely shorn of heart could deny the courage and might, not to mention the selflessness of such love between brothers. Putting aside the wisdom of the elders, Skuli brought both babes back into his hall and raised them as his sons. The human one he named Diarf, and the monster was called Boë.

The two grew up, Boë much faster than his brother — much faster and much larger, for the blood of the Jötnar seemed to tell the most in him. The twins, though inseparable as children sharing a womb often are, were otherwise like the moon and the sun. The one had a face like an unformed clay pot, capped in a mass of wiry black hair. The other was fair of face and frame, and much admired among the women of the household. Where Boë was monstrously strong, Diarf was lean and limber. Boë never mastered speaking and often flew into rages that only his brother or father could calm, while Diarf learned poetry and fine words, practiced restraint in all things, and showed mind’s-worth in hesitation and deed.

Boë’s rages grew worse as his body reached terrible proportions and his strength matched that of an entire shieldwall. Only through the intervention of his brother was murder narrowly averted, but even then the jarl had to pay the wergild to those the giant had injured and terrified. The presence of this monster threatened to drive the oath-sworn men and women from

Skuli’s hall and ruin him in the process, for Boë consumed three cattle a week and by himself drank as much mead as a hall of feasting warriors.

*****

“We all know this, crippled skald. Get to the part where brother slew brother.” Kadlin’s followers pounded the tables and stomped the floorboards, echoing their mistress’s words.

“This tale is long, as it should be, for the brothers left home together and sought their own fortunes abroad, giving up all claim to the jarl’s lands and oaths to pass to their younger half-sister, born of the jarl’s second wife Hildísif — my own grandmother. Diarf put on a brave face and made much of a desire for adventure, but all knew the reason for the parting was to take his brother away. Boë’s rages had grown as fearsome as his size, and all feared he would transform into a terrible beast, into Donar’s-foe.”

*****

Their father, the Jarl Skuli, was a ring-giver and -breaker of much renown, a stout hearted man who could weather the storm of spears and stand square in the shieldwall of his people. Thus he was a man of great wealth, but this brothers forsook and took only the most meager of provisions to carry, not even a dragon-headed longship would be theirs. Their father, seeing two young men bound for adventure, pushed upon them arms and armor appropriate for the sons of a jarl, and these they did accept.

Diarf was clad in a helm of good steel and a fine shirt of thrice-linked chain. Upon his right arm Skuli placed a strong shield of lindenwood and metal, well painted in red, blue, and green. In his son’s left hand the ring-breaker Skuli laid a blood-worm named “Foe Serpent”, and its hilt was adorned with Freyja’s tears.

Boë, though not as well loved by the people as his handsome and cunning brother, was no less the son of a jarl. For him was not the chain hauberk, for to clad such a body in linked mail would be as to clad five men in cost and effort. Instead, the jarl ordered a shirt of boiled aurochs hide be made, cut without sleeves and deep in the chest to encompass Boë’s broad frame. This was then mounted with squares of iron nailed into the toughened leather. A headland of axeheads was forged and mounted atop a roof pole cut to serve as haft to be given to the monstrous brother, a weapon so large three men had to carry it to him.

So armed and equipped, the brothers set out on their uncle’s ship to sail to Trotheim and find their wyrd.

For five years the brothers traveled the Northlands, and in this time Diarf gained fame for his courage and mind’s-worth, his skill with the wound-hoe, and his fame as a feeder of ravens. Their first test was at the village of Hallheim in Gatland. There they found the local jarl beset by foes. Northri Ormson’s sheep were disappearing. His hunters had found the tracks of strangers deep in the forest and once a cold camp of the kind used by those under the sentence of outlawry. The jarl was ill; he was a man who had seen a four score winters in his hall, and though he did not lack in mind’s-worth, he lacked in strength of arm and back. Northri longed to pass his hall and oath-bound huscarls to his son, but could not do so with the threat of the sheep thieves, for all knew this to be no mere wolf but a cunning and vile band of men. He asked the brothers for their aid.

Readily the brothers took up this task, and alone they tracked the outlaws deep into the forest. There they found a large camp, and tracks that leading off to other halls and villages. The outlaws had gathered men and women forsaken by even their kin, and had chosen to add to their perfidy by numbering theft and murder amongst their crimes.

Seeing the camp, Boë wished to rush in and slay as was his wont, but Diarf laid hand upon his brother’s forearm and counseled patience. For three days and nights they watched from hiding, all the time Boë fuming and stamping to get to task and bring the wound-sea to the villains.

On the fourth morning, Diarf called out in a loud voice as he stepped forth from his place of concealment and challenged the outlaws. The leader of the band, Guthorm the Ravager — the same Guthorm who had murdered the wife and daughter of Jarl Hialti Bothvarson in the previous summer, known as Guthorm the Rat-Faced by some — strode forth. He laughed to see one lone man — not much more than a down-cheeked boy, really — stand boldly before a dozen armed and desperate outlaws.

The entire band laughed. They laughed at a young man first setting out to seek his fortune and a name for himself. They laughed at Diarf Skulison. They, of course, had not seen Boë still in his concealed position.

Then the battle-sweat flew from outlaw and hero alike.

*****

“You dare to call that monster a hero,” Kadlin said, turning towards her men for their reaction. They laughed on cue, bringing a smug expression to the warrior-woman’s face.

“Yes, brave Kadlin, for they were both heroes that day, and on many days after. As the outlaws laughed at the courage of a man filled with mind’s-worth, they also laughed at a man of cunning, a man who had long mastered the ways of the hnefatafl board. For as they laughed and jeered, Boë crept around the camp to charge them from the unexpected flank. Five outlaws died on his mighty axe in his initial charge, and three more as the blood-ember rose and fell in great arcs once he was among them. Foe Serpent drawn, Diarf rushed to fight Gunthorm the Ravager, and fought as a man in a duel, breaking three of the outlaw’s shields before driving him to his knees amidst the wound-sea of his fellows. There he sank the wound-hoe home and brought the sleep of the sword to the vile outlaw. Those few who still lived scattered into the surrounding forest never to be seen again in those lands.

Taking the heads of the outlaws as grisly trophies and driving the stolen herds of sheep before them, the brothers returned to Jarl Northri and accepted the rings of a generous man. One could not tell the sheep of Ormson from the sheep of other jarls, and though courage, honor, cunning, and might-of-arms had won the day, it would be three years of suits before the Thing ‘ere the disposition of the sheep was settled. Though the brothers played no part in that different sort of battle.

Next they sailed for a time with Ornolf the Shark-Render. With him they raided the land of the Seagestrelanders, taking many thralls as well as a mountain of Freyja’s tears. Then they struck into the Southlands, filling cups with Sif’s hair and the Moons’ leavings and putting the cowardly Southlanders to flight. The fame of the brothers grew, and with the regular wetting of the grass and sand — aye, and even the waves — with the slaughter-dew of his foes, Boë learned something of quietness in his soul…though not enough.

Among the crew of the Wyrm Rider, the sea-steed of Ornolf, was a Bearsarker known as Thorvald the Unwashed. While none of that brave crew was frightened of Boë, all were wary of a man who stood tall as the rafters in a jarl’s hall,and who could lift an ox and eat the whole thing as well. Only Thorvald the Unwashed cared to speak with Boë, and soon he had seen through to the mind’s-worth in the heart of the monster, teaching Boë the ways of Wotan and the sacred madness that calmed the heart as it boiled the blood.

None knew if the All-father would accept a giant-blooded monster as his sworn warrior, but the brothers went ashore with Thorvald the Unwashed to try. For nine days and nine nights Boë hung upon the Tree of Woe, stout spears piercing his wrists, shoulders, thighs, and belly. Anointed with sacred oils and unguents, drenched in freezing water — for the Tree of Woe had been made at the sea’s edge — and his body coursing with the fire of the moss Wotan’s Eye, Boë suffered and died. Yet he did not die; rather he was reborn. On the tenth morning Boë tore one arm free, and with that hand gouged out his own eye, casting it into the bane of wood that Thorvald the Unwashed had formed at his feet.

Thus Boë was consecrated as a sacred warrior of Wotan and inducted into the divine madness of the cult of the Bearsarkers. Boë became more controllable, if any could name a Bearsarker as such. As Ornolf the Shark-Render had no need of two Bearsarkers in his crew, and as isolation and private contemplation are the ways of such men, the brothers soon parted ways with their benefactor and struck out on their own once more.

Much could be said of their adventures after this, of the foes they vanquished together, and of their shared glories. Word filtered back to their father’s hall — no longer ruled by Jarl Skuli Valison’s but rather now by Jarl Skur Skulisdottir. The twins were seen in the shieldwall at Hrolfdale when the Gatlanders raided the Hrolf coast in the summer of the Falling Sky. Skalds told of their slaying the nachtjägers that haunted the grasslands beyond Dnipirstead. It was Diarf and Boë who sailed with Sven Tokison and drove the sea raider Sven Oakenfist from the shores of Hordaland in the autumn of the Year of Leaping Fish. When the great whale Nalithrov harried the ships from the seas, the great heroes Lini the Proud and Raghild Tufisdöttir — named Donar’s Hammer by some — called upon the brothers to accompany them into the beast’s maw. They came out again with a wealth of ambergris the likes of which the world had not seen before and may never again.

In the fifth year of their travels, the brothers choose to spend the winter in the hall of Jarl Mursi the Halfman, the famed half-Nûklander jarl of northern Gatland. That winter the snows fell heavy and the hall echoed with the merry sounds of feasting heroes. All was not to be so pleasant, though, for the world is a dark and terrible place and winter worse still.

A slåtten — a terrible beast birthed from a man when a Bearsarker falls into madness — burst into the hall and slew the huscarls, carrying off the jarl’s eldest child. It is rare for a slåtten to take a prisoner, and this caused even greater alarm in the jarl, more so than his own severed arm and broken spine. Many heroes died that night and in the ensuing hunt for the beast, but the twins pressed forward even after the beast had fled deep into the mountains.

For the rest of that winter and the following seasons the brothers harried the monster from one haven to another. Never had a slåtten, an ever unpredictable monster made from a fallen man, behaved thusly. The twins hunted the creature deep into the mountains, and some say beyond the Northlands and over the Sea of Grass. Such a journey needs be recorded, for none has ever dared so much, the brothers kept no maps or records — even though Diarf was well schooled in the runes — but kept strictly to their task.

The next winter, they finally brought the slåtten to bear, trapped in a dry boxed-in canyon on the edge of a great expanse of sand. The beast had taken the jarl’s child and turned it into an acolyte of sorts in a perverted and debased form of Wotan worship that the All-Father had long forbidden. This was not the only such child taken by the beast, for it had formed a small cult of twisted creatures as foul as itself.

Enraged by their long chase and their mind’s-worth ablaze with the fury of the gods at such travesty against Man and Æsir, the twins charged in, slaying and hacking through the throng. Bodies heaped upon bodies as the crazed cultists ran with eagerness to die upon the brothers’ blades. As at birth, and for the last time, Diarf was beset by a pack of beasts assaulting him only to have Boë stand tall over his brother’s body and defend him with his own life.

But is was not to be Boë’s death or even Diarf’s that day. Instead the ravens called for the the slåtten and his cultists. By savage sweeps of his great axe, the one men have come to call the Three-Man Blood-Ember, the cultists were laid to the sleep of the sword. The swans of blood circled high over the wound-sea and spear-din, and the slåtten readied itself to die or see its followers avenged. And die it did, for as it leapt at Boë, the wounded Diarf rallied his remaining strength and flung Foe Serpent out from the shelter of his brother’s tree-trunk legs. The slåtten, caught off guard by the stinging blade of Diarf was unready when Boë’s mighty axe fell and split the beast in twain from shoulder to manhood.

Long did the brothers journey to reach home, and long did they travel in silent despair. Though they had slain the beast, they had not saved the jarl’s child, and worse, had seen it twisted and perverted by its abductor. What’s more, they had been forced to slay the very child they had attempted to save and thus could only return to the dying jarl’s hall with the head of his foe and not the laughter of his future. The brothers lived beyond that ill-fated venture, but it is thought by many that there was a dying that day within the soul of the brothers — in one perhaps more than the other.

Nevertheless, the jarl was grateful for their efforts and rewarded the brothers with a sea-steed. This they named it Fortune’s Glory, and Diarf called to the skalds to spread word of their deeds. Soon a crew of warriors, all long known in the shieldwall and experienced in the spear-din, gathered. These men and women swore oaths to Diarf and pledged to him as to a ring-giver, though he had no hall. With these — his huscarls of a sort — and his brother, Diarf took to the whale-road once again.

While upon the whale-road it was they who drove away a raid by the Jomsvikings upon the village of Hølen, fought through blood and viscera to bring aid to besieged Gats in Otkel’s Hall, and sought out the Dark Ones who slew so many in Estenfird.

It was in this last venture that the brothers were finally separated, for the battle for that northernmost land was fierce and the terrain wild and untamed. The hirth had been called out and defeated, and the twins were fated to suffer, for after the Battle of the Lost Holding only one could be found. The missing brother had nearly died in the battle, taking a sore wound, and in desperate pleas — perhaps made in pain-filled delirium or perhaps in fear of death — managed to save its own hide only by breaking all oaths and mind’s-worth and pledging himself to the Dark Ones’ cause.

The two brothers met only once more after that, for by then both had taken leadership of the opposing armies. When the shieldwalls met, the spear-din rose to reach the heavens and the gods themselves watched as the Last Hirth stood firm against the horde of beasts and beastmen, of savage Jötnar and foul witches. The battle-dew formed its own river, and the bodies clogged the Ice River for thirteen miles.

As the shieldwall stood against the flood of the monsters, the swans of blood filled the sky yelling for their feast. Many a wound-hoe ripped apart a deformed thing, blood-embers rose and fell with thuds against gnarled and hoary flesh, and the weather of weapons went on for three days and nights.

On the fourth day the two brothers finally met in battle, the shieldwall of men and the hordes of monsters pulling back to give them room like the sacred precincts of the holmgang, for all knew that this fight was the one that the gods, both the fair Æsir and the foul Ginnvaettir longed to see — the battle for the future of Estenfird decided in one meeting, one thrust of the blood-worm or the tearing of mighty claws.

One brother fought with resignation and love, for he saw what a foul thing his womb-mate had truly become. The other howled with savagery and fury, for he lusted for his kinsman’s blood — sought to right old wrongs imagined or half-perceived. Boë bore a mighty shield made from planks cut from a burned and desecrated gods-wood. Diarf wielded a sword forged in the fiery heart of a volcano. Boë’s headland of axes was splintered and sent raining upon the field in fiery shards, giving an opening for his brother to plunge the glowing sword deep into his kinsman’s belly.

Such a blow should end any man, but Boë was not a just a man; he was a Bearsarker, one sworn to the All-Father’s cause and unwavering in his oaths. Even as Diarf drove the blade deeper into the giant-blooded man, he placed one mighty hand upon his brother’s shoulders and one massive fist around his brother’s head. Was he seeking the battle harvest or embracing him with one last remembered semblance of a brother’s love? Only one could ever say, but either way the result was the same; tearing and pulling, he strained his gnarled and knotted muscles until with a sickening snap and tearing noise Diarf’s head came free as one would twist the head from a fish before filleting.

With their champion dead—

*****

“And good riddance,” the scarred woman interrupted, “For we all know the lies and crimes of Diarf Skulison the False, oath-breaker to man and gods alike.” Kadlin had mounted her table to further press home her point with the skald, amidst the cheers and echoing calls of her men.

“Yes, it is as you say. Diarf did prove false and oath-breaker, but he also did much good in his life before he was broken and twisted to evil. Surely there is place in the vastness of Asgard for some remembrance of what great deeds were once done by him in the All-Father’s name,” came Snorri’s measured response.

“Nay, twisted one. Once false, always false. His foul wyrd was set for evil deeds from the day of his birth. ‘Twould have been better had his brother let him die in the snow that first ni—“

“What d’you say?” the halting, rumbling voice rolled like a rockslide from the edge of the firelight.

A shape clumped out of the shadows at the back of the hall. It was a massive, misshapen form in a heavily brocaded tunic, three small children nestled asleep in the crook of his left arm. The head from whence he voice whispered, though his whisper was just shy of a lesser man’s shout, was lost in the smoke and darkness near the rafters. With a groaning of floorboards and a creaking of leather, the monstrous form bent down, bringing its savagely gnarled head into the light, one eye bright and the crystalline blue of a winter sky and the other the old scarring of a gouged and empty socket.

“Sister say tuck young‘uns in. Tuck Snorri in. D’you need tucking also, woman-with head-like-fish?” Suddenly cold sober, Kadlin sat back down with a thump, “N..no, I do not. Thank you Lord Boë Skulison, Slayer of the Wyrm of Vardø and Hunter of the Wolf-Beast of Alta-by-the-Sea. I…I do not.”

Without another word, Boë swept his young nephew Snorri up in his right arm, Snorri who shared something of one great uncle’s twisted frame and something of his other great uncle’s way with words. Young Snorri who longed to be a great skald some day and practiced telling the old stories and singing the old songs beside the fire every night that he could until his mother bade him to bed.

With Snorri safely secured among his siblings in his massive arms, the giant-blooded’s shadow departed the play of the firelight on the wall like the passing memory of a legend.

The hall erupts in shouting and laughter as everyone cheers Grimr's tale with more mead. Jarl Olaf nods to the side of the hall with a smile and a wink and your attention is caught by two newcomers - Silvermeade's godi (priest) & blacksmith Graf and a dwarven trader Sigfastr Wyrmhammer who has been wintering at the Hall. They each stand ready at a table of weaponry arrayed for your perusal, ready to acquiesce to the jarl's instructions.

Everyone is gifted a masterwork weapon of your choice, purchased by the jarl from either Graf or Sigfastr.

(the three newcomers can instead be assumed to start the game with a bonus masterwork weapon plus 500 hacksilver (ie gp) which should even things out).

[Starbin]

Heltinne Thrainsdottir, Speaker of Spirits

Heltinne listened intently to the tale. It wasn’t just entertainment - it was history, and a cautionary tale about the path of renown. Clapped politely upon the completion of the tale, raising her smug in salute. Then, leaning back, she wondered whether it was possible that the story was no mere coincidence, but a warning ... a portent of things to come.
Just a little something.
AC 14 HP 9 Init +1 Move 30
F +1 R +1 W +3
Weapon: longspear (+2, 1d8+3), Morningstar (+2, 1d8+2/3)
Spells (Unl/3): ghost sound, mage hand, guidance, create water, detect magic, spark / cure light wounds, bless, obscuring mist
SLA: 1/1, Ice armor: 1hr
Key skills: Perception +6; Sense Motive +5; Diplomacy +7; Heal +7; Spellcraft +4; KS Religion +4; KS Geography +5; KS History +4
Effect: Child of Winter (+2 Initiative/Reflex; endure elements vs cold; no penalty on ice; 1/2 pen deep snow); ER 5 vs cold, acid, electricity

[farothel]

Bjorn cheered with the others, taking another sip from his mead. When the weapons where shown, he tried to catch a glimpse. Those were good-looking weapons, according to his trained eye. He had some good weapons also, as his father had given him his old battle axe and silver dagger when he was chosen into the jarl's warband, wanting the best for his son.

[atlastrembles]

The Nuk listens intently to the skald's tale. Although there were skalds, or their Nuk equivalent anyway, among his people in the Far North, their stories tended towards the more natural and mystical. It was rare to hear stories about individual heroes or families, either because of their preternaturally long lives meaning most "heroes" by Nordlander reckoning were still probably alive or someone knew them within living memory, or because their concept of society tended to focus on collective success rather than individual heroism. Still, White That Walks thinks as he sips the mead appreciatively, I can see why these short-lived revere such tales. They flare so briefly upon this realm that their deeds can only be remembered through repetition. How sad it must be to know that all you accomplish will be realized by others, never knowing the impacts of your own adventure.

[Ghostfoot]

The rest of the evening passes well. Exhaustion is overcome by mead and feasting, and spirits are high with the rescue of Jarl Olaf's daughters and the besting of the wicked seiðkona Sibbe the Unkempt.

The next day dawns fine and cool as a small crowd gathers at Silvermeade Hall. Everyone has come to witness the punishment of the murderer Njarni the Traitor. There will be no holmgang, or duel. Judgement has already been passed at a Thing in Storstrøm Vale and the sentence for murdering one's jarl and fleeing justice like a coward is death.

Hallbjorn Bolverkson is named for the duty, and the process is swift. Njarni is dragged forward and Hallbjorn steps up with one clean blow ends it. Satisfied murmurings spread through the crowd as everyone agrees that the punishment was right for such a criminal.

As everyone disperses Jarl Olaf calls you all to him, both the recent rescuers and friends. "Hallbjorn has been hunting Styr the Ugly in the Moors for the past week now with a few warriors. He's returnign with nothing. Mayhap that murdering outlaw has moved on to the forest or the hills. When you're ready, I'd like you to track him and his men down. Don't bring them back alive."

Local
*Dark Dreams Wanderer (1d20+1)[16]
*Freyja (1d20)[8]
Skorri (1d20+5)[20]
*White That Walks (1d20)[8]
*Heltinne (1d20)[19]
*Bjorn (1d20+1)[4]
*Signy (1d20+1)[14]


Geography
Dark Dreams Wanderer (1d20+5)[17]
*Freyja (1d20)[7]
Skorri (1d20+5)[12]
*White That Walks (1d20)[1]
Heltinne (1d20+4)[24]
*Bjorn (1d20+1)[17]
*Signy (1d20+1)[16]These hills are rugged, barren, and have long been the haunts of trolls, outlaws, and giants.

Though the hills have recently been cleaned out of outlaws, trolls, and other threats, there is always the possibility that new dangers might have moved in to the old vacated lairs and caves.
Local
*Dark Dreams Wanderer (1d20+1)[9]
*Freyja (1d20)[16]
Skorri (1d20+5)[12]
*White That Walks (1d20)[9]
*Heltinne (1d20)[2]
*Bjorn (1d20+1)[18]
*Signy (1d20+1)[14]

Nature
Dark Dreams Wanderer (1d20+5)[18]
*Freyja (1d20)[8]
*Skorri (1d20+1)[12]
White That Walks (1d20+6)[14]
*Heltinne (1d20)[12]
*Bjorn (1d20+1)[15]
*Signy (1d20+1)[14]These woods are fairly open and are composed of old growth forest that has only been logged around the edges. The trails through the forest are tricky and twisting.

Though far removed from it now, the forest here is a distant extension of the Forest of Woe at the south end of the Hord Peninsula. Though not nearly as primordial and untamed as that legendary woodland, the forests around Silvermeade are said to be the home to several bands of wild fey, though none that are known to be overtly malicious.

[farothel]

"Of course, my Lord," Bjorn said. He was glad that he was trusted enough to go on an independant mission. With a bow to the Jarl, he left and as soon as everyone was outside, he looked at them. While he was a huscarl, he was probably the newest member of the group, so this wasn't the time to pull rank.
"Where to first," he asked, looking at the others, but mostly at Heltinne Thrainsdottir. As Oracle she might know things that the rest didn't know.

[Starbin]

Heltinne Thrainsdottir, Speaker of Spirits

Heltinne turned in early enough to rise at dawn without a hangover. She was one of the first to arrive at the execution, and one of the last to leave, ensuring the traitor did not rise again. She returned to the house once her prayers were complete, ready for the Jarl’s next task.

When he called forth the group and gave them the mission to find Styr the Ugly, she nodded. After a moment, Bjorn stood to leave, but she spoke up instead. ”Jarl, what crimes has Styr committed against you? And how many men flock to his banner? We can see him dead before the heaviest snows fall, but I wish to know your for, that we may bring his head back sooner.”

When gathered with the others and sharing what they knew of the local area, Heltinne introduced herself and gave her opinion on where they might hunt. “Most of the trolls and giants have been driven from the local caves - leaving many a lair ripe for someone like Styr to use. I am not as familiar with the woods, except they are foreboding and difficult to traverse.”
I vote the hills ...
AC 14 HP 9 Init +1 Move 30
F +1 R +1 W +3
Weapon: longspear (+2, 1d8+3), Morningstar (+2, 1d8+2/3)
Spells (Unl/3): ghost sound, mage hand, guidance, create water, detect magic, spark / cure light wounds, bless, obscuring mist
SLA: 1/1, Ice armor: 1hr
Key skills: Perception +6; Sense Motive +5; Diplomacy +7; Heal +7; Spellcraft +4; KS Religion +4; KS Geography +5; KS History +4
Effect: Child of Winter (+2 Initiative/Reflex; endure elements vs cold; no penalty on ice; 1/2 pen deep snow); ER 5 vs cold, acid, electricity

[atlastrembles]

White That Walks - Nuk Bear Shaman (Druid)

Nuk watches the execution passively. In Nukland they rarely had need to punish criminals given that any rebellion against their tight-knit ways tended not to survive very long in the harsh climate of the Far North. When it did happen - crimes of passion mostly - the punished was exiled which, again, was as close to an execution as you could get.

Still, White That Walks had to admit, there was something refreshingly honest and straightforward about a public execution. It certainly painted boldly the consequences for disrupting the peace and good order in stark terms and helped create unity among the typically fractious Nordlanders.

Upon receiving their instructions, the Nuk and his bear voice no particular opinion. He was wise enough to know these were not his lands and while he would lend his magics and his claws to their joint cause, his advice would count for little at this point. So instead he simply shares his encouragement. My spear and Brother's claws are ready for this Styr, no matter where he hides.

[PeacefulOak]

Mørkedrømevandrer

Listening quietly to the tales of the skald the Wanderer found his attention drifting to the ancient blade on his back, the weight of the metal weapon accenting the cultural weight of the weapon itself. The exchange with the dead king had come naturally to the nuk, a simple exchange that had only made sense to him in the moment. Now, the echoes of that trade and the connection implied there-in hold a portion his mind and he is troubled by it.

Looking across the offerings, the weapons offered fall short of the bow he himself had made and the barrow-blade at his back. Instead, he is drawn to a finely crafted shirt of steel rings that seems narrow enough to fit his body well without inhibiting his movements. With an abrupt nod he lifts the shirt and shakes it out, the subtle rustle bringing a smile to his lips.


~~~

It was a cold day that followed, the colder for the loss of a life and colder yet the eyes of a Wanderer who looked upon it. At his jarl's request, he simply nods and turns to the wind, tilting his head back and breathing deeply the air as he thinks on the vagaries of his new fame.

"Caves and shelters abound. In the hills, perhaps our quarry found. In the forests... this is an old forest, touched by the strange and the fey and the deep magics. Perhaps guidance may be found there, an opportunity to be directed to our enemies. But my words may carry the weight of stones or drift on the wind like the airy eagle. Take it as you will, I will hunt at your side."

[farothel]

"I don't think it matters," Bjorn said, "it's just a question where to search first. If we don't find him in the hills, we have to search the forest. The same if we were to do it the other way around. Any of you have a preference where to go first?"

[DrK]

Freyja

The giantess looks about during the night of festivities staying to shadows at the back of the Jarl's hall as the drinking horns are lifted and the skald's voice booms out over the assembled throng. The drinking and feasting leaves her uncomfortable, both for her massive size towering above the assembled warriors and the face that most of the women here are dressed in fine dresses as she is garbed in steel, leather and mail. During the feast she warmly welcomed the gift from the Jarl of a very fine chain shirt, the length of chain enough to cover a large horse.

At the end of the ceremony she lokos to the others and then speaks up slowly. "I think we should explore the open hills. Better to flush him into the low lands where we can corner him and take him and give the same benefit that Njarni received."

[Ghostfoot]

Jarl Olaf responds to Heltinne's query about the man's crimes, "Murder, theft, and worse. Styr the Ugly is a man burdened by neither good looks nor morality. His face is coarse and marred by a scar on his chin that looks like a snake’s tail. He's probably had a few other miscreants fall in with him, but there can't be too many or Hallbjorn would have found them by now."

Jarl Olaf loans a light riding horse again, each, if you want it. You'll want to take bedrolls and a few days rations (no more than a week's worth).

When you are prepared, you mount up and head off. Again west crossing over the Coast Road and through the farmlands and forest towards the Meadows. After an hour or so you veer off and soon spy the Trollfist Hills ahead. Four rugged, round hills looking like the bent knuckles of a troll’s fist push up out of the moors, larger than the lower hills around them. The hills are sparsely vegetated and rather steep, though pathways goes through them. Those trails are of hard-packed earth over flinty rock, and are as gray and lifeless as the rest of the territory.

You spend some hours searching the trails among the hills, and as you do the day starts to draw late.

DDW (1d20+7)[19]
Skorri (1d20+3)[20]
Freyja (1d20-1)[8]
WTW (1d20+7)[10]
Heltinne (1d20+6)[17]
Bjorn (1d20+1)[4]
Signy (1d20)[1]

Shortly after entering a muddy, overgrown area, you notices tufts of coarse, damp hair stuck to rocks, large footprints, and fresh claw marks on the stones — certain troll sign.
https://images2.imgbox.com/21/6b/fHe4P8JG_o.png

[farothel]

"I think it's time to start looking for a place to spend the night," Bjorn Ulgardson said as he kept looking around him, "and anybody found any tracks we can use to find our fugitive?"

He had not only brought a bedroll, but also a small tent. While the main idea is to spend the night in a cave in these hills, there wouldn't necesarily be one available and this way he could stay out of the cold and rain.

[atlastrembles]

White That Walks - Nuk Bear Shaman

The Nuk and his polar bear companion, Brother, set out at an easy lope, his long legs and the bear's steady gait easily keeping up with the horses. He had grown up running across the bare tundra and ice of the north. Unless the horses were at a full out gallop, White That Walks would be able to keep up, especially in the tricky terrain of the rocky Trollfist Hills.

Keeping a wary eye to the ground and the rocks around him, the Nuk Shaman pulls out a pinch of lichen from a pouch around his waist. He places it in his mouth and chews, crushing the plant between his teeth to release its mild hallucinogen. He breathes deep as he feels his senses sharpened by the narcotic. He casts about, looking for signs of Styr.

[roll0]

[DrK]

Freyja

Freyja walks along beside the horses, her long legs more or less keeping pace with the laden horses. Stomping up the hills and scree slopes she admires the scenery. Wild, untamed and savage, she felt at peace here. Similar to the long evenings watching out across the foam tipped seas when she was aboard the longships. Looking around the rocks she nods to the savage Nok, now with the ancient wight blade slung across his back. "Any signs of a trail my friend? Hopefully we will have better luck tomorrow if the Gods shine down upon us."

Pausing she looks into the shadows, "Aye, I agree we had best settle down for the night."

[Starbin]

Heltinne Thrainsdottir, Speaker of Spirits

Heltinne bowed her head thanks for the Jarl’s response. When it was time to depart, she stopped by the smith to receive a well-crafted spear before joining the others. ”My thanks, Master Smith. May my arm and aim bring honor to your gift.”

The decision was made to try the hills first, partially on Heltinne’s recommendation. She knew most of the area had been cleared out, and as such would make a perfect home for a murderer on the run. However, once the group had entered the hills and were searching for a bit, she paused and held up a hand to halt the group. Stepping from the path, she moved over to a set of rocks and pulled a small tuft of fur from the edge. Sniffing it delicately, Heltinne crinkles her nose. Casting about, she glanced at the ground, letting out a grunt of frustration when she found what she was looking for. “Damn the luck, but I found troll-sign ... fur and tracks. Best we look around and see if these are real, or tricks by our quarry to drive hunters away. Quickly, before darkness ...if there are real trolls, we don’t want to be stumbling around after sunset.”
Peer about for tracks and see if they are real.
AC 14 HP 9 Init +1 Move 30
F +1 R +1 W +3
Weapon: lME ongspear (+3, 1d8+3), Morningstar (+2, 1d8+2/3)
Spells (Unl/3): ghost sound, mage hand, guidance, create water, detect magic, spark / cure light wounds, bless, obscuring mist
SLA: 1/1, Ice armor: 1hr
Key skills: Perception +6; Sense Motive +5; Diplomacy +7; Heal +7; Spellcraft +4; KS Religion +4; KS Geography +5; KS History +4
Effect: Child of Winter (+2 Initiative/Reflex; endure elements vs cold; no penalty on ice; 1/2 pen deep snow); ER 5 vs cold, acid, electricity

[Ghostfoot]

White That Walks stoops down inspecting the trollsigns in the failing light. Indeed it looks quite fresh no more than an hour or two ago that a single troll has been in the area. The tracks indicate that it has come into the hills area from the Moors to the north. After wallowing in the muddy depression it has clambered out and wandered off deeper into the hills...directly where you are planning to head in your search for Styr.

Camp or investigate?

[atlastrembles]

White That Walks - Nuk Bear Shaman

The Nuk calls for a halt as Brother, his polar bear companion, stops to sniff at a muddy depression. We follow one of the jotun's twisted spawn's trail. The abomination is ahead of us, where we go to track Styr the Ugly. Be on your guard, for night falls.

OOC - WTW's vote is to continue/investigate, but he requires less sleep than the nordlings.

[farothel]

"We definately don't want to fight a troll at night," Bjorn said, "I think it's best if we find a defensible campsite and search further in the morning."

Adding act to thought, he started looking around for a good campsite.

[Starbin]

Heltinne Thrainsdottir, Speaker of Spirits

Heltinne shrugged, seemingly undaunted at the prospect of fighting a troll after dark. She nodded her head towards the others, saying, ”Lead on, then. To camp and rest, for monsters await our spears and blades on the morrow.”
OK with setting up camp somewhere - perhaps an unused cave?
AC 14 HP 9 Init +1 Move 30
F +1 R +1 W +3
Weapon: lME ongspear (+3, 1d8+3), Morningstar (+2, 1d8+2/3)
Spells (Unl/3): ghost sound, mage hand, guidance, create water, detect magic, spark / cure light wounds, bless, obscuring mist
SLA: 1/1, Ice armor: 1hr
Key skills: Perception +6; Sense Motive +5; Diplomacy +7; Heal +7; Spellcraft +4; KS Religion +4; KS Geography +5; KS History +4
Effect: Child of Winter (+2 Initiative/Reflex; endure elements vs cold; no penalty on ice; 1/2 pen deep snow); ER 5 vs cold, acid, electricity

[farothel]

Bjorn looked at the two Nuks. While he had been out in the forest and hills before, he wouldn't call himself an expert in survival in those environments. The two elves most likely had a lot more experience in finding good shelter and food, although they had brought rations with them.

[DrK]

Freyja

Freyja looks at the Nuk as he searches the rough trail. "A troll... It may be prudent to wait for the light. Better we can see when they come rather than battle such a thing in dark." She looks about the others, "I have not seen such a beast before, have any of you faced such creatures."

[Ghostfoot]

You find a suitable place to make camp, a sheltered stony depression some distance away from the boggy area. As you scout the immediate area for threats and check the lay of the land Signy searches the area for herbs and plants useful for her cunning woman rituals. Amid the scraggly grasses and scrubby trees she finds nothing.

Despite the earlier signs indicating that a troll has entered the recently-cleared hills there is no further trace of the beast. You settle in, picket the horses, and the night passes peacefully. There is one incident of note, during Freyja's watch. The giant-blooded spear maiden had clambered atop a large rock to better gaze out across the rocky slopes and at the stars in the cool air above.

Nestled in the hills some miles away she detects the telltale flicker of a small campfire. Eventually the flame dims and goes dark, but it might be something else to investigate come the morning...

The new day dawns cool and clear. You break camp and ready yourselves for the days hunt.

Signy Herbalism (1d20+4)[8]

Feel free to tell me what any routine camp/ watch arrangements might be. In this instance it's not going to be material but in the future it might be.

[farothel]

"Okay, where to now," Bjorn asked as soon as they were ready to move on, "let's keep an eye out for any trolls that might run around as well."

[Starbin]

Heltinne Thrainsdottir, Speaker of Spirits

Heltinne gave thanks to the gods before bed, with special attention to Freyja and the spirits of winter. She volunteered for the last watch so she could greet the dawn. When it was time to wake the others, she had already broken down most of the camp and prepared a simple breakfast. When the group was ready to move out, she followed, eyes always on the horizon, scanning for threats. While she spoke with anyone talking to her, she didn’t seem inclined to start a conversation.
- I listed Hel’s routines above. Ready to press!
AC 14 HP 9 Init +1 Move 30
F +1 R +1 W +3
Weapon: MW longspear (+3, 1d8+3), Morningstar (+2, 1d8+2/3)
Spells (Unl/3): ghost sound, mage hand, guidance, create water, detect magic, spark / cure light wounds, bless, obscuring mist
SLA: 1/1, Ice armor: 1hr
Key skills: Perception +6; Sense Motive +5; Diplomacy +7; Heal +7; Spellcraft +4; KS Religion +4; KS Geography +5; KS History +4
Effect: Child of Winter (+2 Initiative/Reflex; endure elements vs cold; no penalty on ice; 1/2 pen deep snow); ER 5 vs cold, acid, electricity

[PeacefulOak]

Mørkedrømevandrer

Slicking his hair back with blood from a fresh kill as he turns the spit over the fire, two fresh rabbits offering their flesh to sustain warriors in a hard day's work, the Wanderer considers the course of their journey and what that might signify.

"Were I a blood-thief coward hiding from the iron price, I might litter my trail with troll-spoor to throw off any pursuit. Perhaps our minds-eye would be well served to seek for truths among the filth we find around us."

Once another is sufficiently risen to handle the preparation of the morning's meal, the Nuk lives up to his name and wanders off, eyes scanning the ground for any sign of what might lie ahead, or what might lead them on their journey.

[roll0] Survival

[atlastrembles]

White That Walks

Rising with a yawn echoed by his polar bear companion, White That Walks performs a few calisthenics in the early morning air, limbering up for the day's journey. Feeding Brother some jerky, he listens to Mørkedrømevandrer's musing as he casts his eye about as well.

Troll or coward, neither will escape the consequences of their actions. One may well lead to another.

[Ghostfoot]

Mørkedrømevandrer searches the ground for any further signs of activity as the rest of the group rises and prepares to depart. The ground is stony and hard, and will make for slow progress if the horses are to avoid risk. Nevertheless you should be able to make it to the observed campsite within an hour or so should you wish. It seems that the troll has also wandered in that direction judging by the occasional large footprint, scratched rock and tufts of coarse hair.

[Starbin]

Heltinne Thrainsdottir, Speaker of Spirits

Heltinne shrugs at the commentary. ”Let your mind’s eye lead on then, Nuk. The daylight waits for no one, and the distance gets no shorter.” The Oracle nudged her horse in the direction indicated and settled in to follow the trackers.
Moving out - scanning the horizon for signs of ambush - [roll0]
AC 14 HP 9 Init +1 (+3) Move 30
F +1 R +1 (+3) W +3
Weapon: MW longspear (+3, 1d8+3), Morningstar (+2, 1d8+2/3)
Spells (Unl/3): ghost sound, mage hand, guidance, create water, detect magic, spark / cure light wounds, bless, obscuring mist
SLA: 1/1, Ice armor: 1hr
Key skills: Perception +6; Sense Motive +5; Diplomacy +7; Heal +7; Spellcraft +4; KS Religion +4; KS Geography +5; KS History +4
Effect: Child of Winter (+2 Initiative/Reflex; endure elements vs cold; no penalty on ice; 1/2 pen deep snow); ER 5 vs cold, acid, electricity

[farothel]

Bjorn followed the trackers as well, weapons ready.
"If there is a troll and we encounter it, we'll have to take it down," he said, "but our primary goal is the criminal."
That would be something to boast about at a feast, he thought, bringing the criminal to justice and clearing out some trolls. Well, only one, at least he hoped so, as he'd rather not go against a full pack. His father had taught him to be brave, but he had also taught him to be smart. Getting killed for nothing didn't bring any glory.

[DrK]

Freyja

The giantess looks about, her spear resting on her shoulder as she surveys the scene. "I like the mountains. I prefer the sea and the wind in my sails" she pauses to take a deep breath of air, "But I like this" She walks happily beside the horses, her feet covering the ground just as swiftly as the horses as she hefts her shield and spear.

[Ghostfoot]

You head off in the direction of the campsite that you saw during the evening. Even now you can still make out the telltale wisps of smoke indicating it still burns low in the canyons ahead. From the troll spoor about you are clearly not the only ones to have noticed the campsite and you deduce that he troll must also be drawn to the campers ahead.

As you draw close to the site you spy movement in the rocks ahead. There is a clatter of loose stones and you see a burly 7-ft swamp troll turning toward you from where it hid among the boulders. The large hulking brute has long, thick arms and legs, both of which end in sharpened and filthy claws. Its body is covered with moss and fungus, and its hair is dark brownish-green. Large, upward-curving fangs jut from its lower jaw. Evidently it was trying to get into position to ambush those in the nearby campsite.

https://i.ibb.co/k5QL1vr/Swamp-Troll.png

Perception vs Hide DC6 to roll initiative in surprise round
DDW (1d20+7)[11]
Freyja (1d20-1)[1]
WTW (1d20+7)[12]
Brother (1d20+5)[12]
Heltinne (1d20+6)[22]
Bjorn (1d20+1)[21]
Signy (1d20)[6]

Initiative
DDW (1d20+2)[16]
Freyja (1d20+1)[17]
WTW (1d20+4)[18]
Heltinne (1d20+1)[21]
Bjorn (1d20+6)[8]
Signy (1d20+1)[13]
Swamp Troll (1d20+2)[20]

I make it that everyone except Freyja & WTW are mounted, please let me know if I have this wrong.

Swamp troll is 80ft away. Gentle slope. No charging.

Knowledge/ Lore to ID
Freyja (1d20+4)[19]
Freyja knows that this swamp troll has minor regeneration (https://www.d20pfsrd.com/bestiary/rules-for-monsters/universal-monster-rules#TOC-Regeneration-Ex-) (acid or fire) as long as it hasn't been away from swamp environments for more than a couple of days.

=> Heltinne
(surprise round so one move or standard action only)

[Starbin]

Heltinne Thrainsdottir, Speaker of Spirits

Normally, in a surprise round you get either a standard or move action - is it different here?

Heltinne saw the troll turn towards the group and she froze for a moment. As soon as she saw the beast start to move, she raised her spear and free hand and called upon the gods of the north. ”The gods of winter watch over you, as do your ancestors. Prove yourself worthy of their gaze!”
Presuming she can take a standard action, Heltinne will cast bless on the group.
AC 14 HP 9 Init +1 (+3) Move 30
F +1 R +1 (+3) W +3
Weapon: MW longspear (+3, 1d8+3), Morningstar (+2, 1d8+2/3)
Spells (Unl/2): ghost sound, mage hand, guidance, create water, detect magic, spark / cure light wounds, bless, obscuring mist
SLA: 1/1, Ice armor: 1hr
Key skills: Perception +6; Sense Motive +5; Diplomacy +7; Heal +7; Spellcraft +4; KS Religion +4; KS Geography +5; KS History +4
Effect: Child of Winter (+2 Initiative/Reflex; endure elements vs cold; no penalty on ice; 1/2 pen deep snow); ER 5 vs cold, acid, electricity

[Ghostfoot]

Heltinne's words fill you with courage. The monstrous creature bellows in rage at being disturbed by your group. Flexing it's long arms it lopes towards you, taloned hands outstretched...

Swamp troll
Move action: advance 30ft
https://i.ibb.co/27JD751/Trollfist-Hills.png

Your icon is "large" sized if you are mounted (or if you are a giant like Freyja!)

=> Party
Surprise round so one move or standard action only (except Heltinne, who wraps into first round of proper combat & gets her normal rounds worth of actions).
Post in any order.

[farothel]

Bjorn quickly dismounted and let the reins of his horse fall on the ground. Except when the troll would break through them, the horse was trained to treat reins on the ground the same as being tied to a post. With his shield and axe ready he stood at the front of the group, ready to kill his first troll.

[DrK]

Freyja

The giantess looks at the troll with disgust. "Ware that beast. We may need fire to finish it truly." Setting her spear firmly between two rocks she waves to the others. "Get back, get behind me. Use your bows and keep from its claws." She levels the long spear in front of her bracing for the inevitable impact from a running troll.



Brace the spear

[atlastrembles]

White That Walks

Upon sighting the troll, the white-hooded Nuk places his hand on his bear, whispering a short prayer. The polar bear snuffs at the ground and lets out a defiant roar. Still not full grown, it's not quite as terrifying as it could be, but there is real strength behind the small ursine's voice. Together, they take up position behind Heltinne, guarding her flanks a step behind her. White That Walks draws a torch and carries a dark pinewood shield on Heltinne's left. The bear hunches and paces, ready to pounce on her right.

Watching the troll warily as it nears, White That Walks sets to light the torch.

We are with you, shieldmaiden. Claw and flame to tear and cleanse. Stand strong.

Standard Action - Cast Virtue on the Bear for +1 HP.

Move Action - Take up position on Heltinne's flanks, five feet back from her/behind her. WTW on her left, Bear on her right.

Free Action - Draw a torch. Next round I'll light it.

[Ghostfoot]

With words of courage, your group stands ready and prepares for the oncoming troll...

=> Mørkedrømevandrer (move or standard action only) & Heltinne

[PeacefulOak]

Mørkedrømevandrer

With a grim focus the Wanderer pulls out his bow, knees carefully holding his mount in place for the moment while he aims and looses an arrow.

[roll0] to hit for [roll1] damage

[roll2] ride check DC5 if needed to control mount with my knees

[Starbin]

Heltinne Thrainsdottir, Speaker of Spirits

With the blessings upon her companions, Heltinne slipped down from her horse and planted her longspear as well, a fierce grin lighting up her nearly angelic face. ”Fell the troll first ... fire will follow. ”
Dismount and brace ...
AC 14 HP 9 Init +1 (+3) Move 30
F +1 R +1 (+3) W +3
Weapon: MW longspear (+3, 1d8+3), Morningstar (+2, 1d8+2/3)
Spells (Unl/2 of 3): ghost sound, mage hand, guidance, create water, detect magic, spark / cure light wounds, bless, obscuring mist
SLA: 1/1, Ice armor: 1hr
Key skills: Perception +6; Sense Motive +5; Diplomacy +7; Heal +7; Spellcraft +4; KS Religion +4; KS Geography +5; KS History +4
Effect: Child of Winter (+2 Initiative/Reflex; endure elements vs cold; no penalty on ice; 1/2 pen deep snow); ER 5 vs cold, acid, electricity; Bless (+1 att, save vs fear; on group, 9 rounds)

[farothel]

Bjorn decided to wait together with the others for the troll to come to him instead of charging it himself.

[Ghostfoot]

The gangly troll emits another low bellow, stones crunching as it lopes forwards across the rocks. Dark Dream Wanderer's arrow flies wide as he shoot from horseback, the huge creature bearing down on him talons outstretched...

Troll double moves to close with DDW + horse.

https://i.ibb.co/74bNdtR/Trollfist-Hills-1.png

=> Party
+ any AoO's as appropriate
(post in any order. I'll resolve in order of posting unless you indicate otherwise)

[farothel]

With a warcry, Bjorn moved closer and attacked the troll. The faster they could bring it down, the better it was. The people at the other campfire had heard it and if they were the criminals they were looking for, they would move out, so the faster they could give chase, the better it was.


I first take a move action to get in close combat with the troll (square T15 on the map), then 1 attack.

attack: [roll0]

damage: [roll1]

if crit: [roll2]

damage if crit: [roll3]

[DrK]

Freyja

The giantess braces for the impact as the troll lumbers to her Nuk ally. Even as it runs past the spear she thrusts deeply towards its flank before driving the spear forward a second time, a cry of "For Odin!" on her lips as she tries to push it back from the brave Nuk who had saved them from the hordes of undead.



AoO: [roll0] dam [roll1]
Attack [roll2] dam [roll3]

Hps 12/12
AC 17
Saves +4/1/1

Effects: Bless

[PeacefulOak]

Mørkedrømevandrer

In the face of the monster, the Wanderer slips from the back of his horse and takes a careful step around the beast, dropping his bow at his feet and unslinging the mighty new blade from his back. With a powerful surge he brings the blade around arcing at the back of the troll!

Dismount to T15, 5-foot step to S16.

Quickdraw Hægtesse, and attack!

[roll0] to hit for [roll1]

[Ghostfoot]

Freyja stabs out with her spear as the beast bears down, striking for 9 damage her second blow deflected by its tough hide. Bjorn moves in, ducking under a wild swipe of the fearsome talons to cut a deep gash for 4 damage in the troll's upper leg. Mørkedrømevandrer slips from his horse and swings at the troll with his ancient mighty blade, but the weapon still new in his hands is batted aside.

Troll AoO vs Bjorn: Bite (1d20+6)[14] damage (2d6+4)[8] Miss

=> White That Walks & Heltinne

[Starbin]

Heltinne Thrainsdottir, Speaker of Spirits

Heltinne advanced, giving the creature a wide berth as she circled around. Then she engaged, thrusting at the troll with her spear. ”’Ware it’s grasp! Those arms are longer than they seem ... ”
Move around to flank if possible; attack w/longspear (reach)
[roll0] (Add+2 if flanking), [roll1]
AC 14 HP 9 Init +1 (+3) Move 30
F +1 R +1 (+3) W +3
Weapon: MW longspear (+3, 1d8+3), Morningstar (+2, 1d8+2/3)
Spells (Unl) ghost sound, mage hand, guidance, create water, detect magic, spark / (2/3) cure light wounds, bless, obscuring mist
SLA: 1/1, Ice armor: 1hr
Key skills: Perception +6; Sense Motive +5; Diplomacy +7; Heal +7; Spellcraft +4; KS Religion +4; KS Geography +5; KS History +4
Effect: Child of Winter (+2 Initiative/Reflex in winter, endure elements vs cold; no penalty on ice; 1/2 pen deep snow); ER 5 vs cold, acid, electricity; Bless (+1 att, save vs fear; on group, 8 rounds)

[Ghostfoot]

Heltinne flanks around to the other side, stabbing out at the monster for 6 damage eliciting a roar of rage. From where she is at the back you hear sorcerous incantations from Signy Stone-Eye. The troll grunts in confusion, swatting at imaginary foes its eyes rolling madly giving you all a brief opportunity even as its wounds start to knit before your eyes. The horses whinny in fear at the fighting and trot back down the trail to a calmer location.

swamp troll save vs Daze Will DC14 (1d20+2)[10] Fail => loses actions for 1 round
https://i.ibb.co/QdqvdZs/Trollfist-Hills-2.png

=> Party

[farothel]

With the troll still standing, Bjorn tried to give it a good whack with his battle-axe again, shouting his battle cry again.


to hit: [roll0]
damage: [roll1]

if critical:
confirmation: [roll2]
damage: [roll3]

[Starbin]

Heltinne Thrainsdottir, Speaker of Spirits

Heltinne slipped to the side, to flank the creature. She lunges with the spear again, smiling fiercely as she attacked. ”Press upon it - victory is at hand!”
Step and flank, attack w/longspear (reach)
[roll0], [roll1]
AC 14 HP 9 Init +1 (+3) Move 30
F +1 R +1 (+3) W +3
Weapon: MW longspear (+3, 1d8+3), Morningstar (+2, 1d8+2/3)
Spells (Unl) ghost sound, mage hand, guidance, create water, detect magic, spark / (2/3) cure light wounds, bless, obscuring mist
SLA (alter self): 1/1, Ice armor: 1hr
Key skills: Perception +6; Sense Motive +5; Diplomacy +7; Heal +7; Spellcraft +4; KS Religion +4; KS Geography +5; KS History +4
Effect: Child of Winter (+2 Initiative/Reflex in winter, endure elements vs cold; no penalty on ice; 1/2 pen deep snow); ER 5 vs cold, acid, electricity; Bless (+1 att, save vs fear; on group, 7 rounds)

[DrK]

Freyja

Freyja glances at the spear tip, a grin on her heavy set face as she sees the troll ichor on the broad leafed spear head. "As you say Heltinne. The Gods are with us..." and then surrounding the beast she steps to the side and drives the spear deep into the troll again.



Attack [roll0] dam [roll1]

Hps 12/12
AC 17
Saves +4/1/1

Effects: Bless

[DrK]

Freyja

Freyja glances at the spear tip, a grin on her heavy set face as she sees the troll ichor on the broad leafed spear head. "As you say Heltinne. The Gods are with us..." and then surrounding the beast she steps to the side and drives the spear deep into the troll again.



Attack [roll0] dam [roll1]
EDIT: 17 to confirm for 31 damage

Hps 12/12
AC 17
Saves +4/1/1

Effects: Bless

[Ghostfoot]

Bjorn and Heltinne hack and stab at the troll again for 9 & 4 damage respectively as it begins to heedlessly thrash about it. Seeing an opportunity your spear-maiden steps forward, her massive longspear impaling the troll through the torso for 31 damage bursting out it's back in a brutal shower of gore. Levering the great foe from her weapon it collapses in large bloody heap on the rocks, apparently lifeless if it weren't for the flesh around the gaping wounds slowly starting to knit together before your eyes!

[Starbin]

Heltinne Thrainsdottir, Speaker of Spirits

Raising her spear in salute, Heltinne smiled. ”Well struck, warrioress! All praises to the Lady! Now quickly, search the beast while I call forth fire ...” She picked up a stick, cast a spark upon the end, then touched it to the troll’s wounds. Once she was convinced the beast wouldn’t rise again, Heltinne looked around for signs of tracks.

[roll0]
AC 14 HP 9 Init +1 (+3) Move 30
F +1 R +1 (+3) W +3
Weapon: MW longspear (+3, 1d8+3), Morningstar (+2, 1d8+2/3)
Spells (Unl) ghost sound, mage hand, guidance, create water, detect magic, spark / (2/3) cure light wounds, bless, obscuring mist
SLA (alter self): 1/1, Ice armor: 1hr
Key skills: Perception +6; Sense Motive +5; Diplomacy +7; Heal +7; Spellcraft +4; KS Religion +4; KS Geography +5; KS History +4
Effect: Child of Winter (+2 Initiative/Reflex in winter, endure elements vs cold; no penalty on ice; 1/2 pen deep snow); ER 5 vs cold, acid, electricity; Bless (+1 att, save vs fear; on group, 6 rounds)

[Ghostfoot]

Signy joins in, bringing a handful of dead, dry brambles and once lit holding them against the troll's body to cauterize the wounds. Before long the job is done and you are sure that the wicked brute will not rise again.

You gather your horses and prepare to continue onward. The campsite can't be too far ahead...

[farothel]

"Be careful," Bjorn said as they moved on, "they might have heard our fight with the troll.
He looked out while moving on, but letting the Nuks take the lead again, as they were better trackers than he was.



perception: [roll0]

[DrK]

Freyja

Freyja lets out a cry of triumph as the spear rips through the troll. Watching it fall she nods to Signy and Heltinne as they deal the trolls wounds with fire.
"the Gods bless us with victory here. A mighty beast felled." She helps the others move the troll off the main path and looks up. "If the troll hunts here I wonder if it has taken any of the worthless reaver band?"

[farothel]

"That would make our life easier," Bjorn said, "having your enemies fight each other. Okay, let's move out, shall we? The faster we find this fugitives and give them justice, the faster we can go back to the Jarl's hall and tell our tale of felling this troll."

[Ghostfoot]

"Well fought, warriors. Our first troll, but surely not our last. Besting such a foe is a good omen for not all come away unscathed from their first troll-hunt." says Signy.

Leaving the charred troll corpse where it lies you mount up and head onward. There is no further sign of troll tracks on the stony trail.

Before long you detect signs of life ahead, the scent of the campfire and the lowing of cattle. Cresting a rise in the hills you observe a gentle dip where three trails intersect among the rocky hills. To one side a group of cattle are corralled behind a makeshift rope fence. The bodies of five men and women lie strewn about the area. Not dead but from the copious skins of mead, splatterings of vomit and occasional snore, seemingly passed out drunk from a hard night.

From their unkempt garb and appearance these are evidently folk who have fallen on hard times. Some have signs of superficial injuries bandaged or recently healing. Each wears (or mostly wears) dirty studded leather armour and a selection of weaponry lie about.

As you look down upon them they continue to slumber away, unaware of your presence. "Bandits," whispers Signy, "Or thieves. Desperate folk. I don't see Styr the Ugly among them though."

DDW (1d20+1)[4]
Freyja (1d20-1)[17]
Heltinne (1d20+5)[11]
Bjorn (1d20)[9]
Signy (1d20)[19]
They sure look more like bandits and cattle-thieves than woodsmen or travellers.

[DrK]

Freyja

Freyja looks around at the passed out drunken bandits. "We should restrain them all, then find out if they are bandits. If they are we can dispense the Jarl's justice and string them up from the nearest tree." She approaches the nearest one, spear in hand covering them and nods. "If I cover this one can someone tie him up?" she suggests offering the long coil of rope to one of the others, the stout rope looking like tiny fishing twine in her massive hands.

[farothel]

"Sure," Bjorn said, taking the rope. It was a bit anti-climactic if they were to find the bandits like this instead of besting them in a good fight. Or at least as good a fight as can be expected from bandits. He wasn't a specialist in ropes, but he knew the basics and if they were this drunk, they probably wouldn't resist all that much.

[Starbin]

Heltinne Thrainsdottir, Speaker of Spirits

Heltinne moves to help tie the men up, using old rags to gag them as well. She called upon her divine sight to check for signs of magic, scanning the area constantly. The last thing she wanted was to be ambushed by their prey.

[i]”Quickly and quietly, my comrades; let us make hate before they stir.”
Detect magic, help bind the men
AC 14 HP 9 Init +1 (+3) Move 30
F +1 R +1 (+3) W +3
Weapon: MW longspear (+3, 1d8+3), Morningstar (+2, 1d8+2/3)
Spells (Unl) ghost sound, mage hand, guidance, create water, detect magic, spark / (2/3) cure light wounds, bless, obscuring mist
SLA (alter self): 1/1, Ice armor: 1hr
Key skills: Perception +6; Sense Motive +5; Diplomacy +7; Heal +7; Spellcraft +4; KS Religion +4; KS Geography +5; KS History +4
Effect: Child of Winter (+2 Initiative/Reflex in winter, endure elements vs cold; no penalty on ice; 1/2 pen deep snow); ER 5 vs cold, acid, electricity

[PeacefulOak]

Mørkedrømevandrer

Though his failure to strike the troll stung, the Wanderer reassured himself that it was simply a new weapon and a very different heft from his old cultural weapon.

With the appearance of these sleeping fools, he hangs back with his longbow at the ready with an arrow nocked and ready to impale any who should attempt to strike his allies.

[Ghostfoot]

Heltinne scans the campsite sensing no signs of magic. Mørkedrømevandrer and Signy stand back covering the area, the horses safe behind them.

Bjorn and Heltinne sneak forward to the closest slumbering vagabond. With Freyja standing over the man, covering him but also the whole area with her giantess' spear, the two attempt to quickly bind him. "What the-?" the ruffian wakes, struggling. "Olaf! Ungh" The two of you wrestle his arms behind him, Bjorn pinning him while Heltinne quickly binds him leaving him struggling but helpless. The warning has been made though...

The remaining four drunken miscreants wake in a panic, grabbing for nearby weapons they jump to their feet with snarls of aggression as they wipe spit and sick from their faces.

perception vs DC 0 to wake up
raider (1d20-11)[1]

Surprise round
Bjorn
grapple (1d20+6)[20] (incl. +2 Heltinne Aid Another) vs CMD13 => grappled

Initiative
Bjorn (1d20+6)[14]
Heltinne (1d20+1)[2]
Freyja (1d20+1)[20]
Signy (1d20+1)[6]
DDW (1d20+2)[5]
Bandit (1d20+2)[19]

Freyja - hold action to see if bandit breaks grapple

Bandit
break grapple attempt (1d20+1)[11] vs CMD18 => fail

Bjorn
pin (1d20+9)[23] vs CMD13 => Pinned

Heltinne performs Tie Up action

Bandits 1) Stand Up & 2) Retrieve Weapons

No map for this fight, should be pretty simple.



=> Freyja, DDW, & Signy
Freyja gets an AoO (as they stand up), plus her held action from winning initiative in addition to her normal round of actions.

[PeacefulOak]

Mørkedrømevandrer

A sharp twang marks the release of the Wanderer's arrow, and he quickly knocks a second to cover any potential for foolishness on the part of the ruffians.

[roll0] to hit for [roll1] piercing damage

[DrK]

Freyja

Freyja meets their drunken aggression with a whopping warcry of her own as she plunges her spear at the nearest two of the masterless scum. She glanced around at her allows, "Remember, we probably need 1 alive!" as a reminder that one of these drunken miscreants may help them.



Freyja
HP's 12/12
Saves 4/1/1
AC 17

AoO on standing up [roll0] dam [roll1]

Attack the nearest [roll2] dam [roll3]

[Ghostfoot]

Mørkedrømevandrer puts an arrow in the arm of a tattooed balding bandit going for his weapon, hitting him for 8 damage. A woman with messy brown hair lunges at Freyja who impales her through the side for 15 damage. The female bandit cries out and slumps to the ground motionless, bleeding profusely. As another closes Freyja stabs again for 11 damage the man clutching at his gut holding the wound together.

"At them, warriors!" shouts Signy "These are no friends of the jarl". She starts uttering a lengthy incantation, her hands weaving a spell and scattering dried petals in the air.

With one restrained, one bleeding out in the dirt and another trying to hold himself together the vagabonds turn and scatter. Two of them stumble away down the far path while the hapless man with the stomach injury stumbles slowly after them.

Signy curses under her breath as the fleeing drunkards somehow manage to shake off her sorcery.

Bandits Save vs Sleep Will DC15
(1d20-3)[17]
(1d20-3)[15]

2x bandits: Withdraw (double move 60ft)
1x disabled bandit: Move 30ft (not a withdraw, Freyja gets AoO)

All still visible

=> Party
plus Freyja gets an AoO vs the disabled one

[farothel]

With the one that was already bound, they had their source of information. Now they had to make sure that all the them would face the Jarl's justice.
"Stop, in the name of Jarl Halfstead," he shouts as he ran after the two trying to make their escape, swinging his axe if they were close enough.


I'll run after them and if I can catch up, I'll try to hit one. I'll roll here, just disregard if it's not needed.

attack: [roll0]
damage: [roll1]

if crit: [roll2]
damage if crit: [roll3]

[PeacefulOak]

Mørkedrømevandrer

A smile curves the Wanderer's lips as his arrow finds its mark. "No mercy, then?"

A second arrow finds the knock on the string and is loosed in a single smooth motion, seeking the back of one of the fleeing brigands.

[roll0] to hit for [roll1] damage
on crit...
[roll2] to hit for [roll3] damage

[Starbin]

Heltinne Thrainsdottir, Speaker of Spirits

Heltinne grins and launches herself after the others, charging one of the fleeing men. With her spear at the ready, she sped across the open terrain, focused on skating their enemies.
Charge with longspear!
[roll0], [roll1]
AC 14 HP 9 Init +1 (+3) Move 30
F +1 R +1 (+3) W +3
Weapon: MW longspear (+3, 1d8+3), Morningstar (+2, 1d8+2/3)
Spells (Unl) ghost sound, mage hand, guidance, create water, detect magic, spark / (2/3) cure light wounds, bless, obscuring mist
SLA (alter self): 1/1, Ice armor: 1hr
Key skills: Perception +6; Sense Motive +5; Diplomacy +7; Heal +7; Spellcraft +4; KS Religion +4; KS Geography +5; KS History +4
Effect: Child of Winter (+2 Initiative/Reflex in winter, endure elements vs cold; no penalty on ice; 1/2 pen deep snow); ER 5 vs cold, acid, electricity

[DrK]

Freyja

With the longspear whetted with the masterless bandit's blood the giantess feels her blood up and angry. She jabs at the fleeing injured man with the spear seeking to skewer him before chasing down the nearest man seeking to end his pathetic life. "The Jarl will give much hacksilver for the ears of these traitiors." A swift cry to Wotan and she reaches the nearest one closing to 10ft of him....



Freyja
HP's 12/12
Saves 4/1/1
AC 17

AoO on disabled [roll0] dam [roll1]

Move and attack the nearest [roll2] dam [roll3]

[Ghostfoot]

Bjorn chases after the cowards, swinging his axe trying to catch them. Heltinne is next to him spear raised. An arrow flies past from Mørkedrømevandrer striking the Wanderers target in the back with a second arrow for 8 damage putting him down.

Freyja's cry to Wotan washes out over the battlefield as she unleashes her anger. Lashing out at the nearest man stumbling away she swings her massive spear around striking for 13 damage his neck snapping. Moving her attention on to the last fleeing bandit she barrels forward her long legs carrying past Bjorn and Heltinne. She stabs out, again striking true for 11 damage. The man clutches his side, badly injured. Terror in his eyes he madly tries to scrabble up the loose rocky slopes to escape the fearsome warriors!

Sole remaining bandit is disabled (https://www.d20pfsrd.com/gamemastering/Conditions/#Disabled). Still trying to flee.

Signy has a held action vs the bound one.

=> Party
plus Bjorn, Heltinne, Freyja get AoOs
end it!

[Starbin]

Heltinne Thrainsdottir, Speaker of Spirits

Heltinne walked swiftly to intercept the fleeing man, holding her spear towards him. ”Hold and surrender, villain. Answer our questions true and meet Hel with honor!”
[roll0]
AC 14 HP 9 Init +1 (+3) Move 30
F +1 R +1 (+3) W +3
Weapon: MW longspear (+3, 1d8+3), Morningstar (+2, 1d8+2/3)
Spells (Unl) ghost sound, mage hand, guidance, create water, detect magic, spark / (2/3) cure light wounds, bless, obscuring mist
SLA (alter self): 1/1, Ice armor: 1hr
Key skills: Perception +6; Sense Motive +5; Diplomacy +7; Heal +7; Spellcraft +4; KS Religion +4; KS Geography +5; KS History +4
Effect: Child of Winter (+2 Initiative/Reflex in winter, endure elements vs cold; no penalty on ice; 1/2 pen deep snow); ER 5 vs cold, acid, electricity

[farothel]

Bjorn followed Heltinne, ready to render aid if it was necessary, altough he didn't think the man could offer all that much resistance. If they could take this one prisoner, they would have two people to interrogate and if needed, bring before they Jarl as example to others.


I'll follow Heltinne and ready an action to hit him should he try to hit her or me.

[Ghostfoot]

The man makes as if to continue fleeing, but a glance back at Heltinne, Bjorn and Freya all standing over him with weapons, and the Nuk elf covering the scene, show him the futility. The fallen bodies of his accomplices confirms this.

"Alright, you have me. Dirty Olaf was a stupid fool to kill Javik and steal his cattle," he spits on the body of a fallen man, "And to think we could hide out in the Trollfists. It doesn't matter if Jarl Ulf sent you or you're with Jarl Olaf. Just make it quick."

Jarl Ulf Greymane is a famed raider and has holdings on the western coast of the Hordaland Peninsula, not too far away. He is a sometimes ally of Jarl Olaf (your jarl), although they're always competitive.

You've not heard of a 'Javik'.

local knowledge DC10

DDW (1d20+1)[10]
Freyja (1d20)[3]
Heltinne (1d20)[17]
Bjorn (1d20+1)[2]
Signy (1d20+1)[15]

[DrK]

Freyja

Freyja looks with disgust at the captured men and uses the clothes of one of the dead to wipe the blood from her foot long spear blade. "What are you doing up here? Where is the leader of the bandits?" She pauses spinning her spear, towering over the injured man, resting a boot on one of the dead on the ground.

[Starbin]

Heltinne Thrainsdottir, Speaker of Spirits

Heltinne watched the man with a frown. Stepping closer, she let the shadow of her huge companion loom over the prisoner for effect. ”Who is this Javik, and where did he live? More importantly, have you crossed paths with Styr the Ugly? I pray you speak swiftly and truthfully - my friends have little patience for liars and thieves.”
[roll0] - tried to color the dialogue for Diplomacy (+7), but if Intimidate is more appropriate, only add 3.
AC 14 HP 9 Init +1 Move 30
F +1 R +1 W +3
Weapon: MW longspear (+3, 1d8+3), Morningstar (+2, 1d8+2/3)
Spells (Unl) ghost sound, mage hand, guidance, create water, detect magic, spark / (2/3) cure light wounds, bless, obscuring mist
SLA (alter self): 1/1, Ice armor: 1hr
Key skills: Perception +6; Sense Motive +5; Diplomacy +7; Heal +7; Spellcraft +4; KS Religion +4; KS Geography +5; KS History +4
Effect: Child of Winter (+2 Initiative/Reflex in winter, endure elements vs cold; no penalty on ice; 1/2 pen deep snow); ER 5 vs cold, acid, electricity

[farothel]

"And some information on this Dirty Olaf might also be quite useful," Bjorn added.

[PeacefulOak]

Mørkedrømevandrer

The nuk nods, his spiked hair bobbing in the cool air. "Then go to meet your fate, life-taker." The string thrums, the arrow almost whistling as it cuts through the space intervening to dive into the chest of the traitor.

[roll0] to hit for [roll1] damage.

[Ghostfoot]

The man looks around at his fallen comrades. "I don't know much 'bout no other bandits. Oh, you mean Styr the Ugly? Yeah I heard he's around. I ain't seen him but Dirty Olaf said we had to avoid the forest because he heard Styr the Ugly and his witch-woman Astrid the Mad were down that way and weren't friendly to no one. If they catch you they pop you in their fey cauldron and that's the end of you" the man winces, holding his badly bleeding wound, dark lifeblood oozing between his fingers. "We came from out west near Greymane's hall. Dirty Olaf - that's him over there" he points to the dead man with the broken neck "he had some bad blood with Javik Gilson, one of Jarl Greymane's freeholders. We tried to grab his cattle to even the score and teach him a lesson. He was on to us though. Him and his sons caught up to us right quick. But we beat them. Put both the lads down proper for a few weeks at least but Olaf couldn't leave it at that. He stuck Javik and let him bleed out right in front of them. Figured he'd end it once and for all with Javik, but all he did was curse our wyrd. We got away with the cattle alright but he led us here, straight into you lot."

The injured man doesn't have much more to say, and it's clear he's not going to make it far as he is. Besides, you have another captive bound already. Mørkedrømevandrer sends him swiftly on his way...

Signy curses at the news that the bandit Styr is apparently hiding out in the forest rather than here in the Trollfist Hills. "What shall we do next? He's not up here. We've got eight head of cattle and this last traitor to face the jarl's justice. Shall we make our way back to the Hall and head out to seek Styr in the forest tomorrow?"

[farothel]

"That might be best," Bjorn agreed, "if we leave these cattle here, they will only end up in some other troll's gullet. And if we bring them back to Jarl Olaf and he then sends them to Jarl Greymane, this Jarl is in his debt. That can't hurt, should we ever need a favour."

[Starbin]

Heltinne Thrainsdottir, Speaker of Spirits

Heltinne considered the man’s story, tapping her bottom lip in thought. ”Another option would be to see these cattle back to the rightful heirs, and ensure they survive. Word of our aid will serve the Jarl as well as returning without our prey.”
OOC - I might be missing something, but hopefully Javik’s sons are close.
AC 14 HP 9 Init +1 Move 30
F +1 R +1 W +3
Weapon: MW longspear (+3, 1d8+3), Morningstar (+2, 1d8+2/3)
Spells (Unl) ghost sound, mage hand, guidance, create water, detect magic, spark / (2/3) cure light wounds, bless, obscuring mist
SLA (alter self): 1/1, Ice armor: 1hr
Key skills: Perception +6; Sense Motive +5; Diplomacy +7; Heal +7; Spellcraft +4; KS Religion +4; KS Geography +5; KS History +4
Effect: ER 5 vs cold, acid, electricity

[DrK]

Freyja

The massive giantess looks down with contempt at the dying (and then dead) man. And nods at the others, "I agree with you friend. We should return the last prisoner to the jarl for the God's justice and the cattle." She looks to the others. "The Jarl will be pleased and will strengthen ties between the clans. We can then journey to the forest to end this Styr the Ugly."

[PeacefulOak]

Mørkedrømevandrer

"It matters not to me where we lead the cattle. If you care, I can follow the spoor of the docile meat back to their death-home. It does not seem like it would be far out of our way, should you choose such." The warrior retrieves what arrows he can, and examines but turns up his nose at any arrows the scoundrels might have, preferring his own craft of that of the experts of the Jarl.

[farothel]

"I suggest we take the option that takes the least amount of time," Bjorn suggested, "that way we can get back to our primary mission as quickly as possible, okay?"