WHFRP 2e - The Winter Kings (IC)

[Erulasto]

Reavers of the Red Song


Morgul

The girl took the water and meat, and tore a small bit off before chewing thoughtfully as she sats next to the bray-shaman, leaning into him almost instinctively.

Around a mouth full of food, she mumbled out her name. Maria. Or at least, that’s what her father named her. Something about the name didn’t sit right with Morgul. It did not seem to fit a child of her unusual gift.

After she finished, she glanced up at Morgul once more and yawns softly.

“Yes.” She said softly, not bothering to return the bandages to cover her eye. “I will tell you what I see. If you will tell me of what gave me this sight.”


Larus and Otto

Kjal’s eyes flickered open as he felt the point of the sword pressed against the soft flesh of his neck. Those eyes widened immediately as his drink-addled mind caught up to the situation he had found himself in. His body jerked as if he was going to sit up and draw his blade, but the pressure and Larus’ words stilled him.

Slowly, he withdrew his hand from under the pillow. It glinted in the pale light that filtered through the small, wood-shuttered window.

This was most definitely the one.

With a voice still slurred from far too much to drink, Fjal turned hateful eyes to Larus and Otto.

“Yer…Yer a dead man!” He hissed.

---

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

The Kurgan flashed Nicoli a tight-lipped smile, simply shrugging his shoulders at the notion of how much of an impression Nicoli had left.

The Thorn seemed particularly amused by the unlikely camaraderie that had begun to blossom between to peoples who had multiple generations of hatred between them.

“I have not fired a rifle, no.” Cromath said after a small sip of wine from a copper goblet studded with small fragments of obsidian. “But if you can teach the Kurgan to fire such weapons, we can teach you to be one with a horse. I have seen the destruction wrought by those who can mix both skills. Firearms and riding. The Kurgan would be bettered for such skill – though some may press back against such new developments.”

In response to the iquiries from Egil and Larus, the Kurgan Zar chuckles darkly.

“You are correct.” Cromath said. “The Kurgan are a tribal people. Nomadic mostly. Wandering the Steppes on the edge of the Chaos Wastes. A number of our tribes have bent the knee to this new Lord. He calls himself Astergoth, but he is not of my people.” He pauses for a moment. “Nor yours.”

The Thorn’s face twists into a smirk, and he taps his armoured fingertips on the table with a subtly bored gesture.

“Yes, yes. Even I have heard of this Astergoth. They say he has been granted the mark of the Everchosen. But…well….I do not believe it. There has not been an Everchosen since Asavar Kul over two hundred years ago, and I do not believe we will see another within my lifetime.”

Cromath offered no response to the Jarl’s claims, simply leaning back in his chair with a groan from the wood beneath him.

“But, I digress!” Sigurd said, still smirking. “Our good friend Cromath here spoke of a man from Kislev who was blessed by the Carrion God. Not my cup of wine, to be sure. But even I cannot begrudge the power of the Urfather. He said that this man from Kislev would give the Kurgan the edge to finally burn Praag to the ground.”

Leaning back in her seat languidly, Paledawn tucker her slender legs up under her upon the luxurious pillow that topped her chair.

“The Kurgan have been struggling to destroy Kislev for longer than any of you have lived. They are survivors. Like cockroaches.” She said, a malicious gleam in her eyes. “Though I mean no offense to our esteemed guests, of course.”

This earned a laugh from the Jarl, and a dark stare from Cromath – the tension between them palpable, though nothing more was said on the matter.

At length, to break the sudden moment of silence, Cromath turns his burning eyes on Bjorni when asked about his travels.

“My people do not do well on ships. I came down from the Steppes into Troll Country and gathered some of those who dwelt there, before cutting West and into Norsca. We will travel as far as Hjalmar and Ursheim at the edge of the Sea of Chaos. Astergoth has sent others to traverse the North of your lands. It is they that would have come to your Jarl. If they have not already.” Cromath said.

The conversation slowly shifts as Bodhi steps in and begins regaling the Thorn with news from Winterscorn Hold. The banquet progresses on, as the reaver-captain and the Jarl trade annectdotes. To those who have sailed with Bodhi, they can tell that she is barely containing her frustration with what she would later decry as a flowery, pompous fool of a Jarl. If the Thorn senses her frustration, he makes no real tell of it.

Half-way through the banquet, Paledawn winks at Bjorni and Morgul at some point when their eyes meet – a playful, if a little sadistic, smile upon her face.

When the food is long gone and the wine and ale has been drained to the dregs, the Jarl leans back in his chair and stretches for a moment before rising slowly.

“I have thoroughly enjoyed the company of those esteemed by Aemon. I would offer some of you a chance to enter my service, if I expected there would be any who would truly accept such a thing. Regardless, the night grows long and there are other matters for me to attend. Please, do not hesitate to pay me a visit the next time you are in Kollsvik, yes?”

Cromath rises slowly, even as Paledawn slips from her chair with graceful movements. Bodhi joins them, and shakes the hand of both the Kurgan and the Jarl before slipping out, motioning for the rest of her crew to join her.

The trip back to the boats was as uneventful as the trip to Sigurd’s palace, and soon they had returned to the Red Song and other longships where the remainder of the crews had settled into a revel of their own, clustered around several fires they had set up with kindling and driftwood on the stone parts of the dock in line of sight.

---

Spoiler: OOC

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So, if you had anything else specific you wanted to do during the feast, feel free to make a post about it and I’ll respond in kind but to keep the flow up and not get bogged down in a scene meant more to name-drop some NPC’s that may or may not be relevant down the road, I advanced the timeline slightly.

You’ll be setting sail back to the Jarl’s hold the next day, so if there’s any last minute things you want to take care of in town shopping-wise, let me know and we’ll get a resolution for it done up.

Otherwise my next post will advance the timeline to arriving at Winterscorn Hold.

It will take 3 weeks to get there from Kollsvik. The weather turns nasty after several days at sea and it slows progress somewhat.

You set sail on the 19th of Sommerzeit and after 24 days at sea you’ll arrive home on the 10th of Vorgenheim.

That means you’ve crossed into a new month, so it’s time for some experience.

Feel free to spend your experience as soon as you see fit, or hold onto it at your discretion. None of the advances you choose will take effect until my next IC post back at Winterscorn Hold.

Spoiler: Experience Awards

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End of Sommerzeit, 2501 – 100 XP for Everyone
Participating in the Grenhoff Raid – 100 XP for Everyone
Taking the Guardtower – 50 XP for Larus
The Way of Stealth – 25 XP for Larus
Learning the Art of Firearms – 25 XP for Larus
Fighting in the Thick of Things – 25 XP for Groktur and Egil
The Will of the Gods – 50 XP for Nicoli and Morgul
Organizing the Looting – 25 XP for Otto
Hanging the Banner – 25 XP for Bjorni
Starting the Warheard – 50 XP for Groktur
Befriending Maria – 25 XP for Morgul
Canoodling with Sigrun – 25 XP for Egil
Befriending Cromath – 25 XP for Nicoli
Slaaneshi Orgy – 50 XP for Morgul and Bjorni
Building Rapport with the Reavers – 25 XP for Egil
Dealing with Fjal – 25 XP for Otto and Larus
Helping Haggle with Bellic – 25 XP for Otto
The Thorn’s Banquet – 50 XP for Everyone
Training the Warherd – 25 XP for Groktur

Totals:

Morgul: 375
Bjorni: 325
Otto: 325
Groktur: 350
Nicoli: 325
Larus: 325
Egil: 325

Experience for the Red Song Reavers – 200 XP
Experience for Groktur’s Warherd – 100 XP

[rax]

Larus and Otto

Kjal’s eyes flickered open as he felt the point of the sword pressed against the soft flesh of his neck. Those eyes widened immediately as his drink-addled mind caught up to the situation he had found himself in. His body jerked as if he was going to sit up and draw his blade, but the pressure and Larus’ words stilled him.

Slowly, he withdrew his hand from under the pillow. It glinted in the pale light that filtered through the small, wood-shuttered window.

This was most definitely the one.

With a voice still slurred from far too much to drink, Fjal turned hateful eyes to Larus and Otto.

“Yer…Yer a dead man!” He hissed.

"No, you are," Lárus retorts coldly, forcing his sword deep into Fjal's neck. "Bellic says hello."

Spoiler: Actions...maybe

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Not sure if this will result in combat, but per the OOC thread, let's start with a surprise round.
Full Action: All Out Attack, (1d100)[35] vs. WS 60 (+20 from All Out Attack)
Can I argue that Fjal should be treated as unaware (+30 to hit) or stunned (+20 to hit)? Or even helpless (auto-hit, +1d10 damage)? Lárus does have him dead to rights...
Re-roll if necessary: (1d100)[72] vs. WS 60
(1d10+4)[11] damage

Ulric's Fury if applicable:
(1d100)[55] vs. WS 60
(1d10+4)[14] damage

[Shadowflick]

Nicoli leans back in his chair, taking his goblet and pressing it to his on lip, a fly trying to land in the red drink as he does. "I did not learn how to ride a Horse in Kislev. I have seen what Winged Hussars can do however. They way they use there horse to enhance there abilities..is interesting. If the Kurgan can teach me to ride Nicoli would be grateful. When given the Chance, Nicoli will be happy to teach the Kurgan you have gathered to fire. Perhaps sometime before the ships leave for Winterscorn."

The Kislivite raises a brow at the mention of a new Everchosen. That could mean changing times for the people of the south. A true tide of chaos instead of skirmishes and ambitious warlords "Intresting News...Perhaps The Norscans I travel with for now will throw there support in with him. "

Turning to Paldwen, Nicoli takes another sip "Cockroaches lay down and die. Kislev more like Hornets nest. Stinging and clawing to the last soul. The dead replaced by another swarm in the hive.

[neriractor]

18th Zommerseit

Bjorni nodded at the Zar's response "makes sense, sending just one group to travel norsca is likely to result in a lot of dead from the mountains' mercy..." he looked down as he dwelled on his memories "hopefully you'll get enough good norscan ships to make up for that deficit. Is the envoy to the north as pleasant a company?" a small grin appeared again.

He returned paledawn's smile, not following on any promises it made unless the witch herself seeked him out, the one night was draining enough, even if he wouldn't really say no to another one. When shaking the jarl's hand he replied politely and with a hearthy smile "As did I. If the crown wills it I'll take you up on that offer." back to the camp he shared some of the revelry of the reavers and then checking on the girl's well being before heading to sleep.

19th zommerzeit, morning

On the last day of the trip, the skald found any unoccupied reavers and quickly headed to the slave market, looking for working men and women, with no preference for age as long as they looked loyal and cheap enough.

19th zommerseit to to the 10th of Vorgenheim

The skald mostly tends to his duty, keeping the crewmen spirits high with songs of glory, mingling in whatever groups formed up on the deck and generally being a constant presence amongst the crew.

Seeing his new thralls survived the first half of the trip well enough he takes care to ease the frightened mother into her new roles, and takes a keen interest on Morgul's talks with the girl, joining in and attempting to quench the anti-man aspects of it, caring to not disrespect the shaman's complete autorithy on the subject. He took to sparing as well, barely keeping up with Egil and easily put to shame by Morgul's new arms and ferocity, it was still better than doing nothing. If ever the kislevite had nothing to do he asks to be taught the use of the firearm he stole.

[Morovir]

19th Sommerzeit

In lieu of anything else to do, Groktur spends his last day before departure continuing his training with the Ungors, determined to get them into decent fighting shape by the time of their next fight.

[DrK]

Morgul

18th of Sommerzeit

That afternoon

Morgul held the small chile and nodded. "I tell of the gods and you say what they show you." He looks around the boat and seeing no-one close by begins to tell her of the ways of the world. "For thousands of moons many moons agao there were no cities, no manlings, no Empire, beasts and kin ruled the forests, preying upon the scattered bands of men as wolves upon sheep. Then manling came bearing a golden hammer that was the bane of all enemies, he unite human herds, challenging Beast for dominance of the lands. He was strong, tribe was good and Beast-shamans weak and displease Gods with their weakness. Gods punish beasts and many were killed. Empire rose from forests and manlings spread.

Gods hate order of manlings and Gods give us power. Khorne, bloodfather make us strong in battle. Neglish make enemy weak and break down all that they build. Prince Pleasure distract manling and break themselves and Changer make whole world dance and and change to his tune.... he stops after a while as he realises from the soft snores that she has fallen asleep and merely rests there awhile, eyes and three arms clutching weapons threatening violence against any who disturb her.

At the feast

Morgul says little at the feast. Seeing Paledawn he bares his fangs and flexes his 5 arms as he holds various pieces of meat and drink. Nodding at her he barks a wary "Are you wanting more sorceress, was one taste not enough?". If she takes him up on the offer he will enjoy himself other than that he is content to watch the politics of the tribes. Listening to the words he is pleased that the weeks aboard the boat have been helping.

As talk turns to raids, Everchosen and war he leans in to Bodhi, pouring her some wine and offering food. "Bodhi Captain. Will Jarl Aemon go war with Warlord Astergoth or do own raiding? Will Bodhi take Red Song to war?" He is curious and the glint of hate in his eyes is clear to her that he would be in favour of any form of violence done to the Empire.

For the rest of the feast he is content to eat till his stomach is full and drink wines, meads and strange spirits till the drink clouds his judgment and he can stagger back to the Red Song to fall asleep curled up a in a furry ball cradling the braystaff.


19th of Sommerzeit to the 10th of Vorgenheim

Aboard the boat Morgul paces like a penned beast. He fills his time with Maria, the strange girl who see's the winds of magic easily and effortlessly. He speaks to her often about the Gods, about the great winds and the power of Dhar and the majesty of Ghur and of the other scents of magic. Always watchful to stay clear of those who would blind her with Hysh the winds of Light and permanence that is the anathema to the servants of the true gods.

When not tending to the girl he flies the seas, wings flecked with salt as he soars high above the deck for hours at a time. Only alighting to feed and drink he feels alive in his raven form and enjoys the feel of the winds and the peace and solitude that the skies can offer. One day he muses all man will be as dust and broken and all world will fall to chaos and world will be quiet. The hours flying off the boat are those where has is in the best of his moods, when not caged up on the wooden vessel that is too small for as many beasts.

The third task he sets himself to is fighting. His new found arms giving him an unparalleled fury and violence in combat as he begins to batter and fight with Groktur and the Ungors. His many arms gaining strength and he battles with wooden cudgels battering and pummeling hapless ungors. Groktur he tries to speak to. A spark of power may grow within the big Caprigor and within him Morgul could see the seeds of a warlord - maybe one who would rule over both a beast and man tribe.

[Haval]

18th of Sommerzeit

Egil will not press Cromath on his comments about Astergoth. He had heard that there were other tribes further into the Wastes, some of which producing warriors who were giants even by Kurgan standards. A true Everchosen would need to be strong enough to unite all such groups under his banner.

19th of Sommerzeit to the 10th of Vorgenheim

Mindful of the news brought by the Kurgan, Egil will try to spar with anyone who is available including the Beastmen. Whether they all joined the Horde or not they should be ready. Word of war with the southerners would create upheaval throughout Norsca as warriors traveled to join this Astergoth. There was no guarantee that they would pass peacefully through the territory of other tribes without taking what they needed. Those who did not journey to war would likely seek any opportunity to enrich themselves against neighbours whose heaths were weakened for lack of warriors.

[Erulasto]

Reavers of the Red Song

Larus and Otto

As Larus' blade slid into Fjal's neck, the silver-handed Norscan's eyes widened almost comically wide. His lips parted as if to spit some curse at the Breathstealer, but his mouth had filled with blood and he choked and twitched on the end of the sword before finally laying still.

Pulling the sword from his neck, Larus and Otto made short work of cutting the silver hand from Fjal's arm and wrapping it in a coarse brown wool blanket they snatched from the bed.

As they were pulling the blanket off the bed, Fjal's pack was uncovered. A length of leather with five wedge-headed throwing axes resting in still loops along the straps length was wrapped about it. Inside, a quick look showed a heavy coin pouch and a stoppered clay-flasked healing draught tucked in next to a spare pair of trousers.

Spoiler: OOC

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He's absolutely helpless.

I took the roll you made on your Ulric's Fury damage and applied it as the second d10 for being helpless.

Total of 25 damage before unarmoured soak.

So...yeah.

He's dead.

If you want to take anything from the room, feel free. No one is going to notice.

The coin pouch holds (4d10)[15]gc and (2d8)[11]sp.

---

Bjorni

With Gunnar and Herger in tow, Bjorni made his way towards the slave market. Keeping an eye out for the stalls that specialized in labour slaves - usually in bulk - they found one that had dead-eye slaves who had been worked to breaking more than once. The slaver was willing to let this lot go for three gold a head. Another was selling dark skinned men and women from distant shores. They were athletic and healthy, but obedient - though few, numbering only six. These were sold for ten gold a head. Two of them were even tradesmen. One was a seamstress of sorts, the other was a woodworker. The tradesfolk were on sale for fifteen gold each.

Spoiler: OOC

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I apologize. I realize you asked me a couple of times earlier about slaves back in Winterscorn and I kept forgetting to respond.

As a skald for the Winterscorn, though one of a few, Bjorni would hold a relatively respected position in the Jarl's court. Though, little real at the moment. No one skald is held in esteem above the others, though Bjorni holds the double notoriety of also going on raids.

The others are more on the minstrel side of thing.

So, you probably have (1d6+2)[8] household thralls. They mostly maintain your chambers and handle the doldrum of day to day life.

10th Vorgenheim

Three long weeks.

The Red Song and the longships sailed west from Kollsvik and passed from the Sea of Claws into the Sea of Chaos. Within hours of passing a vast set of reefs that contained a veritable graveyard of ancient, mouldering ships, they found the sky black with heavy clouds. Soon enough, the rain was torrential and the darkened sky was stabbed by radiantly coloured lightning. Some of the crew swore they saw great flashes of fire within the clouds.

The reaver fleet was rocked with incredible winds and terrible waves. Several reavers were lost overboard at the worst of it. Larus had managed to catch Hrodgar before the big man was swept over the side of the Red Song and Bjorni's shouts rose with Otto's as they kept the crews organized.

Perched upon the bow of the ship, powerful hands gripping his spear, Groktur bellowed his defiance at the thunderous storm. Below deck, Morgul sat with Maria as the evil-eyed waif shook under the storms intensity. When Groktur's bellowing bray was heard - it's strength loud enough to be heard even deep in the belly of the Red Song - Maria suddenly jerked upright, eyes wide as she moved to look out one of the portholes. It seemed no more comfort was needed, as she stared out the window - transfixed by whatever unearthly things she watched. Trance-like, Maria rode out the rest of the storm at that port-hole, unmoving.

Near the aftcastle, Egil and Nicoli stood at the back railing, hands tight around the riggings to keep steady. The Red Song lurched violently as they began to climb a towering wave, the aft of the ship dipping low and splashing the two with cold, salty water.

The caravel rose and rose, cresting the wave moments before the bow of the ship plunged back down. At its height, the mightiest strokes of lightning Nicoli had ever seen lit the sky before seeming to crackle along the bottom of the clouds. It was, for a moment, almost bright as day.

And far, far in the distance, for that one brief moment, Egil and Nicoli saw a mountainous monstrosity lurking in the waves. A leviathan of towering tentacles that reached sinuously up for the sky. Then, darkness consumed it and the caravel began its choppy trip back down the wave, soon obscuring the horizon from their view.

Eventually, the small fleet settled into calmer waters as they weathered the storm. The crew spoke of strange sights and experiences along the trip. Fish leaping from the sea to the deck with the faces of screaming men. Colourful blossoms of lightning that seemed to move like it was alive. Hygd spent the trip huddled under the mast, cackling to herself and muttering about omens the Gods sent.

The seas remained calm for the last leg of the journey and during this time the Ungors and Reavers blossomed with the sparring and training that Egil, Bjorni, Groktur and Morgul seemed had started. Their skill at handling their weapons became more precise in its ferocity, less wild and indiscriminate. For the Ungols it was a marked improvement, and they were beginning to show signs to Groktur and Morgul that they were taking to this lifestyle easily.

When, at last, the mighty white tower of Mingol Gazan-Dum was visible on the horizon, flanked by great jagged black mountains, a palpable sigh of relief washed through the reavers. By the time they were pulling into the cove over which the old tower loomed on high from a rocky ridge, the sun was out with few clouds in sight. Though the wind was still brisk, the day warmed considerably as if to welcome them home.

At the docks waiting for them was a crowd of people, all gathered to welcome home the reavers. Egil and Larus spotted the dark blue penants bearing the silver stag of the Jarl fluttering in the breeze from the docks. It seemed the Jarl was there to welcome them back personally.

Ever swift, the Red Song slid into the docks easily, the longships still traversing the cove. The glory of returning first would be theirs as well. as ropes were thrown down and Otto dropped the anchor, Bodhi shouted a few orders to the reavers to begin unloading their holds immediately before calling everyone else to join her. Leading them down the gangplank, Bodhi strode with purpose across the dock to where the Jarl stood waiting.

Jarl Aemon Bitterstride was a tall man, though not unnaturally so. He was powerfully built, with broad shoulders cloaked in greyish brown bear fur. The Jarl wore a heavy steel breastplate and full-mail under a blue-dyed wool and fur robe. His long hair seemed more grey than remembered, having spread from his temples to long streaks and his beard was braided and clasped with an etched gold band. Deeply tanned, leathery skin was only visible on his face and large hands rest on the pommel of the heavy gromril blade that sat at his hip.

Bitterstride was flanked by the towering huskarl, Thurim. Ever the silent guard dog of the Jarl, Thurim was clad head-to-toe in thick iron plate armour save for his left arm. It shone like forged brass, and he held in his hand a great, black mace with a flanged head. The other carried a black shield as tall as Egil. Thurim towered over the Jarl by a head, at least, and looked down upon even Groktur and Morgul. But he rarely spoke, unless the Jarl asked him a direct question.

A short distance away, the Jarl's Vikti - Halfi - was calling out words of greeting and invoking the blessings of the Great Beast and the Four Brothers on those returning hero's.

"Welcome home, Bodhi Ymirsdottir!" The Jarl bellowed, "Welcome home reavers! To you come in victory, or in disgrace?"

[Shadowflick]

Nicoli holds onto the side of the boat, hand gripped tightly on the railing as he looks warily about the raging sea's, monsters of chaos dwelling in teh distance. he cant hope for morethen a steady break..until he spots a massive creature of tendrils and teeth potentialy. He soon hopes for more waves. Perhaps a cannon or two. Next to being caught in the sewers, this was easily one of his worst periods of extended living. As a man of Kisev, Going places by boat is a new experiance for him.

Shaking, Nicoli eventually steps of the boat, taking a seat on the dock. Justt grateful to be on land again. He stands, his stomach quesing and face turning a shade of green as he bends over for a moment, not sure if this was the influence of Nurgle or just him having a first time battle with Seasickness. Either way, it was not a pleasurable experiance

"N...Nicoli...Hates Boats" he spits out wearily

[DrK]

Morgul

The shaman shakes off the salt crusted water from his pelt and wraps a pair of arms around the small girl who he's taken under his wing. He looks at the Winterscorn Hold coming up ahead of them. Glancing down at the girl, "The Prince town was more shiny no?" Looking at the squat grey bricks and the dwarven watch tower. "What does Gods' eye see? Any omens in town of Bitterstride."

Looking at Groktur he mutters in the harsh animalistic Beast tongue that not many speak. "Kollvsk town better huh? Thorn Prince look softer but stronger? Where does Groktur herd go now?" He stands at the front of the boat as they ease into the harbour. Looking at the Jarl, he looks so.... ordinary, compared to the Prince of Thorn. His eyes fixed on Thurim instead who he thought was more dangerous. Eyes moving to the side he looked at the Vitki, and his eyes narrowed seeing the same dangerous jealousy that his hated shaman had shown. At some point in the future he knew that Halfi would betray him. He nudged Maria as the sorcerer spoke. "What Gods say of him. He enemy of Morgul" and glancing at his fellow beast "Or enemy of Groktur? Beasts keep girl safe."

[rax]

Larus and Otto

As Larus' blade slid into Fjal's neck, the silver-handed Norscan's eyes widened almost comically wide. His lips parted as if to spit some curse at the Breathstealer, but his mouth had filled with blood and he choked and twitched on the end of the sword before finally laying still.

Pulling the sword from his neck, Larus and Otto made short work of cutting the silver hand from Fjal's arm and wrapping it in a coarse brown wool blanket they snatched from the bed.

As they were pulling the blanket off the bed, Fjal's pack was uncovered. A length of leather with five wedge-headed throwing axes resting in still loops along the straps length was wrapped about it. Inside, a quick look showed a heavy coin pouch and a stoppered clay-flasked healing draught tucked in next to a spare pair of trousers.

After the butchery, Lárus carefully wiped his blade clean on the bedding. He pocketed the coin pouch and healing draught, then stuffed the silver hand into Fjal's backpack.

"If there's anything you like the look of on either of these corpses, now's the time to take it," he says to Otto, indicating Fjal and the dead drunk on the floor. When Otto indicates that he's ready to go, Lárus leads the way out of The Mule.

Spoiler: OOC - Wrapping up?

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If the man on the floor isn't actually dead, Lárus will make sure he won't wake up again - no need to have a vengeful friend (or at least acquaintance) of Fjal's come gunning for us.

If either of the servant boys take an unseemly interest in Lárus and Otto when they leave, Lárus is prepared to bribe them with some of the silver from Fjal's pouch. In return he expects them to say they never got a good look at whoever killed Fjal.

Unless you have something else for us, Lárus intends to deliver the hand to Bellic and pick up his sleeved mail coat. He's keeping the throwing axes and his old armour (mail shirt plus looted sleeved mail shirt) - there's probably someone on the Red Song that could make good use of them.

He would dearly like to teach Bellic a lesson for presuming to turn a warrior into an errand boy, but he'll restrain himself for now - from a purely OOC perspective, it seems better to move things along so everyone's in the same time frame again.

19th Sommerzeit

On their last day in Kollsvik, Lárus headed to the Bazaar of Kamagra for one last purchase - a thrall to sacrifice at the Temple of the Beast, to gain the favour of the gods for the return journey and to thank them for his successes on this trip. Then he returned to the Red Song and passed the remainder of the day sparring with the reavers. In particular, he sought out Sigrún and Gunnar - she was the better fighter, but Gunnar was stronger. Both made for a good challenge.

10th Vorgenheim

Clearly, the gods didn't think much of that particular sacrifice, Lárus thought grimly, as yet another gigantic wave came crashing down on the Red Song. He laughed bitterly as he contemplated being swept overboard, his oath of vengeance incomplete. But at least if I die at sea, I may come back as a draug and haunt the Jarl to his dying breath.

Finally, after what seemed like days, the storm passed and the little fleet was able to sail on in relative safety. When not on watch, Lárus continued sparring with the reavers, and occasionally the beastmen as well. But he also made time to visit Hygd Strangeways beneath the mast. "Well, sorceress, soon we will be back in Winterscorn Hold. I am curious - why would you say that your home is elsewhere?"

[neriractor]

19th Sommerzeit

Bjorni looked around the slaves for a while, finally deciding on the skilled foreign ones, their skill was a valuable commodity. and he cared for those, worst case he'll try to sell them at a profit back home, once they learned norscan. He of course didn't let this interest show and asked for some much needed lowering to the price for taking such haggard slaves out of the slavers' hands.

Spoiler: OOC

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Spoiler: OOC

Show

I apologize. I realize you asked me a couple of times earlier about slaves back in Winterscorn and I kept forgetting to respond.

As a skald for the Winterscorn, though one of a few, Bjorni would hold a relatively respected position in the Jarl's court. Though, little real at the moment. No one skald is held in esteem above the others, though Bjorni holds the double notoriety of also going on raids.

The others are more on the minstrel side of thing.

So, you probably have 8 household thralls. They mostly maintain your chambers and handle the doldrum of day to day life.

no worries, I figured it was something like that, hard to keep track of so many players
also good to know about my status. rolling haggle just in case it can lower a few gold coins off the price (the woodworker and the seamtress):
(1d100)[28] TN 42
FP: (1d100)[41]

10th Vorgenheim

Bjorni lowers from the ship in his usual ragged garments, axe strapped at his belt as the shield in his back, he bore in his left hand the jarls' banner
rising it up triumphantly as he did, he stared sideways at Morgul as he spoke to Maria, it was great to get his counseling for her, and likely to speed her up to the useful seer he envisioned, but the increasing influence the Shaman gained on her made him uneasy, he was sure the girl didn't speak norscan so he spoke it. "You have gained remarkable fluidity in our language, friend. You are welcome to visit my house whenever you wish to speak to the girl."

he quickly went along with Bodhi to meet Aemon, looking for his brother's face in the crowd as he did, when they reached him he placed his right hand on his heart for a quick salute "We are victorious my lord, your coffers will be as full with the southerners' gold, as their hearts are with fear of your banner!" he vaguely waved the banner towards the reavers hauling loot from the ship.

[Haval]

The Red Song

The sight of the leviathan causes Egil to grin in delight. He had heard that sighting such creatures was often a sign of good luck. Assuming they left you alone of course. They usually had larger things to prey on for their food and so were only really a threat to sailors if a ship blundered into them. Some saw them as the will of the Gods made manifest and Egil could easily believe it. To see one and live was a sign that your ship was judged worthy and you had a right to sail here.

Mingol Gazan-Dum

Egil will follow Bjorni's comment, 'As if there was ever any doubt. The southerners have no one who can stand against us.'

[Morovir]

Groktur remained at the prow of the boat as it came in to dock. For the moment, he does not answer Morgul's words, but waits for his lord to speak.

[Space Lawyer]

Otto
The Mule

"If there's anything you like the look of on either of these corpses, now's the time to take it,"

Otto shakes his head. He throws a gold coin to the only witnesses and makes the well-understood signal for quiet.

---

The Intervening Weeks

The three weeks in port are a hectic blur of activity. Otto sees to ensuring that the fleet is well-provisioned and repaired, caulking leaking seams and mending sails. At the same time, he was trying to learn how to use his new firearm with the rest of the raiders, and on top of that, learning how to use the explosive contraption at sea. He'd heard stories of ill-trained sailors destroying whole warships from improperly loading the powder on guns, and he was damned if the Red Song was going down in such a ignoble manner.

By the time the weeks were over, the ships sat proudly in the water with few of the scars they'd received over a season of raiding. Something was still missing though. The Norscan ships had the fearsome dragons at their prows, while the Red Dream's prow was barren. That wouldn't do at all. When they got back to the tribe, there was going to be a change.

---

10th Vorgenheim

Otto had heard the storms this far north were fierce, but nothing had prepared him for this. What kind of madness . . . but that question receded quickly, replaced by a laughing giddiness. He and the Red Dream, the crew, they were spitting right into face of nature and the god's. Sigmar hadn't been able to protect his Empire, and it didn't look like Manann was going to be able to stop the raiders from returning home. Waves and beast be damned, they all retreated before this kind of ferocity.

[Erulasto]

Reavers of the Red Song

17th Sommerzeit

Larus and Otto

The other man, armour stained with vomit, was most assuredly dead. An inglorious way to go that would not have found the favour of the Gods, whomever this man was - he was doomed to be forgotten until his flesh was eaten by time and bones bleached.

The young thralls who worked the common room in preparation for the day took the coin from the Shipmaster, eyes downcast, and remained silent. They knew far better than to bring notice to themselves.

But the task was done. Bellic was positively ecstatic about the hand - handling it with greedy fingers as he tucked it into a locked chest in the back of his stall. The payment was provided, and Bellic even threw in a handful of coins as well for each of them as a parting gift.

When they departed, Bellic was quick to insist they came to see him for whatever needs they had in Kollsvik the next time they travelled through the city.

Spoiler: OOC

Show

Otto and Larus receive (1d8)[4] gold coins each as a bonus for the expediency of their completion of the deal. Not to mention he still remembered Larus' threat to split him open from gut to groin.

Bjorni

The slavers were willing to drop a full two gold coins off the price for each of the skilled labourers, but they were adamant they could not go lower. It was not often that there was much a slave was good for aside from chores or labour - a tradesman could often garner not only better treatment, but longer life-expectencies from their masters.

---

On the Sea....

Larus

Hygd had peered up at Larus with wide eyes, pupils blown and cheeks flushed as if she had just ran the long road from Winterscorn Hold to the mountain passes that led inland and offered a natural form of protection for the vale.

"Those who scorn the Winter are of my body and blood. But my flesh does not call it home." Hygd muttered softly, eyes finally shifting back to watching the seething, vast ocean stretching out before the Red Song. "You who steals the breath from the living? You are tethered to your body and blood. Your flesh has a home. My flesh is transitory. One day...one day...I will find home..."

Strangeways was an apt name for the Sorceress. Larus had interacted with the bray-shaman, and even he was not prone to such fits of madness, but all in the North saw how magic could...change people. Was the Raven God not the God of Magic and Change?

---

10th Vorgenheim

Bjorni's words rose above the cheers of the crowds and the fiery invocations of the Jarl's Vikti, and Bodhi laughed a bit manically as Egil seemed to share his sentiments.

"The Skald and Egil speak truly, my Jarl!" Bodhi shouted, thrusting a fist into the air with a sudden howl of joy. "We come with many gifts of both gold and thralls...and...." Bodhi paused for a moment, grinning wolfishly as she let her silence drag on for a moment. After letting the silence drag - the gathered crowd seeming to hang on her words - Bodhi turned behind her and made to pull Nicoli forward to stand before Jarl Bitterstride.

"A gift from the Crow Father! I present to you a Lord of Flies, my Jarl! The Bray-Shaman drew us to him where he slew the men of the Empire alongside your warriors. He is blessed!" Bodhi shouted, looking around the gathered crowd. As if on cue, the miasma of flies that seemed to hover around the Kislevite seemed to loom up like a great shadow. There were gasps of shock, ecstatic squeals and shouts of elation at the seeming omen that was unfolding before them.

It was when Vikti Halfi scowled darkly, turning a malevolent and hard gaze upon Bodhi and Nicoli that realization seeped in.

Bodhi was making a power play in the Jarl's court.

Bjorni realized that Bodhi had a very strong grasp of how to work a crowd. The charisma she captained with, and the fervor in battle had already been seen at work, but the Skald suddenly realized that Bodhi was perhaps much more dangerous than anyone had thought. The crews that reaved under her loved her.

And now? With Nicoli there, she was setting herself up to be favoured by the Gods. It was risky, but as the Jarl listened his smile grew wider.

"A feast then in my hall in honour of you and your crews!" Aemon bellowed, silencing the crowds with his proclaimation. "Come at sunset and celebrate your victories, my warriors!" With his will stated, the Jarl turned and began to make his way back to the great dwarven tower, the Iron-arm trailing behind him with deceptively slow and ponderously wide steps. Many of the other Huskarl followed - one corpulently fat one with a great flail slung over his shoulder following Halfi as the Vikti scurried after the Jarl, trying to keep pace with the tall Norscan and whisper in his ear.

Maria turned her strange eye to Halfi as he moved away, and her brow crinkled in confusion. The waif shuffled ever so slightly to stand between Groktur and Morgul as if taking the shaman's word that the beasts would protect her.

"Is he not supposed to speak for these Gods you told me of? There are many who carry their blessings more strongly than he. I read a book once about a man who claimed to be able to cure all maladies for a price. He would brew some vile and expensive tincture and sell it to the rich and powerful. By the time they realized it did not work, he was long gone." Maria said at length, still frowning. "He is a liar and it is his words that could do more harm than the paltry magic at his fingertips."

As was customary after such a greeting, the crews were given time to attend their own business. To see families. To check on the status of their homes and thralls or even to rendevous with half-forgotten lovers. Tradition in the Hold of the Jarl was emphatic that this period of reunion was honoured - it held that business with the Jarl would come after this period.

Knowing Aemon, it was very likely he would take an interest in hearing from each of the crew on the Red Song. There was something the Jarl liked about the novelty of such a foreign ship. Which would be distinctly enhanced once Bodhi had spoken of the speed and maneuverability of the caravel and of Otto's skill as a shipmaster. It may not endear him to the other reaver-captains, but it would perhaps put him in as much esteem as they.

For the majority of the crew, they went off to visit family and friends with a promise to return to the Jarl's hold for the festivities at sunset. For many - if not all - the reavers who had sailed on the Red Song, this had been their first season raiding and their families would be excited to hear their tales. Egil knew from his night with Sigrun that her father was a blacksmith who worked in a small forge on the west side of the vale and her mother was one of the Jarl's Huskarl. Even had a little brother who she was excited to give a gift from her first battle - a short-bladed sword taken from an Imperial crossbowman from their first raid.

Hygd had no family and no ties to Winterscorn Hold, but was drawn as if in a trance towards the dark woods that lurked on the eastern edge of the vale. The woods that held the Frostgrave Herd. As Larus watched her wandering away, he was sure he saw two tall, lithe shadows in formless black cloaks slipping after her. With almost belated realization, the Breathstealer recognized them as two of the skilled hunters that had come on the Corsair fleet that was wrecked. They were called...Shades...if Larus remembered correctly.

For Nicoli, who had suddenly been at the center of attention, it was all the more stark when Bodhi clapped him on the shoulder once more with that grin of hers. "Come, Fly Lord. I will show you to your new home if you wish." The reaver-captain shouted a few choice words to the rest of her crews, before stalking off towards a longhouse bearing a snarling wolf motif that sat on a ridge overlooking the docks, though well beneath the high seat of the dwarven watchtower.

Many of the others, like Gunnar and Hrodgar and Herger were helping unload the Red Song and the other longboats as they had settled in to find their berth. Others had already left, and the crowds were dispersing.

There was several hours before sunset still - the dawning of autumn beginning to lengthen the nights.

Spoiler: OOC

Show

You've got about six or seven hours before the festivities at the Hold. You can pretty much get up to whatever you want or need. With the exception of approaching the Jarl for business. Not until the festivities.

Again, I am infinitely sorry for the absence. I am feeling significantly better and hope that I can renew the stumbled momentum.

Thanks for your patience and your continued interest!

[Shadowflick]

Nicoli, still on his knee's and trying to get his bearings, wasnt ready for Bohdi to come drag him up to face the Norscan, his stomach still reeling and tumbling..It was only natural for his cheeks to fill, and for him to bend over, vomiting out the lunch he had just eaten on the boat on the docks. A variety of colors from the various foods marking the floor, some of the flies swooping down to eat. "Ooof....boats"

He stands straight now, surprised as the flies buzz louder than usually clouding the sky around him, a few victorious and proud whispers in his ears "Lord of flies? Hmm, Title could fit. But, Man's name Is Nicoli Oleg. Former Streltsi of Kislev. Now...Uhh..,Well, Member of crew. Flies whispered for me to go north, And Nicoli did. Why? Not sure. Perhaps purpose will be found here, no?"" Turniong to look to the crowd Nicoli was slightly off-put. In Kislev people usually didnt pay as much attention to him. He stood guard, or he fought, being celebrated was foreign to him

Nicoli was more prepared this time for Bodhi, not getting knocked off balance as he looked to the woman and noded "Aye. Perhaps One could find a nice calm place as to not feel the sickness of the waves no?"

[Morovir]

Leaving the girl with Morgul, Groktur heads into the forest, his ungors following behind. After a while, following twisting paths that only he seemed to be able to see, he arrives in a clearing, empty save for the edifice at its centre - the herdstone of the Frostgrave Herd. He abases himself before the monolithic construction, gesturing for the ungors to do the same, and calls out into the darkness:

"Groktur returns, O Chieftain! He brings fresh warriors for the warherd!"

He remains in his position as he waits for his herdmates to make themselves known.

[DrK]

Morgul

At Maria's words Morgul ruffles her hair gently with his upper right arm, the two lower right arms gently adjusting her cloak whilst he clutches the braystaff in his left hands. Narrowing his eyes he concentrates on the shuffling seer seeking the witch sight from the Gods.

Spoiler: Witch sight

Show

Magic sense (1d100)[21] TN 43

Eyes narrowing he looks to Bodhi as she marches off into the settlement with Nicoli in tow. As the rest of the crew scatters he also watches as Groktur and the ungors follow Hygd towards the woods where the other beast tribe dares to dwell. Slowly shaking his head he ponders on what to do next before offering a hand to Maria and slowly walking down into the settlement, a general threatening mien surrounding him as he grunts and snorts at anyone coming close to him or anyone approaching her.

Spoiler: Intimidate

Show

Intimidate (1d100)[42] TN 60

Heading through the town he ambles towards the druchii settlement heading slowly towards he thought he may find the dark elf sorceress in Winterscorn. Finding the first of the slender elves he snarls a "Where witch. Morgul would speak with her."

[Haval]

Egil is not sure if Nicoli is important enough to deserve this kind of treatment. On the other hand he would be the first to admit that he doesn't always understand the ways of the Gods, the Crow Father especially. He is largely indifferent to any politics to the extent that he notices it at all. As far as he can tell Halfi often looks like that.

Egil's original family is far away and he has no home as such to return to here. When in port he'll sleep in tavern common rooms or at the Jarl's heath when necessary. Part of him would go with Sigrun to share in her homecoming and to meet her fearsome mother, but he doesn't want to detract from her achievement.

Instead he will help unload the ship before slipping away into the town. The news of a horde gathering in the Wastes meant that they were living in interesting times, and he wanted to see if news of it had already reached here. How would Aemon choose to act?

Spoiler: ooc

Show

Gossip rolls on recent news on the Horde, although Egil is not good at this

vs. Fel 29/2
(1d100)[35]

And Aemon
(1d100)[61]

[neriractor]

10th Vorgenheim

Bjorni stood apalled for a moment nary a year had passed since he came here and the place already seeked to tear itself apart, history didn't look kindly upon this power plays, and the vitki clearly didn't either, he'll likely have to pick a horse eventualy but not today.

He approached nicoli before Bodhi dragged him along, quickly getting a few words through the buzzing of the agitated flies and Bodhi's impatient gaze "pass through my home when you are done with Bodhi, and perhaps you will"

not seeing any signal from his brother the skald started to get worried. Barely exchanging a few words with the people receiving them before going to the ship, he glared at the shaman, unsure of how he'll take separation from the girl, his doubts remained unanswered, as he came out of the ship with the chained thralls in tow he found the beastmen gone, and with a few choice curses at the void he decided against following the footprints in the snow, heading home instead to see why his brother didn't receive him.

Spoiler: OOC

Show

gossip(just any news in the town): (1d100)[52] TN 47

[rax]

On the Sea....

Larus

Hygd had peered up at Larus with wide eyes, pupils blown and cheeks flushed as if she had just ran the long road from Winterscorn Hold to the mountain passes that led inland and offered a natural form of protection for the vale.

"Those who scorn the Winter are of my body and blood. But my flesh does not call it home." Hygd muttered softly, eyes finally shifting back to watching the seething, vast ocean stretching out before the Red Song. "You who steals the breath from the living? You are tethered to your body and blood. Your flesh has a home. My flesh is transitory. One day...one day...I will find home..."

Strangeways was an apt name for the Sorceress. Larus had interacted with the bray-shaman, and even he was not prone to such fits of madness, but all in the North saw how magic could...change people. Was the Raven God not the God of Magic and Change?

"You speak in riddles, Hygd Strangeways, though I suppose that is the way of sorcerors, no?" Lárus laughs coldly. "If one is not at home in one's own flesh, then where? You talk as if you expect a transformation. Is that your fate - to shed your flesh as a serpent sheds its skin? And what then - the only men I have ever seen separated from their flesh are all dead - woken from the dream and passed into the realm of our ancestors. Is that what you long for?"

10th Vorgenheim

Hygd had no family and no ties to Winterscorn Hold, but was drawn as if in a trance towards the dark woods that lurked on the eastern edge of the vale. The woods that held the Frostgrave Herd. As Larus watched her wandering away, he was sure he saw two tall, lithe shadows in formless black cloaks slipping after her. With almost belated realization, the Breathstealer recognized them as two of the skilled hunters that had come on the Corsair fleet that was wrecked. They were called...Shades...if Larus remembered correctly.

Lárus listened attentively to Bodhi's boasts, a tight smile frozen on his features as thoughts whirled through his mind. You are bold and strong, Ymirsdotter. Are you the captain that will bring us inside the tower to deliver our vengeance? Or are you a rival in disguise? Bitterstride is ours to slay. The killing blow must be ours. And he must know why we are taking his life.

As the Jarl responded and the crowds began to thin, Lárus watched Hygd make her way into the woods. He thought briefly of following her, but when the Shades appeared he thought better on it. The woods are cruel, dark and deep, and so are they. We will speak again, sorceress - if you return from their encampment in one piece.

With a sigh, he shouldered his weapons and plunder, and slowly made his way to the small wooden fishing shack he shared with his twin sister - the whaler Lilja. "Sister!" he calls out as he pushes open the door. "Are you within? I come bearing gifts!" he chuckles.

Spoiler: OOC @Erulasto

Show

It's up to you whether you want to pop in an play the part of Lilja. I have no immediate plots or plans that involve her beyond a bit of homecoming chit-chat and gifting her with some of Lárus' spare armour and weapons - useful for when the siblings need to start killing. If not, I'll just say that she's at sea.

[Erulasto]

Reavers of the Red Song


Larus

“Death?” Hygd asked, head lolling to the side with a manic grin splitting her face. “Death comes for all in time. But I do not seek it, Breathstealer. It will find me when the Gods will it and not before.”

The sorceress rises from her spot beneath the mast on unsteady feet.

“One needs no flesh in the Realms of the Gods.” Hygd said, cackling madly.

---

“Larus!”

By the time the door had opened and Larus was stepping inside, he felt a sudden impact in his gut. It was a long, bleached femur with a large bundle of cloth tethered to the larger end. Lilja stood there, hefting the makeshift club over her shoulder with a wide grin.

“You are getting slow, brother! Did your time at sea and reaving the men of the south not sharpen your skills?” It was as it always had been. Lilja took every opportunity to tease her twin, even as she stepped to the small cooking fire and poured some ale from a clay pitcher into two carved horn tankards and offered one to Larus.

“Welcome home! What did you bring me?” She said, eyes twinkling with mischief.


Bjorni

Word on his brothers whereabouts was relatively easy to find, as the Skald made his way through Winterscorn Hold towards his home – thralls in tow. By the time he had arrived at his residence, he had heard from no less than a dozen freeholders and bondsmen that he had accompanied a small group of hunters beyond the vale and into the deep, snowy plains that cut through the center of the mountains. There had been mammoth sightings, and the Jarl had commanded that several be slain and harvested to help bolster the larders of the hold before winter had settled in with its full fury.

The Skald’s residence well well-maintained, and as he approached, an older man with a bald scalp and neatly trimmed beard stepped forward in heavy woolen robes.

“Welcome back, master.” The man – Rubrik – said. He had naturally gravitated towards the majordomo of Bjorni’s estate, organizing the other thralls and their duties. He was very good at his job.

He glanced with pinched eyes at the new thralls that Bjorni had brought with a smile.

“New flesh for the fold, my lord?”


Groktur

The forest was deep and dark, with thick canopies overhead that shrouded the twisting pathways beneath in shadow. It was a wicked place, and Groktur could taste fresh blood on the wind as he led the Ungors towards the great Herdstone that sat in the forest in the shadow of the mountains at its edge.

The Ungors followed Groktur’s orders, prostrating themselves before the monolithic edifice. It was tall – a singular spar of jutting stone that rose dozens of feet high. The smooth sides of the stone were painted in blood – old and fresh alike – and at its base was a mountain of bones and old scraps of weapons and armour.

It wasn’t long after the Caprigor had called out that he caught sight of the monstrous form of the Wargor of the Frostgrave Herd slipping from the shadows beyond the Herdstone. He was accompanied by a half-dozen Bestigor and several snarling Tuskgors.

Khoros the Breaker lumbered across the clearing, a deep growl rumbling in his bared chest. A rack of four horns rose from his wolfish head, and one arm had split into a trio of long, suckered tentacles while his other clutched a long-hafted battle axe.

“Groktur!” Khoros bellowed. “I see you and your offerings for the Warherd! The Gods smile upon us!”


Egil

It appeared that no one had any knowledge of a horde of Chaos being risen in the East. Unless they were all daft, or Egil had simply asked the wrong freeholders, it was likely that no herald of this Astergoth had arrived in Winterscorn Hold as of yet.

Fortunately, that meant it was very possible that Egil would be able to witness Aemon’s reaction to such thing first-hand.

As he was helping unload the ship, Egil caught sight of an unusually small longship cresting the entrance to the large cove where the Red Song sat in its berth. The longship was carrying a number of armed men, but they were not flying any banners that Egil had seen around the Jarl’s hold.

Whomever these were, they were not from around here.

Spoiler: OOC

Show

Feel free to make a routine Common Knowledge (Norsca), or Academic Knowledge (Heraldry) test to recognize the banners on the longship.

Otto

Despite the praise he knew was coming his way, professional pride ensured that Otto was more likely to oversee the unloading, and maintenance of the Red Song before enjoying himself in the Hold itself.

As he was overseeing the last dregs of the process, he caught Egil staring out across the cove. As his eyes followed, he saw a strange longship approaching bearing banners he did not recognize.


Nicoli

Bodhi led Nicoli to the cluster of longhouses that had been built against one another, directly in the shadow of the great white watchtower itself. Bodhi, it seemed, had intended for the Kislevite to take residence in one of the spare rooms in her own residence.

Showing him to a room, Nicoli saw it was a simple affair. A bed piled with furs and wool blankets, a simple carved wooden chair and a small table that held a large copper bowl of fresh water. Next to it was a wooden tankard and a large pewter pitcher of ale.

“This will be your home for now, Kislevite.” Bodhi said, gesturing about. “If you need anything, my servants will ensure you are taken care of. You may come and go as you please.”


Morgul

The winds of Magic were remarkably weak around Halfi. Much weaker than the Bray-Shaman had ever seen before. He knew that Halfi was, at least before his arrival, one of the most potent practicioners of dark magic in the Jarls service. What had happened to him to weaken him so?

As Morgul led Maria through the settlement, he caught a glimpse of frustration from Bjorni. It was very likely that the Skald took some offense to the Shaman’s seemingly coopting of his thrall. Perhaps it would be best to speak to the Skald and settle the matter before it became a cancerous divide between them.

Few were willing to approach the Bray-Shaman, even to show interest in the young waifish girl whose still-uncovered eye spoke of blessings from the Gods themselves, though it did draw a significant number of curious glances.

The small camp that the Druchii had set up was composed mostly of dark pavanes and pavilion-style tents situated around a stone longhouse that had been granted to them by the Jarl himself.

As they approached, two tall and lithe Dark Elves stepped forward to meet him. They were clad in dark hauberks of finely scaled armour, and tall spined helms. Tall, ornate shields were held in hand while the other gripped the magnificent hafts of exquisitely crafted spears.

When Morgul spoke of his desire to speak to Sehanith, the two Darkspears turned and allowed the bray-shaman and Maria to enter.

“The central building, Beastman.” One said in the Dark Tongue, a lilting and beautifully cold accent tinting it.

As they approached the building, he felt Maria clutch at his hand tighter as her eyes widened.

“The colours are all tangled here. So…so much black….” She muttered softly to Morgul.

He could feel his fur standing on end from the abundant magical energies swirling about this place. It seemed that Sehanith may have been working some magic of her own at that very moment.

[Shadowflick]

Nicoli looks about the room, nodding to the seemingly comfortable living. He walks into it, taking a few steps around he room. He takes teh copper bowl of water and takes a drink

"Odd. You show Nicoli comfort in hearth. Why? You make show of bringing Kislevite to Winterscorn to. Ohers bear mark's of chaos. Other Kislivites become slaves. So. What does bohdi ave to gain? And more Importatnly...What should Nicoli do for you? Motives may be centered on self, but..Bohdi save Nicoli life. What may I do to return favor?"

[rax]

“Larus!”

By the time the door had opened and Larus was stepping inside, he felt a sudden impact in his gut. It was a long, bleached femur with a large bundle of cloth tethered to the larger end. Lilja stood there, hefting the makeshift club over her shoulder with a wide grin.

“You are getting slow, brother! Did your time at sea and reaving the men of the south not sharpen your skills?” It was as it always had been. Lilja took every opportunity to tease her twin, even as she stepped to the small cooking fire and poured some ale from a clay pitcher into two carved horn tankards and offered one to Larus.

“Welcome home! What did you bring me?” She said, eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Only what every girl in Winterscorn Hold could wish for," Lárus replies with a wide grin. "Behold! Your choice of fine mail shirts, with or without sleeves. And five - yes, five - throwing axes! All yours for the taking!" He chuckles, but is soon serious again. "You should take them, sister. I would see you well protected when the killing time is upon us."

"I also brought this," he continues, laying his plundered arquebus on the table. "It is a finicky thing, but it shoots hard. Even Ulf was impressed enough to take one for himself, for all that he loves his bow. And we took many more from the last village we raided. I'm thinking that if some of us learn to use them - you, me and Egill perhaps - then we can use them to more easily hold off the Jarl's huskarls, should it come to that."

"But enough of such talk. Tell me, how have you fared? And how are our brothers doing?"

Spoiler: OOC

Show

The brothers, of course, are Falkí (berserker), Hrafn (mercenary), and Egill (hunter).

[Morovir]

Remaining in his genuflection, Groktur replies to the Wargor:

"Aye, Great Breaker, they do. Good hunting with Winterscorn Tribe, take many scalps for the Pantheon. Then on to city of Dark Prince, recruit new blood, untouched by the Gods, to fight for Warherd. Now return to chieftain, as loyal gor."

[DrK]

Morgul

The five armed muscular brute looks at the small graceful elf before walking into the swirling clouds of darkness surrounding the hut. He ducks in, opening himself up to the powers and holding the Winds of Chaos close. Dragging the young girl with him he whispers in a bruff voice "Let me know what you see little one." Popping into the hut he looks towrads the sorceress in the hut. Speaking up he bellows a little louder.

"Sorceress. I would speak with you. I met one of your kin who gifted me these. He waves his arms. "The half man is weak. You are strong. What cost to Morgul for sorceress to teach me. "

[Haval]

'Who in the hells is that?' Egil will watch the small ship with interest.

Spoiler: ooc

Show

Common Lore (Norsca) test rolled earlier in ooc

[neriractor]

mamooths, not elk, megaloceros, walrus... mamooths, the boy chose to go hunting the most dangerous prey on land right before his absence came to an end. It was as if Dunnir wanted their family to end.

He spend the whole way homeshaking his head in disbelief, every freeholder he asked just confirming it hadn't been mistaken information.

Bjorni smiled at the elder receiving him "is good to be back", he exchanged a quick word in reikspiel with Maria's mother telling her the man's name and to listen to his order's second only to the greensong family (and guests of course).

He waved at rubrik to follow him deeper into the house, heading for his quarters as he answered and gave orders "yes, I figured a few more hands wouldn't do this house wrong, I picked up the woman on an imperial village, no talent that I know of, the dark ones can woodcraft and seam, and for what I paid they better be damn good at it" he laughed a a bit at his own joke, shaking off the weariness about his brother.

"try and get them up to speed, and me for that matter, all the news I've heard are about my brother going off to get trampled by a mamooth" he glared for a moment at Rubrik, before sighing he really couldn't blame the thrall for it, if his brother wanted to leave he couldn't stop him, as apparently the skald also couldn't "for now just send someone to help me off my armor. and put two beds in whatever room you give empire woman, I have another one on the way." with that he entered his private quarters scattering the new belongings around while he waited for whatever thrall Rubrik would send.

Spoiler: OOC

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never really asked if the foreigners talked norscan or even reikspiel

[Erulasto]

Reavers of the Red Song


Egil and Otto

The banner displayed on the approaching longship was a bright, bloody red bearing the profile of a great bear’s roaring head. Egil had seen the banner once or twice, usually at the start of summer when the few nearby tribes that were friendly with Aemon sent representatives to trade.

This particular banner was of a small tribe located to the West of Winterscorn Hold – the Red Bear tribe. They were much smaller than the Winterscorn, but their own Jarl – a grizzled veteran of many campaigns – was one of the more amiable to Aemon.

As the longship grew closer, Egil could see that it was lilting unsteadily to one side – and there were dozens of arrows jutting haphazardly from the hull, which was even blackened from fire in some places.

The warriors on board were haggard and weary, and a significant number of them appeared to be wounded.

Standing on the ornate grizzly motif on the prow, one hand gripping a rope for support, was a young woman with long black hair that fluttered lose about her shoulders. A pale cheek was marred by a thin cut, and the mail shirt she wore was barely visible from beneath a heavy grey cloak that bore a mantle of bear fur across her shoulders.

Others had begun to gather on the docks, watching as the longship approached. The mutterings from the onlookers seemed to indicate that the young woman on the prow of the ship was recognized by at least some.

She was Astrid, the only daughter of Jarl Mjorni of the Red Bear Tribe.


Morgul

The inside of the hut was filled with furniture and trappings that Morgul immediately recognized as having been salvaged from the Corsair fleet that Sehanith had been a part of. They were of exquisite Druchii craftsmanship. In the center of the hut, the furniture had been pushed aside as far as it could go, opening up a wide swath of space for Sehanith to work. She was kneeling upon the cold, stone floor surrounded by an extravagantly ornate circle of power that glowed with pale purple light.

Shyish, the Purple Wind, was flowing through the room, leeching both heat and colour from the rituals that the Sorceress was finishing. A small pile of bleached skulls sat before her, the foreheads of each dabbed with runes and sigils painted in the Sorceresses own blood.

Maria gasped in awe as she was led in by Morgul, eyes blown wide as she stared at the trailing end of Sehanith’s spell.

“A beast comes to prostrate itself at my feet?” The silken voice of Sehanith rises, though she does not turn to face the bray-shaman. Hair white as the snows and packed ice of the cove in winter spilled disheveled and wild across her bare shoulders. Sehanith did not carry herself with the lasciviousness that Paledawn had. But Morgul could appreciate the cold, lean beauty that all Druchii seemed to possess.

“You wish to learn of Dhar and Shyish, Shaman?” Sehanith said, finally rising from her kneeling position in the center of the circle. As she turned to face Morgul and Maria, she stepped almost daintily across the lines of the circle to face the towering form of the Bray-Shaman.

“And what do we have here?” She said, pale eyes turning to look upon Maria with a sly smile.


Groktur

“Blood the Ungors!” Came a shout from one of the Bestigors named Ulkar. The shout was taken up by all the other Bestigors who had accompanied the Wargor to the Herdstone.

As would be customary, the expectation that the Ungors would find prey to bring before the Herdstone and offer it as a tribute to the Frostgrave and the Dark Gods themselves. Groktur had seen this done many times in the past – and had to do it himself at one point.

It was entirely arbitrary. Any prey would do, though more prestige in the Herd would come with more dangerous prey. Snow Tigers, Mammoths and other denizens would be seen as appropriate. Even the warriors of the furless men would be acceptable. While the Ungors would never rise in status to the level that Groktur could, if they felled a sufficient foe, they would at least earn some respect.

“Groktur! You lead Ungor. Find prey and break it! Bring here for glory of the Gods and of the Breaker!” Khosros bellowed.


Larus



Nicoli

“Life is a constant struggle for greatness, Kislevite.” Bodhi said, matter-of-factly, still giving him her signature wolfish grin. “Our Gods…your God…expects us to struggle and grow stronger through conflict. Only then can we prove our worthiness. Reaving along the coast is all well and good, but I have seen what may come from adapting to new struggles. Between the Red Song and you?”

Bodhi laughed harshly, slapping Nicoli on the shoulder once more. “The Shipmaster and his Red Song leading a fleet. The ’Lord of Flies’ standing with our forces. Egil and Larus leading the charge – they command the respect of the reavers, whether they have come to realize it or not. This crew is destined for greatness….and truly, Kislevite, if I did not put a claim on you, then the Vikti would have.”

She scoffs. “And all that would have accomplished was to get you killed before you get a chance to see what the Crow Father has planned for you.”


Larus

Lilja immediately tugged one of the mailed shirts from Larus and pulled it over her head with a grin of her own.

“You will make a fine husband for some lucky woman one day, brother!” She said as she settled into the mail shirt, and tightened some leather straps to help keep it fitted a bit better to her body. While the throwing axes were eyed, Larus’ sister seemed much more entranced with the rifle that Larus had brought.

“You have the weapons of the Empire?!” She asked, almost in awe. While many Norscans shunned the use of missile weapons, even the greatest dullards among them could appreciate the damage that the Imperial gunners could inflict with concentrated barrages of fire. “ These can rip through even the armour of…say…Thurim!”

Thurim Iron-arm likely was the greatest threat to Larus’ dreams of fulfilling the Oath.

Lilja waved a hand almost dismissively as she settled onto a wooden bench near the table, and poured some ale.

“I fare as well as ever. We caught a great beast in the sea not long ago. It’s being harvested on the other side of the Jarl’s tower. You’ll likely be seeing some of the bones making the rounds soon, and we’ll have enough rendered fat from the beast to keep the fires going for two winters. Egill and Falki are out with a number of other warriors trying to bring in a Mammoth or two from a herd that was migrating past the vale not too long ago. Hrafn took a job about three weeks past? He was helping escort a trade caravan of goods through the southern passes. There was one of the Dark stunties heading the caravan up. Offered a dozen warriors coin to help keep his goods safe.”

Lilja shrugged, taking a deep sip from the ale. “There is a lot of unrest south of the vale these days, brother. The Jarl will need to maintain an iron-grip or show his weakness to those who are looking for soft bellies to gut.”



Bjorni

Rubrik was swift to accomplish the tasks that Bjorni had given, with his usual calm efficiency, but before he set off to do them, he offered the Skald a gentle, if a bit wry, smile.

“I would not worry about the young master, my lord. He was one of many that went. Some of the brothers of the warrior they call the Breathstealer went with him, as well as a number of the Jarl’s more experienced hunters. The Gods willing, he will return to bring more glory upon your household.”

It didn’t take long for one of his thralls to enter, eyes downcast and soft-spoken as the curvier woman of Bretonnian descent began to help Bjorni remove his armour.

He was half-done, when there had been a soft knock on his door and Rubrik cleared his throat gently beyond the door.

“My lord?” Rubrik said. “My apologies for disturbing you. You have a visitor. The Jarl’s Vikti, Halfi Godsworn.”

Spoiler: OOC

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Arabyan and Reikspiel. Fortunately, Rubrik speaks Reikspiel, Breton, Norscan, and Kurgan. He’s quite proficient with languages.