WHFRP 2e - The Winter Kings (IC)

[Erulasto]

https://s20.postimg.cc/z6idbfkm5/Chaos_Warrior_Emblem.png

WARHAMMER FANTASY - THE KINGS OF WINTER

OOC THREAD (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?566767-WHFRP-2e-The-Winter-Kings-(OOC)&p=23305849#post23305849)




1st Sommerzeit, 2501


The Reavers of the Red Song

Otto, Egil, Larus, Hygd, Groktur and Morgul

The Sea of Claws was rough and choppy, with the dark clouds of a summer storm grumbling on the Northern horizon like a cantankerous old Dwarf. The setting sun dipped low and shone an angry red like the eye of the Blood God himself, casting a gory pallor across the waves. It had been like this for two months. Two months of reaving and pillaging down along the coast of Ostland and Nordland. Now the hold of the Red Song was close to bursting with their ill-gotten gains.

Bodhi Ymirsdottir, assigned to lead the small flotilla of vessels by the Jarl himself, had given the order to strike one last town along the shore. It was a small fishing village called Grenhoff. Most of their raids had met with little resistance – militia at best – but it was well-known that word would be spreading of their raids and with every further attack, the chance of encountering better equipped resistance would be increasing.

Among the flotilla, the Red Song captained by a strange Southerner named Otto was the only one that wasn’t of the typical Norscan-crafted longboats. It was a sleek vessel, fast upon the waves like many of the great predators that lurked in the dark waters around the bitter, wind-swept coasts of the North. Otto called it a caravel, but to the reavers who sailed with him, the distinction was nothing more than fancy southerner words. Otto didn’t mind, really. He still wasn’t as comfortable with all the practices of the Northmen, but even they appreciated the speed and maneuverability of his ship – and that had earned him their grudging respect.

There were four other longships, each bearing their own crew of reavers and ne’er-do-wells, but those who rode with the Red Song were an ambitious, if inexperienced, lot. Around thirty Norscans, strong of limb but young in years, crowded on the deck alongside Larus and Egil – an excited chatter filling the top-deck as they spotted the glowing illumination of bonfires in the town down the coast. Despite the crowding upon the deck, most of them gave a wide berth to Morgul and Groktur – the two Beastmen who had come along to win glory and prestige from the summer raids of the Winterscorn tribe. Morgur almost hadn’t gone on this particular voyage. There were mushrooms that grew in the darkness of the woods around the Jarl’s hold that Morgul had been watering with the blood of many sacrifices for months and it would be time to harvest the potent hallucinogenic reagents soon. But, the night before the Red Song set sail, Morgur had seen an omen in the spilled entrails of one of the goats that were being ritualistically carved and prepared.

The omens indicated that when the bloody eye of Kharnath dipped low and the sea looked unto blood, in the court of Gren he would find one that the Ruinous Gods had desired to possess. The steppes man who listened to the flies. So, gathering his things, Morgul had arrived on the docks and waited. It did not take much for Bodhi to be convinced to bring him along. The only other sorcerer that the Ymirsdottir had at her disposal was a Norscan girl named Hygd.

Now, from the aftcastle, Hygd Strangeways stood with Otto as he guided the ship silently through the choppy waters towards their target. The crew had come to accept the foreign sea-captain, and though they often gave Hygd a wide-berth as well, there was a grudging respect at the blessings that Techar the Raven God had given her in the form of her sorcerous abilities.

One of the Norscans, a tall young man of somewhat slender build with a full head of blonde hair and beard shouted in alarm from the bow of the ship. He was named Herger, and carried a carved minotaur horn capped with brass in his hands.

“Grenhoff ahead! There’s something happening in town.” He called back to the rest. “Looks like half the town is gatherin’ in the square.”

Egil and Larus were crowded near the front with Herger and a young, spritely lass named Sigrun who was fiddling with the pair of notched hand-axes tucked into her belt with a wide grin. They could see the lust for battle shining in her eyes, as much as the rest of the reavers.




Grenhoff

Nicoli Oleg

It had been three days.

Three days in the dark, cold cellar of the tavern with shackles binding his hands together.

He knew he should have bypassed the sleepy little fishing town, but hunger and the buzzing whispers that plagued his dreams urged him onwards, and eventually into the arms of the Grenhoff militia.

Now, as the townsfolk stacked cords of wood around the wooden post in the center of the town square, Nicoli found himself being dragged to his feet by two young men in the livery of the Nordland Elector-counts army.

Slowly he was paraded through the town square, the gathered people hurling jeers and curses at him. Called him a witch, a mutant and things much worse.

Whether it had been true or not was a moot point to the insular folk of Grenhoff. Rumours had been circulating of late that the Northmen were raiding along the coast, and the people needed someone to vent their frustration and anger on.

Unfortunately, that someone was Nicoli Oleg.

He was to be burned at the stake.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Nicoli thought he heard the boisterous laughter of some corpulent fiend, but all he saw was the hatred and the anger of the townsfolk.

Nicoli was broken from his reverie by a rotten apple striking him in the side of the head and fragmenting from the blow. He felt the noisome insides of the moldy fruit drip down onto his ear.

Ahead, standing before the framework of the pyre that was being built just for him, Nicoli saw the stern face of the Sergeant of the Nordland Halberdiers that were camped in Grenhoff.

[Shadowflick]

The cold shackles dug into the flesh of the Godspar. They had left him in the tavern cellar like some sort of trapped animal, starving and beaten. They thought to taunt him by giving him spoiled food. The look on there faces as he ate it with no issue was priceless to Nicoli. From Praag to Greenhoff, Nicoli had felt nothing but contempt for these people. Contempt, that the whispers would turn to hate.

An apple to the face cuts off his train of thought, his tongue coming out to scoop up some of it's bits. Better then the rats. Being dragged up on to the stake, he dosent scream. He glares, the flies buzzing around him in such mass it could almost be seen as a dark cloud. His eye's meet the sergeants. The stern face of a coward. "May the Raiders take your skulls as trophies, Cowards. Camp in Empire Village? Hide in Empire village. To scared to fight Norsca Raiders. Norsca raiders use bones of fresh Empire men as snacks" he says, a rotten smile on his lips

[rax]

Lárus smiles a savage, thin-lipped smile. "The fools have made a spectacle for themselves, and now their eyes are turned away from the sea. Truly, the gods of war bless us - if we go in quick and quiet, we will slaughter them before they know what hit them," he says to Egil and Sigrun.

[Haval]

Egil still has a headache from overindulging in stolen beer the previous day. No matter. Battle tended to make him feel better.

In the sight of the red sun, he is not as confident as the boy. The reavers were pushing their luck as it is. Still, this seemed like a piss poor excuse for a defence if the southerners were trying to make a fight of it. To Larus, smiling in spite of his hangover, 'I have never been quiet. If this lot haven't learnt to watch the seas they deserve everything that's coming to them.'

Egil will scan the coast for anything that looks like a proper defence.


Perception vs. Int 30 / 2
[roll0]

[n0ble]

Hygd trailed a hand over the side of the boat, as though to catch and clutch at the surf the Red Song ripped up. She marvelled as the vessel cut its way through the waters, then turned her eyes from its churning. Hygd withdrew her hand from over the side of the side of the boat. She took in Otto, skilled as he was. Then she turned to the others, all the while smiling a lopsided rictus-grin. It would not have been a grin out of place on a wolf.

The aspiring sorcerer rubbed a wet thumb across her palm and forefinger, momentarily marvelling in the wet sensation her thumb created. Then she ripped her eyes from the men and their Gods-Work. She turned her eyes to the prey-peoples in the distance and her smile widened just a touch wider.

[Space Lawyer]

Otto

Otto rests a hand easily on the wheel. The setting sun would mask their approach, and the breeze blowing from the land would deaden the sounds of the ship cutting through the water. If all went as planned, this village of Grenhoff would have no idea they were under attack before the raiders were already ashore. It struck Otto that the same tactics that worked well in smuggling also worked well for this Norscan style of warfare. Get in, get out, and be quick about it. Of course, one could never really count on the Norscans to retreat when all good sense demanded such. Always screaming something about blood and skulls and whatnot, letting their desire for violence overwhelm their desire for gold. It wasn't an inclination Otto shared.

"Alright, we'll slide in easy. Get ready; with this wind, we'll be right up on the beach in short time."

[Erulasto]

The Reavers of the Red Song

Otto, Egil, Larus, Hygd, Groktur and Morgul

From all that Egil and the other Reavers could see, Grenhoff was exposed to the sea with the entire northern portion of the town built right along the sandy beach. Several wooden docks jut out into the churning tides, braced on small pillars of stacked stone masonry. It seemed to consist of mostly small huts, that grew in size and scale as they moved further away from the beach itself. On the small jetties and docks, a half-dozen small fishing boats were tethered securely, and a single flat-bottomed barge was drawn half-way onto the beach itself. On the southern edge of town, barely illuminated by the growing firelight from the town square, was a single tower of stone and wooden-roofed bunkhouse that likely held whatever small garrison this town was worth.

A quick estimate from Otto, having seen plenty of small villages like this in the early days of his illicit career, placed the town of Grenhoff at containing – at best – a population of just under a hundred souls. It also wasn’t likely they housed much more than militia, though if the presence of the stone guardtower was any indication, there may actually be at least a small company of Imperial soldiers present.

As the caravel cut through the water towards the town Larus picked out the shape of a large wooden stake with innumerable cords of wood stacked around it. Apparently the town had decided that there was someone worth burning at the stake. Such a spectacle truly would bring the reavers the element of surprise. Even now, they could hear the rising sound of the jeering crowd barely carrying over the surf.

The Red Song would hit ground first – the speed of the caravel was unmatched among the reaver’s longships – and ensured that the fresh, eager crew would also be the first to engage whatever enemies were present.

Some of the other shipmasters in the small fleet that served under Bodhi would still grumble about it, especially Cedric Longshank. He was a particularly nasty sort, and he seemed to take some twisted personal offense to the mere presence of the Red Song as part of their small fleet.

From her vantage point close to Otto on the aft-castle, Hygd saw the prepared pyre. If there was someone in the town that these soft-bellied southerners feared enough to burn alive, then perhaps there would be new allies to be found here as well as plunder.

“Ready, old man?” Sigrun nudged Egil in the ribs, flashing him a too-wide grin and wild eyes while she slipped one of the axes from a belt-loop. While Egil wasn’t that old, Sigrun couldn’t have been more than seventeen winters. To a reaver like Egil, she was barely old enough to be off her mother’s teat.



I was going to have the ship run aground here and start unloading the reavers on this post, but I’ve split it into two to give DrK and Morovir a chance to have Morgul and Groktur respond.

While the Red Song hasn’t hit the beach yet, the water is still shallow enough that anyone who wanted to hop the railing and into the sea would be able to make it to shore without any need for a swim test. It would also save them a bit of time (a +2 circumstance to their initiative tests) when the slaughter begins.







Grenhoff

Nicoli Oleg

The words of the man – accused and found guilty with no trial – seemed to incense the crowd even further, and the curses they were shouting at him were vile and filled with vitriol. These cowardly, soft men and women of the Empire were so enamoured with their own fear that they didn’t seem to care at all about any real semblance of justice. If they only knew that this time? They actually had found one who was guilty of the dark deeds they had believed of him.

The sergeant smiled a grim smile at Nicoli as the two soldiers who held either arm dragged him towards the growing pile of wood around the stake.

“Perhaps that may be so, but it will be a cold comfort to you in the Garden of Morr.” The Sergeant said.

He turned to the crowd and spoke, voice raised loud above the jeering crowd. As the townsfolk heard him, they began to settle and listen.

“People of Grenhoff! Tonight we appease mighty Sigmar in his unending quest to purge evil from His lands! This heathen scoundrel will feed the fire of his judgement.”

The two soldiers led Nicoli up to the small set of wooden steps that had been placed before the tall wooden post. Now that he was closer, Nicoli could see the blackened scorch marks upon the wood. His would not be the first flesh purified by the fire here.

[rax]

"You two have fun in the square. I'll take some men and make sure no one in that tower sneaks up to bugger you from behind," Lárus stage whispers to Egil and Sigrun, pointing his spear at the guard tower. "Hrodgar," he says to the closest reaver behind them. "Pass the word - I need ten men to storm the tower with me. See you on the beach!" he finishes with a fierce grin before vaulting over the side.

[Shadowflick]

The bound man looks into the crowd of hate. A Waste. People more happy to turn on eachother then try and form an actual defense. Make a pyre instead a wall. Waste there oil on a public pyre. Pathetic. "Kislev waste time protecting humans like you. Cowardly. Pathetic. Shuddering in your warm homess and taverns while other go and fight in war. They fight. And they die. Bones used as the foundation of the next settlers." His eyes turn to the crowd "The gods of Man do not care what happens to there followers. You walk a path destined to end in death. When the chaos and undead break your armies and pillage your towns, the bones of the people will be used as decorations, guts for food in troll belly." his eyes looks to the floor "The world is a wheel that will not stop turning...all one can do is be dragged by it"

[Space Lawyer]

Otto

A speck on the map like this barely warranted a visit from the local magistrate, much less the attention of the Imperial Army. That there might be a garrison here was worrisome enough in itself; worse though, the unweathered stones of the tower suggested newer construction. Life was going to get harder if the Empire was spending the resources to fortify the coast.

"Herger, Gunnar, you're with me. We're staying back to keep the boats safe and the beach clear. I want to be ready to get out of here the moment the rest are back." Those two wouldn't be happy about it, being left out of the main raiding, but safeguarding the landing and the ships was an important if unglamorous task. Besides, there would still be plenty to take from the fishing huts and small boats near the shore.

[Haval]

Egil idly watches the crowd gathered in the square. Who they were intending to burn was no business of his.To Lárus, 'Try to leave some for the rest of us.' He'd offer to go with him, but didn't think the boy needed the help. Egil had seen him fight before.

The rest of them probably needed the practice. To Sigrun, 'Of course. Leave anyone who tries to make a fight of it to me.' It was always more fun when there was someone trying to kill you back.

[Morovir]

As the ship closes in on the village, Groktur leans on his spear, and focuses on the pyre. Stupid humans. So concerned with finding the enemy within, that they forget to watch for the far more deadly threat. No matter. He would kill them, and the most worthy would find a place on his cloak.

Testing his bow a final time, he lets out a braying roar and leaps over the side of the boat, before splashing his way to the shore, his spear grasped in both hands.

[DrK]

Morgul

The shaman clutched the bray staff, shamanic fetishes, bones and scraps of feather trembling and shaking in the breeze. His thick matted fur kept out the cold and the worst of the salt spray although he detested this great expanse of water. Had he known that he would be on such a wooden thing surrounded by man-lings he would have questioned the wisdom of the gods. Still, the vision had been clear. Somewhere in these raids he would found the one touched by Neglish - the flyspeaker. All around the manlings chirped and squeaked in their strange tongue, he casts his eyes towards the beach and the small collection of hovels.

His eyes widened, the reddish orbs glimmering with dangerous intent, with his witch sight he could see the swirling strands of Aqhsy surrounding the crowd, their rage attracting the wind like a moths to a flame. Though in the middle of it, a smudge of something else, Dhar tinged Ghyran, a corruption of life. Could this be the omens that were spoken of. His sharp eyes picked out the post, a burning, the manlings and their love if fire. Better when their bodies were savaged by beasts and their hovels were consumed by the wilds.

Seeing how close they were to shore he brayed to himself, a shout of - "I want prisoner of manlings" to his fellow beast (Gorktur) the dark tongue harsh and unforgiving. After that he opened himself up to the swirling winds of magic, beseeching the dark gods to give him strength before he leapt off the prow of the boat, form twisting and shimmering, a smell of spice washing over the Red Song for a second as he sembled into a soaring black raven that swoopped low over the waves. Wings flapping hard he flew up and ahead of the Red Song preparing to alight beside the pyre after seeing the source of the swirling winds of darkness....


Perception succeeds w/ 4 DoS to pick out "mr Mutant" and hoping that the 3 DoS on the magical sense can pick him out if he's related to the omens that Morgul had.
As the boat closes he'll summon his Str with Blessing of the Master, then the rounds after will turn into a Raven
The plan being that when the Reavers strke he'll alight beside our Nurgle mutant friend and hopefully surprise a guard and club him brutally with his Braystaff.

[Erulasto]

The Reavers of the Red Song

Larus

When Larus plunges into the cold waters of the Sea of Claws, he feels the chill shoot up his bones and into his head causing his muscles to tingle in anticipation. As he wades towards the shore, behind him, he can hear the splashes of more reavers following him out of the boat and up the surf.

Larus catches sight of Hrodgar making his way alongside him, the thick-armed man with the braided mousey brown beard holding a round wooden shield and thick-bladed sword above the water. Quicker still, and wrapped in dark leathers is Ulf. The black-haired Norscan holding a horn bow in hand, black-fletched arrow knocked.

They came from the black water silently, and slipped up into Grenhoff from behind a cluster of fisherman's huts on the west of town. There was only twenty or thirty meters between them and the roar of the townsfolk, but in the fevered clutch of mob violence they went unseen.

Just ahead they could see the looming shape of the guard tower swiftly approaching, and Ulf whistled to get Larus' attention before pointing up towards the narrow rampart at the top. Silhouetted agains the fading light of the sun, Larus could see three men with muskets braced on their shoulders. They were leaning on the rampart, eyes turned down to the spectacle being put on before them.

Had they been perhaps a bit more perceptive, they may have noticed the Red Song grind to a stop upon the shallow, sandy beach.

Or the other longboats following suit moments later.


Otto, Egil, Hygd, Groktur and Morgul

Wearing a scowl beneath the thick and shaggy mustache that framed his mouth and ran up along the lines of his jaw, Gunnar hefted a pair of heavy iron maces and leaned against the railing of the aft-castle at Otto's instruction. Herger snatched a satchel of javelins from its resting place by the foremast and slung it over his shoulder.
"Aye." Herger said, before pointing the tip of a javelin at the southern smuggler. "But I better still get my share of the plunder."

Egil's boast was met with a resounding whoop from the reavers who still remained on the Red Song, not having followed Larus into the shoal. The whoops of anticipated battle were cut through by the braying of the dark-furred Bray-Shaman that had accompanied them. The inhuman sound rendered the inexperienced Norscans silent enough for Morgul to shout his demands across the deck.

Only moments before the Red Song lurched and it ran aground, Groktur had plodded through the shallows and onto the beach. Before him, dozens of soft townsfolk were huddled in a large group as they jeered and cursed a man who was being led atop a small pile of corded wood where a stake awaited him.

The Caprigor saw the men with coloured jackets and carrying halberds moving through the crowds at erratic intervals. The manlings had let their guard become very lax. Hearing the dark tongue shouted by the Bray-Shaman that served the Jarl cut through the battle thrill that was rising in Groktur.

When the caravel bottomed out on the sand and shifted with a groan of wood, the reavers followed Egil and Groktur over the railing and onto the beach. Their own jeers and howls of excitement drowned out by the mob, masking their approach.

Morgul felt the Amber winds of Ghur twisted with the Dhar that seeped from his body like oily smoke as they surrounded him, and pulled his mortal form into a furious flurry of oily black feathers. As he caught the wind and rose high above the small fishing town, he spotted the man being led up to the stake.

The Bray recognized the hue of his skin and slant of his features. This was one of the Gospoda manlings from Kislev far to the east, and bordering on the ancestral lands of the Braven-Tooth and he wore the corruption of Dhar and Ghryan like a mantle.

Groktur, Egil and the other reavers from the Red Song were nearly within charging distance when a mournful cry rose from the shores - a half-dozen twisted horns blaring the arrival of the other longships.

As screaming death began to rush ashore behind them, the villagers began to turn one by one to see what the commotion was.

A single halberdier stepped forward, eyes wide as he saw the shapes of Groktur hurtling towards him. "Attack! Attack!" He shouted in a panic. "We're under attack!"





Grenhoff

Nicoli Oleg

Words that seemed like the ranting of a madman - a lunatic doomsayer - spilled across the crowds and seemed to incense them further. The line of halberdiers that formed a ring around the pyre had to hold the crowd back as they surged forward, trying to vent their fear onto Nicoli with violence. But the Imperial halberdiers held.

The sergeant spat at Nicoli's feet, and began to rant at him again about Sigmar's justice, but the Kislevite's attention was suddenly drawn by a flicker of shadows passing swift as a snake between the houses to the west. He caught the glint of bared steel, and suddenly realized that out beyond the raging mob and down the sandy lane to the beach several black and scarlet-sailed ships were slipping quietly into town.

Dark figures were spilling over the railing of the first ship to land, and moments later he heard the eerie howling cry of the warhorns.

Norscans.

[DrK]

Morgul

The shaman soared up, the cold wind battering and pulling at his wings as with a few powerful wing beats he streaked from just above the surf upwards into the night sky, eyes fixed on the village and the man who the Gods had spoken of tied to the stake. A strange creature but the Gods had spoken and in that they could not be disobeyed. He exulted in the freedom and the rush of the air for a moment before as the screaming started as the longships crashed upon the beach and Groktur outpaced the weak manlings beside him he dropped like a stone.

Wings folding in he sembled as he landed, the crow rippling into a massive beastman behind the manling holding the gods-cursed prisoner hopefully shocking the man. The pyre beside him was not lit yet so he had not been to late and he landed behind the human, careful to use the sudden blaring of the reaver's horns to distract the human. He roared a great roar in the Dark tongue, uncaring if any of the reavers could understand "Blood for the Gods, feast on the manlings" as surrounded by the clouds of Ghur and the smell of spices from the shifting he brought the braystaff down in a massive blow on the human!




Actions
Land behind the sergeantso there is no-esle behind Morgul and he's beside the Sgt and Nicoli. Change to beast as I land and try and clock him with my braystaff.

Initiative [roll0] (though hopefully get a suprise attack!)
Half action: Guarded stance (he's a beast but he's not stupid :smallsmile:)
Half action: Smash the guard beside Nicoli [roll1] TN 55 (hopefully +30 if he's surprised), Damage [roll2]+3 (Impact quality so choose highest)
9 damage to the guard's Right arm
(if 10 then check for Ulric's Dark God's fury [roll3] TN as above, extra damage [roll4]

Note: He's unsettling so the guard needs to pass WP or suffer -10% to hit him

If I got a surprise round then excellent
If I won the subsequent initiative then Morgul would hit him again
Half: guarded stance
Half: Attack [roll]1d100[roll] (roll of 15 see below) TN 55 (± any mods) Damage (2d10)[1][4](5)+3 = hopefully 7 to the left arm
-- Dak God's Fury (1d100)[62] TN (as above) Extra dam (1d10)[8]

On Guards Turn:-
- Test for unsettling WP or -10% to attack Morgul
Morgul Parry if hit (1d100)[11] TN 65
Morgul Dodge against a potential second hit (1d100)[93] TN 38

*Copied from OOC post

Stats Summary


WS
BS
Str
Tou
Ag
Int
WP
Fel
Move
Wounds
Fortune


45
28
35
47
38
41
33
35
5
13/13
1/1


55*













Effects
Blessing Dark Master (~9 rounds left)

Equipment
Equipped: Braystaff (2-hands, SB-1, Impact, Defensive, Slow)
Belt: Axe, dagger

[Shadowflick]

Nicoli looks past the Sigmarites. The fools. Ignoring threats to douse there fears. Norscan long ships landing on the shore, a crow racing toward them "Doom comes. Thus, the wheel turns.".

Then, the beastman itself forms behind the Captain, Curls horns and a bleeting roar causing him to recoil. He's fought these before but,,it still unsettled him seeing it so close. Hefting it's braystaff up...and striking his executioner? This was a curious turn of events. He wishes he had his rifle

[rax]

Larus nods at Ulf, acknowledging that he has seen the musketeers. "We hold here for the moment. Let's see what they do when our friends start the slaughter in the square. If they come out to fight, we charge them and pin them against their own guardhouse. If they hide inside, we cut our way in with our axes. Ulf - think you can hit those shooters from here?" he asks, keeping his voice as low as possible.

[Haval]

At the Shaman's roar Egil will look up and watch the Beastman fly overhead in his borrowed skin. 'Now what's he in such a hurry for?' As far as he could tell the creature had remained aloof from most of the raiders since they had left the north. Probably best to back him up if he needed it.

With the sound of the horns even this vague attempt at stealth could be abandoned. Egil will finally draw his sword and shield 'Come on then.', he will shout at those around him before running after Groktur. He wasn't really in charge, but had enough experience to get away with directing them every now and then. For that reason he will try to keep his wits about him as he looks for likely targets.


Not frenzying yet. Perception test to look for anyone who looks like they're in charge of the soldiers
vs. Per 30 /2
[roll0]

[Morovir]

As he lopes forwards, Groktur bellows and points his spear at the halberdier that sounded the alarm. This foolish softskin would be the first to fall to his blade.

[Erulasto]

The Reavers of the Red Song

Larus

The rest of the reavers settled low, hiding behind crates of grain and barrels of salted fish that had been stacked in the narrow pathways between the houses. Much of these goods could provide extra food for the tribe when the harshest months of winter came, and it wasn't entirely likely that a small fishing town would be overflowing with other wealth.

Though, perhaps the folk would make good slaves.

Ulf squinted his dark eyes as he looked up at the guards on the watchtower rampart for a moment, muttering softly to himself as he pondered the difficulties of the shot.

"Aye, Larus." Ulf said in a raspy whisper. "Should'na be tha' difficult." The dark-leather clad Norscan raised his horn bow and pointed the black-fletched arrow at the first of the musketeers. He didn't draw the bow yet, waiting on a signal.

From here, Larus could see the relatively straight path to the thick wooden door that would lead into the watchtower at ground level. It was solid and sturdy looking, and while it was open at the moment, it was obvious from the large wooden beams that were stored next to it that it could be barred with relative ease and would take more than the reavers had with them to batter it down if it came to it.

There was some torchlight flickering from within, and shadows cast upon the surface of the open door indicated at least two more soldiers within.

The rage-fuelled roar of the mob was quickly turning to screams after Larus heard someone shouting that they were under attack. The horns that heralded his fellows attack were still echoing across the town and the guards up on the ramparts were beginning to frantically gesture and shout warnings to rally the defenders of Grenhoff.


Otto and Hygd

The other longships had run aground flanking the Red Song and reavers and warriors were spilling from them. The largest, with a thick keel and the skull of some massive beast from below the waves upon the prow, slid in last. Perched upon the bow was the tall form of Bohdi Ymirsdottir. Easily one of the most tall women in the tribe, Bodhi cut an imposing presence as she raised her halberd into the air and led the rising howl of bloodlust that was swiftly spreading through the Norscans.

She bore a gleaming breastplate with mail sleeves upon which the eight-pointed star of Chaos was roughly engraved over the faded heraldry of one of the Imperial Reiksgard knights. Her legs were clad in supple hide and furs and the sun, despite casting such long shadows, lit her fiery hair.

"For Winterscorn!"





Grenhoff

Nicoli Oleg and Morgul

Death had come on dark wings for the Sergeant of the Nordland Halberdiers, and the man's rant about Sigmar came to an abrupt end as a flurry of black feathers swiftly became the savage form of the Bray-Shaman. Bringing his thick, gnarled braystaff down on the sergeants right arm, the man screamed in rage - fumbling the flintlock pistol he had been drawing from his hip. As it fell, the sergeant staggered and his hob-nailed boot knocked the weapon clattering towards Nicoli.

The two halberdiers who flanked the Kislevite gaped at the sudden arrival of the bray-shaman in their midst, their hands slipping from Nicoli's arms and nervously gripping at the wooden hafts of their halberds.

The sergeant, grimacing in pain, reached for the narrow blade at his other hip in fear.


Egil and Groktur

Seeing the Caprigor hurtling towards him, the young halberdier who had shouted the warning brought his halberd up before him across his chest in an attempt to ward off any incoming attacks. Others were pushing through the crowd, trying to form into a line with their halberds levelled at the oncoming Norscans.

Here and there, others were climbing atop crates and carts while raising their rifles to their shoulders in order to get a clear shot over the crowd. With a sudden, resounding staccato burst a number of the handgunners fired into the incoming Norscans. Several stumbled and staggered as the bullets found purchase, but on came the reavers.

Groktur saw the whites in the young halberdiers eyes as he approached. He heard the shrill whistling as a hail of bullets flew overhead and into those reavers behind him. It looked as if the main body of the reavers would hit the forming line of halberdiers all around the caprigor warrior. They were about to be in the heart of the melee.

Nearby, Egil and his companions led the charge of Norscans. The Red Song reavers would be the first of Bodhi's fleet to taste blood here in Grenhoff. Directly ahead, Egil saw a handful of halberdiers rushing to held their young companion that Groktur had been racing towards. With Sigrun at his heels, they charged into the small group of soldiers who were about to be caught beyond the defense of their lines.

All around them, the other Winterscorn reavers ploughed into the halberdiers, who despite their poor overall performance in garrisoning Grenhoff, were able to form up with at least some professional expediency. The Norscan charge hit the line of braced pikes, and the ashen grey sands were suddenly blooded as a half-score of the reavers immediately went down under the halberds.

But they pressed on, past the hafted weapons and in for the kill. Axes split coifed skulls and blades tore leather and spilt guts with equal ease.

The Dark Gods would feast well tonight.

[rax]

"The gods are with us! Look, the tower door is still open - no need to wait for them to come to us. Ulf - start shooting to keep the gunners' heads down. The rest of us go - NOW!" Lárus hefts his spear and sets off at full speed, straight for the tower. "Wake the sleepers!" he roars as he nears the door.

Lárus will move as fast as possible to reach the tower before the defenders can close the door. If a Charge action will do it and allow him to attack a target inside, he'll do that. Otherwise he's just flat out running.

Let me know which and I'll do any relevant dice rolling in the OOC thread this time around.

[Shadowflick]

Nicoli takes his chance. The heat of battle, the beastman in front of the men, the Raiders attacking the shore. Surely, he would be low on the priorities. He dives down, taking the pistol from the ground and turning. Four potential enemies. A beast man, the Sargent, and the two soldiers. He holds the pistol ready...simply waiting for now



At the moment he just used the surprise round to pick up the pistol since he's not sure if the Beastman is attacking him or not. Trying not show sides just yet

[Morovir]

Charging into the halberdier, Groktur swings his spear with furious abandon.

Charge action against the halberdier: [roll0] TN 50 (WS 40 + 10 for Charge)
FP reroll: [roll1]

[Space Lawyer]

Otto

"Aye, you'll get your fair share. There'll be plenty for all." It wasn't like Otto was going to get in the way of these raiders doing whatever they pleased anyway. His acute sense of self-preservation discouraged such foolishness.

As the ships bite into the beach, Otto leaps out on to the sand with axe in hand. "Alright! We get the ships ready to launch, then we take every damn thing that we can carry!" With the help of the others who had been assigned to guard their respective ships, it was quick work to make ready.

With their escape secured, Otto moves toward the docks and fishing huts to begin looting.

Moving no more than a full-round movement away from the ships.
Perception: [roll0] vs 36

[Haval]

As he charges the closest enemy Egil will bellow as loudly as he can. Not everyone would be willing to stand up to a Norscan charge, but those who did would likely make a better fight.


Full Action - Charge the closest soldier
Free Action - Intimidate against whoever Egil charges
Free Action - Parry

Attack
vs. WS 36 (+10 Charge) (Fortune point in the ooc also failed)
[roll0]
Any damage
[roll1]

Ulric's Fury if relevant
vs. WS 36 (+10 Charge)
[roll2]
Any extra damage
[roll3]

Intimidate
vs. Str 31 (+10 for Menacing)
[roll4]

Parry the first successful attack
vs. 36 (+10 Shield)
[roll5]

[Erulasto]

The Red Song Reavers

Otto and Hygd

Otto, Hygd, Gunnar and Herger were kicking in the doors to the hovels immediately upon the beach, looking for treasure or anything valuable to pillage. The Winterscorn and Red Song reavers had massed on the beach, fighting against the line of Imperial halberdiers. Still on higher vantage points, the handgunners were frantically loading and firing into the fray. But for the moment, the reavers bulk would prevent any of the Imperial soldiers from pressing down to the beach to engage the looters.

Otto caught sight of Bodhi cleaving an arm from a halberdier as her rime-encrusted halberd cut through the haft of the man’s weapon and through the leather of his sleeve.

Most of the hovels at the beach held footstuffs; barrels of raw fish from the day’s catch and, more pleasantly, one of the better constructed huts was filled to the brim with large oak kegs of ale and several clay casks of wine from the Imperial southlands.



Larus

At Larus’ command, Ulf drew back the black-fletched arrow in his horn bow and let fly.
There was a sharp yelp of pain as the arrow sunk deep into the soldiers chest but the sound was cut off abruptly as he staggered, then toppled to the side – dropping his rifle with a clatter to the stone rampart below him.

Larus led the rest of the reavers towards the guard tower, and stormed through the open door with a roar. There were three soldiers within, all hastily gathering their halberds from where they rested in a wooden rack along the far wall. There were open kegs of ale, half-eaten chickens, salted fish and a large wheel of pale yellow cheese upon the table.

The Norscans flooded the guard tower, quickly swamping the Imperial soldiers. Larus himself led the charge, spear lancing out to try and catch the closest one. He saw Hrodgar beside him, weapon flashing. The halberdier managed to bring the haft of his polearm up and knocked the Hrodgar's weapon askew before bringing the bladed head down in an vicious strike that slipped past Larus’ defenses and clipped the Norscan’s left leg. In return, Larus' spear had caught the halberdier in the knee - and the man cried out in pain and alarm as he felt the spear-tip shatter bone and rend tendons - splattering blood against the flagstone

He could feel the heat of his blood running down his leg, even his companions surged around him, blades flashing and blood flying.


Egil and Groktur

The young halberdier was on the verge of panic as Groktur drove his spear towards him. He tried desperately to bring his polearm up to deflect the oncoming attack but to no avail. A cry of anguish rose above the din of battle as Groktur’s spear tore through muscle and tendon in the young man’s right shoulder. With one hand gripping the haft of his halberd, he tried to jab the sharp spike upon the end into Groktur, but the Beastman deflected the blow with a bellow of rage.

Nearby, Egil and his companions had caught up to the staggered line of halberdiers who were coming to the young man’s rescue. Egil’s bellow set them off-kilter, and the halberdiers momentum seemed to falter. Taking the initiative, Egil charged the closest but the skittish Imperial soldier was able to stumble out of the way of the blow. He managed to recover his footing enough to spear the halberd forward, catching Egil under his shield and driving the point into the flesh of Egil’s side above his hip.

The pain was bearable, but he felt hot blood run from the wound, incensing him further.


Morgul and Nicoli

Chaos had come to Grenhoff it seemed, as the Norscans renewed their pressed assault on the line of halberdiers. The Imperial soldiers seemed to be flagging already under the relentless attacks. Nicoli it seemed was now forgotten in the midst of the carnage unfolding before him, as the two halberdiers who had been dragging him up to the stake turned their aggression against the terrifying Beastman shaman before them.

The shaman struck the Sergeant again with the heavy, gnarled staff – his arm bent at an unnatural angle from the strength of the blow. The man was whimpering pitifully on his knees, all the wrath and pride he had been showing Nicoli now gone in the face of true opposition.

One of the halberdiers jabbed forward with the point of his polearm, but Morgul swatted the weapon away with a braying howl in the man’s face. Unfortunately, it had opened the shaman up to attack by the other halberdier, who bull-rushed the Beastman and tried to force him off the platform they were scuffling on. But the Ruinous Powers had their eyes upon Morgul for the haft of the polearm snapped when thrust at him, leaving the halberdier unarmed.

[DrK]

Morgul

The shaman felt the heat of battle rising in him as he savoured the cracking of bones from the manling's arm. The braystaff shuddered as he thrust aside the blow from the other manling and he roared in the face of the man who's halberd broke, disgusting discoloured spittle spraying in the militia man's face. Spinning the staff he bellowed at the strange man chosen by the gods who had picked up the human's firearm. "KILL THEM!" he roared at Nicoli in the crude Dark Tongue, gesturing to the guard's now with their backs to the corrupted little human.

Focusing back on the fight he beat his chest to show off his strength before spinning the staff in a deliberate manner to ward off blows swung at the wounded man seeking to snuff out his life and claim another soul. The man's scalp looking like it would make a fine ornament for his belt and his skull a fine drinking gourd.



Half Action: Parrying Stance
Half Action: hit the wounded Sergeant - no mercy from this beastman!
Attack [roll0] TN55 Damage [roll1]+3
(If Dark's Gods Fury [roll2] TN55, extra damage [roll3]

Note: They can test vs the unsettling each turn to avoid the -10% WS/BS penalty

On Guards Turn:-
Morgul Parry if hit [roll4] TN 65 (prioritising armed guy vs unarmed if applicable)
Morgul Dodge against a potential second hit [roll5] TN 38


Stats Summary


WS
BS
Str
Tou
Ag
Int
WP
Fel
Move
Wounds
Fortune


45
28
35
47
38
41
33
35
5
13/13
1/1


55*













Effects
Blessing Dark Master (~8 rounds left)

Equipment
Equipped: Braystaff (2-hands, Impact, Defensive, Slow)
Belt: Axe, dagger




EDIT: computer issues so deleted the second copy of this post

[Shadowflick]

Nicoli looked over the raid, the people who had formerly tried to burn him at the stake now being broken from the Bray staff of a beastman. In the distance, he could hear the sounds of battle, axes clashing against the arms of the Empire. These people feared the warth of chaos, and were now reciveing it. Yet...They had forgotten about the mutant they seeked to burn. Too focused on his beastman rescuer. It is only natrual he repay the favor.

He pulls back the hammer on the pistol, leveling it to the halbadier with a weapon still, his hand steady, he fires


Aiming and firing at the still armed halbadier!
[roll0] VS BS 56
[roll1] Damage! [roll2] Impact

[roll3] VS BS 56 if Ulric's Fury comes out
[roll4] Or [roll5]

Parry [roll6] vs 43
Dodge blow [roll7] vs 33

[rax]

"A leg for a leg!" Lárus shouts, laughing like a maniac as the adrenaline hits. Then he feels it, the rumbling deep in his gut, accelerating uncontrollably up his throat. Still laughing, he unleashes a thunderous belch, and with it an expanding cloud of thick, choking gas that soon envelops himself and anyone near him. Unhindered by the gas, he aims two quick spear thrusts at the soldier - one high, one low.

The attack from the soldier activates Lárus' Uncontrollable Belching mutation! :smallbiggrin:
The cloud centres on Lárus and covers an area 6 yards in diameter. That should easily cover anyone in melee or otherwise adjacent to him. Anyone at the edge of the cloud (partially covered by the template, in game terms), may roll an Agility test to leap out of the way.

Gas effect [roll0] = Noxious (everyone except Lárus that breathes in the fumes must succeed on a Challenging (-10) Toughness test or halve their Strength for 1d10 rounds)
Remains potent for [roll1] rounds
Each round that it remains potent, the gas drifts 2 yards. I assume this happens at the end of each round, so next round, the gas cloud moves [roll2] = directly to the left/west.

Full action: Swift attack with spear, [roll3] and [roll4] vs. WS 40
[roll5] and [roll6] damage
Attempts to parry or dodge spear attacks are a -10

Ulric's Fury if applicable:
[roll7] and [roll8] vs. WS 40
[roll9] and [roll10] damage

Assuming Lárus is attacked, he will parry the first successful attack and then dodge if successfully attacked again:
[roll11] vs. WS 50 (40+10 from shield)
[roll12] vs. Ag 26 (-10 due to mail armour)

Attack result summary:
1 successful hit, 10 damage, no Ulric's Fury
1 successful parry, 1 successful dodge

Wounds (remaining/total): 7/11
Fortune Points (used/total): 1/3

[Haval]

Egil will grin in appreciation for his opponent's efforts before trying to cut him down.



Full Action - All Out Attack

vs. WS 36 (+20 All Out Attack)
[roll0]
Fortune Point if needed
[roll1]

Damage
[roll2]

Khorne's fury if relevant
vs. WS 36 (+20)
Damage
[roll3]

[Morovir]

The scent of the blood in his prey's wound driving him into a frenzy, Groktur throws caution to the winds and launches a mighty blow at his hapless opponent.

All-out Attack: [roll0] TN 60 (WS 40 + 20 for All-out Attack)
FP Reroll: [roll1] TN 60

Damage: [roll2]

[Space Lawyer]

Otto

This wasn't going entirely in the raiders' favor. They were used to a quick style of combat; the soldiers would have an advantage in a battle like this. They would need a bit of help. "Gunnar, Hygd, get those casks to the ships! Herger, with me! Lets set these huts and boats alight and give those soldiers something else to think about!" Otto grabs a toch and thrusts it into the merrily crackling fire, above which fish were set for smoking. As soon as it lights, he puts the torch to the thatched roof of the hut, the barrels of tar used for the boats, and the coils of rope about the place.

The raiders were used to seeing villages burning down; the Imperials undoubtedly would not be.

[Erulasto]

The Red Song Reavers

Otto

Under a withering barrage of fire, the handgunners had cut down a score or more of the reavers in the battle. The fleet was taking heavier losses on this last raid than the others, but they were giving it as good as they got.

With Bodhi now at the front, the Winterscorn reavers howled with bloodlust and surged forward again hacking and hewing with their weapons, and soon the sands were running slick with blood. It was beginning to trickle down towards the beaches.

The reavers from the Red Song were pushing as well, and despite a few losses, they remained relatively unscathed. Soon enough the line of halberdiers was flagging under the relentless assault, and Otto caught a glimpse of several breaking rank and fleeing away from the melee.

As Herger, Gunnar and Hygd dragged the kegs and wine casks out first, the flames had begun to spread quickly from Otto’s torch. Despite the moisture that seemed to seep into the buildings so close to the shore, the flames were spreading fast.

More reavers who weren’t actively engaged broke off from the pressed melee and began aiding Otto and the others with dragging goods out of the huts with whoops of glee.

Otto kicked in a flimsy wooden door that seemed to have been barred from the inside. The act wasn’t that difficult and on the second application of his boot, the wood splintered and gave way.

Inside was a young woman with bright blonde hair and fearful eyes. She was clutching a young boy with a mop of sandy brown hair to her hip, and she screamed as Otto entered. Their hut was simple, but there were a few trinkets of immediate note lying about that the smuggler thought may be worth snatching up.





Morgul and Nicoli

The Dark Powers had favoured Nicoli, it seemed, for the pistol bucked in his hands with a thunderclap of a retort. At such close range, from behind, the bullet was true and caught the halberdier square in the back. It punched through the mail of his shirt and the man screamed in pain before turning about and swinging the halberd at Nicoli with a great two-handed strike. Nicoli, quick on his feet ducked under the swing and scampered back to put a little more distance between him and the wounded soldier.

Nearby, Morgul deflected the wild swing of the Sergeant’s sword with the haft of his braystaff before bringing it down on the Sergeants head. He felt the adulation of his Gods as the man’s skull caved in from the force of the blow and he lolled to the side, toppling from the stand that surrounded Nicoli’s pyre.

The other halberdier, now disarmed, turned tail and leapt from the pyre and bolted into the crowds that were scattering to and fro trying to find shelter.


Egil and Groktur

Diving through the young halberdiers defenses, Groktur lashed out with his spear, quick as a viper. The young man tried valiantly to bring his halberd up after a blow that sunk into the sand next to the beastman, but he wasn’t quite fast enough. Groktur’s spear caught the lad in the throat, just below the line of his chin and tore through the other end. The young man gurgled pitiably as blood began to spill from his mouth, and he dropped the halberd to the blood-slick sand before sagging down to his knees.

A dozen or so feet away, Egil danced aside to avoid another thrust from the halberdier’s polearm. Unfortunately for the Norscan, his own strike failed to find purchase in the halberdier. He was an older man than the one that Groktur had been fighting, and he bore a scar on his chin that spoke of other harried battles. Leave it to the Unlucky to find a veteran.


Larus

As the foul, noxious cloud spread through the bottom level of the watchtower, Larus could see in his periphery the soldiers begin to gag and retch. The one before him looked green around the gills, and he tried to bring his halberd up to strike at Larus but Hrodgar was there with weapon flashing and catching the soldier in his other leg. Bone splintered and flesh tore and the man screamed – though the sound was broken by a powerful retching.

The moment was at hand, and Larus pressed forward with his spear snapping out. The razor-sharp tip slid under the rim of the soldier’s helmet, and Larus felt the bone of his skull part under the force of the strike, lodging itself in the man’s skull. With blood pouring from his eyes and down his forehead, he toppled to the side and Larus wrenched his spear free with a wet pop.

[DrK]

Morgul

Power filled him and the scent of blood was overpowering as the sands and the square ran red with blood. The man dying in front of him felt good, the flicker of Shysh around him as death claimed him blazed in his witch sight. The splatter of blood on his hands were warm and he could feel the beast rising within him. Dropping the staff he bellowed to the village, braying massively in a bestial wordless challenge to all men. The raw power of ghur within him his hands twisted into massive cat like paws with long curved claws and he pounced forward slashing at the back of the man attacking the neglish touched mutant. Losing control his claws slashed and flailed but found no purchase.




Half Action: Claws of the beast (See OOC)
Half Action: claw halbrdier fighting Nicoli
All out Atk [roll0] TN 85(+10 outnumber?) Dam [roll1] (fast, -10 parry/dodge)
(If Dark's Gods Fury [roll2] TN 85, extra damage [roll3]

Note: They can test vs the unsettling each turn to avoid the -10% WS/BS penalty

On Guards Turn:-
No dodge or parry as all out attack


Stats Summary


WS
BS
Str
Tou
Ag
Int
WP
Fel
Move
Wounds
Fortune


45
28
35
47
38
41
33
35
5
13/13
1/1


65*













Effects
Blessing Dark Master (~7 rounds left)
Claws of beast (+1 A, +10% WS, fast)

Equipment
Equipped: Braystaff (2-hands, Impact, Defensive, Slow)
Belt: Axe, dagger

[Shadowflick]

Nicoli appreciated the fact that his one shot landed and dealt a heavy blow to the halbadier "Friend ran away. Maybe you should to" he says, stepping back from the Halberd. He takes this chance to run by him, going to pick up the sergeants sword so that he may be able to fight properly

[rax]

With a savage grin at Hrodgar, Lárus casts his eyes about for another victim. Through the vapours he unleashed, he spots another gagging soldier - raising his shield he stalks forward and jabs his spear at the unsuspecting enemy.

The gas cloud remains potent for 2 more rounds, including this one.
At the end of this round, it drifts 2 yards [roll0] north-west

Half action: Move to engage nearest soldier, preferably one already involved in combat.
Half action: Standard attack with spear, roll [roll1] vs. WS 40 assuming no situational modifiers
[roll2] damage
Attempts to parry or dodge spear attacks are a -10

Ulric's Fury if applicable:
[roll3] vs. WS 40
[roll4] damage

Assuming Lárus is attacked, he will parry the first successful attack and then dodge if successfully attacked again:
[roll5] vs. WS 50 (40+10 from shield)
[roll6] vs. Ag 26 (-10 due to mail armour)

Action summary: Way to swing and miss wildly! :smallsigh:

Wounds (remaining/total): 7/11
Fortune Points (used/total): 1/3

[Space Lawyer]

Otto

"Run or die, your choice." Otto says to the frightened villager. Of course, she also had the option of being captured by the raiders and taken as a thrall, but that wouldn't perhaps have the same immediate impact as the stark choice between life and death. For Otto, it mattered little whcih choice she made. Killing villagers was a waste of time that could better be spent looting, and could hurt his smuggling business if he gained a reputation as bloodthirsty madman, but it wasn't like any time would be spent negotiating a more amicable settlement.

Otto begins scooping the various trinkets into his sack, keeping an eye on the villager while doing so. People could be unpredictable when terrified. If she did something stupid like going for a weapon, he'd have to kill her. Regrettable, but he did give fair warning.

[Haval]

'That's the spirit.' Egil will speak in Norscan, not caring that the southerner probably didn't understand. Even if he lost someone else would get this one. He will try and get around his enemies weapon in order to cut the man in half.



Let's try this again.

Fortune: 1/3 (before this round)
Wounds: 7/10

Full Action - All Out Attack

vs. WS 36 (+20 All Out Attack)
[roll0]
Fortune Point if needed
[roll1]

Phew

Damage
[roll2]

Khorne's fury if relevant
vs. WS 36 (+20)
[roll3]
Damage
[roll4]

[Morovir]

Turning to another unfortunate halberdier, Groktur bellows, foul spittle flying from his mouth as he does so, and swings his spear.

All-Out Attack: [roll0] TN 60
FP Reroll: : [roll1] TN 60

Damage: [roll2]

[Erulasto]

Red Song Reavers

Otto

The young woman, fear in her wide eyes, made no further sound. Terror had sealed her lips. But when the smuggler had given her the option of running, she did. Pulling the young man by his arm forcefully, they slipped past Otto and out into the raucus sounds of the night. Even from within the hut, Otto could make out the reddish glow of the fire as it spread.

By the time the dawn came, Grenhoff would be nothing more than an ashy testament to the ferocity of the Northmen.

The villager and the boy hadn't been outside the hut for longer than a span of breaths when Otto caught the sound of her scream again, and the dark laughter of Gunnar and Herger. It seemed that her fate was sealed - like the rest of the villagers - when Bodhi had made the decision to raid one last town.

Turning his attention back to the trinkets at hand, he found several necklaces of carved coral set in brass loops, and even a somewhat tarnished silver ring that bore the symbol of the Imperial sea-god Manaan.

It wasn't a lot in the way of real valuables - Otto didn't expect that much from a fishing village - but he was pleasantly surprised when he found a bundle of furs bound in a leather thong that hid something hard within.

Beneath the hasty coverings, the smuggler came upon a single-edged, curved dagger. It was reasonably well-balanced, but not of exceptional quality. The thing that stood out the most, to the smuggler's trained eye, was the style itself.

It wasn't a local blade. In fact, Otto had only seen it's like once before when he had done business with a shady foreigner who hailed from the distant southern lands of Araby. What a blade like this was doing so far North was a mystery.





Bjorni Greensong

With banner in hand, Bjorni had followed Bodhi and her reavers off the longship. The dark hides painted with the runes and iconography of the Winterscorn tribe fluttered in the evening sea breeze - the eight pointed star of Chaos emblazoned in the center looking upon the havoc like the baleful eye of the Dark Gods themselves.

It was his honour to bring the Jarl's standard to this pitiful town, and the Skald was hot on the heels of Bodhi as she mercilessly cleaved her way through the enemy line. All around him, Bjorni could tell that while the reavers had struggled against a much more capable foe than they had expected, the reavers were taking the day.

Even now, the line of halberdiers had broken and were scattering - seeking to escape the bloodthirst of the Norscans with all the haste they could muster. For many, it was far too late. Even the handgunners, who had aligned themselves on high to fire down into the melee were being pulled from their bolt-holes and brutally hacked to peices.

There were small pockets of resistance still. Bjorni could see Egil the Unlucky and a small cluster of the reavers from the Red Song engaged against a handful of halberdiers who were swiftly being encircled and cut off from the rest of their allies. Nearby, the Caprigor Groktur had already spilled his own share of blood.

The pyre that they had all seen erected in the center of the town square was a hotbed of violence as well, as the bray-shaman that had accompanied their fleet was busy battling alongside a strange looking man who certainly did not fit the appearance of the Imperials, and the black mantle of fat-bodied flies that hung above and about him were a testament to his own blessings. Whoever this foreigner was, he was kin in the eyes of their brutal Gods.

Bjorni found a head rolling to stop at his feet, a kettle-helm barely aligned upon his brow and dead eyes wide in horror. Glancing up, the skald saw the tall form of Bodhi striding towards him with a wide grin on her blood-splattered face. Her soulles black eyes peered at him, and she clapped a strong hand on his shoulder.

"We have their blessings, Bjorni." She said. "The soft-bellied southerners are scattering like lambs. Announce the victory." Bodhi turned her dark gaze up to the watchtower that Larus had taken ten men to overpower. From here, Bjorni could see the slumped form of three soldiers on the ramparts - arrows piercing their flesh.

"And take one of the banners from the ship. Hang it there." The reaver-captain pointed to the watchtower with her halberd. "Let whomever finds this place know it was the Winterscorn who turned it to a charnel house."





Morgul and Nicoli

The sudden, savage assault of the beastman shaman on the halberdier who had been trying to kill him was enough of a distraction for Nicoli to dash aside and pick up the sergeant's blade in hand.

It was a simple sword with a basket hilt bearing the twin-tailed comet of Sigmar upon it's pommel like two jutting iron spikes. Twisting the blade in his grip, Nicoli easily cut through the ropes binding his wrists - now freed of all restrait and took but a moment to survey the battle that had been unfolding about him.

The reavers were, for all intents and purposes, victorious. The halberdiers were breaking rank and scattering. Many reavers were chasing them down, but the bulk had begun to swiftly turn their attention to looting and gathering up those townsfolk they felt would make good thralls.

The halberdier who had turned his attention to Morgul swung at the bray-shaman, but with the dark magic of beasts coursing through him, Morgul was able to deftly avoid the powerful swipe.


Egil and Groktur

Rushing his attack again, Egil battered his way through the halberdiers defenses and his blade carved deep into his side just above the hip. Egil felt his blade catch on something rigid - his spine most likely - and as the Norscan tore the blade free, the halberdier toppled to the side, spilling part of his innards across the gore-slicked sand.

Kharneth would be well-pleased with this offering.

Trying to buy his comrades some time, the halberdier engaging Groktur rushed the caprigor - trying to shove him back and out of the immediate fray, but the beastman was too fearsome an opponent and dug his hooves into the sand. The halberdier simply stopped, his rush halted as he glanced up with red-rimmed eyes, looking into the malevolent gaze of the savage mutant before him.


Larus

The shifting, packed melee in the guard tower was chaotic and messy and as Larus thrust his spear forward, he was jostled to the side by one of the reavers who had come with him stumbling back, blood fountaining from the massive tear in his throat from a halberdiers thrust. The jostling had thrown Larus' own attack off, and his spear-tip found purchase in a bookshelf instead of flesh.

The man he had sought to attack was carrying a rifle, and seemed on the edge of descending into panic as his eyes watered and bile dribbled from his chin at the noxious cloud that still filled the watchtower. Hefting his rifle like a club, the man swung widly - but the Breathstealer's helm blunted the blow, cracking the rifle's barrel and leaving the man unarmed and desperate.

[DrK]

Morgul

Morgul continues to roar and bray as he uses his heavy furred bulk to smash the halberd away. Stepping in, still exulting in the slaughter filling the square he reaches out with both claws seeking to rend the man limb from limb.




Full Action: claw halbrdier fighting Nicoli
Swift All out Atk TN 85(+10 outnumber?) Dam [roll1] and [roll2] (fast, -10 parry/dodge)
(If Dark's Gods Fury [rolll]1d100 TN 85, extra damage [roll3]

12 to the arm and 12 to the body.

Note: They can test vs the unsettling each turn to avoid the -10% WS/BS penalty

On Guards Turn:-
No dodge or parry as all out attack


Stats Summary


WS
BS
Str
Tou
Ag
Int
WP
Fel
Move
Wounds
Fortune


45
28
35
47
38
41
33
35
5
13/13
1/1


65*













Effects
Blessing Dark Master (~6 rounds left)
Claws of beast (+1 A, +10% WS, fast) 10 rounds left

Equipment
Equipped: Braystaff (2-hands, Impact, Defensive, Slow)
Belt: Axe, dagger

[Shadowflick]

Nicoli looks over the burning town. It seems the Pyre wasnt for him anymore. He dosent feeel angry though, nor does he feel happy. He feels pity for the foolish people here. He turns to the last of the halbadiers, still battling the beastman. He moves forward, readying his blade to strike with a harsh stab.



[roll0] vs WS 43
[roll1]

[roll2] vs WS 43 Khornes Fury/ Fate
[roll3]

[roll4] vs WS 43 Parry
[roll5] vs Dodge Blow 33

[rax]

"Fickle, they are, the gods of battle. Don't you agree, sleeper?" Larus quips at the frightened soldier as he tugs his spear loose from the bookshelf. "My turn!" he hisses as he lashes out with his spear, making no attempt to defend himself against his unarmed foe.

The gas cloud remains potent for this round, then dissipates.

Full action: All out swift attack with spear, and [roll1] vs. WS 60 (40+20 from all out attack)
[roll2] and [roll3] damage
Attempts to parry or dodge spear attacks are a -10

Ulric's Fury if applicable:
[rolll]1d100 and [roll4] vs. WS 60
[roll5] and [roll6] damage

Edit: Won't bother correcting the first Ulric's Fury roll, since the actual attack was a miss anyway.

[Morovir]

Groktur snarls at his opponent, and brings his spear down in an overhead swing.

All-Out Attack: [roll0] TN 60
Damage: [roll1]

[Haval]

Egil will look around for any remaining resistance. Anyone who ran was probably not worth chasing.

If no one is successfully standing up to the Reavers he will make his way towards the Beastman Shaman to find out what he was so interested in. As the Shaman looked to be in no immediate danger, Egil is in no particular hurry.

[Erulasto]

Red Song Reavers


Larus

The lashing spear of the Breathstealer catches the unarmed handgunner in the left eye, and cleaves the white orb from his face with a shriek that swiftly cuts off into pained whimpers as he lays dying upon the floor of the watchtower.

All around him, Larus can see the rest of the reavers who accompanied him looking about the carnage with adoration. The watchtower had been secured, and from the weapons and armour that were arrayed in here – barrels of gunpowder, rifles, halberds and swords – this was a very valuable place to sack.

Ulf slinks into the tower behind them, short a few arrows but wearing a wolfish grin. “Well butchered, Larus!” He said, as Ulf watched Hrodgar pick his way across several corpses towards them.

“It sounds like they’ve had as much luck out there as we have.” Hrodgar says, and Ulf nods. “We’ve taken the town. Now it’s just a matter of finding the right plunder, aye?”


Groktur and Egil

The halberdier’s head splits in twain, the spear cleaving through his helm and into soft flesh and brittle bone. Groktur stood victorious, and cast his gaze about for other targets. The soft-bellied Imperial manlings had broken and were running. All around him, he saw the dead and dying laying in the bloody sand and beyond in the distance there was screaming and shouting as the reavers hunted through the town looking for folk to clap in chains or valuables to plunder.

Egil saw no remaining resistance either, though it seemed that between the bray-shaman and whomever he rescued from the pyre, the last soldiers in the town square were being cut down as well.

While a little messy, there was lots of mail and leathers here that could be salvaged by the reavers, along with halberds and some blades – and firearms. Better than a sodding militia, even if they were cut down just as readily.


Morgul and Nicoli

The halberdier was hewn to bloody bits by the rending claws of the bray-shaman before Nicoli was able to land his own blow with his sword. Now that there was a moments respite, with the pyre stand below him slaked with blood and gore, Nicoli looked up into the monstrous form of the Beastman before him.

There was a tension in the air, palpable, as the Kislevite perhaps wondered if he was next. But, there seemed to be no immediate threat.

The Norscan reavers had begun to move through the town to gather what they could, be it slaves or plunder.

A tall, red haired woman began to stride towards Morgul and Nicoli with a wide grin on her blood-speckled face.

“Shaman!” She called. “What do we have here?”

[Shadowflick]

Nicoli keeps his sword drawn, watching with the familiar fear that came with battling the forces of chaos as The beastman tears the man asunder. he takes a step back, his sword still drawn as he looks at the shaman, and then to the red headed reaver, flies still buzzing aaround him, whispers spread among the buzzing "Nicoli is wondering Same. Why is Beastman not attacking me..." He says, warily holding his blade as he looks the two up and down

[DrK]

Morgul

The shaman feels a release as the claws rip the man apart in a welter of blood, gore and viscera. With the body clutched in his claws he turned to survey the village. The strange savage Norse humans were everywhere, the soft southern manlinfs either dead in pools of blood or screaming and injured, other ones, even softer bei g out in chains like animals.

Seeing no threat he loomed over the one talked about in the onens. Allowing his blood soaked claws to recede he picked up the staff and dropped to knee beside the dead sergeant. Ripping open the man's throat he watched the blood poring out over the wooden decks, senses attuned to the shifting ripples and the reflection of Nicoli in the gore as he muttered words in Daemonic summoning the guidance of the gods.


Magical sense if needed [roll0] TN 43



As Nocoli and the female spoke at him he looked at both, their strange chittering high pitched warbling making little sense to him. Gesturing at the village he grinned as best as his deformed mouth could allow, "Manling village burn. Redscorn men stronger. " he barked in Dark tongue hoping one could understand him. He pointed at Nicoli and pointed to the boats. " You come. Come with Morgul."

[rax]

"Awake, and see the real world," Lárus intones as he thrusts his spear through the throat of the dying soldier, silencing him.

"Aye, a good fight," he replies to Ulf. "The men of the Red Song took this tower. Any man that needs it could do worse than to claim a sword and some armour before Ymirsdotter's favourites try to take the whole trove for themselves. As for the guns - they are not a warrior's weapon, but they are dangerous, and the gods favour those who do not fear to seize power when it is offered. If we had such weapons among our band..." Lárus trails off, a possessive look in his eyes as he admires the firearms in their racks. "Well, we shall see what happens. Let's set the men to gathering up the plunder. I'm of a mind to climb the tower and see the sights." he declares, returning his attention to the situation before him.

I'm making some assumptions about how the loot from a raid gets divvied up. I assume that, as the leader of the expedition, Bodhi has final authority over who gets what. I also assume that, technically, she should be rewarding warriors according to their contribution to the success of the raid, but - since we're all Chaos-worshipping bastards - that there's a good chance she'll make sure that her own war band will get first dibs on the pick of the loot. But if our guys have already picked up whatever weapons and armour they want from the battle they won, then it would be impolitic of her to challenge that. If she's generally much more honourable than that, or it's more of a "you keep what you can take" system, let me know and I'll adjust the post accordingly.

Also, if there's a mail coat (with or without sleeves) to be found in the tower, Lárus would be really keen to get his hands on that. And if nothing else, he'd also like to end up with a firearm and some powder and shot as his personal loot.

[neriractor]

Bjorni rushed through, in his place near Bodhi it was pretty clear he saw Little combat and that he saw was brief, the splatters of blood across him more a testament of the fleet leader's messy gift that any kills of his own.

He barely could take the views in as the head rolled in, with but a second to look at it before the towering form patted his shoulder and ordered, he responded by clasping her arm in camaraderie, with a grin of his own "Aye" .

He rushed to the side, running right to the thick of the fight and climbing up any barrel that may be left, the banner high above his head as he bellowed in norscan, making sure to choose words that the southerners may recognize to help spread the panic grasping at their core "¡Praise the gods warriors, for we have taken the day. Your might and worth has turned their So-called soldiers into carrion and their kin to a frightened herd, running from the first true strength they well ever witness. This weaklings are your cattle! ¡So rejoice and honor the gods with their slaughter, make the flowing blood put drajerk to shame! he raised his axe towards the fleeing villagers, screaming bloody murder as he noticed the particular happenings and surveyed the blazing fires and the reavers hauling loot back to the ship, cursing himself for not taking the faster boat.

Ancient chaos champion enshrined as a demigod, attributed with several folk tales and important kills. Including the slaughter of hundreds near a river turning it red, drajerk outran the slow current and stood in front of the blood tide up to his crotch on the water. He went on one knee, gorging on the unclean waters until the river barely reached his knees.

*I'm gonna take the liberty to make up this sort of folk heroes as we go along, I hope is no problem. Also sorry for not responding before, just noticed this morning that you had set me up to start posting, and I couldn't catch a break until now.

[Morovir]

Breathing heavily, Groktur stalked over to the first foe that he had slain, the young halberdier whose throat lay open in a red gape. Taking his knife, Groktur finished what he had started in his deathblow, and sawed fully through the corpse's neck, before tying the newly-severed head to his belt. Braying a quiet prayer to the Dark Gods under his breath, Groktur takes in his surroundings properly for the first time, and casts around for anything of use to him.

[Shadowflick]

Nicoli grip tightens on his blade as the Beastman crouches down and cuts open the throat of the Man. It was a worrying sight, magic powered by blood. Yet, it seemed that he was of no threat at the moment. Nicoli looks up at the red haired reaver. He used to take part in ambushes against these sorts...and now they were recuing him. He grit his teeth, taking the sheath of teh dead sergent and sheathing his new blad, holstering it on his belt.

"Nicoli have little else to go. He go with. After arms are taken back." He says, stepping down from the pyre, looking around the now looted town, eyes wandering the street's and homes for what might have become of these people. He heads to the tower, hoping to reclaim his carved Kisliverian rifle, The warped wood having a ferocious bear carved into the butt of the rifle. In adition, the Signature Pole Axe which Streltsi were known for.

[Space Lawyer]

Otto

To be fair, Otto hadn't been specific as to how long the woman would survive after running or made any claim that her remaining lifespan would be at all pleasant. Oh well.

He throws the trinkets in his sack and tucks the southern blade into his belt. None of the raiders would have any appreciation for its value, sold off to some soft merchant with aspirations of worldliness. They'd just chuck it in with the rest of the blades to be divvied up.

He leads his party over to the watchtower, where it seemed the largest group was gathering. The victory had been so complete that they were obviously not inteding to leave quickly. The militia had broken and the villagers fled, and there was still much looting to be done. To that end, Otto made sure to grab one of the firearms laying on the ground, along with what he surmised to be the powder and shot for it. Though Otto certainly didn't know how to utilize the weapon himself, there were many willing to trade dearly for a gun.

"A mighty victory, but I'd suggest we make quick work of this place. If we stick around too long, we'll lose the tide and be facing whatever reinforcements come this way."

[Erulasto]

Red Song Reavers



Larus, Bjorni and Otto

The reavers who had followed Larus had only lost a single man, though another was severely wounded and Larus thought grimly that it wasn’t likely he’d survive the return trip unless someone could patch him up. While Larus himself was pulling on a mail coat, the others were busy ransacking the watchtower for anything valuable they could find.

Otto and Herger had made their way into the watchtower as well, following one of the Winterscorn skalds that had come along to tell the tales of their victories to the Jarl when they returned. Otto hadn’t a lot of opportunity to speak to Bjorni before, as the man had travelled with Bodhi on her longship, but as he carried the banner the smuggler was convinced of his devotion.

As the skald and the smuggler entered, they smelled the last traces of some noxious and foul stench that was finally fading. Otto had seen Larus fight before and knew the Norscan could belch up toxic fumes as a blessing from his Gods.

Herger, Ulf and Hrodgar all greeted each other warmly and excitedly. Despite their inexperience, the Reavers of the Red Song were already growing close through their shared battle experiences.


Nicoli, Groktur, Egil and Morgul

The spreading gore at the feet of the bray-shaman is pleasing to look at but brings with it no insight or foul direction from his savage Gods. Morgul can faintly hear the whispering of the cloud of flies that hangs about the Kislevite, but even that offers nothing of use.

It seems that whatever the Ruinous Powers had intended, for the moment, this was it.

Bodhi watches the exchange between the two curiously as Egil and Groktur pick their way across the corpse-littered town square towards the small gathering. As she senses the two approach, she turns slightly to face them.

“Well fought Egil…and you too, brute.” Bodhi says. “While it’s no merchant town, the haul here will be enough to earn us some glory and renown among our kin, and some coin. If the foreigner wants to come with us, so be it. The more, the merrier!”

Turning from the group, Bodhi stalks through the town square bellowing orders to be swift and round up everything they’re going to take and load it on the boats. It seems as if there was one more stop to make before they returned to the Jarl’s hold in the North: the trading post of Kollsvik, under Jarl Sigurd the Thorn.




The standard gear for the Imperial Soldiers was:
Halberd or Rifle and enough powder in a horn for 10 shots + 10 bullets
Dagger
Mail Shirt
Leather Jack and Leggings
Helmet

There are enough laying around that anyone can grab something if they’re so inclined, not including whatever ends up in the pile of plunder.

By right of conquest, the majority of the plunder goes to Jarl Bitterstride, but each of you are entitled to the notion of you-keep-what-you-kill. So while you’ll get your share once the plunder is unloaded, if you killed a guy and want his stuff. Take it. Your post was fine, Rax. No need to edit it.

Nicoli can find his normal trappings, plus he picked up a pistol and a sword (hand weapon) that you can keep or toss at your leisure.

In regard to firearms, a lot of Norscans view ranged weapons as sort of cowardly. But some of the most potent warbands are the ones who can look beyond normal societal views. Not to mention that the retinue system doesn’t just include Norscan marauders.

Neriractor: Be my guest on name dropping custom legends and whatnot. Extra flavor is good.

All: If you’re taking anything from the dead soldiers that I mentioned above, please note it on your character sheets in the OOC thread and make mention in the OOC thread as to what you’re snagging.





If you want to try and snag anything good for yourselves outside of personal armament, please give me a Routine +10% Perception skill test. Remember to half the characteristic if you’re untrained in the skill.

Please note if you’re looking for personal thralls for yourselves, or actual plunder.

The next post will advance the date as you’re setting sail once again.

[DrK]

Morgul

The shaman looks at the woman, eyeing the rime encrusted halberd and the blood splatters he dips his head fractionally, switching to the dark tongue. "Bodhi, pack leader. Your herd fights well. The gods like the sacrifice of blood."

Watching her go he glances at the sway of her hips, the female manlings are furless but not unimpressive he thinks to himself. Gesturing to Nicoli he points to the Red Song before turning back to the bodies. Grabbing a sword from a dead soldier he hacks off the heads of those he had killed and tied them to the Braystaff. He chuckled to himself as he looked at head of the Sergeant, with the dent from the staff it seemed his skull would be a better shape for a drinking cup than he had thought. Carving off a few prime cuts and tearing out the hearts from the dead men he walked down to to the flaming huts and dropped them into the fire, a broken halberd a convenient skewer. As the meat sizzled he threw the biggest cut into the heart of the flames to appease the gods before feasting on the partially cooked heart. Seeing Groktur close by he bellowed a greeting, "Did you hunt well? Share some prey, speak of glory." and offered a bloody hunk of the cooking meat.

Once finished feasting he walked amongst the flames, the burning houses reflecting in his dark beastial eyes and revelled in the destruction of the orderly trappings of mankind gathering a trinket here or there that caught his eye before he boarded the boat once more. Fur matted with blood dried now and the heads of the dead looking north as they dangled from his staff.


Perception [roll0] TN 71 + 10 routine

[Haval]

Egil will incline his head in response to Bodhi's compliment. It was no more then should be expected of any Norscan.

He will call after the Kislevite in his own language as he returns with his weapons. Egil had raided often with the Aeslings into northern Kislev and he recognised the look of the man. They had taken many thralls from there and he couldn't help but pick up something of their language. 'So...what did you do to piss them off that much. Aren't your lot allies with the southerners?' Kislev was not Norsca, but they were strengthened by living so close to the Wastes all the same. Egil could respect that.

He was not much for plunder beyond anything he can take from those he kills, but later he will help himself to the mail coat and helmet of the veteran he had killed. He had owned one before but it had fallen apart from lack of maintenance. He will also be on the look out for any alcohol that he can take before one of the other raiders. The combat had cleared up his hangover but was over too quickly. More booze would do in the meantime.


vs. Int 30 / 2 (+10 Routine)
[roll0]

[rax]

"Ship-master," Lárus greets Otto as he enters the tower. "We scored a fine victory here - weapons and armour to equip many of the Jarl's loyal warriors. But many would say that these" - he indicates the firearms laying about - "are hardly fit weapons for a true warrior. But you should have no such qualms. What would you say to requesting the Jarl to provide... ten? of these to equip the Red Song? Surely even a fast ship like yours could find itself in need of some extra firepower on occasion?"

Lárus will take a look around the tower and the village as well, if allowed, to look for any interesting personal plunder (objects, not thralls).

[roll0] vs. Int 25 (31/2+10)

He will definitely take a firearm and powder and shot from one of the fallen soldiers. The soldiers were wearing mail shirts, but your post notes that Lárus is trying on a mail coat - a typo, or confirmation that there was better armour available in the tower?

[Shadowflick]

The gruff Kislivite turns his head to Egil, flies buzzing...and whispering "They said I was a Mutant and a Heretic. I simply was traveling. North in fact. Away from my Homeland. They were frightened, your reputation had them on edge. T Hey turned it into hatred. And I was there...outlet" Hes says with a helpless shrug, still moving to the tower. He steps over a few bloody corpses, brushing by some reavers as he opens a chest in the tower. His rifle, and his ammunition. A smile comes across his face as he picks it up, taking his Pole-axe and strapping it to his back as well. He looks about the other corpses, and helps himself to taking another ten shots if he can before leaving...but..not before overhearing some slight mentioning about fire arms. He scoffs

"Gun is no Bow. Is no cross bow, and certainly no javlin. Require training. Skill. One cant pick up weapon and expect to make death with it. Is like carpenter trying to mold pot. He has no training, but strong hands. He needs to be taught" Then again, this wasn't his business. He was simply making an observation. The whispers said he was in the right place, after all

[Morovir]

Taking the proffered meat, Groktur tore chunks off it, chewing as he replied to the bray-shaman:

"Hunting far from best. Killed old man and boy. Night still young though. Still time for worthy offering."

Leaving the bray-shaman behind, Groktur stalked through the burning village, searching for fresh meat.

Perception test to find thralls (meals on legs): [roll0] TN 60 (Int 30 +10 Routine + 20 Keen Senses)

[neriractor]

Bjorni enters the room staring for a moment at the kislevite, taking in the buzzing flies and filth, a clear blessing of the father.

prompted by the ongoing discussion he grabs a gun from the shelf, inspecting it and feeling its weight, a couple of particulary gruesome deads popping into his mind as he strapped it to his back. "good enough for me."

He goes up the tower, hanging a banner on the ramparts facing the road. He punts the musketeer corpses downstairs as he goes and carries the muskets with him. giving a nod to Lárus when reaching the bottom, recognizing his new armour and the staying stink as his contribution to the battle, and chuckles while staring at the dead soldiers. "it looks like I missed a fun one!"

I´m taking a rifle, suplements for 10 shots, a helmet and leather leggins.

rolling to find some new thralls, to either commerce once we get to kollsvik or to keep the greensong household staffed.
[roll0] against 56 (46 Int +10 routine)

[Haval]

The gruff Kislivite turns his head to Egil, flies buzzing...and whispering "They said I was a Mutant and a Heretic. I simply was traveling. North in fact. Away from my Homeland. They were frightened, your reputation had them on edge. T Hey turned it into hatred. And I was there...outlet"

Egil nods, taking note of the cloud of insects. It was obviously true. The Kislevite was someone who had attracted the Fly Lord's personal attention. It was not a fate he would wish on anyone but perhaps it would be useful to have one so favoured around. Still, better that then the paltry death he would have recieved here.

[Space Lawyer]

Otto

But you should have no such qualms. What would you say to requesting the Jarl to provide... ten? of these to equip the Red Song? Surely even a fast ship like yours could find itself in need of some extra firepower on occasion?"

Otto wasn't fond of the suggestion that he was no fighter - such people tended to be thralls or dead among the Norscans - but let it pass. After all, no matter Otto's own capacity or lack therof for battle, Larus' was certainly greater.

"A fine idea! The Red Song will be a tune of roaring gunpowder! If nothing else, I'm sure the jarl will see the wisdom in using the weapons for such a fine purpose rather than letting them rust unused in a longhouse. But now, let us turn our attention to making sure that we all get the greatest loot possible!"

Otto is grabbing up unclaimed firearms and throwing them in a crate. For his searching, he'll be concentrating on the sorts of things that the others would be less interested in claiming, but that would appeal to a smuggler. Things like trade goods, trinkets, anything small and high value that he can turn a good profit on once they have time to make sail to a more civilized port.

Perception [roll0] vs 46

[Erulasto]

Reavers of the Red Song

The looting was well under way, with scores of reavers hauling kegs, crates and barrels of various sizes back to the ships. Much of the initial haul was foodstuffs - it would take at least two months to return to the Jarl's halls, assuming there was no great delay in Kollsvik. But others were busy stripping the dead and gathering the arms and armour of the fallen soldiers. A number of civilian dead lay scattered about the town - cut down in the heat of battle, but a quick estimation by Egil figured there was close to fourty townsfolks who had been rounded up and were busy being shackled. He even saw the uniforms of at least a handful of Imperial soldiers who had been disarmed and stripped of their armour. Fighting men would go for a reasonable price in Kollsvik, which contained a small gladitorial arena where slaves fought against all comers for the thrill of the Thorn.

Morgul's butchery of the Imperial soldiers was met with several cheers and declarations of devotion for the Dark Gods from the reavers who had paid any mind to the Bray-Shaman's activities. Among the dead of the town, Morgul came across a small apothecary's shop. The apothecary was a rail-thin man in brown robes; sleeves stained with spilled unguents and tinctures. He was pinned to a wooden pillar in the center of the room by a blade through his gut. Morgul saw the other end of the blade had shorn through the support pillar itself, the tip broken from the blow.

About the shop, Morgul saw a number of ingredients that caught his eye as being somewhat rare to come by in the north. Dried petals and flowers from the warm, southern lands of the Empire. Sprigs of berries from Tilea and even the bones of various beasts and animals that did not favour the cold of Norsca. Behind the counter, however, the beastman saw a workbench that contained a handful of poultices that Morgul gathered were to aid in the bodies healing, a number of vials sealed with wax stoppers and three larger clay bottles.


5 x Healing Poultices
4 x Wax-stoppered Vials
3 x Clay Bottles


The thrill of the battle ebbing from his veins, Egil's search of the surrounding area for anything to drink was unsuccessful. But he knew that it was likely others would have found something to drink - likely some piss-poor Imperial beer - but there was a chance they'd come across something more palatable. The Red Song had a few barrels of Dawi-Zharr ale that they'd taken from a group of rival reavers their first week out. The rationing of the strong ale was a sign of unusual discipline from the young reavers who had travelled with the southern caravel. Egil had known that this batch was relatively unblooded until this voyage, and he was impressed with their ferocity and tenacity...and they seemed to be developing a fondness for the ship that many were now saying was as fast as a Slaaneshi whore.


No booze, unfortunately.


Ulf and Hrodgar were hanging close to Larus, once they had taken what immediate things had caught their eye. The black-haired bowman was eyeing a rifle he held in his nimble hands curiously, raising it to his shoulder tentatively as he had seen the soldiers do. There was a loud bang that echoed in the tower, causing many of the reavers to start in surprise, hands moving to weapons.

"Bloody piss!" Ulf swore, and lowered it a bit wide-eyed as he looked at the solid hole he had put in a small keg of beer that sat across the room on a table. There was grumbling among the reavers as they turned back to their work, all the while Hrodgar shook with loud guffaws. He clapped Ulf on the shoulder.

"Little quick on th' draw there ain't he, Larus?"


Sorry, that typo was my bad. These are mail shirts. The Halberdiers had sleeved mail shirts, and the handgunners had the normal mail shirts and leather jacks. The sergeant had a mail coat though. It'd be possible to snag that assuming no one else wants it.


The reavers gave Groktur a wide berth as he stalked through the town. He had his pick of meat, that was abundantly clear. One particular townsfolk caught his eye. It appeared to be the butcher, though how much blood on his apron was his wasn't exactly clear. He still held a large metal cleaver in hand as he sat against a building and waited for death to take him, and from the body of the reaver who was next to him, it looked like he gave as good as he got. He was thick with wide limbs and a large belly. He would be good eating. Especially as he had just fed the Blood God himself. But Groktur caught the sound of a whimper from nearby and saw a pair of townsfolk that were crippled, sitting in the bloody sand. The reavers would likely leave them, as cripples often didn't make the greatest of thralls.


Food! Much meat!


Bjorni hears a muffled curse from below as the soldier's body falls from the ramparts of the watchtower, almost landing on one of the reavers rolling a huge wheel of cheese past the watchtower.

As he comes down and begins to pick his way through the town, keeping watchful eyes open for anything that catches his fancy, the skald catches - from the corner of his eye - the flicker of light from around a corner that would indicate a torch moving. Quickly slipping after it, he rounds the corner just in time to catch sight of the torch being jabbed into a bucket of water.

A thick woman is huddled under a cart nearby, having slipped under it to hide and, hopefully, be overlooked by the other reavers. However, she wasn't alone. Next to her was a beautiful, fair-haired young girl with a wide-fearful eye. Her other was hidden behind cloth wrappings that had been bound around her head.

The skald thought, just for a moment, that there was a flicker of something from under the bandages. Like a faight light was trying to shine through.


All those things are easy to find.
Plus a random encounter.


With the firearms and supplies gathered, a couple other reavers are cooerced into loading them onto the Red Song for Otto. If nothing else, they figure they'd earn some coin in Kollsvik.

Making his way through the town, Otto comes across a tall man sprawled in the dirt in front of what Otto thinks is the fanciest house in Grenhoff. From his fancy clothes and bright blue cape, the smuggler assumes the man was the mayor. He wore a heavy gold chain of office around his neck, with a pearl-inlaid dagger at his waist. The one hand he still had, was studden with three rings. The other hand held a sword, and was a half-dozen feet away.


Otto manages to gather [roll0] rifles and [roll1] pistols, [roll2] small kegs of gunpowder and another [roll3]x100 bullets, in small pouches of ten.

As well, Otto finds the body of whom he assumes to be the mayor. He has a gold necklace of office. It's not ornately jewelled or anything, but it's worth a fair bit. He also has a good-quality glass bottle of wine from Averland, a thin dagger with a small pearl inset in the pommel, two silver rings and a copper ring set with a rough-cut clear gemstone.




When everyone had gathered up the loot, just managing to finish within Bodhi's preferred timeframe, the reavers gathered on the beach and began to heave the ships back out into the lessening surf. It didn't take too long before they were scrambling up the sides and the reaver fleet was beginning to slip back out to sea.

The holds were filled with thralls and packed with loot. Otto could see the way the longships - and even the Red Song herself - were sitting low in the water from the weight.

Kegs of pilfered beer and plundered ale were cracked, and the sounds of raucus song rose above the waves as the reavers celebrated their victories. Sigrun, Gunnar and Hrodgar were sitting around Bjorni, excitedly telling tales of their own exploits, hoping the skald would take notice and decide to commit one to memory. Meanwhile Ulf was sitting on the bow of the caravel with a tin beer stein he had found on one of the raids. He was speaking quietly to Herger.

When Egil and Larus had secured their own belongings, and made their way back onto the deck, a cheer went up from some of the reavers and they offered wooden mugs of beer or ale to them both.

Groktur and Morgul were near the aft-castle of the ship, a haunch of meat that had been roasted over the cooking fire below sitting on an iron spike between them. Nicoli, the strange Kislevite visitor that Morgul's omens had led him to, sat next to them. Hygd, one of the servants of Vikti Halfi, had been asking Nicoli and Morgul to recount the tale of their meeting.

Otto steered the ship through a narrow set of shoals as he charted a quick course for Kollsvik, the Red Song already taking the lead of the fleet. Next to him stood Bodhi, arms crossed over her chest as she stared out at the horizon to the north. The stars - innumberable and uncountable seemed faded on the horizon, and the gleaming light of Manslieb and Morrslieb cast bright, unearthly shadows across the sea.

"We would normally be in Kollsvik in a couple weeks. Think you can do better, shipmaster?" Bodhi asks, curiously. The reaver-captain had decided - at the last minute - to travel on the Red Song to get a better feel for the less-experienced reavers.


The next scene we move on to will be Kollsvik. This will day approximately three weeks of travel time. The date will advance to the 17th of Sommerzeit. Any scenes you wish to play out, feel free to absolutely do so. This includes PC interaction or anything you want to do with an NPC. Just toss it into a spoiler with the date of when it happened. Technically, in this case, it'd still be the 1st of Sommerzeit.

Just a reminder, XP will be awarded at the end of the month.

[Shadowflick]

Nicoli sat on a log, staring at the fire. It had been a long time since he had a proper cooked meal instead of something saw and still squirming. He closed his eyes, looking down and holding his head in his hands. The Whispers had said that this is were he was supposed to be. To be with revers and raiders. He looked up from his position again, seeing a few thralls being carted away. Even fools deserve some sympathy. He takes his rifle, checking the barrrels and wood to make sure it was still in proper working order

"As said before. Was traveling" he sspeaks up to Hygd "Wrong Place, Wrong Time" The Kislivite puts bluntly. He turns his Gaaze to the Other beast men, the Norscans would most likley see him as another thrall, or try to kill him for being a strange forigner. Staying with the Beastmen "So...Is meat of animal, or meat of man" He asks the two, curious

[Morovir]

Groktur looks at the interloper strangely, with a quizzical look written over his bestial features.

"All are animals to Dark Ones, softskin. Eat, grow strong like Groktur."

He thumps his chest twice for emphasis, before ripping a chunk of meat off the spike and thrusting it into Nicoli's face.

Even if his words are unintelligible, his meaning is clear.

[rax]

"Bloody piss!" Ulf swore, and lowered it a bit wide-eyed as he looked at the solid hole he had put in a small keg of beer that sat across the room on a table. There was grumbling among the reavers as they turned back to their work, all the while Hrodgar shook with loud guffaws. He clapped Ulf on the shoulder.

"Little quick on th' draw there ain't he, Larus?""All the womenfolk say so!" Lárus replies in kind, laughing at Hrodgar's joke. "But also that he always hits the mark! Isn't that so, Ulf?" he chortles. "Now just think if that keg had been a foeman... he'd not be getting back up from that one, eh? These southerners are weak of arm and heart, my friends, but they are clever when it comes to killing."

I'm going to metagame terribly and say that Lárus nicks a sleeved mail shirt (because there's a bigger chance of hitting arms than legs) off one of the halberdiers - probably from the first soldier he killed, assuming it didn't get too damaged in the fight.


Kegs of pilfered beer and plundered ale were cracked, and the sounds of raucus song rose above the waves as the reavers celebrated their victories. Sigrun, Gunnar and Hrodgar were sitting around Bjorni, excitedly telling tales of their own exploits, hoping the skald would take notice and decide to commit one to memory. Meanwhile Ulf was sitting on the bow of the caravel with a tin beer stein he had found on one of the raids. He was speaking quietly to Herger.

When Egil and Larus had secured their own belongings, and made their way back onto the deck, a cheer went up from some of the reavers and they offered wooden mugs of beer or ale to them both. Lárus seizes one of the proffered mugs of beer and raises it high for a toast. "To the Red Song Reavers! First ashore and first into the fray!" he roars, then drains the mug in a single gulp, finishing with an almighty belch. "Let the gods and our ancestors bear witness to our victories!"

Helping himself to another beer, he then spends much of the rest of the evening wandering among the reavers, joining in the camaraderie. He makes sure to spend a little extra time listening in on Sigrun's, Gunnar's, and Hrodgar's boasting, confirming Hrodgar's accounts of his skill and bravery, and acting suitably impressed with Sigrun's and Gunnar's tales. He also talks up Ulf's fine shooting, impressing on Bjorni how he killed three handgunners up on the tower, shooting in the dark armed with only a common bow.

Anybody wanting to interact with Lárus, go ahead. I'm just too tired to come up with anything interesting to say by myself...:smallbiggrin:

[Shadowflick]

Nicoli's eye's look up at the piece of meat. better to pretend it's beef. He takes it from the beastmans hand and tears a chunk out of it with his teeth, chewing and swallowing it slowly. The flies try to buzz into the cooked meat, but Nicoli waves them away. Indeed, this was much better then rat at the very least. "Is not worst" he says with a shrug. He looks to the main camp, shaking his head as he see's the reavers pile the rifles into the loot heap "Not know what they have. Think to much in running to fight then standing to win. Kill one frightened village, when Empire army come, they fall. Matter of time"

[DrK]

Morgul

With his sack of Alchemical supplies and herbs he boards the ship, sitting content with Groktur, Hygd (who can translate for them) and the strange man who they've acquired. Talking of the food he grins as Groktur hands over the meat and takes a chunk for himself. Enjoying the chunks of manflesh he motions to the reavers, "You join us now? Serve Bodhi the war leader?" he asks via Hygd gesturing to where Bodhi stands.

As the party starts on deck he wanders to the main party, relying on blood matted fur and his bulk to push through to the beer. Taking a horn he approaches Bodhi. Again he pauses to admire her feminity before speaking. "Victory for the Gods warleader? Where do you take us now?"

[neriractor]

Bjorni let himself smile a moment, a warm smile, nothing like the grin he had shown thorough the day, he had seen enough try and make run for it, he knew better. Standing tall as he could he spoke gently and calmly in a Reikspiel that could pass him as a nordlander any day, if the dry blood and banner of the ruinous powers weren't there to give up the ruse. "I'll make this easy, either come calmly, and have a fast trip to a new life, where you may live off my plunder in exchange for work and subservience... or you are dragged there beaten, chained and bo... he stopped the offer catching the glint under the girls patch, he moved a bit closer, as non-threatening as a combat ready norscan can look, motioning for her to stand up "what you got there girl?"

On the ship.

the faint starlight gleaming off their mistress' skin, as the redsong ran through it like they were one, regaling him with warm sea breeze as he drank ale from a decent mug and laughed and hailed at the exploits of the trio, If this wasn't the way to live the dream he didn't know what was.

After Larus arrived he started piecing together the ballad of Ulf headhunter and after a few drinks decided to pull off an old and very exaggerated story of a young boy, a knife and a man who may or may not have been a huge "Ey, ey did I ever tell you guys about the first my first kill? No? Well...
For the thralls to be: Charm [roll0] TN 42
FP if fail: [roll1] TN 42

Future thralls approximate age?
For the ship: performer (storyteller): [roll2] TN 52 (42 Fel +10 from mimic).
FP if fail: [roll3] TN 52

[Haval]

Egil is disappointed but unsuprised at the lack of decent alcohol. Perhaps he could pick something up in Kollsvik. In many ways it was a neccessity. It was getting harder to remain aboard ship for long periods without something to distract him. Yet he will help with loading their share of the loot onto the Red Song. A Reaver that was unwilling to pull his weight in such things could easily find himself without a ship.

He will grin at Lárus' boasting and join in with his toast. Boy acted like he's Cormac Bloodaxe reborn. 'Well, it's easy to fight well with breath like that. We could aim you at enemy ships.'

At some point Egil will go and offer Nicoli some of his reserve whisky that they had taken from that merchant vessel last week. He doesn't particularly want to go near the group around him. The Beastmen were ok up to a point. You only had to present yourself as strong enough to avoid being seen as prey and you could be allies for life. The Sorcerer girl was another matter. He did not like the way she looked at him. Like she knew far too much.

[Erulasto]

Reavers of the Red Song

Ulf grinned widely at Larus’ response. “Aye! I may keep this pretty thing and see if I can get some use. They shoot farther than my bow, and I don’t think I could put an arrow through the keg even at close range. Be good for splitting armour.”




Bodhi glanced up as Morgul approached, and grinned wolfishly at the Beast-shaman. “Yes, shaman. Another victory for the Gods. We’re off to sell some of the plunder is Kollsvik, across the Sea of Claws. The Jarl wants his holds filled with gold and weapons, not food and grain.”




The heavy woman shivered, and clutched at the young girl as she squirmed out from under the cart. This little waif was malnourished, and far too thin, but she stood proudly before the skald. Her skin was fair – too fair for even the stock of the Nordlanders – and she seemed as if she didn’t get a lot of sun. The skald towered over the girl, who couldn’t have been older than thirteen summers.

“My father said I was cursed, but my mother would not let him kill me.” The girl replied, almost arrogantly. “He could not bear to look upon me, so he locked me away.”

Slender fingertips moved to pull the bandages across her eye away, and Bjorni was stunned to see that the eye beneath was not blind from a wound as he would have perhaps expected. No, the eye was whole and intact – but it bore no pupil, nor iris. Instead, the whole orb, from lid to lid appeared to be a faceted crystal from which flickering, coruscating multi-hued light shone faintly.

The Skald had seen the blessings of the Ruinous Powers before. Even Larus had been gifted with a measure of their pride. This little girl…she had been touched by the gods of the Northmen to be sure.



The woman and the human will come along, with no problem – though the woman is a lot more skitterish than the girl. She seems frighteningly calm for the whole situation.

She was about thirteen or fourteen years old, at most.

Also, good roll on the Perform test. The crew is pleased with Bjorni’s work!







17th Sommerzeit, 2501

The trip across the Sea of Claws was beset by tumultuous waves and stormy skies. It was cold and wet, with heavy rains bogging down the sails. Despite the inclement weather, they made reasonable time. Early on the sixteenth day of travel, just as the sun was cresting the horizon and its heat began to banish the heavy fog that had settled across the sea the previous evening, they heard the tolling of great bells in the distance.

As the fog parted before them, they found themselves peering across a wide cove surrounded by jagged rocks. At the entrance to the cove stood a gargantuan stone monolith, upon which were carved depraved devotions and large iron spurs from which bodies – fresh and old – were hung as a warning. The very summit of the monolith held a large iron bowl, in which a roaring fire seemed to burn despite the inclement weather.

Beyond, lining the interior of the cove, was a large city of stone buildings that were carved into the very rocky walls of the high cliffs that surrounded it. Those that weren’t carved, were built with crude stone bricks and roughly mortared. Docks of both stone and thick timber jut into the sea, where a veritable fleet of longships – and a few other vessels – were berthed.

High on a cliff overlooking the city was a palace that seemed to be carved from crystal and gold, and stood out in grotesque beauty against the ugly construction of the rest of the city. Great purple banners fluttered in the breeze, bearing gold-threaded sigils that could be seen from afar, and rising like a spire above the palace was a tower that contained six silver bells that rung loudly across the city.

Bodhi stepped to the front of the Red Song and smiled. “There she is. Kollsvik. Remember to travel in pairs. A lone straggler is likely to end up in some pleasure pit or fighting arena in chains….or worse.”

She turned to Otto, after casting a slow look back at the three longships that trailed after the much swifter ship.

“Well done, Shipmaster.”





The Red Song had settled into its berth, with the other vessels from Winterscorn Hold following behind. The harbor was already bustling with activity, a plethora of branded slaves hauling goods here or there under the watchful gaze of purple-cloaked taskmasters.

Bodhi led the crew of the Red Song down the gangplank and onto the berth, where they were greeted by a massive bear of a man. His head was bald, and half his face looked as if it had been melted like running wax. From his chin, a thick black beard hung down to his round belly, and Larus saw the writhing, sinuous forms of several wormy tendrils within the hair. He was bare-chested, and his skin was covered in scars and tattoos of devotion and honour.

“Bodhi!” The massive man bellowed with glee. “I had hoped we’d see Aemon’s reavers before the end of the season! Welcome! Welcome!” He turned to one of the robed attendants who were with him and bellowed orders to unload the ships.

Bodhi smiled, though it was tight-lipped and did not show much pleasure at the greeting.

“Hello, Odlund.”

Turning back to the crew of the Red Song, Bodhi spoke. “Feel free to wander about and partake of any joys you can stumble upon here. I plan on staying for three days. If you’re not on the ship when we set sail….well….too bad for you.”

Many of the reavers from the Red Song seem immediately keen on getting to one of the tap-houses that run along the harbor and cater to the transient population of Kollsvik. Mead, beer, ale and even stronger and stranger still can be found next to hot food. A few, like Gunnar and Herger seem very anxious to get off to the Pleasure Pits. Especially since neither Sigrun nor Hygd seemed interested in bedding them on the trip.

As the crews departed, going their own ways for entertainment and celebration, Bodhi stopped abruptly and turned her black gaze up to a walkway that looked down over the harbor.

“Who is that?” She asked, curiously of Odlund. The massive man glanced up, following her gaze and blanched before looking away. Up on the walkway stood a woman with milky white skin and long black hair. She was lithe and lean of limb, and her features were far too sharp to be human.

She was of the Druchii, Egil and Otto realized, but not one of the ones who had been shipwrecked at the Jarl’s hall. Her body was clad in supple black leather – or partly so, as she had a great deal of flesh exposed to the cold. While the right side of her body was fit in the snug leather, much of the right was bare, including a breast, though a leather strap ran across it, with a small golden disk to cover her nipple. The pale flesh of her breast was emblazoned with a tattoo of purple that seemed to pulse with some inner light in time with her heartbeat.

The symbol was easily recognizable as that of the Prince of Pleasure, and she was watching the reavers of Winterscorn with a curious expression.

Odlund dropped his voice and whispered. “That is the Jarl’s witch, the Lady Paledawn. It would be best if you steered clear of her.”




Kollsvik
Population: 800ish
Ruler: Jarl Sigurd the Thorn
Faith: Primarily Slaanesh, but all accepted

Places of Note
The Palace of the Thorn (Jarl’s Palace)
The Pleasure Pits (I think this is self-explanatory)
The Temple of the Beast (Chaos Shrine to the Four)
The Bazaar of Kamagra (Slave Markets)
The Caul of Blades (Gladitorial Arena)

The city is also home to many merchants, and you can find pretty much anything you’re looking for here, from arms and armour, to alchemical stuff, to food and drink. There’s even a surgeon who once dwelt in the Empire and fell to Chaos and uses his skills to patch up anyone who pays. So long as they’re willing to do it without anesthesia.

For the sake of expediency, each of you are getting a cut of the loot. I’ll give it to you now, though technically it’d be on credit as Bodhi and Odlund haven’t finished bartering yet. Feel free to spend at your leisure.

You each get 47 gc, 13 s.

[DrK]

Morgul

Aboard the Red Song

The shaman nodded at Bodhi, black eyes meeting hers. "Coin, slaves, strange words. We burn, we destroy and we eat. I will follow you though to see more if manling power." He makes some more desultory talk with her assessing her interest in him.


Trying on half Fel [roll0] TN17


Also aboard he'll talk more with Nicoli trying to learn more of the Southlands (I.e the Empire). "How big are the town's of men. Do they have walls, how many in their tribes... ". The strange man touched by the gods fascinates Morgul.

As does the strange one-eyed girl found by Bjorni. " Skald. You sing of glory well. What of Groktur's song or Morgul's song. Mighty beasts are stronger than humans. Where did you find the slave girl with strange eye?"


[roll1] TN 43


The rest of the voyage he spends between trying clumsily to attract Bodhi's attention, unsure if the normal beastman approach would be suitable. Speaking of the Empire with Nicoli and at least once a day sembling into the form of a raven to skim above the waves and circle the boats. He ignored the grumbling if the crew and they way they backed away as he melded forms or the crude signs to ward off magic they made as he embraced the winds of chaos.

Entering Kollsvick

As the town appeared Morgul stride to the prow, one filthy hoofed foot against the gunwale. He glanced at Groktur grunting the beast tongue "Good eating and raiding here" before watching carefully the gold palace and the purple flags. "The deviant one. No honour, all mating and excess" he grunted as they docked. The slaves branded and in chains bothered him, creatures should live free or die. The captivity seemed a fate worse than death to him.

As Bodhi started haggling he hefted the staff and followed her and the crew down to the docks. Eyeing the fat harbourmaster with suspicion before he caught sight of the witch. Nodding to Bjorni he asked the skald - "Speak with the Witch. Could you say my words if she cannot understand." Heading up the pier he approaches the witch cautiously. "Druchii, you are not if these people. What has brought you here?"

[Shadowflick]

On the Red Song

"It depend. Big as Kislev walls maybe. Bigger then houses of town. Not from Empire but from Kislev, very diffrent at times. Kislev can fight fight more. And Smarter. Archer on Horse, Archers with Axe. Gunners with Axe. Know how to wield two different kind of weapon to fight at all range and distance. Very Practical. Maybe Empire fight same. Maybe Empire dont. Nicoli dont now, Not that kind of Human.




Kollsvick

So. This is how the Norscans live. It's about what he expected, though, the temple made of Gold surprised him. The Whispers of the flies warned him though to try and not fall into the temptations held within those Gilded walls. He looked to the new slaves. Being hauled off to fates that might be far worse then anything they've thought of before. Potentially at least. He stepped of the boat, sticking near Morgul for now as the large man hugged who he assumed was the captain.

Nicoli stopped, taking a moment to try and observe what he could of the place . The Bazaar seemed to take some of his interest, perhaps he could find useful equipment potentially. Yet, it might be better sserved for him to get to know who else there is among the Red Song, thus he stays put at the moment.

However, the Sight of The Dark Elf takes Nicoli by complete surprise. THis was the first time he's even seen an elf, let alone one of the Druchi. He feels the warning of the whispers. Her keeps his space, and lets the beast man sate his curiosity.

[Morovir]

Kollsvick

Joining Morgul at the prow of the ship, Groktur casts his gaze over gaudy village, and snorts at his words.

"May be true. Do not forget Deviant One is one of Four. Deserves respect just as others do."

As they dock, he briefly turns his eyes upon the harbourmaster, considering how many days he could feed off his considerable quantity of flesh, before catching sight of the elf. His lips curl back instinctively, a low snarl building in his throat. He does not trust this one. None but the bray-shamans can be trusted to wield the power of the Pantheon.

Entering the Temple of the Beast, Groktur brings himself to his knees in supplication before the shrine of the Four, and unhooks the head of his first kill from the raid from his belt. Carving the sigils of the Four into its flesh, he leaves it as an offering at the foot of the shrine.

[neriractor]

1st Sommerzeit - town

Bjorni noticed the girl's sickly paleness and wondered if that may in any way affect her selling price, that is until she spoke about her past and showed her the eye that was previously hidden. Bjorni recited a small thanks to the gods under his breath for this clear gift and recognition of his work, this time he truly smiled happily at the girl and her mother "She is wise then, unlike your fool of a father, that's no curse, but a divine blessing, as clear and loud as the moons' light, it is a free tool to reach your glorious awakening"

-on the red song

Bjorni got the girl some fur and meals comparable to his own through bargain, status and some fair (if over the top) guesses about the meaning of her eye, trying to make the trip about as bearable for his lucky find as its going to be for any thrall.

He gladly greets Morgul, happy that he will not have to seek him out as he planned to, he shrugs when asked about the songs, quickly making up some sort of excuse for the towering beastman, before letting the guttural sounds of chaos's tongue leave his own "Shaman, your kind is favored with strength, and truly honour the gods, but I'm afraid I have missed your deeds. So let me right it, when you think you did something worthy of song share, and all will hear of it, for generations to come. The girl I found while searching for plunder, hidden with her mother and using a patch to cover her crystal eye. What can you tell me about her gift?"

17 Sommerzeit- Kollsvick.


Bjorni took a good look at the palace, he had been here before but the beauty of the luxurious structure always amazed him, pulling towards it, filling him with a morbid curiosity for what it hid. Eventually he stopped and left the ship to buy some goods for the house, or perhaps seek the pleasure pits as many of the crew seemed to do.

Then the shaman and kislevite came along, attracting his attention to the druchii, her pulse reflected on that symbol, the fay beauty and the smooth exposed flesh calling him in the same way as the palace did, he nodded back at Morgul and waited for his turn.

at the sign of a misunderstanding Bjorni smoothes the shamans question, before trying in norscan "druchii, my... Advisor and I wonder what brought you here, away from your kin."

Bjorni waits for her reply, happy enough to speak after the curiosity of the beastman was sated. His eye contact and posture giving away his interest in the witch.

[Haval]

On the Red Song

Egil will interject on the discussion of the southerners and their relative military strength. 'Depends on where you are. Some of them fight like bastards by all accounts. Especially the ones on the big horses. Some of them just fight clever. Won't matter in the end though. Even when they win they only delay losing.' What was in the Wastes was the true way of things. Anyone who didn't already know that was only kidding themselves.

17th Sommerzeit, 2501

Egil always found Kollsvik somewhat ridiculous as he often did with those who worshipped the Serpent. Seeing that the Jarl had an Elf here now was thus unsurprising. 'She seems cold' he will mutter of the Witch who he stares at in open curiosity. Egil has a healthy respect for the Druchii having seen that Ashweaver woman fight back in the north. Doesn't mean he had to be afraid of them. Spindly things would break like anyone else when you hit them hard enough.

Before he conducts any business he has in town he will accompany anyone who is going to the nearest tavern to drink and to hear news of the rest of Norsca. He will probably do this again over the next few days, but will make time to both visit the merchants and the fighting pits.


Egil will accompany any PC who is also going to those places or will bring one of the NPC Reavers along with him otherwise.

Perception test to take Bodhi's warnings to heart and look out for slavers and other threats looking to ambush Egil
vs. Int 30 / 2
[roll0]

Pub gossip test about news of Winterscorn Hold
vs. Fel 29 / 2
[roll1]

Pub gossip test about events of note in Norsca generally
vs. Fel 29 / 2
[roll2]

Consume Alcohol tests (let's say 1 per day)
vs. T 31 (Consume Alcohol +10)
[roll3]

Edit - his hangover probably gets progressively worse while he's here

- I will go look up the healing rules after this. I might have healed the damage Egil took on the journey. If not he will make time to see this renegade surgeon somewhere over the three days.
- I will also see if there's a set cost for drinking

[Erulasto]

Reavers of the Red Song

On the Red Song

Bjorni

The girl seemed unperturbed to be surrounded by all the Norscans, many of whom were staring at her with odd looks; especially given the preferential treatment she was receiving from the skald. Being clothed in furs and fed comparably well, many of the others eyed Bjorni with sadistic glee, no doubt pondering what uses the skald would have for such a waifish girl – even if she was blessed by their Gods.

Bodhi approached Bjorni, and eyed the girl curiously.

“What have you there, skald? If my own eyes do not deceive me, this one has been blessed by Techar the Raven.”





17 Sommerzeit, 2501

Groktur

Kollsvik didn’t have much of a Beastman presence; Groktur saw a few Ungors here or there accompanying small parties of Norscans around town, but none with the prowess he was possessed of himself.

The trip to the Temple of the Beast was quick, as slaves and reavers both made an effort to part at his passing. It seemed like none of them had any real desire to test their mettle against the Caprigor.

On a ledge overlooking the harbor on the west side of Kollsvik, Groktur found himself at the basalt steps of the great temple. It was an imposing structure, carved deep into the rock of the surrounding mountains. The façade of the temple was simple – four great pillars aligned on either side of a great door shaped like the slavering maw of some Chaos-spawned beast. Each of the pillars was meticulously carved to resemble the likeness of each of the Four.

From vents in the stone above the temple, plumes of acrid smoke billowed like the fetid breath of the Blood God’s flesh hounds. The roughly cobbled road that wound along the outside of Kollsvik towards the temple was filled with supplicants; hunched, malformed beings riddled with mutation and garbed in whatever scraps they could gather for themselves. Some were warriors, imposing in their dark armour and they trod through the degenerate masses with impunity, striking those who were too slow or stupid to get out of their way. The steps of the temple were guarded by a handful of tall, armoured figures wielding scourged lashes and hooked swords and at their feet slavered packs of mangy, half-feral dogs.

Groktur’s approach was similar to that of the other favoured; the mutants scurrying away from the Beastman as he made his way to the steps.

He was met at the base of the steps by a Norscan man who wore luxurious robes over which a breastplate emblazoned with the star of Chaos rested. His head was shaven and a crown of twisted horns rose from his brow. One arm split into a seething mass of tentacles just below his elbow, and they were wrapped around a tall iron-shod staff topped with a skull.

“Come, Son of the Beast!” The priest said, and led the Beastman into the temple. As Groktur performed his rites, the Priest stood by and watched with hungry eyes.

“Your offering is most welcome.”





Morgul, Bjorni and Nicoli

As the towering shape of Morgul approached the Druchii Sorceress, she turned her radiant violet gaze upon the bray-shaman with a twisted smirk. She inclines her head as the shaman’s guttural words fill the space between them, and as Bjorni begins his translation she turns her gaze upon the skald for a moment. For but a moment, Bjorni stares into the brilliant purple eyes and feels as if a thousand ghostly hands caress across his body. Truly, this one was a servant of Loesh the Serpent.

When she replies, her voice is like honey and silk, soft and supple and filled with lascivious promise. “I came to pay my respects to the Thorn as one child of Shornal the Prideful to another, but I have found much here to keep me….entertained since…”

Amidst the crowded walkway that they converse upon, Nicoli picks out several warriors keeping a watchful eye on the Dark Elven sorceress; likely guards in the Jarl’s service meant to keep his Druchii witch safe from predation.

“I have heard that some of my kin were shipwrecked in the North and now reside with your Jarl. Is this true?”





Egil

While keeping an eye on the Druchii as she spoke to Bjorni, Morgul and Nicoli, Egil found himself surrounded by several of the raiders he led across the beach during the raid on Grenhoff. They were jostling for his attention.

Eventually, it was Sigrun who forced her way into his field of view with a wide grin and manic eyes.

“Egil! Come on!” Sigrun said, nudging him in the ribs. “We’re going to find a tavern and drink ourselves stupid!”

The tavern they had in mind was a squat, ugly building barely two stories tall. The lower reaches were harshly stacked stone bricks and the upper levels were thick wooden planks nailed erratically together with iron studs. A wooden sign over the door depicted a skull-shaped tankard and a few Norscan runes that declared that this was the Braying Mule tavern.

From within, the sounds of revelry wafted out on the early morning air. It seemed that this particular venue was prone to such revel at all hours, and catered almost exclusively to the reavers who came and went from the harbor. It was ea

Leaning against the door was a massive Ork with greyish skin, wearing heavy armour that was dented and gouged from uncounted years of use. In one hand he lazily held the haft of a massive two-handed Morningstar and at his belt was a wickedly curved blade.

Egil recognized him as a Black Ork; a rarity to be sure, but also tough enough to keep the peace if the reavers got out of hand.



Cost for the Braying Mule.

Ale [i]2 p
Beer 1 p
Keg of Ale or Beer 9 p or 1 s
Wine, Common 8 p
Poor Food 3 p
Spirits, bottle 8 p

[rax]

On the Red Song

@Egil
"I fought like that long before the gods saw fit to bless me," he replies flatly, his smile cold. "But enough of me," he continues, suddenly friendly again. "I heard you did alright back there as well. Was it two or three men you killed?"

@Egil and Nicoli
Lárus observed Nicoli recovering his gun from the tower, so during the journey to Kollsvik, he enlists Egil's help as a translator and tries to corner Nicoli to find out if he could teach Lárus how to use the firearm he picked up.

[Shadowflick]

That woman. Something about her made Nicoli, shiver. Not a shiver of Lust nor want but of disturbance. The whispers told him to beware of her. He believed them now. Elves of chaos were too much for him to handle. Yet, the woman was well defended. Keeping this Jarls minion safe "Care for you Jarl Must.
See many men ready to toss self in fire for Elf."


--------

On the Red Song

"WAnt to learn to shoot like Empire man? Pfft. Is weak. Dependent of rifle to fight. Nicoli teach how to fight like Kislivite. Like Streltsi. First, Need more men then one. One rifle good, but weak. Much like wasp, one sting hurt, 20? Much more. But, for simple basic, Nicoli can teach to. Difficulty come from kick back of weapon. Learn to best the rifle, learn to best the enemy." He says, standing up in the boat and taking his rifle out, tucking it in his shoulder and aiming it down it's sight "See? Must hold it safe in case weapon is knocked from hand"

[DrK]

Morgul

The beast man's eyes roll up and down the dark elf's body. He smelled her cool perumes, the scents strange and alluring and mixed with a heady cocktail of danger Dhar flowing around her.

"Yes. More pale kin in Winterscorn hold. A handful with Warlord named Navrene and shaman lady Sehanith." Glancing around he looked at the strange palace and town. "You show round or share magics? You have blessings like shaman?"

The beast leans forward hunching forward to drop his head to meet her eye to eye

[Morovir]

Having paid his due diligence to the Great Powers, Groktur heads to the slave markets, aiming to see if there were any beastmen unfortunate enough to be up for sale. Such creatures would be shamed enough to never challenge him, and would make passable followers, should there be any.

[Haval]

On the Red Song

Egil will grin wider at Lárus' response. He couldn't resist puncturing that pride a little, even as he knew that the boy was a better fighter. Youthful prowess had a lot to do with it but he had no doubt that the boy could beat him handily if he really wanted to. 'Only took one. Didn't anyone ever tell you about quality over quantity. Anyway, he seemed to know what he was doing, so it was a joy to cut his thread.'

At Kollsvick

At the Mule, Egil will watch the Orc with curiousity. Those ones were supposed to be amongst the biggest Greenskins. Certainly this one was big enough that he would think twice about making him angry. It was a shame the Orc was here though. He enjoyed an opportunity for a decent bar fight.

He will take advantage of being in port to get as drunk as possible.


Didn't realise there are actual drinking rules. I'll just use those rolls from the other post unless I should reroll.

Drinking Beer for the moment, but obviously trying to get drunk.

3 without incident
vs. T 31 (Consume Alcohol +10) (+20 for Easy)
TN 61
Rolled 40 first
TN 51
Rolled 48 second
TN 41
Rolled 75 - failed
TN 31
[roll0]
TN 21
[roll1]
TN 11
[roll2]
TN 01
[roll3]

Two failures in 10 beers, and stinking drunk in 12

[neriractor]

On the red song

Bjorni ignores the reavers clear curiosity, not minding their continous attention as long as they didn´t touch his property or ask directly, when Bodhi did so, the Skald couldn´t deny her an answer even if he wanted to. "your eyes are keen as always, many that the raven blesses can wield the winds, and I need her to survive until we reach home to see such talent flourish." he cuts straight to the likely cause of her curiosity, before adding a remark "if it doesn´t she may still fetch a decent prize once she has a bit more meat in her bones."

Kollsvik, 17 Sommerzeit

Bjorni felt a shiver down his spine that lasted awfully longer than the brief second, and he craved for more. After all, if the gaze alone could put him through that... for a moment he thought of nothing else before he remembered his role, and traslated back and forth, Nicoli´s words waking him up to the danger he may be on. After translating for his comrades (and their words to the druchii) to the letter he adds, with a confident grin and a seductive whisper "And may you, daughter of the serpent show me such delights? and let my songs not only immortalize you in name and beauty, but your talents..."

here goes nothing, hopefully a champion of slaneesh can´t resist to star in a form of art.
charm: [roll0] TN 42

[Space Lawyer]

Otto

After the raid

Otto replies to Bodhi with caution. He needed to walk a fine line between boasting of his own prowess and denigrating that of the other shipmasters. "Aye, I usually could, but with us this loaded down and needing to stick together, might'n be a better thought to sail for safety over speed. After all, don't want to lose this loot over the side 'cause of a fool notion. We'll be getting there same time, no matter what gets thrown our way."

Aboard the Red Song

Otto examines his two most interesting prizes closely. The dagger from Araby was an odd find indeed so far in the North. It was even more odd to find it stuffed away in some stinking fish hut. Whatever its provenance though, it would certainly add a dash of flair to his personage. Otto tucks the exotic knife into his belt, showing it prominently. The pistol, on the other hand, was much less exotic, but could prove to be immensely helpful. Nobody kept their wits with a barrel like that pointed at them. Otto elected to keep it as well.

17th Sommerzeit, 2501 - Kollsvik

Otto nods to Bodhi. It was good to be appreciated by someone who could cut you in half with a single swing. "I try my best."

Soon after docking, Otto supervises the offloading of the loot, and has the goods moved to the merchants. It was easy work, but vital. He had to prove his worth to these people by making sure they got all the gold they expected from such a succesful raid.

That done, Otto goes to sell his own personal goods, seeking out those who traded in jewelry and precious metals. And then, of course, a strong lockbox to keep all this wonderful gold in. . .


Gossip (finding a good quality lockbox and lock to go with it, not sure on what modifiers to apply): [roll0] vs. 36
Evaluate (w/o modifiers): [roll1] vs. 46
Haggle (w/o modifiers): [roll2] vs. 46

[rax]

On the Red Song

"WAnt to learn to shoot like Empire man? Pfft. Is weak. Dependent of rifle to fight. Nicoli teach how to fight like Kislivite. Like Streltsi. First, Need more men then one. One rifle good, but weak. Much like wasp, one sting hurt, 20? Much more. But, for simple basic, Nicoli can teach to. Difficulty come from kick back of weapon. Learn to best the rifle, learn to best the enemy." He says, standing up in the boat and taking his rifle out, tucking it in his shoulder and aiming it down it's sight "See? Must hold it safe in case weapon is knocked from hand"Lárus grunts in response to Nicoli's comments, concentrating on holding the gun as instructed. "This is like a crossbow," he comments to Egil. "Easy to sight. No great skill involved in shooting, I'd wager, just aim it at whatever needs killing. But lots of fiddly bits - I reckon it's the loading and keeping the gun in working order on campaign that's the hard part," he says, glancing at the bandolier of powder and shot he had seized in Grenhoff. "That about right, Kislevite?"

[Erulasto]

Reavers of the Red Song

Morgul, Nicoli and Bjorni

Paledawn releases a cold, musical laugh at Nicoli's words.

"I have been blessed by Shornal, human." She says, the words still dripping with honey. "The Jarl greatly values the...skills I possess."

Raising an elegant brow at Bjorni's overt invitation, the skald see's the corner of her lips quirk as if fighting to hold back a smirk.

"And are you sworn to the Serpent, Lalinoi? Perhaps then, you can show me your devotion, hmm?" Paledawn's voice holds an alluring lilt to it, and sends shivers down the Skald's spine. For but a moment, the thought comes unbidden: how much of this is his own inclinations, and how much of his infatuation is from this Druchii sorceress' own power?

Turning her bright gaze upon the shaman, she smiles wryly as the bestial words are translated for her. Paledawn nods, almost thoughtfully as she listens. "I have heard of Navrene and Sehanith. It would be a pleasure to hear news of them. A trade, perhaps? I will show you and your companions around if you are so inclined and in return, you tell me of my kin in the North?" She raises an elegant brow curiously as she waits for a response.



Groktur

The slave markets were within wide, open avenues of dark stone and rough, packed dirt. Iron cages were stacked two or three high in some cases, almost haphazardly around the market. They clustered on the edges of large wooden stages from which Norscans, and even some foreigners yelled over the crowds, calling out prices for the slaves who were led onto the stage one by one. At the southern end of the bazaar there were large tents erected in bright, flashy colours. Here, there were more foreign and exotic slaves from lands far to the South and the West. Orks, Goblins, men from beyond the Empire and south of the Darklands with skin black as pitch. There were even several small, scruffy-looking rat-men and a massive brute of brightly patterned scales with the head of some toothy reptile.

Groktur only came across a handful of beastmen - no more than six - and all of them Ungors. They were heavily chained and their matted fur bore the scars of countless barbed lashes. When they saw the Caprigor, they brayed loudly - rattling against their chains and causing a general disturbance that brought a couple of slavers over to whip them back into silence.



Egil

The reavers of the Red Song were soon well into several mugs of beer. Egil was feeling a the buzz of the weak alcohol at the edge of his perception, making his head fuzzy and light. They were raucously loud, each boasting and jesting about their experiences. It was a good sight to see. The bonds forming would give a unity to the crew that would serve them well in the battles to come. Egil had seen what could happen when you did not trust the men at your side in the thick of things.

Hrodgar had already moved away from the beer with a colourful string of curses about it being as watery as elf-piss and had brought an entire bottle of some incredibly bitter alcohol from Kislev that was made, so Hrodgar said, from potato's. He was singing a loud sea shanty, taking deep draughts directly from the bottle.

Soon enough, the rest of the reavers had joined in the song and Egil found Sigrun sitting next to him with a wide grin on her face and cheeks flushed from the alcohol. He had seen her speaking to some bald man with a strange complexion and stained robes earlier, and he exchanged a small leather package with her for some coins. Egil didn't miss the lascivious smile he gave her as he eyed the pretty young reaver openly.

Now that she was next to him, her breath smelling of beer she patted the pouch eagerly.

"Egil. Egil. I fo...found an alc...alchemist!" She slurred. "B..bought some stoneseed root." She stared at him knowingly for a moment - just long enough for Egil's own alcoholic haze to clear enough for him to remember it was a herb that grew in the Troll Country. It's roots could be chewed, or steeped in a tea and they did one thing, but they did it very well.

Well...not having that was likely why Sigrun wouldn't bed Gunnar or Herger on the earlier trip. Bearing children wasn't an option for a reaver....



Otto

When the Red Song had been unloaded, Otto found himself free of his obligations. Bodhi had wandered off with Odlund to discuss their own matters, while the rest of the crew had departed for their pleasures. A handful of them had remained behind to watch the ships; the crews had drawn lots and these unfortunate souls were the ones left behind. They were drinking some of their own private stock of beer, but for the most part they were remaining keen eyed enough to avoid trouble.

His trip through the markets was uneventful. There seemed to be enough foreigners here visiting that few paid him any real mind. Eventually, the smuggler caught word of a shop that specialized in woodwork. Finding it was relatively easy, it had all sorts of carved wooden objects - from benches and chairs to ornamental displays, and several wooden trunks. While browsing, Otto caught sight of a glint of silver from the back of the shop. There, partially obscured by a small folded tapestry was a large wooden lock-box. He recognized the grain of the wood from his days in the Empire. It was a much sought after wood by collectors as it came from the forests of Sylvania in the southeast. The wood had been laquered heavily to protect it from moisture and the seams were sealed by thin strips of fine tar. It was secured with heavy bands of brass with a silver coating and the key that jut out of the lock was iron on a thick leather strap.

The merchant who maintained the shop didnt' seem to have any real love for it, as it was hidden beneath the tapestry, so Otto was - with only some haggling - able to talk the man down from fifty gold coins to twenty-five. He seemed an amiacable sort, and he was originally from Ostland it seemed. He was taken from his home as a thrall, but his skill at wood-working and bartering earned him his own freedom and now he had his own shop.

[neriractor]

Bjorni translates back, as usual, and takes a deep breath while clearing his head, timing it with his breathing so it doesn´t appear out of order, he comes to a conclussion about the matter of his lust: it was irrelevant, whether forced by magic or inflatuation it was still nature, and he could very much feel the desire, though he realized it´ll be harder to fulfill than he thought.

for the question, no wasn´t and answer, and yes wasn´t one he could take; not that easily, not as a lie. He responded short, and vague, instantly changing the subject "perhaps... I´ll take that trade. he motions deeper towards the town "We can talk while we move, shall we?"

he quickly motions for his companions and says a few words of encouragement if they seem reluctant so he is not left completely devoid of company he can trust.

for common knowledge of rituals and devotion to the serpent:
common knowledge (chaos wastes): [roll0] TN 46
advanced knowledge (history): [roll1] TN 46

[Morovir]

Groktur lets out a braying bellow back at the ungors, seeking to cow them.

Intimidate: [roll0] TN 46 (S 36 + 10 Menacing)

Having done this, he turns to the nearest slaver, speaking in his typical guttural tone:

"How much for Ungors?"

[Shadowflick]

On the Red Song

Nicoli nods, confirming what Larus guessed. he then goes into the motion of reloading the rifle, although his ahnds move in a blur, the Ambidexterous Kislivite tossing bullets and powder to one hand as he reloads wih ease. He smirks "Will go slower. baby Step". He then preforms the same motion, much, much slower, showing the reloading process. He then takes his Poleaxe, and places his gun into the grove "In Kislev, we use axe to help aim Rifle. Stick into ground keeps it steady."


However, Nicoli has looked back to the new Child that was brought on board the ship..and the various reavers looking her over. He looks to Larus "If need practice, good target is Norscan who touch little girl in bad place. Shoot same bad place on Norscan maybe?"

Kollsvic

Nicoli Winces, the usual lust that would be felt from a normal man being somewhat drowned out by the warnings of the whispers. "A Wich? Shornal is no name Nicoli know. " He looks the Dark elf up and down. "Ice Witches made of stronger thing then Elf. Harness teh storm, not harnessed by storm"

[DrK]

Morgul

The massive furry shaman continues with his unabashed lustful gaze at the undressed witch and nods at her words. A grunted - "Are kin friend or foe? You eat their hearts?" as a question before he tells her of what he has seen of the young Druchii Lordling and the other witch in the Winterscron tribe. Either tired from the long voyage or ensared by her sorcery he steps in front of the other two men, puffing up his muscled chest and trying to promote his strength and power in a crude display of dominance.

Looking up at the town he tries the Dark Tongue on her driectly - hoping to cut out the skald and his silver tongue - "Palace or pits or nest?".

[neriractor]

The skald directed a small sneer (certainly small enough for no one to notice) to make up for an anachronistic facepalm at the beastmen's foolish action before he sets to resolving it, only translating the bare minimum info about the druchii with enough window dressing to reach the grunt count of the shaman.

Just a dozen seconds after the display of dominance Bjorni stepped ahead to be at least side by side with Morgul, not even trying to appear taller or challenge the Shaman's might, at best it made him look foolish and at worst it worked.

[Erulasto]

Reavers of the Red Song

Groktur

The caged beastmen recoil in the face of Groktur's bellow, and one of the slavers looks at the caprigor with some admiration as they settle. One of the slavers takes a final lash at one of the beastmen before coiling the barbed lash back at his belt - some of the small metal barbs woven into its length dripping blood to the rough packed dirt floor.

"Phaw!" The slaver snorts. "You really want them? They're not good for much beyond whipping and maybe carrying heavy things if you cow 'em enough first. Ehh...eight gold a head if you want. Not going to get many other offers for this lot."



Morgul, Nicoli and Bjorni

"Not friend or foe, shaman. Not yet, at least. Who can tell what the future will hold?" The Druchii smirks, and taps her lips - painted black with a somewhat glistening ink - with an elegant fingertip. "Not that I don't enjoy consuming a good heart now and again."

"Palace? You desire to see the Jarl, perhaps? Ingratiate yourselves to a mighty lord?" Paledawn takes a moment to drag her gaze across the bray-shaman's body, and raises a pale hand to snap her fingers impatiently. Two of the large, armoured warriors who had been lurking nearby step from the crowds and fall in next to her. Laughing, Paledawn flicks her violet gaze back to Bjorni for a moment, before turning and sashaying down the cobbled path ahead of her.

"Come along then. I'll show you a few sights along the way, yes?"

As they walk, Nicoli catches a few curious glances from the powerful warriors with her. Perhaps surveying the newcomers for signs of danger. Perhaps just curious about the strange Kislevite and the shaman who travel with one of the Winterscorn skalds.

"Shornal. Loesh. All names for the Prince of Pleasure. You Norscans are a varied bunch in your names for the same. The Dark Prince. Slaanesh." Paledawn says idly as they stroll through the twisting avenues of Kollsvik. "And your Ice Witches hold but a small strand of the magic that blows from the North. The Druchii are able to grasp at many of the Winds of the Aethyr, Kislevite. The storm, as you call it, bends and molds to our will."

Paledawn points out several interesting landmarks along their path. A tall stone statue of Koll, the champion who first settled here, at an intersection of the slavers market and the merchant houses. A dilapidated wooden tower several stories tall where a local alchemist brews all manner of strange concoctions. The gladitorial arena where slaves are fed to a revolving host of warriors who seek to provide a thrill for the crowds, and the Jarl himself.

Eventually, they reach the grand stairs that lead to the Jarl's palace. The steps are a work of art not usually seen in the North; a colossal mosiac of coloured shards of glass that map out an intricately detailed symbol of the Prince of Pleasure.

Large golden braziers stand upon stone plinths up the sixty-six steps that approach the palaces gate and standing near each plinth is a warrior in full plate armour, each laquered a rich, imperial purple with golden embelishments. Cloaks of woven gold hang from jewelled rings upon their armour and they stand in a relaxed pose, hands resting uniformly on the pommels of great silver two-handed blades.

"These are the Knights of the Thorn. The Jarl's personal Huskarl." Paledawn says as she begins to make her way up the steps. Even as they approach, a towering figure in black armour is making his way out of the palace. The armour bears no heraldry save the eight-pointed star of Chaos upon his breastplate in brass and electrum. A great cloak of Ymir-fur hangs from his massive shoulders, and he carries a great, horned helm in his hands at his side. The man does not appear to be a Norscan - his complexion is dusky, and his face is sharp and hawkish. Strange eyes that smolder like embers peer out from under feathery black brows and a sharp widow's peak of black hair frames his face.

Paledawn stops as he approaches.

"Ah, Zar Cromath. You are leaving so soon?" She says with a smirk.

Stopping several steps higher than the small group, the Kurgan Zar scowls at the Druchii before turning his burning gaze to the others.

"New pets, witch?"

[rax]

On the Red Song
"The girl is now the skald's thrall. She is his to do with as he wishes," Lárus replies with a shrug. "If he takes offence at anyone taking liberties with her, then he must punish them. If he needs help, he can bargain for my blade."

"But you are right, of course. Practice makes perfect. When we're back on land, there'll be plenty of opportunity for target practice - the woods about Winterscorn Hold are rich in game. I reckon that if I can hit a buck in the woods, I'll be able to hit a man on the battlefield as well."


Kollsvik, on the Red Song
Lárus was slow to follow the others off the ship, preferring to make sure that his personal equipment was safely stowed away and taking the opportunity to polish and clean his new gun as Nicoli had instructed him. "This could be the beginning of beautiful friendship," he whispered to the piece. Taking out his dagger, he made a shallow cut in the palm of his hand and carefully smeared the blood onto the wooden stock of the gun. "Serve me well and you shall never lack for victims to sate your wrath. This I swear by Kharneth, blessed be his name - Blood for the Blood God." Ritual complete, Lárus collected his valuables and made his way to the market. There'll be time enough to play later, he mused.

At the market
Lárus carefully makes his way around the stalls, keeping an eye out for pickpockets and press gangs alike. He knows what he wants, but in this nest of vipers he is uncertain how far his new won wealth will last. Nevertheless, in a fairly short time, he manages to secure a fine new clothes, a healing draught, and has placed an order for a handsome pair of leather gloves with some unusual refinements.

Finally, there is but one more item on his list - a fine sleeved mail coat that caught his eye almost as soon as he came to the market, but when he hears the armourer's asking price, he almost draws his blade to teach the arrogant fool his place. Just then, whether by chance or the will of the gods, Lárus catches sight of Otto.

"Shipmaster!" he calls out. "I have need of your assistance! Come speak to this fool for me before I split him from head to crotch!"

@Erulasto
I'm assuming that Lárus can obtain the following at standard cost, without needing to haggle:
Best Craftsmanship clothing for 10 gc - I can drop this to Good Craftsmanship for 3 gc if I need to save money for the armour purchase
Healing draught for 5 gc
Best Craftsmanship knuckle-dusters for 10 gc - I'm envisioning these as a pair of leather gauntlets with iron studs along the knuckles, that can be worn in battle or as day-to-day wear, while still allowing Lárus to use a hand weapon without penalty. Or is that too ambitious?

[Morovir]

"Hmph," grunts Groktur, spittle dripping from his snout. "I take all."

He hawks up a globule of vile phlegm and spits onto his hand, holding out the limb expectantly.

Turning to the ungors, he looks each of them in the eye in turn.

"Groktur your chieftain now."

[Shadowflick]

On the Red Song

"Thrall, or No Thrall. DOes not matter. Is Child. Too young for such things. Teach to shoot to maybe. Maybe not"


Kollsvick

Nicoli almost winces at the Druchi's words. Annoyance. She was prideful, he can say that much. But, Nicoli has seen prideful people before. Mostly seen them dying. Still, maybe the Druchii was different. AS they approached the the Stairs of the Jarl's palace, Nicoli almost stops dead. Black armor. The Chaos Symbol. His nails dig into his palm. The only other time he had seen chaos Warriors was in the Battle of Praag. They toward over your average man, and carry the strength of an Ox in there arms, easily capable of tearing a man in twain if he wasnt careful. His Unit fired volley after volley into the heavily armored warriors to slow there assault, yet A Unit of Streltsi can only do so much against legions of Chaos Warriors.

[Haval]

On the Red Song

Egil respected what worked. No point in limiting your options in war. To Lárus, 'Tried a crossbow once. Never had the patience for it. But get a whole bunch of the right people together with those things I'll wager it'll still do some damage anyway. Perhaps we could find a few more.'

Kollsvik, 17 Sommerzeit

Egil is a little surprised but the idea is not unwelcome. 'If she was still talking to me my wife would hurt you for suggesting such a thing.' He will steady himself and carefully put an arm around Sigrun. 'But as she's not here, I am available for whatever you need.'

[Erulasto]

Reavers of the Red Song


Groktur

The slaver looked at the gob of phlegm dripping on the caprigor’s hand with disgust and shakes his head with a muttered – if colourful – curse about savages and their savage customs. Instead, the slaver simply takes the coin from the beastman and tucks it into a heavy leather satchel hanging at his side.

The other slavers open the cages for the ungors, who shuffle out – still shackled in chains – and stare up at Groktur. As the slavers turn their attentions back to others in their menagerie of thralls, one of the ungors – not the largest by any stretch – but one with the keenest of eye steps forward tentatively.

“I is Izur. We bow to Groktur!” The ungor named Izur says, and brays a great bellow that the others swiftly take up.




Larus

The armourer stares somewhat haughtily at Larus as the Breathstealer calls over Otto to help him haggle for the coat. The rest of his new possessions were gathered together in a simple hide rucksack he had snatched from the ship to carry his goods.

The knuckle-dusters he had picked up were from a leatherworker down the avenue. They were masterful – almost a work of art to the Norscan. The inner lining was a supple leather; the leatherworker had claimed it was from an ungor but Larus had never heard of a beastman’s hide being considered supple. The outer layer were bands of boiled leather, hardened considerably and dyed black during their crafting. The bands were studded with sharp, metal rivets that hadn’t tasted blood or flesh yet.



All of your shopping list is perfectly fine. Even the best-quality clothes and knuckle dusters. As for the clothing specifically, the choice is yours if you want to spend the extra seven gold coins on clothes – or save it for the armour.






Egil

At the mention of Egil’s wife, Sigrun’s grin turned positively wolfish.

“If the old maid was dumb enough to let a man of your experience go, then I’d spit in her eye if she tried it.” Sigrun stood, and pulled at Egil’s arm as if to lead him off.

“Come see what a younger woman can do!”

Hrodgar abruptly ceases his shanty, and stares at Sigrun and Egil with a wide-eyed look of wonder for a moment before his face splits into a wide grin and he bellows a great laugh.

“Little Axe is trying to see if she can tire out the old wolf!” Hrodgar continues to laugh, slapping the table with a meaty fist enough to spill a few tankards of beer.

“Come on, Egil! Bend ‘er over here and give us poor souls a show, eh?” Ulf snickers, raising his beer in a toast to the older warrior.

[DrK]

Morgul

Morgul enjoyed the tour, now happy that Paledawn spoke the Dark tongue able to converse with her on her own terms. He glances around at the savagery and the lack of other Druchii - "You here alone? Where the rest of your kin here?" and a other little questions as he strides along beside her, bray staff with its fresh and old skulls clattering as he moves. At the talk of magic the shaman grunts - "only fool commands the Winds of Chaos. You ride wind and try to bend to your will. But never command, Gods destroy mortals for that."[/B]

The fighting pits distract him for a moment, the smell of fresh blood quickening his pulse as he licks his lips. "Crew of Red Song would like the pits. Reavers like to watch the kill. Many thralls needed to feed the pit." Before, when she looks bored of the pit he follows on. Approaching the palace he eyes the heavily armoured chaos warriors warily. He's seen warriors like that before and knows of their prowess, with the thick armour and strong muscles he knows they can kill many gor before being dragged down. "This prince must be strong to have so many of the men of steel following him. They follow only strength." he think on how one could do that, the thoughts of a her of beastmen so armoured storming the Old World dancing through his head.

As the hulking Kurgan comes down the stairs and spars with the sorceress the shaman meets his gaze with a steady malevolent glare. A queried "Who this one?" to the sorceress.

[Erulasto]

Morgul, Nicoli and Bjorni



“No, Kollsvik has no other of my kin.” Paledawn answers Morgul, glancing briefly over the slope of her pale shoulder to the shaman. “There were a scattered handful who came with me, but they have been lost now in one shape or another. The last – one of the Witch Cult – found her calling in the service to the Blood God.”

The implication that Paledawn was a fool for her claims at commanding the Winds of Magic earned the bray-shaman a cruel and cold smile, but no words from the Druchii Sorceress.



“This..” Paledawn said to Morgul, Bjorni and Nicoli – pointedly ignoring the massive Chaos Warrior’s query. “Is Zar Cromath of the Kurgan Steppes to the East. He has come, if I am not mistaken, to discuss business with the Jarl.”

[rax]

On the Red Song

"Thrall, or No Thrall. DOes not matter. Is Child. Too young for such things. Teach to shoot to maybe. Maybe not"
Lárus gives Nicoli a searching stare. "You are a strange one, Kislevite. The girl will soon be of an age to bear pups of her own. What business is it of yours if the skald teaches his thrall the ways of the Lord of Pleasure? Do you not know of such things where you hail from? In any case, if the thought bothers you so, make your challenge and see if you can take her from him. Then you may treat her as you wish - if you can keep her."

[neriractor]

Bjorni spends the trip relatively silent, taking in the sights of the city as they walk by. The freezing air of his homeland calming his lustful state. he nodded with sympathy when she talked of her dead kin, and spent the rest of trip thinking of the fallen.

When they reach the palace he looks at the huskarls with some admiration and he gained even more for the jarls, since he must have at least twice as many of the warriors under his command.

When the Kurgan arrives he first looks up to his eyes, before figuring that just staring at his breastplate was better that cracking his neck. while the others converse he decides to take two birds with one stone, trying to make the witch laugh and (hopefully without offense) sniping at him "That´s impressive, I didn´t know Kurgans could discuss."

hopefully perform (storytelling) since it is a joke, but if not charm: [roll0] TN 52 (42 if charm)

[DrK]

Morgul

The shaman looks at her as she speaks of the dead kin. "Come advise Admin. He stronger, gas your kin too. Morgul can watch you."

---

At the Kurgan, Morgul eyes him warily. He's fought the Kurgan before and for humans they are tough and mean. "If the Kurgan wants slave Bodhi has many to sell. Fresh and strong."

He watches warily, cautious of the savage and armoured chaos warriors.

[Shadowflick]

Nicoli looks to the Druchii, "Nicoli Knows what A Kurgan look like" he says, holding back some amount of hate in his voice. "Come From Norther Steppes, Where old Kislivites used to live. Bitter enemies know. Each kill many of the Other" he says, looking back to the Kurgan

"not unlike Elf? If Nicoli not making Mistake"

[Morovir]

Groktur gives a braying approval to the one named Izur, before turning to face all of the ungors.

"All of you, know this. Before you slaves. Slaves no longer. Now followers of Groktur. Warriors in my Brayherd. Ungors or not, serve loyally, and you will be greatly rewarded. Betray me, and I will hunt you to the Chaos Wastes and beyond and wear your miserable pelts."

He hefts his spear meaningfully.

[Haval]

Kollsvik

Egil will smile at Sigrun's response. Under different circumstances perhaps she and his wife would have got on. To Hrodgar, 'Everyone seems old when you've barely managed to grow your first beard. That feeling will pass lad.' He was used to this sort of thing.

He will pretend to consider Ulf's suggestion, 'Perhaps you'd learn something. Although that Orc might have something to say about it.' Assuming Sigrun wants privacy, Egil will let himself be led wherever she wants to take him.

Egil will pay for a room if neccessary.

[Space Lawyer]

Otto

Otto makes his way over to Larus. He assesses the situation and says, "Of course! No need to spill blood when we have gold!" He eyes the mail that the merchant's hand rested on. "Not that we would spend any great amount on armor such as that! Fine looking, yes, but nothig special. Why, those rusted rings would probably collapes under the first strong stroke they met with. It will take us long to repair such neglect! Certainly not worthy of such a fine warrior as you, Larus!"

It was, actually, not a shabby piece of work. Unfortunately, the look in the merchant's eyes said he knew the value of the armor just as well as Otto did.

[Erulasto]

Reavers of the Red Song


Morgul, Nicoli and Bjorni



Paledawn laughs, and shakes her head slowly as if coloured by disbelief.

“I know of your Aemon. He is but a whelp playing at King. Come speak to me when he has the glory and blessings equal to that of the Thorn.”



Zar Cromath stares down at the trio who accompany the Druchii with blatant, if scowling, curiosity. The massive armoured warrior shifts slightly, turning his smoldering eyes onto the bray-shaman.

“No, Shaman.” Cromath says, the voice deep and, surprisingly, somewhat respectful. “I have not come for slaves. I have come to issue a call to war to all those who claim devotion to the Dark Powers of the North. A champion is rising in the Wastes and he bids those who feel worthy to come to the Black Fjord, where his ships are waiting to bring aspirants to join his host. He seeks to bring war to the South.”

The Chaos warrior turns to Nicoli, expression neutral save for the narrowing of his burning eyes.

“A Kislevite. We do not often see your kind here.” Cromath peers more closely at Nicoli, before his face splits into a wide, if cruel smile. “But you are like us, are you not? I can see you have been blessed by the Plague Father. Who are you, Kislevite? What is it you are called?”

Paledawn offers a wry smile at the analogy between the Kurgan and Kislevites and the Asur and Druchii, but says nothing, content to give Nicoli a small, if obviously amused, shrug.

Bjorni’s words, however, earn another musical laugh from Paledawn, though the Kurgan is quick to round on the skald with a dark smile as he lets his burning gaze rake across the Norscan.

“Indeed? Though, not as impressive as your own feat, perhaps? That your own kin would put up with one who’se words spill from their mouths like an Imperial for so long? That is the stuff of legends.”





Larus and Otto

The armourer had a pleased look on his face as he watched Otto approach, though he lofted a thick and bushy eyebrow at the evaluation of the armour.

“Come now. Even you could see that it’s reasonable work. Nothing fancy, mind you. Not like the armour out of the forges of the Dawi-Zharr, but that’s rarer than Khorne’s mercy, it is.” The armourer grins, and pats the mail thoughtfully for a moment.

“Look. You seem like the sort who would appreciate a bargain. I’ll make you lot a deal, yeah? There’s a lackwit down at the docks who owes me some money. You get it for me and I’ll give you the mail. Aye? We got a deal?”





Groktur

Falling back into the small gathering of Ungors, Izur is the first to bellow his approval of Groktur as their new warchief. The others soon follow, arms raised in exultation as their braying rises above the din of the slavers market.

Groktur caught a few furtive glances in their direction from some of the slavers, and from some of the other merchants and patrons who had been shopping in the avenue. They had begun to draw some, likely, unwanted attention.

The Caprigor would need to have them armed if they were going to fight for him as more than simple fodder on the battlefield. Perhaps Bodhi would be amenable to turning over a few of the salvaged arms from their raids?





Egil

If there was offense to be had by Egil’s words, Hrodgar certainly didn’t take it. The big man was remarkably good natured about insults and ribbing, and among those he considered friends he was slow to anger. The words earned a rousing chorus of cheers and laughter from the reavers there, now all well into their drink, and Hrodgar himself was laughing so hard he toppled from his chair to land in a lump upon the floor.

Sigrun was grinning just as much as she led Egil up into the second floor of the dockside tavern, and into a smallish room. It was nothing special. Barely a cot and a small copper bowl for washing.

But apparently, Sigrun wasn’t that picky…



Well, Egil gets lucky. :smallwink:

Probably going to earn a few extra experience points for that reply to Hrodgar too. Made me laugh.

[Shadowflick]

Nicoli rasies a brow "LIke Kurgan? Bah...Maybe. Flies do speak to me, Flyfather took maercy on me." he says with a helpless shrug "Fall of Praag. Survived in Sewers with Rats." He looks up at at the Kurgan's face "Though, Norscan City lack good drink. Kislive Vodka, best in world. Norscan brew is donkey piss. Name is Nicoli, Former Streltsi. Kurgan may have met some before. Kurgan may have been shot by some before"

[Space Lawyer]

Larus and Otto

The armourer had a pleased look on his face as he watched Otto approach, though he lofted a thick and bushy eyebrow at the evaluation of the armour.

“Come now. Even you could see that it’s reasonable work. Nothing fancy, mind you. Not like the armour out of the forges of the Dawi-Zharr, but that’s rarer than Khorne’s mercy, it is.” The armourer grins, and pats the mail thoughtfully for a moment.

“Look. You seem like the sort who would appreciate a bargain. I’ll make you lot a deal, yeah? There’s a lackwit down at the docks who owes me some money. You get it for me and I’ll give you the mail. Aye? We got a deal?”


Otto could see he was dealing with no fool Northman, selling scraps of looted metal out on these frozen lands. That would make this all much more interesting. "It sounds like a fine deal to me. And if your word and armor both prove strong, I can see a profitable arrangement for us both. I am Otto, master of the Red Song, and my compatriot is Larus, known as Breathstealer."

[Morovir]

Once all of the Ungors are unchained, Groktur orders them to follow him. Not knowing where Bodhi currently is, he decides that the best course would be to return to the ship to search for any available arms for his new warriors.

[DrK]

Morgul

The shaman listens to the words before gesturing at the town around them. "Do you seek the Throrn to follow? Will you seek Winterscorn to follow?" Looking at the kurgan and spying only the 8 pointed star that the man wore he asked more, "Who is this champion? Has he courted the beast herds or the Doombulls?". He is curious about the strange Kurgan before he looks back to Paledawn as the Kurgan finishes speaking.

"So Sorceress" he glances at the skald beside him. "Which will warm your bed before we sail again. Puny skald or real bull?" He stands straight, shaking the skull covered Braystaff once more (and inwardly wondering how these things work with the manlings. He had watched some of the mating in the Jarl's huts and villages but was still none the wiser. Things were simpler back in the herd but he was relatively confident that such a direct approach would end up with one of the "Thorn's" burly and armoured chaos warriors taking offense and he was in no mind to cause trouble in such a place. He was unsure if he would win for one, and unsure of where Bodhi's loyalty would lie.)

[neriractor]

Bjorni patiently listened to the Kurgans reply to the others, taking special note of his actual reason for being here after all if he came by sea he likely stopped at their jarl's hold and they may hear news (or even the calling) when they came back.

He smiled pleased as the druchii laughed, and almost recoiled as the Kurgan moved, almost he had his pride, and stared straight into the giant's eye, it had that same pride that made him grind his teeth ever so slightly, he almost pulled his axe, his shield already out as customary when traveling outside your land but he refrained himself, Nicoli would undoubtedly join him but the guards may not look kindly on it.

He grinned, predatory as he responded pointedly ignoring the most hurtful part of the man's reply "Then at least one of us will be remembered, my way with words is but a quality the gods saw fit to gift me... he looked from feet to head to the kurgan for a good 15 seconds a clear frown denoting a lack of interest in his face before speaking again "perhaps you'll get one someday."

Bjorni snorts at the shaman's lack of patience and subtlety but It was to be expected from such a being, still it forced his hand. Bringing him out of balance for but a moment before he theatrically shaked his head as if disappointed on the Shaman, afterwards turning towards the druchii with a small grin that widened when he reached the question, he spoke in norscan " poor beast just misspelled proud warrior and cow, should I let him down for you or do you want to play?"

[Erulasto]

Reavers of the Red Song


Morgul, Bjorni and Nicoli

The massive Kurgan Zar nodded as Nicoli spoke, the curious look still sitting plainly in his burning eyes.

"Such a thing would draw the Plague Father's gaze." The notion of being shot by the Kislevites earns a deep laugh from the Chaos Warrior. "I have felt their sting, yes, and stung many back. But you are correct. Norscans can drink like Daemons but they cannot brew for ****. Join me, Kislevite? I have a bottle made from the sour tit-milk of a Spawn. I would be very interested in hearing your thoughts on how to best your people once and for all."

The Kurgan spoke of the Kislevites with a modicum of respect-fueled hatred. It was true that the people of the Kurgan Steppes and the Kislevites had battled time and again, and if nothing else, it appeared that Cromath had a healthy respect for their tenacity if nothing else.

As he waited for Nicoli to ponder the offer, Cromath glanced to Morgul once more with a firm nod.

"Yes, Shaman. The call is to all those who are loyal to the Ruinous Powers. It is said that the Great Beast has Chosen this one for greatness. The Thorn. The Winterscorn. The Varg, the Aesling, the Baersonling, the Kurgan and the Hung. All those who bow before the Eight-pointed Star are welcome in his host. Even our Beast-kin." Cromath says. "We have not approached the warherds of Norsca, but the Witherhide and the Blackhorn, Braven-Tooth and Skull-Tender Warherds have answered the call."

With Cromath seeming to be curious about Nicoli, Paledawn took the opportunity to flash a lascivious grin to both Bjorni and Morgul. Sashaying up the great steps of the Jarl's palace, the Druchii sorceress beckoned the two of them to follow.

Through ornate hallways and perfumed parlours, past purple-garbed slaves and armoured guards they wound slowly through the palace until they came to a tall, arched doorway. The door was thick wood, plated in platinum and banded with gold and upon the center was the jewelled crest of Slaanesh, the Prince of Pleasure.

"Last chance to back out..." Paledawn said, the amused smirk never leaving her face as violet eyes danced with positive glee. Even as she spoke, she opened the door into a large chamber with a domed roof. The entire roof was intricately painted fresco's depicting scenes of excess and vice and several side chambers were hidden from view by mulitple layers of gauzy silk. In the center of the room, the floor dipped down into a pool surrounded by white marble stone blocks, the water bubbling with heat fed from some deep cleft in the ground.

The air was thick and hazy with incense and perfumes that beguiled the senses, and as Paledawn slipped inside the room, three lithesome figures emerged from the side chambers - clad from head to pale, bare feet in long gowns and robes, veils of sparkling gemstones covering all but large, green, saucer-like eyes.

As the Sorceress' handmaidens began to strip her of her clothing, arms held aloft to grant them easier access, Bjorni and Morgul caught glimpses of skin mottled with pastel purples and pinks, of the swelling curve of a breast here and the dark purple and white chitinous forms of crab-like claws.




Otto and Larus

"Aye, you'll find nary a word nor iron stronger, Master Otto." The armourer said with a gap-toothed grin. "Names Bellic. The Raven's webs must be favouring me today to find a pleasant Southern merchant in Kollsvik."

Bellic gave a weasely chuckle, and rubbed his stubbly chin.

"The one you're looking for is named Fjal. Usually frequents the Mule. It's a tavern down by the docks. Fellow with a silver hand. Bring me that hand of his and I'll call us square, aye?" Bellic said with a sneer. "He's a beast when he's been in the bottle, so if I may be so bold as to suggest you give it until the morrow. Early enough he'll be sleeping off his hangover."





Groktur

The small group of Beastmen led by Groktur drew some curious glances as they passed through Kollsvik's cramped avenues, and the Caprigor caught at least two or three small groups of visiting raiders and reavers eyeing them almost hungrily as if trying to decide if they were worth the effort of attacking.

Still, despite the erstwhile looks, the trip back to the Red Song was uneventful.

When they arrived, they saw Bodhi reclining on a pile of furs that had been draped across several crates of goods that hadn't been properly turned over to Odlund yet. The reaver-captain had stipped herself of her armour, though her halberd rested across her knee's as she took a long draught from a round bottle that contained some rather syrupy-looking mead.

Bodhi had unbraided her hair, and the mane of fiery red practically spilled in dishevelled waves across her shoulders and down to her hips. A simple pair of rugged trousers hung low on her hips and her chest was tightly bound by soft furs and long strips of cotton. Looking up as Groktur approached with the ungors, she took another draught from the bottle and met the caprigor's gaze with her black eyes.

"What's this then? Found yourself some strays?" Bodhi slipped off her perch and prowled over to his small gathering. "There is some potential here. Well thought, Groktur. We lost some men in the last raid. The extra hands will be valuable. Svart!" She called, and one of the reavers from the other longships looked up from the game of bones he was playing with a handful of his fellows.

Svart was long of limb and quite tall, though Groktur noticed that his arms and legs were tight, corded muscle.

When she had his attention, Bodhi grinned wolfishly.

"See this lot is armed with whatever we can spare and find them cots on the Red Song. I imagine that the good shipmaster won't have a problem with a few more beasts on board."

Then, she handed Groktur the bottle of mead.





Next post will transition to the next morning, feel free to post a final response to this last post and we will move on.

Morovir and Neriractor: If Bjorni and Morgul don't back out, they get to enjoy a night to remember with not only Paledawn but some Daemonettes bound to her service. They'll experience pain. And pleasure. Literally until they pass out. And likely after.

Please roll a d1000 to determine a mutation on the generic table. If you have any unspent Fortune points you can spend as many as you'd like to get trolls and then. As I am more merciful than your Masters, and as a reward for taking the leap and getting the first mutation in active play? You can then choose between all the rolled mutations.

I wont always be this generous. :smallwink:

[DrK]

Morgul

While still outside
The shaman nodded at the Kurgan's words. The idea of a vast horde burning the cities of man exciting him. At the mention of the clans he bared his teeth. "Braventooth Tooth herd rotten. Bray shaman cursed by gods and wilted. When Morgul meet Braven Tooth shaman I tear out his heart and wear horns as a trophy."

He eyes up Cromath some more, clearly debating what to do next but the smell of the sorceress was infectious and his blood was up. "Heap the skulls of the fallen at your feet Kurgan and burn the south to the ground." He then nods to the sorceress and follows her inside.

Inside

The strange palace of purples, golds and soft fabrics and strange perfumes confuses and beguiles the shaman. With his animal like senses he felt drunk on the fumes and filled with vigour and excitement. At her words he stumbled forwards, "Prepare yourself woman..." and followed her into her chambers. As Pale dawn disrobed he ripped off the filthy and bloodstained rags he wore and advanced towards her.......



So Morgul is going in.....

Let me know what tests or rolls are required to survive this encounter.

[neriractor]

Outside

Bjorni felt relief when the chaos champion seemingly moved on from him, writing up as a win (because it was). He made a point to listen to his conversation with Nicoli, that is until the witch called, he had no mind for such things as he followed.

inside

Bjorni is impressed, he hadn't seen such luxury in his life but it was natural for such a powerful warlord and of slaneesh no less. When they reached the gate backing down wasn't even a consideration on his mind, and he certainly wasn't going to do it now. After admiring the murals for but a second he turned her gaze to the act before him and mimicked it, undressing and joining in.

[roll0]
last FP: [roll1]

[rax]

Otto and Larus

"Aye, you'll find nary a word nor iron stronger, Master Otto." The armourer said with a gap-toothed grin. "Names Bellic. The Raven's webs must be favouring me today to find a pleasant Southern merchant in Kollsvik."

Bellic gave a weasely chuckle, and rubbed his stubbly chin.

"The one you're looking for is named Fjal. Usually frequents the Mule. It's a tavern down by the docks. Fellow with a silver hand. Bring me that hand of his and I'll call us square, aye?" Bellic said with a sneer. "He's a beast when he's been in the bottle, so if I may be so bold as to suggest you give it until the morrow. Early enough he'll be sleeping off his hangover."Lárus nostrils flare slightly at the prospect of being turned into an errand boy for a peasant. This Bellic should be honoured that Lárus was even interested in his wares, especially when he was getting two mail shirts in trade for the single coat. Haggling...it makes the bile rise!

"Tell me Bellic - how does this man Fjal come to owe you money? And how is it that his hand is silver - a gift from the gods or is it the work of man?"

Sorry for dragging things out, but Lárus wants a little more information before he takes the deal. I should also probably give fair warning that he may want to "alter" the bargain when he comes back to collect his mail coat... He really doesn't take kindly to being turned into Bellic's collector.

[Shadowflick]

Nicoli raises a brow "Sounds Disgusting. Bah, might as well" he says, following along with the Kurgan "Maybe Remind Nicoli of Kvas. Maybe Nicoli find some in maret to Share with Kurgan? If Kurgan not have Kvas, Is missing great Kislev invention" he says with a boistorus laugh, giving the armored man a pat on the back

As he walks, he starts to talk about Kislev as well "As for Conquering Kislev? Suggest to attack Praag first. Is Still Vulnerable last Nicoli Remember, and Nicoli crawled out of sewer that lead to city. Could prove major advantage. But, extended sucess is a hard fight. Kossars aim not for army but Supply Lines, let Cold deal with Invader. and Ungol Horse archers faster then armored warrior. Wait till summer is Nicoli advice, use warmer weather to move through teritory. And in true battle, Kislev knows how to fight at range and Melle. Streltsi fight with equal skill at Range and Melee, Kossars much the same, but with Bows. Ungol Horse Archers bring down massive beasts with many arrows, using there horses like extension of self. Skirmishing is the strategy of Kislev, fighting with only swords and beast is what they are used to. Charging hordes? Large armies? Massive hordes will be dead before melee. Need to Fight ot like Chaos to beat them. They have had years to hone there skill to counter normal norscan strategy's. Maybe find more success sailing down to more southern lands. Estalia I hear is the softest of the south. Not hard like Kislev

[Morovir]

"My thanks, worthy chieftain." Groktur inclined his head by way of thanks, and took the bottle, taking a long draught from it before handing it back to Bodhi with a sigh of appreciation. "Good drink. They weak now, but will make good warriors. Not Gors, but still."

"When time in town finished, where headed?"

[Space Lawyer]

Otto


Otto and Larus

"Aye, you'll find nary a word nor iron stronger, Master Otto." The armourer said with a gap-toothed grin. "Names Bellic. The Raven's webs must be favouring me today to find a pleasant Southern merchant in Kollsvik."

Bellic gave a weasely chuckle, and rubbed his stubbly chin.

"The one you're looking for is named Fjal. Usually frequents the Mule. It's a tavern down by the docks. Fellow with a silver hand. Bring me that hand of his and I'll call us square, aye?" Bellic said with a sneer. "He's a beast when he's been in the bottle, so if I may be so bold as to suggest you give it until the morrow. Early enough he'll be sleeping off his hangover."



Lárus nostrils flare slightly at the prospect of being turned into an errand boy for a peasant. This Bellic should be honoured that Lárus was even interested in his wares, especially when he was getting two mail shirts in trade for the single coat. Haggling...it makes the bile rise!

"Tell me Bellic - how does this man Fjal come to owe you money? And how is it that his hand is silver - a gift from the gods or is it the work of man?"

Sorry for dragging things out, but Lárus wants a little more information before he takes the deal. I should also probably give fair warning that he may want to "alter" the bargain when he comes back to collect his mail coat... He really doesn't take kindly to being turned into Bellic's collector.

By all the gods, what kind of man in this kind of place could afford a silver hand? is Otto's initial reaction to the description of Fjal. Still, he was inclined to agree until Larus interjected. After all, profitable relationships were built on the exchange of mutual favors such as this. It might be a bit of a chore, but this Bellic seemed to be a more reasonable sort than many Norscans. Dealing with him could be the start of bright future.

Still, Larus was right in this moment. Finding out more was a good idea. Assuming Larus was pleased with the answers and didn't try to cleave Bellic from head to crotch. "A sound suggestion, Master Bellic, though I'd recommend being quite forthcoming with any more information you might have." An understanding wink conveys further meaning.

No problem. If it makes sense IC, you do you.

[Erulasto]

Reavers of the Red Song

17th Sommerzeit

Larus and Otto

Bellic smiles his gap-toothed smile to Larus, and shrugs his shoulders almost helplessly.

“Lout was puttin’ together a band of men. Said he knew where to find a treasure in the mountains. Final resting place of some old sorcerer or some such. Told me he’d trade me a portion of the treasure if I’d front him some gear for the trip. Fool was the only one who came back. Without the treasure, and without my gear. So…I want compensation. As for his hand? Gift from the Gods, so he says. He carries a sword well enough in it.”

Bellic shrugs again as if that’s all he knows.

“So, we got a deal?”


Groktur

Taking back the mead from Groktur, Bodhi takes another deep draught before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Plugging it with a cork stopper, Bodhi sets the bottle down next to her and stretches with a relaxed sigh.

“When we’re done, we sail North. Back to the Jarl’s halls to deliver our wealth and plunder. Summer is ending soon and some of the easy routes will be choked with ice in another few months.”


Nicoli

The towering Kurgan listens intently to Nicoli’s suggestions about attacking Praag, or even pushing further south to hit softer Imperial targets. For his massive size, and intimidating façade, Cromath seems remarkably personable to Nicoli.

“You mistake our intent, Kislevite. We do not seek to conquer Kislev. We seek to burn it to ash and cinder.”

Eventually, they make their way to a small camp of tents erected just outside the thick stone gate of the town. The camp is flush with the swarthy skinned men of the Kurgan Steppes, though Nicoli recognizes several other men from his days as a Streltsi. The sallow-skinned Hung from the East and even a few slant-eyed men with skin that looked jaundiced. They had to be the Tong from far to the West.

Cromath was right. Whomever this Chaos Lord was that was marshalling the forces of Chaos, he was bringing in many disparate tribes and peoples under his banner.

The drink was just as vile as Nicoli had assumed; thick and almost slimy, but it had a sweet flavor and a very strong kick.

The rest of the night was spent drinking and chatting about the various battles they’d found themselves in across the years.

By the end of the evening, Nicoli had learned one very important fact…

Zar Cromath was a man whom people would love to have as an ally….or fear to have as an enemy.





18th Sommerzeit, 2501

Dawn came slowly to Kollsvik. The sun rose sluggishly in the East, struggling to rise above the dark clouds that seemed to hang high in the Northern sky. As the light began to grow across the city, the sounds of the last of the night’s revelry began to fade, to be replaced by the bustling noise of the markets.

Many of the reavers had spent the night in their longships, or on the Red Song, and were slowly coming to after a night of heavy drinking. A significant number of them just rolled over and went back to sleep, having come back far too late to be waking already.

It didn’t hurt that Bodhi had told them there was two more days before they set sail again.


Morgul and Bjorni

There was no windows in the chambers that they had spent the night fornicating in, so there was no way for the light of dawn to pierce the gloom of the now-unlit chamber. It was empty, but still stiflingly warm, and the lingering scent of their passions, cloying incense and other stranger smells still hung heavily in the air.

None of the handmaidens were present, nor was Paledawn herself. They were alone in the room.

But, something was strange! They could feel the difference.

A large mirror of highly polished silver hung upon a wall, and both Morgul and Bjorni caught sight of their reflection in the dim room with shock.

The Prince of Pleasure had blessed them with a gift. For enduring a night in the clutches of one of His Chosen and her handmaidens.

Their muscles and bones ached from the exertion, and they realized a bit sluggishly that neither of them really remembered much of the night past a certain point. Their skin was raw and sore and their tongues dry from dehydration.

The large doors creaked open after a few moments, giving them time to dress or come to terms with the changes to their fleshy bodies, and in stepped a young man in a simple purple robe. His skin was pale and his body shorn of all hair.

“The Jarl has invited Mistress Paledawn’s guests to attend him tonight for a feast. He asks that you bring whatever crew you travelled with.”


Egil

Light was beginning to stream through the wooden shutters of the window in the small room he laid in. Clothes and gear were strewn about the room, discarded in Sigrun’s haste to get the older warrior into bed. She lay next to him, snoring softly with her hair messily tangled around her face, a single large woolen blanket pulled tight about her to hold off the chill that permeated the room from the cold Norscan night.

Egil hadn’t even had a chance to get out of bed when there was a soft rapping on the door, and Ulf poked his dark-haired head in with a grin.

“Sleep well?” He asked wryly. “We’re going to be heading back to the ship. You coming, or you got something else on your plate for the morning?”


Nicoli

Nicoli was roused by the smell of heavy spice and cooking meat. He found himself under a pile of skins and furs in a heavy canvas tent that had been dyed in bright colours. Upon a metal spit in the center of the room, a large haunch of meat was slowly being cooked by two Kurgan women. It smelled rather delicious.

Around the outside of the room, several other marauders from Cromath’s retinue were rousing themselves as well, muttering to each other in whatever tongue they spoke.

One of the Kurgan women approached Nicoli, and held a carved stone bowl to him that contained a number of herbs floating in hot water. She offered it up to him, and made the drinking motion. The Kislevite had seen similar things in Kislev. It was like sib, a potent combination of hot water and alcohol with herbs that would warm the bones and bring some wakefulness. It was a common beverage after a night of cold guard duty.


Larus and Otto

Like the rest of the reavers who were rousing on the Red Song, Larus found the morning brisk but the sea breeze coming off the chilled waves that rocked the caravel invigorating. As Larus began to slip from his bunk, he caught sight of the Sorceress Hygd kneeling before a small, make-shift shrine she had set up on the floor in a corner of the hold.

She was muttering words that he didn’t understand, but caused a shiver to run up his spine. They sounded…unnatural.

When she realized she was being observed, the Sorceress rose from the shrine slowly – not taking her eyes off the Breathstealer.

“The Gods will give us good winds to return home.” She said, matter of factly. “Though…it is not truly home for us, is it Larus?”

Above, in his private cabin in the aft-castle of the caravel, Otto found himself receiving an early-morning visitor in the form of the reaver-captain, Bodhi.

Bodhi was once more in her armour, though she wasn’t carrying her halberd when she entered.

“Good morning, Shipmaster.” She said, making her way into his room and pausing only to peer at an old nautical map he had laid out on the small table in his cabin.

“I will ensure the Jarl is told of your skill and loyalty during the raid. I will be honest, I did not expect to find a Southerner who had a mastery of the waves like that of a Norscan. But, I am woman enough to admit my mistake in this regard.”

Bodhi pondered the map for only a few more moments, before turning her strange, black eyes to Otto.

“There is much glory to be had on a ship such as this. I wished to discuss with you the possibility of making the Red Song my flagship for the raiders. A vessel such as this? With a skilled shipmaster? It would bring us much honour.” Bodhi said, a hungry gleam in her eyes.


Groktur

The Caprigor awoke to the sounds of braying and the clash of iron and wood. As he emerged from the pile of furs he had slept in upon the deck of the Red Song he saw Izur and the other Ungors, now clad in leathers and wielding the weapons they had taken from the hold, fighting each other on the docks. They weren’t fighting to kill, or even to first blood, simply sparring to work out the kinks in their muscles and reinvigorate their thrill at battle.

Groktur saw Gunnar down with them, sparing against one of the Ungors who – as far as Groktur knew – had no name. The reaver was trading blows with the Ungor, and seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the training.

When Izur saw Groktur upon the ship, the beastman dropped into a bow to the Caprigor.

“Master. We…” he gestured to the others. “Seek your glory. Learn to fight better!”

[DrK]

Morgul

In the Palace

Morgul awoke, his senses still aflame with the after effects of the previous night where it had been a curious mixture of pleasure and pain. Scratches and bites marred his fur and muscled body and he paused as he regarded himself in the polished wall. He flexed his arms, all FIVE! of them, during the night Paledawn had demanded more and her god(dess) had answered, Morgul's arms splitting into more that grew and were able to partially sate the sorceress. Now he looked at them, the 3 newer ones strangely bald and not marred by chunks of fur, strange runes burned into them or years of filth matting them. His eyes glanced at Bjorni, a savage grin. "We herd brothers no Skald. Come - let us drink and eat. Body needs feeding." Clapping the skald on the back with a pair of arms he fetches his belongings, sniffing them with suspicion as they've been cleaned and perfumed by one of the quiet servants.

At the entrance of the purple clad bald figure Morgul nods. "Aye. Bodhi Warleader will come with crew of Red Song." After that he waits for Bjorni before heading out of the palace, eyes watering in the dawn light as his eyes adjust.

At the Boat

Morgul eventually returns to the Red song, a horn of mead and a greasy chunk of meat clutched in one of his new hands. Climbing aboard he freezes looking at the ungor before braying out a challenge to the, one thta subsides as he sees Gorktur is clearly their master. Raising his many arms he nods to Groktur "Groktur building herd. You will need a shaman." He grins savagely at the fellow Gor before heading to the galley to get a hunk of hard sour bread and a skin of tepid water.

Thirst slaked and hunger abated he heads to Bodhi. Offering her a curt nod of his head whilst still holding breakfast in his spare arms and his braystaff in others he curtly relays the offer. "Jarl Thorn wants Red Song crew and warleader Bodhi to eat at feast tonight. Also Kurgan chief in village gathering for war. Bodhi should speak with Kurgan."

[neriractor]

18th Sommerzeit, 2501 (palace)

Bjorni grunts awake, stretching the strained muscles as he felt around for any signal of paledawn or the handmaidens, then he opened his eyes, noting the change in his hair and beard, and quickly stood, confirming that all his hair had the same dark purple dye that good, eh? he chuckled to himself.

Morgul´s words reminded him that he wasn´t alone, he responded the grin in kind, a little confused about the extra arms, but it passed fast. "I like your thinking... brother" he licked his lips, he really did need a drink.

when the body entered he was putting the last of his clothes on and he nodded in agreement with the Shaman, smiling: a night to forget, the favo of the serpent and a chance to engrace themselves with the jarl? this was truly a worthy visit, he looks at his ragged clothes for a moment before leaving, this wouldn't do, he places his hand atop his eyes to block some sunlight until he accustoms, then he and Morgul make their way through the town.

The red song

Bjorni strides proudly through the town, his head seemingly taller as he displays his new gift, smiling as the people turned to see him (or most likely the 5 armed beastman next to him).

when on the red song he rushes to grab some dried meat, avoiding himself the hassle of cooking, and drinks some of the ships ale and water until he felt reinvigorated, he stops to greet any of the reavers that speak to him, and sits near any who is eating to have someone to talk to.

He reaches Bodhi a bit behind Morgul, passing a hand through his hair as he closes by, seemingly to fix the shape but really just to attract attention to it. He spoke with a wide smile and flaunting movement "I imagine Morgul told you how we got the redsong a feast and us a chance to put the Winterscorn name and our own in the thorn's good side... "

[Space Lawyer]

17th Sommerzeit

“So, we got a deal?”

"Seems a fair enough deal to me. Man can't just run off with your goods without some compensation. Taking his fancy hand is sure enough to teach that lesson well." Hells, this was beyond reasonable. Most of the people that Otto was used to dealing with would have simply gutted the thief.



18th Sommerzeit, 2501

Above, in his private cabin in the aft-castle of the caravel, Otto found himself receiving an early-morning visitor in the form of the reaver-captain, Bodhi.

Bodhi was once more in her armour, though she wasn’t carrying her halberd when she entered.

“Good morning, Shipmaster.” She said, making her way into his room and pausing only to peer at an old nautical map he had laid out on the small table in his cabin.

“I will ensure the Jarl is told of your skill and loyalty during the raid. I will be honest, I did not expect to find a Southerner who had a mastery of the waves like that of a Norscan. But, I am woman enough to admit my mistake in this regard.”

Bodhi pondered the map for only a few more moments, before turning her strange, black eyes to Otto.

“There is much glory to be had on a ship such as this. I wished to discuss with you the possibility of making the Red Song my flagship for the raiders. A vessel such as this? With a skilled shipmaster? It would bring us much honour.” Bodhi said, a hungry gleam in her eyes.

Otto cracks a sly grin. "Aye, that it could. And gold besides. With your raiders, I think she's taking on more plunder than in all her years before." he says, fondly patting the bulkhead. "She might not have been built as a warship, but I think you've awoken the fighting spirit in her. Never seen her move so fast or sharp as when we're coming up on a raid. Course, could just be a sense of jealousy with another fearsome lady of beauty!" Otto continues with a laugh and a wink.

[Morovir]

Groktur gives a bray of approval.

"Is good. Glory in name of Gods."

He points at the Ungor sparring with Gunnar.

"You. What name?"

Not waiting for an answer, he then turns to Gunnar himself.

"They fight well?"

If Gunnar cannot understand him, Groktur gets Izur to translate.

[Shadowflick]

Nicoli is suprised by just how much Cromath is willing to listen, tacking actual heed in his advice and warnings "Is true, but, To conquer and to burn are very similar. You still need an army to do it. Kislev is buitl upon the bones of the Dead, it endures nothing, just builds over the old. But, if you do not want to join those bones, attacking in Winter is a foolish idea. Koosars will stalk your warband and attack at night, seeking to destroy food stores. You say you wish to burn it to ash? Well, Kislev will beat you at that. They will burn farms and villages ahead of you, escaping to there cities as they try to starve you out. You have men and skill, but Kislev is specilized to fight your kind. Much like how they skirmish in battle, armor piercing arrows and bullets killing half your number before the charge, the road to battle will take another half.


Walking intot he camp though, he does make sure to give nod's to those who seek to meet his gaze, making sure not to be too rude. He made sure to join them in there drinking and feast, wincing at first at the taste of the milk, but soon becoming used to the taste, washing down his meat with the milk. He would share his stories of his time As a Streltis, recounting a few tales of his battles alongside Kislev when he still worke dwith them..as well as the ever popular siege of Praag, in which he tells the tale of the chaotic battle, gunfire, magic, and monster all clashing at once.


THe Morning After

Nicoli did not remember when he had fallen asleep. Maybe he had drinkin enough finally to send him into a stupor. Either way..he was suprised to find himself in a comforting position, his equipment neatly tucked away from him. He stands, putting on his leather jack and red Coat, slinging his rifle over his shoulder and starting to tie down his shot and powder across his chest. He takes his pole-axe, though, his nostril's were already flaring with the aroman of well cooked food

"Hmm, Good this smell. Skilled cooks you must be" he says, smiling to the woman handing him the drink. He takes it to his lips, drinking well and full from the bowl. He wipes his mouth with his sleeve "Many Thanks" he says with a nod, to try and convey it through a motion as well. he points to the bowl "Ahh..where put?" he says, holding the bowl and wondering where he should take it

[Haval]

18th Sommerzeit, 2501

Still in bed, Egil had already been awake a while when Ulf came in. He felt more relaxed than he had done for a long time.

'Might as well see if we're needed. The market can wait.' In general, Egil tended to lose money as often as he made it, but he'd be a fool not to take advantage of this place while they were here. As he gets up to find his clothes he will gently nudge Sigrun. He has no doubt that she could take care of herself but he didn't want to leave anyone alone in this place.

[Erulasto]

Reavers of the Red Song


Otto

“That fighting spirit you speak of, Shipmaster? That is a blessing from the Gods, to be sure!” Bodhi says, grinning. “We do not need her to be a warship. If we find ourselves engaged with the ships of the Empire, then we have done our jobs very poorly!”

After they had their discussion, Bodhi seemed pleased with Otto’s responses. It was very clear to the smuggler that Bodhi was in the process of making a power-play of some kind to advance the standing of both her, and those reavers under her in the eyes of the Jarl.

Otto had seen Bodhi’s skill in battle, and at commanding the reavers and he was certain that being involved in such a scheme of hers could lead to some trouble – but also a great deal of wealth and glory, if one had the stomach for it.





Egil

Sigrun was roused easily enough, though she did so with a lazy groan and some muttered complaints about being stiff and sore this morning. Ulf’s cackling at her complaints had earned the dark-haired bowman a glare from Sigrun, but she said nothing more as she pulled a tunic on over her head before getting up to search for her pants.

Once Egil and company had gathered their belongings, he led them back across the docks to the harbour where the Red Song sat alongside the rest of Bodhi’s longships.





Nicoli

The Kurgan woman seemed to understand the intent behind Nicoli’s words, even if she did not understand the language itself, and took the bowl from the Kislevite when he had finished. Another approached with a haunch of the spiced meat and handed it to him on a simple iron spike.

Once he was being fed, the women returned to the fire and began preparing more food for the other warriors as they woke and prepared for the day.

When Nicoli was done, he slipped through the heavy flaps of the tent’s door and out into the brisk morning air. The sounds of Kollsvik were already beginning to rise above the walls, and he could hear the yells and shouts of the merchants hawking their wares.

Cromath, it seemed, had left early and next to no one seemed able, if even willing, to converse with the Kislevite. After some time of exploring the small camp, Nicoli returned through the large iron gates of Kollsvik and made his way back down to the harbour to rendezvous with the rest of the crew of the Red Song whom had pulled him from the proverbial – and literal – fire in Grenhoff.





Groktur, Bjorni and Morgul

“They’re strong, and hardy.” Gunnar said with a shrug, stepping away from the Ungor for a moment to speak to Groktur. “Not as skilled with a weapon yet. I don’t think they’ve had a lot of practice, but you got yourself some potential here.”

The ungor who Groktur had asked to identify himself, stepped forward with a deferential dip of his head. “Uzbek, Gouge-Horn.”

As Bjorni and Morgul made their way back onto the long, stone quay that the Red Song and longships had found their berth at, they saw Groktur and Gunnar discussing a handful of Ungor beastmen that had been armed and were running basic weapon drills under the watchful gaze of several reavers.

Bodhi made her way down the Red Song’s gangplank to the dock with a grin as she surveyed the gathering. Her black eyes widened noticeably as she saw the changes that the night with Paledawn had wrought on Morgul and Bjorni.

“Well.” She said at length. “It seems the Gods have been pleased with your endeavors, whatever they were.”

The reaver-captain rested her halberd across her shoulders and the back of her neck, arms slung over its haft lazily as she listened to the two latecomers discussion their open invitation to attend the Jarl in his palace for a feast.

“And how, exactly, did our crew come to the attention of the mighty Jarl?” Bodhi asked, almost warily. But her interest was certainly piqued, especially at the news of the Kurgan. “A war, you say? If this Kurgan is gathering forces, I wonder if he will seek out the Winterscorn…or if he already has in our absence?”







You have about ten hours before you’ll all be expected to come to the Thorn’s palace for the feast. That’s plenty of time to go shopping, or take care of any business you’d like to. Unless there is something specific you’re looking to do – for example, Larus and Otto going after Fjal – any shopping excursions will be, more or less, fast-tracked to keep the passage of time going.

Do what you will!

Also, this is day two. You’ll be leaving late afternoon of the third day (19th of Sommerzeit).

[Morovir]

"You hear? You have potential! Keep up work, and one day you could be big and strong! Command respect from puny pinkskins! Take them as slaves and sacrifices to the Pantheon!"

Groktur knew that morale was as important as skill in a fight, especially with so few warriors, and so he let his braying exhortations echo throughout the camp.



Morgul

Groktur nods to the Shaman. "Shaman always welcome in herd. Many arms, many spells, yes?" He lets out a braying chuckle. "You show clear favour from the Dark Ones."

[neriractor]

Redsong

Bjorni kept grinning, not boastful but treasuring Bodhi's wide eyed look, it was quite weird to see her surprised, he nodded when she spoke of the gods recognition, he looked at her head to toe as she effortlessly head the signature weapon that was longer than he was, it may be the slaneeshi port but she sure got blessed in her own way...

He shook the thought quickly when she spoke, and instead of making her wait he responded "That was exactly my thinking, but I was unable to ask him at the moment, I encourage you to do so, and do ask for Nicoli if you do, I'm afraid our new comrade might have ended as Kurgan dinner"

"As for the thorn, you should save that boot licking for when we meet him..." he laughed a bit at his own joke and briefly looked back to the shaman before he actually answered, a suggestive smile while saying it "well... Lets just say Lonash and the Jarl's witch were specially pleased with our endeavors.

market

Bjorni goes with whatever reaver happens to go in the same direction, intending to buy some decent clothes for the night plus some goods that catch his interest, with his main interest being a trip to the slave market on the lookout for some nice thralls.

haggle: [roll0] TN 42
list of things to buy:
1x healing draught 5gc
Best quality clothes 10 GC
Cologne 1gc
Deck of cards 1gc
3x gin trap 6gc
Total: 23 GC
searching the thrall markets for anything interesting (some prices would be nice :smalltongue:). Also I wanted to ask if I could retroactively buy some trusted thralls that were at home or have one or two decent ones? since Bjorni lacks any family but his brother and someone has to run/protect the house in the meantime.

[DrK]

Morgul

The 5-armed shaman watches Groktur schooling the ungor on deck for a while. Braying encouragement and abuse in equal measure to the ungors. Although happy to have a few more crew he can converse with in his natural beast tongue. Taking his fill of food and mead he makes small talk with any of the others before nodding to Groktur. "Groktur. I buy shaman tools in town, and town is dangerous. I take 2 of little gor's on walk with me to carry and protect?". At the big gor's joke about many arms and many spells Morgul nods, "Yes, Gods bless Morgul. Gods speak through MOrgul and with Groktur we will burn the lands of men.

With either a pair of ungor, or a pair of reavers after asking Bodhi he heads into town looking around strange shops filled all manner of strange and unpleasant hovels filled with feathers, pickled organsm ground horns and the like. After his shopping he heads back to the Red Song, content to wait upon the deck until Bodhi plans to head to the feast.


I'll work out shopping over next couple of days. But will just be buying some ingredients and then heading to the feast

[Morovir]

Groktur decides that the real life experience would be good for the Ungors, and so acquiesces to Morgul's request, selecting two hitherto unnamed beastmen to accompany the shaman on his travels.

With this done, he returns his attention to his charges, and decides to take a more leading role in their training, actively participating in their sparring.

[Shadowflick]

Nicoli gives a quizical look to the newly mutated pair now, one with multiple arms, the Other with new eyes. Shaking his head, he steps toward the boat "Indeed. Nicoli was Over for Dinner. Conversing with Kurgan of the nature of War, Man, And chaos. Spiced meat is Quite good made by Kurgan Women. He looks to the group that had been conversing "But, Cromath is not The Chaos Lord. No, he Serve's whomever, But, he is still valuable. Many Tribes of Man are being United to Fight for this CHaos lord. Not just Norscan, Hung to. And Of course Kurgan. Suggest we try and follow if pillaging is what you seek."

[Haval]

Red Song

Egil has been watching Bjorni and Morgul with curiosity over what had happened to them overnight. If the Elf was somehow responsible she was powerful indeed.

The talk of a gathering of warriors was interesting. 'Pillaging is all very well, but we hardly need some Kurgan for that. We already take what we want when we want it. If this Kurgan's lord is serious and we choose to join them it would be to witness what no one has seen in generations. Assuming this lord is powerful enough to hold such a horde together of course.'

Market

Later he will catch up with Bjorni as the Skald heads into the market. The man was better with people then Egil was (not hard to be fair), and might be willing to do him a favour. Pointing to the man's hair, 'I have never seen someone take to this place so quickly. Perhaps the locals will be more friendly to you because of it. Help me find a new Great Sword and I will hurt someone for you later with it if you need it.'


Neriractor - If you're willing can I borrow Bjorni to roll a haggle test. Egil will owe you a favour.

Shopping List
A Two Handed Sword - 20 GC
Fish Hook and Line - 3 s
Grappling Hook - 4 gc

Possibly more booze before we leave

[neriractor]

Boat

Bjorni seemed quite surprised to actually see Nicoli alive and well, and he takes a mental note about the cooking of Kurgan women, many of his thralls hadn´t made it through the last winter and having a good cook would be nice "good to know"

he doesn´t seem happy with the suggestion to join the horde, the emissary owed him blood for his insult and a head on invasion wasn't really his strong suit even if they went through sea. but the honor... the burned lands of the sourtheners, the plunder of cities, it really was mouth watering for most norscans. He nodded
and clapped Egil´s back, showing his support "You speak the truth friend, if we are to follow it'll be on the path to glory, and a gateway to the true life made with the blood of the sourthern folk."

Market

The skald smiles, not about to remind Egil that he had been here many times, he grins when Egil offers his sword, he knew him to abide by his word and he could use some muscle every now and then. "You got yourself a deal, lets go find you a weapon worthy of your skill"

haggle: [roll0] TN 42

earning that favour allright :smallamused:

[rax]

17th Sommerzeit

Larus and Otto

Bellic smiles his gap-toothed smile to Larus, and shrugs his shoulders almost helplessly.

“Lout was puttin’ together a band of men. Said he knew where to find a treasure in the mountains. Final resting place of some old sorcerer or some such. Told me he’d trade me a portion of the treasure if I’d front him some gear for the trip. Fool was the only one who came back. Without the treasure, and without my gear. So…I want compensation. As for his hand? Gift from the Gods, so he says. He carries a sword well enough in it.”

Bellic shrugs again as if that’s all he knows.

“So, we got a deal?”

18th Sommerzeit

Larus and Otto

Like the rest of the reavers who were rousing on the Red Song, Larus found the morning brisk but the sea breeze coming off the chilled waves that rocked the caravel invigorating. As Larus began to slip from his bunk, he caught sight of the Sorceress Hygd kneeling before a small, make-shift shrine she had set up on the floor in a corner of the hold.

She was muttering words that he didn’t understand, but caused a shiver to run up his spine. They sounded…unnatural.

When she realized she was being observed, the Sorceress rose from the shrine slowly – not taking her eyes off the Breathstealer.

“The Gods will give us good winds to return home.” She said, matter of factly. “Though…it is not truly home for us, is it Larus?”
17th Sommerzeit
"Aye, a deal," Lárus answers with a cold smile. "You get Fjal's hand, I get my mail."

18th Sommerzeit
"Home, sorceress? Home is where I hang my sword," Lárus answers neutrally. "Now it is the Red Song. Soon it will be Winterscorn Hold again. Where is your home, if not in the jarl's court?"

[Erulasto]

Reavers of the Red Song


Larus

Hygd pauses, tilting her head to the side as she seems to get lost in the question for a moment; her eyes glazing over as if staring far away.

"No. No....not under the stride of a bitter winter." The sorceress says absently, before her eyes refocus in the intense stare upon Larus. "I have not found my home yet. But I hear it's calling. I will find it, one day."

Turning slowly, her unwavering stare on Larus only breaking at the very last moment, Hygd slipped through the bunks and disappeared somewhere into the lower holds of the caravel.


Bjorni and Egil

The trip to the market was swift, but once they got there they found it already bustling with activity. They found two merchants that had a number of weapons readily available. One seemed to stock mostly hand axes, shields and swords. But also carried a small collection of greatswords. The style was fanciful, with a slightly wavy blade and large spurs of metal a foot down the length of the blade. Bjorni recognized it as a flamerge from the Empire.

The other shop was run by a burly looking Norscan man with a bushy, pale beard. There was a large iron ball with short, sharp spikes jutting from it on the end of a long haft of oak. An long-hafted bearded great axe leaned against the back of the small tent.



That was a great haggle roll. Bjorni manages to talk a merchant down to half off the cost of a normal-quality great weapon.
As well, you're able to find everything on your own shopping list, neriractor. The best-quality clothes are of imported cloth. A leather, hooded cloak lined with fox fur. Silk tunics. Fine doe-skin pants or even brightly coloured silk pantaloons from the far south in Araby.




Groktur

Izur, and the remaining ungors were enthusiastic, but they had little real training. They had round shields of wood and a number of hand axes, and most importantly, Groktur realized very quickly that they had potential to be more.

But they were still only ungors and they would never rise to the power and station of a Gor.

The day passed with constant drills and mock fights. Gunnar seemed to have taken a liking to the beastmen and stuck around to help with the training.

By the end of the day, the ungors were exhausted and fell into a deep slumber. Groktur was invigorated by the possibility of the Dark Gods turning their eye on his prowess.


Morgul

With the two ungors accompanying him, Morgul made short work of his forray into the markets. With a sack of his newly aquired possessions being carried by the ungors, they returned to the Red Song and watched the rough training of the beastment in passing.

Once the sack had been unloaded for the bray-shaman, the two ungors left with downcast heads to return to their kin. Morgul was sorting what possessions he had, when he he felt a presence behind him.

Turning, he saw the small waifish form of the girl that Bjorni had picked up in Grenhoff. The pale haired, pale skinned little thing with the strange eye. She wore her bandage wrapped around her head to hide the eye still, though - perhaps it was the dimness of the lower decks, but Morgul could have sworn he could see the glow through the wrappings just that much brighter. She was wrapped in thick fur clothes that were far too large for her.

She stares up at the bray-shaman for a moment, seemingly perplexed.

"What are you?" She asks, genuine curiosity in her voice.



Egil, Larus, Morgul, Groktur, Nicoli, Otto and Bjorni

When the time was upon them, those select few of Bodhi's crew would accompany her to the palace gathered. Among them were Tofric and Arn, two of the captains of the other longboats.

With everyone gathered, Bodhi led the group through the streets that were being lit up by a procession of criminals and dissenters - enemies of the Thorn - being immolated on various corners and intersections in the early evening light.

Arriving at the decadent palace, they saw a number of the tall Chaos warriors of the Thorn's personal huskarl, standing at the entrance waiting for them. With them, shoulder brandishing the golden eight-pointed star, was the Kurgan Zar, Cromath.

He eyed Bodhi keenly as she led the others up the steps, past the watchful gaze of the Huskarl.

"Well met, Zar." Bodhi said, with a wolfish smile. "I have been informed by my friends here that you and I should speak sometime. Perhaps after the meal with the Jarl, hmm?"

Cromath nods his head in agreement, before turning his burning eyes to Nicoli.

"Nicoli." He said to the Kislevite, a spark of recognition in his eyes as he glanced upon Morgul and Bjorni. The Zar smirked as he saw the new blessings they had received since the last time he saw them.

"Please, join me." Cromath gestures for them to follow him into the palace.

Inside, they strayed through several grand halls with high, vaulted ceilings and decorated with strange and terrible artwork. They passed a gallery full of living sculptures of ice and stitched-together flesh. They passed a massive bath house, with heated rocks and vents of hot air into the water. Pale, coloured marble tiles and hanging, gauzy curtails were slick with humidity. Inside, beyond the gauzy veil of the curtains, they saw dozens of shapes enganged in all manner of carnal acts. The sounds drifting from the room seemed to echo down the halls endlessly.

Eventually, they came to a large circular room that bore a richly appointed banquet table and a domed ceiling painted to glorify Slaanesh - the Dark Prince. Sitting upon a throne drapped in exquisite furs and silks, and soft pillows, was a slender Norscan man, of perhaps average height. He was very beautiful, with eyes that shone like icicles in firelight and elegantly crafted armour of gold and platinum. The pauldrons and gauntlets, even the gambesson was studded with precious gemstones. Leaning against the side of the throne was a kite shield of highly polished steel. Otto recognized the shield from his days in the Empire. It was one of the mirrored shields carried into battle by the Knights of the Blazing Sun - the order devoted to the southern Goddess of Battle Myrmidia.

In Sigurd's hand, he held a metal-hafted spear. The bladed head was slender, but carved of dark metal upon which a half-dozen pale runes flickered and glowed. Morgul saw the wafting of Aethyric energy around the head, Azyr, and Aqshy coiling and compressing into a layer of Dhar that surrounded the weapon.

"Welcome! Welcome!" Sigurd said excitedly as he rose from his throne, and stepped down the steps of the dias is rested upon. Flanking him, were a number of barely-clad men and women with slave brands on their foreheads, and the Dark Rune of Slaanesh carved over their hearts.

"I am Sigurd, Jarl of Kollsvik. I have heard whispers about the crew of the Red Song in even the so very short time you have been here." Sigurd approaches the crew, giving a respectful nod to Zar Cromath as he does. He offers a hand, clad in delicately sculpted gauntlets, to each in greeting - even the Beastmen and the Kislevite.

[Space Lawyer]

Otto
The Mule, 18th Sommerzeit

The Mule was only scant few steps from the docks, separated by what could generously be called a path. The mixture of low tide and dung seemed to be the characteristic scent of the area. It was, at least, quiet for now. The sun was just beginning to creep over the horizon and most were still sleeping.

The tavern itself was rather unremarkable, just a ramshackle building made out whatever timber was available. The only thing that separated it from the rest, as well as identifying it, was the muleskin splayed out and hammered to the front wall.

Otto had taken the sensible precaution of changing into Norscan clothing and covering his face with a scrap of cloth. If this errand became a misadventure, it would be best not to have the thing blow back on him.

"So, Larus, how do you want to do this? I'd rather we simply take the thing without waking Fjal if at all possible. I'm not looking to get into a brawl first thing, and fighting our way out of this could be problematic."

The Feast

Otto heartily shakes the offered hand. Anyone who could take a shield from those knights and live to tell about it was surely someone to cautious around.

[Morovir]

Groktur had not dressed for the occasion - though it was debatable whether his flayed skin cloak would be construed as grossly inappropriate or the height of fashion in this den of debauchery. He grasped the proffered hand in both of his and shook vigorously, showing respect for both the man as a warlord and for his masterfully constructed spear, far superior to his own.

[DrK]

Morgul

On the boat

The shaman rises up, arms inviting the girl into the low cubby hole. "I'm of the herd girl. We are the chosen of the Gods. Strong, tough, changeable. And one day we will burn the cities of man down to bedrock. "

He looks at her, "Come small one. Let me see your eye. What do you see?" He's oddly gentle with her, careful not to scare her away or threaten her.

At the feast

Morgul walks towards the feast clad in a loose cape and his tattered clothes. His skulls dangling from the Braystaff that he still carries in his 2 left arms. Approaching the palace he nods to Cromath. "Kurgan, you feast tonight? Maybe you less lucky than Bjorni or Morgul?" he suggests with a braying laugh as he flexes his new arms.

In the grand hall his eyes wander over everything before catching the swathes of magical power flaring around the spear. "Weapon of the gods, blessed by fire and lightning and death" he mutters to Groktur.

As he is called forward Morgul offers the Jarl a defiant stare before offering a hand. "I am called Morgul. Shaman to no tribe now. You are strong Jarl. Where is Paledawn? She taught Morgul much. "

[rax]

Otto
The Mule, 18th Sommerzeit

The Mule was only scant few steps from the docks, separated by what could generously be called a path. The mixture of low tide and dung seemed to be the characteristic scent of the area. It was, at least, quiet for now. The sun was just beginning to creep over the horizon and most were still sleeping.

The tavern itself was rather unremarkable, just a ramshackle building made out whatever timber was available. The only thing that separated it from the rest, as well as identifying it, was the muleskin splayed out and hammered to the front wall.

Otto had taken the sensible precaution of changing into Norscan clothing and covering his face with a scrap of cloth. If this errand became a misadventure, it would be best not to have the thing blow back on him.

"So, Larus, how do you want to do this? I'd rather we simply take the thing without waking Fjal if at all possible. I'm not looking to get into a brawl first thing, and fighting our way out of this could be problematic.""Not wake him, shipmaster? I doubt we'll be walking away with that man's hand without cutting it from his arm, and if we do that, he's as good as dead anyway. Might as well grant him the mercy of waking him from this dream while we're at it."

"Still, if he has friends in there, that will complicate matters, so we should take a moment to scout the place first. Let's go inside and see if we can spot him immediately. If not, you ask where he might be found and suggest we have a business proposition for him. From what Bellic said, he sounds like a man who wouldn't mind making money off a pair of outlander fools."

The Feast
Having washed and dressed in his new finery, Lárus followed Bodhi and the rest of the party to the Jarl's hall. Wasteful, he thought to himself as they passed the procession of burning victims. Does he think to cow us with this display or is it merely for his own amusement? He remembered the words of his mother - those who loved the Dark Prince were all alike, she said. Extravagant in word and deed, but for all their distractions they too would pass from this world choking on their own blood, or twisted with some rot from the Lord of Flies, or through any of the thousand ends that the uncaring gods had ordained for mortal men and women.

The Jarl's hall though, was a marvel, as was the man himself. Here is a fight we cannot win... yet. Taking the proffered hand, Lárus inclines his head respectfully. "Jarl Sigurd, I am called Lárus, though some also call me Breathstealer. Your generous invitation honours us."

[Haval]

Egil has washed and carries his shiny new great sword over his shoulder but otherwise has made no concession to the occasion. They would take him as he was or they should never have bothered asking for him in the first place. The burning bodies made him grin for what it suggested about the Jarl's character. The man was powerful, but appeared overly concerned with the trappings of his position and the pleasures he could gain from it. What need was there to prolong a man's death like this when you could just kill him and be done with it. The right enemy would likely burn all of this down when the time came.

Still, he will try to be polite as he shakes the man's hand. 'Egil Skallagrimsson. I admit I wonder what you have heard?'

[Shadowflick]

Nicoli nods back to Cromath in response "Cromath" he says with a small smile, following him inside the palace.

The scen was..odd. Epire shields and an odd looking spear of magic. Branded servants of Slanesh accompying him. Indeed, this man had power about him. Nicoli shakes his hand, nodding and looking him in they eye "Nicoli. I hear whispers to." He looks the man up and down, narrowing his eye's "In battl,e you wear such...armor? Is easy to see from mile away no?"

[neriractor]

Bjorni strode proudly on his new clothes, the fancy fabrics a soft caress on his skin, he felt a bit cold but it was nothing he couldn't handle, he bore his shield in his back and an axe with his armor under the clothes, it just wasn't proper to move around without them.

He frowned at the burning, chalking it to proximity to the south that the good old throwing them to wolf smeared in lamb's blood took a back seat. When the Kurgan arrived he tensed, loosening when he saw his smile and joining on Morgul's laughter with but a chuckle before entering.

The trip through the palace was impressive as always, the place seemingly endless, Bjorni noticed the absence of paledawn as well, but dismissed it, the place was huge after all. When Sigurd offers his hand Bjorni smiles and shakes it firmly, not to be outdone in term of strength by his peers "is an honor to share your table, I'm Bjorni. Hope you heard good things" the last part was said jokingly, and with a tone that made it quite clear, he probably did, the jarl didn't seem the type to be so subtle with those who offended him...

[Erulasto]

Reavers of the Red Song


Otto and Larus

The Mule was nearly silent as Larus and Otto entered. The taproom was dimly lit as light filtered through thick, wooden shutters, but it was enough to show a half-dozen men in various stages of unconsciousness strewn about the floor, or laying on benches while they slept off their hangovers.

Most of the mess from the night before had been cleaned, but there were two youths whose movements were soft as whispers, sneaking about and cleaning the last dregs of the revelry.

One of them, a dark-haired young man whose swarthy skin spoke of a man from the East - Maybe Kislev, or even further North into the Kurgan Steppes – eyed them warily, but said nothing as he maneuvered a rickety old mop through a puddle of vomit in the corner.

A brief survey of the room proved that none of the drunken men here had a metal hand, but there were a few separate rooms located near the back, by the hearth and from one of them there was the sound of haggard snoring.

Slipping inside, there was a tall man with lanky limbs and a greying mustache that hung well past his chin sprawled on a bed. He was drooling onto a straw-stuffed pillow, and he clutched a broad-bladed sword to his chest like a child cradled their teddy. Otto and Larus caught a glint of metal from beneath the pillow, where his other arm had been jammed unceremoniously.

On the floor next to him was a younger man with a shaven head. He was lying in a puddle of vomit, and his eyes stared ahead – glassy and vacant – and his lips were tinged blue. The two had seen similar things before. Men who did not know their tolerances well, and drank to the point where they suffocated on their own bile.

He had a number of slender daggers tucked into the furry boots on his feet, and though it was stained and stank of the man’s vomit, he wore a shirt of overlapping brass scales over a thick, fur-lined vest.


Morgul

The waifish girl peers up at the massive, multi-armed bray-shaman. If she had any fear of him, it did not show. Morgul remembered something Bjorni had said in passing – that the girl didn’t seem at all bothered by the arrival of the Norscan reavers. In fact, she has seemed remarkably nonplussed about the whole experience – even walking through the ruins of Grenhoff without flinching at the violence and the bloodshed that had coated the beach.

When Morgul requested that she reveal her eye to him, she did not hesitate. Reaching up with small hands, she carefully unwrapped the linen bandages from across her eye. With each moment, the light became brighter and more distinct, until at last the waif stood before Morgul with one blue eye, and one eye that shone and flickered like a coruscating rainbow.

The girl was silent for a moment, a small crinkle on her brow showing her concentration as she peered up at Morgul.

“I…see. Colours. Streamers like the children used to play with in summer.” She said, almost bitterly, and Morgul was reminded that her father – the mayor – had kept her locked in her room to avoid letting the town know of his mutant offspring. “You are surrounded by the colours. So many that they seem….black. But…yellow? No…amber! That you seem to wear like a…a mantle.”





If any of their apparel was off-putting to the Jarl, he certainly did not show it. He shook hands with Otto, and Groktur with equal vigour, despite the flayed skins and terrifying visage.

Peering at his guests with a vigorous interest, the Thorn laughed at the notion that it was an honour to share his table and be his guests.

“Of course it is!” He said, as he finished shaking all their hands. His arrogance was a palpable force.

Glancing at Nicoli, the Thorn smirked. It was a dashing expression, sardonic and charming.

“I welcome any who wish to fight me. The easier I am to see, the easier it is for fools to think they can best me. More sacrifices for the Dark Prince, no?”

Turning, Sigurd sat himself down at the head of the table and gestured for the others to join him.

“I will join you, Shaman. Though I will leave the pleasure of the Druchii witches company to you.” Zar Cromath said as he took a seat to the Jarl’s left, heavy armour causing even the thick wood of the luxuriously upholstered chairs to creak and groan under his weight.

“Ysiera will join us shortly. There were some other matters I needed her to attend to today.” The Thorn said in reply to the absence of Paledawn.

Once they had all been seated, and the food was finished being prepared, the slaves who had congregated around his throne slipped down from the dias to begin dishing up food for those present.

There were haunches of meat that were roasted to perfection, some seasoned and some simply plain. Some were even uncooked and still dripped with the fat and blood of the corpse they had been carved from. Small loaves of thick bread, still warm from the ovens were placed about the table as well as wedges of cheeses imported from the far South.

Beer and wine and other beverages more exotic were offered, including a thick black beer that smelled of molasses and sulfur. Egil recognized this from one of his random forays in his younger years – it was a brew done up by the Dawi Zharr – the Chaos Dwarves, and was a potent beverage to be sure. Even a veteran drinker would find himself under the table after more than a pint or two.

There were pickled livers, and a hearty broth that contained a number of root vegetables and, what appeared the be lamb. A tall glass bowl was placed in the center, in which there were a number of salted and smoked ears. They were too small to be human.

Seeing the confusion, the Jarl grinned widely.

“Try them!” He said, excitedly. “They’re a delicacy. Taken from a caravan of Dwarves we caught a month ago travelling through my lands.”

As the food was dished, the Jarl took a sip of some bubbling wine that he held in a fluted glass.

“As for what whispers have come to me?” The Jarl said at length. “A foreign vessel pulls into my harbour to unload holds full of thralls, and other goods taken from the men of the Empire. A Gor who seeks, perhaps, to free his distant kin from bondage. Perhaps preparing to make a play for his own glory and greatness? And of course, let us not forget that Paledawn had taken a liking to a shaman and a skald of some…skill. I will admit, there are not many that can spend a night with her and come out intact. Though I suspect neither of you were left unmarred from the experience, hmm?” Sigurd laughed heartily, and glanced up sharply as a feminine, musical laugh rose from one of the entrances.

“My lord. You flatter me.” Ysiera Paledawn said as she sauntered into the hall. Padding across the room with delicate, bare feet, the Dark Elf sorceress was clad in only a gauzy robe of pale silk. It shrouded just enough of her form that little detail could be seen, but the silhouette of her lithe figure was plainly visible.

Paledawn took a seat to the right of the Jarl, and plucked an ear from the glass bowl to nibble on thoughtfully.

Now that she had arrived, SIgurd glanced towards the Kurgan warlord and smirked.

“And, not to mention, that my good Zar here spoke very highly of a man from Kislev who was blessed by the Grandfather.” His eyes turned to Nicoli with a smirk, before sipping from his wine once again.

Cromath nodded slowly and thoughtfully, eyes not leaving the Jarl, as if trying to divine whether there was veiled insults held beneath his honeyed words.

“Now that we’re all here, please. Enjoy my hospitality!” The Thorn said, gesturing to the spread of food and drink before them.

“I am most curious as to what old Bitterstride is up to these days. I have not seen the man in many years.”

[Morovir]

Groktur eagerly dug into the feast, helping himself first to a slab of uncooked meat, and then washing it down with the broth. As he reached towards the ears, the residue of his meal still running down his chin, he inclined his head towards the Jarl in recognition of his words.

"I serve will of gods. As we all do."

[rax]

Otto and Larus

The Mule was nearly silent as Larus and Otto entered. The taproom was dimly lit as light filtered through thick, wooden shutters, but it was enough to show a half-dozen men in various stages of unconsciousness strewn about the floor, or laying on benches while they slept off their hangovers.

Most of the mess from the night before had been cleaned, but there were two youths whose movements were soft as whispers, sneaking about and cleaning the last dregs of the revelry.

One of them, a dark-haired young man whose swarthy skin spoke of a man from the East - Maybe Kislev, or even further North into the Kurgan Steppes – eyed them warily, but said nothing as he maneuvered a rickety old mop through a puddle of vomit in the corner.

A brief survey of the room proved that none of the drunken men here had a metal hand, but there were a few separate rooms located near the back, by the hearth and from one of them there was the sound of haggard snoring.

Slipping inside, there was a tall man with lanky limbs and a greying mustache that hung well past his chin sprawled on a bed. He was drooling onto a straw-stuffed pillow, and he clutched a broad-bladed sword to his chest like a child cradled their teddy. Otto and Larus caught a glint of metal from beneath the pillow, where his other arm had been jammed unceremoniously.

On the floor next to him was a younger man with a shaven head. He was lying in a puddle of vomit, and his eyes stared ahead – glassy and vacant – and his lips were tinged blue. The two had seen similar things before. Men who did not know their tolerances well, and drank to the point where they suffocated on their own bile.

He had a number of slender daggers tucked into the furry boots on his feet, and though it was stained and stank of the man’s vomit, he wore a shirt of overlapping brass scales over a thick, fur-lined vest.Lárus puts a finger to his lips, signalling Otto to stay silent when they enter the room with the two sleeping men. Eyeing the scene before him, he points to Otto and then at the shaven-headed man on the floor, indicating that Otto should keep a watch on him. Then he steps over to the older man on the bed, draws his sword in one swift motion and presses the point against the man's throat, hard enough to draw blood. He keeps his free hand on the pommel, ready to push the blade straight through for a killing blow.

"Wake up," he hisses. "Remove your hand from under the pillow. Do it slowly."

Am I right in imagining that we should at the very least get a surprise round if Lárus acts as described above?

At the feast
Lárus ate and drank sparingly of the food and drink on offer, but made sure to sample almost every dish bar the uncooked meat and the Dwarf ears. The black beer of the Dawi Zharr was certainly a treat, but knowing that his capacity for ale was less than that of many of his compatriots, Lárus chose to sip his way through a single pint. This is a bad place to lose control, he reminded himself.

"The Jarl does not confide his plans in us simple reavers, Jarl Sigurd, but I doubt we are the only band whom he has permitted to go raiding this summer. As for the Jarl himself, when we sailed he seemed content to remain and rule his roost from the safety of Mingol Gazan-Dum. But I am sure our captain knows more," Lárus offers in response to the Thorn's questions.

"Zar Cromath, ever since Nicoli returned from your camp, our ships are abuzz with the news of your master's call to war, but I have yet to hear anyone speak his name? Who is this great champion that would lead us to bring doom to the southlands?"

[Shadowflick]

Nicoli Smiles, Unhitching his rifle so that he can sit more comfortable for the feast. he takes some of the spiced meats and takes a greedy bite. It was good to be eating actual food after so long. He looks to "Cromath! Did not know I leave such an Impression. Thank you. Maybe Nicoli can teach some lessons In Kislev Fighting? Ever fire a Rifle? Perhaps Nicoli can teach you lessons, and Cromath can Teach Nicoli how to fight like Kurgan"

Nicoli's gaze turns to The jarl then "Tell me SHiney THorn. What did Cromath say to about the Kislivite to leave such impressions?"

[Haval]

Egil will try most of the food, including the ears with actual curiousity. The uncooked meat he will eat more sparingly while trying not to give much of impression of his opinion of it. On ocasion, when becalmed or when food was short, he and many others had had to resort to something like this in the past. He suspects it is a test and will be damned if he will be seen as failing it. The Dwarf beer on the other hand is quite pleasant in small doses.

Perhaps emboldened by this beer, and assuming no one else answers the Thorn's question.'Jarl Aemon tells me who to fight and if I deserve it I get paid. What more could anyone ask of a Lord, but he has little interest in sharing his plans with the likes of me.'

When he gets a chance he will speak to Cromath. 'Kurgan. How many of your people are fighting for this new warleader? From what I remember you don't all get on any more than the tribes do here.'

[neriractor]

Bjorni smiled at the display of arrogance that followed his words and thorough the Jarl´s speech he laughed as he did, it was just good manners when eating at someone's table. when paledawn arrived his stared lingered it was torturous just how little he remembered of the night.

He ate a bit of everything, starting with the ears and tasting the dawi zhar drink before returning the oily mess to the table. He responds to Sigrud'S question about the jarl with some flaunting of his own "Well, the man has good taste and an outstanding luck, having the best skald north of Morkurburg arrive at his doorstep and accept to be his herald" he then speaks to cromath, using an easy excuse of being passed some morsel outside arm's reach. "So you came by land? or just didn't visit our jarl on the way here?"

I forgot to ask when you told me about the shopping, prices on thralls? and chance of having or buying some thralls preemptively so they are waiting for me back at the hold?

[DrK]

Morgul

The Red Song earlier that day
On the ship. The curious waif elicits an almost paternal response in Morgul who offers her some water and a chunk of cured meat. He looks at her as the description of him resonates. "You are seer child. You see world of gods. Morgul help protect you, keep girl safe. Girl tell Morgul what special eye sees?".
Patting her on her head he invites her to sit beside him and, perhaps, have a sleeping nestled in his many furry arms. Looking down at her slight form he wonders what she will see, to see the world of the gods without ritual, mushroom or herb is a powerful blessing.

-------

At the feast

Morgul fills the drinking horn and heaps meat - cooked and uncooked onto his platter and grabs a handful of dwarf ears at the Jarl's suggestion. His cheeks and maw are soon matted with blood as he gobbles the food up happily (a beast will be a beast). As Sigurd talks Morgul merely listens, nodding politely to Cromath - the feast felt like a braymeet where the herds gather. But here there was feasting and words, at the herdstone there would be sacrifice, ritual combat and strong warlords eating the hearts of weaker ones.

Paledawns entrance causes him to pause his eating, her form no less appealing now he knew what lay underneath and some measure of her appetites. He grunts a welcome to her then waits patiently for Bodhi to speak of Jarl Bitterstride.

[Erulasto]

Reavers of the Red Song


Morgul

The girl took the water and meat, and tore a small bit off before chewing thoughtfully as she sats next to the bray-shaman, leaning into him almost instinctively.

Around a mouth full of food, she mumbled out her name. Maria. Or at least, that’s what her father named her. Something about the name didn’t sit right with Morgul. It did not seem to fit a child of her unusual gift.

After she finished, she glanced up at Morgul once more and yawns softly.

“Yes.” She said softly, not bothering to return the bandages to cover her eye. “I will tell you what I see. If you will tell me of what gave me this sight.”


Larus and Otto

Kjal’s eyes flickered open as he felt the point of the sword pressed against the soft flesh of his neck. Those eyes widened immediately as his drink-addled mind caught up to the situation he had found himself in. His body jerked as if he was going to sit up and draw his blade, but the pressure and Larus’ words stilled him.

Slowly, he withdrew his hand from under the pillow. It glinted in the pale light that filtered through the small, wood-shuttered window.

This was most definitely the one.

With a voice still slurred from far too much to drink, Fjal turned hateful eyes to Larus and Otto.

“Yer…Yer a dead man!” He hissed.





Bjorni, Morgul, Groktur, Egil, Larus, Otto and Nicoli

The Kurgan flashed Nicoli a tight-lipped smile, simply shrugging his shoulders at the notion of how much of an impression Nicoli had left.

The Thorn seemed particularly amused by the unlikely camaraderie that had begun to blossom between to peoples who had multiple generations of hatred between them.

“I have not fired a rifle, no.” Cromath said after a small sip of wine from a copper goblet studded with small fragments of obsidian. “But if you can teach the Kurgan to fire such weapons, we can teach you to be one with a horse. I have seen the destruction wrought by those who can mix both skills. Firearms and riding. The Kurgan would be bettered for such skill – though some may press back against such new developments.”

In response to the iquiries from Egil and Larus, the Kurgan Zar chuckles darkly.

“You are correct.” Cromath said. “The Kurgan are a tribal people. Nomadic mostly. Wandering the Steppes on the edge of the Chaos Wastes. A number of our tribes have bent the knee to this new Lord. He calls himself Astergoth, but he is not of my people.” He pauses for a moment. “Nor yours.”

The Thorn’s face twists into a smirk, and he taps his armoured fingertips on the table with a subtly bored gesture.

“Yes, yes. Even I have heard of this Astergoth. They say he has been granted the mark of the Everchosen. But…well….I do not believe it. There has not been an Everchosen since Asavar Kul over two hundred years ago, and I do not believe we will see another within my lifetime.”

Cromath offered no response to the Jarl’s claims, simply leaning back in his chair with a groan from the wood beneath him.

“But, I digress!” Sigurd said, still smirking. “Our good friend Cromath here spoke of a man from Kislev who was blessed by the Carrion God. Not my cup of wine, to be sure. But even I cannot begrudge the power of the Urfather. He said that this man from Kislev would give the Kurgan the edge to finally burn Praag to the ground.”

Leaning back in her seat languidly, Paledawn tucker her slender legs up under her upon the luxurious pillow that topped her chair.

“The Kurgan have been struggling to destroy Kislev for longer than any of you have lived. They are survivors. Like cockroaches.” She said, a malicious gleam in her eyes. “Though I mean no offense to our esteemed guests, of course.”

This earned a laugh from the Jarl, and a dark stare from Cromath – the tension between them palpable, though nothing more was said on the matter.

At length, to break the sudden moment of silence, Cromath turns his burning eyes on Bjorni when asked about his travels.

“My people do not do well on ships. I came down from the Steppes into Troll Country and gathered some of those who dwelt there, before cutting West and into Norsca. We will travel as far as Hjalmar and Ursheim at the edge of the Sea of Chaos. Astergoth has sent others to traverse the North of your lands. It is they that would have come to your Jarl. If they have not already.” Cromath said.

The conversation slowly shifts as Bodhi steps in and begins regaling the Thorn with news from Winterscorn Hold. The banquet progresses on, as the reaver-captain and the Jarl trade annectdotes. To those who have sailed with Bodhi, they can tell that she is barely containing her frustration with what she would later decry as a flowery, pompous fool of a Jarl. If the Thorn senses her frustration, he makes no real tell of it.

Half-way through the banquet, Paledawn winks at Bjorni and Morgul at some point when their eyes meet – a playful, if a little sadistic, smile upon her face.

When the food is long gone and the wine and ale has been drained to the dregs, the Jarl leans back in his chair and stretches for a moment before rising slowly.

“I have thoroughly enjoyed the company of those esteemed by Aemon. I would offer some of you a chance to enter my service, if I expected there would be any who would truly accept such a thing. Regardless, the night grows long and there are other matters for me to attend. Please, do not hesitate to pay me a visit the next time you are in Kollsvik, yes?”

Cromath rises slowly, even as Paledawn slips from her chair with graceful movements. Bodhi joins them, and shakes the hand of both the Kurgan and the Jarl before slipping out, motioning for the rest of her crew to join her.

The trip back to the boats was as uneventful as the trip to Sigurd’s palace, and soon they had returned to the Red Song and other longships where the remainder of the crews had settled into a revel of their own, clustered around several fires they had set up with kindling and driftwood on the stone parts of the dock in line of sight.





So, if you had anything else specific you wanted to do during the feast, feel free to make a post about it and I’ll respond in kind but to keep the flow up and not get bogged down in a scene meant more to name-drop some NPC’s that may or may not be relevant down the road, I advanced the timeline slightly.

You’ll be setting sail back to the Jarl’s hold the next day, so if there’s any last minute things you want to take care of in town shopping-wise, let me know and we’ll get a resolution for it done up.

Otherwise my next post will advance the timeline to arriving at Winterscorn Hold.

It will take 3 weeks to get there from Kollsvik. The weather turns nasty after several days at sea and it slows progress somewhat.

You set sail on the 19th of Sommerzeit and after 24 days at sea you’ll arrive home on the 10th of Vorgenheim.

That means you’ve crossed into a new month, so it’s time for some experience.

Feel free to spend your experience as soon as you see fit, or hold onto it at your discretion. None of the advances you choose will take effect until my next IC post back at Winterscorn Hold.


End of Sommerzeit, 2501 – 100 XP for Everyone
Participating in the Grenhoff Raid – 100 XP for Everyone
Taking the Guardtower – 50 XP for Larus
The Way of Stealth – 25 XP for Larus
Learning the Art of Firearms – 25 XP for Larus
Fighting in the Thick of Things – 25 XP for Groktur and Egil
The Will of the Gods – 50 XP for Nicoli and Morgul
Organizing the Looting – 25 XP for Otto
Hanging the Banner – 25 XP for Bjorni
Starting the Warheard – 50 XP for Groktur
Befriending Maria – 25 XP for Morgul
Canoodling with Sigrun – 25 XP for Egil
Befriending Cromath – 25 XP for Nicoli
Slaaneshi Orgy – 50 XP for Morgul and Bjorni
Building Rapport with the Reavers – 25 XP for Egil
Dealing with Fjal – 25 XP for Otto and Larus
Helping Haggle with Bellic – 25 XP for Otto
The Thorn’s Banquet – 50 XP for Everyone
Training the Warherd – 25 XP for Groktur

Totals:

Morgul: 375
Bjorni: 325
Otto: 325
Groktur: 350
Nicoli: 325
Larus: 325
Egil: 325

Experience for the Red Song Reavers – 200 XP
Experience for Groktur’s Warherd – 100 XP

[rax]

Larus and Otto

Kjal’s eyes flickered open as he felt the point of the sword pressed against the soft flesh of his neck. Those eyes widened immediately as his drink-addled mind caught up to the situation he had found himself in. His body jerked as if he was going to sit up and draw his blade, but the pressure and Larus’ words stilled him.

Slowly, he withdrew his hand from under the pillow. It glinted in the pale light that filtered through the small, wood-shuttered window.

This was most definitely the one.

With a voice still slurred from far too much to drink, Fjal turned hateful eyes to Larus and Otto.

“Yer…Yer a dead man!” He hissed."No, you are," Lárus retorts coldly, forcing his sword deep into Fjal's neck. "Bellic says hello."

Not sure if this will result in combat, but per the OOC thread, let's start with a surprise round.
Full Action: All Out Attack, [roll0] vs. WS 60 (+20 from All Out Attack)
Can I argue that Fjal should be treated as unaware (+30 to hit) or stunned (+20 to hit)? Or even helpless (auto-hit, +1d10 damage)? Lárus does have him dead to rights...
Re-roll if necessary: [roll1] vs. WS 60
[roll2] damage

Ulric's Fury if applicable:
[roll3] vs. WS 60
[roll4] damage

[Shadowflick]

Nicoli leans back in his chair, taking his goblet and pressing it to his on lip, a fly trying to land in the red drink as he does. "I did not learn how to ride a Horse in Kislev. I have seen what Winged Hussars can do however. They way they use there horse to enhance there abilities..is interesting. If the Kurgan can teach me to ride Nicoli would be grateful. When given the Chance, Nicoli will be happy to teach the Kurgan you have gathered to fire. Perhaps sometime before the ships leave for Winterscorn."

The Kislivite raises a brow at the mention of a new Everchosen. That could mean changing times for the people of the south. A true tide of chaos instead of skirmishes and ambitious warlords "Intresting News...Perhaps The Norscans I travel with for now will throw there support in with him. "

Turning to Paldwen, Nicoli takes another sip "Cockroaches lay down and die. Kislev more like Hornets nest. Stinging and clawing to the last soul. The dead replaced by another swarm in the hive.

[neriractor]

18th Zommerseit

Bjorni nodded at the Zar's response "makes sense, sending just one group to travel norsca is likely to result in a lot of dead from the mountains' mercy..." he looked down as he dwelled on his memories "hopefully you'll get enough good norscan ships to make up for that deficit. Is the envoy to the north as pleasant a company?" a small grin appeared again.

He returned paledawn's smile, not following on any promises it made unless the witch herself seeked him out, the one night was draining enough, even if he wouldn't really say no to another one. When shaking the jarl's hand he replied politely and with a hearthy smile "As did I. If the crown wills it I'll take you up on that offer." back to the camp he shared some of the revelry of the reavers and then checking on the girl's well being before heading to sleep.

19th zommerzeit, morning

On the last day of the trip, the skald found any unoccupied reavers and quickly headed to the slave market, looking for working men and women, with no preference for age as long as they looked loyal and cheap enough.

19th zommerseit to to the 10th of Vorgenheim

The skald mostly tends to his duty, keeping the crewmen spirits high with songs of glory, mingling in whatever groups formed up on the deck and generally being a constant presence amongst the crew.

Seeing his new thralls survived the first half of the trip well enough he takes care to ease the frightened mother into her new roles, and takes a keen interest on Morgul's talks with the girl, joining in and attempting to quench the anti-man aspects of it, caring to not disrespect the shaman's complete autorithy on the subject. He took to sparing as well, barely keeping up with Egil and easily put to shame by Morgul's new arms and ferocity, it was still better than doing nothing. If ever the kislevite had nothing to do he asks to be taught the use of the firearm he stole.

[Morovir]

19th Sommerzeit

In lieu of anything else to do, Groktur spends his last day before departure continuing his training with the Ungors, determined to get them into decent fighting shape by the time of their next fight.

[DrK]

Morgul

18th of Sommerzeit

That afternoon

Morgul held the small chile and nodded. "I tell of the gods and you say what they show you." He looks around the boat and seeing no-one close by begins to tell her of the ways of the world. "For thousands of moons many moons agao there were no cities, no manlings, no Empire, beasts and kin ruled the forests, preying upon the scattered bands of men as wolves upon sheep. Then manling came bearing a golden hammer that was the bane of all enemies, he unite human herds, challenging Beast for dominance of the lands. He was strong, tribe was good and Beast-shamans weak and displease Gods with their weakness. Gods punish beasts and many were killed. Empire rose from forests and manlings spread.

Gods hate order of manlings and Gods give us power. Khorne, bloodfather make us strong in battle. Neglish make enemy weak and break down all that they build. Prince Pleasure distract manling and break themselves and Changer make whole world dance and and change to his tune.... he stops after a while as he realises from the soft snores that she has fallen asleep and merely rests there awhile, eyes and three arms clutching weapons threatening violence against any who disturb her.

At the feast

Morgul says little at the feast. Seeing Paledawn he bares his fangs and flexes his 5 arms as he holds various pieces of meat and drink. Nodding at her he barks a wary "Are you wanting more sorceress, was one taste not enough?". If she takes him up on the offer he will enjoy himself other than that he is content to watch the politics of the tribes. Listening to the words he is pleased that the weeks aboard the boat have been helping.

As talk turns to raids, Everchosen and war he leans in to Bodhi, pouring her some wine and offering food. "Bodhi Captain. Will Jarl Aemon go war with Warlord Astergoth or do own raiding? Will Bodhi take Red Song to war?" He is curious and the glint of hate in his eyes is clear to her that he would be in favour of any form of violence done to the Empire.

For the rest of the feast he is content to eat till his stomach is full and drink wines, meads and strange spirits till the drink clouds his judgment and he can stagger back to the Red Song to fall asleep curled up a in a furry ball cradling the braystaff.


19th of Sommerzeit to the 10th of Vorgenheim

Aboard the boat Morgul paces like a penned beast. He fills his time with Maria, the strange girl who see's the winds of magic easily and effortlessly. He speaks to her often about the Gods, about the great winds and the power of Dhar and the majesty of Ghur and of the other scents of magic. Always watchful to stay clear of those who would blind her with Hysh the winds of Light and permanence that is the anathema to the servants of the true gods.

When not tending to the girl he flies the seas, wings flecked with salt as he soars high above the deck for hours at a time. Only alighting to feed and drink he feels alive in his raven form and enjoys the feel of the winds and the peace and solitude that the skies can offer. One day he muses all man will be as dust and broken and all world will fall to chaos and world will be quiet. The hours flying off the boat are those where has is in the best of his moods, when not caged up on the wooden vessel that is too small for as many beasts.

The third task he sets himself to is fighting. His new found arms giving him an unparalleled fury and violence in combat as he begins to batter and fight with Groktur and the Ungors. His many arms gaining strength and he battles with wooden cudgels battering and pummeling hapless ungors. Groktur he tries to speak to. A spark of power may grow within the big Caprigor and within him Morgul could see the seeds of a warlord - maybe one who would rule over both a beast and man tribe.

[Haval]

18th of Sommerzeit

Egil will not press Cromath on his comments about Astergoth. He had heard that there were other tribes further into the Wastes, some of which producing warriors who were giants even by Kurgan standards. A true Everchosen would need to be strong enough to unite all such groups under his banner.

19th of Sommerzeit to the 10th of Vorgenheim

Mindful of the news brought by the Kurgan, Egil will try to spar with anyone who is available including the Beastmen. Whether they all joined the Horde or not they should be ready. Word of war with the southerners would create upheaval throughout Norsca as warriors traveled to join this Astergoth. There was no guarantee that they would pass peacefully through the territory of other tribes without taking what they needed. Those who did not journey to war would likely seek any opportunity to enrich themselves against neighbours whose heaths were weakened for lack of warriors.

[Erulasto]

Reavers of the Red Song

Larus and Otto

As Larus' blade slid into Fjal's neck, the silver-handed Norscan's eyes widened almost comically wide. His lips parted as if to spit some curse at the Breathstealer, but his mouth had filled with blood and he choked and twitched on the end of the sword before finally laying still.

Pulling the sword from his neck, Larus and Otto made short work of cutting the silver hand from Fjal's arm and wrapping it in a coarse brown wool blanket they snatched from the bed.

As they were pulling the blanket off the bed, Fjal's pack was uncovered. A length of leather with five wedge-headed throwing axes resting in still loops along the straps length was wrapped about it. Inside, a quick look showed a heavy coin pouch and a stoppered clay-flasked healing draught tucked in next to a spare pair of trousers.



He's absolutely helpless.

I took the roll you made on your Ulric's Fury damage and applied it as the second d10 for being helpless.

Total of 25 damage before unarmoured soak.

So...yeah.

He's dead.

If you want to take anything from the room, feel free. No one is going to notice.

The coin pouch holds [roll0]gc and [roll1]sp.





Bjorni

With Gunnar and Herger in tow, Bjorni made his way towards the slave market. Keeping an eye out for the stalls that specialized in labour slaves - usually in bulk - they found one that had dead-eye slaves who had been worked to breaking more than once. The slaver was willing to let this lot go for three gold a head. Another was selling dark skinned men and women from distant shores. They were athletic and healthy, but obedient - though few, numbering only six. These were sold for ten gold a head. Two of them were even tradesmen. One was a seamstress of sorts, the other was a woodworker. The tradesfolk were on sale for fifteen gold each.



I apologize. I realize you asked me a couple of times earlier about slaves back in Winterscorn and I kept forgetting to respond.

As a skald for the Winterscorn, though one of a few, Bjorni would hold a relatively respected position in the Jarl's court. Though, little real at the moment. No one skald is held in esteem above the others, though Bjorni holds the double notoriety of also going on raids.

The others are more on the minstrel side of thing.

So, you probably have [roll2] household thralls. They mostly maintain your chambers and handle the doldrum of day to day life.




10th Vorgenheim

Three long weeks.

The Red Song and the longships sailed west from Kollsvik and passed from the Sea of Claws into the Sea of Chaos. Within hours of passing a vast set of reefs that contained a veritable graveyard of ancient, mouldering ships, they found the sky black with heavy clouds. Soon enough, the rain was torrential and the darkened sky was stabbed by radiantly coloured lightning. Some of the crew swore they saw great flashes of fire within the clouds.

The reaver fleet was rocked with incredible winds and terrible waves. Several reavers were lost overboard at the worst of it. Larus had managed to catch Hrodgar before the big man was swept over the side of the Red Song and Bjorni's shouts rose with Otto's as they kept the crews organized.

Perched upon the bow of the ship, powerful hands gripping his spear, Groktur bellowed his defiance at the thunderous storm. Below deck, Morgul sat with Maria as the evil-eyed waif shook under the storms intensity. When Groktur's bellowing bray was heard - it's strength loud enough to be heard even deep in the belly of the Red Song - Maria suddenly jerked upright, eyes wide as she moved to look out one of the portholes. It seemed no more comfort was needed, as she stared out the window - transfixed by whatever unearthly things she watched. Trance-like, Maria rode out the rest of the storm at that port-hole, unmoving.

Near the aftcastle, Egil and Nicoli stood at the back railing, hands tight around the riggings to keep steady. The Red Song lurched violently as they began to climb a towering wave, the aft of the ship dipping low and splashing the two with cold, salty water.

The caravel rose and rose, cresting the wave moments before the bow of the ship plunged back down. At its height, the mightiest strokes of lightning Nicoli had ever seen lit the sky before seeming to crackle along the bottom of the clouds. It was, for a moment, almost bright as day.

And far, far in the distance, for that one brief moment, Egil and Nicoli saw a mountainous monstrosity lurking in the waves. A leviathan of towering tentacles that reached sinuously up for the sky. Then, darkness consumed it and the caravel began its choppy trip back down the wave, soon obscuring the horizon from their view.

Eventually, the small fleet settled into calmer waters as they weathered the storm. The crew spoke of strange sights and experiences along the trip. Fish leaping from the sea to the deck with the faces of screaming men. Colourful blossoms of lightning that seemed to move like it was alive. Hygd spent the trip huddled under the mast, cackling to herself and muttering about omens the Gods sent.

The seas remained calm for the last leg of the journey and during this time the Ungors and Reavers blossomed with the sparring and training that Egil, Bjorni, Groktur and Morgul seemed had started. Their skill at handling their weapons became more precise in its ferocity, less wild and indiscriminate. For the Ungols it was a marked improvement, and they were beginning to show signs to Groktur and Morgul that they were taking to this lifestyle easily.

When, at last, the mighty white tower of Mingol Gazan-Dum was visible on the horizon, flanked by great jagged black mountains, a palpable sigh of relief washed through the reavers. By the time they were pulling into the cove over which the old tower loomed on high from a rocky ridge, the sun was out with few clouds in sight. Though the wind was still brisk, the day warmed considerably as if to welcome them home.

At the docks waiting for them was a crowd of people, all gathered to welcome home the reavers. Egil and Larus spotted the dark blue penants bearing the silver stag of the Jarl fluttering in the breeze from the docks. It seemed the Jarl was there to welcome them back personally.

Ever swift, the Red Song slid into the docks easily, the longships still traversing the cove. The glory of returning first would be theirs as well. as ropes were thrown down and Otto dropped the anchor, Bodhi shouted a few orders to the reavers to begin unloading their holds immediately before calling everyone else to join her. Leading them down the gangplank, Bodhi strode with purpose across the dock to where the Jarl stood waiting.

Jarl Aemon Bitterstride was a tall man, though not unnaturally so. He was powerfully built, with broad shoulders cloaked in greyish brown bear fur. The Jarl wore a heavy steel breastplate and full-mail under a blue-dyed wool and fur robe. His long hair seemed more grey than remembered, having spread from his temples to long streaks and his beard was braided and clasped with an etched gold band. Deeply tanned, leathery skin was only visible on his face and large hands rest on the pommel of the heavy gromril blade that sat at his hip.

Bitterstride was flanked by the towering huskarl, Thurim. Ever the silent guard dog of the Jarl, Thurim was clad head-to-toe in thick iron plate armour save for his left arm. It shone like forged brass, and he held in his hand a great, black mace with a flanged head. The other carried a black shield as tall as Egil. Thurim towered over the Jarl by a head, at least, and looked down upon even Groktur and Morgul. But he rarely spoke, unless the Jarl asked him a direct question.

A short distance away, the Jarl's Vikti - Halfi - was calling out words of greeting and invoking the blessings of the Great Beast and the Four Brothers on those returning hero's.

"Welcome home, Bodhi Ymirsdottir!" The Jarl bellowed, "Welcome home reavers! To you come in victory, or in disgrace?"

[Shadowflick]

Nicoli holds onto the side of the boat, hand gripped tightly on the railing as he looks warily about the raging sea's, monsters of chaos dwelling in teh distance. he cant hope for morethen a steady break..until he spots a massive creature of tendrils and teeth potentialy. He soon hopes for more waves. Perhaps a cannon or two. Next to being caught in the sewers, this was easily one of his worst periods of extended living. As a man of Kisev, Going places by boat is a new experiance for him.

Shaking, Nicoli eventually steps of the boat, taking a seat on the dock. Justt grateful to be on land again. He stands, his stomach quesing and face turning a shade of green as he bends over for a moment, not sure if this was the influence of Nurgle or just him having a first time battle with Seasickness. Either way, it was not a pleasurable experiance

"N...Nicoli...Hates Boats" he spits out wearily

[DrK]

Morgul

The shaman shakes off the salt crusted water from his pelt and wraps a pair of arms around the small girl who he's taken under his wing. He looks at the Winterscorn Hold coming up ahead of them. Glancing down at the girl, "The Prince town was more shiny no?" Looking at the squat grey bricks and the dwarven watch tower. "What does Gods' eye see? Any omens in town of Bitterstride."

Looking at Groktur he mutters in the harsh animalistic Beast tongue that not many speak. "Kollvsk town better huh? Thorn Prince look softer but stronger? Where does Groktur herd go now?" He stands at the front of the boat as they ease into the harbour. Looking at the Jarl, he looks so.... ordinary, compared to the Prince of Thorn. His eyes fixed on Thurim instead who he thought was more dangerous. Eyes moving to the side he looked at the Vitki, and his eyes narrowed seeing the same dangerous jealousy that his hated shaman had shown. At some point in the future he knew that Halfi would betray him. He nudged Maria as the sorcerer spoke. "What Gods say of him. He enemy of Morgul" and glancing at his fellow beast "Or enemy of Groktur? Beasts keep girl safe."

[rax]

Larus and Otto

As Larus' blade slid into Fjal's neck, the silver-handed Norscan's eyes widened almost comically wide. His lips parted as if to spit some curse at the Breathstealer, but his mouth had filled with blood and he choked and twitched on the end of the sword before finally laying still.

Pulling the sword from his neck, Larus and Otto made short work of cutting the silver hand from Fjal's arm and wrapping it in a coarse brown wool blanket they snatched from the bed.

As they were pulling the blanket off the bed, Fjal's pack was uncovered. A length of leather with five wedge-headed throwing axes resting in still loops along the straps length was wrapped about it. Inside, a quick look showed a heavy coin pouch and a stoppered clay-flasked healing draught tucked in next to a spare pair of trousers.After the butchery, Lárus carefully wiped his blade clean on the bedding. He pocketed the coin pouch and healing draught, then stuffed the silver hand into Fjal's backpack.

"If there's anything you like the look of on either of these corpses, now's the time to take it," he says to Otto, indicating Fjal and the dead drunk on the floor. When Otto indicates that he's ready to go, Lárus leads the way out of The Mule.

If the man on the floor isn't actually dead, Lárus will make sure he won't wake up again - no need to have a vengeful friend (or at least acquaintance) of Fjal's come gunning for us.

If either of the servant boys take an unseemly interest in Lárus and Otto when they leave, Lárus is prepared to bribe them with some of the silver from Fjal's pouch. In return he expects them to say they never got a good look at whoever killed Fjal.

Unless you have something else for us, Lárus intends to deliver the hand to Bellic and pick up his sleeved mail coat. He's keeping the throwing axes and his old armour (mail shirt plus looted sleeved mail shirt) - there's probably someone on the Red Song that could make good use of them.

He would dearly like to teach Bellic a lesson for presuming to turn a warrior into an errand boy, but he'll restrain himself for now - from a purely OOC perspective, it seems better to move things along so everyone's in the same time frame again.

19th Sommerzeit

On their last day in Kollsvik, Lárus headed to the Bazaar of Kamagra for one last purchase - a thrall to sacrifice at the Temple of the Beast, to gain the favour of the gods for the return journey and to thank them for his successes on this trip. Then he returned to the Red Song and passed the remainder of the day sparring with the reavers. In particular, he sought out Sigrún and Gunnar - she was the better fighter, but Gunnar was stronger. Both made for a good challenge.

10th Vorgenheim

Clearly, the gods didn't think much of that particular sacrifice, Lárus thought grimly, as yet another gigantic wave came crashing down on the Red Song. He laughed bitterly as he contemplated being swept overboard, his oath of vengeance incomplete. But at least if I die at sea, I may come back as a draug and haunt the Jarl to his dying breath.

Finally, after what seemed like days, the storm passed and the little fleet was able to sail on in relative safety. When not on watch, Lárus continued sparring with the reavers, and occasionally the beastmen as well. But he also made time to visit Hygd Strangeways beneath the mast. "Well, sorceress, soon we will be back in Winterscorn Hold. I am curious - why would you say that your home is elsewhere?"

[neriractor]

19th Sommerzeit

Bjorni looked around the slaves for a while, finally deciding on the skilled foreign ones, their skill was a valuable commodity. and he cared for those, worst case he'll try to sell them at a profit back home, once they learned norscan. He of course didn't let this interest show and asked for some much needed lowering to the price for taking such haggard slaves out of the slavers' hands.



I apologize. I realize you asked me a couple of times earlier about slaves back in Winterscorn and I kept forgetting to respond.

As a skald for the Winterscorn, though one of a few, Bjorni would hold a relatively respected position in the Jarl's court. Though, little real at the moment. No one skald is held in esteem above the others, though Bjorni holds the double notoriety of also going on raids.

The others are more on the minstrel side of thing.

So, you probably have 8 household thralls. They mostly maintain your chambers and handle the doldrum of day to day life.



no worries, I figured it was something like that, hard to keep track of so many players :smallbiggrin:
also good to know about my status. rolling haggle just in case it can lower a few gold coins off the price (the woodworker and the seamtress):
[roll0] TN 42
FP: [roll1]

10th Vorgenheim

Bjorni lowers from the ship in his usual ragged garments, axe strapped at his belt as the shield in his back, he bore in his left hand the jarls' banner
rising it up triumphantly as he did, he stared sideways at Morgul as he spoke to Maria, it was great to get his counseling for her, and likely to speed her up to the useful seer he envisioned, but the increasing influence the Shaman gained on her made him uneasy, he was sure the girl didn't speak norscan so he spoke it. "You have gained remarkable fluidity in our language, friend. You are welcome to visit my house whenever you wish to speak to the girl."

he quickly went along with Bodhi to meet Aemon, looking for his brother's face in the crowd as he did, when they reached him he placed his right hand on his heart for a quick salute "We are victorious my lord, your coffers will be as full with the southerners' gold, as their hearts are with fear of your banner!" he vaguely waved the banner towards the reavers hauling loot from the ship.

[Haval]

The Red Song

The sight of the leviathan causes Egil to grin in delight. He had heard that sighting such creatures was often a sign of good luck. Assuming they left you alone of course. They usually had larger things to prey on for their food and so were only really a threat to sailors if a ship blundered into them. Some saw them as the will of the Gods made manifest and Egil could easily believe it. To see one and live was a sign that your ship was judged worthy and you had a right to sail here.

Mingol Gazan-Dum

Egil will follow Bjorni's comment, 'As if there was ever any doubt. The southerners have no one who can stand against us.'

[Morovir]

Groktur remained at the prow of the boat as it came in to dock. For the moment, he does not answer Morgul's words, but waits for his lord to speak.

[Space Lawyer]

Otto
The Mule

"If there's anything you like the look of on either of these corpses, now's the time to take it,"

Otto shakes his head. He throws a gold coin to the only witnesses and makes the well-understood signal for quiet.


The Intervening Weeks

The three weeks in port are a hectic blur of activity. Otto sees to ensuring that the fleet is well-provisioned and repaired, caulking leaking seams and mending sails. At the same time, he was trying to learn how to use his new firearm with the rest of the raiders, and on top of that, learning how to use the explosive contraption at sea. He'd heard stories of ill-trained sailors destroying whole warships from improperly loading the powder on guns, and he was damned if the Red Song was going down in such a ignoble manner.

By the time the weeks were over, the ships sat proudly in the water with few of the scars they'd received over a season of raiding. Something was still missing though. The Norscan ships had the fearsome dragons at their prows, while the Red Dream's prow was barren. That wouldn't do at all. When they got back to the tribe, there was going to be a change.


10th Vorgenheim

Otto had heard the storms this far north were fierce, but nothing had prepared him for this. What kind of madness . . . but that question receded quickly, replaced by a laughing giddiness. He and the Red Dream, the crew, they were spitting right into face of nature and the god's. Sigmar hadn't been able to protect his Empire, and it didn't look like Manann was going to be able to stop the raiders from returning home. Waves and beast be damned, they all retreated before this kind of ferocity.

[Erulasto]

Reavers of the Red Song

17th Sommerzeit

Larus and Otto

The other man, armour stained with vomit, was most assuredly dead. An inglorious way to go that would not have found the favour of the Gods, whomever this man was - he was doomed to be forgotten until his flesh was eaten by time and bones bleached.

The young thralls who worked the common room in preparation for the day took the coin from the Shipmaster, eyes downcast, and remained silent. They knew far better than to bring notice to themselves.

But the task was done. Bellic was positively ecstatic about the hand - handling it with greedy fingers as he tucked it into a locked chest in the back of his stall. The payment was provided, and Bellic even threw in a handful of coins as well for each of them as a parting gift.

When they departed, Bellic was quick to insist they came to see him for whatever needs they had in Kollsvik the next time they travelled through the city.



Otto and Larus receive [roll0] gold coins each as a bonus for the expediency of their completion of the deal. Not to mention he still remembered Larus' threat to split him open from gut to groin.



Bjorni

The slavers were willing to drop a full two gold coins off the price for each of the skilled labourers, but they were adamant they could not go lower. It was not often that there was much a slave was good for aside from chores or labour - a tradesman could often garner not only better treatment, but longer life-expectencies from their masters.





On the Sea....

Larus

Hygd had peered up at Larus with wide eyes, pupils blown and cheeks flushed as if she had just ran the long road from Winterscorn Hold to the mountain passes that led inland and offered a natural form of protection for the vale.

"Those who scorn the Winter are of my body and blood. But my flesh does not call it home." Hygd muttered softly, eyes finally shifting back to watching the seething, vast ocean stretching out before the Red Song. "You who steals the breath from the living? You are tethered to your body and blood. Your flesh has a home. My flesh is transitory. One day...one day...I will find home..."

Strangeways was an apt name for the Sorceress. Larus had interacted with the bray-shaman, and even he was not prone to such fits of madness, but all in the North saw how magic could...change people. Was the Raven God not the God of Magic and Change?




10th Vorgenheim

Bjorni's words rose above the cheers of the crowds and the fiery invocations of the Jarl's Vikti, and Bodhi laughed a bit manically as Egil seemed to share his sentiments.

"The Skald and Egil speak truly, my Jarl!" Bodhi shouted, thrusting a fist into the air with a sudden howl of joy. "We come with many gifts of both gold and thralls...and...." Bodhi paused for a moment, grinning wolfishly as she let her silence drag on for a moment. After letting the silence drag - the gathered crowd seeming to hang on her words - Bodhi turned behind her and made to pull Nicoli forward to stand before Jarl Bitterstride.

"A gift from the Crow Father! I present to you a Lord of Flies, my Jarl! The Bray-Shaman drew us to him where he slew the men of the Empire alongside your warriors. He is blessed!" Bodhi shouted, looking around the gathered crowd. As if on cue, the miasma of flies that seemed to hover around the Kislevite seemed to loom up like a great shadow. There were gasps of shock, ecstatic squeals and shouts of elation at the seeming omen that was unfolding before them.

It was when Vikti Halfi scowled darkly, turning a malevolent and hard gaze upon Bodhi and Nicoli that realization seeped in.

Bodhi was making a power play in the Jarl's court.

Bjorni realized that Bodhi had a very strong grasp of how to work a crowd. The charisma she captained with, and the fervor in battle had already been seen at work, but the Skald suddenly realized that Bodhi was perhaps much more dangerous than anyone had thought. The crews that reaved under her loved her.

And now? With Nicoli there, she was setting herself up to be favoured by the Gods. It was risky, but as the Jarl listened his smile grew wider.

"A feast then in my hall in honour of you and your crews!" Aemon bellowed, silencing the crowds with his proclaimation. "Come at sunset and celebrate your victories, my warriors!" With his will stated, the Jarl turned and began to make his way back to the great dwarven tower, the Iron-arm trailing behind him with deceptively slow and ponderously wide steps. Many of the other Huskarl followed - one corpulently fat one with a great flail slung over his shoulder following Halfi as the Vikti scurried after the Jarl, trying to keep pace with the tall Norscan and whisper in his ear.

Maria turned her strange eye to Halfi as he moved away, and her brow crinkled in confusion. The waif shuffled ever so slightly to stand between Groktur and Morgul as if taking the shaman's word that the beasts would protect her.

"Is he not supposed to speak for these Gods you told me of? There are many who carry their blessings more strongly than he. I read a book once about a man who claimed to be able to cure all maladies for a price. He would brew some vile and expensive tincture and sell it to the rich and powerful. By the time they realized it did not work, he was long gone." Maria said at length, still frowning. "He is a liar and it is his words that could do more harm than the paltry magic at his fingertips."

As was customary after such a greeting, the crews were given time to attend their own business. To see families. To check on the status of their homes and thralls or even to rendevous with half-forgotten lovers. Tradition in the Hold of the Jarl was emphatic that this period of reunion was honoured - it held that business with the Jarl would come after this period.

Knowing Aemon, it was very likely he would take an interest in hearing from each of the crew on the Red Song. There was something the Jarl liked about the novelty of such a foreign ship. Which would be distinctly enhanced once Bodhi had spoken of the speed and maneuverability of the caravel and of Otto's skill as a shipmaster. It may not endear him to the other reaver-captains, but it would perhaps put him in as much esteem as they.

For the majority of the crew, they went off to visit family and friends with a promise to return to the Jarl's hold for the festivities at sunset. For many - if not all - the reavers who had sailed on the Red Song, this had been their first season raiding and their families would be excited to hear their tales. Egil knew from his night with Sigrun that her father was a blacksmith who worked in a small forge on the west side of the vale and her mother was one of the Jarl's Huskarl. Even had a little brother who she was excited to give a gift from her first battle - a short-bladed sword taken from an Imperial crossbowman from their first raid.

Hygd had no family and no ties to Winterscorn Hold, but was drawn as if in a trance towards the dark woods that lurked on the eastern edge of the vale. The woods that held the Frostgrave Herd. As Larus watched her wandering away, he was sure he saw two tall, lithe shadows in formless black cloaks slipping after her. With almost belated realization, the Breathstealer recognized them as two of the skilled hunters that had come on the Corsair fleet that was wrecked. They were called...Shades...if Larus remembered correctly.

For Nicoli, who had suddenly been at the center of attention, it was all the more stark when Bodhi clapped him on the shoulder once more with that grin of hers. "Come, Fly Lord. I will show you to your new home if you wish." The reaver-captain shouted a few choice words to the rest of her crews, before stalking off towards a longhouse bearing a snarling wolf motif that sat on a ridge overlooking the docks, though well beneath the high seat of the dwarven watchtower.

Many of the others, like Gunnar and Hrodgar and Herger were helping unload the Red Song and the other longboats as they had settled in to find their berth. Others had already left, and the crowds were dispersing.

There was several hours before sunset still - the dawning of autumn beginning to lengthen the nights.



You've got about six or seven hours before the festivities at the Hold. You can pretty much get up to whatever you want or need. With the exception of approaching the Jarl for business. Not until the festivities.

Again, I am infinitely sorry for the absence. I am feeling significantly better and hope that I can renew the stumbled momentum.

Thanks for your patience and your continued interest! :smallsmile:

[Shadowflick]

Nicoli, still on his knee's and trying to get his bearings, wasnt ready for Bohdi to come drag him up to face the Norscan, his stomach still reeling and tumbling..It was only natural for his cheeks to fill, and for him to bend over, vomiting out the lunch he had just eaten on the boat on the docks. A variety of colors from the various foods marking the floor, some of the flies swooping down to eat. "Ooof....boats"

He stands straight now, surprised as the flies buzz louder than usually clouding the sky around him, a few victorious and proud whispers in his ears "Lord of flies? Hmm, Title could fit. But, Man's name Is Nicoli Oleg. Former Streltsi of Kislev. Now...Uhh..,Well, Member of crew. Flies whispered for me to go north, And Nicoli did. Why? Not sure. Perhaps purpose will be found here, no?"" Turniong to look to the crowd Nicoli was slightly off-put. In Kislev people usually didnt pay as much attention to him. He stood guard, or he fought, being celebrated was foreign to him

Nicoli was more prepared this time for Bodhi, not getting knocked off balance as he looked to the woman and noded "Aye. Perhaps One could find a nice calm place as to not feel the sickness of the waves no?"

[Morovir]

Leaving the girl with Morgul, Groktur heads into the forest, his ungors following behind. After a while, following twisting paths that only he seemed to be able to see, he arrives in a clearing, empty save for the edifice at its centre - the herdstone of the Frostgrave Herd. He abases himself before the monolithic construction, gesturing for the ungors to do the same, and calls out into the darkness:

"Groktur returns, O Chieftain! He brings fresh warriors for the warherd!"

He remains in his position as he waits for his herdmates to make themselves known.

[DrK]

Morgul

At Maria's words Morgul ruffles her hair gently with his upper right arm, the two lower right arms gently adjusting her cloak whilst he clutches the braystaff in his left hands. Narrowing his eyes he concentrates on the shuffling seer seeking the witch sight from the Gods.


Magic sense [roll0] TN 43


Eyes narrowing he looks to Bodhi as she marches off into the settlement with Nicoli in tow. As the rest of the crew scatters he also watches as Groktur and the ungors follow Hygd towards the woods where the other beast tribe dares to dwell. Slowly shaking his head he ponders on what to do next before offering a hand to Maria and slowly walking down into the settlement, a general threatening mien surrounding him as he grunts and snorts at anyone coming close to him or anyone approaching her.


Intimidate [roll1] TN 60


Heading through the town he ambles towards the druchii settlement heading slowly towards he thought he may find the dark elf sorceress in Winterscorn. Finding the first of the slender elves he snarls a "Where witch. Morgul would speak with her."

[Haval]

Egil is not sure if Nicoli is important enough to deserve this kind of treatment. On the other hand he would be the first to admit that he doesn't always understand the ways of the Gods, the Crow Father especially. He is largely indifferent to any politics to the extent that he notices it at all. As far as he can tell Halfi often looks like that.

Egil's original family is far away and he has no home as such to return to here. When in port he'll sleep in tavern common rooms or at the Jarl's heath when necessary. Part of him would go with Sigrun to share in her homecoming and to meet her fearsome mother, but he doesn't want to detract from her achievement.

Instead he will help unload the ship before slipping away into the town. The news of a horde gathering in the Wastes meant that they were living in interesting times, and he wanted to see if news of it had already reached here. How would Aemon choose to act?


Gossip rolls on recent news on the Horde, although Egil is not good at this

vs. Fel 29/2
[roll0]

And Aemon
[roll1]

[neriractor]

10th Vorgenheim

Bjorni stood apalled for a moment nary a year had passed since he came here and the place already seeked to tear itself apart, history didn't look kindly upon this power plays, and the vitki clearly didn't either, he'll likely have to pick a horse eventualy but not today.

He approached nicoli before Bodhi dragged him along, quickly getting a few words through the buzzing of the agitated flies and Bodhi's impatient gaze "pass through my home when you are done with Bodhi, and perhaps you will"

not seeing any signal from his brother the skald started to get worried. Barely exchanging a few words with the people receiving them before going to the ship, he glared at the shaman, unsure of how he'll take separation from the girl, his doubts remained unanswered, as he came out of the ship with the chained thralls in tow he found the beastmen gone, and with a few choice curses at the void he decided against following the footprints in the snow, heading home instead to see why his brother didn't receive him.

gossip(just any news in the town): [roll0] TN 47

[rax]

On the Sea....

Larus

Hygd had peered up at Larus with wide eyes, pupils blown and cheeks flushed as if she had just ran the long road from Winterscorn Hold to the mountain passes that led inland and offered a natural form of protection for the vale.

"Those who scorn the Winter are of my body and blood. But my flesh does not call it home." Hygd muttered softly, eyes finally shifting back to watching the seething, vast ocean stretching out before the Red Song. "You who steals the breath from the living? You are tethered to your body and blood. Your flesh has a home. My flesh is transitory. One day...one day...I will find home..."

Strangeways was an apt name for the Sorceress. Larus had interacted with the bray-shaman, and even he was not prone to such fits of madness, but all in the North saw how magic could...change people. Was the Raven God not the God of Magic and Change?"You speak in riddles, Hygd Strangeways, though I suppose that is the way of sorcerors, no?" Lárus laughs coldly. "If one is not at home in one's own flesh, then where? You talk as if you expect a transformation. Is that your fate - to shed your flesh as a serpent sheds its skin? And what then - the only men I have ever seen separated from their flesh are all dead - woken from the dream and passed into the realm of our ancestors. Is that what you long for?"


10th Vorgenheim

Hygd had no family and no ties to Winterscorn Hold, but was drawn as if in a trance towards the dark woods that lurked on the eastern edge of the vale. The woods that held the Frostgrave Herd. As Larus watched her wandering away, he was sure he saw two tall, lithe shadows in formless black cloaks slipping after her. With almost belated realization, the Breathstealer recognized them as two of the skilled hunters that had come on the Corsair fleet that was wrecked. They were called...Shades...if Larus remembered correctly.Lárus listened attentively to Bodhi's boasts, a tight smile frozen on his features as thoughts whirled through his mind. You are bold and strong, Ymirsdotter. Are you the captain that will bring us inside the tower to deliver our vengeance? Or are you a rival in disguise? Bitterstride is ours to slay. The killing blow must be ours. And he must know why we are taking his life.

As the Jarl responded and the crowds began to thin, Lárus watched Hygd make her way into the woods. He thought briefly of following her, but when the Shades appeared he thought better on it. The woods are cruel, dark and deep, and so are they. We will speak again, sorceress - if you return from their encampment in one piece.

With a sigh, he shouldered his weapons and plunder, and slowly made his way to the small wooden fishing shack he shared with his twin sister - the whaler Lilja. "Sister!" he calls out as he pushes open the door. "Are you within? I come bearing gifts!" he chuckles.

It's up to you whether you want to pop in an play the part of Lilja. I have no immediate plots or plans that involve her beyond a bit of homecoming chit-chat and gifting her with some of Lárus' spare armour and weapons - useful for when the siblings need to start killing. If not, I'll just say that she's at sea.

[Erulasto]

Reavers of the Red Song


Larus

“Death?” Hygd asked, head lolling to the side with a manic grin splitting her face. “Death comes for all in time. But I do not seek it, Breathstealer. It will find me when the Gods will it and not before.”

The sorceress rises from her spot beneath the mast on unsteady feet.

“One needs no flesh in the Realms of the Gods.” Hygd said, cackling madly.



“Larus!”

By the time the door had opened and Larus was stepping inside, he felt a sudden impact in his gut. It was a long, bleached femur with a large bundle of cloth tethered to the larger end. Lilja stood there, hefting the makeshift club over her shoulder with a wide grin.

“You are getting slow, brother! Did your time at sea and reaving the men of the south not sharpen your skills?” It was as it always had been. Lilja took every opportunity to tease her twin, even as she stepped to the small cooking fire and poured some ale from a clay pitcher into two carved horn tankards and offered one to Larus.

“Welcome home! What did you bring me?” She said, eyes twinkling with mischief.


Bjorni

Word on his brothers whereabouts was relatively easy to find, as the Skald made his way through Winterscorn Hold towards his home – thralls in tow. By the time he had arrived at his residence, he had heard from no less than a dozen freeholders and bondsmen that he had accompanied a small group of hunters beyond the vale and into the deep, snowy plains that cut through the center of the mountains. There had been mammoth sightings, and the Jarl had commanded that several be slain and harvested to help bolster the larders of the hold before winter had settled in with its full fury.

The Skald’s residence well well-maintained, and as he approached, an older man with a bald scalp and neatly trimmed beard stepped forward in heavy woolen robes.

“Welcome back, master.” The man – Rubrik – said. He had naturally gravitated towards the majordomo of Bjorni’s estate, organizing the other thralls and their duties. He was very good at his job.

He glanced with pinched eyes at the new thralls that Bjorni had brought with a smile.

“New flesh for the fold, my lord?”


Groktur

The forest was deep and dark, with thick canopies overhead that shrouded the twisting pathways beneath in shadow. It was a wicked place, and Groktur could taste fresh blood on the wind as he led the Ungors towards the great Herdstone that sat in the forest in the shadow of the mountains at its edge.

The Ungors followed Groktur’s orders, prostrating themselves before the monolithic edifice. It was tall – a singular spar of jutting stone that rose dozens of feet high. The smooth sides of the stone were painted in blood – old and fresh alike – and at its base was a mountain of bones and old scraps of weapons and armour.

It wasn’t long after the Caprigor had called out that he caught sight of the monstrous form of the Wargor of the Frostgrave Herd slipping from the shadows beyond the Herdstone. He was accompanied by a half-dozen Bestigor and several snarling Tuskgors.

Khoros the Breaker lumbered across the clearing, a deep growl rumbling in his bared chest. A rack of four horns rose from his wolfish head, and one arm had split into a trio of long, suckered tentacles while his other clutched a long-hafted battle axe.

“Groktur!” Khoros bellowed. “I see you and your offerings for the Warherd! The Gods smile upon us!”


Egil

It appeared that no one had any knowledge of a horde of Chaos being risen in the East. Unless they were all daft, or Egil had simply asked the wrong freeholders, it was likely that no herald of this Astergoth had arrived in Winterscorn Hold as of yet.

Fortunately, that meant it was very possible that Egil would be able to witness Aemon’s reaction to such thing first-hand.

As he was helping unload the ship, Egil caught sight of an unusually small longship cresting the entrance to the large cove where the Red Song sat in its berth. The longship was carrying a number of armed men, but they were not flying any banners that Egil had seen around the Jarl’s hold.

Whomever these were, they were not from around here.



Feel free to make a routine Common Knowledge (Norsca), or Academic Knowledge (Heraldry) test to recognize the banners on the longship.




Otto

Despite the praise he knew was coming his way, professional pride ensured that Otto was more likely to oversee the unloading, and maintenance of the Red Song before enjoying himself in the Hold itself.

As he was overseeing the last dregs of the process, he caught Egil staring out across the cove. As his eyes followed, he saw a strange longship approaching bearing banners he did not recognize.


Nicoli

Bodhi led Nicoli to the cluster of longhouses that had been built against one another, directly in the shadow of the great white watchtower itself. Bodhi, it seemed, had intended for the Kislevite to take residence in one of the spare rooms in her own residence.

Showing him to a room, Nicoli saw it was a simple affair. A bed piled with furs and wool blankets, a simple carved wooden chair and a small table that held a large copper bowl of fresh water. Next to it was a wooden tankard and a large pewter pitcher of ale.

“This will be your home for now, Kislevite.” Bodhi said, gesturing about. “If you need anything, my servants will ensure you are taken care of. You may come and go as you please.”


Morgul

The winds of Magic were remarkably weak around Halfi. Much weaker than the Bray-Shaman had ever seen before. He knew that Halfi was, at least before his arrival, one of the most potent practicioners of dark magic in the Jarls service. What had happened to him to weaken him so?

As Morgul led Maria through the settlement, he caught a glimpse of frustration from Bjorni. It was very likely that the Skald took some offense to the Shaman’s seemingly coopting of his thrall. Perhaps it would be best to speak to the Skald and settle the matter before it became a cancerous divide between them.

Few were willing to approach the Bray-Shaman, even to show interest in the young waifish girl whose still-uncovered eye spoke of blessings from the Gods themselves, though it did draw a significant number of curious glances.

The small camp that the Druchii had set up was composed mostly of dark pavanes and pavilion-style tents situated around a stone longhouse that had been granted to them by the Jarl himself.

As they approached, two tall and lithe Dark Elves stepped forward to meet him. They were clad in dark hauberks of finely scaled armour, and tall spined helms. Tall, ornate shields were held in hand while the other gripped the magnificent hafts of exquisitely crafted spears.

When Morgul spoke of his desire to speak to Sehanith, the two Darkspears turned and allowed the bray-shaman and Maria to enter.

“The central building, Beastman.” One said in the Dark Tongue, a lilting and beautifully cold accent tinting it.

As they approached the building, he felt Maria clutch at his hand tighter as her eyes widened.

“The colours are all tangled here. So…so much black….” She muttered softly to Morgul.

He could feel his fur standing on end from the abundant magical energies swirling about this place. It seemed that Sehanith may have been working some magic of her own at that very moment.

[Shadowflick]

Nicoli looks about the room, nodding to the seemingly comfortable living. He walks into it, taking a few steps around he room. He takes teh copper bowl of water and takes a drink

"Odd. You show Nicoli comfort in hearth. Why? You make show of bringing Kislevite to Winterscorn to. Ohers bear mark's of chaos. Other Kislivites become slaves. So. What does bohdi ave to gain? And more Importatnly...What should Nicoli do for you? Motives may be centered on self, but..Bohdi save Nicoli life. What may I do to return favor?"

[rax]

“Larus!”

By the time the door had opened and Larus was stepping inside, he felt a sudden impact in his gut. It was a long, bleached femur with a large bundle of cloth tethered to the larger end. Lilja stood there, hefting the makeshift club over her shoulder with a wide grin.

“You are getting slow, brother! Did your time at sea and reaving the men of the south not sharpen your skills?” It was as it always had been. Lilja took every opportunity to tease her twin, even as she stepped to the small cooking fire and poured some ale from a clay pitcher into two carved horn tankards and offered one to Larus.

“Welcome home! What did you bring me?” She said, eyes twinkling with mischief.
"Only what every girl in Winterscorn Hold could wish for," Lárus replies with a wide grin. "Behold! Your choice of fine mail shirts, with or without sleeves. And five - yes, five - throwing axes! All yours for the taking!" He chuckles, but is soon serious again. "You should take them, sister. I would see you well protected when the killing time is upon us."

"I also brought this," he continues, laying his plundered arquebus on the table. "It is a finicky thing, but it shoots hard. Even Ulf was impressed enough to take one for himself, for all that he loves his bow. And we took many more from the last village we raided. I'm thinking that if some of us learn to use them - you, me and Egill perhaps - then we can use them to more easily hold off the Jarl's huskarls, should it come to that."

"But enough of such talk. Tell me, how have you fared? And how are our brothers doing?"

The brothers, of course, are Falkí (berserker), Hrafn (mercenary), and Egill (hunter).

[Morovir]

Remaining in his genuflection, Groktur replies to the Wargor:

"Aye, Great Breaker, they do. Good hunting with Winterscorn Tribe, take many scalps for the Pantheon. Then on to city of Dark Prince, recruit new blood, untouched by the Gods, to fight for Warherd. Now return to chieftain, as loyal gor."

[DrK]

Morgul

The five armed muscular brute looks at the small graceful elf before walking into the swirling clouds of darkness surrounding the hut. He ducks in, opening himself up to the powers and holding the Winds of Chaos close. Dragging the young girl with him he whispers in a bruff voice "Let me know what you see little one." Popping into the hut he looks towrads the sorceress in the hut. Speaking up he bellows a little louder.

"Sorceress. I would speak with you. I met one of your kin who gifted me these. He waves his arms. "The half man is weak. You are strong. What cost to Morgul for sorceress to teach me. "

[Haval]

'Who in the hells is that?' Egil will watch the small ship with interest.

Common Lore (Norsca) test rolled earlier in ooc

[neriractor]

mamooths, not elk, megaloceros, walrus... mamooths, the boy chose to go hunting the most dangerous prey on land right before his absence came to an end. It was as if Dunnir wanted their family to end.

He spend the whole way homeshaking his head in disbelief, every freeholder he asked just confirming it hadn't been mistaken information.

Bjorni smiled at the elder receiving him "is good to be back", he exchanged a quick word in reikspiel with Maria's mother telling her the man's name and to listen to his order's second only to the greensong family (and guests of course).

He waved at rubrik to follow him deeper into the house, heading for his quarters as he answered and gave orders "yes, I figured a few more hands wouldn't do this house wrong, I picked up the woman on an imperial village, no talent that I know of, the dark ones can woodcraft and seam, and for what I paid they better be damn good at it" he laughed a a bit at his own joke, shaking off the weariness about his brother.

"try and get them up to speed, and me for that matter, all the news I've heard are about my brother going off to get trampled by a mamooth" he glared for a moment at Rubrik, before sighing he really couldn't blame the thrall for it, if his brother wanted to leave he couldn't stop him, as apparently the skald also couldn't "for now just send someone to help me off my armor. and put two beds in whatever room you give empire woman, I have another one on the way." with that he entered his private quarters scattering the new belongings around while he waited for whatever thrall Rubrik would send.

never really asked if the foreigners talked norscan or even reikspiel :smalltongue:

[Erulasto]

Reavers of the Red Song


Egil and Otto

The banner displayed on the approaching longship was a bright, bloody red bearing the profile of a great bear’s roaring head. Egil had seen the banner once or twice, usually at the start of summer when the few nearby tribes that were friendly with Aemon sent representatives to trade.

This particular banner was of a small tribe located to the West of Winterscorn Hold – the Red Bear tribe. They were much smaller than the Winterscorn, but their own Jarl – a grizzled veteran of many campaigns – was one of the more amiable to Aemon.

As the longship grew closer, Egil could see that it was lilting unsteadily to one side – and there were dozens of arrows jutting haphazardly from the hull, which was even blackened from fire in some places.

The warriors on board were haggard and weary, and a significant number of them appeared to be wounded.

Standing on the ornate grizzly motif on the prow, one hand gripping a rope for support, was a young woman with long black hair that fluttered lose about her shoulders. A pale cheek was marred by a thin cut, and the mail shirt she wore was barely visible from beneath a heavy grey cloak that bore a mantle of bear fur across her shoulders.

Others had begun to gather on the docks, watching as the longship approached. The mutterings from the onlookers seemed to indicate that the young woman on the prow of the ship was recognized by at least some.

She was Astrid, the only daughter of Jarl Mjorni of the Red Bear Tribe.


Morgul

The inside of the hut was filled with furniture and trappings that Morgul immediately recognized as having been salvaged from the Corsair fleet that Sehanith had been a part of. They were of exquisite Druchii craftsmanship. In the center of the hut, the furniture had been pushed aside as far as it could go, opening up a wide swath of space for Sehanith to work. She was kneeling upon the cold, stone floor surrounded by an extravagantly ornate circle of power that glowed with pale purple light.

Shyish, the Purple Wind, was flowing through the room, leeching both heat and colour from the rituals that the Sorceress was finishing. A small pile of bleached skulls sat before her, the foreheads of each dabbed with runes and sigils painted in the Sorceresses own blood.

Maria gasped in awe as she was led in by Morgul, eyes blown wide as she stared at the trailing end of Sehanith’s spell.

“A beast comes to prostrate itself at my feet?” The silken voice of Sehanith rises, though she does not turn to face the bray-shaman. Hair white as the snows and packed ice of the cove in winter spilled disheveled and wild across her bare shoulders. Sehanith did not carry herself with the lasciviousness that Paledawn had. But Morgul could appreciate the cold, lean beauty that all Druchii seemed to possess.

“You wish to learn of Dhar and Shyish, Shaman?” Sehanith said, finally rising from her kneeling position in the center of the circle. As she turned to face Morgul and Maria, she stepped almost daintily across the lines of the circle to face the towering form of the Bray-Shaman.

“And what do we have here?” She said, pale eyes turning to look upon Maria with a sly smile.


Groktur

“Blood the Ungors!” Came a shout from one of the Bestigors named Ulkar. The shout was taken up by all the other Bestigors who had accompanied the Wargor to the Herdstone.

As would be customary, the expectation that the Ungors would find prey to bring before the Herdstone and offer it as a tribute to the Frostgrave and the Dark Gods themselves. Groktur had seen this done many times in the past – and had to do it himself at one point.

It was entirely arbitrary. Any prey would do, though more prestige in the Herd would come with more dangerous prey. Snow Tigers, Mammoths and other denizens would be seen as appropriate. Even the warriors of the furless men would be acceptable. While the Ungors would never rise in status to the level that Groktur could, if they felled a sufficient foe, they would at least earn some respect.

“Groktur! You lead Ungor. Find prey and break it! Bring here for glory of the Gods and of the Breaker!” Khosros bellowed.


Larus



Nicoli

“Life is a constant struggle for greatness, Kislevite.” Bodhi said, matter-of-factly, still giving him her signature wolfish grin. “Our Gods…your God…expects us to struggle and grow stronger through conflict. Only then can we prove our worthiness. Reaving along the coast is all well and good, but I have seen what may come from adapting to new struggles. Between the Red Song and you?”

Bodhi laughed harshly, slapping Nicoli on the shoulder once more. “The Shipmaster and his Red Song leading a fleet. The ’Lord of Flies’ standing with our forces. Egil and Larus leading the charge – they command the respect of the reavers, whether they have come to realize it or not. This crew is destined for greatness….and truly, Kislevite, if I did not put a claim on you, then the Vikti would have.”

She scoffs. “And all that would have accomplished was to get you killed before you get a chance to see what the Crow Father has planned for you.”


Larus

Lilja immediately tugged one of the mailed shirts from Larus and pulled it over her head with a grin of her own.

“You will make a fine husband for some lucky woman one day, brother!” She said as she settled into the mail shirt, and tightened some leather straps to help keep it fitted a bit better to her body. While the throwing axes were eyed, Larus’ sister seemed much more entranced with the rifle that Larus had brought.

“You have the weapons of the Empire?!” She asked, almost in awe. While many Norscans shunned the use of missile weapons, even the greatest dullards among them could appreciate the damage that the Imperial gunners could inflict with concentrated barrages of fire. “ These can rip through even the armour of…say…Thurim!”

Thurim Iron-arm likely was the greatest threat to Larus’ dreams of fulfilling the Oath.

Lilja waved a hand almost dismissively as she settled onto a wooden bench near the table, and poured some ale.

“I fare as well as ever. We caught a great beast in the sea not long ago. It’s being harvested on the other side of the Jarl’s tower. You’ll likely be seeing some of the bones making the rounds soon, and we’ll have enough rendered fat from the beast to keep the fires going for two winters. Egill and Falki are out with a number of other warriors trying to bring in a Mammoth or two from a herd that was migrating past the vale not too long ago. Hrafn took a job about three weeks past? He was helping escort a trade caravan of goods through the southern passes. There was one of the Dark stunties heading the caravan up. Offered a dozen warriors coin to help keep his goods safe.”

Lilja shrugged, taking a deep sip from the ale. “There is a lot of unrest south of the vale these days, brother. The Jarl will need to maintain an iron-grip or show his weakness to those who are looking for soft bellies to gut.”



Bjorni

Rubrik was swift to accomplish the tasks that Bjorni had given, with his usual calm efficiency, but before he set off to do them, he offered the Skald a gentle, if a bit wry, smile.

“I would not worry about the young master, my lord. He was one of many that went. Some of the brothers of the warrior they call the Breathstealer went with him, as well as a number of the Jarl’s more experienced hunters. The Gods willing, he will return to bring more glory upon your household.”

It didn’t take long for one of his thralls to enter, eyes downcast and soft-spoken as the curvier woman of Bretonnian descent began to help Bjorni remove his armour.

He was half-done, when there had been a soft knock on his door and Rubrik cleared his throat gently beyond the door.

“My lord?” Rubrik said. “My apologies for disturbing you. You have a visitor. The Jarl’s Vikti, Halfi Godsworn.”



Arabyan and Reikspiel. Fortunately, Rubrik speaks Reikspiel, Breton, Norscan, and Kurgan. He’s quite proficient with languages.

[DrK]

Morgul

With the Druchii

Morgul looks at the sorceress. So cold and overtly dangerous he thought compared to the subtle lethality of Paledawn. "Yes sorceress. I would learn Dhar to break enemies and be powerful." Patting Maria, whilst holding her close he nods. "Human is blessed with God's sight. No harm come to her." The last bit added somewhere between a threat and an ultimatum. "In Kollvsk Morgul saw the power of Druchii. You can show power. Then Morgul rise and be stronger than other shamans."

He waits, curious to see what she says, and a hair's breadth from pouncing upon her if she became hostile

---------

After the Dark Elf

Leaving the elegant tents and the lithe graceful warriors he notices how clumsy the norse look again as he walks back into town Maria in tow. "Girl need place to stay. Knife to defend and cloth to wear." Taking her to the market he allows her to choose some clothes (not really minding the cost with his gold in his pocket) and insists on making sure she has a long dagger that is sharp and well made. That done he asks about and treks to the edge of the vale until he see's the small farmstead where Bjorni lives.

Walking down the rough track he looks to the first (not terrified) person he can see. "I speak with Bjorni. Girl needs place to be safe, If harm come to her I kill all." His piece said he waits to either be let in or for Bjorni to come out and see him. He's quite relaxed as he looks around the small valley and the relatively well cared for thralls. Kneeling down to look Maria in the eye he offers her some of the chars from his braystaff. "Runes to keep girl safe. Town not safe. You be safe here and Morgul and Groktur come visit you?" he offers, curious to see her reaction but also having picked up on the tensions in the initial arrival he thinks that there will be bloodshed soon. Winterscorn reeks of barely contained resentment and he could feel that there would be blood spilled in the near future.

[Haval]

Egil will position himself so he can meet the ship as it arrived. He will also motion to Gunnar to come with him. Depending on who had done this to the Red Bear, it might be better to send someone to inform Aemon and Bodhi as soon as possible.

As the ship gets closer to the docks he will call out in the voice he normally he uses aboard ship. 'Astrid Mjornisdottir. Who has done this?'

Shortened that last post as I realised it didn't make sense. :smallfrown:

Posting with a cold

[Shadowflick]

"Hmm. Ambition then. Want to Prove yourself more then simple captain. To not be an annoyance or a reaver, but a true threat. Admriable. A long and dangerous rode it is. Many died trying to walk this path.
Perhaps the Father of Flies has plans for us all...But for now, Im interested in yours Bohdi. We are in Winterscorn. What is the next step in your grand plan?"

[Morovir]

"Blooded they shall be! For the glory of the Gods and the Breaker!"

With a braying affirmation, taken up swiftly by the ungors, Groktur heads out of the clearing and back into the forest, in search of worthy prey for him and his followers. He would need to find something suitably impressive for them to be truly accepted.

[roll0] TN ? (depending on test)

[rax]

Larus

Lilja immediately tugged one of the mailed shirts from Larus and pulled it over her head with a grin of her own.

“You will make a fine husband for some lucky woman one day, brother!” She said as she settled into the mail shirt, and tightened some leather straps to help keep it fitted a bit better to her body. While the throwing axes were eyed, Larus’ sister seemed much more entranced with the rifle that Larus had brought.

“You have the weapons of the Empire?!” She asked, almost in awe. While many Norscans shunned the use of missile weapons, even the greatest dullards among them could appreciate the damage that the Imperial gunners could inflict with concentrated barrages of fire. “ These can rip through even the armour of…say…Thurim!”

Thurim Iron-arm likely was the greatest threat to Larus’ dreams of fulfilling the Oath.

Lilja waved a hand almost dismissively as she settled onto a wooden bench near the table, and poured some ale.

“I fare as well as ever. We caught a great beast in the sea not long ago. It’s being harvested on the other side of the Jarl’s tower. You’ll likely be seeing some of the bones making the rounds soon, and we’ll have enough rendered fat from the beast to keep the fires going for two winters. Egill and Falki are out with a number of other warriors trying to bring in a Mammoth or two from a herd that was migrating past the vale not too long ago. Hrafn took a job about three weeks past? He was helping escort a trade caravan of goods through the southern passes. There was one of the Dark stunties heading the caravan up. Offered a dozen warriors coin to help keep his goods safe.”

Lilja shrugged, taking a deep sip from the ale. “There is a lot of unrest south of the vale these days, brother. The Jarl will need to maintain an iron-grip or show his weakness to those who are looking for soft bellies to gut.”"My clever sister," Lárus beams. "I had not thought of that, but you are right, of course. That must be why the gods put these guns before us when they did."

When Lilja recounts the local news, Lárus listens in silence, nodding now and then. "Falki went mammoth hunting? He must be getting bored - dangerously bored. He should have come reaving with us - there was enough killing to cool even the fire in his blood."

"I have some news as well. On our last shore raid, we liberated a man from Kislev. Kissed by the Crow Father, he was - flies everywhere! He knows how to use the Empire's guns, too, so he will be useful to us, if we can make him our friend. But he has odd scruples," Lárus chuckles as he recalls his conversation with Nicoli.

"Bjorni the skald took a girl from the village as his thrall, and the Kislevite - Nicoli - was much worried that he would try and lay with her. I mean, she was young, yes, but soon of an age to bear children. I told him as much, but he insisted that he would kill any man that laid a hand on the girl. We might be able to work with that if we need...leverage...to bring him over to our side."

Lárus chuckles again, darkly this time. "Not that he really needs to worry about that any more - Morgul the beast shaman took a shine to her. Hovered over the lass like a dark cloud all the way home. I doubt anyone would even want to lay a hand on her now..."

"But there's more... When we made port, Bodhi Ymirsdotter held forth the Kislevite as if he were the incarnation of the Lord of Flies himself. The crowd just loved it. She is making a power play, Lilja, it was plain as day. Either her blood will flow soon, or the Jarl's, and we cannot let that happen. His life is not hers to take - we must do it or be cursed by our ancestors for all time."

"Oh, and in Kollsvik we met a Kurgan Zar who said he was an emissary of a new champion in the East. Astergoth, he said his master's name was, and that he was calling all true sons of the four brothers to join him in war. If he wasn't just boasting out his arse, we should see emissaries of Astergoth here before the winter snows arrive..."

[neriractor]

home-early day

Bjorni replied to rubrik with a confident smile, it didn't really do much for his nerves, save for a bit of hope that any of the hunters' experience will help the boy grow some care "let the brothers hear you...

He lingered his eyes on the woman's figure for a bit as she helped him out of his armor, with but a keen appreciation of beauty, he was too exhausted from the journey for anything else.

He frowned at the knock on the door, he didn't expect Rubrik to need him so soon, and the vitki's visit surprised him a bit, until a small grin supplanted his frown looks like the horse is picking me he rose with an outstretched hand to the side, a quick order to the bretonian "cloak" he quickly covered the gaps left in his armor by the hurry as he addressed the head thrall "I'll go meet him. Make sure the fireplace is well tended and then have everyone make themselves scarce, including you, the jarls' sorcerer has yet to ask me for a sacrifice and I'll rather keep it that way. Stay within shouting distance, just in case"

He took a deep breath as he headed for the door, opening it with a welcoming smile and an effusive greeting "good day to you vitki, come on in, to what do I own the pleasure?"

Home- Morgul, later

The skald went out to receive Morgul, some frightened thrall passing some sort of "offer or death threat" up to him through kubrik. He was more than a little surprised to see him bring the girl back and with new clothes at that. he gave the shaman a nod of respect and looked down at Maria caressing her hair paternally "how about it, have fun exploring the town?"

He looked up at the shaman's many-colored eyes, staring at the savage shape of them and wondering, about the gods, about the hairy boogeyman that demonstrated on a daily basis his closeness to them, and how he so gently cared for the girl in a maddening contrast with his kind's burning hate for mankind, he may actually have missed something worth writing about Morgul... He starts walking the girl to the house, turning back and addressing the beastman"won't you come in Shaman? I have a healthy fire heating my hearth and enough spirits to start us off for the jarl's feast."

[Erulasto]

Reavers of the Red Song


Egil and Otto

Gunnar stood next to Egil, fingering the hook-billed hand axe thrust through his belt with a frown as they watched the longship slowly glide across the waters of the cove.

“I don’t like the look of this, Egil.” Gunnar muttered gruffly.

As the longship finally pulled up alongside the dock that the Red Song had been berthed at, several of the wounded warriors from the ship leapt onto the docks to secure the ship with long coils of rope.

Meanwhile, Astrid stepped down from the prow of the ship and took a limping step towards Egil. Up close, he could see that a bandage was wrapped tightly around one of her thighs as well.

“Southlanders. Not of the Empire, but further West.” Astrid said with a dark, glowering scowl. “My fool of a brother found some glorious new inspiration for raiding, and took something that the knights there felt was holy and sacred. They followed his reavers back and struck during the celebrations.”

Astrid was red-faced with anger and barely-constrained fury. It was as if she was blaming herself for the foolish actions of her brother, and the lack of awareness and preparation her own people had in the face of retaliation.

Though, truly, it was exceptionally rare that the men of the south would follow a reaver fleet back across the Sea of Claws.

“They are holding my people hostage in their own holds!” Astrid hissed. “I believe they will try and weather the winter here before sailing south again. I have come to ask your Jarl for aid!”



All good. :smallsmile: Despite antibiotics, my own sickness is still lingering on the periphery. ‘Tis the season for sickness! Nurgle loves back to school.




Morgul

The Druchii sorceress slipped across the room to stand before the Bray-Shaman and his small ward. Her cold eyes peered down at the small waif with a growing grin, and she knelt down to the cold stone ground before the girl.

“Indeed, Beast. This human is special. While you and I do not honour the same Gods, even I can see she has such…potential. Be wary of those who would exploit her for their own gain.”

Sehanith trails a pale fingertip across Maria’s cheek with a thoughtful expression, before rising one more and turning to make her way to a small bookshelf that had been erected on the opposite side of the hut. There, she found a thick tome bound in what appeared to be skin – it was, in actuality, the face of a Dwarf, complete with beard. Sehanith carried the book to Morgul, and offered it to him.

“You can read, yes?” The Druchii asked. “Read through this. When you have finished, come and see me and we will discuss Dhar and its secrets further.”


Nicoli

“If I die trying to walk the path, then so be it. At least I will go to the Gods knowing I did the best I could.” Bodhi said, with a shrug. “As for the next step, that will entirely be dependant on how the feast goes this evening and what the Jarl has to say. Halfi is holding the tribe back from the greatness it could have – and I suspect that if what Zar Cromath has told us of another herald coming this way to meet the Jarl, Halfi will counsel against joining the warhost. Cowardly fool!”


Larus

Lilja laughed, and downed the remainder of her ale in one long draught before setting the tankard aside.

“Do not all those blessed by the Crow Father have odd scruples? One cannot live with plague festering in them and not be a little mad, I would think. Perhaps we should have him over for a meal one night, brother? It would not hurt to make friends and if he has no prior loyalty to the Jarl, then even better.”

Lilja stood from the table, and made her way to the hearth where several haunches of meat had been dried and smoked above the fire. Carving several strips from one of them, Lilja returned to the table and handed a few to her brother before taking a bite of her own.

“You have the Gods own luck, Brother, to travel with such colourful company. I have heard rumours that the bray-shaman you spoke of simply arrived one day and cut down the Jarl’s guards until he was granted an audience. It may be that he does not hold any love for Aemon himself. If Bodhi is making a power play, Larus, then perhaps we should see about getting in with her? I can’t see her going after Aemon quite yet.”

The news of the new Chaos Lords in the East had certainly piqued her interest.

“What of the Dark Elves? I know their Sorceress had no love for Halfi, and while they may be gracious to the Jarl for allowing them to stay in the hold, I would not expect that they would truly have any loyalty to him. The stories say they are notoriously….treacherous.”


Groktur

The Ungors had followed Groktur into the darkness of the twisted woods, their movements nowhere near as elegant or graceful in purpose as the Caprigor. They had never had a true hunt before.

Time had little meaning beneath the shadowy boughs, but the chill in the air was growing stronger as Groktur came upon a set of crossed tracks on the path.

One one hand, leading further into the woods, there were the massive and wide paw prints of a Northern bear.

But there were also several smaller tracks that Groktur thought were wolves. They were heading east, towards a small river that cut through the edges of the woods. There was a fjord Groktur knew about – it led to a barren region of the forest that held a mountain path at its end. The path – while never used by the Caprigor himself – led to a small shrine to the Dark Gods high in the mountains that was considered both sacred and off-limits to most.


Bjorni

Halfi Godsworn hobbled into the Greensong house, leaning heavily on a heavy wooden staff. He was hunched, and bent in body, but he cast his gaze about appreciatively.

“Your hospitality honours me, Bjorni Greensong.” Halfi said, thin lips twisting into a small – if somewhat unnerving – smile. “I would ask you for but a simple thing. Tell me of this foreigner that Bodhi claims is blessed by the Crow Father? Do you believe he bears the blessings of Neiglish?”


Morgul and Bjorni

Maria had followed along with Morgul, eyes wide as she took everything in with an innocent curiosity that gave the bestial bray-shaman pause. This waif accepted things that even the most black-hearted man of the Empire would balk at. It was as if she had found someplace that finally accepted her. The runes were taken with a soft smile, though she remained quiet as her attention was pulled away to whatever strange sights constantly assailed the waif.

When they arrived at the Greensong Farmstead, Maria turned to Morgul.

“I would like that, yes.” She had said. “Perhaps one day, you will show me where your people dwell?”

As Bjorni greeted them, Maria smiled up at the skald.

“Oh, yes.” Maria said. “The Dark Elves are just as terrifying as the stories I heard say.” It was almost as if she was excited by all the terrible things that would unhinge many of the soft-bellied southerners.

If Maria was born a girl of the Empire in flesh, it certainly seemed to the Skald that she was Norscan in spirit, at the very least.

[Haval]

Egil is idly resting his hand on his sword hilt. To Gunnar, 'Best we hear about it now then.'

He'll relax a bit as Astrid explains. Outsiders he could deal with. 'I've heard of them. Very attached to their Gods by all accounts. What did your brother take? They must have paid a price to sail up here in this weather.'

'I'll take you to see the Jarl and Bodhi. We'll need to know their numbers, but I think they'll regret hanging around. They've only made themselves a target.' Why go to the trouble of raiding the southerners when they could come to you. 'And if they're fools enough not to have killed your people outright, they'll live to regret it.'

'You need a healer?'

I'll be fine once the heating oil comes in. Glad you're improving.

I don't know if we have healers in Winterscorn but there's probably someone even if it's a Vikti. Egil will send Gunnar to get someone if there's a need.

[Shadowflick]

Nicoli takes a seat, setting down his Poleax and rifle as he runs a hand over his chin in thought, flies buzzing and landing on him, as if also pondering the thoughts. "Hmm...Then work against him now. The Men and woman of Winterscorn do not know that We had Met with A Herald already, this is your chance to..get them ready for the arival. Imagine the reward when the herald comes to a tribe of Norscans already prepared to join in this warhost." Nicoli leans foreward "Have your mean spread rumours of a new everchosen, of this massive Warhost being made with the other warriors of Norsca. That even followers of the lord of Pleasure are joining them. All of this before the feast this evening. Let the thought bubble and stew in the minds of the warriors. Questioning if this may be true. Rile them up. THen, once the time of the feast comes, be the voice of these warriors. Speak about Zar Cromath and this new everchosen he speaks of. Confirm the rumours and suspicion. Halfi would be caught on the backfoot. He'd have no way to hide a herald arriving then, and would have to find a way to settle the growing bloodlust of his warriors. If he backs down, the people will know him as the coward he is. Perhaps they'd even leave his service to follow you instead."

[rax]

Lilja laughed, and downed the remainder of her ale in one long draught before setting the tankard aside.

“Do not all those blessed by the Crow Father have odd scruples? One cannot live with plague festering in them and not be a little mad, I would think. Perhaps we should have him over for a meal one night, brother? It would not hurt to make friends and if he has no prior loyalty to the Jarl, then even better.”

Lilja stood from the table, and made her way to the hearth where several haunches of meat had been dried and smoked above the fire. Carving several strips from one of them, Lilja returned to the table and handed a few to her brother before taking a bite of her own.

“You have the Gods own luck, Brother, to travel with such colourful company. I have heard rumours that the bray-shaman you spoke of simply arrived one day and cut down the Jarl’s guards until he was granted an audience. It may be that he does not hold any love for Aemon himself. If Bodhi is making a power play, Larus, then perhaps we should see about getting in with her? I can’t see her going after Aemon quite yet.”

The news of the new Chaos Lords in the East had certainly piqued her interest.

“What of the Dark Elves? I know their Sorceress had no love for Halfi, and while they may be gracious to the Jarl for allowing them to stay in the hold, I would not expect that they would truly have any loyalty to him. The stories say they are notoriously….treacherous.”"Aye, the thought of swearing my sword properly to Ymirsdotter has occurred to me, though I wasn't expecting her to move quite so quickly. I had presumed I'd need another season of raiding with her or the Squid to make my mark first."

"But I suppose now is as good a time as any to leave Uller and move up in the world. My sword has been blooded, and I led the attack on the garrison tower in the last raid. The others all charged the village, screaming for blood and plunder, but they would have been dead if I hadn't take some men to bottle up the gunners in the tower. The Jarl and Ymirsdotter both should have a place for a warrior that uses his head as well as his sword. And if need be, I have Falki and Hrafn to offer as well."

"As for Nicoli, if you think you can stand the flies, I suppose having him over for a meal would be the hospitable thing to do. We just have to pry him away from Bodhi first..." Larus muses.

"And the Dark Elves... truth be told I don't know what to make of them. I don't know what they want, so I can't tell if we even have something to bargain with. Unless... I saw two of their scouts trailing the sorceress Hygd into the woods before I came home. She is mad as they come, but perhaps they are interested in her? She spoke to me, you know. Back on the Red Song when we were laid up in Kollsvik. Kept talking about how Winterscorn isn't her real home, though I could make little sense of the rest of her talk. Still, perhaps through her I can negotiate with the Dark Ones...and get out of their camp alive again."

"As for the shaman... What in the name of the Great Beast is that commotion!? I thought all our ships were safely in port?" Lárus grabs his sword and makes to leave the house and find out what's going on at the port. "Are you coming, sister?"

[Morovir]

Mindful of the time that they have remaining before the feast, Groktur leads the ungors in searching for the largest bear that he can find.

Looking at the time before the feast, I think that Groktur could spend up to 5 hours searching before having to return, which should be enough to find a reasonably large bear.

Follow Trail:

Hour 1: [roll0]
Hour 2: [roll1]
Hour 3: [roll2]
Hour 4: [roll3]
Hour 5: [roll4]

TN 30 (Int 30, unless any modifiers?)

[DrK]

Morgul

With the Druchii

Morgul holds the book in 2 of his arms, 2 more wrapped around Maria whilst the 5th holds the staff. Looking at the pale sorceress "I will find reading Sorceress. Dhar will make Morgul strong. Then we will speak more." Stroking the book's soft beard hair he cackles a laugh. "The stunted ones die hard.".

As the witch looks at Maria and offers advice Morgul nods to the doors. "You keep girl safe. Morgul not forget. Have elf that move like shadow watch her." Whether she agrees or not he leaves after that, a pair of hands flicking open the book to glance through it whilst thinking of who could help him read it.... All roads let to Bjorni it seems.

At the farm

Morgul looks at the girl and proffers her to Bjorni. "You stay here small one. Bjorni skald keep you safe. Morgul keep you safe. Groktur keep you safe." As she runs off to play happily, her strange behaviors where she seems to ignore all of the horror around her. THe shaman nods to the skald and heads inside to the warm and comforting long house graciously accepting any food and drink offered. When Bjorni settles beside him Morgul looks at the skald. "What does Skald plan for girl. No man to take her as Mate. Sklad will keep her safe?" He waits for an answer and if acceptable nods.

"Bodhi warleader will challenge for the herd? Where do you stand skald? Morgul looks out the narrow window at the farmstead and the land. "Skald is rich in ways of men. Skald have wealth and slaves." Smiling, a cruel twist on his snout he holds up his dwarf skin book. "Can Skald read for Morgul? Dark witch gave book and Morgul would know its words and secrets. Morgul help skald if skald help Morgul." Again he grins a savage looking smile, offering one of his hands. "Like manling say yes?".
He'll happily spend the rest of the afternoon with Bjorni waiting for either some excitement to disturb them or the feast to begin.

[neriractor]

Home-with the vitki

Bjorni nods appreciation at the decrepit vitki, Halfi's visage was an unwelcome reminder of the struggles of old age but one had to respect the power of those who survive to grow old with such a lanky body.

After grabbing and offering a seat he answered the query a practiced curious frown on his face "after months at sea with him... Yes, without a doubt he is, the flies never abandon him buzzing messages that only he understands. I'm less partial to Nerglish than the other brothers but even I can respect his gift. And still, see my hair, Lonesh found me worthy and I bleed as we all do... What do you think?" Bjorni masks his question with naive curiosity, perhaps after having him hear a colored truth and asking such an open ended question the old Godsworn would spill his guts about the plan.

Home- morgul and the girl

The skald tilted his head at the girl's response before replying with a wide smile of his own "They are freaky folk aren't they?"

When they entered the house he asked Maria to follow Rubrik, who would show her around the house, he whispered a quick order to the majordomo "she is the one who is staying with the empire woman, answers her questions while you tour her around, treat her like a guest" and went on.

One of the least squeamish men brought them drinks as they sat around the fire, he answered after a sip of the rough homely brew, long enough for the thrall to go away before he spoke, his face and voice showing a seriousness rarely witnessed in the skald "the Greensong name crumbles shaman. only my brother and I carry it and with his age I alone stand to resist Nerglish's will to take a family that had always belonged to him. I prayed to the weaver for a pluck at fate and then found the waif, with her gift and fearless heart as a clean answer to me... If she survives the winter I intend to adopt her, and let the house be bolstered by the gift of the crow." the comment likely sounded off somehow, it was after all the only large truth the skald had said in quite a while.

He gladly took the change of conversation, he really didn't want his plans to be known for now "I could tell, it makes me doubt the captain's skill, any sailor will tell you that rocking a steady boat is no good idea... That said, if it does come to it I'll be in the winning side, and hopefully not against you." he laughed at his own remark, the shaman was a fearsome opponent.

He replied with a grim laugh at the comment on wealth, as the thrall seemingly on call entered to bring another round "of course I'm wealthy! A clan's worth of wealth just for me and my brother! " his eyes open in awe at the book, positively salivating at the arcane knowledge held within, he was a follower of the raven after all. A wild smile to match the shaman's own settling in his face, he gladly shook the hand offered to him and grabbed the book to take a better look, he then raiser his head and stared expectantly at the shaman as he asked: "you got yourself a deal, we can start right away if you wish?"

[Space Lawyer]

Otto

Otto helps with securing the ship as it comes alongside the dock, then joins in on the conversation. "You'll have to ask the jarl for warriors, but I'd be proud to join in on a bit of good vengeance. If you can find reavers to sail with you, the Red Song will sail alongside."

[DrK]

Morgul




Home- morgul and the girl

The skald tilted his head at the girl's response before replying with a wide smile of his own "They are freaky folk aren't they?"

When they entered the house he asked Maria to follow Rubrik, who would show her around the house, he whispered a quick order to the majordomo "she is the one who is staying with the empire woman, answers her questions while you tour her around, treat her like a guest" and went on.

One of the least squeamish men brought them drinks as they sat around the fire, he answered after a sip of the rough homely brew, long enough for the thrall to go away before he spoke, his face and voice showing a seriousness rarely witnessed in the skald "the Greensong name crumbles shaman. only my brother and I carry it and with his age I alone stand to resist Nerglish's will to take a family that had always belonged to him. I prayed to the weaver for a pluck at fate and then found the waif, with her gift and fearless heart as a clean answer to me... If she survives the winter I intend to adopt her, and let the house be bolstered by the gift of the crow." the comment likely sounded off somehow, it was after all the only large truth the skald had said in quite a while.

He gladly took the change of conversation, he really didn't want his plans to be known for now "I could tell, it makes me doubt the captain's skill, any sailor will tell you that rocking a steady boat is no good idea... That said, if it does come to it I'll be in the winning side, and hopefully not against you." he laughed at his own remark, the shaman was a fearsome opponent.

He replied with a grim laugh at the comment on wealth, as the thrall seemingly on call entered to bring another round "of course I'm wealthy! A clan's worth of wealth just for me and my brother! " his eyes open in awe at the book, positively salivating at the arcane knowledge held within, he was a follower of the raven after all. A wild smile to match the shaman's own settling in his face, he gladly shook the hand offered to him and grabbed the book to take a better look, he then raiser his head and stared expectantly at the shaman as he asked: "you got yourself a deal, we can start right away if you wish?"

Morgul listens, head tilted to one side, sipping the cold beverages. At mention of the raven he brays loudly. "Raven shaman already favour the girl. Why Neglish want skald's family. Have you cursed Lord of Decay?" THe shaman leans back, he has been starting to enjoy the trappings of civilisation. The years of living wild and sleepnig under leaves or in shallow caves surrounded by the excrement of his fellows less attractive to him now.

As they discussed Bodhi the shaman was canny enough to note the skald's lack of commitment. "You wait here in hold skald? Let blood settle and swear to victor and eatloser's heart." Morgul walks to the cracks in the walls and peers out. "Aemon look old. Bodhi young and strong. Herds respect strength. Leader must kill for self and not have iron giant do it for him." The last comment clearly a comment on the fearsome form of Thurin, an imposing bodyguard. Glancing at the skald he probes a little more. "What skald know of the Halfi. Is Vitki strong or weak in herd?"

Once the matters of the herd are discussed he pulls out the dwarf fur book. "Morgul share elf book with skald. Skald teach Morgul to read scratchings manlings and elves make?"


Any rolls needed for the book?

[Erulasto]

Reavers of the Red Song


Bjorni

A shadow of something passed across Halfi’s face. Bjorni could not be sure if it was fear, envy, or frustration. Or perhaps it was an insidious mixture of all of them. Regardless for the nuances, Bjorni felt as if he had struck a nerve in the Vikti. There was something grasping and greedy in the Godsworn. Perhaps Halfi was growing close to the twilight of his life – that was easy enough to see – and his lack of power and favour, compared to others, was gnawing at him.

The fact that this skald had been blessed by Slaanesh with such a visible sign of his favour, while Halfi was still stooped and hunched, seemed to irk the old sorcerer to no end.

“The Eye of the Gods is a fickle thing, Greensong.” Halfi muttered, as he rose from the table and began to hobble out of the Skald’s residence with a dark scowl on his face. “It would be wise to remember your place.”

If it hadn’t been clear before, it was so now…

Vikti Halfi was a jealous, cruel man.

And Bjorni was just one more he was envious of.


Morgul and Bjorni

Maria had slipped away with Rubrik to tour the longhouse with the majordomo, and left Morgul and Bjorni to their discussions. It was as honest and true a conversation as the Bray-Shaman and Skald had ever shared, and any canny onlookers would have been more than capable of determining that both these two were exceptionally dangerous – if for vastly different reasons.

As they settled at the table, the book laid out before them, tankards of beer and ale and some platters of cheese and cured meats set out by one of the thralls, the two of them heard the softest scuff along the outside of the longhouse.

Someone was there.

There was a flutter of dark cloth, barely heard over the crackling of the large Greensong hearth and a flash of pale flesh barely visible beneath supple leather and fine scales.

It was as if a shadow had come to life. When Bjorni and Morgul had stepped up to investigate, they were surprised to hear the padding of boots from within the kitchen. Peering inside, they found a tall, willowy figure swathed in a cloak as black as the deep waters that split Norsca and the Chaos Wastes. Whomever this intruder was, they were in no way trying to go undetected as long, spidery fingers worked to unstopped a bottle of wine. The bottle was raised to a sharp, angular nose that took a small sniff, before giving an equally small grunt of disgust.

Turning to the Skald and the Bray-Shaman, the Druchii shook his head almost wistfully.

“Would that you had a better stock, Skald.” He said, in a coldly mercurial tone. “I am Dukir. My Lady Sehanith bid me introduce myself. I will be keeping an eye out for your young ward.”

The Dark Elf was like shadow made flesh. Very little of his corpe-pale skin was visible beneath supple black leather and a fine mail tunic. A pair of long, slender blades hung at his hip, while his other held a sealed quiver of bolts for the elegant repeater crossbow that was slung across his back. Even his face was shrouded in black cloth, revealing only the sharp angle of his nose and two eyes of glittering, mirthful amber.



Okay. Bjorni is more than able to help Morgul read and translate this book. No rolls are necessary to actually read it and decipher it.

However, this act is exposing both of them to secrets and forbidden lore that is anathema to the sane.

By reading the tome, both Bjorni and Morgul must make Challenging WP tests (that’s a flat WP test with no modifiers). If you succeed on the test, great. If you fail you gain [roll0] Insanity Points. This is a one-time test. Further reading of this book has no further effect on your sanity.

Study of this tome will allow a few interesting benefits. Though not all will be immediately known.

If you are a spell-caster, it will grant you the option of purchasing the Dark Magic talent if you don’t already have it.

It also contains a ritual.

And lastly, and this the most important part for Bjorni I would think….

It makes him eligible to enter the Cult Acolyte (any but Khorne), or the Maledictor career.

I can elaborate further if you need.




Egil, Otto and Larus

When Astrid nodded to Egil’s question of a healer, Gunnar took off at a brisk jog. The Norscan was intent on fetching one of the Vitki’s apprentices to come tend the wounded among the Red Bear tribe’s warriors.

Astrid, to her credit, had kept a rather stoic front on, despite the fact that Egil could tell some of her wounds had to have been painful and cold from the voyage to Winterscorn Hold.

“I would be most honoured to accept your offer, Shipmaster.” Astrid said to Otto, a small grimaced smile being the best she had been able to muster at the time.

“Please,” Astrid said, having taken a spear from the longship to lean upon. “If you would lead the way to Jarl Aemon, I would be most appreciative.”

Even as Astrid had made her request, Egil and Otto caught sight of Larus making his way towards them with a younger woman trailing behind. Egil at least recognized her as Lilja – Larus’ sister – and she carried a tall harpoon over her shoulder.

Astrid had looked at the newcomers. Larus had met the daughter of the Red Bear Jarl only once in his time here at Winterscorn Hold, be he had memories of her besting several men twice her size in a drinking competition during a festival of sorts.

The daughter nodded at Larus and his sister, before continuing on the way to the Jarl’s hold. Along the way up from the harbour to the white tower, Astrid told them all of her brother. Raskil had left some years ago on a pilgrimage to the wastes up north. He had been trying to earn some honour so he would be acknowledged in his father’s hall as the true heir to the Red Bear tribe.

No one had heard from him, until only weeks past, when he arrived with a small group of longships bearing plunder and loot from far off Bretonnia to the South. Everything from casks of wine and chests of gold, to forged weapons and armour taken from their foes.

But what had drawn the ire of the Bretonnians was the abducting of something holy and sacred to the Knights. Or so the common story went.

But Astrid was livid – it was no blessed relic or trinket. It was a maiden. A pretty young woman who had taken vows to serve the strange Goddess of Bretonnia. A Grail Maiden, whatever that meant.



There absolutely are healers. Mostly apothecary-style, with a few of Halfi’s apprentices being a bit more skilled. But the caliber and skill of…say…an Imperial Barber-Surgeon or academic Physician are lost to the Norscans, generally.




Nicoli

Bodhi listened intently to Nicoli’s suggestions thoughtfully, the wolfish grin everpresent.

The reaver-captain had mulled over his words, nodding slowly as she prepared to speak, when suddenly there was a commotion outside.

Gunnar arrived, breathing raggedly as he shouted for Halfi’s apprentices to come attend the wounded.

Bodhi was swift to follow Gunnar, and as she slipped from the room, Nicoli heard Gunnar mention something about the Red Bear’s were attacked by Bretonnians of all things!


Groktur

It had taken many hours of tracking to find a trail that was fresh enough to follow – though the day was beginning to grow late.

It seemed the Frostgrave warherd had been overzealous in hunting and plundering the forest of life. It was almost desolate.

But eventually, they came upon a small glade at the foot of the mountains where there was a cavernous cleft in the rocks. At the foot of the cleft were piles of old, rotting meat and many gnawed upon bones.

The Ungors seemed a bit hesitant, as the sounds coming from within the cleft of rock were deep, and rumbling like a thunderstorm.

[neriractor]

House-Halfi:

Bjorni had half a mind to grabbing his axe and just putting the Vitki down right there, he was reckless and insulted his hospitality, insulted him. But his weapons were far and the Vitki scurried away fast as the rat he was. When the Vitki was gone he went about telling Rubrik to be wary when he was not around, any visitor with a torch might not just bring it for light...

House-Morgul and Dukir

Bjorni sighed, it really didn't seem a topic he liked to explore very often but alcohol or trust had already brought him here... "Never, but I failed him. The story of my families name is long so I'll save it, but the part that matters was a promise, a promise the ancestor that gave us name made. A promise born of the colored ooze pouring out of holes in his skin and his willingness to sing praise to nelish and have his children do the same, we tended a shrine past the Nilfheim mountains, filled it with spoils and many sacrifices, the fly father rewarded the greensong with long lives. It was good until we were forced to abandon the shrine to despoiling... I should have rather died there..."

he frowned at the implication of cowardice made by Morgul, right until he mentioned Halfi "I will take part in the fight if there is one and I'll take the reaver captain against any she fight, but I'll rather she keep it to her grudge against the vitki, his only strength is worming into a place near the jarl. Fighting aemon, on the other hand..." there was a nod of acceptance for the last condition, couldn't be that hard right? but before they read the book...

Bjorni was at first miffed to see the dark elf, but after taking another drink he decided it wasn't worth it and went down to inspect some piece of furniture "... I do have some brettonian stock, but drink with care, there are not too many bottles" pulling out one (not the best he had, though the shade would likely take it eventually now that he knew where it was hiding) and turning towards the shade with a homely smile "I presume you will be taking residence and need to be provided with food to better protect the place she calls home? if so I'll have the thralls prepare something. "

pleasantries done he turned to the living room, a final call of "join us by the fire" with any luck the problem of retaliation from the vitki had just solved itself, then he sat down and proceeded to the book, gesturing to a nearby chair if the druchii did decide to come.

bah, If you don't risk you don't win, what are the chances I need a fortune point today anyway? :smallwink: high, very high

fp re roll for insanity (0/2 left): [roll0] TN 35

now I feel better for not increasing willpower, apparently it wouldn't have mattered :smalltongue:

[Shadowflick]

Nicoli stands quickly, raising a brow as he grabs his weapons "Not a Moment for rest it seems. Bretonians. Fight for pride and honour. More Pampered then real fighters. SHould be easy to counter attack." He slings his rifle over his shoulder "Odd to go so far north"

[Haval]

In spite of Astrid's wounds Egil will grin openly at the story of her brothers efforts. Foolish perhaps, but it had worked. Wasn't Raskil's fault that the Bretonnians were crazy enough to follow him home. 'Maybe he shouldn't leave so many witnesses next time. This thrall they're so upset about. She still alive?'

[DrK]

Morgul

At the brazen coolness of the druchii Morgul gives another braying bestial laugh. Before settling down, happy for the wine, although all taste the same to him. "Witch want girl, or watch from afar? You protect girl from all. Watch for Half, girl and Morgul not trust Vitki." he looked slyly at Bjorni as well, "Skald not trust Halfi either? When Bodhi make her move I will find Halfi and eat black heart."

As they settle down to read the book and talk with the strange assassin he muses on how strange his life has become. Only months earlier an exile flitting like a raven from valley to valley hunted by kin. Now with a daughter and drinking wine with a manling and an elf.

He shrugs, focusing on Bjorni's words as they try and discern the meaning of the ritual in the fascinating book. Never had he considered such things, magic for him had always been a thing of hallucinations and instinct.

[rax]

Raskil had left some years ago on a pilgrimage to the wastes up north. He had been trying to earn some honour so he would be acknowledged in his father’s hall as the true heir to the Red Bear tribe.

No one had heard from him, until only weeks past, when he arrived with a small group of longships bearing plunder and loot from far off Bretonnia to the South. Everything from casks of wine and chests of gold, to forged weapons and armour taken from their foes.

But what had drawn the ire of the Bretonnians was the abducting of something holy and sacred to the Knights. Or so the common story went.

But Astrid was livid – it was no blessed relic or trinket. It was a maiden. A pretty young woman who had taken vows to serve the strange Goddess of Bretonnia. A Grail Maiden, whatever that meant."A Grail Maiden!?" Lárus responds sharply, his tone incredulous. "Your brother abducted a sacred servant of the Bretonnian goddess? Small wonder they pursued him - I've heard tell that such a maiden could command the King of Bretonnia himself. I've also heard that they're all witches of great power. Astrid, has this woman shown any signs of sorcery since your brother brought her back?"

[Space Lawyer]

"A Grail Maiden!?" Lárus responds sharply, his tone incredulous. "Your brother abducted a sacred servant of the Bretonnian goddess? Small wonder they pursued him - I've heard tell that such a maiden could command the King of Bretonnia himself. I've also heard that they're all witches of great power. Astrid, has this woman shown any signs of sorcery since your brother brought her back?"

The look on Otto's face is dark and pensive. "More than simple witches, they are. They are the living embodiment of their goddess' will. Taking of them is like wiping the blood off of an altar of Khorne. These knights will hunt your brother for all time; their honor demands it.

[Morovir]

"We fight!" Groktur bellows to the ungors, hefting his spear in both hands and braying. "For the Primordial Truth!"

He positions the ungors in a semicircle around the cleft,with himself at the apex, and leads them in a display of riotous braying, and the clashing of axes on shields, as they await the beast.

[Erulasto]

Reavers of the Red Song


Morgul and Bjorni

Dukir stared at Bjorni with curious and cold eyes, before he shook his head ever so slowly. “No, Greensong. You shall not notice me unless I wish it. I am here only as a courtesy so your primate ears do not mistake me for a crude assassin in the night.”

With those words spoken, Dukir cast a brief look at Morgul before departing the direction he came. “I have been bidden to protect the child from all harm. I would suppose that could include you and the Skald, under certain circumstances.”

The remainder of their afternoon was spent pouring over the Terek-Mator and all the horrible secrets contained within the skin-clad book. Whomever the author had been, they had spent a considerable period of time in the dark lands to the far east, over the World’s Edge Mountains and into the realm of the beings known as the Chaos Dwarves – or Dawi-Zharr in the blighted realm of Zharr Naggrund. The author spoke at length of the great Bull God – Hashut – that they worshipped there. A dark power of blood and fire. Close, perhaps to Khorne himself, though Hashut seemed much more amenable to the Winds of Magic; Sorcerers of the Chaos Dwarves often holding high political and theological positions within their realm of smoke and fire and pain.

There was mention of a Daemon for whom the book was now named – Terek-Mator. A Daemon of Hashut that was once a frighteningly potent sorcerer who sought to circumvent the Curse that overtook at Sorcerers of the Chaos Dwarves by elevating himself to Daemonhood. For all intents and purposes, it seems he was successful. The book held greedily between Bjorni and Morgul was a testament to that success and his power.

The words upon the pages seemed to glow like hot iron, and a stink like that of burning hair and copper filled the room as the pages were turned. If the two allowed themselves to stare at the same words or phrases for too long, they found themselves drifting on currents of imagination that filled their heads with visions of torrents of slaves being sacrificed in great, smoke-belching machines that ground them up and used the remains to pave great roads across a blasted, blighted wasteland.



As mentioned previously, Morgul and Bjorni’s mental wanderings and exposure to dark secrets gains them 2 insanity points.

Congrats! :smallwink:

I will be advancing the timeline fairly soon to bring everyone to the Feast. If there’s any last minute things Bjorni or Morgul would like to accomplish before then, please let me know.




Larus, Egil, Nicoli and Otto

“Aye.” Astrid said as she allowed one of Halfi’s bent apprentices begin to tend her wounds as they gathered in a small waiting hall, where the Jarl would soon attend them. Bodhi had gone ahead to fetch him, leaving Nicoli, Larus, Egil and Otto to attend Astrid.

“The woman has been trussed up and bound, and hidden. Or…she was. I have no way of knowing if the Bretonnian’s had managed to free her yet. I can only imagine that things would get a lot worse for my people if the Knights managed to free her.” Turning to glance to Larus, Astrid nodded slowly. “There are some signs. She is marked by her magic. But her hands have been kept in irons, and her mouth gagged unless it is time to eat. We have been…careful to keep her from being able to work her sorcery.”


Groktur

From within the cleft came a bellowing roar so loud it shook loose stone free and rattled the mounds of bone that were strewn about it. The braying of the beastmen was enough to rouse the creature from its lair.

With heavy footfalls, a monstrosity of thick gristle and muscle lumbered into view. The bear was easily as tall as Groktur, and thick spines of bone had broken through its rust-hued fur at its shoulders and along its spine.

Seeing the Ungors arrayed before it, the mutant bear reared up on its hind legs and loosed a roar so powerful that even Groktur himself found the sound overpowering.



This will be fast and dirty combat.

Initiative:

Ungors [roll0]
Bear [roll1]

Ungors [roll2]
[roll3]

Bear [roll4]
[roll5]

[rax]

“Aye.” Astrid said as she allowed one of Halfi’s bent apprentices begin to tend her wounds as they gathered in a small waiting hall, where the Jarl would soon attend them. Bodhi had gone ahead to fetch him, leaving Nicoli, Larus, Egil and Otto to attend Astrid.

“The woman has been trussed up and bound, and hidden. Or…she was. I have no way of knowing if the Bretonnian’s had managed to free her yet. I can only imagine that things would get a lot worse for my people if the Knights managed to free her.” Turning to glance to Larus, Astrid nodded slowly. “There are some signs. She is marked by her magic. But her hands have been kept in irons, and her mouth gagged unless it is time to eat. We have been…careful to keep her from being able to work her sorcery.”"Did Raskil know he had taken a sorceress? Or did he believe her to be just a pretty thrall?"

[neriractor]

You Bjorni shrugged the harmless insult, dropping the hospitality down a notch as he left the kitchen "suit yourself, two bottles are my courtesy, but if I lose anything else your mistress is hearing about it!"

The norseman read the Terek-Mator with undivided devotion, asking the beastman for pointers on things someone non-magically attuned simply couldn't understand, and clarifying any nuance of the words that the savage shaman may have missed.

When done he made a point of telling Kubrik and the girl personally about the dark elf, whispering to the girl to not trust him, the old man was wise enough to know that.

He left the man clear instructions for his brother, the most important being to keep any interactions with Maria to a presentation at most until Bjorni arrived, and to stress that she was not to be treated as a thrall.

no plans beyond those minor orders, lets go! :smallsmile:

[Haval]

But her hands have been kept in irons, and her mouth gagged unless it is time to eat. We have been…careful to keep her from being able to work her sorcery.”


Egil tends to assume that sorcerers and witches could be capable of anything. 'I wonder if that is enough? Although I expect if she was able to free herself by magic she would have done so already. We have a Shaman who would likely know for certain.'

[Shadowflick]

"Do we have any Idea where these Knights may be? or Where they attacked It would be best to try and counter-attack as soon as possible before they get away"

[Morovir]

Not wanting to miss out on the hunt, Groktur lets out a braying bellow and leaps at the bear, his spear clutched tightly in both hands.

Initiative: [roll0]
Charge (Full Action): [roll1] TN 50 (WS 40 + 10 Charge)
FP Reroll: [roll2]

Damage: [roll3]

[Erulasto]

Reavers of the Red Song


Larus, Nicoli, Egil and Otto

The conversation with Astrid had continued as they wound their way up the road to the top of the ridge overlooking the cove. The road was truly ancient, and though extremely weathered, it had held remarkably well - as most Dwarven construction was want to do - through the passing of the years.

As Halfi's apprentice bound the wound on her thigh with thin, gauzy strips of linen, Astrid continued her explanation.

"The knights and their men hold the village, and my father and his huskarl's have barricaded themselves in the hold. When I left, they were still holding firm - but the Bretonnian's were relentless in their attempts to force their way in." Astrid said with a grim expression. "Even if the Bretonnian's are unable to break through, all they must do is wait and eventually they will starve. The hold has a good deal of supplies stockpiled for the coming winter, but it may not be enough."

The stooped apprentice had finished binding up Astrid's wounds, with a proclaimation that they were light and she would be healed in no time if she kept them clean. As he made his way back down the hall, Astrid shifted tentatively, testing the bandages.

"My brother claims to have known - but he was always a bit of a fool. Brave. But a fool."

Heavy footfalls sounded down the hall, and soon the sound of the Jarl's voice was heard as he approached with Bodhi and Thurim trailing just behind him.

"Little Astrid! How you've grown! Were that you were here for better tidings." Aemon said as he came to stand before the small assembly. His gaze fell upon Egil, Larus, Nicoli and Otto. "You have my thanks for bringing Astrid here to me with such haste, and to do it on the heels of your successes reaving in the south! Truly, I am fortunate to have such men in my Jarldom."

Aemon placed a large hand on Astrids shoulder, and nodded his head towards a sitting room down the hall.

"Come. Tell me of your father's plight and what I can do to help."

As he began to lead Astrid away, Aemon turned to the small group.

"You may return to your free time. We will speak again at the feast." Something in his tone was distinctly final.



Aemon has dismissed you all. You're free to freshen up, or do whatever needs to be done before the feast.




Groktur

The bear, fouled by mutation, had lunged forward at the small group of beastmen. Groktur was swiftest, trying to lunge under the murderous claws of the bear, spear driving up only to be deflected by the thick, furry hide of the bear. It plowed into the ungors, swatting one of them aside like a rag-doll while the others did their best to maneuver into position and hack at the bear with their axes. They scored a number of blows, rending gibbets of flesh from the bear but it seemed unrelenting in its tenacity.

The ungor on the ground scrambled to his feet, a whine of pain coming with the movement.



Ungors [roll0]
[roll1]
Bear [roll2]
[roll3]






The Feast

Egil, Nicoli, Morgul, Groktur, Larus, Bjorni and Otto

When the sun had dipped low in the sky, creeping below the line of jagged mountains that fenced the vale in, Winterscorn Hold had lit up as it did every night to battle the growing shadows. Large iron braziers that ran along the old dwarven roads from the hold and into the town at the bottom of the ridge, were filled with stacked wood treated with rendered whale fat and set alight. Even in the early days of Vorgenheim, the air had begun to dip into truly cold temperatures and even now the sky was filled with thick, fluffy snowflakes caught in the chill breeze coming off the ocean.

Having made their way towards the massive white watchtower that sat as the seat of Aemon's power, the sounds of festivities had begun to filter up into the night. The grand hall, such as it was, stood at the base of the watchtower - a wide stone hall now used as a comunal gathering place. It was a tall room, with a vaulted stone ceiling that opened up at the far end of the room to look up the lower levels of the watchtower. Thick wooden rafters spread across the room, and small bowls of burning fat and trophies taken in battle hung from them. At the far end of the hall, upon a dias of stacked stones not originally part of the contruction, sat the Jarl's throne. It was simple - not grand or pretentious - thick wood and faded upholstery, looted years ago from Tilea. Drapped as it was in fine furs, the Jarl was reclining in it lazily while he held a large horn of mead in hand.

Spread out through the room were six incredibly long wooden tables, with well-worn benches available down the whole length. A roaring hearth was built into one wall, and the tables were split by a large central area in the room that held a massive bonfire surrounded by heavy granite bricks. The tables were covered in jugs of ale and small casks of beer. Haunches of roasted meat, freshly baked breads and a variety of pilfered cheeses were availabler on wide brass platters. Serving thralls made their way through the growing crowds, carrying large amphoras or jugs of wine or mead, and at the hearth, several thralls maintained a massive cauldron that held a spicy stew of meat and potatoes.

Thurim hovered near the Jarl, one hand clutching his massive shield in one hand while the other rest on the back of the throne. Sitting next to him on a small wooden stool was Astrid, and she was leaned in and speaking to the Jarl about something. He nodded along, occasionally offering a reply, while Aemon kept his eyes looking out across the gathering reavers. It was the spot normally reserved for Halfi - the bent Godsworn standing at the bottom of the dias while he spoke with a handful of his apprentices. Occasionally, Halfi cast envious glowers in Astrid and the Jarl's direction.

Bodhi sat at the head of the table closest to the Jarl's throne, and there were a number of open seats along the table at her sides. They had been kept open for those whose attention she had gathered on the raids. Egil and Larus for their contributions in leading the reavers. The shipmaster of the Red Song and the Kislevite expatriate. Bjorni, who would eventually be called upon to tell the stories of their time reaving the coast of Nordland and Ostland. Groktur the beastman and his Bray-Shaman kin. Few of the revellers truly wore much in the way of armour at the festivities, though each and every one was armed. There was no real decorum - simply that many did not want to be weighed down by armour when they sought the release of drinking and feasting.

Music - simple though it was for the moment - rose above the noise of the growing crowd - as some of the more musically-inclined skalds in the Jarl's employ earned their keep.

Lurking on the edge of the crowds, a keen eye could spot a number of Druchii. Navrene Rageblight was present, near the dias of the Jarl and accompanied by a handful of his kin - men and women - who wore the dark scaled cloaks of their Corsairs.

A small fight had already begun in one corner of the hall. A brawny Norscan was attempting to smash and pummel one of the Dark Elves, and though she was not attacking back at the moment, her movements were far too swift for the taller human to land a single blow. A cluster of others had gathered, and were shouting curses or cheers and it appeared that a handful were even beginning to place bets.

The Druchii was easily recognized as she was one of the only surviving member of the pack of Witch Elves that had come with the corsairs. Next to nude, with tall boots and long gloves that bore thin, scalloped armour along their length, Lissakah Ashweaver twisted and turned with a grace bordering on unnatural as she avoided the attacks. Along her gloves and boots were thin, razor-sharp barbs and blades, and though she held two light, slender blades with serrated edges, it didn't take much to see her whole body could be used as an effective weapon.

As those Bodhi had been expecting entered, she rose from her seat at the table and bellowed at them to join her.

[DrK]

Morghul

The hulking shaman enjoyed the walk through the town, since he had grown larger with his 5 muscular arms more of the local norscans stayed clear of him or at least looked at him with a suitable level of respected and fear. Walking slowly with Bjorni he made sure that axe and sword were loose at his belt and rattled the skulls on his braystaff to make sure they were secure. With the rumours flowing through Winterscorn about another tribal leader arriving and the tension he had sensed between Aemon and Bodhi he thought it was going to be an exciting feast. Glancing at Bodhi he suggests as much. "Skald. Feast tonight will see blood shed you think. Morgul think blood will come, I can taste on wind. Metallic, strong, exciting." As he spoke, relishing the idea of what may come the burning torches reflected off the dark pools of his eyes that were clearly inhuman.

Entering the feasting room he paused on the threshold, nodding to a few of the reavers he spoken with on the voyage and soon sitting down by Bodhi and the others from the Red Song. He nudges Egil and Larus, Who girl who sit with Jarl. Who is girl that steal Halfi seer's place?" If they tell him of the brettonians he draws back his lips in a sharp grin, leaning forward to Bodhi. "Bodhi Chief, we sail for these manlings that raid norse and take norse manhood? Morgul help you again when battle comes." He offers a rough salute with a horn of mead before sitting back to watch the festivities, paying little if any mind to the fight in the corner. From what he had seen and heard of the druchii he expected the norseman to be dead shortly. The druchii's ability to kill cheering him with the thought of Duker protecting Maria.

Still, with fur standing on end on the back of his heavy hands he scanned the room, looking for any trouble. Either Bodhi's reavers armoured and armed more than normal or if Aemon had secreted men about the hall to crush and challenge to his position. He also fixed the vitki Halfi with a cold stare, the thought of tearing out his heart more warming than the weak mead he was drinking. Since he had relaised the gulf of power that separated the pathetic cripple from the Druchii witches he had realised where the best path to understanding the Gods would be.


Perception [roll0] base TN 71
Magical sense [roll1] base TN 43

[Haval]

Before


all they must do is wait and eventually they will starve. The hold has a good deal of supplies stockpiled for the coming winter, but it may not be enough."

If the Bretonnians were still here by then Egil would like to meet the southerner who could make war in the middle of a Norscan winter. It was hard enough sometimes for those who were born to it. Still, he was not unsympathetic to Astrid's plight. 'I don't think it will come to that, but even if it does I'll wager there is no one in Norsca who will let them get away with it.'

The Feast

As with the feast at Kollsvik, Egil has made minimal effort to be presentable, having merely washed off the dirt of their voyage.

He will consider joining the crowd around Ashweaver for a moment, but will follow the others to Bodhi's table. You had to respect the girl's speed if nothing else. If she wished she could likely finish her opponent any time she chose. To even try to take her on you'd need to be willing to get cut in the process. He will try and keep an eye on the fight.

To Morghul, 'Daughter of the Red Bear Jarl. Here to ask for Aemon's aid. Her brother took some southlander sorceress captive and her people followed her up here to take her back. Should be a good fight if we're part of it. Talking this much with a Shaman was almost as bad as talking to a bloody Vikti, but talk of possible war was at least familiar ground. He'll laugh at the Beastman's response though. Morghul was obviously someone willing to get his hands dirty. 'Will the Frostgrave fight with us?'

[neriractor]

Bjorni walked calmly alongside the towering shaman, fur and silk trying to stop the cold winter winds as he too enjoyed the awe the beastman caused on the townsfolk.

He replied to the suggestion of bloodshed in an equally calm manner "Bodhi is smart, I am sure Tchar will better enjoy this feast than Karnath" and yet his words lacked conviction, he still brought a leather jack and leggings under the comfy clothes he brought from Kollsvik after all.

he took the room in, his position was the best it had been since he arrived and the climate was just perfect for making new allies, he paid special attention to the dark haired woman that displaced the vitki, and the elf fighting by the corner, though someone married to one of the blood brothers could prefer to speak with sharp prayers, of the kind he wouldn't like to be involved with.

The Skald had a wide predatory grin as Egil briefed them on the Brettonian business, it just seemed so perfect to him. A fight that'll that'll keep the jarl away from the poisonous tongue of Halfi, glory and plunder with a sorceress as the big price (fat chance he'll get it, but a skald can dream), and a young strong woman with pull over an entire tribe... The god's blessing came as a chance, and he was making the most of it.

He thought of correcting Egil on Morghul's current tribe, but he was a shaman he could know, instead he picked up a bird's leg and took a chunk, adding in "We just oughta reach them before winter does"

[Morovir]

Snarling with rage as his first attack failed to connect, Groktur puts all of his strength into a second strike, hoping to injure the creature sufficiently before any serious harm was done.

All-Out Attack: [roll0] TN 60 (WS 40 + 20 AOA)
Damage: [roll1]

[rax]

As Halfi's apprentice bound the wound on her thigh with thin, gauzy strips of linen, Astrid continued her explanation.

"The knights and their men hold the village, and my father and his huskarl's have barricaded themselves in the hold. When I left, they were still holding firm - but the Bretonnian's were relentless in their attempts to force their way in." Astrid said with a grim expression. "Even if the Bretonnian's are unable to break through, all they must do is wait and eventually they will starve. The hold has a good deal of supplies stockpiled for the coming winter, but it may not be enough."

The stooped apprentice had finished binding up Astrid's wounds, with a proclaimation that they were light and she would be healed in no time if she kept them clean. As he made his way back down the hall, Astrid shifted tentatively, testing the bandages.

"My brother claims to have known - but he was always a bit of a fool. Brave. But a fool.""I would not bet against the Bretonnians forcing their way in sooner rather than later. They live in stone castles. They may not have brought any siege engines with them, but they know lots of ways to crack open fortifications," Lárus grunts in reply. "But their leaders - the knights - are obsessed with honour. If they prove too strong to defeat in battle, then they may yet relent if they believe that their grievances have been addressed. And your brother may be the key to making it so. Do you know where he is now?"


Bodhi sat at the head of the table closest to the Jarl's throne, and there were a number of open seats along the table at her sides. They had been kept open for those whose attention she had gathered on the raids. Egil and Larus for their contributions in leading the reavers. The shipmaster of the Red Song and the Kislevite expatriate. Bjorni, who would eventually be called upon to tell the stories of their time reaving the coast of Nordland and Ostland. Groktur the beastman and his Bray-Shaman kin. Few of the revellers truly wore much in the way of armour at the festivities, though each and every one was armed. There was no real decorum - simply that many did not want to be weighed down by armour when they sought the release of drinking and feasting.

As those Bodhi had been expecting entered, she rose from her seat at the table and bellowed at them to join her.Lárus had elected to come to the feast in his battle leathers, sword and dagger at his belt. Only a fool goes into the wolf's den wholly unarmoured, he thought as he observed the other revellers. This should be an interesting night, though. Will Bodhi challenge Bitterstride already? What will the Jarl make of Astrid's plea for warriors? If he lets Bodhi lead an expedition to help the Red Bear, he is handing her another opportunity for glory. If he goes himself, then there may be mischief in Winterscorn Hold while he is gone. And should he fail...He allowed himself a small smile at the dilemma that was building up for the Jarl. It is trouble well deserved, no matter that it may interfere with our plans.

Taking his seat at the table, Lárus greets Bodhi. "Warleader, what do you make of Astrid Red Bear? Will the Jarl send men to fight with her?"

[Shadowflick]

Before

"Bah. i Prefer an Ambush. Surround there army with our own and close in. Or even better, send a team in to kill and Posion there horses. HAve them fight on foot,. Then we fire on them, Bullets and arrows to kill there slow moving knights. Should be easy no?"


At The Feast

Nicoli saw no reason to bath. After all these Norscans seemed to prefer him better when he did not. THe Fly father and all that. He moves to take his seat among the reaver's two seats down from Bohdi. he looks about, noticing the display that the witch Elf Was putting on. A fight witht he end already decided. He holds his rifle, already hearing what his fellow raiders have to say. "To let Bretonian attack Norsca in Homeland is sign of weakness"

[rax]

"Bah. i Prefer an Ambush. Surround there army with our own and close in. Or even better, send a team in to kill and Posion there horses. HAve them fight on foot,. Then we fire on them, Bullets and arrows to kill there slow moving knights. Should be easy no?""Have you ever fought Bretonnians, Nicoli? You do yourself a disservice if you dismiss them so easily - and these ones especially. These men had the skill and tenacity to follow Raskil's raiders clear across the Sea of Chaos and track them all the way back to their homes. They then struck hard and fast enough to disperse the Red Bear's warriors and force Jarl Mjorni to retreat to his den. Clearly, they know something about raiding as well."

"If they have settled in for a siege, or even plan to winter here, I would not take it for granted that they would forget to post sentries to warn of approaching enemies - especially if they know that Astrid escaped - so an ambush may not be as easy to pull off as you presume. And even if their knights bothered to bring their horses, the bulk of their warriors will be foot soldiers and archers. They will not be inconvenienced by the death of their commanders' mounts. And one more thing - their archers commonly use war bows that easily outrange an Imperial arquebus, firing arrows that can punch through a good mail coat like a hot knife through butter. I would not want to engage in an archery duel with them - we would likely lose unless they are hugely outnumbered."

[Erulasto]

Reavers of the Red Song


Groktur

The Ungor were quicker this time around, having seen the strength of the mutant bear as it had swatted one of their numbers aside so easily. They moved – dodging and weaving – to avoid the brutal claws, and terrifying maw filled with jagged, broken teeth.

Hand axes hewed more flesh from the bear, and thick rivulets of black blood were spilling down its hide to splatter across the bone-strewn ground. Groktur took an opportunity when it had presented itself, and drove the tip of his spear deep into the bears side.

The Caprigor felt the spear grind to a halt, wedged between two of the bears ribs just below its shoulder as it bellowed a ferocious roar. Groktur recognized the look in its eyes – the fight was beginning to wane from it.

If they pressed on like this, the beast would fall to them sooner rather than later.



Ungors [roll0]
[roll1]

Bear [roll2]
[roll3]







Morgul, Egil, Larus, Otto, Nicoli, Bjorni and Groktur

Bodhi leaned in towards those now gathered at her table with a wolfish grin, cocking her head to the side slowly. The reaver-captain took a look across those assembled, and gave them a curt nod.

“Oh yes. Aemon is indebted to Jarl Mjorni and it would be a stain on his reputation if he allowed this slight to go unpunished. I’ve already been told our little band will be taking the Red Song out at dawn tomorrow with Astrid and those of her warriors still able to fight. We are to go and purge the Bretonnian’s from the Red Bear’s lands.”

It seemed Bodhi was thoroughly looking forward to the opportunity. It did seem a bit strange that Aemon – once again – seemed unwilling to venture beyond the walls of his own hold to bring battle to the enemies of the North. By Bjorni’s reckoning, this would be second full season in which Aemon has remained behind and left his warriors to do his bidding beyond the walls of Winterscorn Hold.

“Astrid is a capable fighter, if a bit on the young side.” Bodhi said, answering the rest of Larus’ question. “I reckon she will make a capable leader herself when her father finally passes. He’s an old one. Truly ancient. He’s beyond senility at this point. Mind has left him.”

By the time Bodhi had finished her explanation to her crew, the remainder of the guests had filtered into the hall and Jarl Aemon rose from his throne, a strong hand holding his horn of mead above his head to quell the noise.

“Blessings of the Four upon you, my warriors!” Aemon bellowed. “I welcome you back home after a profitable season of raiding. Each of you has paid a tithe in blood to the Gods and a tithe of coin and thralls to your Jarl. I salute you, for your bravery and your faith and loyalty!”

With tankards and mugs raised, the assembled reavers raised their voices in a cheer of their own at the praise. The Druchii had reconvened together, and were eying the Jarl while quietly murmuring amongst themselves. They certainly did not share the enthusiasm of the reavers – but that wouldn’t surprise most of the Norscans. While the Jarl had offered them his patronage, they certainly hadn’t made much secret of their distaste for the humans they were forced to socialize with. Lissakah had finished her fight with a single, swift blow to the massive Norscan that had lain him out on the ground before making her way across the room to join her kin.

“Of all you gathered, one ship rises ascendant in glory this year. The Red Song. Though captained by a foreigner from the South, he and his vessel have served Bodhi Ymirsdottir – and by virtue of such, myself – very well.”

Two heavily robed thralls with bald heads stepped forward, holding small wooden lockboxes to their chests. They approached the Jarl, and cracked the lid. Even from where they sat, the crew of the Red Song could see the gleam of gold from within.

“Rise, reavers of the Red Song. Rise and receive a token of my esteem!”

From the first lockbox, Jarl Aemon withdrew an amulet of gold upon which the Eight-pointed star of Chaos had been worked carefully – meticulously – with skill that no metalsmiths in Winterscorn could match.



The amulet is a best-quality piece of jewelry. By itself it does nothing but grants a +5% bonus to Fellowship tests to those who worship the Dark Gods if worn in the open.

But it’s worth about 150 gold coins if melted down and sold at value. Bloody thing is really heavy.

[DrK]

Morgul

At Bodhi's words Morgul grins savagely, "News good Warleader. Manlings will be sacrife for gods. Blood and bones to decorate stones." He muses, "Morgul like to see manling lady witch."

At the comments from the big Norscan Morgul listens closely. "Ghur take horses from them" then, with a sly look at Halfi - "Seer come aid us with god's magic? Or is seer battle weak?" he phrased it as a question, but loud enough that the table, Bodhi and probably Halfi could hear. From speaking with Maria and the dark elves any remaining fear of the old sorcerer had gone.

Drinking in the scene he looked at Bjorni. "Jarl hope Red Song destroyed by manlings? Warleader Bodhi watch for bad crew in reavers. Egil or Breathstealer must know reavers."

[rax]

To Bodhi
"We will be ready, warleader, but we should not sail before learning all we can about the strength of our enemies. I raided the Bretonnians with Uller the Squid two summers ago, and though most of their warriors are miserable peasants, their knights could give Thurim Ironarm pause in single combat. I fear far too many of our reavers will die needlessly if you allow their bloodlust and hunger for glory to lead the way. And if you - we - fail, then I do not doubt that the Jarl will make sure that the blame is laid at our feet, not his."

To Morgul
"Assuming the Bretonnians brought horses with them in the first place, I do not doubt that your sorceries can deprive them of their steeds, shaman. But that may not be enough for victory - a knight can kill you stone dead on foot or on horseback. If your magic can show us what is going on at Jarl Mjorni's hold, I reckon that would be more useful to begin with."

Responding to the Jarl's speech
"After you, warleader," Lárus rises from his seat and gestures towards Jarl Aemon.

[DrK]

To Morgul
"Assuming the Bretonnians brought horses with them in the first place, I do not doubt that your sorceries can deprive them of their steeds, shaman. But that may not be enough for victory - a knight can kill you stone dead on foot or on horseback. If your magic can show us what is going on at Jarl Mjorni's hold, I reckon that would be more useful to begin with."


Morgul grins, a raven's feather held in one of his hands. "Raven see far norseman. Bodhi or Norseman say where Red Bear huts are raven can fly and see." He grins, "Raven found the Fly kissed. Now raven find southern witch." He nods happily as he watches the ongoing antics on stage.

Donning the amulet intially, he shivered, the golden star of chaos cold even through the thick matted fur. The weight was pleasing although the usefullness was limited. Still, he thought, he could always trade such a thing away for something he wanted. The manlings were ever obsessive in their quest for gold.

[Haval]

Before

" Do you know where he is now?"


Honour was for fools who tried to pretend Kharneth's business was something other than it was. It figured that the Bretonnians were that sort. Egil views giving up Astrid's brother to be her decision if it somehow ever came to that. He will reply to Larus's musings, not entirely disbelieving, 'And they'll leave us in peace? You sure we could trust the Bretonnians even then. I know little about them but I assume they consider us their enemy for worshiping the Four. Would even the 'honourable' be willing to deal with us honestly.' He knew how he would feel if the situation was somehow reversed.

He had little opinion on the effectiveness of the Bretonnians as warriors but it was good that Larus seemed to be better informed. 'Every army has it's weaknesses. It's just a matter of finding theirs.'

The Feast

"To let Bretonian attack Norsca in Homeland is sign of weakness"

'Agreed'

Once he finally witnesses the Elf finishing playing with her opponent, he will finally register the talk of politics. Such matters were unfortunately not unknown in Norsca. Better to avoid it if you could. He bristles a little at Morghul's insinuation, but couldn't entirely discount the possibility. 'Normally I would say no, but the favour of a Jarl might buy a lot of loyalty. I'll look into it.'

The amulet was a pretty bauble. The sort of thing he lost track of or pawned when he got them. Still, it was at least a recognition that he had a position here. At least for the moment. He will follow Bodhi's lead.

[Shadowflick]

To Larus

"Nicoli never fight Bretonian. Know reputation. Nicoli more used to Norscan fightings. Think Bretonian's are overblown. Warbow is nothing compared to Ungol recurve bow on horseback. They venture north, no? From there warm and comfortable lands to a harsh land of Snow and chaos? Atrition should already be eating them like a fly on corpses. Could attack supply sheds or boats. Leave Bretonian to starve to death. To weaken before we strike in full. If they have Sentries..Have crows do it. If we meet them on fields..I have Ideas. Formations from teh south perhaps. Large tower shields held in tight formations. Between the holes, Rifles or Spears to keep knights from charging into men. Perhaps we even take spiked chains and throw them in front of the line of men, to stab the horses hooves as they run. A Knight may kill you on his feet, but on his ass? A dead man"

At the Feast
Nicoli had not expected such honors from the Jarl. A Massive golden star..It seemed a bitmuch to hold at all times. Still, he stood, giving a somehwat honrable bow as his flies started to buzz over his, the fatest among them causing a slight pitter patter.

[neriractor]

Bjorni raised an eyebrow at the talk of Astrid, asking bluntly, he was within friends after all "any word on her pretenders?"

When she mentioned them going on the offensive he almost choked on the cheese he was eating *cough* Aemoon is sending the red song alone??" hopefully he misunderstood or the shamans theories may actually come true, he replied quickly to the one he poised after Egil offered himself to root out traitors within the crew "if he sends us alone to fight the brets who scattered the Redbear tribe there'll be no need to sabotage us." .

The skald pondered for a moment Nicoli's words, before he nodded and turned away to look at the jarl, he really did hate the way the flies buzzed and flew around him as a living corpse but the man did seem to know his stuff and aside from the usually light armored Kurgan he hadn't really fought horsemans "tell you what, once the Jarl speaks his mind and we get a chance to talk to him we can present your idea and see if he has some tower shields in his armoury".

He glanced at the amulet with a whistle, it sure was a nice piece of jewelry what exactly was Aemon's game here? showering them with gifts was usual after an expedition but this looked specially pricy, either trying to buy them
or alienate them from the other crews; maybe a message for Halfi... as he kept pondering he lagged behind a bit before he followed the rest to receive the gift.

[Morovir]

Sensing victory, Groktur bellows in fury and launches another furious attack on the bear.

All-Out Attack: [roll0] TN 80 (WS 40 + 20 AOA + 20 Outnumbering
Damage: [roll1]

[Erulasto]

Reavers of the Red Song


Groktur

Wrenching his spear free of the bear’s flank, Groktur lunged forward with a fury born of the Dark Gods and plunged the spear into its neck just below the jaw. The force of the blow caused the bear to stagger, and it writhed and twisted on the end of the spear trying to dislodge the length of metal in its throat but Groktur held firm. With the beast pinned, the Ungors leapt to attack themselves. Their axes biting and tearing through muscle and flesh in a savage display.

But the bear was not entirely done yet, and it lashed out – claws raking across the chest of one of the ungors and leaving wet, glistening rents in its flesh. As the ungor staggered back, the beast shuddered one final time before slumping to the dirt with a deep, wet breath and stilling for the final time.

The Ungors took up a cheer of victory, thrusting their weapons into the air as they howled in exultation.





Morgul, Bjorni, Larus, Egil, Otto, Nicoli and Groktur

“I am in no hurry to break ourselves of the fortune and blessings we have been receiving so far, Breathstealer. Rest assured we will not charge blindly into battle against the Bretonnian’s. If we succeed, we earn the gratitude of Astrid and her father as well.” Bodhi said, rising to her feet as the Jarl began to call them forward to receive their gift from him. “Astrid’s brother Raskir is the heir, though many do not believe the man has the skill or wit to rule effectively. Astrid would be a much greater Jarl. If only Raskir was to meet his end against the Bretonnians, no?”

Bodhi was the first to receive the amulet from the Jarl, and she did so with all the deference one would expect from a loyal vassal. But as she strode back to her seat at the table, she passed by those who were growing to be considered her commanders and the sly, wolfish grin she wore spoke of ambition and, perhaps, a secret knowledge unshared.

When they had received their decorations, and returned to the table, the feast began in earnest. No more proclamations were given from the Jarl, nor Halfi. Instead, the hall filled with raucous laughter and festivities.

“Halfi won’t leave Aemon’s side.” Bodhi said with a scoff of derision. “He’s a coward and far too worried that someone would come along and further usurp his position in the Jarl’s ear if he were gone too long. Perhaps we can bring Hygd as well – though I am sure that your abilities would serve us more than adequately, Morgul.”

“As for Raskir himself? From what Astrid has said, Raskir locked himself in the hall with his dottering old father. We would be fortunate Mjorni and Raskir both found their ends in the coming conflicts.”

Tower shields were, unfortunately, in relatively short supply in the Jarl’s armouries. It was somewhat uncommon for the marauders of the Norscan tribes to carry such heavy shields – though the one that Thurim wielded so effortlessly gave some truth to the notion that it wasn’t impossible. There were about thirty reavers who manned the Red Song, not including the commanders that served under Bodhi and her shipmaster. While each of the reavers was young and moderately inexperienced, it was still likely that against peasant militia they would fare exceptionally well.

But the men-at-arms in the Bretonnian’s ranks were likely veterans, and though not as significant in numbers, would stand a much better chance against the reavers. The Knights were an entirely different story.

A single Knight of the Realm was more than capable of scything through several reavers. Their heavy armour would deflect all but the mightiest of blows, and whether mounted or on foot, they had seen enough combat to be veterans in their own right. Truly, they were the champions of Bretonnia.

The festivities continued well into the night. Gunnar and Herger were well and truly drunk, sprawled upon the benches in alcohol-induced stupor. Sigrun, Hrodgar and Ulf had started a large game of bones with several other reavers, and soon enough there was a mountain of coins changing hands with each groan or cheer.

The Druchii had long-since slipped out of the hall to go about their own business, though Lissakah had remained behind to test her skill against any who showed enough courage to give it a try.

Even Halfi had retreated with his small entourage of apprentices early in the night, casting dark looks across the room as he slipped out into the darkened halls of the Jarl’s hold.

When Bodhi herself seemed ready to leave, she gave a simple instruction to the reavers and commanders to meet a half-glass past sun rise. They would begin their voyage to the Red Bear lands, and work out their plans there.



Feel free to enjoy the festivities at your leisure or take part in anything you’d like. Even leave early if you’re so inclined.

Next post will advance to the next morning (unless something pertinent occurs).

[DrK]

Morgul

The shaman watches Bodhi parade herself through the feasting hall, a challenge to the jarl he wonders and then listens the planning. The fact that only one ship was setting forth did not fill him with confidence. The reavers following Bodhi were good, but it would depend on the numbers of brettonians at the Red Bear if they could give more aid. At her words Morgil nodded, "I eat Halfi's heart one day." he says sternly before looking around the room. "If Warleader want Red Bear chief dead, Morgul can help. Warleader would ally with wounded girl on stage?" he asks gesturing with his horned head at Astrid on the stage.

In a quiet moment he finds Bjorni, "Skald. Maria safe at Skald's holding? Men keep her safe and druchii keep her safe?" he glances at the gold amulet and the pouch of coins at his waist, "Morgul pay men to watch if Bjorni men weak?" Although sounding harsh he means the words to be plain.

He also seeks out the druchii dancer before they go. Advancing cautiously. "Druchii know of Morgul? I know your kind. Though you pain not pleasure?" He chuckles to himself as he asks, clapping one of his pairs of arms "You come with Red Song dancer? Show manlings how well Druchii dance. You tell druchii witch we are seeking the Lady witch of of the Lake that the manlings follow. She will be curious." he waits for a responses and leaves, curious to see if the lure of the strange sounding southern witch would be enough to lure some of the reclusive dark elves to accompany them. Although he didn't trust them they were skilled and fearsome in battle and would be an asset to Bodhi and the reavers.

----

(if nothing of note happens) Morgul drinks heavily at the feats gorging himself on meat and mead knowing that the ship will not have that expenses. Then in the morning when he awakens in a heap by the fire in the hall he will seek out the armourers claiming a pair of heavy bladed axes, a stout wooden shield and a thick shirt of heavy mail. He was not sure if he would favour might or magic but it would good to make ready for either.

[Haval]

Egil will accept the gift with thanks, but is now wondering if there was more going on here. He had nothing against Aemon as Jarls went but his loyalty would always be to those he fought beside. Later, although he has no particular skill at gambling he will join in the game with the crew.


Gamble vs. Int 30 /2
[roll0]


At some point, perhaps when he has drunk enough for this to seem like a good idea, he will go and speak to the Druchii warrior. At first he will only watch her dispatch the latest of her luckless challengers, but eventually will attract her attention. 'Elf, I would know something, and I don't think I'll learn anything if I let you lay me out like you have some of these lads. Who taught you to fight like that? I reckon if all your lot could do that they would all move like you do.'

[Shadowflick]

Nicoli looked down at his meal, thinking of a different way to defeat the Bretonians. The Infantry battle was were they had an actual chance, but with a Knight charge? They would be wheat before scythe. "Then we Fight like Empire. Long Pike to form a spear wall against the coming Charge. If they try to attack head on in a charge, they will find themselves skewered. I Suggest a frontline of These Pikemen, Behind them Beatmen ready to pounce up and dismount any of the Horseman who are not unseated, or to simply charge the lines of the Infantry when we clash. Surely the men of Winterscorn have had enough battles to amass long spears from the Empire?

Nicoli turns to Bohdi after discussing some more plans "Leveraging what we can from this will also be good. The Death of a useless son could cement an alliance with a more...grateful sister. More so, Perhaps the Grail Maiden could prove a good reward? Another user of magic could prove to be useful, if we could convince her. Perhaps promise reward in trade of service? To live as a thrall, or fight as a reaver?"

[neriractor]

Bjorni happily dons the new amulet by his neck, ignoring how cumbersome it was, at Morgul's question abot the girl's defense he answered quickly "aside from my brother, who is too young to fight, there is naught but thralls in my house when I'm gone if the druchii fails to protect Maria no one else will, if you would pay to protect the house I would be very grateful, shaman"

he enjoys the table's food and drink entertaining some of the reavers with whatever old story he hadn't told during the journey, when several of the crew head towards Khaine's bride he takes the chance to head towards the jarl. He carried a small bench behind him, clearly not contemplating failure as he bowed in respect to the jarl "my Jarl, if Astrid has no problem with it I'll like to sit with you, there were many tales of glory to be had in our latest raid, and she may rest easy once she learns the kind of men that are going to release her father from captivity" he send a charming smile the way of Astrid, and if allowed took seat next to her, forming a small semi-circle between the three of them.

[Erulasto]

Reavers of the Red Song


Bjorni

The approach of his most battle-worthy Skald had Jarl Aemon grinning from ear to ear, and shouting for another round of drinks to be brought to him and Bjorni by the many thralls congregating around the dias.

At his approach, Astrid gave a simple smile of acknowledgement and a gentle tipping of her head. It seemed even she was interested in hearing some of the tales that the crew of the Red Song have to their names.

Bjorni settled the small bench on the dias step before the Jarl and Astrid, and sat upon it as he began to weave his tales. As he went, more and more of those gathered began to slowly creep forward to listen in to the tales themselves and a hush began to fall across that part of the hall.



Toss me a Charm and a Performer (Storyteller) roll for Bjorni, if you’d be so kind. :smallwink:

Don’t fail. :smallbiggrin:




Nicoli

Bodhi listened to Nicoli with an intensity that seemed to exceed even the curiosity shown by Zar Cromath. It struck Nicoli that while Bodhi was, from what he could see, a competent leader she had little practical experience in the ways of warfare.

Not in the manner that Cromath or Nicoli had. The Zar and the Kislevite were two sides of the same coin – people who had spent the entirety of their cultural lives trained to destroy one another and there was a professional courtesy that was a bit surprising there.

Bodhi, on the other hand, took in the Kislevite’s words like a sponge, and Nicoli could see the wheels turning in her mind as she swiftly processed his explanations. She was sharp and quick-witted, and eager to learn how to best destroy her enemies.

“We have some spears and pikes, yes. Though not a great many of the reavers have practical experience with them. If they are just to hold off a charge, I’m sure that could be drilled into them easily enough by the time we arrive at the site of battle.”

Pondering the suggestion of turning the Grail Maiden to their side, Bodhi seemed a bit skeptical.

“I have not known many sorceresses, Nicoli, but I have heard tales of the honour that these Bretonnian’s cling to. I cannot fathom one of their priestesses turning so easily.”


Morgul

Bodhi had given Morgul a brief, silent nod at the notion of allying with Astrid. The sly grin upon her face spoke volumes of her intentions, though she had remained distinctly silent on the matter.

Despite the noise of the merriment, who knew what ears could be listening.


Egil

Egil may not have been a consummate schemer or gambler, but a combination of the Dark Gods own luck and far too much alcohol conspired to grant him several good bets. It wasn’t long before the other reavers at the table were grumbling and stepping away with what meager coin they had left to gamble with.

One of them – a tall and lanky Norscan named Jovan – muttered under his breath as he stalked away.

“Egil the Unlucky indeed!”



Egil walks away with [roll0] gold coins, [roll1] silver coins and [roll2] copper pennies from his gambling expedition.

Damn good roll!



Egil and Morgul

While nursing the last dregs of mead from a pewter tankard of obvious dwarven make, Egil watched as Lissakah used the momentum of a hefty warriors charge to trip him up and even Egil winced at the shuddering impact of the man’s face upon a bench. If the sickening crunch was any indication, his nose had been busted through and through to the boisterous laughter of the other watchers.

When the Witch Elf turned her mischievously sadistic gaze across the assembled crowd, none dared speak up or try their hand.

Save Egil.

Lissakah seemed to look Egil over curiously, eyes dancing across the somewhat older warrior with a sly smile on her sharp features. The Druchii stalks about Egil for a moment, before coming to stand before the Berzerker calmly, a slender hand resting on a lithe hip.

“Every defeat can be a lesson, human.” Lissakah said in strangely fluent Norscan. “My sisters taught me to fight. Upon the steps of the great temples to the Bloody Handed God in Har Ganeth and I cut my teeth in the slave-pits there. All my sisters fight as I do – though not all my kin are wed to the Lord of Murder.”

As Morgul approached Egil and Lissakah, the Witch Elf took in the monstrous form of the beastman with a sharply arched brow.

“I have seen you around, Shaman. Though I have little to do with sorcery.” Lissakah shrugged errantly, as if unconcerned by that fact. “My pleasure comes from pain, shaman. From the heat of blood against my skin. Theirs. Or mine.” Despite her claims, Lissakah seems distinctly proud of the fact that her corpse-pale skin is nearly unmarred with scar from injury or ailment.

The notion of travelling with the Red Song gave the Witch Elf pause for a moment, and a cold laugh bubbled up from her throat.

“Perhaps. I will consider it.”



If Egil wants to give Lissakah a try, feel free to toss five rounds worth of rolls into a spoilered post and I’ll do the same then write up the results. Normally, I wouldn’t clump it together like that but given that it’s a ”friendly” brawl and there wouldn’t be any long-term damage to anything but pride, I figure it’s a good way to expedite the process.

[Morovir]

Bear Cave

Groktur bellows in triumph, raising his spear over his head, and the ungors join in with brays of their own. Following this brief jubilation, Groktur orders the ungors to pick up the bear, and begin to carry it back to the herdstone. Their wounds would not be treated for the meantime - they needed to be on sight for all to see, to show that these new blood were no cowards.

Herdstone

Entering the clearing, Groktur at their head, the ungors reverently place the bear at the foot of the herdstone, before bowing to the Breaker. As he kneels, Groktur speaks up:

"They have been blooded, O Breaker. Are the Gods satisfied with this offering of flesh?"

The Feast (unless anything happens at the herdstone)

Groktur and his ungors are some of the last to arrive, the latter clearly exhibiting recent wounds, but looking all the fiercer for it. During the feast, they largely keep to themselves, with Groktur accepting the amulet from the Jarl with due deference, hanging it around his neck in honour of the Powers. They occupy their own section of table, and while they revel and feast as much as any other, their interactions are strictly limited, not even including the blessed Shaman. Some occasions were only meant to be had in the company of the Warherd.

[DrK]

Morgul

Happy with the progress at the feast and hopeful that the druchii will join them the shaman heads toward the edge of the hall where the older and wiser men drink and throw bones and talk of past glories. He knows what he wants, a table of grizzled veterans. Long in years, rich in experience with blood cooled by age. Ones that would not succumb to baser lusts at the skald's house.

Reaching a table of 4-5 likely reavers he pauses. Looming over the table casting a savage shadow with skulls hanging form his staff and 5 musular and scarred arms. "I Morgul. Shaman and speaker for Gods. I ride with Red Song to slay the southern manlings that cripple the weak Red Bear tribe. Girl who is dear to Morgul lives in Greensong Skald holdings. You guard girl and holdings till Morgul and Red Songreturn with gold and skulls."

He pauses and drops 10 heavy golden coins on the table, enough for ~10 days for the five of them, "Morgul give more when return. Give Skald's head thrall token to show you mean no harm. Shout to house that Morgul Dark Crow not fear shadows and shaman sent you." He nods to himself, happy that he's thought to make sure the men can let Duker know the men are there for a reason. It would be a pity of the elf murdered them all. He pulls a rune covered pebble from his pouch and gives it to the oldest of the men. Then leans in low, "Morgul care girl. If girl hurt or scared when Morgul return then you be sacrificed to gods. Souls plaything of Gods and family given to Gods and make skin cloak for me."


Intimidate [roll0] TN 65


Happy to have guards he heads back to drink more with his crew and comrades seeking out Groktur. "Red Song sail to war Groktur. You bring herd with you? Blood new ungor with blood of men?"
Then is happy to drink with his fellow beast and/or Bodhi, Nocoli and the rest till its time to leave.

[neriractor]

The skald cheered a toast when the drinks were brought, he was cautious when trying to ingratiate himself with the Redbear princess a lack of finesse born from the drinks left most of his attempts moot.

Bjorni's saving grace came from his abilities as a skald, the journey to the south had a plethora of stories worth telling and he was just the one to do so, tasting the waters with the happenings as they raided the first few towns, and throwing the big ones when the crowds mood was right: The storming of the tower, (his valiant contribution to) the charge upon the town center, how he caught Lonesh's eye in Kollsvik earning his new hair and Nicoli's last stand back to back with Morghul while surrounded by imperial halberdiers.

[Shadowflick]

Nicoli continues his plans, telling them to Bohdi to prepare for the coming battle "It would be good to start the training soon. See who can wield the Pikes most profitiently, and which of them have a strong grip. They would prove vital so we can keep the Bretonians from getting the head on charge. Beside that, if we can fight them in rough terrain or even city streets it could help. THe Horses provide manuverability and power, eliminating that only makes them larger targets for archers. But, teaching them basic Piek formations should be easy. two lines of spears, one line pointing foreard, the other poiting up to the rider. Keep the ones pointed to the rider behind the ones pointed to the horses. Simple! But..effective at keeping the enemy at Bay. If you want the reavers to be more...advanced. Give the third line of men javlins, or hatchets to throw. Toss them as the infantry try to move past the spears. As for the preistes? Well. I see three options. Becoming a thrall, a sacrifise, or one of us. Some...incentive maybe, to turn on her former country men"

[rax]

With Bodhi and Nicoli, after receiving his amulet with due grace from Jarl Aemon

"Only fools waste their time planning stratagems for fighting enemies they know nothing about, Kislevite," Lárus sniffs in annoyance.

"Warleader, any Norscan can stand in a shield wall and a hedge of spears would certainly be useful against charging cavalry - if the Bretonnians have any. We know nothing of the actual composition of their forces, but there is one here who most assuredly does. I will speak to Astrid Red Bear and find out what we need to know - how many they are; how many knights, foot soldiers, and archers. Whether they bothered to transport war horses across the Sea of Chaos? Whether they attacked from land - in which case they may have a camp nearby - or straight from their ships?"

"We also need to know everything Astrid can tell us about her home - what the terrain is like, if there are there secret paths we could take to attack by surprise, and if there are any of her people not already trapped with Jarl Mjorni that could aid us. Once we know these things, then we will know how best to bring the fight to the enemy and gain glory for ourselves and the gods."

"We are fortunate as well to have Morgul Dark Crow with us. When we get closer to our destination, he has promised to take the form of a raven and scout the hold for us. So we will have time to adjust our plans to the reality of the situation there." Draining the last of his beer, Lárus rises and gives Bodhi a small bow before making his way across the hall to speak with Astrid Red Bear.

With Astrid Red Bear
As Bjorni Greensong regaled the Jarl and his entourage with tales of the Red Song's raiding, Lárus approached the dais and spoke to the Jarl's guest. "Astrid Red Bear, Jarl Aemon has honoured the Red Song with the task of driving off the invaders. I have fought Bretonnians before, and understand that they can be formidable foes. Can you spare a moment to tell me of the ones that attacked your father's hold? The more we know, the better prepared we will be, and the more the gods will smile on us."

I'm happy to RP this if you want, but if Astrid is okay with talking, a summary of what she has to say is also okay. Basically, I'm after what I wrote in the conversation with Bodhi and Nicoli - everything Astrid knows or can guess about the size and composition of the enemy force, including equipment, leadership, magical support, etc. Plus anything useful about her homelands - terrain, possible allies, etc.
After interviewing Astrid
Lárus drank sparingly during the evening, mindful that he would need his wits about him in the morning, but as the feast wore on he grew somewhat tipsy. Perhaps that was why he finally decided to test his mettle against Lissakah Ashweaver.

"Mistress Ashweaver, again no challenger has laid a hand on you. Karneth willing, I may do better. And if I don't, then I may yet learn something in defeat. Will you accept my challenge?"

Lárus is in his leathers, so AP 1 everywhere but on his head. I assume this is a bare knuckle fight but that he could get away with using his dandy new sap gloves (BC knuckledusters). I also hope that they get to stack with his Street Fighting talent.

Assuming Street Fighting and the BC knuckledusters stack, Lárus has WS 65 and has Damage 2.
If they don't stack, he'll just go with Street Fighting, for WS 60 and Damage 1.

To make this feel more like a boxing match, I'll vary his tactics a bit.

"Round 1"
Guarded Swift Attack and Dodge.
Attack 1: [roll0] vs. 55 or 50
Attack 2: [roll1] vs. 55 or 50
Dodge: [roll2] vs. 46

"Round 2"
All Out Swift Attack.
Attack 1: [roll3] vs. 85 or 80
Attack 2: [roll4] vs. 85 or 80

"Round 3"
Standard Attack and Parrying Stance.
Attack: [roll5] vs. 65 or 60
Parry: [roll6] vs. 65 or 60

"Round 4"
Aimed Standard Attack and Dodge.
Attack: [roll7] vs. 75 or 70
Dodge: [roll8] vs. 36

"Round 5"
Swift Attack and Dodge.
Attack 1: [roll9] vs. 65 or 60
Attack 2: [roll10] vs. 65 or 60
Dodge: [roll11] vs. 36

I assume you'll roll any damage as needed.

Edit: Bah, some of those rolls could have been more amusing. Since I have 3 Fortune Points to spare, lets blow them all on this fight to see if Lárus can seem a little more impressive. I'll do some re-roll magic in the OOC thread (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showsinglepost.php?p=23429134&postcount=219).

[Haval]

Egil is stunned at his own apparent luck. He will call out after Jovan, 'Tchar will get me back for this, don't you worry.' As he had no actual household to support, he had no pressing need of the money. Perhaps he could find a way to make it up to the crew somehow.

If Larus is attempting to take on Lissakah first he will shout approval at his efforts.

Egil will return the Elf's smile while keeping one eye on her hands. 'So practice? I respect that. This Lord of Murder, he anything like Kharneth? The ones who truly follow the Blood God aren't usually so ...precise. I think I need to watch you fight properly sometime.'

'Now, I'm not so fool enough as to think I have a chance here, but if defeat is educational.'


I have to at least try. Even if the education is about not fighting Witch Elves

Egil isn't really trying to win here and will mostly concentrate on trying to avoid getting hit and watching how she fights

Defensive Stance
-20 to her WS
Dodge vs. Ag 29
[roll0]

Guarded Attack vs. WS 46 (-10)
[roll1]
Dodge vs. Ag 29 (+10)
[roll2]

Guarded Attack vs. WS 46 (-10)
[roll3]
Dodge vs. Ag 29 (+10)
[roll4]

Standard Attack vs. WS 46
[roll5]
Feint
[roll6]
Dodge vs. Ag 29 (+10)
[roll7]
(-unless you can't attack and feint in that order, in which case just feint)

All Out Attack vs. WS 46 (+20)
[roll8]

[Erulasto]

Reavers of the Red Song

Groktur

The herdstone loomed ahead as Groktur led the small band of ungors back into the heart of the cold, dark woods that the Frostgrave lurked within. Even before the stone had come into view, Groktur could hear the deep thumping of drums filtering through the trees and the braying of beastmen.

The ungor, led by Izur, had the beast carried on their shoulders. The weight of it was enough to slow their progress, and by the time they arrived, the sun had already dipped dangerously low. Groktur would need to be swift to make it to the festivities in the hold of the humans.

"Groktur!" Khosros the Breaker bellowed as the monstrous, wolf-headed beastman turned to face the caprigor and his small band. "Ungors are blooded from that beast? The Gods give you victory!"

Around the herdstone, dozens of beastmen stood in a wide circle. Bestigors and Gors and even more ungors and the hornless brays. They raised weapons and raised their voices in a chorus of howls and roars to celebrate the victory over the mutant bear.

"You and your beasts have right of first meat!" Khosros commanded, dipping his head to indicate the bear.

The ritual would begin with each of those beastmen to be honoured taking bloody bites of the bears corrupt flesh, and annointing themselves with the blood of their kill. Then the remains would be shared among the rest of the warherd.


Nicoli

"Astrid claimed most of the Bretonnian's were holded up in the village. That would be relatively sufficient to prevent any large calvary pushes, I would think." Bodhi mused as she sat with Nicoli and the others. "It is four days to the Red Bear hold, so we can do what training we must as we go. Though I am sure we can spend some time before we depart figuring out the details. It will take a while to prepare the Red Song for the trip."

"We will worry about the woman when we have the hold secured, but I do not see any real problems with your thoughts on what to do with her. I cannot imagine the Bretonnian's will have brought much cavalry."


Morgul

Morgul found a small group of Norscans tucked in the back of the hall, who were drinking and gambling with faded cards taken from some southern merchant. They were all brawny and thick and grizzled, but wore only leathers and carried mostly maces or simple swords. They did not have the bearing of reavers or mercenaries, and Morgul realized they were likely not counted among Aemon's most loyal warriors. Which meant their loyalty was likely more to coin, serving Morgul's purposes perfectly.

The apparent leader, a man with shaggy black hair and a beard, and a leather patch rivetted over his right eye named Garm, nodded at Morgul appreciatively after taking a moment to count the coins provided.

"You got yerself a deal, beastman. Ain't nothin' going to touch a hair on that little scamps head, don't you worry." Garm drawled as Morgul loomed over them threateningly. "We're happy to keep our skins, yeah."

Garm knew exactly of whom Morgul spoke, apparently, and Morgul recognized him and those of his small gang as some of the curious bystanders that had watched him lead Maria through the village.


Bjorni

The skald met with a neutral-faced Astrid; the Red Bear princess didn't seem entirely sure what to make of the honey-tongued man with the purple hair. But she offered him a polite nod, none the less, likely not wanting to ostracize Aemon's servants.

Settling onto the bench, Bjorni began to weave his tale. As he spoke, Aemon had begun to grin widely - seemingly pleased with the recounting of their victories, and even Astrid had begun to warm to the skald as he spoke. The princess wore a smile of her own, excitement dancing in her eyes.

The victories of the charge on the beach, the claiming of the tower by the Breathstealer and the hanging of the Jarl's banner to tell all those who came after who was responsible. By the time he had gotten to the part of the tale about Morgul and Nicoli, a sizable crowd had gathered at the foot of the dias to listen intently.

When the tale was done, the skald received a resounding cheer from the onlookers, which even the Jarl and Astrid took up. Nicoli had received several pats on the back from the Norscans around him, warming further to anyone who was willing to kill the weak men of the Empire. Morgul even received some appreciative and appraising looks from those gathered.

"Your tales of the Red Song are well-told, scion of the Greensong." Aemon said proudly. "You carry the grace of the Four Brothers with you!"


Larus

Larus found Astrid's attention drawn back to the story, though she did spare time to offer what information she could to the Breathstealer. Turning her attention to him with a grin, she offered her hand in greeting.

"Your skald has spoken highly of your skills, Breathstealer. It will be an honour to fight at your side." Astrid said, before taking another draught from a horn of mead. "They came on a number of ships, though none had cannons. Most of their men carried halberds, though they did have archers with them. While they were lightly armoured, they were supported by a handful of knights on horseback and men more heavily armoured swordsmen. The great majority of their men were infantry. All save the knights. The archers were where many of my people fell. They rained arrows indiscriminately into the village before charging in to clean up the rest. Once the village was taken, they began to press up the hill to my father's hold. They had just pushed through the wooden fence around the hold when I took my leave to seek help."


Egil

Jovan caught Egil's call, and broke into a wicked smile.

"Aye! Techar is a tricksie one at that. Hope that your luck at the gaming table was worth whatever he's got planned for you now, aye?" Laughing, Jovan continued to make his way out of the hall, apparently having had enough for the night.

When Egil arrived at the small gathering around the Druchii, he saw that Larus was preparing to test himself against the lithe elf woman.


Egil and Larus

Larus approached Lissakah with fists raised, and the elf-woman seemed to rock forward onto the balls of her bare feet. Part of Larus distantly wondered at how the Druchii were able to weather such cold temperatures in next to no clothing. Swaying on her feet, she waited the for Breathstealer to attack.

Lissakah was not disappointed.

Larus darted in nimbly, striking out with a simple jab at the dark elf to test her, which Lissakah swatted aside with a simple flowing movement of one arm. Larus could feel the small barbs scratch at his arm, though it didn't seem like she had put enough force to pierce the flesh. He followed with a powerful hook, that Lissakah wasn't able to move out of the way fast enough. Catching her in the side, she pivoted swiftly, seemingly spurred on by the blow and snapped a foot out towards Larus' knee. But the Breathstealer was able to reposition and avoid the blow.

Seeking to maintain the momentum of his first blow, Larus rained fists at the dark elf in a furious storm of punches. Lissakah seemed to have learned her lesson - having taken her first blow of the night - and kept her guard up. She was quick and nimble on her feet, and seemed to weave through the storm of his attacks with a shift here or a movement there. Now, Larus had the feeling of how difficult it could truly be to strike her. Then, at a moment where Larus' attacks had left him open, Lissakah ducked under one of his strikes and thrust her palm up into his face, catching him in the nose. Sharp pain blossomed in his face. Larus was sure it wasn't broken, but it had certainly hurt. But he was able to shake off the pain, and drove his knee up into the Witch Elf's midriff, the force physically lifting her off the ground as she stumbled back, wide-eyed.

Now with his own guard up, Larus stepped forward to pummel the staggered elf, though she redirected his punch with a subtle movement of her arms, and stepped within his reach again to scythe her hand towards his throat. But Larus was ready this time, and was able to catch her hand in his own before the blow landed.

Pulling on her arm, Larus drove his elbow up in a precise strike that would have hammered Lissakah in the face. But once again, the nimbleness of the elf surprised him and she used the momentum of the pull to tumble out of his grip and past the incoming blow. Now behind him, Larus felt more than saw her leap up into the air with a graceful spin, a foot catching him in the soft, leather-covered flesh of his underarm followed by her heel driving down into his knee.

Larus turned on his heel as quick as he could with pain lancing up his leg, and brought his fist up in a wild haymaker, though Lissakah cartwheeled back to avoid the strike. Even as she did, a foot caught Larus in the chin and sent him reeling. Lissakah camed to a stop perched on the edge of a nearby table in a low crouch, legs splayed and hands pressed against the surface beneath her with a savagely hungry laugh bubbling up from her chest. A dark bruise was already forming on her side where his fist had connected, and she dabbed it tenderly with a wide grin.

"Well done, human. There is hope for you yet!" She slipped forward, off the table. "Perhaps we will try another day, yes? Now, I believe your friend wants a turn."

Lissakah turned her cold eyes to Egil, the predatory hunger that was dancing in her eyes seemingly more inflamed after Larus' blow to her ribs. As if the pain of the injury invigorated her further.

Egil had learned well how nimble and dangerous Lissakah could be, and kept his guard up from the very beginning. Barely waiting for him to get his fists up, she was already leaping at him. Airborne, Lissakah snapped a foot towards a leg, before twisting in midair to lance another at his groin. But Egil was ready for the furious assault, and avoided both.

Her momentum didn't stop, and Lissakah landed in a low crouch. Staying low, like an animal, she drove a hand towards Egil's sternum and anotherfor a leg. Egil caught the knife-hand to his gut and felt the breath driven from his lungs, but he powered through and raised his hands to hammer down on the dark elf before him. Lissakah tumbled out of the way, leaving his hands to pass through only air.

The tumble had barely finished, when her bare feet landed on the cold stone of the hall, and she lunged back at Egil savagely. He avoided her blow - a snapping foot aimed for his head - and stepped forward to drive his fist into her shoulder. Lissakah took the blow firmly, and dropped to a roll to avoid crashing into a nearby table from the force.

Egil chased after Lissakah, driving a fist towards her head that caught her in the cheek and the howled moan that spilled from her lips was positiviel lascivious. Rocking back onto her heels, Lissakah spun to the side of Egil and drove a knee into his hip and used the momentum of that blow to swing her other foot up and drive her heel into his collarbone.

Egil wasn't put off by the pain he felt throbbing in his body from her blows, and darted in to attack. Egil struck forward with his fist, though purposely began the punch so Lissakah could avoid the blow - and she did.

The Druchii laughed as she ducked under his punch, and darted forward. But Egil was ready, and brought his boot up in a high kick that the dark elf was barely able to avoid - feeling the air of his kick passing just by her head.

Darting past him, Lissakah rolled up to her feet, chest heaving with her breathing and she laughed again.

"Either I am getting tired, or you are a skilled fighter in your own right, human!" Lissakah said with a sly grin. "Regardless, you and your friend have proven your mettle to me. I believe I will take you up on the offer extended to me to join you on your forray to liberate your allies. It would be a worthy sacrifice to the Lord of Murder to fight at your side."




Lissakah has the equivilent of leather sleeves and leggings, granting her armour to arms and legs. But that's it.
Larus is welcome to use the knuckledusters. She's got barbs and blades on her arms and legs, so it sort of evens out and Street-Fighting definitely applies.


Round 1
Standard Attack and Lightning Parry Stance (1 Extra Parry)
[roll0]
[roll1] Parry 1
[roll2] Parry 2
Round 2
Guarded Swift Attack
[roll3] Attack 1
[roll4] Attack 1
[roll5] Dodge Blow
Round 3
Aimed Standard Attack
[roll6]
[roll7] Dodge Blow
Round 4
Swift Attack
[roll8] Attack 1
[roll9] Attack 2
[roll10] Dodge Blow
Round 5
Standard Attack and Lightning Parry Stance
[roll11]
[roll12] Parry 1
[roll13] Parry 2


Round 1
Swift Attack
[roll14] Attack 1
[roll15] Attack 1
[roll16] Dodge Blow
Round 2
Swift Attack
[roll17] Attack 1
[roll18] Attack 1
[roll19] Dodge Blow
Round 3
Standard Attack and Lightning Parry Stance
[roll20]
[roll21] Parry 1
[roll22] Parry 2
Round 4
All-Out Swift Attack
[roll23] Attack 1
[roll24] Attack 2
Round 5
Aim and Standard Attack
[roll25]
[roll26] Dodge Blow

[Shadowflick]

Nicoli watches Larus stand, Nicoli does not seem bothered by teh sudden outburst "There is no harm in preparing. Caution has won many battles, and having the Proper Tools can be important. If you'd want to speak to her, No one stops you. Go. I already said that the Shaman can scout the enemy for us.

Nicoli then listens to Bohdi as she describes what she knows so far of there forces "I Suppose. There's always burning down the hold and let the Bretonians scramble int eh chaos but, we may want the Norscans inside to live. Either way. That is what Nicoli can think of. For now, I drink And eat! I will miss regular food on that nightmare boat" he sighs, taking the drink and taking a heavy chug "Hmm, Perhaps I should buy some Pistols for the battle. It is sad these are not Empire men. More weapons to salvage. A Canon! Now that would be a blessing!" he says, laughing with his mug in the air!

[Morovir]

Taking a savage bite out of the bear's flesh, Groktur anoints himself in its blood with the marks of the Pantheon. Leaving the bear's side, his ungors proceed to do the same, and then let the rest of the warherd take their share.

After this, Groktur approaches his wolf-headed warchief, throat bared in deference:

"My thanks, O Breaker. You honour us with this."

Once the festivities dim Groktur leads his ungors out of the clearing, and back to the hold of the softskins, to rejoin the crew of the ship and partake in more festivities.

[rax]

With Astrid
"My thanks, Jarl's daughter, that gives us something to work with. Rest assured, we will not fail you." With a slight bow, Lárus took his leave.

With Ashweaver
Picking himself up off the floor, Lárus gingerly touches his nose, feeling blood running down the back of his throat. He draws a deep breath and hocks a gob of phlegm and blood on the floor. Giving Ashweaver a rueful grimace, he replies: "Yes, another day. I will be faster then. Faster, stronger, and tougher."

Staying to watch Egil's bout as well, he is pleasantly surprised at how well the old man handles himself, and even more surprised when Ashweaver agrees to join the Red Song. "I have no doubt that our expedition will prove a pleasant diversion for you, Mistress Ashweaver."

Feeling somewhat worse for wear, Lárus then makes his way home to his sister's hut.

[Haval]

As he fights Egil finds that he's enjoying himself and joins in with Lissakah's laughter. 'Not as skilled as some but I've been around. It was entertaining to fight you lass. I will enjoy killing these Bretonnians with you.'

As the feast winds down, Egil will spend the remaining time drinking with the crew.

[neriractor]

Bjorni relished the attention and praise, this was his element, he nodded humbly at the compliment from his Jarl as usual, certainly way more humlbly that he thought he should "Your words honour me Aemon, I'm glad you like how I spin mine"

The skald didn't push his luck with Astrid, she seemed more appreciative of him by now but he had time enough when they were taking her ancestral lands. On that note, he asked her about it, Larus inquiries hadn't been all answered... "Any goat paths we can use? a couple days trecking may very well be worth it to get the jump on them"

[Erulasto]

Reavers of the Red Song


11th Vorgenheim

Dawn brought with it pain for many of the reavers who had indulged in too much drink the night before. But regardless of any physical discomfort, they were up and moving even as the early light of the sun lanced over the jagged mountains that flanked the vale. The Red Song was being loaded – mostly weapons and enough supplies to last them the trip there and back – and many of the Norscans were singing devotional shanties as they prepared.

Otto stood on the aft-castle of the caravel, watching the preparations underway. The efforts were being led by Egil and Larus, and Bodhi had situated herself at a small navigation table near the great oak steering wheel that controlled the caravel’s rudders. The reaver-captain was going over some simple maps with Astrid, who looked bright and well-recovered from the wounds she bore.

Groktur’s ungors, still bearing the now-dried blood of their victory the day before, were enlisted to add their muscle to the loading of heavy barrels of ale and salted fish. The caprigor stood with Morgul on the stone quay, watching the ease in which the Red Song was loaded.

Nicoli was busy working with a handful of reavers who were trying to get used to wielding a varied assortment of looted halberds and long pikes, much to the amusement of Bjorni who arrived with Maria who had practically begged to see the skald and bray-shaman off. Trailing behind Bjorni was the gang of toughs that Morgul had hired. Garm held a wicked looking long-hafted mace across his shoulder and kept an eye on the waifish girl, though they held back far enough to not intrude.

It seemed that the ragged looking scoundrel and his pack of thugs were a good purchase.

It had possibly come as a surprise to both Morgul and Bjorni when they learned that at some point during the festivities the night before, Maria had snuck out of the Greensong farmstead and went for a late night stroll through the vale. Rubrik had been dumfounded – he had no idea she had snuck out until much later.

But she did not go alone. Dukir had accompanied her at first from the shadows, and later walking side by side and speaking to the girl about many things. When Dukir had returned with Maria in tow, something had shaken the Shade and he was quick to slip back into the shadows without a word to anyone.

Now, Maria stood on the quay with a large wicker basket in hand. The waif made her way across the pier and handed something small to each and every one of the reavers, even approaching Groktur and the Ungors to give them one.

She said little when she gave her tokens to the crew. Simply smiled while the radiant light of her crystal eye shone in the morning light.

Each token was the blossom of a single corpse-flower. They grew wild in the dark forests of the Frostgrave called home, where the dead had been left to rot. The petals of the blossom were so pale they seemed like the luminescence of the white moon Mansleib itself, while the central part of the blossom was a deep, vibrant blood red and tiny veins of the same red threaded themselves through the edges of the petals.

The blossom was joined to a small piece of driftwood and holly, lashed together with thin, woven reeds. It was meant to be worn around a wrist, or as a broach. It was simple craftsmanship – but to think that the waif somehow created one for every member of the Red Song implied she had not slept at all the night before, too busy weaving tokens of her affection for the crew. But Maria did not seem at all troubled by this, and simply stood there smiling while many of the reavers stared at her in confusion as she offered them the trinket.

True to her word, Lissakah Ashweaver arrived at the Red Song and she did not do so alone. Three of her sisters were with her. Each was dressed for battle, with their lithesome armour studded in razors and their long manes of hair spilling to their hips, unrestrained, though threaded through with thin chains that sported hooks and other jagged implements. The only weapons they carried with slender daggers with wickedly serrated edges.

Most of the reavers gave the Witch Elves a wide berth, though Lissakah made a point of greeting Egil and Larus both with a sly smile and a tip of her head as they boarded the Red Song.




If you’ve got something important to note that you’re doing before the ship departs, feel free.







14th Vorgenheim

The Red Song departed from Winterscorn Hold as the sun had just broken the mountains, and the sky was bright with nary a cloud to be seen. While the wind was brisk and carried the chill of approaching winter, the sun beat down hotly upon the reavers and many had shed their armour to enjoy the invigorating breeze.

Sailing east, they made their way along the rocky coasts of the Norscan peninsula. Much of the land between the Red Bear and Winterscorn tribes was uninhabited, and inhospitably rocky with tall cliffs and towering waterfalls that filled the air with cold mist even hundreds of feet out into the sea.

In early evening of the second day, they passed a tall cliff upon which an old hold was carved into the side. It began with a small harbour at the bottom, with stone pathways and bridged ascending the cliff face and passing beneath a massive waterfall, where there was a large stone door that led into the cliff itself.

Many of the reavers muttered to themselves, and gave hand signs against curses and dark magic as they passed. It was, supposedly, the fortress-tomb of an ancient Champion of the Dark Gods who was slain a thousand years ago. Few were brave enough to venture within the depths of the fortress tomb, but rumours ran thick with the notion of lost treasure plundered from across the Old and New World.

Eventually, the Red Song approached a small cluster of rocky islands that marked the beginning of Red Bear territory. Bodhi ordered the Red Song to drop anchor and maintained that they would camp on one of the rocky isles and make their attack the next day when it was most advantageous to do so. It would provide them with a chance to survey the landscape that they would be assaulting.

Once camp had been set up in a location of Astrid's suggesting, it quickly became clear that a ten minute walk to the top of the rocky isle allowed for unrestricted access across a small bay to where the Red Bear hold sat.

It was too far to make out many details, but they were able to see three ships similar to the Red Song sitting in the small harbour there. Smoke from cooking fires rose, and mingled with a plume of thick smoke that seemed to come from a large building near the docks that still smoldered with licking flames. Astrid explained that it was their boathouse, where their shipwrights crafted their longboats.

[DrK]

Morgul

On the dock

Morgul looked surprised as Maria appeared but ruffled her hair gently and nodded approvingly at the charm. Taking it seriously he tied the charm tightly around one of his horn before taking his leave. He nodded approvingly to Garm as he boarded happy that with paid mercaneries and the dark elf she would be safe.

On the voyage

For the short trip he spent much of it on deck, either fighting and practicing with the ungors and reavers or throwing his rune covered bones to see the future. As they passed the cursed cave he took flight, soaring near the cliffs and crashing falls looking for a sign of hidden power.


Channel [roll0] TN61 for +2 on roll
Aspect Raven [roll1]
-- curse if needed [roll2]

Perception [roll3] TN 71
Magical sense [roll4] TN 61



At the cove

Reaching the cove he looked around then down at the three boats and the scurrying ant like figures. He looks at Groktur and points at the boats. "Much food for the gors yes?"

Before he goes to find Bodhi and Astrid. "Morgul fly and look to the village. What hut important "


Channel [roll5] TN61 for +2 on roll
Aspect Raven [roll6] +1 ingredients
-- curse if needed [roll7]

Perception [roll8] TN 71
Magical sense [roll9] TN 61

[Shadowflick]

The Morning

"PLANT SPEARS" Shouts Nicoli to the newly trained Norscan Pikeman, drilling them over and over with the proper response to a calvary charge. Planting there Spears down to form a proper Phalenx against the potential charge of the Bretonians. They were fresh. A bit green when it came to using the weapons of there empire, but he was impressed by the progress. "Is good for now. Keep training in mind while on boat" he says, finishing up the final training


On the Boat

Nicoli holds the side of the ship, his new mail armor fastened to his body "Ugh..Boats" The Kisleite says, his sea sicknes starting to churn his s tomach. He looks up from the side of the ship, his rifle being used to keep him steady as he looks out over the water..to the boats "Crow..it may be time to look for openings. Be ready..a storm comes" He says with a grim tone watching the smoke rise

[neriractor]

11th Vorgenheim

Bjorni almost brought the lash against his head thrall for letting the girl out at night but then again, just like with his brother he couldn't actually stop her and the skald hadn't given the order to.

A smile accompanied the news that she had somehow scared the shade, he lowered to be near her height when she delivered the lucky charm, putting a hand on her shoulder "you got some real talent. I'll bring you something fun when we come back, aye?" he then donned it in his mail shirt so that she could see before sending her off. Nodding approval to the thugs for their service.

trip there

Bjorni whistled loudly as he was told the legends surrounding the tomb, mayhaps a stop there wouldn't do them wrong on the trip back?

14th Vorgenheim

Bjorni leaves his armor in the makeshift tent he was using, sharpening his axe for the upcoming battle, he looks at ashweaver's crew and then at larus and egil, if way better warriors than him could do it... why not?

he approached breathstealer, "Larus! I heard you gave the druchii a run for her money, mind if I borrow them fancy mittens to try my luck? you can laugh when she plants me on my ass"

assuming Larus agreed

Bjorni reeks of undeserved confidence, the elegant knuckledusters he borrowed drawing a contrast with his rough campaign clothes as he approached the small gathering of witches, approaching ashweaver over the rest with a grin and a small nod of respect "I heard you are taking sparring partners?"

1st turn: aim, standard attack.
attack: [roll0] TN 50 (40+10 aim)
parry: [roll1] TN 40
2nd turn: feint, standard attack.
feint: [roll2] TN 40
attack: [roll3] TN 40
parry: [roll4] TN 40
3rd turn: guarded attack
attack: [roll5] TN 30
parry: [roll6] TN 50
4rth turn: aim, standard attack:
attack: [roll7] TN 50
parry: [roll8] TN 40
5th turn: all out attack.
attack: [roll9] TN 60

[rax]

11th Vorgenheim

To Egil
"Would you look at that," Lárus says to Egil, shaking his head at Nicoli's reaver pikemen. "Those fools will be lucky if they don't stab each other rather than whatever horseflesh comes their way," he snorts.

"What do you make of him anyway? The Kislevite, I mean. Ymirsdotter seems to hang on his every word, as if she truly believes the eyes of the Crow Father are upon him, or that all his talk of warring in Kislev makes him some sort of master general. All I hear is a man planning battles against a foe he has never met, and with no knowledge of their numbers, their quality, or the battlefield that awaits us. Would you be led by such a one?"

To Maria
Lárus is temporarily dumbfounded when Maria gifts him with her token, but recovers before she moves on. "Thank you, little one. But what is the meaning of this gift?"

To Ashweaver
"Mistress," he greets the Witch Elf. "I pray there will be foemen enough to slake both your thirst and that of your sisters. And I am glad to see that you have taken... precautions," he continues, indicating their armour. "Astrid Red Bear says that our enemies have many archers with them. I suspect even you would be hard pressed to dodge a full volley from Bretonnian longbows."


14th Vorgenheim

To Astrid
Lárus eyes the scene before him carefully. "Astrid Red Bear, you said during the feast that the Bretonnians numbered some mounted knights among them, as well as some better armoured footmen. Could you hazard a guess as to how many of each, and how many Bretonnians in all?"

To Morgul
"Seek out the Jarl's hold, shaman, and tell us whether it still stands or whether the Bretonnians have battered their way inside. We also need to know if they have prepared any defences - sentries, fences, and the like - and how many they are. And see if you can spot any Red Bear survivors. If the Bretonnians hold some of Astrid's people prisoner, then we may be able to find allies there when we attack."

"In fact - with your permission warleader - if Jarl Mjorni is still holding out, then perhaps Morgul Dark Crow should seek to enter the hold itself and speak to him. Even if he has only a small number of warriors in there with him, then an attack from the hold when we begin our own assault could help secure victory."

To Bjorni
Lárus responds to Bjorni's request with a harsh laugh and a shake of his head. "It is not the gloves that make the warrior, skald, you know that. But if they'll give you the confidence to test your mettle against Ashweaver, then take them and do your worst."

[Haval]

11th Vorgenheim

Egil is in enough of a good mood to ignore his headache. Now resolved to use his money for a better purpose before he manages to fritter it away, he will go looking for extra booze to distribute to the crew when needed.

Having had his own children, he will accept Maria's gift with all due seriousness. The child was...odd, but not strange enough for him to be worried by, and he could use all the support that he could get.

Egil will reply to Larus, taking his words seriously. 'Be led, never. But in truth I am barely led by anyone. I follow Bodhi because she's a good fighter and raider and that is mostly enough. I respect that Nicoli thinks about these things, something I've never had the head for. Kharneth cares only for blood, even if it's ours. I would rather do whatever we must to win.'

'Besides, if the Grandfather is truly with him there's also a chance he might step in here.'

He will smile and bow slightly as Lissakah arrives, which is generally more respect then Egil shows to anyone. In response to Larus's comment about the archers, 'If that happens something has gone very wrong indeed.'

14th Vorgenheim

Egil wanders if Bjorni fully understood was he was doing, but seeing that he was willing to face Lissakah made him respect the man. 'Good luck Skald.'

[neriractor]

14th Vorgenheim

before challenging the druchii

he answered with a chuckle of his own "is not confidence I'm lacking, just something to stop the pointy bits... will do"

he put on the gloves as he passed by egil, a playful smile on his face as he thanked the norscan way "yours? now I know it'll be painful"