Winter is almost over, the snow is melting slowly and the coming of spring heralds the coming of adventures, pillages or hard work in the fields, depending on one's profession.

It seems however that Nature has decided to give the people of southern Thuland a last storm before letting them go about their various businesses. While the air is warm enough that it is rain and not snow, the wind and the rain itself makes it rather chilly and there is too much of each for anyone to travel safely. The clouds, dark and heavy, keeps the light of the sun away and the mud formed by melting snow and rain alike is rather slippery.

That would explain why the village inn has been so full since the middle of the day, when the storm started. In the evening, those who had their home in the village had come back to their families but the travelers, having no choice, remained there hoping for the weather allow them to leave in the morning, having already wasted a day there.

A grumpy innkeeper, helped by his comely daughter, gives the patrons some mead in exchange for coppers, and whatever food he has (mostly bread and some sort of soup, it seems) to whoever asks for it. There are no bedrooms, so to speak, but for a few coppers, one can have a spot on the common room floor.

In a corner, a grizled old man tell tales of his youth (or did he make it all up?) to whoever will pay him a mug.


OOC: Feel free to RP some, I'll have something happen to get you all started eventually. :P

Near the fire sat a man in his early thirties, short, with bowed legs, a round, porcine face. When he raised his head from his mug, he gave furtive but lustful stares at the innkeeper's daughter. His feeble frame marked him as no warrior, despite the sheathed short sword lying against his chair.

 This really wasn't what Adonis had in mind when he headed north. The frontier was meant to be a place where he could hack down a few howling savages, stake out a demesne and scoop up some pliant chieftens daughter to seal the deal in a single afternoon.

 It's not worked out that way - his horse is currently occupying the bottom of a ditch some three miles outside of town, the victim of bad roads, potholes and the worsening cold whilst his saddle is sitting in a corner near the fire and gathering dust.

 On the other hand, there's honey wine, which this far north is something of a delight and revelation in itself given how hard honey is to come by, and as a result the somewhat-less-gleaming-than-when-he-set-out knight clad in good quality plate armour, wearing a sword and generally projecting a solid determination to get more cheerful by the end of the day is happily working his way through a jug, having already sent two mugs in the general direction of the old fellow who's been invited to join the knight by the hearth (it's the warmest seat in the house) and has divided his attention between swapping wild stories, flirting with the Innkeeps daughter and steadily making the world a happier place through the injudicious application of mead.

 Things could, on the whole, be worse.

The door opened with a bang,letting in chill wind, rain, flecks of hail and a sinister figure in dark clothing. He shut the door as swiftly as he had opened it, before walking over to the nearest table, reaching back and taking off the large greatsword strapped onto his back. "InnKeeper. Bread, water, stew. Now." Came the dry rasp from within the depths of the hood covering his face, as he propped the sheathed sword by the table. The hood was part of the dark cloak he wore, and as he sat down the cloak parted a bit to reveal links of a black chain shirt underneath. Shoulder length black hair, wet and ragged from the rain hung out from the edges of the hood as he turned and surveyed the roomm, the  Firelight glinting off the many bejeweled rings adorning his fingers.

Brakkus sits close to the fireplace, steaming slightly as he nurses his cup of mead. He listens to the old man's stories with a sour expression - he had been hoping to try that approach himself but arrived too late. As he stretches out his drink for as long as possible he ponders whether to risk the storm or to spend more of his rapidly shrinking wealth on a space on the floor.

[Private to GM: Let me know the cost of a mead]

As he waited for his meal, Arkemos took stock of the sorry lot gathered in the inn. His gaze was particularly drawn towards two strange characters hoarding the fireplace, none of which appeared to be from the town itself. One was an overweight, jowly man who kept staring lustily at the serving wench, while another was a crazed looking man witha tangly beard, who kept staring towards the storyteller with a sour expression on his face. Arkemos wondered what their sad story was, and also wondered if he truly cared to know.

There was also another out of towner near the middle of the room, obviously a high ranking warrior or a landed knight from the gleaming plate armor and well groomed features. Arkemos wondered if the pretty boy knew how to use that sword of his, for if he left the inn during the night he would need it; the expensive armor of his would draw the eye of every mugger within miles of this sorry place.

"InnKeeper, make that a mug of hot mead instead of water!" Arkemos called out with his trademark rasp, as he felt a chill running into his bones.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:05, Mon 10 Nov 2008.

 Three strange characters. Or possible two strange characters and one perfectly explicable one, it's all in how you define it - in any case, Adonis (the knight) is perched rather close by the fire as well, having (as is his natural right as a nobleman, be it of whatever lesser standing - his armour is good and all, but it's at least a generation out of fashion compared to the style favoured on the continent these days) grabbed the spot some time back and held it by right of birth ever since, whereupon he's distributed a certain amount of largesse ever since.

 Bluff, cheerful and possessed of a mind frighteningly unviolated by original thought, Adonis cherfully gestures the least objectionable enarby figure over in the form of Brakkus (mad, staring old lunatics at the bottom of the garden are positively all the rage these days down south) and offers to top up his cup from the knights own jug by waving it a little unsteadily and declaring cheerfully, loudly and with no malice whatsoever, "Ho there my good man, draw closer - it's a cold night for old bones."

The grizzled old man, happily happily drinking the offered mead, tells tales of his adventuring days when he and a man he refers to as 'Old Thorkel' used to fight side by side against all manners of goblins, trolls and giants.As the evening grows late, he lowers his voice and speaks of their most daring and terrible adventure. Their glorious battle with the vampire witch Fjonya.

"A one-eyed redhead, as beautiful as the sun but as dark as this very night, the undead witch came to the village in the middle of the day if you'll believe that,  to ask us brave warriors for our help in getting rid of a monstrous demon. When we went into the lair of the beast, we saw the woman herself, and fought her until we had no strenght left in our arms. My sword had been blessed in the blood of a holy man and was lethal to her, but old Thorkel had no such weapon and fell in battle!

The wench was beheaded and burned after I pierced her heart with a wooden stake I had to carve out from a tree out of her lair, but I had no heart to desecrate my companion's body and she had not bit him either. With our combined strenght, she had to fight with all of hers, using steel and magic alike, not simple teeth. I thought him safe and buried him.

Old Thorkel was heir to jarl who rules over this village, you know. In his stead, some stranger came on authority of the King and took up the castle and the authority. This happened just last year, if you'll believe me... I may look old, but I still had that fire burning in my veins until last year. But with Old Thorkel gone, I just don,t feel like it anymore... It's just not the same..."


As the man told his tale, a sour innkeeper gives Arkemos his meal and mead, shaking his head and grumbling about the new good-for-nothing king-appointed jarl, saying he never heard of the king appointing jarls this far south of Katorheim before.

OOC
Full meal: 1 silver florin
Jug of mead: 5 copper pennies
Spot on the floor to sleep: 3 copper pennies

Arkemos noded to the innkeeper, and set into the meal with gusto. He considered the man's tale in between bites, chewing thoughtfully and wondering what kind of a relationship the two fellows had that had kept a fire burning in their veins. He swallowed, took a sip of mead and then said, "A good tale to be sure old man. one less witch-vampyre in this world means only good things for the rest of us." Stabbing at a piece of meat with a knife Arkemos added, "But tell me more about this new Jarl. whats his story, and has he been offering any work?"

Brakkus is swift to take up Sir Campbell's offer and sips his topped up cup of mead gratefully. "My thanks sir knight, I must admit I am feeling my age this evening. Excuse my curiosity, but if I may ask, what brings you into the inhospitable north at this time of year?"

 Now, just in case there was any lingering doubt about the power of the mind lurking behind those achingly bright blue eyes, the good knight sets them all to rest by declaring, "M'horse!" in a cheerful tone of thigh-slapping jocularity that carries him into several moments of laughter (one that doesn't stop him topping up Brakkus' mug though) before it even occurs to him that trusty old Witchfire is stone cold dead and lying in a ditch.

 But he's just not suited to morose ill humours and is soon brightly answering in a more useful, if not vastly more encouraging note, "Questing sirrah, 'tis all the rage this year in Chaubrette so I'm told - and so we ride out in hunt of adventure..."

 Unfortunately, this is where two brain cells orbiting inside that impenetrable but elegently shaped skull caroom into one another and he adds, "Wouldn't want them to think us Hindward, would we, eh? - I said hindward, hunting, what!"

 But hey, he's buying, right?

[Private to GM:  I think I can stand to a few jugs of mead for spreading around... how drunk can people be for a florin? ^_^]

The round man perked his hears upon hearing of a possible job... Even forgetting to take a peek at the innkeeper's daughter's bosom as she leaned forward to take a sweep at a nearby table.

[Private to Sir Adonis Campbell: I would say it depends how much they can hold and how many people you split that Florin worth of mead on. ^^]

At Arkemos' inquiries, the storyteller turns his head more specifically toward him, his features darkened by a frown. Obviously, the man doesn't like the new jarl.
"If you'd work for him, stranger, why don't you go ask him if he needs some  mercenaries? He'll probably laugh and spit at you, though. Or maybe his guard captain will do it for him. I heard he doesn't even meet anyone himself."

Arkemos stopped chewing and slowly turned his head to glance at the storyteller. He started at the man for a good long while through the depths of his hood, before finally rasping, "Nobody spits upon Arkemos, master of the black arts." Turning back towards his meal the dark warrior dunked a piece of bread in his stew, shoveled it into his mouth then reaching inside his belt pouch took out a few coppers and tossed them onto the table in front of the storyteller. Gulping down a swallow of mead he gestured at the money and said, "But tell me moer about the going ons aound here. Who among town could have use for a man with a big sword like myself?"

Brakkus sits contentedly with Sir Adonis, nodding and smiling at the right places, asking for details of the knight's many adventures, and accepting the odd shot of mead. With one ear, he is paying attention to the conversations around him, especially those involving paid work. His funds are running pitifully low, even with his frugal lifestyle.

Kormak the hunter from the Gray Wolf Clan, shakes the dampness from his furs and stamps the cold out of his feet, blowing into his hands to keep them warm.  He glanced up at the dark sky and smiled inwardly.  The weather would break soon and he would be able to return home.  Having just traded the last of his pelts for a few florins, he decided that it would be best to spend the night in town before heading out early in the morning.

Opening the door to the inn quickly, he slipped inside and rubbed his upper torso to help increase his circulation, letting his eyes to adjust to flickering light.

Smiling broadly, he moved to the fire to warm himself.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:17, Thu 13 Nov 2008.

Hearing Arkemos' rasp, Beren raises his head, then, with an enigmatic smile, moves to the warlock's side, whispering from under his hood in Bacchile: "I sense some magic from you... I never thought I would meet another practitioner of magic."

[Private to Arkemos: [OOC:I'm assuming you speak Bacchile. Correct me if i'm wrong.]]

[Private to GM: Lets say 'the ones near the fire', depending upon how many people are in the room, since as I understand it the average jug is about a gallon and twenty gallons of mead would make any room full of people in an average Inn pretty comfortably squiffy. ^_^]

 The good knight (who's a little bereft of really good adventures of his own, which is why he's happy to let the old fellow handle the storytelling), already somewhat in his cups makes absolutely no secret whatsoever of his turning his head to the firepit and loudly exclaiming, "That for the black arts." before spitting into the fire, echoing the sentiments of about half the known world as he does so.

 It's pretty crowded by the fireplace already, but the arrival of a chap in a wolf-fur cloak, heavily armed and definitely not smelling of brimstone causes the knight to leave off whatever else he's about to say about demonology and instead to use a cheerful voice and the point of his boot (applied in a relatively friendly, casual fashion) to open up some space for the newcomer to settle in, "Hail there friend, come join us by the fire, drink deep and be merry!" - this is said with the waving of a half-empty jug of mead in a charitable fashion, so it can be assumed that he means well by it.

Kormak reacts to the besotted knight's cheerful salutation by turning towards him and smiling politely.  He looks the knight over and decides that he means well and poses no immediate threat.  "Well met.  I am Kormak the hunter." he says flatly, raising his hand in a gesture of universal greeting.  "I hail from the icy lands of the Gnawing Waste, and seek shelter from this dreary weather.  Aye, that and honest work for honest coin."

Kormak has spent his meager profits from the sale of his captured pelts on the new bow he carries and is somewhat concerned about his lack of funds for food and shelter.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:03, Fri 14 Nov 2008.

Arkemos regarded the portly man, considering him cautiously then realizing he too could sense an aura or the arkane frmo the man. "Well met." He replied guardedly. "What brings you to this hovel?" The knights sudden comment made Arkemos regard him coldly, but he didnt say anything. It was typical of superstitious peasants,warrior, knights and midwives to disregard the avenueof power that was the arcane. "We must be careful not to display our prowess in theopen. I am Arkemos, by the way. and I hail from the far North."

The door opened once again and a newcomer clad in skins and furs entered. A dangeous looking man, undoubtedly hailing from the plains and steppes far and beyond. Arkemos nodded to him as he went over to take a seat by the knight.

"My chosen name is Beren Sigilchyr," the sorcerer replied at a low voice. "I have just finished my apprenticeship, and am looking for a place in this world hostile to arcane wonders... What about you?"

Arkewmos chuckled mirthlessly and somewhat bitterly, nodding at the man's remarks. Pointing at the huge two handed sword propped up by his table he replied, "I am looking to sell my sword to the highest bidder, and to make a name in this cruel world. And I think I may have found it; this Jarl seems like someone who could use a few good swords to protect himnself. Or perhaps, the villagers may be willing topay good coin to have this Jarl...taken care off, if you know what I mean."

 Ahhh, now the arcane is perfectly fine, after all there was at least one bishop who said that it was just pagan idolatry, not trafficing with the darkness - or something like that, the fine points of theology tend to make ones eyes glaze over after all. But if a man goes out and states baldly that he traffics in the darkness, well - you can't but take him at his word, can you?

 Unless he's lying, which is one of the things trafficers in the darkness do a lot.

 This of course, is a thought process that Adonis doesn't even begin to torturously work through for the moment however, as he's far too busy brightly transferring his jug from left hand to right and returning the greeting before calling out, "Inkeep, a drinking horn for Kormak here!" and confiding to the barbarian, "You're a good few cups behind us, but we'll soon set that straight, nothing like a good head of mead to keep out the cold."

 Knights, it need not be said, tend to get on rather well with their savage warrior cousins from the north country, "I have the honour to be Sir Adonis Campbell, up from Albion on quest for the season!"

Kormak accepts the Knight's offer of drink and thanks him with a polite nod of his head before taking a sip.
To Arkemos, Kormak turns and asks, "What is this talk of jarls and sorcery?  Is there work to be had for fighting men in these parts?" Kormak remembers his empty coin purse and briefly thinks of various ways to fill it up again...some legal, some not.

The old veteran slowly stands, his frame still muscular even though he walks like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders. He walks slowly toward you all and seems to favor his right leg, his eyes on Arkemos.
"Master of the black arts, you say... And yet you have this big sowrd of yours... Beware, warlock. The black arts are not to be toyed with. I said our fight with the vampire wench was a year ago. Do you think I and Thorkel were old men? He was an old friend to me as we've been together since we were kids, but we were both in our thirties last year. Hell, I'm  still in my thirties if you'll believe that. It's the black arts that done this to me. Her black arts."
The man stares intently at Arkemos as he speaks and even when he falls silent, his eyes never leave him. Perhaps he's trying to appraise him... or to see into his soul.
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:27, Wed 19 Nov 2008.

A long drawn out yawn emanates from beneath a ragged cloth tarp in the corner of the common room (one of the spots on the floor sold the night before).  A young man with long unkept brown hair (with a few scattered beaded braids) and sharp green eyes pulls the tarp off chest, reverses it and fastens it around his neck like a cloak, bunching it up around his neck and shoulders so that it doesn't drag on the floor.  Satisfied he props himself up with a walking stick, stretches luxuriously.  He is dressed in a loose white shirt with brown leather vest, pants, and boots.  Taking stock of his meager remaining funds he says "Could you have you have your daughter bring me a jug of mead, its far to early stew today."

"Looking over at the old story teller by the fire, whats this about vampires you say.  We have had many problems with them in my once homeland of Analika.  Twas the machinations of the dead that laid my lord low and sent my family on life on the road once again.  If you know of any others in this land let me know now that I may avoid them like the black plague they are."

He then saunters over to the fire hoping to warm up and catch up on the latest rumors, flashing a smile at the innkeepers daughter before taking a seat.

At the veteran's words Brakkus stares at him sharply, with a fierce look of concentration on his face. [Private to GM: He is using his "always switched on" See Enchantment to determine if any residue of magic remains on the man]

"Vampires..." Beren said pensively. "Perhaps we should be on the lookout for any undead spawn of this hag. If she tried to dupe you so, perhaps you were not her first victims."

Arkewmos stared back at the old man, sipping mead and finaly saying, "Your valor is to be admired. but you should not give battle without being prepared, especially not when you are faced by a creature of the black night. But your tale intruiges me; vampyr are not so easily killed. Tell me, where does her lair lie? i would see it with mine own eyes."

 There's not much fun to be had in drinking alone which is no doubt at least part of the origin of Adonis' open-handed generosity, but the other soon comes into play as dark words of sinister foes are bandied back and forth, the very thought of necromantic spawn wandering the countryside willy-nilly putting a light in his eyes and a fire in his belly that's nothing to do with mead, "Aye, why not? - The storm has broken and the road can wait a day, I'm minded to take some chance companions to see what may be seen of this hellspawn wench and her deeds, speak on!"

Kormak starts at the mention of the living dead.  His ancient fear of the supernatural and the dark arts comes unbidden to the surface and a chill runs down his spine.  Overcoming his dread of the superstitious for a moment, Kormak asks, "Man, what talk is this of the Upyr?  Aye, if your story be the truth, then we must finish what you started.  Show us to the black one's lair that we may put her evil to an end and avenge the wrong she has done."   

The warrior nods his head in approval, satisfied perhaps with your enthusiasm at battling creatures of evil.  He opens his mouth, but before he can speak, lightning flashes and a loud crash of thunder almost deafens you all, as if it struck right outside the inn. Sure enough, the door slams open and a bone-chilling wind fills the hall. The 'old' man's eyes open wide in shock as he stares at the doorway, those of you looking there or turning around to see would notice a dark silhouette, a shadow of a man, flicker against the snowy countryside, before disappearing again.
"By Tor's hammer... Thorkel!"
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:27, Wed 19 Nov 2008.

 "To arms, as you love life and your souls, to arms!" bellows Sir Adonis in tones that would rattle the rafters of any building less stout than those that had just weathered the recent storm, untangling himself from stool and mead-jug to rise up in gleaming array, his reactions more than slightly fuzzed by drink but his courage not suffering in the least, "You sir!" - this directed at the 'elderly' tale teller, "What simples and protections past faith and steel should be born against such a beast?"

"Wait a minute," Beren said with a start, "what's happening?" His hand went to his sword, but he was careful not to look at the apparition directly, following it from the corner of his eye...

Ellinel listens to to the varied outbursts concerning the undead with satisfaction while masking his smile in his jug of mead.

The appearance of Thorkel he leaps into action putting as many people as possible between him and the man who was by all accounts dead.  In a swift action he draws his blade and takes stock of the newcomer.


(edited after confirmation that we are not in combat.)

[Private to GM: Ellinel suspects this is just a relative but he is not willing to take any chances where vampyrs might be concerned.  I hope I am not taking to many liberties is stating that he has his jug of mead already let me know what the acceptable level of control for such a small piece of scenery.  Note the following addendum if the Innkeepers daughter is in my way I will attempt to grab and pull her back with me ending with a spin and setting her behind me.]
This message was last edited by the player at 00:54, Thu 20 Nov 2008.

The hairs stand up on Kormak's neck at the appearance of the old man's long dead comrade.  Shaking off his mounting terror, he readies his two-handed sword and moves to the knight's side.  "By Gorn!  What devilry was that?" 

As pandemounium erupted around him Arkemos calmly took another sip of his mead, considering the open doorway over the cup's rim. "Friend of yours, old man? Doesn't he know he's supposed to be dead?" the warlock remarked sardonically to the storyteller. Waiting for an answer Arkemos tore off another hunk of bread, dunked it in his stew and shoveled it into his mouth. It appeared nothing much could faze the dark warrior.

Brakkus glowers at the apparition from behind his bushy beard, but keeps his own council. After a lifetime of living rough, encountering walking trees, three-headed dogs, boggits, pixies and strange lights in the sky, a simple spirit doesn't faze him.

Ignoring all comments and questions, the story-teller rushes outside, almost forgetting to grab is heavy fur cloak. He doesn't care however to grab his sword, leaving it leaning against the wall in its scabbard. The innkeeper's daughter, with yet another jug of mead ni her hand, stares blankly at the doorway, frozen in place for a moment. She only starts moving again when she feels the jug almost escaping her hands, reacting just in time to save the precious honey wine.
"That... that was no man... that was a ghost! I could see... through him! Oh gods protect us...."

 "A shade?" echoes Sir Campbell, moving towards the door as he draws his sword - not to wave it around willy-nilly (though his slightly drunken state does make it a bit perrilous to stand too close to him) but rather to reverse it and grip it by the first handspan or so of the blade to present it as a cross - which is all part and parcel of the symbology and mysticism of knighthood, if you believe that sort of claptrap.

 "No doubt his unquiet spirit is cursed to roam until some fell peril is taken into account and dispersed. Where was the unfortunate soul buried?" the knight asks loudly, substituting instantaneous leaps of narrative for the more usual process of structured thought that, frankly he's not equipped for - and then, realising that the only man who might have known is darting outside, moving to follow with all speed.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:03, Thu 20 Nov 2008.

Kormak moves cautiously towards the doorway, sword held tightly in both hands.  He visage is dark and brooding. "What manner of Spirit was that?  And look!  The storyteller left without his blade!"Kormak looks around at the others, "I will go after the storyteller. He may be able to help us solve this mystery."Kormak moves through the tavern doorway and out into the street, searching for a sign of the old man.


_{Edit for spelling}
This message was last edited by the player at 18:11, Thu 20 Nov 2008.

Meanwhile Brakkus wanders towards the wall where the stranger left his sword and examines the weapon carefully, though he doesn't risk touching it. [Private to GM: using see enchantment]

Tossing a handful of pennies onto the desk Arkemos gestured towards the innkeeper. "That was for the meal." Slowly, deliberately the warlock stood up, picked up his massive greatsword and began to follow the barbarian and knight out the door. "Come Beren, your sorcery and my black invocations may be needed. It appears this village has gotten itself into far more trouble than it can handle."

Letting a few coins on the table to pay for his meal and the ale, Beren ties his scabbard to his belt and follows Arkemos, nodding.

Noting that the room rapidly appears to be emptying of all the well armed confident (and by the sounds of it magically able) men, Ellinel sheaths his sword, withdraws his crossbow from his pack and readies it, then makes ready to fall in behind the building exodus from the Inn.

While Brakkus takes a closer look at the sword that was so absently left behind, the innkeeper is quick to close the door behind those who rush outside. His daughter still muttering prayers to various benevolent norse gods, he eyes the hermit suspiciously, but seems to keep a watchful eye on the door as well, as if expecting it to burst open again to reveal some sort of demon.

Those heading outside can see the storyteller on higher ground, on the other side of the road. The shadowy Thorkel, if it is truly his shade, is next to him and seems unthreatening.

As the adventurers approach, weapons drawn or not, the ghostly man turns to face them slowly and speaks with an otherwordly voice.

"Brave men from other lands... You search for gold and treasure... You seek adventure... You wish to fight evil... Each of you has their reasons... My purpose is vengeance... My wish is justice... My enemy is Sigfried... The heir of Fjonya... Tomorrow, the storm will cease... And you will bring a storm of death to the usurper... Do not fail as we once did... And you will find your wishes realized..."

As he speaks those last words, the ghost slowly disappears from sight, as if a sudden gust of wind turned him into more snowflakes to add to this last storm before spring. The grizzled warrior stares blankly where the dead man once stood.
This message was last edited by the GM at 04:37, Fri 21 Nov 2008.

 Well, that was a waste of a good few pints of perfectly pleasant mead, the ice-chill of prophecy and geas scouring the happy fug of inebriation from Adonis' mind with the harsh brush of sobriety and the stinging bleach of foreknowledge...

 Well, it seems like a night for overstretched metaphors.

 Holding up the crucifix-hilt of his sword, the knight presses his lips against the metal in veneration and then reverses his hold, taking the weapon by the grip once more and brandishing it in salute, declaring (and this is something that people may take issue with) "As you have returned from death itself to bear witness, so shall we risk Hell's gate itself to see justice be done, though the skies fall!"

 Yup, someone's read too many romances.

 Or at least looked at the pictures.

Brakkus picks up the stranger's blade and moves swiftly outside to catch him up and return it. He arrives in time to catch most of the apparition's speech, and when it is finished moves to respectfully hand the sword back to the old warrior.

Kormak flinched instinctively as the apparition dissolved before his eyes.  "The thing disappears like mist!  By Gorn!  What manner of shade was that?  Who is Sigfried?  Who is Fjonya?  Old man, what is this talk of vengeance?"

"A she-vampire that the old man and his ghostly friend slew some time ago - though the latter was very much alive when they faced her..."

Pensively, he added: "It seems that this Thorkel fellow wishes to pursue justice and good even beyond the grave, unless it is yet another trap... Because in the tale that our friend recounted, the witch trapped them by making them believe she wanted to ally with them against a greater evil."

Arkemos istened impassively to the sorry old specter, his lips pressed together ina grim line. "So, evil has reared its demonic head in this sleepy village. Well, it appears it picked the wrong village to mess with. Together, all of us shoulkd prove a most formiddable foe to any who dare threaten innocents. Ofcourse, I am confident there will be suitable cash reward, but that cxan be dealt with later. For now, who is this Sigfried?" The Warlock rasped, glancing at the storyteller inquisitively.

Having composed himself again and wearing a sheepish grin Ellinel chimes in "Yes and what was this about your friend dieing due to lacking proper armaments while you were able to slay the undead with your sword"

Eying the old storyteller the whole time and looking to see if he is carrying a blade.

The warrior slowly comes back to his senses as BRakkus hands him his sword. After giving the hermit his thanks, he looks at each of you adventuring fellows in turn, trying to gather his wits and answer the questions that were asked.

"Fjonya... is the vampire I killed. With this very sword."
As he speaks, he draws out the simple blade from its scabbard and by the way it reflects what little light there is, you can see it is made of pure silver.

"Siegfried... That bastard Siegfried would be that jarl that came out of nowhere, without a doubt. I know of no other Siegfried around here. And It would makes some sense that he arrives soon after his mistress' demise... Yes.. It would explain why I suffer this curse... 'As long as my lineage endures' she said 'you will be old and weak while we will be eternally young and strong'. Those were the words she cursed me with. Yet I had enough strenght left to behead her."

Looking at his sword, the man sighs heavily, sheathing it again and slowly heading for the inn, shivering in the cold night. For a moment, you thought his will to fight had come back, judging from the look in his eyes as he looked at his reflection in the silvery sword, but that feeling is soon gone.

"If you truly wish to fight that creature, be it undead or living, I say you should go meet the old witch, Olga the Wise. She lives in a hut in the forest, about a day's walk to the northwest. She helped me in the past... For now, we all should sleep. So cold..."
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:29, Sun 23 Nov 2008.

Arkemos considered the man, listening to his grim tale. "I see. So this count is a hell-spawn, a foul creature of darkness that has decided to prey upon this village and its environs." The warlcok clenched his gloved fist, and smashed it into the palm of his other hand, before turning to look at the others. "This cannot go unanswered. I have long sworn to fight the encroaching darkness that threatens the world of man, even as w go about our own petty squabbles, unaware that foul things in the shadows prey upon us. And while I may fight them usng black arts, my motives are...pure. The best way to fight fire is with fire, as they say."

"Let us go and visit this wise woman..." Beren said, as a shiver ran down his spine and his eyes turned away from the ghost. "We must know what it is we are facing."

Brakkus speaks up. "I will join you on this quest, if you'll have me. Evil such as this should bot go unchallenged, and I think you will find my skills useful on the road. But for now I think we should retire to the inn, it's no night to be wandering in the woods in the dark"

"We'll make way at first light," Beren said, heading for the inn.

 "Indeed, no true knight could bear the thought of such a creature existing whilst there is yet the strength in arm and heart to bear a blade against it!" declares Sir Adonis, quite caught up in the moment, before the glint of silver shining in the night catches his eye and once more causes two random brain cells to bounce off one another somewhere in the frighteningly empty confines of his skull.

 Facing the hermit he offers a salute with his own sword and then reverses the length of gleaming steel so that it lies across one arm, hilt-first towards the prematurely aged man, "And with that said good sir, though your arm lacks the strength to bear a blade against the spawn of the night-hag, I would be honoured if you would allow me to bear it upon your behalf, that it might strike the blows you wish to lay upon the foe in your name."

The cursed adventurer makes his way to the inn, ignoring further comments and keeping his thoughts to himself. He does give Adonis a glance however, perhaps pondering the man's word, but says no more.

You all head back to the inn and prepare for to get a good rest, knowing the next few day should be pretty interresting. At least for risk-taking adventurers like you all. The innkeeper is quick to close the door again behind you as you get in, looking like he would rather you all have remained outside but either fear of your weapons or greed for your florins keeps his mouth shut and his behavior polite, if not exactly friendly.

You all wake up in the morning and take a meager breakfast, graciousness of the storyteller, before you get ready to head out for the forest and the wise woman's hut. It seems like th 'old' man will accompany you there, at least to show you the way, and perhaps to speak to the woman as well for himself.
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:00, Sun 23 Nov 2008.

With the graciousness of the tavern's host or the old man...or perhaps even the knight's, Kormak manages to secure a place in the common room for the night.  His sleep is fitful, but finally, dawn breaks and he consumes the offered meal with relish.  He is fit and ready to go as soon as the others are up and about.

Ellinel is very quiet during the revelations concerning Sigfried and Fjonya the night before but this morning he seems to have taken a grim expression that runs counter to his normally scattered manner.

"It seems that the undead and their machinations cannot be avoided even in this distant land.  If the only way I can get some peace and breathing room to operate in is to create it then so be it."

Arkemos spent much of the night sleepless, as he usually did. During the early hoursof the morning, he had a simple breakfast then went outside to practice his sword-forms shirtless. The warlock's muscles rippled as he swung the massive sword as if it were a twig, cutting through imaginary phantoms and foes with deadly grace.

Dawn had broken by the time he was done so he went inside, took a hot bath and then rejoined the others at breakfast. Finishing the meal he headed out the front door behind the others, towards the old woman's abode. "What can you tell me about this old woman, old man?" He asked the storyteller, as they began walking towards their destination. "Should we be ready for some unpleasantness, given your track record with women thus far?"
This message was last edited by the player at 17:10, Mon 24 Nov 2008.

Brakkus too finds it difficult to rest, he has grown used to his own company and is uncomfortable sleeping indoors. He eats a frugal breakfast and gathers together his meagre belongings and in no time is ready to hike off into the forest to seek the old woman. [Private to GM: Do we have to pay for a space on the floor as well or does the storyteller cover it?]

Beren slept uneasily, his sword in his right hand, his left hand twitching at regular intervals.

When he awoke, he spent some time outside meditating, focusing his mind on the outer spheres from whence his powers came. He cut a loaf of bread, some cheese, drank an ale and followed the others silently, the walk already taxing his feeble legs.

 The sword is the weapon of a knight, even as his belt and spurs are the signs of his rank, and even the savage warriors of the northlands, far from the knightly ideal though they are recognise enough of that simple truth that Adonis takes no real offence when the old man declines his initial offer - such a thing must be thought upon after all.

 After a short vigil of prayer, Adonis - unlike most everyone else - settles down to the sleep of the innocent and just, snoring like a rusty ripsaw cutting through cordwood underwater and occasionally elbowing anyone unfortunate enough to be sharing the common area within a dozen or so feet of the fireplace, which is where he 'staked a claim' some time before... Even more depressingly he's up bright, early and apparently with boundless vigour an hour or so before the sun - in time to take advantage of the false dawn to splash around with icy water from the rain-barrel, stretch a bit and wander back inside shirtless, leaving Arkemos to impress the morning birds with his exercise and dedication whilst he snags a good, hearty breakfast.

 If there's any mead around, that too becomes part of breakfast.

Once all have done their morning preparations and are ready to go, the cursed warrior, who finally introduces himself quite simply as Bjorn, explains his plans.
"We will head straight for the forest to reach the wise woman's hut before nightfall. No roads lead there and there might be some wild starved animals if we're unlucky enough, so be prepared."

He glances at Adonis as he continues...
"I'll accompany you to give that sword back to Olga the Wise. It will be for her to decide if she gives you such gift. My part in this will be done then, that much is certain. Old Thorkel didn't appear to me, he appeared to you all in my presence, that means he's counting on you to do the killing and on me to do the explaining."

His 'explaining' done, he leads the way out of the village, heading northwest toward the forest.


OOC: You may discuss along the way but I think we've role-played quite enough that you have at least an idea who you're adventuring with and are all itchy for some action, yes?

Kormak, none to eager to have anything to do with witches, or vampires for that matter, silently follows the old man into the forest.  Kormak has his bow out and scans the path ahead for signs of danger...

Arkemos walked ahead to one side of Bjorn. "I personally don't see the rason for seeing this old coot. We have identified the problem, this baron, and we should head straight to him and lop of his head." Grumbled the Warlock as he ducked undeneath a bramble with a scowl.

Walking behind the pair, Brakkus takes exception to Arkemos' comment. "With an attitude like that you won't live to be an old man, you young whippersnapper" says the hermit with a smile.

"The elderly can occasionnaly be a font of occult knowledge," Beren added. "Especially where witches are concerned. Additional information does not hurt..."

 Adonis is armoured and ready to go in good time, answering Bjorn's offer with a cheerful nod of his head and a firm slap upon the back that probably would have been better directed at someone not prematurely old, then stretches his legs somewhat to put him up at the front of the column for as long as there's an obvious path (which is plainly where the most important person in the group belongs, by his way of thinking - if it can be called that).

 "Don't be foolish, you always go and talk to the local wise folk before heading off on this sort of thing, don't you ever pay any attention to the stories?" declares the knight brashly at the warlocks protest, "If we all just went around lopping the heads off dark creatures without observing the formalities we'd be no better than Kurlanders."

You march hastily, to make sure to reach the place before nightfall, but your progress is slowed down by the poor state of the road. Mud covered with melting snow makes travelling hazardous and dirty, especially for the knight's shining armored feet. Trees begin to dot the landscape the more you advance and not long after, you can hear the howling of a wolf in the distance, certainly a proof that you are approaching the woodlands. An unnecessary proof perhaps, as the forest darkens the horizon.

The howl however, seemed closer.
And it is answered by another, closer still.
A last howl, to your left, and your guide's hand moves to his sword hilt.
"I'm guessing those didn't have much luck hunting this winter..."


OOC:There we go. Can't start a classic old style Dragon Warriors game without the classic old style wolf encounter, can we?
Now of course, you can't distance wolves as you're on foot, but you can make a stand right there or look for a better position or strangle one another or whatever. When you made up your mind on fighting positions, notify me in the Battle Order thread.
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:09, Tue 02 Dec 2008.

OOC: Well, I have the old 2-handed sword, so I have to stand alone!  Well, at least I need 2m or so of swinging room.

IC: Kormak glances around, alerted by the guides comments and actions.  Realizing the threat posed by winter hungry wolves, he unconciously looks down at the wolf-head cloak and smiles at the irony. "What will they think of this if they should bring me down?" he wonders as he kisses the furred cloak for good luck.  "My brothers are hungry and it makes them bold!  Form a circle my friends and face the enemy!  Blood for blood! Death for death!" cries the barbarian, his blood beginning to boil as combat approaches.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:53, Tue 02 Dec 2008.

 Mud happens, tiring though it is and though he's more used to riding comfortably above it than slugging through it, the quilted padding worn underneath plate steel to soften blows makes for a perfectly good set of insulation against the chill... Until the wolves howl out and the hunter makes his suggestion.

 "Aye, those in armour form on my right that my shield will ward our left!" he calls, drawing sword and unslinging said shield from his back, bearing the heraldic crest of his house as he does so, "Those not in armour cast your eyes about - ward our rear and perhaps look for some better place to make our stand!"

Uh oh, trouble ahead on this fine day already...

Cursing under his breath, Beren drew his own sword. "I doubt wolf pelt is still worth much after tasting fire," he said, sheltering himself behind the biggest and more armored of the group, "so I'll let you do as much hacking as you can, and mend any wound."

Brakkus hefts his bow and readies an arrow. "We should seek high ground" says the hermit "and start a fire. A burning brand is usually enough to drive off a wolf"

"I concur  with Brakkus. Someone light a torch...beasts fear fire." Arkemos said grimly, reaching behind him and slowly drawing his massive greatsword. The grinning skull that capped its pmmel seemed to smile ever wider, as if the thought of bloodhed amused it.

OOC: How far are we from the woods and how much time do we have before the wolves appear?

"Aye, light a fire and if there be higher ground nearby to make a stand, then let's find it quickly!" Kormak says with a grim determination in his eyes as he readies his sword for battle.

Edited for content.  Changed Kormak's statement of intent.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:41, Wed 03 Dec 2008.

NPC'ed and counting as a GM post

Looking around quickly for a defendable position, Ellinel soon points to a small mound that is luckily in the opposite direction form the howls. The slope is not too steep and there are some small bushes on top of it, though they are very unlikely to catch fire easily, due to the recent weather.
"That's about as high as it gets I think... Better hurry before those beasts catch up with us. I can see some of them already."
Wondering if he even has time to load his crossbow before the pack is on the group, Ellinel draws his sword instead and takes a few quick steps toward the mound, waiting to make sure everyone is following, or if someone comes with a better plan.

 "It will serve - those of you who have not armour, prepare a fire if you can in this wet muck... the rest of us will teach these curs what bright steel and brave hearts can do!" calls Adonis in a fine mood, the prospect of a little light bloodshed against such night-stalking creatures of petty evil as wolves (alright, so it's a stereotype with little truth in it, but what else do you expect from a southerner?) giving him no end of good cheer as he prepares to fall back with the others, moving in a smooth line if they should prove capable of keeping to it.

Brakkus heads back behind the fighters, higher up the slope so that he can shoot arrows down at the wolves over their heads. "Anyone have any lantern oil?" he asks, gesturing at the soggy busshes "It will take more than a flint and tinder to burn this"

"Oh for crying out loud...Beren, do you know of any fire spell that could conjure fire to aid us?" Arkemos grumbled as he waved his massive blade about absently, scanning the area for any sign of the wolves. The warlock resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the knights comments, thinking instead to channel his aggression positively towards their foes. "I don't suppose there's any chance this baron has werewovles at his command does he?" Arkemos asked the old man.

Intrigued by the request, Beren produced his flint and tinder: "Practical magic which does not use valuable combat resources," he said with an impish grin.

[OOC: If there is no fuel nearby, a Dragonbreath would not be more useful than that.]

"I have oil in my lantern.  Here, take it," says Kormak, handing over the filled lantern to whomever will take it.

As you all make your way toward your soon-to-be defendable position, the wolves quit sneaking and start running, seeing their preys (you!) running from, them. They are faster than you are, and hungry too, but the mound is close enough that you all manage to reach it and take position before they can take a bite at any of you.

Thorkel finds himself panting and having a hard time catching his breath after that sprint however, much to his embarasment, and he swears abundantly, which really doesn't help with the breath-catching.

As you take positions now, the beasts slow down and circle the mound, climbing up slowly, snarling and showing their fangs. The creatures clearly had a hard time finding prey as of late, and it shows... but the time is not for pity when they think to make you their next meal!


And Combat Begins!
Before anyone posts here however, I want you all to post in the Battle Order thread so we all know where you are.
There are 7 wolves in this hungry pack. They're about 10m from you now.
The bushes on top of the mound are thick enough to keep your back to and not be attacked from behind.
Once I give you the go, post in Turn Order (as listed in the Combat Rules thread).

This message was last edited by the GM at 17:52, Sat 06 Dec 2008.

NPC'ed
Taking his position behind the others, Ellinel takes a quick look at the wolves climbing up. Knowing their skin and fur would do little if anything at all against his weapons, he throws three small blades at one of them, his hand lightning-fast.

OOC
GamesMaster, on behalf of Ellinel, rolled 1 using 1d20.
GamesMaster, on behalf of Ellinel, rolled 17 using 1d20.
GamesMaster, on behalf of Ellinel, rolled 6 using 1d20.
Attack score: 13
Armor Bypass: d2+1
Damage 2
Hey that's a crit right there!

Brakkus notches an arrow and whsipering a brief prayer to the Source shoots an arrow at one of the wolves attacking Sir Adonis.

[Private to GM: 16:44, Today: Brakkus the Hermit rolled 11 using 1d20. Attack with bow.

It's been a while. DO I get -1 on the roll because of my reflexes. Brakkus' attack is 12. Don't think I hit...]

Kormak grips his sword in both hands, his eyes darting from wolf to wolf, watching and waiting, ready to strike at the first wolf that moves toward him or a companion adjacent to him.

 Likewise Sir Adonis holds his ground, anchoring the left hand of the groups line, shield held close to his body but ready to be extended to protect Kormak and sword-arm relaxed upon his left side, ready to swing out and down at the first onrushing wolf...

 ---

 If necessary I'll split my defence two ways, 5/4. And yes, I forgot Adonis was left-handed, but this way around works too. Otherwise, GM you're more than welcome to roll the attack on the first wolf for me, since you know their defence. ^_^

Arkemos stood to the side, a silent sentinel ready to deal death to the rabid wolves when they moved closer. "No need to worry, they are like overgrown dogs...ai for their heads when they leap and you shoud get them."

Waiting for the wolves to close.

AS two of Ellinel's thrown weapons pierce its flesh, one of the wolves yelps in pain and almost loses its balance. It manages to recover but looks like it won't last long. One of its packmates looks like it'S going to pounce its wounded kin for a moment, but a vicious growl forces it to turn its attention back on you and soon the whole pack moves, running up the mound and snapping their jaws at you, while Brakkus arrow only hit the ground.

OOC
Wolf A and Wolf B are on Adonis.
Wolf C and Wolf D (wounded for 4 hp) are on Kormak.
Wolf E and Wolf F are on Arkemos.
Wolf G is pretty angry at having thick bushes in its way and paces impatiently.
Those who Waited can now act.

And please follow your Turn Order (in the next round that is).
1- Ellinel
2- Brakkus and Adonis (act at the same time, post in whatever order >.>)
3- Kormak
4- Beren
5- Arkemos and Wolves
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:12, Wed 10 Dec 2008.

[OOC: Beren will react as soon as possible if a pair of wolves get the upper... paw on one of his friends and fire a dragonbreath at one of them.]

Kormak takes a swing at the wounded wolf engaging him...

OOC:  Attack = 14
10:33, Today: Kormak the Hunter rolled 12 using 1d20. Attack with 2-H Sword.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:36, Fri 12 Dec 2008.

 Moving slightly faster than Kormak (but not as fast as Ellinel), Sir Adonis lunges with his sword.

 ---

 20:48, Today: Sir Adonis Campbell rolled 11 using 1d20.

Arkemos gritted his teeth as the foul canines flanked him. He slashhed left...but it was a feint! As the wolf snapped its teeth on empty air the  warlock lunged right with a blasphemous battlecry on hispurple lips! "Blood and bones! Blood and bones!"

12 on attack!

As one of the wolves flose in, sir Adonis' sword greets the snarling beast warmly... or sharply. More intent on eating at any cost than on dodging attacks it seems, the beast is struck by the sword and yelps in pain.


OOC: Wolf A is struck for 4hp damage.


Arkemos and Kormak similarly meet the hungry creatures with steel, but one seems to swing his large two-handed blades a little too high while the other's wolf simply jumps to the side to avoid the blow.


OOC: Arkemos and Kormak miss, though not by much.
Beren delays.

Wolf A (wounded for 4hp) and Wolf B are on Adonis.
Wolf C and Wolf D (wounded for 4 hp) are on Kormak.
Wolf E and Wolf F are on Arkemos.
Wolf G is pretty angry at having thick bushes in its way and paces impatiently.
Combat Round 2 begins!
Please post in turn order and refer to NPC-Ellinel's action for how to post.


Ellinel(NPC'd) seeing the wolf close in, he considers drawing his sword but figures that would only expose him to the nasty bites of the wolves. Instead, he takes a few more of his throwing spikes and hurls them at the wounded beast facing Kormak, the one that already has two of his spikes sticking out, hoping to take it down.

OOC
GamesMaster, on behalf of Ellinel, rolled 10 using 1d20.
GamesMaster, on behalf of Ellinel, rolled 2 using 1d20.
GamesMaster, on behalf of Ellinel, rolled 15 using 1d20.
Attack: 13
Armor Bypass: d2+1
Damage: 2

 The short lunge connects and Sir Adonis smoothly twists his wrist and withdraws the blade, the first few inches of it stained with blood - a triumphant cry of "HA!" rings out across the scene of the fight as he sweeps the blade back for a less successful second blow.

 ---

 20:41, Today: Sir Adonis Campbell rolled 12 using 1d20. Stabbity stabbity.
 That's a miss is that.

Brakkus aims carefully and sends an arrow thudding into the wolf attacking Sir Adonis.

OOC:
Attack 12
07:14, Today: Brakkus the Hermit rolled 6 using 1d20-1. Shoot wolf.
07:15, Today: Brakkus the Hermit rolled 2 using 1d6. Armour bypass (I think bow is d6).
Damage 4??

[OOC: still waiting for one my comrades to be endangered before casting dragonbreath]

OOC: Fast-forwarded.
You still get 1xp each.

A last howl is heard as the last wolf dies, hunger never to bother them again. An easy battle, thanks to a good strategy, no wounded on your side thanks to some heavy armors, though some arrows and a throwing spike were lost, having missed their mark.

Once everyone has recovered, you all head back to the road and continue your travels toward the forest and the witch's cabin. An hour or two later, the wise woman's home is in sight.

 Pausing only to clean the blood from his sword and kick a twitching corpse or two to ensure that it's quite, quite dead, the brave sir Adonis (who still steadfastly refuses to have a proper hangover or indeed, to be able to be brought down by anything much less than a well-slung rock to the back of the head) gives a cheerful little clap of his hands and gestures for folks to follow him with a hearty "Come on fellows, no lollygagging!", having apparently decided (if such a word can be applied to the minimal thought processes going on in there) that noble blood obviously means that he's in charge.

 On the bright side, so long as no-one explains any different to him, this means he'll be right up there in the lead where he can get shot, stabbed or otherwise inconvenienced before the rest of the group are in the line of fire.

Brakkus collects any unbroken arrows he can find and trudges after Sir Adonis, sick at heart that he was forced to kill the wolves, even in his own defence.

Relieved that the fight was over, Beren remained silent during the journey to the wise woman's hut.

Bjorn casts his head about warily, scanning the horizon in all directions.

Come now, quickly.  he says

Were it not for this wretched evil eye that has been set on my I'd have helped ye with yon wolves.  Many I've killed in my day.   There'll be more about I warrant - the wolves in these parts are nigh on clever as a man! Never send the whole pack to attack in daylight.

He hobbles towards the edge of the woods, putting on a suprising turn of speed for such a wizened frame.   Following him, you have to push through thick brush for a few minutes until suddenly a narrow but clear trail appears.   The trees are quite thick on either side so even in the early afternoon, it is a little dark.

Bjorn pauses and looks over his shoulder.  "On this track we can only walk one after t'other.  Being as how there might be more of yon wolves, I reckon one of you big lads should go in front.  I'll walk with my hand on yer should t' guide ye."

[ooc: what is your battle order on the track?].

 "Bah, a few thorns and thistles are no barrier" declares a man who, dressed as he is in steel plate from tonsils to toenails probably believes every word as Adonis forges forwards and takes up the lead position on the trail, motioning with his other hand for whomever is next in line to come along in the jolliest fashion possible, "I shouldn't worry about guidance - if the path should split I'll just stop and wait to see what you make of it, after all if it gets as tight as all that we can hardly be split up now, can we?"

Brakkus presses on wearily, staying near the middle of the group while keeping an eye - and an ear - out for anything unusual.

OOC: Will go for 3rd in battle order.

"I'll be content to take a middle position," Beren said.

OOC: anything as long as I'm neither first nor last.

Bjorn mutters under his breath as he grabs a hold of Adonis' backplate. "Thy shall get lost in these woods wi'out me, young'un".  Behind him come Brakkus and Beren.  Ellinel and the others make up the rear.

The path goes straight into the woods for about half an hour.  The trees begin to get older and taller, and their tangled roots rise out of the forest floor.  But the path itself is pretty clear and you make good progress.  For another 20 mins the path curves this way and that - Bjorn keeps a sharp eye out so no one stumbles.

Finally you come to a fair size clearing.  The path continues on the other side of the clearing, but you note a lesser used path coming out of the clearing at right angles.  Bjorn leans against a tree and motions for all to stop.  "Not far now lads.  Reckon we should catch a breath here for a moment, afore we reach Madam Olga's place.  She be old but her wits still be sharp - wouldn't do to arrive out o'breath a puffin' and a pantin'."  He slowly sits down with his back against the trees.
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:59, Wed 04 Mar 2009.

Brakkus doesn't need asking twice, and sinks down gratefully to the ground, massaging his calves.

 "I said I will do well enough old one and I meant it!" declares Adonis firmly, not being used to having his word gainsaid by the old and indolent, least of all by a mere bloody peasant.

 On the other hand, despite his refusal to be guided like a child, he never ventures more than five to ten feet in front of the rest of the group on a narrow path and - when he stumbles from time to time - seems willing to live with the consequences of his actions without blaming them on other folk.

 When a halt is called he comes to a stop without complaint, apparently having forgiven and forgotten with the ease of a naturally easy-going sort of fellow to whom it doesn't come easily to hold a grudge - while not terribly out of breath (and that despite the steel he's wearing) he's obviously happy to stock up a breather whenever one presents itself like any good warrior.

 "What can you tell us of this Madam Olga?" he asks amiably, leaning against a convenient tree and flexing one limb after another moment to moment, to ward against their cramping.

In reply to Sir Adonis Campbell (msg #110):

Bjorn cocks an eye at Adonis' creaking antics inside his full-plate armour.  "Well, young'un I can tell 'ee what I know.  Bain't much, mind.  That Olga been old since I were a wean.  Minding as how I bain't so old as I looks, on account of that damn curse.

But they told us that in times back when she herself was only but a young maid, she lived way down there in Ellesland and learnt her the craft o' witchin.  Only there they call it "Sorcelizin" or some such.  To me witchin' is witchin'!    He glances at Beren for a moment "no offence mind".

"Well, ever since I've lived here, that Olga lived in the woods.  Helpin the folk o' the village with this and that. The old Jarl he didn't rightly see eye-to-eye with her but respected her all the same.   Sure enough she done cure his hounds and his men at arms more than once".

"Now this new man, this Siegfried, he don't like her at all.  Right off he heard on her, done declare her a piece o' evil and ban the villagers from seein her.  They keep right on seein' her though - only on the quiet, like.  That's why we got ta approach her nice and calm like.  Ever since this Siegfried came she gots to worryin' about him makin trouble for her".
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:25, Sun 08 Mar 2009.

Beren made an undecipherable grin at Bjorn's comment on sorcery, but did not appear otherwise bothered. He was used to less polite remarks whenever someone found out about his crafts...

Arkenos prowls across to the lesser path and squints along it.  "Fellows, I can see something along here.  Some kind of sack"

 Being about as observant when it comes to the feelings of others as a similarly sized and shaped brick, Sir Adonis remains cheerfully oblivious to the funny looks his calisthenics are receiving - but since he can be assured that if sudden movement is necessary, he won't be hosting a collection visit from the biological debt fairy, he'd probably not mind even if he was aware of it.

 Wonder of wonders, he does sort of listen however, and save for making a sign of aversion at the mention of witchcraft, appears to be reasonable enough about the whole thing... "Well if she's a true witch she'll no doubt reveal herself at some point, otherwise I see no harm in treating her as a wise woma..."

 He breaks off to turn towards Arkenos when the other fellow calls out, head tilting to one side, asking "Well what of it?" in slightly impatient tones.

Arkenos' eyes gleam faintly. It seems like some kind of knapsack.  It seems to have been abandoned for rather a long time.

Brakkus' ears prick up at Arkenos' words. Abandoned knapsacks are often abandoned because their previous owner was killed by some local beastie. Groaning, the old hermit gets to his feet again and looks around carefully.

 "Well take a look at it then, must I hold your hand through every little thing?" Sir Adonis states grumpily, having now had his train of thought completely derailed (not least because it's the sort of little mechanical train that goes around and around a short track and plays jangly music for kiddies), pushing off the tree he's leaning against and stomping towards the other man.

In reply to Sir Adonis Campbell (msg #117):

Brakkus looks around but does not see anything untoward.  Bjorn's "five minutes" seem to have turned them into a full-on nap as he is snoozing gently with his chin on his chest.

Kormak also pricks up his ears at the mention of the pack and joins Adonis and Arkenos at the other path.  Arkenos, somewhat emboldened, takes a step forward and points "there - see - at the foot of yonder tree".

Sure enough there does seem to be some kind of bag or sack, not too ragged, poking out from the underbrush.
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:44, Mon 16 Mar 2009.

"Wait!" says Brakkus. "Let me first check for the taint of enchantment"

Using See Enchantment on the sack

Beren looked attentively around, wondering whether it was some kind of trap or not.

 "For the saviours sake!" declares Sir Campbell, crossing himself smoothly to turn incipient blasphemy into nothing more than outright exasperation, stomping towards said pack in the manner of a man intending to simply yank the thing out of cover.

 Of course, if he were a wiser man he'd use a long stick or perhaps a weapon... and he'd certainly not expose himself to threats... but it's the armour you see. All that weight of metal seems to suck the juice right down out of a mans brains.

Kormak and Arkenos follow on Adonis clanking heels, almost jostling to get a look.  The pack is a little tangled in the underbrush but with a firm yank it comes free.   It is held shut by some leather straps, and on the top are embroidered some runes.  In the fading light Adonis manages to make them out - they appear to be the name "Carsten Redbeard".

Brakkus concentrates for a few seconds then shakes his head, wriggling his bushy beard. "There is nothing magical nearby".

 Jostle all they like, bumping into the hulking Sir Adonis is rather like bouncing off a plate-armoured statue (indeed, in more ways than one since the average statue has about a fifty-fifty chance of outmaneuvering the good knight in any given contest of wits). With a firm yank he tugs the sack free and turns around to stomp back into the clearing proper before rather awkwardly (he is wearing gauntlets after all) unfastening the straps and simply upending the contents on the ground - though in all fairness he is at least clever enough to lower the bag to only just above the ground before doing so.

 Those runes are probably going to cause trouble of course, but it's 'all foreign foolishness' as far as Adonis is concerned.

Adonis turns and clanks back to the clearing.   Each step he takes seems to be more difficult.  At first his heart and lungs, despairing of receiving a response from his slowly-ticking brain, simply apply more force.  Then Arkenos gives a cry and you all look down - the ground has become wet and marshy and your feet sink into the mire up to your knees.

Adonis is stuck fast with his heavy plate.  Arkenos goes pale and points towards a shape flitting behind the tress.  He suddenly stands very still and lifts his hand clear of its sword hilt.  Kormak manages with a lot of grunting to slowly lift one leg out and move forward another step or two.

At that moment the trees around this path seem to draw in again, with a definite rustling.

You all hear a voice, quite low but definitely a woman's, calling out around you.   "Who be ye to take poor Carsten's belongings?"

"Huh oh, another nasty surprise..." Beren sighed. He turned around, asking: "Who be you, madam? We have no foul intentions, I assure you. My companions just saw a pack lying near the road and thought that perhaps something ill had befell its owner, and were searching it for clues!"

 "Who the blazes are you to say that we should not!" announces the knight in a resounding voice as he reaches up to flick open his visor, turning as best he can at the waist while struggling to free himself from the sudden quagmire, "We did no harm to this Carsten fellow nor are we thieves, but it would be an incurious lout indeed who did not question an abandoned satchel beside the road."

 Well, on the bright side - the knight is at least shouting instead of drawing his sword, which suggests at least a proportion of the good manners his despairing tutors tried to beat into him took.

The voice calls again "These woods are not yours, sirs.  I ask again - who are you and what is your business here?"

"We have come here on Bjorn's advice, to seek Madam Olga's wisdom! We don't mean harm!" Beren answered.

At the sound of his name Bjorn lazily opens his eyes and looks at Beren.  "Ach lad yon numpties have gone and upset her now", he mutters.  Then raises his voice "Mistress Olga bain't need for all this noise.  Twere I as brought these folk to yer."

After a moment's pause, there is a rustling of the branches again and the ground of the less path suddenly solidifies again.  Adonis, Kormak and Arkenos find themselves buried up to their knees in the packed earth of the track.

The voice comes for a third time "Let the one who knew my name, step forward.  Better the other fools stay where they are.".  Bjorn nudges Beren and points with his eyes along the main path.

With a questioning look to Bjorn, the sorcerer starts treading on the main path. "Well, perhaps you should join me Brakkus?" he ventured.

Whether Brakkus goes with the sorcerer or not, the other three are still knee-deep in the mud and it seems to suck at their legs, keeping them in place. You all can feel a presence in the woods, not quite hostile but watching, cautious.
Ellinel seems to be feeling quite uneasy, used as he is to dark valleys and undead but not to these cold woods that somehow feel alive.

 "Indeed not, they are beholden to that ghastly little tit [insert name of local lord here], though I believe that there is a bailiff appointed to most of the lands herabouts." - initially, Adonis' tone is rather argumentative despite the fact that he's half-trapped in dirt, but it trails off into a thoughtful (or at least forgetful) tone by the end of the sentence and those close enough to overhear the large nobleman can make out the words 'name of the fellow, blast it...

 ...Conveniently, the knight seems to have managed to distract himself, without anyone else needing to step in and do it for him.

Brakkus swiftly moves to follow Beren, gripping his staff tightly.

Beren and Brakkus dissappear out of sight round the corner of the other path.

Bjorn slowly gets to his feet and paces over to the three stuck fellows.  He puts his hands on his hips and laughs openly "well tha's look a right bunch of fools.  Good thing ain't no goblins in these woods!".

At this Kormak goes red in the face with anger and makes a final effort to pull free but his legs are in too deep.  Veins bulge on his neck but no joy.   "Blast this witch anyway" he cries.  "Was it not us came here to help her?".

Bjorn turns serious "calm down now lad, keep a civil tongue in yer head.   If one of yous got an axe or summat, pass it here and I'll dig ye's out".

 Sir Adonis snaps back to the here-and-now a few moments after Bjorn makes his extremely foolish comment, which is probably for the best, and finding himself still lodged in the ground actually starts doing something constructive by drawing his dagger and plunging it into the sod, starting to cut a circle about himself to break up the soil so he can work himself out the rest of the way.

Brakkus appears back in the clearing.  Bjorn has managed to free one of Kormak's legs and he is now vigorously wiggling the other to free it.  Bjorn moves to help Arkenos but he waves him back and begins muttering and gesturing to himself.

Sir Adonis is sweating profusely in his armour as he digs neat but shallow circles around his feet.  Bjorn, panting, looks across at the knight and hands his sword to Brakkus "that'un 'll never get out w'all that tin on 'im. Give 'im a hand w' the diggin".

Brakkus grabs the sword and heads over to Sir Adonis, ready to aid with the digging.

"The witch told us to make haste" he tells the company.

Arkenos suddenly throws his arms up and for a few moments you see a ghostly warrior appears beside him, wielding a huge sword which he swings down into the ground below the warlock, cutting into the forest floor.   Just as suddenly the phantasm vanishes, but now Arkenos reaches down and is able to pull the earth away from his feet in big chunks.

Brakkus starts digging away around Sir Adonis.

 It's surprising really - the armour adds no more than fifty pounds or so to Adonis' already massive frame and it allows him to be a lot more slapdash and vigorous when it comes to digging himself out with a dagger-blade and one thing he definitely doesn't lack is muscle, and there's no doubt that a long-bladed dagger is a considerably better tool for cutting sod than a broadsword.

 "Damn the witch man, what the hell did you learn of our foe?" the knight calls out irritably, the descent into ditch-digging obviously not exactly doing anything to moderate his temper, though at least he's not out for a 'burnin just yet.

 If someone were unkind, they might just think he's not quite connected the daft old woman to his current predicament.

After a few more minutes, everyone is free from the soil.   Kormak storms back to the clearing and grabs Bjorn by the scruff of the neck.  "Old fool - we agreed to help you and now you lead us into to this!   I never should have listened to this idea.  Trusting a witch!"

Arkenos hurries up to Kormak and grabs him by the shoulder "calm, my friend.  I do not like this witch's ways any more than you - but it becomes us ill to manhandle her servant - the more so when he be such a wasted figure as this Bjorn".

Kormak grunts and release his grip, obviously still furious.  Bjorn shows nothing on his face - just watches Kormak carefully.  Slowly he stands himself straight and slides away from Kormak.

At that moment you hear the woman's voice again, shouting for Bjorn.  He grabs his things and hurries along the path towards the voice.  After a moment's hesitation, Kormak and Arkenos follow - the warlock still with his hand half-casually on Kormak's shoulder.

Brakkus follows the others, uncomfortable at the charged atmosphere between some of the party.

 The good knight remains aloof from much of the bickering - though this is less because of any inherent nobility of spirit and mainly because he's engaged in unbuckling the leather straps that fasten his greaves, cuisses and sabatons in place in order to fastidiously scrape the mud from each, then scrub them out with a handful of grass.

 Presumably he'll be available if needed.

[Private to GM:  I wasn't planning on it - someone said something about going ahead to speak to her and because Sir Adonis wants nothing to do with a hag, he'll just wait here, clean his armour and look through that pack he was examining before he got swamped.]
This message was last edited by the player at 11:58, Sat 11 Apr 2009.

Brakkus and the others follow Bjorn up the path to stand cautiously in front of Olga.  Kormak keeps himself well back and looks at the ground with a scowl on his face.

[Private to Beren Sigilchyr: Please continue posting in: link to a message in this game]

[Private to Sir Adonis Campbell: Adonis, once you have cleaned yourself up, will you follow the others?  In other words, can I move you to the group with the witch?]

The others pause for a moment at the far end of the path and then move off, out of your sight.  At first you can still hear their voices but rather faintly.  After a few more minutes a silence descends, and the rushing and brushing

You manage to get most of the mud out of your greaves but you can still feel some of it squishing annoyingly under your feet.  The light is fading fast now and the trees seem to draw in on all sides of your little clearing.  You will need to wait till morning to take it off piece by piece and give things a really good clean.

Meanwhile the pack appears to be real enough, and still in pretty good shape, but you in fact find nothing in it except some leaves and sprigs.

 When Sir Adonis first realises that it's grown dark he's part-way through the process of trying to clean the gunk out of the inside of a metal plate and looks up in some surprise, having forgotten that night falls rather more quickly in forests than in the open (for obvious reasons).

 Taking a brief look inside the pack simply for curiosities sake results in a puzzled rumble from the oversized but under-brained nobleman, but just because he can't think of a good reason to go carrying plants around doesn't mean that Mr whomever-he-was didn't have one and he amiably hangs the pack back up a moment later before setting his armour plate aside to dry and looking around.

 He hums a bit.

 Then he twiddles his thumbs for a while.

 And then he starts building a fire, collecting dry tinder and wood from the edges of the clearing with the expertise of someone who spent a hell of a lot more time hunting than listening to dull, dry tutors - presumably when the others get back from whatever it is they're up to, they'll be grateful for its warmth.

Accustomed as he is to woods, Adonis at first has no trouble grabbing some bits of old brushwood for kindling, fallen between the trees just on the edge of the clearing.  However when he spots a fallen sapling, still not rotten, which could do for the core of the fire, he is unable to pull it out.

In fact, every time he pulls, the trees around get a little closer and it is almost as if each tug of his receives a stronger answering tug in response.

 It's said that fear is a product of ignorance - that the unknown lurks in the shadows of the subconscious and stalks the minds of simple men, filling them with night-terrors.

 Sir Adonis Campbell on the other hand goes some way towards disproving that simplistic notion as he completely fails to notice the thematic lurking of the undergrowth, digs in his heels and gives a damn' good yank on the fallen sapling, muttering all the while about the damn' thing being stuck.

 Failing all else, there's always his dagger - which is sort of handy for trimming things in emergencies.

The log jerks free and with it Sir A jerks backwards.  He ends up half-fallen and rather stuck between two saplings which surely weren't quite so close behind him a moment ago.  It is really rather difficult to get leverage to stand back up, with all this armour on, and pesky branches everywhere.

There is another rustling sound and then a kind of scritchy-scratch, as though a nail were being dragged across his armour plated legs.  But twisting his head as he might, Sir A can't quite see anything.

 A certain amount of ham-handed flailing follows as something more than a couple of hundred pounds of heavily muscled knight in the light, maneuverable and well-designed suit of polished steel armour that's his stock in trade is stymied by a pair of bushes.

 A certain amount of yanking and tugging goes with it.

 There's some modest cursing.

 Then some less modest cursing.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:31, Wed 15 Apr 2009.

Actually he is not!  He is really quite stuck.   Every time he flails, it seems that the edges and chinks of his armour get a little more jammed with twigs and branches.

The scratching comes again - it does not seem to shake him or damage his armour anyway, but it is rather worrying even for a big guy.

Adonis hears footsteps approaching from the path where the others went.  It is directly behind him so he can't quite twist his head to see, but he can hear them talking and makes out one of the voices as Brakkus.

"My haven't we got ourselves in a tangle" Eldor said in a voice that had a large hint of humor in it.

"I suggest, Sir knight you hold very still. The woods in these parts do not like fires being started within easy flame reach of their canopies."

Eldor moved round and crouched down so that Adonis could see him clearly.

"Your friend Brakkus has come to rescue you from these dredful trees and my mother asked me to give him some aid in his quest."

Standing and laughing lightly he turned and walked off a few feet. Then raising his arms he started to speak. There were no words just sounds like that of creaking timbers and snapping branches.

Once he'd finished he lowered his arms and waited for a reply to his request.

There is a silent pause.

[Private to Sir Adonis Campbell: The scratching on Adonis armour plates also ceases.  For a moment he sees two green eyes glowing a face brown and wrinkled in lines that run down, like the bark of a tree.  And feels a breath which is musty as leaf-mold but not altogether unpleasant.]

Then the branches and twigs and roots creakingly draw back - slow enough for Adonis to get his balance back without any trouble.   Adonis is rather red-faced and flustered but apparently none the worse for wear.

[Private to Sir Adonis Campbell: The only strange thing you notice - even you cannot help but notice - is that the pack you found is now hanging from your shoulder.  You are pretty sure you left it in the clearing when you went to collect the log.]

 "I don't give a fig for what they like dammit!" declares the struggling knight as he attempts once again to wrench his arm free from the hooked branch that's caught itself in his plate sleeve, apparently having not quite caught up enough to current affairs to realise that Eldor is someone new, "No man worthy of the name would allow his fire to spread in the wildwood and it's a damn' impertinence for some forest boggin to suggest otherwise!"

 It's an open question whether someone should be more dismayed by Sir Adonis' hard-headedness, his complete inability to assess the extent of less obvious flavours of danger or his unfortunately towering personal courage.

 When he's finally deposited back upon the living earth once more and the undergrowth retreats a little, he might be expected to take the opportunity to exact a little petty revenge with mailed gauntlet and armoured boot, but the same ironclad upbringing that's made him such a horrifying liability when dealing with the uncanny ground manners into him as well, and so narrowing his eyes a little at something he sees in the undergrowth behind Eldor he offers a small bow of the head in acknowledgement... and then swings about to face the elf.

 In his usual stentorian bellow (which isn't so much angry as much as it is larger than life) he starts to open a 'conversation' with "You there! what in the blazes do you mean b..." only to break off in astonishment and make the sign of the cross before his breast - not so much in warding but rather to turn the accompanying minor blasphemy into an exclamation - "Saviour's blood man, you're a fairy!"

 He's quick this one, isn't he?

Eldor's smile returns to his face "No sir fairies are a lot smaller and have wings so I'm told but that kind of depends on whether you believe your huam n stories or our elven ones."

He steps forward slightly and bows making sure the highly stung knight can see both his hands. He didn't want to have to face mother's anger for wounding or killing this human because of a misunderstanding.

"I am Eldor Leaf-fall at your service good sir and have been sent with your friend Brakkus to bring you to the hut of my mother". With that he turned and started back into the woods the  way they had come.

 Highly strung he might be, but the same willow-switch that beat his lessons into him as a child carried with it a solid core of good manners as well and so the Knight, once he's drawn himself to his feet, doesn't engage in any improvident mayhem, but rather stands in astonishment and, perhaps unfortunately, cheerful delight.

 "Nonsense, there was a picture of one in the Ambrosius Bestiary and you're the spit of him!" announces Sir Campbell with his usual three-sizes-too-large-for-his-frame voice, plainly delighted by a turn of events that see's his 'adventure' bringing him into contact with a genuine fairy.

 The introduction is taken well and responded to with a "By my word, and you have a name as well!" in tones of genuine amazement (as has already been intimated, Sir Adonis isn't precisely what might be called a mental giant) before the good knight extends a hand just as he might to a real person of station, declaring "Beholden to you sir. I have the honour to be Sir Adonis Campbell, and I would be delighted to accept the invitation of the good lady, the moreso since peasant rumour would have it that a witch lurks in these woods!"
This message was last edited by the player at 14:42, Sat 18 Apr 2009.

You follow Eldor along the main path and after hundred yards or so come out in a larger clearing.  Off to the right a large campfire is blazing and silhouetted around are various human figures.  Some sitting, some standing.

Please continue posting in: link to a message in this game