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Old Oct 21st, 2013, 03:58 PM
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Saga 1: Baleygr's Blot (Sacrifice)

Theme Music



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The Arrival
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The savage wind whips about your ship, biting deep into even the smallest patches of explosed flesh like a raw blade and burrowing deep to the bone. Waves crash against the hull as your craft rises into the sky and crashes to the depths with each rolling swell, spraying mist into the air that already swirls with ice and sleet. With only five of you left to man the longship, the work is furious and exhausting. The frigid air carries a metalic tinge as it fills your lungs with every labored breath as you work. How you wish that were the only scent, however, as your senses are overwhelmed by the pervasive stench of rotting flesh. Piled at high at the stern of the ship are the bodies of eight of your former crewmates, now waterlogged and swelling. Ropes fasten the bodies and limbs together like logs beneath the skins that try to cover them from the elements, and fasten their weapons tight in their now rigid grips so as not to lose them. *See note below on "honoring the dead". You fight back the bile that climbs at the back of your throat with every fetid breath, but continue to churn the oars toward the torchlight to the south, the small island of Atloy.

You had set sail from Halogaland in your small vessel with a workable crew of twenty. Few of you knew each other, but were drawn together by the common desire of greatness. With the onset of Fimbulwinter, you had abandoned your former professions and joined a crew of raiders set for the island of Islandia far to the west, which has become a beacon of hope for your people.

But not long into the journey your craft was beset by a horror from beneath. Now it is not uncommon for the gods to test the men and women of destiny who drawn their attention, thrusting them into the heat of furious struggles to gauge their mettle and strength, especially in the twilight of Ragnarok. It is even more common for them to punish those who upset them. Most of you suspect the former is what lead you to this fate, though Olav has a suspicion it may be the latter. You have no idea why you survived, nor why the beast left your craft afloat, but you praise the Aesir for both. Those that were not wrenched overboard into the bitter waters and whatever unspeakable horrors lay beneath, were piled upon each other in the faint hope of affording them a proper burial. Not all were good men or women, but they fought bravely and deserved that hope of Valhalla or Glassisvellir.

With the skeleton crew that you have, you steered south toward Atloy. Some of you knew of the jarl Bard who resided there, hoping that he would put you up for the night and allow you some respite from the lashing icy winds and a chance to re-evaluate your plans. So you push your aching bodies to the oars and limp your vessel toward the distant lights to the south.

Quote:
Honoring the Dead
The reason that men and women were formed out of driftwood by the gods was to supply their armies for the days of Ragnorok. Because of this, the afterlife is of utmost importance to those with faith. The bravery and ferocity with which an individual lives is significant, but even more significant is how an individual dies.

An honourable death in battle was the desired way for a Viking to die. The ultimate goal of the soul is to die with great valour, shed the mortal body, and be carried off by Valkyries into the heavens to be reborn into an immortal body. this immortal body will then be conditioned and trained for the final great battle at Ragnarok. Depending on a mortal's allegiance, they can end up either in Valhalla, presided over by the god Odin, or in Glassisvellir, the Jotun Surt's fire lake in Muspelheim. As such, there was enourmous respect on the battlefield for the dead and dying, and victors often showed respect for their enemies by ensuring they breathed their last breaths with weapons still in hand.

If a Viking fails to achieve greatness during their life, their soul upon death is cast into Niflheim, a place of unimaginable cold and emptiness, Dying of sickness, old age or cowardice was most assuredly a way to descend into the realm of torment. Hel jealously guards the souls entrusted to her, releasing no one from her icy grasp... not even the soul of a god!

Once someone passed from the land of the living, their allies (and sometimes their enemies) would do their utmost to prepare a proper send-off. There were two possible options: an underground burial (in a barrow) or a cremation. In both cases, the fallen hero's adventuring gear was lain at their side along with slaves and prized possessions their friends wished to offer them.
Grave RobbingLooting a grave or taking the possessions of a deceased warrior is a great blasphemy, as the soul in the afterlife can no longer use items if they are stolen. A spirit so victimized could return to torment the thieves. It will also weigh down the soul of the thief when his own body falls to death and his spirit tries to ascend.
However, stealing desired possessions before murdering the victim is a viable loophole exploited by rogues.
As you finally slide your battered ship into the docks you are surprised to discover that Bard's farmstead is decorated and prepared for festivities. Torches line the walkway toward a number of tents and bonfires, casting a welcoming,warm glow over the area which stands in such contrast to the darkness that has become so prevalent since the Sun and Moon were devoured two years ago. The wind continues to whip and howl, but you can already feel a warmth as your longboat pushes through the top-ice on the shallower waters to bump against the dock. It's likely only been a week since you set yourselves to sea, though you can't be sure anymore without the rising and setting of a sun, but your heart leaps at the prospect of land as if you had been adrift for months. You notice now that even Bard's port-hands are wearing their finest attire, bundled in fine furs and polished armrings. A giant of a man, with thick black braids and a bear skin wrapped about his shoulders by the forearms approaches your ship. Not yet noticing the morbid cargo you're transporting he greets you with a familiar smile as if he recognizes you and helps to fasten your ship. "Haha!" He bellows, "Another to brave the storm. I assume you're here for the feast?"


Out-of-CharacterOOC: Take some time to describe yourself as well and get a feel for the others. You may assume any degree of familiarity with each other that you may wish from good friends to relative strangers, though at the lowest level of familiarity you would still likely know each other's names by this point even if nothing else.



Last edited by kdtompos; Oct 22nd, 2013 at 03:08 PM.
  #2  
Old Oct 21st, 2013, 05:55 PM
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Doom.
...
...
Doom.
...
...
Doom.

The wind in the wires made their tattletale sound. Olav, Second Son of the House of Nacht brought his arm crashing down.

Doom...

Instead of muting the drum with the mallet as he had been all morning, he let the skin of the white bear stretched across the drum reverberate to fill the air with an overtone of the misery they were feeling. Or at least that he was feeling.

Doom....

He had left Halogaland with a friend. Now, due to the cruelty of the gods which he was supposed to bow before, he was alone. Worse, it had been his fault.

Doom.....

Freydis had been his closest friend and traveling companion for over a year now. Upon realizing that his mark, Vannadis, was setting sail upon this voyage, he had convinced Freydis to join him on his quest.

Doom....

Now his bloated body lay at the rear of the boat.

Suddenly overcome with the exhaustion of shift after shift drumming and rowing, mentally exhausted by the guilt of a survivor, Olav felt a hot tear roll down toward his thick yellow beard. He was not ashamed to be crying for a dead loved one, but nevertheless he took a quick look around to make sure nobody was paying him undue attention.

Doom...

Vannadis had looked up at just the right time. Of course. As if his mission was not awkward enough to begin with.

The heartbeat of the ship pounding steadily under his practiced arm, he could only think of his longhouse from all those years ago. Both his brothers. He did not even know if they were alive. With this thought, a cold and strange determination set into his bones. He was unfamiliar with the rest of the crew, to any great extent. Being a drummer practically guaranteed cheap passage and few interactions with the others. However, given the curses they gods had spat their way during this voyage he did not imagine them to be in the best of spirits.

Between resounding Dooms of the drum, he picked up his voice. Monotone and cracked from not speaking at first, he began,

From Home to Home

The Jarl's Longhouse
Was my father's home
Its wooden walls
To anchor stone...



As his voice warmed up he could not stop it from reaching for soaring pitches despite his melancholy mood. The song was a somewhat well known one, detailing Wiglaf Brightaxe's journey from his father's house of logs to his father's house in Valhalla. The lengthy verses ran in many directions, but the chorus was both somber and easy to sing to. It was considered a fitting tribute to a warrior who had died in battle.

It was a long song, meant for funerals and weddings. And Olav continued singing for nearly two hours. The world to him was nothing but the drum and the voice, and it seemed to pass in minutes. As if destined, he came out of the final chorus no more than a minute before the belly of the ship skipped across the first shallow rock of the bay.

His gloves each frozen to his mallets, Olav continued his duty until the docking was complete.

Noting the fine attire and jolly manner of the bearish man, Olav walks near another of the crew members, "Do you know anything about a feast?" he horsely muttered.

OOCOlav has walked up beside an arbitrary crew member to ask that. It could be you!
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Old Oct 21st, 2013, 07:40 PM
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for the young woman known simply to the others as Vannadis, this was an adventure. They were all here for the same reason, but she had perhaps the strongest and most resistance to the smell of death, because for her, death brought a whole new dimension to the battlefield. A warrior's soul would hopefully go on to Valhalla or Glassisvellir, but their body would be hers for the using. She treasured the bodies and spirits that she worked with. Worked with being the loose term for manipulated, which was a more accurate description. The seithkoma knew well that the spirits were easygoing most of the time, happy to be alone, and undisturbed; except when she or another like her was present. Then they were angered, whipped into a frenzy, made to be her soldiers, her servants with weapons of her choosing, assisting her in fighting the battles.

Long ago, when she had left her longhouse, called by the horn of adventure, her father and mother were aware of her special gift and implored her to share it with others. She was not always this hardened to the woes of the sea and the death of the crew. When the ship had first made its sluggish journey across the great sea, Vannadis had been aghast at the God's level of manipulation and destruction, she too had cried for the dead, had honored them as best she could. But, now, now that much the same had occurred for many days straight, the drumming, the rowing, and the moment of the ship through the ice towards lights in the south, she was used to the smells, sounds, and sights of everyday life on the sea. The journey was by no means easy, but they made steady progress.

As the fires and smells of food, as well as the finely dressed men came into view, after any hard days Vannadis relaxed and let the boat glide into the dock, waiting until it had bumped up against the edge to do much moving around. He furs, caked with the salt of the sea, as was much of her body, were somehow keeping her slender frame warm. her hair, hanging down in what might have been called a giant clump, was a mess; but the tear from the man called Olav, who had drummed and sung them in, made her even more curious about him. She knew nothing more than his name, not that it overly worried her, but he had been keeping a watch on her and her servant, who had unfortunately met an early grave. He'd had a friend on the boat, the weikoma had seen that much, but again, she had not inquired and knew nothing more than that. Never fear, his intentions will be made clear soon enough. if he is to approach for...romance, it will be now. she thought as she heard his question.

holding out her hand to one of the finely dressed port hands, she was helped up onto the dock and she turned to the other female on board, Vigdis. Vannadis smiled and commented,"this is hardly time for a feast, I am a mess! but I suppose some food in our stomachs would be more welcome than a little bit of water to clean ourselves with. I am not complaining..just...intrigued." She held outa hand for the other woman, and if she took it, helped her up onto the dock as well.

Once everyone was on the dock, she turned to the giant man with the braids in his hair and simply nodded politely. It appeared that night's order of events would start with food, which was alright by her. So long as some warm food and a warm fire came her way, the seithkoma reasoned that she might just be alright. That and a warm bed, but perhaps, this was asking too much. They would just have an see.
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Old Oct 21st, 2013, 08:02 PM
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Glory.
Glory is what drove Hosvir at a young age. As a young boy he would sit and wait till his father returned home to hear the tales of distant lands filled with gold and enemies waiting to be sent to their demise. Glory drove the young boy to practice his fighting skills daily. Axes, swords, spears. It did not matter to Hosvir if it was meant to help secure his seat at Valhalla he learned how to use it.

Hosvir gritted his teeth as the wood from the oar dug deep into his raw, bloodied hand. Pull......Pull......Pull The man in his late twenties thought to himself in rhythm with the beating drum that was behind him.

His shoulders were burning after what seemed like ages of the constant rowing. Hosvir shook his head trying to get his brown matted hair out of his eyes but to no avail, as the wind just blew it back into his scarred face.

Frost had long since formed on the edges of Hosvir's long beard, the white contrasted sharply against his dark hair that extended well down to his chest.

Odin will have to do better than this if he wants me in Valhalla! A smirk formed on the warriors face as he fought the aching from his muscles.
Hosvir looked over towards Vannadis. It puzzled him what a female was doing on the ship but he kept his thoughts to himself. As far as he was concerned she had lived through the voyage thus far and in doing so earned her seat among them.

Hosvir rose as the ship docked. Bending over he picked up his axe and sword and made his way onto the wooden dock. Taking a piece of cloth the Warrior wrapped his bleeding hand and tucked his hair behind his ears.

" Does it matter!? Food my friend! Food!" Hosvir gave Olav a hefty pat on the back and a large grin before slinging his gear over his right shoulder and heading towards the large braided man. Hosvir was known around his village for his large appetite and his always friendly demeanor. It was also well known that his friendly demeanor was not to be taken for a weakness.
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Last edited by Klutch; Oct 22nd, 2013 at 10:31 AM.
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Old Oct 22nd, 2013, 01:04 AM
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Vigdis' blonde hair was stuck to her face in the front and her long braid in the back weighed her down like a thick club. She tensed her taut muscles and rowed the boat frowning in displeasure as she tries not to vomit. She looked amoung her companions and tried to recall their names mostly drawing a blank on the ones left alive. People who had signed on to the voyage, but not from her clan.

She pulled on an oar again, listening to the wood groan as the boat slowly moved over the water. Trying to recall why in the name of Hela she had decided to go on this fools errand and pulling up a vision of glory in battle and riches for her hearth and home not this failure with bloated corpses killed by some giant sea thing.

Still, she was alive and those few companions in the boat were alive as well and the dead had fought the creature. They would probably go on to a valid reward and so she continued to row and added a song, her voice speaking of sadness and mournful things as she sings:

Innocence is resting
on the blessed pyre
All that breathe are taken
by an icy shudder.
Red as blood the sun sinks,
mountain shadows lengthen;
through the Ash´s foliage
Time-at-Autumn sighs.


She finishes the song as the boat docks examining the festive atmosphere and smiling to the giant man, ”Oh aye a festival, dancing and all that ought to be lots of nice fun. We'll put this past event behind us and think of new ways to entertain glory.
  #6  
Old Oct 22nd, 2013, 03:00 PM
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The large guard begins to raise an eyebrow at your surprised reactions, but then he notices your unspeakable cargo. Even hidden beneath the mottled skins he can see where the now frozen blood had once pooled and recognizes the tell-tale shapes that only bodies can make. The whites of his eyes grow quickly as he places a large hand on Hosvir's chest to stop the man's advance, while instinctively placing the other over the hilt of the axe that hangs loosely at his side. Still without lifting the weapon, but muscles tensed and ready, the man's eyes flit from your haggard appearances to the deep grooves and splintered wood along the sides of your craft.

"What in the nine worlds have you seen?" The rhetorical question breaks the relative silence, dissipating the tense atmosphere as if carried away by these howling winds. His initial shock is only enhanced by the more observations he makes, but he seems to have connected enough dots to understand your own role in whatever may have happened. "Well I suspect then, that you aren't here for the feast." One bushy eyebrow begins to rise in suspicion again. "But even in these times I don't imagine Jarl Bard will turn you away from the feast. We'll want to speak with him." With an outstretched arm still pressed into Hosvir's chest, the braided man lifts his other from the weapon at his side and points to the gruesome pile at the stern of your longboat. "But that must be dealt with first. This is an important day, and I will allow neither the souls of the lost nor Vaettir insulted by their presence to ruin it. You've already brought death to this island, which I won't hold against you, but it remains your responsibility not mine." Then shifting his weight, and finally dropping the hand that held the dark-haired Ulfhednar, he motions with a tilt of his head toward a large copse of bare trees to your left, a good half-mile perhaps East of the docks and well beyond the light of the festivities. "The ground is too hard to bury them so you'll need to burn them, but I'll not have you do so on these grounds. And certainly not today. Take them there, beyond this clearing and lay their spirits to rest. When you're clear of this... weight... then I will let you clean up and present you to the Jarl."

The dock creaks beneath his weight as he takes a symbolic step backwards and away from your ship, allowing you room now to pass. "And I am sorry for what you have been through. May your friends find Valhalla."

Quote:
Advice:
You'll find that in addition to background information, I'll also insert a little bit of advice now and again. This will be fairly common in the beginning, but will disappear as you grow more familiar with the system.

Because this task requires nothing extraordinary (unless you should come up with something quite creative) it shouldn't require any skill checks. But trudging through the snow with eight frozen bodies spread amongst the 5 of you is no easy task. I would like to point out that you have out-of-combat options for your Active Powers. These can be used freely outside of combat and may lend a hand.

For instance: Vannadis could reanimate one of the corpses to help carry the others. However, besides the fact this it's currently bound (and one of your friends!), I really wouldn't recommend this course of action around anyone you want the hope of ever talking to again.
Also, Olav can augment the physical output of the group by use of his Night of the Long Knives singing ability. This would make anyone who hears him more capable of physical tasks.

Just some examples...

Last edited by kdtompos; Oct 22nd, 2013 at 03:07 PM.
  #7  
Old Oct 22nd, 2013, 03:15 PM
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Hosvir's smile fades as the man places hs hand on Hosvir's chest. The Ulfhednar was by no means small in stature. His battle honed muscles only made him seem even bigger than his six foot four frame. But the man standing across from him made Hosvir feel like a child.

"We meant no ill will. Let us take care of our fallen and then we shall explain anything you wish to know." Hosvir's muscles were too sore and tired from the rowing to put up much of an explanation at the moment. " Why is today of such importance if I may ask?" Hosvir relaxed as the man took his hands off of his person. A shiver ran down his spine as the cold wind whipped across his exposed flesh. His hair had formed icicles that caused it to stick to the back of his neck.
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Last edited by Klutch; Oct 22nd, 2013 at 03:39 PM.
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Old Oct 22nd, 2013, 05:03 PM
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From her position, somewhat behind the Ulthednar, Vannadis considered the best way to transport their dead. The idea of bringing back to life one of the corpses and allowing it to carry one of their dead was a viable prospect, but there was a feast going on and the sight of a dead man or woman carrying another dead man or woman would perhaps turn people's stomachs, and cause them to lose their appetites; not to mention the fact that these were their servants and friends, and whomever she brought back to life, perhaps save for her own servant, would not serve the rest of them well. She frowned slightly, still clearly conflicted about whether or not to do it.

In the end, the seithkoma just shook her head and muttered,"No, it will deny us food and a chance to clean ourselves. it is not worth the trouble. But perhaps later, if the need arises..." She smiled a little then and stole a glance at Vigdis once more to search for the other woman's reaction to all of this. The seithkoma's blonde hair was no better off, truth be told and she was sure that more than a few icicles were hanging from it in places. her furs, once warm and soft and snugly fitting, now were cold, damp, and matted with salt and ice and she longed to remove them. To dress is something fancier, as seemed to be the custom for the day.

Her ears perked up and Hosvir's question and she looked expectantly at the man that clearly was the gatekeeper (or one of them?) for the jarl. Vannadis added,"Who does this feast honor or venerate, if I may add to the prior question? has one of your own gone to Vahalla recently?" She looked patient, if a bit rough and tired, form the prior journey. The honorable disposal of the dead, however, was far too important to simply just leave for want of warmth and food.
  #9  
Old Oct 22nd, 2013, 05:25 PM
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"This day is the Solstice of Sacrifice," the large man says with a glance behind him at the mountain's pass behind the banquet hall and clearing. The statement is stated as a matter-of-fact, but clearly without pretension. "Today we celebrate another season of survival in the honor of Baleygr, the Vaettir that watches over and dwells in this island. This night we celebrate with a blot to garner his blessing for this coming season, that he would watch over this island and bring strength and fertility to its people. This night, however, has another cause for celebration because the king, Erik Bloodaxe, son of the late king Harald Fairhair has been invited to join us." Then with a smile, adds, "It should be a good night."

His grave expression returns as he looks back at the shadow cast over your battered knorr longship and the pile of corpses contained therein. "I don't need to tell you how fickle Vaettir may be, and we must be careful not to anger or dishonour the very spirits we intend to celebrate. And King Erik comes expecting festivities, not a funeral".

Quote:
Vaettir and Blots

Vaettir are the spirits of a land. Some are benevolent, some are mischevious, most are a combination of both. Viking raiders mount ferocious beast-head carvings on the bows of their ships in order to frighten the Vaettir of lands they are raiding. But whenever they return home, they remove the carvings so as not to anger the Vaettir of their home.

A blot is a blood sacrifice to the local Vaettir spirit. It is most often a horse, pig, or even a slave that is hung or disembowled, and blood spilt over the land to command the Vaettir's blessing. This monthly ritual was significant in the days before Fimbulwinter as it brought Jarl Bard prosperity through the multiplication of his crops and the health of his citizens. In these final days it is even more significant as the blessing moves from the difference between prosperity and poverty, to the difference between survival and demise.

Indeed, restless souls and spilt blood not done so in honor of the Vaettir could be hazardous on a night such as this, where the moods of this spirit hang in such a loose balance.

Last edited by kdtompos; Oct 22nd, 2013 at 07:58 PM.
  #10  
Old Oct 22nd, 2013, 06:51 PM
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Svellgren strained at the oars as the boat plunged ahead. He payed close attention to how his muscles worked at this new activity. The Wulfen had spent such little time as a man that a simple act like rowing was a wonderful new experience for him. For you see, until recently, Svellgren thought he was a wolf...

Svellgren had no knowledge of his birth or early childhood. His oldest memories were of running with his pack, his father, brothers and cousins. They hunted, killed, ate, enjoying the simple life of a wolf. Svellgren would have been content with such a life, never knowing of the world of man, never knowing he was a man himself, but such was not his fate. One day as his father led them on a hunt, a giant Lindworm burst through the trees. The foul serpent laid into the wolves with its claws and venomous bite, wantonly slaying the wolves. The pack was initially scatterd, but regrouped and began to fight back, wounding the drake. Eventually only Svellgren and his father remained. Svellgren distracted the beast and his father landed the killing blow. As the Lindworm fell, Svellgren's father fell too, revealing a fatal wound on his belly. Svellgren moved to nuzzle his father as he died, when, amazingly, the wolf turned into a man. Svellgren was stunned, but then his father spoke. It was the first time Svellgren had heard the words of man, but instinctively, he understood. His father told him of men, the gods, Ragnarok, Valhalla and Glassisvellir. He told Svellgren that a wolf's life is no life for a man, that he could feel the servants of Hel coming to drag him to Niflheim. He urged Svellgren to win glory as a man, die honorably and suffer the same fate as him.

Since that day, Svellgren has a lived a true Wulfen, half man and half beast. He followed his father's dying wish and began to seek glory. Thus, he found himself on a strange boat in a strange sea. When the boat docked, Svellgren immediately leapt off, glad to have solid ground beneath him. He stood silently listening as his companions talked with the stranger. As their first task became clear, he looked toward the wood in the distance. "I will clear a path." With that, Svellgren lifts his head back and released a bestial roar. He began to run and transformed into a massive black wolf. Using his bulk as a plow, Svellgren dives into the snow, clearing a path for his companions to walk easily.

 
  #11  
Old Oct 22nd, 2013, 07:19 PM
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The giant man's eyes grow wide and white again at the sight of the transformation, as Svellgren leaps the docks and plows into the drifts of snow. The storm is steadily building, and howling winds carry stinging sheets of snow and ice hard against you all as you pull your salty, matted furs tighter about you. His beard and braids now whipping in the wind, he has to shout to be heard. "WELL NOW... YOU FIVE ARE FAR MORE THAN YOU WOULD SEEM, IT APPEARS." His face betrays surprise, even as he turns his back to block the cutting storm. His voice, however, remains controlled and unmoved. Such a sight must not be unknown to him. The sudden gale subsides slightly with the last of his words, as the flakes once again drift down about you and the howling calms. "It would appear that Baleygr may have taken notice. Should you return from honoring your dead, then I will take you to see the Jarl."

"And you may call me Baldri." He extends a large gloved hand to grasp Hosvir's forearm in greeting; then extends the same toward Olav, the blonde-haired skald; Vigdis the spirited maiden; and finally Vannadis, the haunting Seithkoma. He knods down the shoreline toward Svellgren, who continues to churn the tundra, plowing a steady path toward the bare trees to the east. "Don't lose your ylfing (Wolfing) friend," Baldri concludes, then with creaking boards beneath, he clods back up the dock to disappear inside the small covered alcove where he and his retinue are able to watch for more guests to arrive.

Last edited by kdtompos; Oct 22nd, 2013 at 07:56 PM.
  #12  
Old Oct 22nd, 2013, 07:44 PM
Majesty Majesty is offline
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Olav firmly grasped the wrist of the bearish man. "Olav of Nacht," he introduced himself.

Quote:
"YOU FIVE ARE FAR MORE THAN YOU WOULD SEEM, IT APPEARS."
"Some of us are, anyway," Olav responded heartily, appearing to downplay himself while pointing out that now that Svellgren had just given up whatever "more" he might be to anyone listening very closely. Then again, the man might be full of surprises. Somebody who could turn into a wolf-spirit, seemingly at will was nothing to cough at after all.

Olav's eye's had widened more than a little when a wolf suddenly appeared in their midst, despite his nonchalant replay to Baldri. At least there's a path now, he thought to himself. The thought soured, thought turning to Although he could have carried something.

Olav thought he could likely take two of the bodies, although it would be a long hard slog. If everyone else took one, that would leave three. Hopefully the wolf-man would help on a second trip, making it pointless to do it all at once.

No point putting it off..

Without another word he bent, picking up the nearest body from the ship in a fireman's carry. He began trudging down the cold trail, each footstep seeming to echo through his head.

Doom.
  #13  
Old Oct 22nd, 2013, 08:06 PM
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Vannadis gripped the hand of Baldri, their new friend, as the surprise on the man's echoed her own. She introduces herslef as "I am simply Vannadis, well traveled woman" So, one of us is a Wulfren, I remember studying them somewhat...but to see one in action is an awesome sight indeed. Perhaps my original thought was not so foul after all. She notes that Olav has gone to gather a body and she takes a long, hard look at the bodies, clearly weighing her own "gifts" in her mind. Whether to "out" herself or keep it under wraps for a little while more. It will certainly make the task easier. Perhaps...perhaps I should but a bit of a bit of a...precaution first she thinks thoughtfully.

Vannadis turns to face Baldri, their new friend and
Dice Roll:
1d5 2
speaks hauntingly, in an almost commanding, yet sweet voice, with a notable hard edge to it, mostly from the angry spirit that she's using to help her perform the action,"Baldri, close your eyes, you would not want to see our other...unique properties would you? Close your eyes, and sooner than you imagine, our dead will be honored and we may be presented to the Jarl himself. Close your eyes, so you may be insulated from any anger of his at what we have shown you. Close your eyes, and forget what you hear anything from this point forward." She knows he may very well not want to close his eyes, but this does not matter to the seithkoma. she commands him to do so, by the will of the Seith, he shall do it.

She next approaches the nearest unbound body,
Dice Roll:
1d4 3
looks it in the eyes and speaks to it, again though yet more Seith energy that only she can see and command,"Rise, you are under my control and command now, soul. Rise and assist us, for we are only five and yet, there are three more of you that we simply cannot carry. Take one of your brothers or sisters and gently hand me another so that we may yet honor them. This, my spirit, is your final task on this earth. your soul shall find Vahalla, Odin willing, but your body is mine to control and control it I shall.Heed my words, skeleton and do as I command, for this will be your final task on the Path to Glory."

As she is handed a body by the body she has risen up, Vannadis heads towards the same path Olav has followed. As she passes by Baldri, she commands,"your eyes will remain closed until I command that they be opened and you be allowed to see the world for what it is once more." She follows Olav, with her skeleton following her, towards the place in the trees that the Wulfren has carved.

 

Last edited by kdtompos; Oct 23rd, 2013 at 12:56 PM.
  #14  
Old Oct 22nd, 2013, 08:39 PM
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Hosvir smirked as the man mentioned Svellgren's gift. " We very well are much much more than meets the eye" The warrior gripped Baldri's arm tightly giving it a firm shake. " Hosvir first son of Oslen." Hosvir released the man's arm and walked over to the bodies grabbed two.

Hosvir walked towards through the now cleared path, the bodies drug behind him. As he entered the clearing he placed the bodies one right next to each other, ensuring all their weapons and shields were laid on top of them. Pausing a moment he looked down at one of the bodies. It was that of a friend from his home village. Hosvir smiled as he remembered one particular fishing trip he had with the now fallen man. He stayed kneeled down for a moment before speaking to his lifeless friend.

"The runes are cast, our fate is set, towards blood and war we ride.
With faces grim, and Blade in hand we cross the other side...
The Valkyries raise our souls, from torn and broken shells,
To Valhalla's halls and Odin's side we fly,
Warriors, all who fell in battle never truly die!"


With that Hosvir stood up and went back towards the ship to finish the grim task that was laid before him.
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I'm back from a sabbatical !
I have taken the Oath of Sangus

Last edited by Klutch; Oct 22nd, 2013 at 08:44 PM.
  #15  
Old Oct 22nd, 2013, 08:42 PM
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OOC: Skill Check - Howling Winds, please roll 1d5 and 1d4 to Wyrd your runes. Difficulty is 3 (moderate) set as Spiritual because you are appealing to his beliefs and honor (also because it's the most likely for you to succeed and this is our first skill check)

You may roll in this thread or edit it into your last post.

Last edited by kdtompos; Oct 23rd, 2013 at 12:19 AM.
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