Ah-ah, ah!
We come from the land of the ice and snow
From the midnight sun, where the hot springs flow

The hammer of the gods
W'ell drive our ships to new lands
To fight the horde, and sing and cry
Valhalla, I am coming!

On we sweep with threshing oar
Our only goal will be the western shore

Ah-ah, ah!

We come from the land of the ice and snow
From the midnight sun where the hot springs flow
How soft your fields so green
Can whisper tales of gore
Of how we calmed the tides of war
We are your overlords

On we sweep with threshing oar
Our only goal will be the western shore
So now you'd better stop and rebuild all your ruins
For peace and trust can win the day despite of all your losing

Ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh

H/T Led Zeppelin
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:28, Sat 30 May 2020.

"Aye, laugh if you will! But who knows what shapes of horror have had birth in the darkness, the cold gloom, and the whistling black gulfs of the north? In the southern lands, the sun shines and the flowers bloom; under the soft skies men laugh at demons. But in the north, who can say what elemental spirits of evil dwell in the fierce storms and the darkness."

The Cairn on the Headland
Robert E Howard

Introduction:

Disturbing shadows have grown long over the northern reaches of The Land of Song. The
fierce people who once fished the chilly fjords and hunted in the evergreen peaks now huddle in their villages. An evil is abroad in the land.

Outlying villages and holdings have become abandoned, their populations missing. Hunting parties and traders have vanished. Bandits and worse roam the lands unchecked. The harvests have soured and now, as winter descends, the Clans fear that their meager stores shall not last.

A Moon ago, the six most powerful clans each sent their champion to discover the source of blight. The six never returned, nor has any trace been found. Putting aside his pride, Yngvar, the old Jarl of the Clans, has called for outlander heroes to aid the free peoples, promising great rewards and remembrance in song.

The journey to Yngvar’s halls was long and arduous. The last leaves have fallen, and the cool air blowing off the sea has turned sharp and cold. The first morning frosts already grip the soil.

Siri, the Jarl’s wise woman, has consulted with the ancestors of the Clans. An old evil has arisen, they say, full of anger at the living. The stain on the land originates from the Valley of the Sleeping Jarls, where all the Clans’ chieftains are laid to rest.

The evil will not abate, the ancestors warn, for it bears a great malice for past deeds and hungers for vengeance. Siri has sought to discover what offense has been made, what appeasement can be offered; all for naught.

Two nights ago, guards along the wooden palisade protecting Yngvar’s Hall disappeared. The spring calves have died and the poultry refuse to lay. The heroes are charged with traveling to the Valley of the Sleeping Jarls to discover the source of the malevolence bearing down upon the land and with eradicating it.

The well protected gorge can be found on the easternshoulder of a particularly rugged mountain some three days’ travel from Yngvar’s hall. Who can say what evil lurks amid the towering peaks and shadowed fjords?
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:14, Sun 31 May 2020.

Ten days had passed. Ten days fraught with peril, filled with fear, then finally jubilation as the members of the party successfully navigated both the upper and lower reaches of Quesqueton.

Following the path from the broken door, Gildan led the party a circuitous route around the keep, using his bare skills to evade any more foes. The rest of the group, Bruno, Kullomar, Uthecar, Zan, Myrrick were content to let him lead, though Myrrick did guard the rear.

It wasn't a long trek, several days, but soon enough, they made their way back to The Full Pint Inn. If it wasn't a particularly warm welcome, at least the smell of food cooking heightened their spirits. There were few patrons this early in the day, so they took the biggest table and waited for someone to serve them.

And thus, we start anew...

As the party settles, a server comes from the kitchen to take your orders for drink and food. Suddenly, a small voice calls to table. "Zanfinis?"

Looking up, most of you recognize the lovely elf who'd been here from the start. Lady Serene rushes over, throwing her arms around Zan like a lover. "You're back!" She squeezes Zan tightly, then says, "What happened? Tell me everything!"
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:29, Sun 31 May 2020.

A stern elf most of you recognize as Lord Antonin follows close behind the Lady Selene. "Yes, tell us everything you can recall, all of you. Everyone has a voice here today. Leave nothing out."

Lord Antonin nods at Myrrick, the dwarves, even Kullonar - though the latter is begrudging. Zan, however, earns a scowl from Selene's seneschel. Noting a newcomer, an elf wearing a sword and bow, he said, "I don't recognize you, lad. Your name?" (DM: he's talking to Gildan)

"We faced horrors Load Antonin, the likes of which are only discussed among soldiers as they share their battle stories over hard drink in the late evening.  I will not sully the light of the day with the details and in front of the lady.  When our order arrives, we will drink in honour to Bruknar our fallen friend who made the ultimate sacrifice within Quesqueton.  I would have you join us to honour his name as we each share a tale of his deeds.  Much of our story you will hear as we each tell our own story of his bravery."

OOC:  I'm not going to go into specific's but it seems like the sort of thing a dwarf would do to honour a fallen friend.  From here Uthecar will probably get rip roaring drunk (probably taking a swig every time Bruknar's name is mentioned) and be useless for the rest of the day as he honours Bruknar dwarven style sining songs out of tune without too much concern.