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

[bramblefoot]

jorunn will charge kaeleg, axe flashing. "those who can, win fairly. those who cant, cheat!" he bellows

(1d100)[59]

(1d10+6)[12]

[MrAbdiel]

Kaelvag catches your downward blow in the crossed hafts of his axes; his strength not a match for yours in this form, but match enough to hold back the blow. "We will see then what the Blood God makes of tricks!" The wolf follows you into the combat, but his assault fares no better; a vicious boot sends him skittering back, growling, circling for an opening.

But your aid might have come too late. The warrior with the greataxe beside draws back his axe and smashes it down on Byjan. Two inches of axe blade bite into his arm near the elbow, slowed barely by Byjan's slow parry with the crude maul. Your old friend lets out a bellow of pain and stumbles back, putting weight on his hacked leg only to topple into the snow as his mangled arm pours blood into the snow. No man can bleed like that for long and live, even if the arm can be saved. Byjan's life now lies in the hands of fate, as to how a number of things manifest - how soon Orten can be detached from his own duel to assist, and if he can be spared at all during such a calamitous clash of forces.

Elsewhere in the field, Haggur's duel with two Graeling shieldsmen shows blood on both sides. The merchant breaks from his defensive rhythm to chance some strikes, and scores a slash on one opponent; but is answered in kind, lacerating the side of his gut. A second blow from the second opponent races for his skull, but he avoids that blow by a nigh miraculous movement that puts that foe astumble with surprise. Leibwen continues to fend off his aggressor admirably with jabs of the stolen beastman spear. Ortel howls and swings a deadly blow that would have broken his opponent in half, if he had not taken care to guard last exchange; the initiative priest again on the front-foot against his enemy.

"Orten! Come back!" Marlene calls; from her perch, seeing Byjan's distress as the big man staggers to his feet and prepares to defend himself. She does her best work to support this action; dropping her bow, drawing a looted rusty iron hand-pick, and charging into Orten's melee; pressing the solitary Graeling there further, providing a chance for Orten, perhaps, to escape and help stricken Byjan.

Spoiler: OOC:

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Kaelveg parries you, you parry him; the big development this turn is Byjan took a big crit; but I rolled a 97 for the severity, which is as 'low' as it can be. If I had rolled 90 or lower, it would have been atleast a lost hand. And there was a more than even chance he was going to die immediately; but he got lucky. He's bleeding, but not out; and defending himself this turn.

Right now, in that Melee there is You, poor Byjan, Wolf, Kaelveg and Graeling3; and Graeling3 is looming over Byjan with his great weapon.

[bramblefoot]

Jorunn will bellow stridently, and make three attacks on kaeleg.

(3d100)[61][13][33](107)

(1d10+6)[15]
(1d10+6)[12]
(1d10+6)[12]

[MrAbdiel]

Kaelveg blocks your first and heaviest blow, but your flurry crashes in and overwhelms his guard so that Witherbrand slashes down his right arm, sending cut rings of chain spinning through the air in the splash of blood. He grunts, and keeps on; matching your rhythm with his - a bang, bang, bang relentless drumbeat of axe blows cutting into your shield and carving away big flakes of wood and warping its rim as you hold him at bay. The mangy wolf, having taken your group as its pack, looks for open enemies - and can see no opening in the wild battle between you and Kaelveg. But the Graeling towering over Byjan is distracted, and the lupine barks and lunges, forcing the would-be-executioner to regard this new enemy and not finish the old. He makes a reserved swing to drive the wolf back, but minds is energy against another potential attack. But Byjan staggers to his feet with a bone club in a lefthanded grip, and slams it into his opponent's knee; the greatweapon too slow to parry. Now both are staggering and pained; one outnumbered, the other rapidly bleeding to death. All until Ortel comes running in; in a charge of maniac bravery, his abandoned opponent's great weapon wooshing by his back and narrowly missing, the initiate races across the snow and crashes into the warrior who was moments ago standing over a wounded foe... and is now confronting two foes, and a lupine flanker. The heavy stone weapon cracks into his chest with bonebreaking force, though it holds not enough edge to break skin; leaving him wheezing, looking to his leader for support.

While Liebwen continues his epic fruitless duel with an enemy, Haggur's luck begins to run out. Fighting two enemies, he begins to be overwhelmed. His attacks cannot break past their guards when they divide his attention, but both get blows through that leave him bleeding and desperate. Marlene's engagement prevents Ortel's previous foe from joining the mix; with the skinning knife in one hand and her handpick is the other, she gives him enough to think about to prolong a stalemate and greate a window of opportunity where, if Byjan can hold on a little longer, Ortel might be able to address his injury.

Spoiler: OOC: Jorunn's Turn Again!

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Swings and roundabouts. The merchant who hired you, Haggur, is duking it out with two enemies and and losing; he's definately on the ropes and he'll be fighting defensively from now on to try to avoid death.
Marlene tagged out Ortel so now Ortel, Byjan, and Wolf are all ganging up Graeling 3.
If you or wolf put him down this turn (he's close enough to swift attack), Ortel might be able to address Byjan's bleeding. Liebwen continues to hold his one enemy at bay.

You scored two good hits on Kaelveg. A similar round like that and he'll be in criticals.
But there's also Graeling3 in arms reach, who needs to die soon if you're going to save Byjan. Whomever you choose to attack this turn, take +10: now this main brawl is a 4:2, which means your side gets a 2:1 gangup bonus!

[bramblefoot]

jorunn will move to put down graeling three, staying within opportunity attack distance should kaeleg decide to do a runner

(3d100)[54][77][44](175)

(1d10+6)[7]
(1d10+6)[10]
(1d10+6)[13]

[MrAbdiel]

It's hard work getting past Kaelveg; his attacks are relentless, and provide you little room to get by - but eventually you make your break, shoving Kaelveg back with your shield and lunging sideways. Witherbrand hacks into the Graeling's left bicep down to the bone and with an audible crack, splits over the humerus bone as you wrench it free, leaving the arm dangling by shreds of bone and meat. The Graeling howls, now bleeding as fiercely as Byjan, even moreso; his weapon dropping to the ground. Wolf is there to finish the job - with only one operable hand, the warrior cannot fend off the lupine's killing jaws, and is slain. You bring your spare momentum around at Kaelveg; but again, he catches your blow in with his axes and renews his assault on you - but fortune isn't on his side, and without another opponent right beside you to worry about, holding him at back is more manageable. His blows ring off your shield - but they do not break past.

Haggur stumbles back; his enemies manage blows past his desperate guard, but they glance off his ringmail. Byjan stumbles back to rest in the snow, and Orten drops his weapon and grabs for the meagre medical supplies you have been able to afford to him, working to stop Byjan's bleeding with a tourniquet made from a twisted rawhide strap. "Hold on, big man; hold on."

Spoiler: OOC:

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Orten successfully stops Byjan's bleeding, though he is still critically injured sufficiently enough that he is subject to Sudden Death and will likely die if he takes another critical hit.

Marlene and Liebwen both continue their jousts with their opponents. Marlene manages to step away from the tentative swing of her enemy's great weapon, and lashes out with her rusty pick to score a minor hit to add to the damage Orten has already left on the northman. The Graeling winces, injured now, looking about for assistance. Unfortunately, he is likely to have it soon.

Liebwen's luck runs out; once, and for all. Once a farmer from Averland, so far from the coast he would never be in danger of Norse servitude; but like a fool, he answered the call to adventure on a journey into the mountains of Norsca only to be captured and enslaved, and to end up fighting for his life in the cold. He fought well against the beastmen; but he is no match for thus marauding Graeling. Having gained the measure of the poor mediator, his enemy hangs his axe on his beltloop again. The next time Leibwen thrusts, the marauder steps to the side and ruthlessly rips the spear from his grib. Leibwen is stunned to be disarmed; but then his opponent's boot kicks him against a tree beside the trail and a moment later the beastman spear he was wielding a moment before is rammed into his chest so hard it rips through his heart and bites into the tree beyond. He has a moment to choke on blood before he expires, hanging by the instrument that killed him.

Spoiler: OOC: Alas, Poor Liebwen

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The battle tightens.

The Main Fight: You are squaring off against Kaelveg still, with wolf helping you outnumber for +10. Kaelveg has as many attacks as you, but he is not as vicious, and you are wearing him down.

The Side Fights: Nearby you, Orten stops Byjan's bleeding. Orten is likely to return to the fight, Byjan is not.

Haggur fights a losing battle against Graelings 4 and 6. He will not last long.

Marlene squares off against Graeling1. He is more deadly, but Orten has softened him up already, so that might go either way.

Graeling 5 kills Liebwen, and is now free to engage anyone he chooses next turn.

Casualties: Liebwen, Graeling 2, Graeling 3.

[bramblefoot]

"damn you!" jorunn howls, and will make three attacks on kaeleg.

to his thralls: "play it safe, and ill see you through!" he calls

(3d100)[84][39][82](205)

(1d10+6)[13]
(1d10+6)[10]
(1d10+6)[15]

[MrAbdiel]

Back and forth you go, brawling across the bloodsplashed snow. You don't remember such a fierce fight against a singular opponent since your duel with the boy-champion of Truskholme. He lands a barely-there blow to your thight, but finally, you get a telling blow past his guard; a slash across the meat of the thigh that bleeds, and arrests Kaelveg's movement as he cannot freely switch weight from one leg to the other; especially with the wolf darting about behind him, snapping at his ankles. The wolf doesn't manage to land a bite - he has to dart back as the warrior who killed Liebwen decides to assist his leader, and comes roading in with a chop that skims hair from the wolf's uneven coat, but draws no blood.

Haggur lives another round; by devoting himself entirely to defence, he keeps his two aggressors at back a little longer. Orten, now leaving Byjan to keep pressure on his own wound, snatches up his stone greataxe and puffing with exertion, charges back across the ground he left, howling and swinging high. The blow clips the top of the head of the warrior he had abandoned moments ago - his weapon bound with Marlene's, he can offer no defence except to duck a little too slow. The swing takes off his skullcap, a chunk of his scalp, and leaves his stumbling and stunned. Marlene elects to dart across to join the beleaguered Haggur, finally evening the odds and forcing one of those two attackers to turn and address her.

Spoiler: OOC: Ebb and Flow

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Main Fight: Graeling 5 has joined the fight so his boss isn't ganged up on; he squares off against the wolf while you spar with Kaelveg, who himself is now critically wounded to the leg. You parried one attack from him and he hit with another; but it did only 6 damage to your Right Leg.

Side Action: Orten is slated to execute Graeling1, who is stunned from a head crit. Marlene has joined poor Haggur fighting Graelings 4 and 6.

Byjan is still technically able to fight; he can wield a weapon in his still functional offhand. But he is vulnerable enough that he is more a liability in combat, so he holds off for now.

Get 'em Jorunn; finish him! I will assume any 'excess' attacks flow to your nearest enemy, if you succeed in ending Kaelveg.

[bramblefoot]

"tables have turned" jorunn gloats, moving to make three attacks against kaeleg. they all hit, and they all bite deep.

"stay down byjan" he calls

(3d100)[6][3][24](33)

(1d10+6)[12]
(1d10+6)[13]
(1d10+6)[12]

thats what im talking about!

[MrAbdiel]

Eagle, this time, beats Hound.

With a triumphant exertion, you throw Kaelveg's block to the side which spins him halfway around; and then smash him in the middle of the back with the rim of your battered shield. You hear a crack; but as fate would have it, it's Kaelveg son of Kaelveg's spine, not your trusty shield that is breaking; and his legs turn to slack rope beneath him as he collapses into the snow. Even if he survives the day, he will never raid again - nor walk.

The frenzy burns in your blood, and the momentum of this victory carries you right along into the startled Graeling who charged in to assist his leader, only to end up alone against a destructive dynamo. You slam Witherbrand into his shield, and then wrench it to the side exposing the upper arm for your vicious bite; he screams as you hoist him off the ground in your jaws, and thrash him against the ground as you release him. Your wolf, who has found a natural rhythm fighting with you, plays his now smoothly integrated roll - when your devastated opponent hits the ground, the wolf launches in and tears our this throat.

Elsewhere, the battle seems to be stabilizing or turning in your favor. Ortel, almost exhausted, heaves the crude stone axe that was once swung at him high in the air and brings it down onto his stunned enemy, cracking bones and crushing organs; leaving the Graeling dead in the snow. Marlene takes a small wound to her arm, but ultimately she and Haggur hold their own against their opponents; the situation much less terrible, with the burden shared.

You, the wolf, and Orten are poised to rush in and add your power to this remnant combat; but the Graeling there seem dedicated to their efforts. They are either desperate for a death in battle, or do not fancy their chances fleeing; but they fight on, inviting your final wrath.

Spoiler: OOC:

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The tide has indeed turned! Kaelveg is down; and between you and wolf you had the spare juice to put down his helper too. The only enemies that remain are the two shieldbearers, Graelings 4 and 6, locked in a 2vs2 with Haggur and Marlene.
Time to finish the job; mourn the dead; and reap the rewards!

[bramblefoot]

jorunn lets out a triumphant howl, and will charge into combat

(1d100)[13]

(1d10+6)[10]

[MrAbdiel]

You roar in and smash your weapon into the back of the Graeling threatening Marlene, sending him spinning into the snow with a slash on his back - and true to form, that mangy wolf with its blood covered muzzle is there to lock jaws on the man's throat and squeeze, and shake, and rip until he struggles no more. The lone Graeling starts to realize now, too late, he has gone from outnumbering his foe to being surrounded and alone.

He tries to get to grips with the badly wounded Haggur, perhaps hoping to use him as leverage to bargain his way out; but it's long too late. The wily merchant has moves left; he avoids the blow and spends his effort against the Graeling's shield, forcing his guard forward and exposing him to the attacks coming his way. You hear Ortel coming, and move a little to enable his straight charge; his bloody stone axe cracking into the final Graeling's shoulder, spinning him about. But circumstance he ends up twisted about on his knees infront of you, his weapon arm broken, peering up in shock. Perhaps you could capture him, or torment him for information - but the killing frenzy is on you, and only blood will slake it until no enemies are left. He witnesses your axe swinging sidelong at his jaw... then witnesses no more.

"Ahhh..." Haggur growls in pain, dropping his weapon, leaning against a tree. "Gods take the eyes of every last Graeling! Ah.... Ah..." He has been wounded to within an inch of his live; but he is only the third most brutalized member of the troupe. Byjan is the second; and Liebwen, pale and still and dusted now with snow, is the worst. Marlene takes it the worst - she and Leibwen were part of the same expedition that was captured and enslaved here in Norsca, and she collapses at the foot of the tree against which he is impaled, breathing heavilly, gathering herself.

Ortel takes a moment for his hands to stop shaking, and then checks on everyone's wounds, until he is satisfied no one is in mortal peril. He reports to you, after the combat, somewhat awkwardly; he had relied on Byjan to do this, or else Leibwen. But both are indisposed.

"Haggur will be fine, though one of us will have to drive his cart the rest of the way. Byjan's arm can be saved; though we will do well to get more medicine if possible, when we get to Krejj. Everyone else, has only fleshwounds, except Leibwen." He looks back at the body of his fellow thrall; and with your leave, goes over to give the man a final blessing.

Spoiler: OOC:

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Victory! Big fight - Have a big reward of 200XP. There's also loot to claim from the dead, and an opportunity to see if these Graeling have some kind of stash nearby... Give me a Search Check, with a +20 for help from your thralls.

[bramblefoot]

jorunn will allow the final rest. he will place a hand on marlene's shoulder, then move to catalogue the weapons and armor.

a half-hour of searching later stumbles upon a small cache of valuables, enough to recoup the loss of liebwen, and a small roll-up bag of surgical tools

(1d100)[49]

[MrAbdiel]

Spoiler: OOC:

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Lol, I appreciate how keen you are to advance things bro; but I think I'm gonna reserve the right to determine the loot you find!
No hard feelings. You might have to go further abroad to get surgical tools!

You strip the dead. Marlene and Ortel have a short argument with Byjan about what to do with Leibwen's body. The man was not a warrior; but Byjan and the thralls certainly bonded in their short time as a company. Byjan wants to take Leibwen's skull with him - which is a respectful enough action for a Bjornling to take for a fallen comrade, just as it is to do for a worthy enemy; and has vague afterlife ramifications that would put Leibwen under Byjan's legacy, when it comes to the judgement of the gods. Marlene wants to bury him, so his bones are intact when the god of death - she calls him 'Morr' - comes for him. Ortel, the only 'holy' man in the group, does not find the skull-taking to be respectful but also contends that Leibwen, the real Leibwen, is a spirit that fled from his body at the moment of death. Anything done for the body, he says, is for the comfort of those living; a radical, almost blasphemous disregard for the corpse. Perhaps he is trying to find a way to leave the body out for the wolves; perhaps that would please his strange southern wolf god.

Ultimately, with the exception of Leibwen's loss and the blood spilled by your comrades, the stand against the Graelings has been quite profitable for you. Not only do you come away with a cache of weapons and armor taken from the warriors, but Marlene finds their encampment off the road which you commandeer and use for the night. It's a series of crummy wooden shelters not worth taking, but serviceable for a rest stop; but more interesting, a large wooden trunk containing a number of eclectic, useful items.

Spoiler: OOC: Loot!

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Loot From The Search

• A long bag containing a militiaman's longbow, leather wrist-guards, a flask of linseed oil and bowstrings, and a quiver with 30 arrows. Includes a fletching kit with extra feathers and needle and thread. (Longbow, good quality leather bracers, 30 arrows, and some miscellanea we'll call a 'fletcher's kit').

• A pair of embroidered laced leather boots made by a master tailor in Marienburg's famous garment district. (Best Quality Riding Boots)

• A pewter tankard etched with a raunchy slogan. (Good quality pewter tankard).

• A superb knife with a handguard in the shape of a two-headed raven and inlaid with bronze. It is fitted into a leather sheath decorated in a similar fashion. (Best Quality Dagger).

• A 20-pound bag of dried peas. (Another 2 days of rations for your party.) I think that brings you up to 4.

...and a total of 168 sceatta extorted from other travellers.

Loot From The Battle

From the goons...
- 6 sets of full leather armor (slightly damaged)
- 6 chainmail shirts (slightly damaged)
- 3 shields
- 3 axes (hand weapons)
- 3 great weapons (2 axes, 1 sword)
- 3 plate helms

From Kaelveg, Son of Kaelveg...
- Full Leather Armor (slightly damaged)
- Chainmail Shirt (slightly damaged)
- Chainmail Boots
- Plate Gauntlets
- Good Quality Plate helm

It's quite a haul. Some of the armor is damaged from the battle - to get best sale value out of it, you'll have to have it cleaned; and to rely on it yourself, you'll probably want it repaired. But it's far more than you had before, that's for sure. Yet you are confronted with a new problem - the way your body changes when you shift. You can wear your leathers loosely enough it is not a problem for them; your footwraps have strained but lasted this long, for example. But if you are going to wear better armor - especially metal armor - you will have to be careful to remove it when you expect to shift, lest it break, or harm you. How to overcome this problem long term, you don't know - but perhaps the Werekin up in the Graeling territories might have some wisdom; or else some other exotic wiseperson. For now, you are forced to carefully choose between wearing this metal armor, or being free to shift into your war-form.

Haggur and Byjan are both so wounded that they can't do much but laze by the fire and recover. In a moment while you are keeping watch and the others are resting by the flames, and Haggur's oxen are laden over with furs to keep them warm, Marlene comes to sit beside you. You can see a new awkwardness in her demeanor; strange, because of how forthright and co-operative she has typically been. "...What happens next, Jorunn? Where are you taking us, and what will we do there?"

[bramblefoot]

jorunn will answer with a "lets head to krejj, and see what comes after" followed by a "if you have some grievences to air, air em. no good comes of holding in anger"

Spoiler: ooc

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im sticking to my war form, and damn the consequences

[MrAbdiel]

Marlene purses her lips; sniffs a little. Marshalls her thoughts.

"...We had talked - Ortel, Leibwen and me, I mean. Leibwen was going to ask you - ... He was always the better talker. Ah..."

Another pause.

"...Look, I don't want to end up nailed to a tree out here in this godless country. I want to survive. I want to go home. I want to go see Leibwen's family and tell them he died bravely. I almost ran off in the night, but Byjan or Leibwen talk me out of it. And you've been.. fair, so far. Not as cruel as I had expected. But on the other hand, we're not being taken to some farm to shovel sh*t and pick carrots. You're taking us into combat, over and over again. Today it was Leibwen; tomorrow it might be me. So we want to make you a deal - Ortel and I do. You set us free, like you did for Byjan - and we'll stick with you and serve you for a year, before we go home. I don't know if you honor oaths up here - gods know you didn't seem to want to honor that duel with the Graeling - but an oath is better binding where I come from than a brand." She holds up her arm, indicating her Thrallmark.

There it is, then; the consequence of you setting Byjan free - the other thralls conceiving that it is possible for them, too. By strictly Norscan custom, you own these thralls for whatever purpose you will for the rest of their lives. But so far they have served you courageously and sacrificially by their own volition. And a year is a long time to get the value our of the five sceatta you paid for them. Is the loyalty of an oathbound companion worth more than the obedience of a marked thrall? If you agree, and have their thrallmarks removed in Krejj, will they vanish in the night and be beyond the reach of thrall-trackers? If you don't loose them... will they take their chances with the cold, and with fate, rather than commit themselves lifelong to service in your bloody band?

[bramblefoot]

jorunn will scrutinize marlene's face. "you have served me well" he says, placing a massive mitt on marlenes shoulder. "i will free you and ortel, if you will swear an oath on one of your gods to serve faithfully for the year." he will sit down, and let her think it over.

he will continue with a corollary "should you swear and flee, and i catch you, my eyes will be the last thing you see. you saw how my war-form carved through those graelings like a knife through cheese"

[MrAbdiel]

Marlene looks shocked at her success. She had prepared in her mind some second volley of reasons to try to convince you, even mustered her courage to prepare to yell something; and you can almost see these unspent weapons of rhetoric rattling around inside her head without purpose now.

"Well... Good. Great; thank you."

She leaves you to yourself, then; going to tell Ortel the news, and permitting you the time to flay Kaelveg son of Kaelveg's skull; and to empty its now purposeless contents into the snow. After it is properly dry, it will find a place beside the bestigor's skull, in your renewed collection.

"... Good call." Wheezes Byjan, who apparently has listened to your previous conversation from where he appeared to sleep nearby. He lies on his back, trying not to move his badly cleft arm; eyes closed. "Thralls make fine enough workers, because an obedient thrall lives a life not much different to a freeman put to a task for his own petty benefit. But a thrall has less to fight for, than a freeman. They'll have to take a share of the loot, now - but you can make it their responsibility to outfit themselves. These south-men... I have been told always how weak and worthless they are. But I wonder if that is a condition of slaves, not of south-men. I have been a slave, now; it does take the spirit from you..." He trails off, falling back into sleep.

* * * * *

Ortel swears to serve you for a year, and does so by his god, whom he calls Ul-ric; a wolf god, and warrior god. Marlene swears by the main god of the southmen, Sigmar, whose frail and unthreatening likeness you have seen in effigy often enough. But they both seem sincere. And both are happy to have each a set of leather and some chain to keep them warm and protected. Proper weapons help, too; with your permission, each of them help themselves to a decent handweapon and shield. Ortel takes a greataxe, too; proficient as he seems, with them. Marlene would take the longbow and fletcher's kit, if you'd part with it; and Byjan would likely be happy to 'mind' the plate and chain extras that you cannot wear given your transmutable nature, until you feel you need them. This constitutes fair 'payment' to what is no longer your train of thralls, and is now your warband. And, you are glad to see, you still have a great deal of loot to spare. If only you can flog it off in Krejj, without getting ripped off...

* * * * *

Krejj, it turns out, is just as Haggur described it. It is surrounded by tall wooden wall with watchtowers around its rim. On your approach, you see the great frozen lake beside; dotted with twos and threes of the local Krejji fishing in holes cut through its surface. The town is large, and busy; teeming with the rustic industry of a tribe that has been ground back to a single town and so all of its growth has been confined inward and upward. Krejj has not been attacked in quite some time; as a border tribe that poses no threat to its neighbours, its weakness has ironically made it more secure than arguably any town of the Graeling, Bjornling, or Skaeling around it, while enjoying a centrality of trade from all of them.

Haggur does the talking at the gates as you drive the oxen for him. He's battered, but grateful; and intends to make a quick sale of his mammoth wares and then spend a few weeks resting up in the home he owns in the city; a fine, bigger-than-medium domicile without being obscenely big. He offers you and your warband to stay with him as well, given how fiercely you fought to save him and his goods; even going to far as to make your operation easier by buying any of your loot at its premium value, obviating your need to haggle and sell it on your own. Byjan has a good head for sales, but he will need a few days to rest, too; you may need to spend your time in and around Krejj until he recovers enough to comfortably travel. Ortel and Marlene, too - just long enough for the long scabs where their thrallmarks are cut off to cover over without complication.

Spoiler: OOC:

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You can sell as much of your loot as you want, in Krejj; Haggur will buy it at market value, with his good deal; and haggle it off in his own time later. If you're happy to let your former-thralls take their pick of weapons and armor and sell the rest, let me know and I'll crunch the numbers for you, minus anything you want to keep. Krejj is also a good place to look for things you want to buy; or for information on one thing, or another. Given a couple of days free movement in the town, what's he up to?

[bramblefoot]

jorunn will accept haggurs offer for the hospitality and the sales. he will wander krejj, looking for a set of surgical tools, a lucky charm, and just general information on the state of the tribes of norscans.

Spoiler: ooc

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i will let marlene have the longbow and a good steel weapon, as well as ortel. im fine with them also having chain and leather armor

gossip roll

(1d100)[3]

[MrAbdiel]

You leave Byjan and Haggur, recovering in Haggur's warm and firelit home, to sort the loot and provide for its repair and distribution; and wander the streets of Krejj. There are many buildings that are two stories tall, in this town; and some that are in the process of having their steepled roofs raised to permit the construction of extravagant third floors - necessarily smaller, accessed by ladder. If you were a man of peace, this might be a nice place to retire.

If.

You stop for a drink at a meadhall, and find the local Krejji to treat you first with suspicion but quickly to warm to you, especially when you describe having thwarted a band of Graeling raiders to the east.

"Ah. Damned bandits. May they all bleed and die in the snow," offers one carouser.
"Say this not; the strong keep what they can, the weak surrender or die - this is the way and has always been!", counters another.
"In days before I was a child, but I do not continue to piss my pants out of tradition. All tribes grow stronger by safe roads and trade."
"Tribes grow stronger by eliminating their weakness. We will never be strong again with naysayers like you embracing this gold-wristed love of softness."
"See how strong you feel when the Kurgan ride in from the east again, and run us like hunting dogs before them into the guns of the southmen. You know nothing of strength, child - but if you crave a lesson, I will teach!"

They brawl, knocking over a table, until a hooting crowd shepherds them outside to continue the contest. The proprietress of the meadhall, the buxom young wife of a grey-haired veteran warrior who serves on the town's council of elders, sighs as she rights the furniture, and laments the regularity of such discussions.

"It has been many generations since a great invasion of the southlands, successful or not. Traders from all over Norsca have similar discussions about the right way. Once we were all one tribe, they say; the Norsii. But our ways are all too different for cooperation now; not without a High King to crush opponents, and to hold back the Kurgan when they come. But who can lend thoughts to such lofty futures, when each day is a struggle for food, and warmth, and appeasement of the gods? Krejj is small; but our smallness affords us vision. If only the vision revealed more than strife and war..."

You spend the rest of the day following the recommendations of one pedlar or another to chase a set of surgical tools. Such things are almost unheard of, in Norsca; the study of the body is a practise barely understood at such a level, but your time with the Tileans, witnessing the startlingly fine work of their surgeons with their wounded, has taught you there is another way. But Krejj is a city of a decent amount of trade, and you have some luck - a pedlar selling goods traded from a distant raid by the Skaeling has a leather roll full of copper surgical instruments. The pedlar has mistaken them for a set of scrimshawing tools - you know copper is too soft to hold up to repeated scraping on bone, but is ideal for been rendered to a fine edge for surgical cutting. Not knowing what he has, he thinks he is swindling you when he pitches an offer of fifty sceatta for them. It is amusing to see the uncertainty fill his face, when you immediately agree, and promise to send someone to pick then up and pay under your name tomorrow.

Given how close the last battle was, you turn your thoughts to currying the favor of the gods for good fortune, and head to the town's shrine. When you find it, you have a moment of recognition. The Krejj have small shrines to many gods, but their local god is The Free Maiden; and her fane features a preserved trunk of a tree that has grown in a distinctly feminine form; like a woman turned to wood in the act of dancing. Despite the fact that it is obviously a dead trunk, and has no roots where it was sawn from the stump, you see a number of tiny green twigs growing in its upper reaches; mostly around the likeness's head, like a crown of tiny green leaves. You recognize the likeness - the same deity is represented in Zadghelm, but there called the The Chained Maiden - to whom you swore an oath to send a protector to resume the duty of sentry, for a certain dragon. You remember Haggur telling you about the Krejji; once a great tribe, their lands ground back to a nub. It seems the Skaeling, where they took Krejji territory, took their gods, too; and where the Krejji worship the Free Maiden as an advocate of individual power and unbounded possibility, the Skaeling now make demands of her as the goddess of thralls; herself a thrall to the cheif Skaeling god Kharnath, whom most Norscans call The Hound, but whom is known by all as the blood god, and king of warriors.

You expect the vitki of this fane to be a withered old crone or crotchety man like they usually are. You're almost startled when, out of the incense smoke of this sacred place in the darkness behind the likeness of the Free Maiden, comes a form as lithe and feminine as the likeness itself. Perhaps the direct servants of the free maiden are, themselves, necessarilly drawn from the kinds of women who would be highly sought after as thralls for base reasons.

"Fancy this - a Bjornling, in the fane of a god of the Krejji; perhaps, because both Krejji and Bjornling are so badly disrespected by the Skaeling..."

The interior of the fane is lit by a lamp hanging from the the ceiling, casting a yellow light over the wooden likeness and fogging the air with incense. The vitki-woman makes a habit of staying at the rim of that light, hard to see... for normal eyes. Your cut through the dark more easilly, and you see than when she steps out of the light she descends to continue her approach on all fours, prowling toward you like a hunting cat; returning to a two footed, hip-swinging saunter when she edges into the light again near to you.

"Yet you are not in Skjold, making petition to Bjarna-Motherbear. You are here... with me."

She halts a few yards from you; leaning her front against one of the fane's wooden support pillars and peering around it at you, coyly. Close enough now that even the incense smoke does not conceal her details; slim, but full; raven-black hair bound in dozens of fine braids that she lets hang infront of her face like a vein, through which bright blue eyes peer. Her garments are not furs, here in the warmth of this fane; but shreds of white linen loosely veiling her body, hanging from a woven leather torque about her neck, and belt about her waist. She is... playing with you, you think. But you see something else; a flat, healed over scar on her left inner forearm, where a thrallmark once must have been.

"What have you come for, Bjornling? Medicine? Blessing? Wisdom? A trinket of fortune?
Or would you open your hands and receive not what you merely want - but what you are freely given?"

[bramblefoot]

"lets start with medicine and a trinket of fortune, and then retire for what is freely given?" jorunn offers, stalking forward to approach the vikti. "why do you linger in the shadows, when the light blesses us?" he asks, hands out in front of him. "you were a thrall, now free. tell me of you, and i shall as well" he offers

[MrAbdiel]

She seems to catch that your gaze is able to track her in the dark; her posture adjusts a little, whatever her conclusion. Then she makes her way to the wooden goddess likeness in the middle of the fane; climbs up to its shoulder with lithe, practised movements, and plucks a sprig of green growth from the crown of the Free Maiden before shimmying back down. She offers it to you at the full extension of her arm, pinched between middle and forefinger.

"Be blessed them, Bjornling. I know you have given freedom to thralls of your own - let the ward of the Free Maiden not forsake this right action..."

Spoiler: OOC: Lucky Charm

Show

This small, evergreen leaf is a lucky charm, given to you for free.

"...Medicine will cost; such things are not without price. But as for me - I am no one. One I was a maiden of Krejj; then a prisoner; then made free. Now I am her voice; her tongue, and throat, and lips; and her words, to wandering men with violence in their heart. Tell me, Bjornling... if the gods gave you a thunderbolt, and you could cast it any way you wish, where would you direct the lightning? To your kin, in Skjold? To the Skaelings, in mighty Doomkeep? To the realm of the hammer-god, in the south?"

She lingers out of reach; bright eyes fixed and focused on you; weighting your response.

[bramblefoot]

"i would save the thunderbolt until needed" jorunn says. "too many impetuous warriors waste chances on passion, but good things come to those who wait" he will settle into a waiting stance

he will take the sprig and tuck it away

"how much for a couple units of medicine?" he asks

[MrAbdiel]

She broods at the answer; either disappointed at your response... or else wanting you to think she is disappointed at your response, to see your reaction.

"A waste of lighting. The power is in the instant of the thing; it does not linger in the heaven's quiver; it leaps at the first target. A man who seeks to cast lighting might do so, if the gods are kind; but a man who seeks to hold it in his fist.... this man will be struck by the weapon he covets."

She drifts across to a chest by one wall, and opens it; revealing a crowded interior full of tinctures, potions, and importantly, stoppered vials of the foul smelling but important herbal mash known as poultice...

Spoiler: OOC:

Show

The medicine available for purchase here are:

Healing Poultice (Allows healing as if lightly wounded, when heavilly wounded). You can get 25 doses of healing poultice (and bandages to apply it) for one sceatta.

Blessed Water, supposely useful as a deterent against the restless dead, is available for 14 sceatta.

The Throat of the Maiden has a small supply of Healing Draughts - they run at 4 sceatta each, though she only has five in stock.

There are also sundry amulets and tokens, but none of these seem likely to have genuine medicinal or magical power.

With that transaction complete, she resumes her circuitous interrogation. "Tell me, Bjornling man. Are you a cloud without purpose, blown across the sky on the shifting wind - or a gravid grey storm, hording its thunderbolts for some purpose. Here; let me be less coy - you are a raider, I know with ease. But here you are, far from the sea. What drives a raider from his boat, and his prize?"

[bramblefoot]

jorunn will pick up a unit of medicine and three healing draughts.

he takes a moment to marshal his thoughts and answers. " the boat i returned on was destroyed. i hold vengeance against the skaelings for sacking my village. had the bjornlings made at least a token effort to put up some sort of help, that i could accept." he continues with a "but since they didnt, i guess im on my own."

"i would say im a gray gravid cloud, hoarding thunder and seeking to grow stronger"

[MrAbdiel]

This - your confession of desiring vengeance against the Skaeling - lights her eyes up with interest. This is something she can work with more easilly than reserved wrath.

"Bjornling and Skaeling have claimed each other's skulls for many generations, now - considering one another soft, or senseless. They have raided and stripped each other's villages; but this warlord, the Sighted One, Aelfric... has an agenda of his own. He leads Skaeling, yes; but he is no Skaeling; neither is Aelfric is name. He has raided many lands for the Skaeling, and brought back many thralls and much treasure; but only in these recent times has he spurned the sea to make war on Bjornling, and Sarl - even other Skaeling. It is he who wiped a whole clan from the Bjornling, and did so with such ferocity that the Bjornling did not answer against the Skaeling. Is this the man on whom you would have vengeance, Jorunn? The Free Maiden can give me wisdom to guide you in such a quest... for a price. But it is a price a man who stands alone, with no tribe, is poised to pay more easily than another."

She slinks back to the shaped tree in the middle of the fane; draping herself against its lower curves like a languid cat.

"Here; bargain with me, Jorunn. My people, the Krejji, have suffered many indignities, but have come to thrive all the same. Yet I would see my mistress delivered from some measure of her shame. There are relics of her worship that have been plundered to those who carved up our lands - for each you bring to me, I will reveal more wisdom; and make clear also the path you might take if vengeance is in your heart. Seize my mistress's relics for me, and I will show you where your thunder ought to strike, oh gravid cloud. The first such relic is held by tainted monks in their monastery, on the other side of Lake Krejj. They extort dark sorceries from it; and none dare to raid their holding for fear of their magic. They have struck dead some men seeking their domain. But you, I think... Have the means to overcome it."

Her eyes track to your wrist, then back to your own gaze. "Will you give my Maiden her vengeance, and in turn, she will give you yours?"

[bramblefoot]

jorunn will consider. "how many monks and how much sorcery are we talking here?" he asks, steepling his fingers "im not opposed to seeking vengeance, but information always helps"

he will ask for as much intel on the monks as she has, and then return and ask haggur about the monestary across the lake

[MrAbdiel]

The vitki of the Free Maiden does not know these numbers; only the stories. She knows where the monastery is; that sometimes men have gone up there seeking to plunder and take, and they do not return. She thinks you can succeed where they have failed - but it's easy to be cavalier with other people's lives, so you do not bind yourself to oath without more information; and she retreats into the fane at the conclusion of your business.

"Seek, prepare, do as you will. You know my price, now. Bring me their relic, and I will fill your hands with lightning, one bolt at a time."

* * * * *

Haggur scratches his chin as you ask about the monastery. "Ah, yes. That place... I've not been there, though I've spoken to other traders who swear they have spoken to certain peddlars and dealers who have made their way up to deliver goods to them. You cannot see much of the monastery from the bottom of the plateau, but to be as discreet as they are, it cannot host more than a small village at its top with the monastery as its primary feature. They are tended mostly by the wind, though; a gale will blow flocks of bird across the sky and onto the plateau, where they must gather them up and eat them. That's good sorcery, I think; to feed yourself with the sky's bounty. But the mesa and its plateau is on the other side of the lake. There is a doorway cut into the rock, though that is the way men go and do not leave. The northern face of the mesa is better for climbing, I think. On the southern face, the monks sometimes cast down ropes to raise and lower baskets. The ice fishermen make them offerings out of habit. You could try your luck with the internal staircase; or try to climb the face of the mesa. An easier climb for one man, on the north side; but on the south side, if you were to climb and succeed, you might lower those ropes and bring others up, if you remained undetected."

He does have one more matter for you, however. After putting the armor in for cleaning and repair, pricing up the goods you are willing to sell, Haggur pays you 300 sceatta. This, on top of the 168 sceatta you looted directly, means you come away from the Graeling encounter much better equipped, and with 468 sceatta at your disposal - a very significant sum.

[bramblefoot]

jorunn nods. "ortel, i got some medicine, and a set of surgical tools" he says, proffering the stuff he purchased. "how long do you think it would take to get byjan fighting fit?" he asks, weighing his options

"i would say i climb the southern face and rig ropes to let you all come up" he says. "any questions, comments, ideas?"

after that, he'll talk to pedlars and dealers and ask about the monestary

[MrAbdiel]

Ortel is amazed by the fact you have found such tools; but adds them, and the medicine to the sack of belongings he lugs around. With the first share of the next loot he gets, he is likely to buy a pack.

"Well. Byjan lost a lot of blood. The muscles are knitting fine. If he's lucky, in a couple of day. Less lucky, and closer to a week."

As far as ideas for the climb goes, Marlene has just the one. "Well, I don't think any of us are particularly skilled climbers. It might be worth forking over a couple of sceatta to hire on a woodsman, or someone else with some scaling experience to do the climb... With the obvious benefit of, if they fall or get cursed and turned into a newt at the top, it's not you suffering the consequences."

You manage to find one of the peddlars who does deals with the monks of the mesa; he gives a sketchy little nod when you corner him for information and ask what he knows. "Well, sometimes they request certain things - bones, or pig gizzards... Sorcerer things, you know? It's not... worth my time to help them, but if I don't... Well. I don't want to end up in their bone-pit. It's at the southside of the mesa, near where they lower the baskets. You'll see it when you get there. But I think they have an isolated little town of thralls, up there. Living off fish freighted up to them from the lake, and birds blown in by the daemon-winds."