[WFRP2e] The Saga of Jorunn - Part 1 - "That Which Remains"

[MrAbdiel]

She takes this show of cautious confidence in the spirit it is intended, and bids you safe journey.

Ortel, who has more confidence in himself since your escapades at the Graeling Moot, gives you a short, spontaneous hug - an almost paternal gesture.

"I'll keep an eye on the wolf, for you. I was skeptical at first, but I think you are in good hands, here. my order - I mean the other priests, back in the Empire - talk about the 'Sons of Ulric' as a myth. Wolf-men with a certain... virtue to them, instead of mere monsters, you understand. I think if these folk you have found are not them, they are the source of the myth; or close to it, anyway."

Ortel offers a blessing to you before you part ways, and gives you a charm - a tuft of hair from one of the poor dishonoured wolves at the corrupted den, bound with twine. Ortel had taken the time, while you were decapitating their destroyer, to place Ulric's blessing on the den, for the sake of his wolf-god; it is fair that something good might come of such an awful scene, in the end.

Spoiler: OOC:

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It's a Lucky Charm. This one's a free gift, which is good - but the bad news is you can't find any for sale in little Fijrgard, so that one will have to do. I'm always wary about the stockpiling of charms - part of why we instituted the 'one charm at a time' rule in the Tomboys and Troublemakers game. Charms are great to absorb that one extra hit you don't want to take in battle, but having more than one rapidly makes player characters too secure! Of course, we can say Jorunn bought some lucky charms - I won't charge you coins for it, and they just won't grant him any real luck!

Your wolf, of course, does not know what is going on. He paws at the snow restlessly, and looks up at you with keen blue eyes.

The wolf was your companion before even the thralls. Initially sickly and mangy, cowardly and hesitant, you first kept the beast around considering that you might need to eat it, if times got tougher. But eventually it has found its courage, and has developed an intuitive cooperation with you in combat where you knock foes to the ground, and he bites out their throats; or else he dogs at their heels making them more vulnerable to your attacks. With a little medical attention, he is no longer patch and mangy; but for all the time that has passed, you still have not given him a name. He might, at this point have earned one.

[bramblefoot]

jorunn will scratch the wolf under the chin, much like a dog. "i hereby name you aegis" he says, patting the wolf twice on the head. "go with them, and be proud" he says

[MrAbdiel]

Aegis receives your praise with lupine appreciation, before Ortel herds him away and leaves you with the wolf-men.

The Packmaster leads you within the cave where the cold of the wind outside is not felt, and the warmth of the dwellers within is better preserved. If you expected to find a greater horde of the shifters back here, you are disappointed - the packmaster and his three companions seem to be all there is to this den.

Their standoffishness to you is diminished now you have completed the task. They introduce themselves to you, cautiously, as you pick out a corner of the stone cave that will be your bed for six months. They are Bard, Hrok, Tryggvi; and they tell you the packmaster's name is Æirik. Still, they call him packmaster, and it seems to be the thing to do.

"You may keep your smallclothes; and trinkets that are sentimentally valuable to you. But your armor, your weapons, your wealth - these things we bury tomorrow. You recover them at the end of your indenture here. You will rely on your instincts, and your fists, and your Beast," the Packmaster explains. You are given time to divide these belongings from the petty things you will keep; then the rest are wrapped in a bundle of cloth to be committed to the earth, tomorrow.

"Tonight we hunt. But you, Jorunn - no food or water for you. You fast for three days - then will come your first test."

In all this time the Packmaster never takes a human form. In the afternoon, as you settle in, the Packmaster, Hrok and Bard curl up in their corners of the cave to sleep while Tryggvi keeps watch. They all sleep in their human forms - the Packmaster, of course, even sleeps in his upright lupine form, curled to himself like a dog. And that night, you are awoken.

Hrok, the shortest of the pack and the one who most recently joined, you gather, nudges you awake.

"Get up, brother-bear. Time to hunt."

Spoiler: OOC:

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You join the hunt, even though you are forbidden from enjoying its fruits for now.
Roll me an Outdoor Survival roll to give a sense of how well you perform in this first foray, running through the snow in your sleep linen, trying to tackle a snow deer so your companions can bite its throat out.

And then, based on how well or badly you roll, tell me what complication arises during the hunt!

[bramblefoot]

jorunn wakes quickly, stretching and working the kinks out of his back and shoulders. he's slept in worse places, but still, stone is not very conducive to sleep. he steps outside, and suppresses a shiver as the cold wind blows through his sleepclothes. he stalks through the snow, listening to his senses. he hears a rustle, and pounds after the deer, almost collaring it before the packmaster bites out its throat. jorunn stalks around while the packmaster and the three others eat

jorunn will stalk in a circle, keeping his blood hot as the pack finishes eating.suddenly, there is the thunder of wings, and a griffon flies overhead, a man clutched in his talons. the packmaster watches impassively, saying "such is life in the frozen north" jorunn is inclined to agree, and says nothing

[MrAbdiel]

Bard and the Packmaster eat of the deer while it's still steaming in the snow, fresh and warm. Tryggvi and Hrok wait for them to gorge and then cut the legs from the beast to carry over their shoulders; leaving only blood, offal, and the ragged chewed bones in the snow.

Tryggvi, who seems to have been the runt of the pack until you have gotten here and takes pity on you as the newcomer, gives you the legs of the deer he was carrying for you to lug. They're not awfully heavy, and the gesture looks like he is laying more hazing upon you - but it's still good to have the still-warm limbs of the beast warming your back in the cold.

"That flying beast has been hunting in these parts for a few months. We thought it would have frozen out, by now - they are beasts from the southern realms, without the pelt to live up here. But it struggles on, anyway. The packmaster thinks it came up here with some inbred noble son from the Sigmar-lands, only to have its rider die and become stranded. We may have to hunt it soon - but like he said, such is life. Even foreign beasts have a right to struggle to live."

Back at the den, Tryggvi and Hrok strike up a fire at the mouth of the cave. It warms the stone for the night to come, and cooks one of the legs of the beast; while the others are buried in snow just outside. There seems no hard rule on whether it is best to eat cooked meat as a man, or raw meat as a beast. But it's been a day since you've eaten, and the smell of the cooking venison is starting to torture you. Still.. you survived trekking through the blight for longer without food. It's the sticky dryness in your mouth, denied water, that is most pressing.

Spoiler: OOC:

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After three days with no food, you're at -10% to Weapon Skill, Ballistic Skill,
Strength, Toughness, and Agility. There's no rules for going without water - but I know a thing or two about fasting IRL, so I'm going to say we'll extend that -10% to everything. After about 5 days with no water, people start taking brain damage, so you're pretty much at the sluggish limit of your body without getting into the realm of worrying about irreparable suffering.

After three days, you are monsterously hungry, thirsty, cold, and weak. You stand in the snow surrounded by the four pack members, trying to muster your groggy thoughts for this mysterious test.

"The first thing you must learn, the thing before any other thing, is to leash the beast. It dwells in you now, and has done so in harmony - its enemies are your enemies, and so you work together... almost as one. But not today. Today, we are going to beat you within an inch of your life, Jorunn. I require you to trust your pack, in this. But the beast will not - the beast wants to live, to fight, to thrive. It does not know submission. You must trust us; the beast must trust you. Do not defend yourself, Jorunn. You are strong - you will endure."

Tryggvi, Jrok and Bard close in. They wear their man-forms, and so as they move in it is their closed fists and heels that begin battering and bludgeoning you. You catch a look of mild apology in Tryggvi's eye before he slugs you in the stomach; and you're sure it's Bard's tattooed leg that belongs to the knee that rises up into your face. After that, you can identify none of the individual attacks. Someone's elbow; someone's fist; someone's foot.

Spoiler: OOC:

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Make me an initial Willpower test to prevent yourself from going into an instinctive Frenzy to defend yourself. At this stage, it's in the early bewilderment: +40% difficulty, -10% for your deprivation, for a total of +30%.

Also, give me a glimpse of what's going through Jorunn's head at a time like this.

[bramblefoot]

jorunn will take the blows, his mind a whirlwind of pain and confusion. he'll just curl up in a ball and take the abuse, covering his head with his arms as blows rain down on him. he restrains the beast, and will just wait it out, suppressing cries of pain

[MrAbdiel]

Someone steps on your hand - you feel two of your fingers dislocate. The cartridge in your nose crunches as it breaks with another hit. You taste your blood. You cough it. You choke on it. But you restrain all your body's natural instincts to grab, and strike, and fight free. You were raised for war, and spend these last months of your life fighting with every action to survive shipwreck and daemon and sword. It is profoundly unnatural for you to let something like this happen.

A foot kicks your head, and your consciousness swims and you prepare to black out... but a monstrous, red-hot ball of hate and fury churns in your gut, and runs up your spine. The Packmaster was right - previously, you have never been in a position where your intentions conflicted with 'the beast', so much so that it might never have seemed capable of overriding you. But you feel it straining against your conscious instincts, bunching your muscles. You feel your teeth sharpening; your ears ringing as your ursine senses start making themselves known. Now, you fight against this instinct coming from within yourself from a deeper place than you knew existed.

Spoiler: OOC:

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Alright. A final Willpower Roll. This one is at Challenging - with -10% from your starvation, for a total of -10%!

If you fail, you must immediately frenzy and make a swift attack.

If you succeed, you feel the beast recoil, and black out. Describe for me what Jorunn experiences in his fugue, confronted by the bestial instinct that resents his conscious submission.

[bramblefoot]

jorunn will resist the urge to shift, and black out. in his fugue state, he sees his father, stalking towards him "jorunn, why do you not fight" his father hisses, and collapses. jorunn sees a white-furred beast having run his claws through his fathers stomach, and sighs internally "control is essential father" he says, crouching next to his dying fathers body "even for berserkers, when the tank is dry, the tank is dry"

he will sit, and look the beast in the eye "sooner or later, ill be in control, and youll be my little playtoy" he says, grinning through bloody teeth "do your worst"

[MrAbdiel]

You don't remember waking. Your awareness grades slowly back in as you find yourself curled up by a fire near the entrance to the den. Your whole body hurts. There is blood on your hands, and crusted on your face - but it's all your blood, you think.

"Well done," Tryggvi says; as he rotates the spit of cooking fish the villagers must have delivered in your unconciousness. "That was the hardest part for me. The leashing. I think I failed... two or three times. Maybe the bear is less furious than the wolf - maybe you have good instinct for this. Here." He takes a glazed ceramic cup, scoops up some fresh snow, and put it in the outer coals of the fire until the snow has melted. "Drink, now. You know your beast. It will still seek to put the leash on you, when you are threatened sometimes; but now you know for whatever strength it gives you, you are stronger."

You eat some of the fish, too, when it is offered; it reminds you how desperately hungry you are, but Tryggvi advises against gorging on an empty stomach. "Let the water work through you first. Tomorrow you'll eat right; then in a few days, you will need to fast again."

Spoiler: OOC:

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You gain the following talent:

Werekin: Leash the Beast - As a free action, you may spend a fortune point (that is, a temporary fate point) to immediately cease your Frenzy and revert to your human form.

The following morning, the the pack is setting out to perform a morning hunt, as before. This time, you will be allowed to participate and eat normally. Your strength is much returned, and given that another fast is in your immediate future, you hope the hunt goes well.

Hrok notices as you apply the paint around your eyes; one of your few indulgences permitted. He is taller than Tryggvi; perhaps the longest serving member of this den, besides the Packmaster.

"Why do you do that, Bear-son? Is it a Bjornling ritual?"

Spoiler: OOC:

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Make me an +0 Outdoor Survival for your performance on today's hunt. Also, feel free to answer Hrok's question.

[bramblefoot]

jorunn will keep putting on the face paint, talking as he does. "it's a ritual, something i do to center myself. since this is an entirely new scenario, it helps to have something to fall back on"

the hunt goes very well. jorunn brings down a large deer, and will test out both ways of eating

after the hunt, he'll ask to spar with tryggi, hoping to learn how to use strike to stun in his were form

[MrAbdiel]

"Is that so?" Hrok asks, watching as you paint up. "Well. It looks strange to me. But looking strange probably works as intended, when you're charging some frightened southlander."

That's about all you get out of Hrok; but it almost sounds like approval, so that's something.

Spoiler: OOC:

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You gain the Talent: Bloodthirsty Appearance: When you spend time applying your warpaint each morning, take a +10 to the first Intimidate check you make that day. The application must take at least fifteen minutes in meditative conditions. Literal paint is traditional, but mud or blood will do.

The cooked meat is good; though without the salt that Marlene carries about, you find it a little bland.

You find the raw meat to be unpleasant. It's tough and wet and a lifetime of eating cooked meat has taught your tongue that this is not food. Without ursine teeth to tear through it, or a knife to cut it, you are forced back to the old ways - charred and classic.

Tryggvi is happy to spar, open handed. He is small and slippery - the kind of nasty surprise wrestler that can get one over much larger fighters the first one or two times if they're not expecting it.

Spoiler: OOC:

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vs50Wrestling - (1d100)[33] for Tryggvi. He lives a good wrassle. Give me an opposed WS roll for your performance in the wrasslin', to oppose that. More a point of pride than for anything else. Tryggvi is a good sport, win or lose.

You try to practise your stunning blows, hoping to make it intuitive enough that you can find that impulse even when the red haze of battle is over your eyes. When you let Tryggvi in on your thinking after the fight, he smiles knowingly with his split lip.

"I don't know if I'm supposed to tell you about the trials before you undergo them. But mastering the beast starts with the spirit of the man securing the beast - in time, you'll be able to have man and beast work in harmony. But all this is to avoid the beast ruling over the man; that way lies madness and mutation. You've seen it, with Lycurgus - the one you killed."

That kills the conversation for a while. It seems the group knew the Desolator well enough to grieve - but they have done most of that grieving long before you arrived.

* * * * *

Three gruelling days of fasting later, and you are hunting again - this time, you have split the pack. The others are stalking prey to eat, but the Packmaster has taken you aside on a hunch. It is strange walking beside him - massive and lupine and upright as he is, without any overt trace of berserk.

"We do not hunt for prey, Brother Jorunn. You and I hunt for a trespasser. By now, the beast in you is starving like you are - you can feel it, yes? But you must command it; as a master a dog. It will help you hunt, even if you do not let if off the leash."

You are not a tracker. You've followed beastmen crashing through the brush but you lack the careful years of trailing and natural talent of someone like Marlene who can pick up on subtler clues; or Aegis's nose and animal instincts.

...But those instincts do, at some level, dwell within you. You simply... have never been calm enough while they have manifested to use them.

Spoiler: OOC:

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Roll me outdoor survival, to try to track with your senses. Follow Trail is the right skill, so you'll be rolling Outdoor Survival with a -10 penalty. Coupled with the starvation penalty, that's -20!

Even if you fail, you smell... Soul milk, old mouldering meat; and you get a sense of the direction to follow it.

If you succeed...

Spoiler: OOC: Success

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The same smell - but varying intensities. There are three creatures, all carrying the same scent.

...And finally, tell me what navigational hazard you come across that impedes your hunt.

[bramblefoot]

jorunn will walk with the packmaster, and pick his brains on the were condition "i smell rotting meat, and spoiled milk" he says to the packmaster. "lets follow it"

jorunn will do an easy mile-eating lope until they reach a particularly fast moving stream "trail ends here" jorunn calls, sniffing around "its likely they crossed the water"

[MrAbdiel]

"Yes - the smell of a Ymir - the white furred man-eaters. We draw closer to Fijrgard, here. The creature eats manflesh exclusively - it will seek the fishermen, and the foresters. We will kill it, first." The Packmaster observes the stream - then looks to you.

"You are weakened. Deprivation is part of your challenge; but I am not seeking to kill you. Do you think you have the strength to swim, and the heart to hold out cold and wet until we meet our prey? I will not think less if you for saying no. Bravado is for Estalians and children. You might otherwise conceal yourself here, in case they come back across, and I will pursue them alone... While you hide."

Spoiler: OOC:

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If you want to try to swim across as matter of pride, make me a Swim test - with your -10 for being malnourished and weak. He says he won't think less of you. If you'd rather not risk freezing death, you can make a +20 Concealment check instead to stake out the riverside.

[bramblefoot]

jorunn will swim the stream even in his weakened state. he shakes the water off like a dog and continues to stalk along, following the trail. jorunn hears the ymir before he sees it, a heavy sort of huff, and the sound of thuds into the earth. the smell of rotting meat and fish gets stronger, and jorunn controls his gag reflex as the ymir stalks by. he switches to battle tongue, and will ask the packmaster frontal assault or try something sneaky?

[MrAbdiel]

The Packmaster does seem somewhat impressed as you swim through the icy waters, willing the furnace of your body to warm you. You are starting to see what the fasting is doing to you - your muscles are becoming lean and ropey, bones in some places discernable through the skin; very little fat to keep you warm.

As you take cover together, he peers over the ridge and sniffs as the creature - which seems to you to be some variety of beastman, like an overgrown gor with shaggy white fur and a mouth full of yellowed, jagged teeth - stalks by. It has frozen elements of meat in its fur, around its face; as you are watching, it snakes out its tongue and scoops a lock of meat-tangled hair into its mouth to chew.

But when you flinch controlling your gorge rising, the Packmaster claps a hand on your shoulder, reacting sharply to the motion. He hisses.

"It is the man that is disgusted by such smells. It is the beast that navigates the world by them. Breathe again. What does the beast smell?"

You draw in another breath through your nose; and the ravenous animal in your soul, desperate to be fed on violence and flesh, parses the scent for you - even restrained as it is. Not one smell - three. There are three Ymir here - and if you had leapt to attack the one, the other two would have shortly joined it and caught you off guard. Now you know, you can be ready for them.

"You smell the others? Good. Good, Brother Bear. They are near; they will come when the other cries out. Go now; make challenge. Take your beast off the leash. When the others come to assist, I will strike at them; and the rescuers become further prey."

Spoiler: OOC:

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The Ymir awaits! Your first action, which is likely to be to shift forms, is not subtle - the Ymir will be surprised for it. But if you can beat his initiative ((1d10+3)[5]), you can act immediately. The Ymir is presently one move action away.

[bramblefoot]

jorunn will shift into his were form and half move, half attack. he hits, his claws biting in deep to the ymirs leg, causing a deep crimson blood to pour out

(1d100)[78]

(1d10+6)[10]

rerolled for a 6 in the ooc

[MrAbdiel]

The ymir staggers in shock at your emergence and the blow; its alarm voiced in a hooting, porcine howl. You hear the thrashing of figures in the brush elsewhere making their way over - not here yet - but in the intermit, the foul flesh-eater rounds on you, long raking claws scything out over your fur!

Spoiler: OOC:

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Claw1Vs44 - (1d100)[41] for (1d10+4)[6]
Claw2Vs44 - (1d100)[23] for (1d10+4)[13]

Unfortunately, Jorunn might have to tank these - with only his natural weapons, he is unable to parry; and in this form, he is not trained in dodge!

Since you're fighting another creature with natural weapons, if you take parrying stance rather than swift attacking, I'll let you 'parry' claw to claw.

[bramblefoot]

jorunn: 11/19 wounds



the claws scythe through jorunns fur, causing gashes to appear, and blood to leak out. jorunn will roar, and make attacks. the bear is with him, and he succeeds on hitting, but not with enough force

(3d100)[12][1][23](36) three hits, but not really good damage

(1d10+6)[10]
(1d10+6)[8]
(1d10+6)[8]

[MrAbdiel]

You smash into the Ymir and tear at it with your primal fury. Your claws and teeth tear into it likewise and you crash to the ground, mauling and slashing at each other. You are the superior combatant - but without weapons and allies, the margin is more narrow than you are used to. As expected, you hear roaring and hooting as its confederates burst from the brush and seek to fall upon you, making the matchup lethally untenable. And as expected, the Packmaster springs into action; a roaring, guttural bark catching the pair off guard as he races, an enviable blur of claws and fur and blood.

Spoiler: OOC:

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Ymir takes a 1 point crit to the arm; but fortunately for him, has nothing to drop.

Ymir1, on Jorunn:
vs44 - (1d100)[79] for Damage - (1d10+4)[9]
vs44 - (1d100)[3] for Damage - (1d10+4)[7]

Ymir2 and Ymir3 are surprised!

vs75 - (1d100)[79] for Damage - (1d10+6)[14] against Ymir2! Edit: Actually that hit. I forgot that surprised is a penalty to WS - arguably the full -30 for being unaware. So net 9 damage to Ymir2.

If you finish off Ymir1 with an early attack, I'll flow additional attacks of yours on to the other ones.

[bramblefoot]

jorunn will make three attacks against the wounded ymir. in his jubilation, he hits only once, but hard



(3d100)[3][63][87](153)

(1d10+6)[13]
(1d10+6)[7]
(1d10+6)[8]

[MrAbdiel]

Your huge ursine maw closes around the ymir's arm; and with your claws sunken into its chest, you wrench and pull. You taste vile things in the fur - old meat, and piss, and corrupt blood - but soon with a crackle of yeilding bone and sinew you tear the limb halfway off, and wash of blood from the ripped shoulder precedes a whimpering, perishing bleat as the creature dies.

Meanwhile, the Packmaster continues his brutal contest with the other two...

Spoiler: OOC:

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Ymir2Vs44 - (1d100)[75] for (1d10+3)[7]
Ymir2Vs44 - (1d100)[9] for (1d10+3)[8]

Ymir3Vs44 - (1d100)[28] for (1d10+3)[6]
Ymir3Vs44 - (1d100)[44] for (1d10+3)[13]

Vs60 - (1d100)[21] dodge for the packmaster.
Vs55 - (1d100)[52] for (1d10+6)[16]
Vs55 - (1d100)[16] for (1d10+6)[10]
Vs55 - (1d100)[88] for (1d10+6)[10]

d100's as required for crits and furies

(1d100)[26]
(1d100)[69]
(1d100)[74]
(1d100)[44]
(1d100)[41]
Narrative pending.

The pair of Ymir he contends with are smaller than the one you have killed - mature children maybe, or else the one you killed was especially big - but they are still as physically strong and tough as the beastmen you have fought. They lay their claws on the packmaster, even though he seems to move swiftly enough that their blows do not graduate to more than small lacerations. One bears a raking wound from his charging strike - the other, uninjured, grabs him and bites upon his shoulder, but the heavy mane of fur is proof enough against the bite that the packmaster quickly turns the momentum into a shoulder through that rocks the creature against a nearby treestump before it scrambles back to its feet. With that, the wolf-man turns and rams his clawed hand up under the ribcage of the other Ymir and rips out a handful of vitals, turned to steaming shredded offal by the claws; and this creature collapses into the pool of its own guys, mewling and dying. The one remains - its bloodshot eyes graduating from rage to fear.

Spoiler: OOC:

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Packmaster dodges the big blow, takes two small ones for 1 and 2 wounds respectively; then he guts one and injures the other. You might get the killing blow, if you roll well, on the second!

[bramblefoot]

jorunn will charge the last ymir, hoping to drop it. his claws gouge out the creatures eyes, and jorunn lets out a bellow of triumph as the creature drops bonelessly to the ground. jorunn will shift back down to his normal form, feeling the wound he took from the ymir just now "that was exhilarating" he says to the packmaster. "i truly felt one with my beast there, but i know im not even close to done with my tutelage"

(1d100)[71]

(1d10+6)[16]

rerolled and got a success

[MrAbdiel]

Your form retracts to its human size as the beast's killing urge is slaked in the monsterous ymir; you watch as the Packmaster's eye's clear and the frenzy leaves him - though his wolf-guise remains as prominent as ever.

"Exhilarating, yes. It is the harmony of beast and man. Most with our curse-gift live and die never knowing any connection between their parts except blinding rage - but now you feel it. There are other ways. Hunger. Thrill. Primal things. Eventually, with mastery, even sophisticated things, like..." He raises his bloody claw before his face; flexes his digits impassively. "Loyalty. But you are right - you have a long path before you, Brother-Bear. But today... we have upheld out covenant with the people of Fijrgard. You have done well."

Spoiler: OOC:

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You gain the following talent:

Werekin: Consult the Beast - As a full action, you may spend a fortune point (that is, a temporary fate point) to gain access to the skills and talents your wereform possesses, without shifting. These do not stack (e.g. your wereform's Concealment skill does not add +10 to your human form's Concealment skill, if you are trained), but you are entitled to use whichever is highest. Using Consult the Beast does not cause you to frenzy.
The effects last for an hour, at which point your Beast subsides unless you spend another FP for another hour.

Weeks pass. The training includes a great deal of fasting and strenuous activity to 'provoke' the beast and then to not heed its urges except in those circumstances you deem fit. But even over this period, you begin to feel the effect of it. Your 'beast' is no less furious within you - but you begin to detect it as almost an independent force you can bargain with instead of an overwhelming tide of feeling.

The next novel challenge comes, fortunately, when you are on a full stomach.

"How is your throwing arm, Jorunn?" Tryggvi asks, as approaches you with a quiver of javelins in his outstretched arm. "Today, we hunt the mammoth."

Another part of the alliance between the wolves of the den and the village of Fjirgard, the slaying of such a beast will fill the meat stores of the town for quite a time; as well as provide bone, fur and ivory. As Tryggvi explains it to you, it is a joint operation of the hunters of Fjirgard and pack. The villagers will do the butchering, and have dug the kill-pit. The pack has another job - separating a mammoth from the pack, and goading it into falling into the concealed pit. You and Tryggvi are one pair for the hunt; Hrok and Bard are another, and the Packmaster intends to run alone, prepared to intervene if things go awry.

You hunker shivering in the cover of a fallen tree, watching a small herd of mammoths graze. They shuttle aside mounds of snow with their tusks, and rip up clumps of hardy tundra grasses. Four lumbering females, a cluster of three calves, and one great bull minding them with the occasional territorial trumpet from its trunk.

"Our target is the bull. Throw at the cows and they will shy away, and the bull will attack you anyway. Throw at the calves and the cows and the bull will come at you. Throw at the bull and, four times out of five, the bull will come for you while the herd stands aside watching. The trick is that, you wouldn't think so, but they're pretty fast. You can't outrun them on their charge - you have to weave to keep them turning, to keep ahead long enough for someone else to throw at it and get its attention. Then you hide. And then it'll chase them. That'll give us a chance to get ahead to where we need to be to peel it off them just the same way. Do that three or four times until we get far enough away from the herd, and we've isolated the bull. That's where the Fjirgarders are digging the kill-pit right now. It might be on me or you at the time, but the pit will be marked in the snow with branches laid like arrows. If it's chasing you, you run to the tip of the arrow and make the biggest long jump you're capable of. I recommend hitting the ground at a roll. You'll probably clear the pit; but even if you don't, you'll get to the far side of the pit and there will be a crevice dug into the side - just roll into it and hunker down. The mammoth will fall in behind you, but you'll be out of the way and we'll dig you out. But if you make the jump right, it shouldn't matter."

The Packmaster lopes over to your hiding place, to fill you in on the plan evolving.

"Three trade-offs, before the pit. I've marked the trail at the places. You are left, they are right - Hrok and Bard will start, take it to the first point, and then you'll take it and pull left. When you get to the next marker, they'll take it and pull right. You'll take it again at the next marker, pull left, and you'll see the pit marking. They should have finished it by now - time to act, before the herd moves on and we have to shift the plan. Good hunting."

You watch from your hiding place as Hrok and Bard emerge - no wolf forms, needing their man-cunning sharpest for this hunt - and hurl javelins at the mammoth bull. They strike, sticking almost comically small in the beast's flank; and just as expected, they elicit a wild trumpet of outrage as the mammoth lumbers around to rush them. They bound away through the snow, splitting apart and coming back together to force the mammoth to chase one of them and sometimes delay to choose, running in big curves around trees and rocks and forcing it to slow and navigate, growing more frustrated. As they do, you overtake them running parallel at a straight shot - you see the marker the Packmaster has left: three stones indicating the swap-point. Your allies are coming up on it, as you and Tryggvi burst from hiding to pitch your own javelins!

Spoiler: OOC:

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Give me a javelin throw! +30%, and another +20% from its size. because the target is 'unaware' of your ambush. If you throw does more damage than Tryggvi's, the mammoth is chasing you specifically. If you both miss, or do less than
its TB of 6 in damage, then it ignores you both and will keep chasing the others!

vs84 - (1d100)[29] for (1d10+3)[5] for Tryggvi.

After that, make a +10 Agility roll to run - either away from the Mammoth, or after it if it's not chasing you still!

[bramblefoot]

jorunn hurls his javelin, and then takes off down the trail. the mammoth is faster on the flat stretch, but jorunn makes sure to lead it through tight turns and such where it has to slow down lest it gash itself on sharp rocks and such. the second marker comes up, and jorunn lets bard and hrok pull the mammoth. he keeps up his pace, moving to set up at the third junction. the blood thunders in his ears, but he keeps the beast under control

i like the new me he thinks to himself, and the beast growls. jorunn sighs internally, and proceeds to slap his inner beast be good you he thinks at it, and sets up on the third turn to pull the beast left

[MrAbdiel]

A clear and inexplicable instinct screams at you that this is foolishness - that these lessons from this wolfpack will get you killed if you continue to indulge in these risky endevours - but it's too late to think about such things right now. You have the mammoth's ire, and Tryggvi whoops in celebration and bounds along beside you as the behemoth smashes through small trees and brush in your wake, forced to weave around stones and larger obstacles.

"That's it! Alright!" he puffs, "the second the others draw him, we dive into the snowdrift - nowhere else to hide!"

Spoiler: OOC:

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Hrok's throw: [ROLL=vs65]1d100[ROLL] for (1d10+3)[7]
Bard's throw: [ROLL=vs65]1d100[ROLL] for (1d10+3)[4]. Narrative pending.

Rerolled in the OOC for some damaging hits.

At the next change-point, you see Hrok and Bard pop up from behind a hunting blind made from branches the Packmaster has gathered. They whip their javelins at the mammoth and both strike home - Bard's shearing along the creature's skull and skipping off into the snow, Hrok's impressively spearing into the heel of the beast's trunk - a little harder, and it may have driven into the sinus and perhaps brain, disasteroustly slaying the mammoth too far away from its ultimate destination! But it trumpets its rage, blood speckling the snow, and turns its attention to them for a moment. In that moment, Tryggvi dives into the soft drift of snow nearby, wriggles to conceal himself for a second, and then goes still as a stone. If you can do the same, when the mammoth looks back to track you, he will see no threat but Bard and Hrok, and chase them as planned!

Spoiler: OOC:

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Time for Concealment - +10% to the check!

[bramblefoot]

jorunn will dive into the snowdrift, and stay very stlll. the mammoth trumpets loudly, and will follow bard and hrok off, its feet sounding like minor earthquakes to jorunns ears. jorunn waits for a second, and then pops out of the snow, feet pounding to the third pass. he feels the adrenaline course through his veins as the beast exults in the hunt of the mammoth. the third marker is in sight, and jorunn readies a javelin, steadying his breathing as he waits for bard and hrok to come into view.

the two werekin come into view, and jorunn will hurl his javelin, and then take off again

bs test
(1d100)[1]

(1d10+4)[6]

agility test

(1d100)[93]

[MrAbdiel]

"It's...Bracing!" Tryggvi offers, breathlessly but still conversationally as you overtake the circuitous path your allies are leading the quarry down, to head them off at the next change. Your chest is heaving with the exertion of the olympian efforts navigating the terrain at such pace and such stakes; and it takes its toll when you launch your spear - it sticks into the beast's side, but does not seem to penetrate enough to draw the mammoth's ire. Tryggvi tosses likewise...

Spoiler: OOC:

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vs64 - (1d100)[42] for (1d10+3)[4], narrative pending.

...And his javelin, like yours, hits but does not hit hard enough. Bard and Hrok are forced to overshoot their own snowdrift, and surge out into smoother terrain - as the mammoth gains.

"Ah, balls!" Tryggvi grunts, and you both take off again as fast as you can; trying once more!

Spoiler: OOC:

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Wuh-oh. That's a fail on that Agi test - that'll come up later. Make me another agi test, this one at +0, and another throw to try to pull the mammoth's attention!

[bramblefoot]

jorunn will pound after the mammoth, lobbing a javelin that sticks in the creatures hindquarters. the mammoth turns and looks at jorunn, and then will charge him. jorunn will attempt to GTFO, and lead the mamoth to the pit. "i dont think it likes me" he yells, circling the mammoth and then sprinting towards the way the packmaster pointed out

Spoiler: ooc

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got a 4 on my agility roll, a 24 on my bs roll, and a 9 on damage

[MrAbdiel]

Tryggvi tosses his javelin too, and it also sinks into the mammoth's buttock; but it takes the most offense at yours by far. You can't see if Bard and Hrok hid - but the creature is bearing down on you and that's what matters.

"He's angry now!" puffs Tryggvi, his shorter legs barely keeping up with you because of his conditioning in hunts such as this. A little more weaving and racing with the behemoth behind you, and you come to a straight path off a local wide goat trail, still sheened with snow. You can see a dozen of the men of Fjirgard crouching and still on the other side of the road under a shelter of branches and caked snow - and importantly, the arrows marked with branches indicating where you need to make your leap. Tryggvi peels off to one side so the mammoth is bearing down on you alone, and as you could swear you feel the heat of the beast's breath behind you, your heel clears the marker and you leap...

Spoiler: OOC:

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Final jump - Agility roll at a total of -10, for the extra work you had to put in catching up to it when it got away. If you succeed, you clear the hidden pit and can roll to a stop on the other side.
If not, you're going to fall into the pit against its back wall. You'll take (1d10+3)[5] wounds and then need to make a flat Willpower roll to remain composed enough to roll into the sheltering cleft at the pit's side, so the mammoth doesn't crash down on top of you.

[bramblefoot]

jorunn will easily leap the pit, and watch as the mammoth crashes into the pit. he will take a few steps back away, and take deep breaths, sucking in air as he watches the mammoth die. after his breath comes back he lets out a jubilant cry of joy as the villagers begin skinning and butchering the mammoth