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

[bramblefoot]

jorunn will rise, and head out into the snow "aegis means a lot to me. i knew him before the others, though not by much" he says calmly we should find him, and return before the snow hits"

[MrAbdiel]

Hrok, Bard, and Tryggvi scramble quickly. Even the Packmaster is roused to brave the snow with you. Earlier when Aegis had tried to buy his way in, he had been denied despite his tie to you; but the pack values loyalty and persistence both in you and the lupine.

The tracking is hard going. Whatever snatched him up is travelling in bursts of flight, and there is no contiguous path to follow. You are forced to find a droplet of blood and a scuff of ground where the abductor and prey have landed breifly, then scatter in five directions looking for the next sign. All the while, the wind is changing direction and blowing the scent about; and snow threatens to cover the path for good.

The packmaster dispatches your packmates into the growling snow, and you watch them shift form as they vanish into the white looking for the next trace. "Time is your enemy here, Jorunn; as it so often is for all of us. You must learn here, now, what I had hoped would come naturally more slowly. You must master the beast entirely."

This is something you might not have thought possible before you met the Packmaster, who strides about and lives in his 'frenzy' form as comfortably as if he were born to it.

"You need it senses, but you cannot feed it the blood and violence it needs to remain at the fore. The trade off is often fire. But the truth is this: we conceptualize the beast, and speak of it, like a spirit that lives in our heart and overtakes us, or does what we force it to do. This is philosophy. The truth has always been that the beast is you, and always has been. The killing and rage are yours; the claws and nose of the bear are your gift, not a parasite. Take on the bear. The bear is you."

Then he dashes off into the snow, leaving you in the white-blind circle of wind with ice crystals forming on your skin.

You reach within.

Spoiler: OOC:

Show

Make a Willpower roll at Challenging. If you fail, lose 1 wound (ignoring toughness and armor) to the cold, and make the test again at +5.

If you fail again, lose 2 wounds to the cold and make the test again and +10.

Continue this way, incrementing by 1 wound and +5 to the Willpower test each time, until you succeed, or die.

If you survive, gain the following talent:

Become the Beast: When you frenzy and take your werebear form, you may spend a Fate Point for the day to suppress all negative effects of the Frenzy for 10 minutes. These include:

The stat penalties (-10 Int, -10 WP, -20 Fel), but not the bonuses.
The demand to charge or swift attack every turn.
The inability to access your 'human' skills and talents (including Dodge Blow).

In a case where your werebear form and human form both possess the same skill, while you are Becoming the Beast, these are cumulative trainings. I.E, being trained in Concealment would add with the werebear's concealment to function as Concealment +10. Conversely, if you have Concealment +20, there is nothing the werebear's Concealment skill can add to it.

After 10 minutes, you one again return to 'normal' frenzy unless you spend another FP to maintain this state of enlightened bestialism.

After that, you can make me a Follow Trail check. Call it +0.

[bramblefoot]

jorunn will wait in the snow, and try to summon the beast. he feels the wind howl, and the ice crystals coalesce on his human skin. he tries once, twice, and on the third time, his form expands, and he feels truly alive for the first time. his senses are battering rams, easily piercing the driving snow, and he will lope after the packmaster, checking for scent and blood trails. i feel alive! he exults silently, and will keep checking for scent and blood trails of aegis

[MrAbdiel]

Spoiler: OOC:

Show

You are at 12/19 Wounds.

It's like suddenly figuring out how to swim after an age of carefully controlled drowning. Your nose contends with the swirling air for fragments of scent. When you pick it up from multiple directions, you aren't overwhelmed with the complexity - your man-mind, your hunter instincts, warn you against haste, and between you and the werewolves with you, you spend the next eight minutes eliminating directions you could go and settling on the one you do, pounding together up the craggy slope of the mountain that looms north of the pack's cave. And up on the jagged cliff is a crack in the rock, and within that crack you smell the blood of your small lupine friend, and feathers, and beast-scent.

"It's that griffon you saw, months ago," the Packmaster concludes as your pack hunkers outside the cave and prepares to rush in. "But it's wrong, now. It should have made a bigger mess - it shouldn't have an instinct to take prey alive, and we found no mess commensurate to a kill. Be fast, and wary."

Then the five of you rush though, the dark peeling back before your night-eyes. They prowl forward in lunging hops on palms and feet; your bear-man form is no so sleekly weighted, but you keep up at the rear with your your greater mass, dropping to fours on uneven ground and upright on flat straights until you burst into a warm interior cavern. It's lit by the dim glow of lava trickling down one wall and draining away into cavity in the floor. Brickwork fencing off this liquid rock strikes you immediately as dwarven, based on your brief time exploring ruins of the shortfolk's structures; and scattered broken tools and furniture mark this room as some long-gone hermit's secret forge. Now it is a nest, with its primary occupant brooding against the back wall. The hulking form of the griffin jerks its head up at your pack storming in, disturbing the young suckling at its udder. But quickly, the young pivot and shriek at you, and it's clear they aren't right either.

The griffin is badly mutated; a third, vestigial wing flaps uselessly behind the greater one on the left, and the claws on that side (both eagle and lion) are twisted into long, sharp, cloven hooves. But more disturbing are the young, which are daemonic looking, bat-human monstrosities whose faces drip with blood and milk. You see no sign of Aegis; but there is no advancing past this threat.

"Kill the young, then join me on the mother!" the packmaster coordinates rapidly, and you all plunge forth into the battle.

Spoiler

Show

Initiative time!

Packmaster - (1d10+5)[10]
Hrok - (1d10+4)[7]
Bard - (1d10+4)[5]
Tryggvi - (1d10+4)[7]
Chaos Furies - (1d10+4)[7]
MutantGriffin - (1d10+5)[15]

At the beginning of every pack member's turn, they'll take terror test against the Griffin. Frenzy doesn't make you immune to psychology it seems; but it does supply you with that inherent WP bonus, so that's something.

If you beat all the others here in initiative, you can go right away.

[bramblefoot]

jorunn will charge one of the demon furies, narrowly missing as he slips on the ice

(1d100)[72]

(1d10+6)[12]

[MrAbdiel]

Spoiler: Actions and Rolls

Show

Narrative pending outcomes.

Mutant Griffon moves up, prepares an action to attack first comer.
Packmaster is fearless
Packmaster charges Griffin.
Griffon's attack goes off: vs50 - (1d100)[100] for (1d10+6)[7].
Packmaster dodge: vs50 - (1d100)[49]
Packmaster attack: vs60 - (1d100)[20] for (1d10+6)[12]
Hrok is Terrified.
Tryggvi is Terrified.
All 4 furies move up and prepare actions to attack someone who charges.
Jorunn charges.
Fury1 Responds: vs35 - (1d100)[53] for (1d10+4)[5]
Bard charges.
Fury2 Responds: vs35 - (1d100)[24] for (1d10+4)[14]
Bard Attacks: vs60 - (1d100)[62] for (1d10+4)[13]

Next Turn

Griffin Swift Attacks:
vs50 - (1d100)[80] for (1d10+6)[12].
vs50 - (1d100)[32] for (1d10+6)[14].
vs50 - (1d100)[30] for (1d10+6)[9].
vs50 - (1d100)[52] for (1d10+6)[9].
Packmaster dodges: vs50 - (1d100)[86].
Packmaster full defences.

Jorunn's Turn.

The packmaster explodes forth, and he and the griffon rake past each other with a flash of claws; the wolf scoring the deeper blow, but having less depth to spare, before adopting a defensive posture to wait for the pack to saw through the 'chicks' and assist in the greater kill. But as the furies dash forward, you and Bard are the only wolves that make immediate contact - Tryggvi and Hrok hesitate as the enormous form of the griffon rampages near. The mutation they are used to - it's part and parcel of living so close to the Wastes. But the sheer mass and animal violence of the creature was terrible indeed; much larger than a bear, smaller than mammoth but so much swifter and deadlier. In the meantime, your opposing fury fails to lay its claws on you - a fumbling, minor daemonic thing that is more in your way than it is a real opponent. If you all attacked the griffon, they might have done real damage attacking from behind (You know that for true, after the dark elves); but for now, they are a nuisance to strike down. But Bard's opponent lands a genuine, deep slash down his front that draws a gurgling growl from him - he is hurt, but not felled!

Spoiler

Show

Jorunn's turn! You may swift attack now, if you like.

[bramblefoot]

jorunn will make three attacks against the chaos fury, hoping to drop it. two goods blows zip in, but the humdinger zips high and wide

(3d100)[40][94][39](173)

(1d10+6)[12]
(1d10+6)[16]
(1d10+6)[8]

[MrAbdiel]

Spoiler: Rolls!

Show

Hrok remains terrified.

Tryggvi charges Fury 3.
Fury 3 responds: vs35 - (1d100)[50] for (1d10+4)[11]
Tryggvi charge: vs60 - (1d100)[100] for (1d10+4)[10]

Fury 1 swings at Jorunn: vs35 - (1d100)[8] for (1d10+4)[6]
Fury 2 swings at Bard: vs35 - (1d100)[52] for (1d10+4)[6]
Bard Dodge: vs40 - (1d100)[15]
Fury 3 swings at Tryggvi: vs35 - (1d100)[42] for (1d10+4)[12]
Tryggvi Dodge: vs40 - (1d100)[95]
Fury 4 charges Bard: vs45 - (1d100)[48] for (1d10+4)[12]

Bard Swift Attacks Fury 2: vs50 - (1d100)[94] for (1d10+4)[8]
vs50 - (1d100)[3] for (1d10+4)[7]
vs50 - (1d100)[22] for (1d10+4)[7]

Griffin' Swiftin'.

vs30 - (1d100)[64] for (1d10+6)[11]
vs30 - (1d100)[65] for (1d10+6)[12]
vs30 - (1d100)[95] for (1d10+6)[10]
vs30 - (1d100)[66] for (1d10+6)[7]
Packmaster dodge: vs50 - (1d100)[87] and then full defence.

Narrative pending.

Claws flash, and blood flies. The Packmaster has gotten his measure of the griffon now, and makes darting circular movements about it forcing it to pace and shift, spoiling its opportunities to attack that would cleave through less skilled men. He gives up his chances to strike to persist longer, awaiting the full pack's rejoining - though that seems slow to manifest.

Hrok struggles at the edge of the combat. Tryggvi musters up a gutteral bark and rushes in with a tackle on one of the furies that nearly sends him sprawling, but he retains the moxie and devotion to scramble back his feet and keep threatening while you and Bard duel your own foes. But Hrok, at that moment, can't bring himself to charge his mark and expose his side to the massive, slashing griffon; and in doing so, the fourth fury throws itself at the most vulnerable of the wolves, Bard. The big warrior barely slips the raking demon claws, but now is holding off two enemies, one in front and one behind - the wound in your back, still not recovered completely, throbs in memory of your own surrounding - but so far, Bard is managing, even if he is bleeding freely.

You go back and forth with your own opponent, your best blow singing by and failing to make contact and your lesser swipes carving furrows in the daemonflesh. Its reprisal catches you turning in you favor and barely draws blood at all - and startlingly, whatever profane force is permitting it to remain in this realm seems affronted by its failing to give as good as it got. It falls apart, like a sculpture made of dust in a hurricane you can't feel; wisping away into yowling nothing and leaving you standing free to charge and engage a new opponent.

Spoiler: OOC:

Show

Packmaster holding out with the big boy.

Hrok struggling to pass is terror rolls.

Tryggvi dueling Fury 3.

Bard dueling Fury 2 and 4.

You are unengaged and free to charge.

[bramblefoot]

jorunn will charge the demon fury on bard, his claws flashing. he just barely misses, and growls

(1d100)[80]

(1d10+6)[14]

[MrAbdiel]

Spoiler: OOC:

Show

Rolls! Narrative pending.

Hrok FINALLY passes his Terror roll and charges the same guy Jorunn charged. That brawl is now a 3 on 4.

HrokVsFury4vs60 - (1d100)[8] for (1d10+4)[14]

Tryggvi Swift attacks Fury3.

HrokVsFury3vs50 - (1d100)[81] for (1d10+4)[7]
HrokVsFury3vs50 - (1d100)[2] for (1d10+4)[13]
HrokVsFury3vs50 - (1d100)[77] for (1d10+4)[10]

Fury banishments as required:

(1d100)[78]
(1d100)[54]

Fury2VsBardVs35 - (1d100)[100] for (1d10+4)[12]
Fury2VsBardVs35 - (1d100)[90] for (1d10+4)[12]
Fury4VsBardVs35 - (1d100)[54] for (1d10+4)[11]
Fury4VsBardVs35 - (1d100)[19] for (1d10+4)[12]
DodgeVs40 - (1d100)[68]

BardVsFury2vs50 - (1d100)[85] for (1d10+4)[14]
BardVsFury2vs50 - (1d100)[60] for (1d10+4)[11]
BardVsFury2vs50 - (1d100)[28] for (1d10+4)[12]

Mutant Griffon, having missed so much, All Out Attacks.

GriffonVs50 - (1d100)[10] for (1d10+6)[13]
PackmasterDodgeVs50 - (1d100)[77]

Packmaster Full Defenses.

Confirmations and extra damage as required:

Confirmation1 - (1d100)[79] for (1d10)[7]
Confirmation2 - (1d100)[49] for (1d10)[9]
Confirmation3 - (1d100)[69] for (1d10)[3]
Confirmation4 - (1d100)[10] for (1d10)[7]
Confirmation5 - (1d100)[16] for (1d10)[9]

Bard staggers back under the weight of the attacks on him. A fury's claws catch him at the navel and rake down just avoiding his groin and scoring bloody lines over his thigh; the blood runs thick and fresh, and he begins to flag. But soon you're there to level the numbers in that attack, and even though your target dances back from your charging blow, your courage seems to have broken the paralysis on Hrok and now your full pack is committed to the assault. Hrok's blow is so fierce that the struck fury stumbles and skids along the ground before hopping back to its feet and recommitting to attack Bard; but Bard uses the time to swipe hard at the other which bursts into vanishing warp vapors as the dark gods retract their license to be. Tryggvi, contending with his opponent alone, bears it to the ground and mauls it to a similar fate, and suddenly it's four of you crowded around the one battered, but still fighting Fury. But Bard is badly hurt - one more blow from those daemonclaws, and he may be more than injured.

Nearby, the packmaster continues his shifting defense, but the griffon grows agitated; and shrieks its hatred with ear-raking pitch. It gives up its flurred of smaller strikes and throws its full body at its enemy, staggering him and opening his defence for a mightly claw that rips down the side of his face and leaves fur, flesh, and blood hanging in tatters. He can only maintain this defence for so long.

Spoiler: OOC:

Show

You're up! You are in combat with the last Fury, which is also almost dead. Bard and Hrok are in there with you right now, so you get a +20 for 3:1 Gangup.

[bramblefoot]

jorunn will attempt to finish off the demon fury. he gets in one good humdinger, and another chintzy little blow,but the third misses just barely. "go help the packmaster" he barks at hrok and bard

(3d100)[73][74][88](235)

(1d10+6)[16]
(1d10+6)[9]
(1d10+6)[16]

[MrAbdiel]

Spoiler: OOC:

Show

Bard holds. He's badly wounded, so he'll catch his breath rather than risk getting struck charging in.

vs30vsPackmaster - (1d100)[70] for (1d10+6)[12]
vs30vsPackmaster - (1d100)[43] for (1d10+6)[7]
vs30vsPackmaster - (1d100)[48] for (1d10+6)[10]
vs30vsPackmaster - (1d100)[97] for (1d10+6)[10]

Vs50PackmasterDodge - (1d100)[4].

Packmaster full defenses.

Hrok charges. vs60vsGriffon - (1d100)[26] for (1d10+4)[12]
Tryggvi charges. vs60vsGriffon - (1d100)[44] for (1d10+4)[7]

Narrative Pending.

No wounds against your team this turn; the griffon takes some damage. Next turn it's going to start copping swift attacks, so it's burn-down time!

The fury shrieks, but finally its footing stumbles and your opporunity comes; clapping your clawed hands together over your head into a single massive fist and slamming it down with a bonebreaking hammerblow that leaves the remnants of the daemon smoking away to aether. The others are free, now; though Bard halts for a moment, holding his slashed body and mustering his strength, as Tryggvi and Hrok charge into the fray. Now your packmates outnumber the beast, and the opening blows land well; formidable as it its, it will be forced to divide its attention between you all, or expose itself to savage reprisal. Its tainted blood is running, and now it's your turn to spill some.

[bramblefoot]

jorunn will charge the griffon. his claws take a small chunk of flesh off the griffon, and he bellows jubilantly

(1d100)[70]

(1d10+6)[8]

(1d100)[42]

[MrAbdiel]

Spoiler: OOC: Pack attacks!

Show

Narrative pending.

Hrok swift attacks, outnumbering for +20.

vs70 - (1d100)[84] for (1d10+4)[11]

Spoiler: OOC: If a Fury...

Show

vs70Confirm - (1d100)[76] for (1d10)[3],(1d10)[7],(1d10)[7]

vs70 - (1d100)[87] for (1d10+4)[9]

Spoiler: OOC: If a Fury...

Show

vs70Confirm - (1d100)[56] for (1d10)[9],(1d10)[3],(1d10)[4]

vs70 - (1d100)[61] for (1d10+4)[6]

Spoiler: OOC: If a Fury...

Show

vs70Confirm - (1d100)[4] for (1d10)[3],(1d10)[1],(1d10)[1]

Tryggvi swift attacks, outnumbering +20

vs70 - (1d100)[97] for (1d10+4)[6]

Spoiler: OOC: If a Fury...

Show

vs70Confirm - (1d100)[60] for (1d10)[2],(1d10)[10],(1d10)[7]

vs70 - (1d100)[53] for (1d10+4)[14]

Spoiler: OOC: If a Fury...

Show

vs70Confirm - (1d100)[67] for (1d10)[4],(1d10)[3],(1d10)[8]

vs70 - (1d100)[94] for (1d10+4)[5]

Spoiler: OOC: If a Fury...

Show

vs70Confirm - (1d100)[37] for (1d10)[7],(1d10)[4],(1d10)[1]

Bard charges, outnumbering +20

vs80 - (1d100)[31] for (1d10+4)[7]

Spoiler: OOC: If a Fury...

Show

vs70Confirm - (1d100)[49] for (1d10)[9],(1d10)[1],(1d10)[7]

Griffon, if still alive, swift attacks - one to everyone who isn't the packmaster.

vs50Hrok - (1d100)[27] for (1d10+5)[12]

Spoiler: OOC: If a Fury...

Show

vs50Confirm - (1d100)[90] for (1d10)[4],(1d10)[10],(1d10)[10]

vs50Jorunn - (1d100)[34] for (1d10+5)[15]

Spoiler: OOC: If a Fury...

Show

vs50Confirm - (1d100)[6] for (1d10)[10],(1d10)[2],(1d10)[1]

vs50Tryggvi - (1d100)[58] for (1d10+5)[12]

Spoiler: OOC: If a Fury...

Show

vs50Confirm - (1d100)[2] for (1d10)[3],(1d10)[1],(1d10)[3]

vs50Bard - (1d100)[97] for (1d10+5)[15]

Spoiler: OOC: If a Fury...

Show

vs50Confirm - (1d100)[35] for (1d10)[4],(1d10)[7],(1d10)[7]

Packmaster swift attacks, outnumbering +20

vs80 - (1d100)[34] for (1d10+5)[15]

Spoiler: OOC: If a Fury...

Show

vs80Confirm - (1d100)[91] for (1d10)[9],(1d10)[8],(1d10)[10]

vs80 - (1d100)[53] for (1d10+5)[6]

Spoiler: OOC: If a Fury...

Show

vs80Confirm - (1d100)[67] for (1d10)[5],(1d10)[4],(1d10)[7]

vs80 - (1d100)[36] for (1d10+5)[12]

Spoiler: OOC: If a Fury...

Show

vs80Confirm - (1d100)[56] for (1d10)[5],(1d10)[7],(1d10)[7]

The pack falls upon the mutant beast with consumate fury. There is no defensive game to play now - the beast has all of you for targets, so defending oneself is only selfishly turning the beast's attention away to a braver companion. Claws slash and teeth rip; the once noble creature screams, and thrashes. Hrokk gets blooded with claws across his chest, but fights on; the packmaster avoid blows and finally adds his power in earnest to the fight, ripping deep into the creature's flesh; but even as it reels from your blow and others, it lashes out; and claws like great ripping knives come scything out for you...

Spoiler: OOC: The situation

Show

Well, you can see above for the detail, but here's where it is:

The Griffon is on 0 remaining wounds, and has taken a critical hit which has stunned it for one turn. That basically means on your action you'll get the coup de grace, unless you roll total trash. Still, you're outnumbering 3:1 for a +20 bonus, and you have three attacks, so you should be good.

But before you get to that... You can see the Griffon spread its attacks around, and the one that went at Jorunn connected with a bestial fury... for 27 damage. At your current 12 wounds, that would take your 5 mitigation, your 12 wounds, and then hit you for a 10 point crit, which would kill you.

So I suggest you nail this dodge roll, my friend. Failing that, it'll be time to give up a fate point.

[bramblefoot]

jorunn easily dodges the griffons scything blow, and will make three attacks against it. he gets a big scything blow, and two little hits. later, jorunn will count his lucky stars he succeeded on that dodge roll, but now hes too focused on killing the griffin

got a 28. a 61, and a 39 on my attack rolls

(1d10+6)[15]
(1d10+6)[9]
(1d10+6)[9]

[MrAbdiel]

The claws rush out at you with killing power, and you feel them rake delicately across your skin as you just barely twist out of the way; a puff of your white fur harmlessly scattering into the air. Tryggvi grabs that claw in grip and jaw, and Bard the one on the other side, and then there's no stopping you. With only the furious beak to avoid, you rain town two wounding blows, and a third that finally tears open enough of the creature's throat that, within gargling momements, it falls still.

In the aftermath, the pack's members check each other - most are wounded, Bard heavily. The Packmaster's wound is dramatic, but not fatal; the claws have blessedly missed the eye on that side, though he will bear a menacing claw-scar from brow to breastbone on the left side.

Only Tryggvi has gotten away without wounding this time, and he prowls the cave to check it while the rest of you are taking stock of your injuries, shifting back into your human forms at the exhaustion of your willpower. The Packmaster, of course, remains in his hybrid shape.

"Hey - hey, he's over here!" Tryggvi calls, flagging you over to pit in the stone behind the roost. There, in a deep natural depression filled with a few inches of murky water and the bones of hundreds of beasts (and some men), the familiar lupine shape of Aegis looks up. He has claw wounds of his own, but lives - the griffon must use this pit as a larder for living prey to keep them fresh for later consumption. Your reckless, rapid pursuit has arrived in time, and once you have lingered at the cave's edge long enough for your scene to mingle down, the wolf whines in recognition and sits painedly upright, shifting impatiently back and forth from left and right forepaw. The Packmaster, with his mastery of the greater form, is able to descend, take Aegis over his shoulders, and then scramble-bound out of the pit again to set him down.

You spend the rest of the night in the griffon cave, the blizzard outside in full force; a lean and hungry evening as the tainted flesh of the monster is the only meat on offer, and no one is quite desperate enough to dare the dark gods in that way. But the morning after, you slog back to the den through the fresh snow; limping, torn and bloodstained as you all are, with Aegis's permission now a foregone conclusion among you.

* * * * *

Two weeks and an evening later, much recovered from the bloody conflict, you stand about a great bonfire at the cavemouth at howl your lungs dry at the full white moon. It is the sixth full moon since you have arrived here; you have spent now this many months among the fabled 'Sons of Ulric', and learned through blood and toil the art of the skin-dance. Mastery of it, like the Packmaster possesses, must take many years or prodigious talent; but you are sufficiently expert now that the 'beast' within you no longer threatens to master you.

"You have done what you came here to do, Brother-Bear," the Packmaster acknowledges. He places a great clawed hand on your shoulder. "You have learned all I can teach. Or near enough - but it is not the nature of the bear to remain with the pack forever. Tomorrow, you are free to go. May the things you have learned here serve you, and keep you away from the madness."

You remember the Desolator, the warped wolf-thing you killed upon your arrival to this area at the Packmaster's request; the fate of a skinwolf who had failed in some part of his mastery and been swallowed up by his beast. That fate will not be yours, now; though what it will be remains to be seen.

Spoiler: OOC:

Show

The time has come! If there is anything you want to say or ask of the other packmates, you have tonight to do so.

When you are ready, tell me what kind of morning it is on the day Jorunn is ready to set out and dig up his belongings for the road. It's early spring now, so it could still be frozen over, or beginning the slushy melt, or another poetic weather phenomenon that marks the occasion how you prefer.

Also, new character art unlocked.

[bramblefoot]

jorunn will clasp hands with each member of the pack, and offer a half bow to the packmaster. "thank you for training me packmaster" he murmurs. he then raises his voice "if any of you see old king death before i do, say hello to him for me. keep me in your hearts, and ill keep you in mine"

the morning comes with a slight rainbow over the fijrgard cavern, and jorunn will walk out, and dig up his kit, slinging on the leathers and his weapons. he will absentmindedly nick his thumb on the axe, and drip the blood over the ground, before licking the wound. my blood is part of this land, and i have fought and bled and nearly died here he thinks. but it did not kill me, and i grew stronger

before he leaves, he will ask the packmaster if he knows of any way to wear stronger armor (like chain and plate) without it bending, ripping or tearing

[MrAbdiel]

“Indeed there is,” the Packmaster offers, “the engraving you’ve been learning is not just for memory and recreation. Skinwolves can find wolf spirits willing to bind to an item to make it shift to their body in the change; but the spirit itself must teach the engraving it will inhabit. But a wolf will not have you, Brother Bear. And bear spirits… For such, you may need to take a longer journey still; and be willing to honor the gods of the Gospadar for that service.” He looks East, toward the realm of the Ice Queen; a journey you might need to take, to earn a spirit willing to take to stronger armor so you may engage stronger foes. But that is a journey you will not want to take alone, and definitely not on the northern side of the mountains; and you strike out west, to reunite with your companions, with Aegis trotting along beside you.

- - - - - -

The blizzard you had to forge through previously was the last big blow of winter; and over the next few days travel, you crunch through the snowmelt, stopping briefly by Fjirgard to supply, and head back toward the mountain pass. Aegis breaks up the solitude of the days, and hunting is much easier with your new skills. You pass by the fishermen at the bend in the frozen river, and are gratified to see the blighted land you passed by and had to starve through on first pass is greatly mended since you toppled the herdstone. You are even able to run a scrawny elk to ground, in a field of melting snow and saplings regrowing among the dessicated trunks of the fallen dead trees knocked over by the winter winds. But on that hunt, you’re not alone.

You lunge to tackle the elk to the ground and deliver a killing blow with your axe, but look up quickly at the sound of a startled bleat - a beastman, hunting the same prey, just slightly too late to claim it. One of his horns has been broken off, but he has the bearing of a Gor - a common warrior, not a runt or champion. His ragged hide armor and rough stone spear are unremarkable, but two things about him are remarkable indeed.

The first is a strange transmutation on the side of his goat face - some chaotic or sorcerous blast has turned his left eye, cheek, and much of the flesh back to his ear into gleaming, furless silver. Secondly, he is alone - not a common state for beastmen.

Suddenly, he speaks in Norscan the very decision you have had one second to consider.

“Treat o-o-o-o-or fight, wa-a-a-a-arrior? Treat o-o-o-r fight?”

The beastman seems willing not to fight, but to treat with you - if you trust its word.

[bramblefoot]

jorunn will consider, and then will step hard on the elks throat, keeping the axe close to hand "treat" he says calmly. "its not every day you get a beastman speaking norscan" he says, beginning to butcher the elk and get a fire going. "you against i would hardly be sporting, unless there is something i dont know?" he inquires, getting some meat roasting on a spit.

"its rare you see a lone beastman. they usually come in packs, and kill and eat norscans" he shrugs, rotating the meat a little on the spit. "whats your purpose? a beastman without a pack doesnt get very far"

[MrAbdiel]

The silver-eyed beastman seems glad not to fight. He doesn't have a great deal to trade - all his possessions are kept in a roll of hide slung over his back, from which he produces a couple of handfuls of mushrooms he tries to barter with you for a portion of the elk's meat. He eats some, to prove they're not poisonous.

Spoiler: OOC: Success on an Outdoor Survival +20

Show

You recognize the white fleshed, grey capped mushrooms. Dead Man's Dream. An ominous name for a non-toxic, perfectly nourishing little fungus, titled so for the way they grow over graves. Sometimes clusters in the Norscan wilds give away the location where a murdered man has been buried, or where the dead from a battle have been committed to the earth by those tribes who, unlike yours, bury their honor dead instead of burning them.

"Not sporting, ma-a-a-aybe; but bold sa-a-a-agas have ended to ba-a-a-ad luck before."

Once you have the fire going, the smell of the cooking meat seems to get him more conversational - this, also, an odd trait for a beast man, who take to raw flesh just fine.

"Not long ago I was a ma-a-a-a-an like you. But I c-a-a-a-amped under the daemon moon and forgot my pr-a-a-a-ayers, and now the gods who would h-a-a-a-a-ve me I would not take. The tribe that mustered here caught me; kept me in bonds, until a wiza-a-a-ard came with his dead minions to seize the herdstone and steal its ma-a-a-agic. I escaa-a-a-a-aped in the conflict with..." He makes a pawing motion at his own face; presumably, this was the conflict in which he caught whatever magical crossfire transmuted part of his face.

This comports with what you know - you broke the necromantic fetish that was turning the herdstone's magic into a font of undeath, and killing the land around it. If the necromancer who did such a thing is around, he may do so again - but then, this is not your land, and you have no special burden to protect it from defilement, even if that defilement causes trouble for the fishermen down river.

Spoiler: OOC:

Show

If you want to press Silvereye for more information, you ought to try a social roll - perhaps charm or intimidate, depending on your approach.

[bramblefoot]

jorunn will listen, and accept the mushrooms. "take some meat" he says, cutting off a hunk. "can you describe this necromancer?" he asks, leaning in close to the gor. "id appreciate it"

he will eat and drink, and ask the gor about himself, willing to spill a few details about himself here and there

[MrAbdiel]

Silvereye shies back slightly from your implied threat - and is eager to direct it somewhere else.

He describes the necromancer - a frightfully gaunt, almost skeletal figure with ribbed dark iron armor and skin pale like bone. He commanded the dead with ease in combat, and commanded magic over metal, as well.

"He dwells in a tower he stole from the grip of the da-a-a-a-a-ark gods themselves, I have heard - ca-a-a-a-a-ast the demons out and took it for his own. It's up there." He points back behind him through the dead forest with its slowly regrowing saplings and scrub to the tallest hill overlooking the pass, at the foot of the mountains behind it. You see nothing atop it, though it is cleared of trees.

"It's up there, but you ca-a-a-a-a-annot see it. It hides in gla-a-a-a-amour, until you stand at its door."

[bramblefoot]

jorunn nods. he must be a powerful sorcerer if he can summon that many undead he thinks. "so whats the plan after this for you?" he asks. "its gotta be lonely wandering the wastes"

[MrAbdiel]

"Lonely? Ye-e-e-e-es. But..."

Silvereye turns his head so his one good eye is peering into the dark, and the tundra beyond the mountains the way you came.

"...Not ready to die. Not ye-e-e-e-t."

There are no 'good' tribes of beastmen; none you've heard of, anyway. They serve the dark gods, and the dark gods are vicious and sometimes cruel. This one, who claims to have been a man not that long ago, has more coherance to his thought than those handful you've dealt with up close; less of the desperate, frantic need to cleave to the herd. He's even showing preference to the cooked meat, rather than raw flesh. More 'man' than normal, in this beast-man. But there is no place in the world for such a creature. Beastmen will not receive him, and no community of man would tolerate him for fear of bringing more of his kind. You think, briefly, of the pitiful mutants who fell upon you on shortly before you changed to the bear for the first time; the glass man, and the one that seemed almost inside out. Neither had been mutated in a way that made them more powerful. Many clans and tribes would celebrate an extra arm, or venomous fangs, or in your case, an eerie color of hair and eye. For plenty of mutants, the gift of the dark gods is no boon at all; it just seems to screw them into the ground. Silvereye will wander alone for a while, and then he will either be killed by someone or make a job of it himself. There is no other conceivable future.

He rises and dusts the snow from himself, and prepares to make off back into the dead woods - he is thankful for your hospitality, but he does not expect you to trust him while you sleep, and vice versa.

Spoiler: OOC: Decision!

Show

Alright, Jorunn. You've been informed to the location of the necromancer - you could see him out if you wish, either to fight, or bargain, as you prefer. Or you could avoid such an arcane opponent entirely and carry on back towards Krejj.

[bramblefoot]

jorunn will sleep lightly, and then head up towards the tower area at first light, his keen wolfen senses sniffing for anything out of the ordinary. as he reaches the base of the hill, a large obsidian tower rises out of the early morning mist, and jorunns jaw drops as the sheer height of the tower is apparent to him. it seems to rise to the heavens themselves, all slick black glass and spikes.

jorunn will compose himself, and rap on the large black oaken doors "im here to bargain!" he calls out, and waits for an answer

[MrAbdiel]

The two minutes you wait for a response stretches out obscenely. It's likely the occupant gets few visitors, given that the tower itself was not visible to you until you were almost at its foot. Aegis has a lupine moment of panic when you cross the threshold where the illusion gives way, yipping and bouncing back onto two feet and tucking his tail between his legs with disorientation until you settle him. Even then, he sits by yourself with the occasional animal shiver of discomfort and furtive glancing. Neither your nose, nor his, can pick up any carrion scene; the cold wind cuts away everything but the scene of fresh snow. Still, the disquiet is visceral. Aegis does not even mark the area with his urine. He has no desire to make any claim of domain over such an awful place.

Then, finally, a narrow window snaps open to present a slot through which you see two things - darkness, and the pearly white lower half of the skull of some animated necromancer's servitor. The former says nothing; the latter addresses you in a rasping tone like wind drawn through a shaft of slow-grinding stone.

"Bargain, thou? What offerest thou? What claimest thou? Speak now; my master listens."

[bramblefoot]

"i offer the skull of one kaelveg kaelvegsson?" jorunn offers, holding the skull of kaelveg up for the skeleton to take a look. "if that will not suffice, perhaps a small bowl of ulfwerenar blood. i would request that it not be used against me, nor sold to someone who could do me harm" he quirks an eyebrow at the skeleton. "assuming that is satisfactory, i request power, in the form of items or useful tools that will not interfere with my abilities"

jorunn will wait for the skellybobs response

[MrAbdiel]

The skeleton gazes at you, still, idle; whatever communion it has with its master is outside of your ability to discern. After a while, it rasps a response.

"A counter-offer. My master will dispense to you a trinket - a paltry thing to him, but perhaps a significant boon to you. An Ironcurse amulet; a talisman that offers some protection against the great war machines that interfere with the blade-to-blade encounters a warrior of your kind must prefer. In return, my master will take that bowl of blood, but he will make no promises as to its ultimate purpose. Surely, brave as you are to ask, you must believe yourself equal to any challenge that may later pose to you..."

[bramblefoot]

"i offer a counter to that." jorunn says "he may keep the blood, but not sell or trade it" he looks at the skeleton "im brave, but not foolish. too many warriors made pacts without considering, and it turned out badly. in return i will take the ironcurse amulet."

he scrutinizes the skeleton "is that acceptable"

[MrAbdiel]

The skeleton waits in that eerie stillness, before replying.

"No. My master would not be obliged to honour his word if he gave it to you in this way - all the same, he will not give it. You will surrender that blood with no flimsy assurances as to its purposes, or you will have no prize. There is no other way open."

The little window begins to slide shut...