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

[MrAbdiel]

You grab the hammer, and pivot to get away from this dragon and back to your thralls-

But your legs do not obey. You feel a flash of pain in your calves and invading, awful cold; looking down and expecting to see them frozen to the floor - but the rebellion, it seems, is within your mind. Your feet will not move, and neither with your knuckles uncurl from the haft of the hammer that you pried from the dead grip of the ogre.

"You killed my sentinel."

Behind you, one draconic blue eye, larger than your whole head, squints at you half-lidded and intent. The magnificent beast has not risen from its sleeping posture; but it has awoken... not when you killed the ogre, but when you claimed the hammer.

"Tell me why."

[bramblefoot]

jorunn coolly says "that hammer looks mighty fine, im sure it hasnt been used in real battle in a while"

if given the opportunity, he'll give the dragon a story to try to placate it

performer (storyteller) roll
(1d100)[15]

[MrAbdiel]

It's been a long time since you stumbled into a situation where martial power had nothing to offer you. Your skills beyond killing are limited - it is what you trained for all your life, and it is the undisputed king of career moves. But in the face of such a titanic creature, it is deeply insufficient. Only a handful of legendary warriors have slain dragons in personal combat - none in memory more recent than myth.

...But you do know legends, and warriors, and myths.

The dragon asked why you slew his champion; and so you tell him using the other gift you have - the ability to present a story. You tell a tale of a young warrior, doubted and dishonoured by his people, who sailed to far shores seeking glory only to return home in wreck and ruin, striving to claw together enough debris of life to rise and start again; perhaps, for vengeance... perhaps, just to live. Your story ends with the warrior and his thralls making their way up a mountain, slaying a pack of rambunctious beastmen and finally laying low an ogre champion lurking in a dragon's cave... content, then, to take his prize and leave the dragon be.

The dragon listens; blinking the lazy lid of that eye every two minutes, or so. When you have finished, you are gratified to find you are not snapped up and eaten. You are addressed again.

"A fine story; one that would suffer to end early. Now harken ye; here is another story:

There were once two ogre brothers named, named Uruk and Gartak Firebelly. They were Maneaters - all ogres eat flesh, but the Maneaters are a caste of travellers and discoverers. And so they travelled far, killing and learning and eating, until they wound up at in a cave of a mountain in far Norsca, so many miles from their home. In that cave they met an ancient champion - a human of the Kurgan tribe, strangely in this place. He held a hammer made from a dragon's tooth. With it, he guarded the dragon's sleep in that cave - in exchange, the hammer's magic eliminated his need to eat; and age would not diminish him, as his life was fed from the dragon. But the Firebelly brothers knew this not; and they saw only a relic to steal - just as the Kurgan Arsak Helspike had, a hundred years prior. So they fought the Kurgan and slew him; and peeled his body out of his armor and ate his cold flesh. And then Uruk took up the hammer, and in that moment learned its nature. Gartak could leave; but Uruk could not. But the hammer's power could slake a man's hunger - an ogre's hunger is a curse, borne upon him by an evil god, and that could not be set aside. So Gartak sought to help his brother, who could not leave the cave, now burdened with the mystic duty of the sentinel. He harried and bullied local beasts to gather offerings and take them to the cave for his brother to eat, lest the dragon be roused and lay waste to their herdstone - a promise the dragon had not made, but the beasts were ready to believe. And for a short time, this worked; and loyal Gartak kept his brother alive by forcing beasts to bring slaves to eat. But the weather grew worse, and blizzards made hunting and slaving hard; and Gartak visited his brother with a lone rabbit he had managed to catch on a lean day while the beasts had failed in their hunting, intending to split it with him. But Uruk, maddened with hunger and despair, had grown melancholy, and he killed his brother and at the rabbit and at his brother also; then dwelt is miserable solitude as the beasts came less and less often, growing wary and suspicious of this threat now the enforcer was gone. And on a final day, the beasts did not come at all - but a new warrior, a bear-blooded killer with white hair, came, and fell upon Uruk in his sleep, and killed him, and claimed the hammer as his own... only to find like Uruk Firebelly and Arsak Helspike and Lodmar Ironshield and Orfus Ironsheild and Helga Ironshield and Tourmas Silverstar and Ladimore Silverstar before him, the dragon-tooth hammer was as much prison as it was prize."

Now you understand. The hammer is a cursed thing; a magical weapon made for or by this dragon to force a mortal sentinel to stand guard while he sleeps for ages. And now it's in your hand. Needless to say, you cannot remain like this. Perhaps you can bargain with the dragon - offer to find it another sentinel. That may require leaving someone, or something, of value behind as bond. One you're out of here, you could honor that word, or betray it, or keep going and never come back.

But you'd have to make the pitch, first.

[bramblefoot]

"what would it take for me to find you an enforcer?" jorunn replies cautiously, eyeing the beast. he keeps his mind shielded as best he can, to not allow any undue thoughts to get out, in case the dragon is a mind reader

[MrAbdiel]

"You have found me one. You are here, are you not? If you say 'I will find another' and go, you will leave and not return - and if I threaten to hunt you for such treachery, you will guess that I am a lazy creature, full of slumber, and be right. Why should I trust you? On which gods will you swear?"

[bramblefoot]

jorunn had never broken an oath before, but being a sentinel to some wyrm for his days sounds less than appealing. "i will swear on the chained maiden that i will find you an enforcer" he says with nary a stutter or waver in his speech

[MrAbdiel]

The dragon's nostril flares. Its massive eye narrows.

"...Do this, warrior; do this, lest your god pour suffering on you. Do this, faithful to your word, and more than the satisfaction of right action may be yours."

You hear ice cracking as the behemoth bulk of the beast shifts slightly. One of his grand leather wings shifts slightly - and you see it is sleeping on a heap of silver and gold coin... but of interest on that pile, apparently the dragon's offer, is a thick steel breastplate, which might have once been worn by a Kurgan champion - but then it vanishes from your sight as the wing settles again.

It closes its eye, and looks to be working back into sleep - and the rigidity of your grip slackens all of a sudden, the hammer clattering to the ground from your numb fingers. Once it is clear of your hand, your feet obey you again; and you tumble to the ground as your spasming calves once again recognize your authority. You are clear to leave, the cursed hammer no longer forcing your obedience; the dragon apparently deciding to add greed to the divine oath to compel you to action.

Back at the entrance to the cave, Ortel and Marlene are holding themselves, crowded into a corner with the mangy wolf between them lending its warmth. They look over you, splattered in crystalized ogre blood; but neither demands to know what has taken place. You have to move quickly to get down the slope to the rest of your thralls before nightfall; where Byjan does dare to ask about what has taken place, and what is to happen next.

"The woman, Thrud, is recovering slowly; but she needs warmth and care from a place like Zagdhelm, if she is to live. But you have returned - and the beastmen are slain. Perhaps that will be enough, for the dark dwarf?"

Spoiler: OOC: And now...

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Arnuuk wanted most that you would stop the beastmen attacks - you've done that. He wanted secondarilly that you could gather intel about why they were attacking - you've done that too. The dragon has made you swear by a minor goddess, with the promise of a breastplate of reward, that you will find someone else to be its champion - the way you do this was not specified, but it will involve someone atleast combat capable picking up the dragon-tooth hammer. You may choose to ignore this promise, if you are willing to risk whatever might come from that!

[bramblefoot]

"should be" jorunn replies, lost in thought. "back to zagdhelm" he says.

he's not confiding to anyone save arnuuk about that giant ass wyrm up in the hills

[MrAbdiel]

It's a long walk back to Zadghelm - but atleast one with less thread, since you've culled the nearby beastmen; and the frost and snow do not decide to overly punish you. When you and your thralls are back in the town, you find that the Thrall Market is mostly packed up; sales have been made, ' goods' led away. A handful of vendors remain in these late days; and one of them is the small contingent of Dwarves. Arnuuk grins an unpleasant grin, and throws up his arms at your return; a gesture that seems almost to mock the idea of good friends, as much as to emulate it. Byjan and your thralls crowd to an outdoor bonfire, and see to some mercy for the rescued freeholder. This affords you a private-enough moment to speak with the dwarven vendor.

"You have returned, warrior! And with a great beast skull in your possession. A good hunt, I take it?"

[bramblefoot]

"a good hunt" jorunn says. he lowers his voice, saying "the beastmen were taking captives up the mountain to feed an ogre." he continues with. "i saw a wyrm, big as can be. apparently the ogre was its sentinel, with a big hammer" he does not elaborate on how he escaped the wyrm, unless arnuuk asks, and then he's evasive as best he can be

he looks over the oddments that arnuuk has, collecting his blade, by the steel and collecting a small spyglass with purple lenses and carved runes. when he puts his eye to the glass, a small imp is inside, and gives him better zoom and identification purposes

he'll thank the dwarf for his time, and meet up with his thralls.

Spoiler: ooc

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if you have any hooks, now is the time to hit me

[MrAbdiel]

Arnuuk is surprised by your report - but definitely intrigued to learn that the mountain holds a dragon. A dragon whose primary defender is now dead.

"An interesting discovery, warrior. There have long been rumors of old Khazanaak The Blue in the mountains; but it had been thought he had fled to some other ice floe hundreds of years prior. This is good to know - and you have earned your reward..." He presents you with the blade you selected - and with some negotiation, the additional reward of the Devil-Spy trinket. He's also good enough to explain to you what your spoils infact do!

When you return to your thralls, they are recovering around a fire while Thrud has been taken into the hospitality of the owner of the longhouse; the same who took you in, when you were fished out of the snow in a similar condition. She will be in recovery for some time; and likely receive local aid restoring her home.

Byjan looks over your spoils breifly with his one good eye, before striking up a conversation with you.

"...Joruun... What happens, now? Are we going west, to Skjold, to find out why there has been no vengeance for our clan from the rest of the Bjornling tribe? Or further into Skaeling territory, to take vengeance ourselves...? Or ... do we need money first, before anything?"

It's a fair question. The blood of your people lies unavenged under the snow, crying out for reprisal - but then, those were people who refused to name you, and did not respect you. What do you owe them? The Skaeling are a powerful tribe - a small group could perhaps raid and plunder from their edges, with obvious risks. But a little more wealth - enough to outfit yourself properly and to clothe your thralls so you do not lose them to the teeth of winter - would also be useful. That would entail looking for work the hard way - tasking around to see if anyone needs a job done, probably a dangerous one, for decent recompense. Otherwise, you could try to steal a ship and make for another tribe's port, hoping to sell it there for a great prize of silver.

But on top of this decision, Byjan is certainly beginning to act as if you are partners, and as if he did not have a thrall-brand on him. So far you've been able to operate in this vague 'pretend to be my thrall' space; but it will not last. Soon you will either have to declare him a free man - a process that will require the surgical removal of the brand on his skin, and then you will have to see how this changes the micropolitics between your remaining thralls -... or you will have to put him in his place, forever cementing the nature of your friendship having changed to one of master and servant.

Spoiler: Loot!

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I like the little imp-telescope. But if there's a non-specified reward on the table, feel free to pitch it to me in the OOC before we chuck it on the record - it'll save a weird rollback if it turns out not to be the kind of thing available, or conflicting with some story element not yet revealed, or something like that!

But you have the Devil-Spy, a pocket, evil-powered spyglass. And you also have a new sword...

Witherbrand is a Good Quality hand weapon (shortsword). It is a Chaos Weapon - infused with dark magic, though not a daemonic spirit. In addition to being a hand weapon it has the following qualities:

Magic Destroyer - When this weapon strikes a character with a positive Magic Characteristic, the victim must succeed on a -10% Willpower Test or lose 1 point of Magic for 1d10 hours. Effects are cumulative.

Bound Spell - Once per combat, you can invoke the spell bound into the blade as if you were casting it with a Magic Characteristic of 3. The spell bound within is Lure of Chaos (Target takes a willpower test or you decide its actions next turn). If your casting provokes the curse of Tzeentch, you endure the effects just as a mage would. This is a sophisticated action and cannot be performed during a frenzy.

[bramblefoot]

jorunn will coolly consider for a second, then answer. "money first" he says, considering his options. as much as he'd like to free byjan, the issue with the thralls would be a pickle to deal with. alternatively., he could change their friendship to one of master and servant, but he would hate to do that. he'll head to see the vikti, and show him the mark on his arm and the daemon weapon

[MrAbdiel]

The Vitki is a man of the. He is fat, which few norscans can afford to be; but he has the wild eyes in his head and the divine tokens in his dwelling; and he is left handed, which is always a sign of a wiseman. Ake, son of Brand, is just old enough to have the credibility of more life experience than someone like you, or Byjan. In short, he is no crooked old seer woman; but he'll do.

"This weapon is charged with the power of the gods. The ruiner gods - do you ken your gods, young man? There are gods of men, and there are gods who delight to destroy men. They are gods, and gods are owed fear and respect; but ware ye to rely on such powers. They break. They warp. They change." He gestures to your face - your eyes, your hair, the signs of your mutation. "You know that already. There's no daemon in this blade - it will not seek to crawl into your blood and ride you into the sea, like some blades do. But it is forged in the magic of the Dark Gods. Bane to wizards; and capable of bending a man's will with command, in combat. But having such a thing has a cost - you make yourself vulnerable to the Dark Gods, if their favor should change away from you. Consider the cost. A young man might use a weapon like this for a long time with no price paid - but there are no old men who have wielded such their whole lives, and passed them down to their sons. Consider, and weight, and be wise."

Spoiler: OOC: On Chaos Weapons...

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Chaos Weapons are distinct from Daemon Weapons. Chaos Weapons are a kind of Magic Weapon.
Where a magic weapon has certain properties, and a rune weapon has specific magical properties constrained by runes, a chaos weapon is empowered by chaos magic. Its powers are often greater, but the energy of it is corrosive to body and soul over time.

A character with a Chaos Weapon in their possession has a -10% penalty to any tests they make to resist mutation. These tests are not common, so this isn't a five alarm emergency; but it does mean if it comes up, you'll be rolling at a higher challenge; and if you plan to hang around in Norsca long term, or go north towards the Wastes (for some damn reason), you might consider putting it aside!

...But the mark on your arm seems to puzzle him. He rubs a fistful of knucklebones on your arm - bones from all kinds of creatures, human and elf and dwarf and beast - and scatters them on the table. He seems to interpret some information from the mess they leave, though you see nothing in it; and he picks one out of the heap.

"...A curse. A mark. Old magic; magic from ancient times, in an ancient place. It's a grip, Jorunn... It's..." He suddenly grabs your other arm at the wrist, his hand squeezing painfully tight causing you to jerk away. "It's a -bruise- left by an evil hand that you wriggled out of. It's pulling you back to it - it's pulling itself toward you, too. There may be sorcerers that can oppose such magics, but not I. Elven wizards, maybe. Whatever spirit or evil thing has gripped you, Jorunn, you will see it again. You ought to be ready."

Spoiler: Intrustive Thoughts

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How it had been so, you cannot say to this day. You were on the land; the ship had beached; but then it hadn't. Without a sense of motion but a mind-churning sense of displacement by forces beyond your ken, the land shot out from under your feet to the horizon and you and the ship hit the water again - and the ship, wracked from its impact with rocks now ripped away from its hull, broke in two with a thundercrack and began to sink. Beneath the freezing waves, trying not to swallow the sea, you felt something burning on your forearm - something searing in your skin, boiling the water around it. And there, beyond you, the bodies of the other mercenaries and warriors sagged and bobbed and sank in the water; torn and ripped and broken. There was Aran - his eyes flashing open as the shock of the sea struck him from his sleep into this hideous nightmare. And there, beneath, was the dead-man; his chains and stone shards which served as weapons before now serving as anchors. One skeletal arm strained out and seized Aran's ankle, and your friend - always the cheerful and light-spirited one - did not have the strength or the clarity in the moment to contest it. The revenant sank into the dark, Aran with it; and with them, all hands who sailed on that doomed ship back from cursed, cursed Albion.

Is that what was happening - a mad, magical tug of war between your desire to get away and the monster's magic to pull you closer? Is that why the ship had been dragged inexplicably back into the water in a blink of an eye - why your shield, and then your father's axe, somehow made their way back to you despite being lost? Atleast that's some kind of information - more than you had before. Even if you can't do much about it, right now.

[bramblefoot]

"thank you" jorunn says. he will walk back to his thralls, and take byjan aside. "lets get you freed" he says, taking him over to get the thrallmark removed

[MrAbdiel]

A short and painful story involving a knife, a hot iron plate, and a poultice wrap later, Byjan is once again a free man - though with no clan or lord, like you. He is ginger with his arm from the obvious pain; but freedom is a sweet enough balm.

"Thank you, Jorunn. You're a good friend. To think - if you hadn't come along, I might be anywhere. Perhaps those dwarves would have bought me, and I would be dragged to the Darklands to toil in their damn mines. I don't have much; but I owe you everything, now. I'm with you; to the end of your saga, or mine."

Byjan explains the circumstances of his manumission to the other thralls. None openly object - but then, they are thralls; they can hardly make a show of whether or not this suggests to them a possibly future in which you free them... or perhaps an unfair favouritism that they might grow to resent. As with so many things, you can only permit time to tell. With your friend in tow, you head to the warmth of the longhouse where your thralls ease their aches, and you and Byjan can contrive a way to get some more sceatta.

Spoiler: OOC:

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Give me a Gossip roll for opportunities. Have a +20, for all your thralls and friends.

[bramblefoot]

gossip roll

(1d100)[47]

[bramblefoot]

jorunn finds a merchant who needs protection on the trail to a bigger city in norsca. he pays six sceatta up front with a little haggling from liebwen, with the promise of eight more upon delivery. jorunn will take the money and buy furs for marlene and byjan

[MrAbdiel]

Liebwen has to haggle his backside off, but you end up with two sets of respectable fur clothing for Byjan, and Marlene; Liebwen and Ortel left to suffer a little longer as your promise to clothe them so comes halfway to fruition. Six sceatta for two sets of furs is almost a steal; but the trade is draining away from Zagdhelm, and merchants are trying to clear what stock they have for portable, fungible silver. The merchant, a Skaeling trader named Haggur Fodrisson, is part way through his trade cycle. He brings thralls from deeper east in Norsca, trades them for more benign goods in Zadghelm, them moves on to sell those goods off at the large town of Krejj, in the boundary lands of Skaeling and Bjornling territory. Some partner will take those goods and move them on Skjold, where they will be traded to men from the southern realms - mostly, from the Empire of the effete hammer-god of men. You have seen the effigies that other Norscans make of him before they go raiding - a weak man, fat and laden with armor painted with ochre to imitate gold. This is what the Empire is - a weak, rich realm overseen by frail gods.

Haggur's little trade operation is a single large wagon, laden down with heavy ivory and mammoth pelts in bails. It is pulled by a team of four heavy shouldered musk-oxen that he dotes on, and has named Freggi, Skeggi, Peggi and Andreggi. For a couple of days travel, Haggur feeds you and your thralls from his stock of rations as you travel west. He's talkative, when you stop; Leibwen throws himself infront of the line of fire to keep him entertained with smalltalk, but he is a well travelled fellow with a wealth of information.

"Have you been to Krejj? It's a fine town. A few hundred, there; wooden walls, and a deep lake remaining frozen most of the year. The Krejji were once a much larger clan, in older generations; as big as any other, but they were driven to the brink by the Skaeling and now their land is our land. Now they are just one clan, one tribe, one town - the Bjornlings and Skaeling just let it stand as a neutral buffer, which suits a trader just fine. Long roads and deep snow; but a few more years of this, and I'll have all the money I need; I'll take a couple of young wives, and jump on one of those huge Marienburg boats, and buy passage down to the southern realms - souther than south, to the untamed lands beyond Tilea. There, a man can make a homestead with his wives; live like a jarl in his own domain! And there is so much sun that it never snows!"

Spoiler: OOC: Information Opportunity

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Haggur seems well travelled, and positively disposed towards your band. If you want to ask him about Norscan politics and tribes, or things further beyond, you can do so. He has politely not asked your tribe - it seems not to matter to him. Otherwise, I'll move us on to the next scene.

[bramblefoot]

jorunn will ask about general politics in norsca, and also about the lands of the empire. just the basics, and other prudent information. if the man seems talkative, he'll ask about aelfric the sighted

[MrAbdiel]

The report of Norsca broadly is not unlike its typical arrangement. The tribes are fractious, and bicker. In the far east of Norsca, the Baersonling clash with the Aesling. In the middle of Norsca, the Varg and the Sarl continue brawling in the passes between the mountains. Locally - this part you already knew - the Skaeling and Bjornling have been going back and forth burning each other's villages; but a Skaeling host burned out one of the Bjornling's tries entire, and from that position negotiated a cessation of hostilities - however long it lasts. It's a neccessary pause - to the north, the Graeling threaten both Skaeling and Bjornling, capable of swooping in and plundering either if it is left too weak or overextended. Parties of Graeling scouts are already making their way beyond the mountains and trying their luck, probing with attacks for response. That's as much of the reason for you guarding this wagon as any other - the Graeling might knock it over and burn it just to stir up further conflict between the Bjornling and Skaeling.

"The sighted one, yes - he drives the band that has been tearing up the Bjornling clans. Not the greatest Norscan in stature, as some are; but furious and deadly in battle. Touched by the Hound, some say. They call him sighted because he has four eyes - two as normal and two right below them." He taps his face with middle and forefingers touching just below his eyelids. "All the better to see his prey, I suppose. They say he was once a simple slave-taker; he sold his prisoners to Bjorning, Skaeling and Sarl. But touched now by the blood god, he no longer takes to the sea at all. I think - oh...?"

Haggur pulls his team of oxen to a halt. The lightly snowed-over path ahead is blocked by a great log - oddly straight and smooth, jumbled with ropes and what seems like heaped cloth; but it smacks of the oldest ambush trick in the book...

Spoiler: OOC:

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Time to get to work. Give me a Perception test, with +20 from your thralls helping as you inspect this zone; and draw your weapons, if you think that's appropriate!

[bramblefoot]

jorunn will hop down, shield on his arm, and pulling witherbrand from its sheath. he will scent the air, attempting to pick up anything out of the ordinary by his senses "seems like a trap" he says gruffly

perception roll

(1d100)[93]

[MrAbdiel]

You flank out off the road and circle around... and you are ultimately left secure in your assessment that there is, infact, no ambush here. But then what is the nature of this obstruction? Closing to inspect it, you find it is not just a straight log, but a ship's mast - and not one unfamiliar to you. With quiet dread in your stomach, you dig around in the snow and fish out the frozen but intact flag that once flew above the ship it was on - the same gryphon-crested Imperial flag that flew over the ship you and your comrades seized as a prize and sailed back to Norsca. A clear and inexplicable instinct tells you this is, certainly, from the captured ship Der Stolzensohn. A flag, and a mast, that should be at the bottom of the sea of claws, not here beside the mountains in the interior of Norsca.

It seems that the vitki was right - the monster that was dragged to the sea floor has marked you, and is somehow almost... throwing debris at you across the stage of fate, and distance; like a man in pitch darkness, casting stones about to hear them skip and click off water, or stone, or thud into flesh to try to orient itself within the black. It seems unable to attack you directly - why not drop such a mast on you while you slept? But it is clawing away at the space between you with its incomprehensible magics - a condition that you cannot permit to last forever, even if you can endure it now.

Spoiler: OOC:

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You are being hunted by a magical horror from before the coming of the Dark Gods. Take an Insanity point; and then pass a Willpower check or take one D3 more.

With the help of your thralls, you clear the road enough to proceed; but it's only another two hours down the road when you do encounter trouble. "Halt there!", comes a voice that announces itself from behind a drift of snow behind the open road before you come close enough to spot anything wrong with it. The voice is masculine and deep; full of authority that it is used to hearing obeyed. "For the sake of the gods, I give you this chance, Skaeling - abandon your goods and beasts, and walk back the way you came; or else Kaelveg, son of Kaelveg, and his fated warriors fall upon you!"

Spoiler: OOC:

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...And now you're being robbed by some kind of would be bandits, presently hiding. You can't see the announcer's face, but the way he introduced himself, Kaelveg son of Kaelveg rather than Kaelveg Kaelvegsson, suggests to you he is not Bjornling or Skaeling - perhaps, Graeling, as your employer feared. How to respond to such a threat?

[bramblefoot]

"why dont we avoid unneccesary bloodshed and settle this mano-a-mano?" jorunn calls back. "send out your best champion, and ill fight him. i win, we pass unmolested." he says confidently. "or are you such an honorless bastard as to attack from ambush?"

CK norsca to see what i know of the graelings

(1d100)[27]

fellowship roll to incite the graelings to come out and play

(1d100)[47]

[MrAbdiel]

The Graelings, you know, are a fierce enough tribe; though given they live on the northern coast of Norsca, their conflict is more often with other tribes of Norsemen than any other force. They do not get to perform much glamorous raiding or profitable trade; instead, the fight to deflect the constant antagonism of the bloodthirsty Vargs to their east, and otherwise eek out a living from the hostile land. It is said the Graeling land is home to the dens of the Werekin - savage 'skinwolves', wolf-changers not unlike the one you tore apart... though perhaps worse. Werekin are thought to be champions of the dark gods who were unable to complete acts of sufficient devotion to be elevate to the tables of the gods in immortality, and were instead cursed - or blessed - with the ability to take on the savage beast shape. But the werekin are savage and isolated. This cocky bandit is far from home, and almost social.

With your challenge, the caller reveals himself - a massive warrior, just shy of seven feet tall before the horns of his helm carry up beyond that mark; his chest bare and scarred and crossed with an arrangement of leather straps and iron rings. He holds a massive axe in one hand; whose steel shining faces have the engraved likeness of a biting wolf upon them.

"Mano-a-mano?"

He repeats, tossing the axe to one side and reaching to remove his helmet as well; revealing an appropriate scarred visage, and short lock of tonsured hair. This warrior knows enough of the world, it seems, understand the classical phrase you dropped in your challenge, which you had learned from your Tilean friends - mano-a-mano, hand to hand.

"I take your terms. Prepare yourself, then. If I win, I will have my pick of your thralls, and your wagon's goods. By our contest, may the gods make known their will!"

Sportingly enough, he removes even the spiked bracers around his wrist which might have been valuable weapons; and then moves out to the road. Six other figures, none so massive but all similarly threatening marauders, emerge to witness the contest; steel great weapons and helms in their hands, idle, waiting.

Such a challenge is respected across the great world. Men, and elves, and dwarves understand it; even orcs and daemons interpret the sacred power of the challenge.

Kaelveg, son of Kaelveg, stands patiently for you to deliver.

Spoiler: OOC:

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Presuming you intend to honor your challenge, you can fight Kaelveg hand to hand in the most honorable fashion by rolling initiative, and trying to beat (1d10+4)[5].

If you want to stress that honor some, you can charge into melee and take a surprise round.

Lunging in and attacking him with weapons (or turning into a giant monster with claws and teeth) will naturally foul the integrity of the challenge.
The gods are said not to like this, though they rarely intervene; but the other ambushers might take offense, certainly.

[bramblefoot]

Jorunn will stab witherbrand into the snow, and prepare for combat

(2d100)[55][77](132)

(1d10+1)[2]
(1d10+1)[4]

[MrAbdiel]

You try your luck leaning toward cunning instead of brutal physicality - this brute may well outmatch you, in that case. So you take up Witherbrand and incite its bound magics at one of Kaelveg's minions. But though the magic activation of the weapon is intuitive, it is still new to you; and something about the way you are willing it to act goes fowl. An unseasonably hot wind blitzes the scene of the showdown, carrying with it the babbling whispers of some unbodied thing in a language no one understands. This, you suspect, is a side effect of the spell going bad. But to Kaelveg, it seems you have cast something with sorcery and violated the combat of the duel - which is what you were trying to do, to be fair. "Wretch! Sorcerer! Damn your eyes!" He snatches up the axe from the snow and roars his displeasure; and the marauders who had expected to watch a contest of strength quickly take up their arms as well, preparing to fall on you and your party with vengeance!

Spoiler: OOC:

Show

Kaelveg's initiative is already rolled, but now that everyone else is getting involved:

GraelingGreatWeapon1 - (1d10+3)[7]
GraelingGreatWeapon2 - (1d10+3)[7]
GraelingGreatWeapon3 - (1d10+3)[5]
GraelingAxeAndShield4 - (1d10+3)[13]
GraelingAxeAndShield5 - (1d10+3)[9]
GraelingAxeAndShield6 - (1d10+3)[12]
Marlene - (1d10+4)[6]
Liebwen - (1d10+3)[9]
Orten - (1d10+3)[7]
Byjan - (1d10+3)[12]
Wolf - (1d10+4)[5]
Haggur - (1d10+3)[13]

Everyone on this list spends this turn grabbing weapons, dismounting the cart, drawing closer to the combat as the scene changes from a duel to a full melee. It's back around to your turn, with Kaelveg (and all the other Graelings) in charge distance.

[bramblefoot]

jorunn will frenzy, turning into his usual were-form, and squaring off for combat "take down kaeleg, and the rest will splinter!" he calls

[MrAbdiel]

The battle is joined.

Your thralls have been through a lot; but they are used to this, after a few combats. They know holding out long enough for you to do your gory work is the surest path forward, and they hurl themselves into combat trusting that much of your nature.

As your bones click and shift and the red haze fills up your eyes, the Graelings behold your changing form with mixed astonishment. Four of the followers seem to balk at your ursine shape and the ruff of unnatural white fur over your body; but Kaelveg and a couple of the others take it in stride, too inured by the dangerous Norscan life to be dissauded from their action.

The merchant Haggur proves ready to defend his livelihood. "Come on, you bastards! Graeling swine! You'll not have my wares except by asking for them and paying a reasonable fistful of silver!" He bangs his axe on his circular shield and invites challenge - and he gets it. Two of the shield bearing Graeling charge him, their blows clattering off his defensive posture, but scoring no hit.

Byjan takes your command to heart and races into melee with Kaelveg, swinging down with the great stone maul looted from the Bestigor; but it is an unweilding weapon, and the raider steps aside the blow.

Liebwen the negotiator is least natural in combat, but has proven himself holding his own against several beastmen before, and musters his courage now. He raises his crooked wooden spear to defend himself, managing to spoil the charge of a Graeling rushing at him, and avoid death for another crucial moment.

Orten, your initiate, lets out a throaty bark and surrenders himself to his southern warrior god's courage (not as cowardly as reported, perhaps) and charges across the ground with a crude axe of stone make taken from your beastman slaying. It is Orten who scores first blood, his swing opening a cut on the Graeling warrior opposite him, whose steel great axe just narrowly swings over Orten's head and fails to remove it.

Elsewhere, another great-weapon wielding Graeling tries his luck - with you! Stomaching his fear, he charges across the snow and strikes a heavy blow with the two handed blade; it cracks fiercely against your shield, sending wood chips flying, but failing to cut through it into your arm. Marlene looses an arrow which sails through the combat and narrowly misses the third great weapon wielder so far unengaged.

All of this takes place in a few seconds while your body is rearranging itself. Then you feel the power in your jaws and claws; the strength of the bear in you, and the killing power of whatever god or spirit gave you this gift...

Spoiler: OOC:

Show

Jorunn's turn. So far the field layout looks like...

HaggurVsGraeling4 and Graeling6

ByjanVsKaelveg

LiebwenVsGraeling5

OrtenVsGraeling1

JorunnVsGraeling2

Marlene is standing on top of the cart shooting. So far, Graeling3, Wolf, and Kaelveg have yet to act because they go after you.

There's a Graeling on top of you for you to swift attack right now, if you want. Otherwise, you could charge out and join Byjan vs Kaelveg, but the one in contact with you will attack your back as you go, as normal.

So far, your folks are doing great - only one successful hit so far, and it's on the enemy. Good luck!

[bramblefoot]

jorunn will let out a bellow, claws attempting to swipe through the graeling he's engaged with. the sword and claws bite deep into graeling flesh, causing torrents of blood to flow

(3d100)[14][30][61](105)

(1d10+6)[13]
(1d10+6)[12]
(1d10+6)[10]

[MrAbdiel]

You smash your axe down so hard it pushes the Graeling's guard back, forcing the blade of his own sword to lacerate his chest. As he groans and pushes back, you bash his nose with your shield then drop the claws of that hand to slash open the flesh of his thigh. This is an assault he's not used to; with no practiced defense, the throws himself backward, dazed, scrambling to his feet and hauling his heavy blade into a guard position.

But then the wolf is there; his patchy, unevent grey fur an airborn blur as he leaps into melee beside you, sinks his fangs into your staggered opponent's shoudler, and twists and wrenches hard enough that something comes loose, and bleeds great gouts. Inside a few seconds, he is dead.

The Graeling who avoided Marlene's shot comes rushing in. Seeing Byjan falling upon Kaelveg unprepared, he brawls in to cover his leader. While Kaelveg puts his horned helm back upon his head and draws a second axe to pair with the first, his offsider clashes with yours... and while Byjan is fighting with a crude beastman maul, this Graeling raider fights with looted Imperial steel. Byjan deflects one blow, but the next almost takes off his right leg at the knee. He moves just enough to turn the blow into a deep chop into his calve, but it leaves him stumbling; his return strike going wide and missing both opponents.

Haggur fights with a constant string of shouted defiance, as he stalemates against two opponents; blows banging away into each other's shields with no blood yet spilled; Liebwen fends off his aggressor, spear in hand for another turn. Marlene tries to assist him the best she can; aiming carefully and loosing a shot at his opponent; but though caution the shot goes wide.

Orten fights like a man possessed. The southern priest swings wildly and manages another blow through his enemy's guard, opening another cut. The Graeling against him is a superior warrior, but off guard; and offers only an awkward, deflected return blow while settling into a more defensive posture now that he's losing blood...

Spoiler: OOC:

Show

You're up! You can charge any opponent; or move in, spend a FP, and swift attack. Between your blows and your mangy wolf, who seems to have gotten the hang of charging in now, you have felled your opponent and are free to charge. Byjan is in a bad way, engaged with both Kaelveg, who is now rehelmed and armed; and another Graeling who has scored a big hit on Byjan. Not enough to make him 'heavilly injured', but close. Another hit like that and he's losing body parts. Elsewhere your thralls and Haggur seem to be holding their own.
But Haggur is in a 2 on one, and Liebwen is outmatched by his opponent even if he is fighting defensively and succeeding. Orten is playing rocket tag and winning so far, he and a Graeling winging great weapons full force and waiting for someone to win big.