The delvers help bring the boat across Lake Odin, mostly taking shifts rowing the boat across the lake. With good weather and nothing unexpected, it doesn't take long before Isfjall comes into view. The permanent stone docks just out prominently from the shore, the Hajarl's well kept longship and other raiding vessels moored at the end ready to launch in defense of the city at a moment's notice. The smaller wooden docks interconnect across the waterfront of Isfjall marked with various flags and signs that are known by merchants and sailors, but few others.

Past the docks is the small shipyard and warehouses where the merchants guild catalogues imports and exports, taking it's fees and collecting the Hajarl's taxes, before assisting in connecting buyers and sellers as needed. Beyond that is the large stone wall that rings the city, it's chaotic layout a reflection of the unique culture of it's residents. Unlike the carefully planned cities of the empire with it's purpose segregated districts and uniform streets, Isfjall has always continued to grow organically since it's inception. Various merchant shops are mixed among houses and inns can be found throughout the city. As the you move closer to the center of the city the buildings are just as haphazard in their layout, though they are much fancier in their own utilitarian styling, including the various guild halls and shrines to minor gods. The center of the city is large town square framed by the Hajarl's longhouse, made by dwarven stone masons, and the temple of the Northern Gods.

Much of the city can be seen on the slope from the seashore as the adventurers row the boat in and Sven guides it to the dock marked for his ship by guild rank or clan or maybe cargo contents? Any musing about how the shipping was organized is quickly put aside by a flurry of work throwing ropes and tying things off, storing oars and offloading cargo. With the ship safely moored Sven takes a moment to clasp Brandaelfr's arm, “Thank you again for saving our lives so many times over! We're a small clan but you are welcome in our longhouse! If your travels be not safe, may they bring you glory!”

You're in Isfjall now. I think you've got enough description to get posting, feel free to take any liberties filling in details about where you're going and what you're doing. Make whatever rolls you like to pick up rumors for work and quests as well, so we can keep the game moving.

This message was last edited by the GM at 21:00, Mon 20 May 2019.

"Prior to separation and prospecting the city for propaganda, lodging, and sundry accoutrements, a plan should be set forth for reassembly," said Drakul, checking the knives at his bandoleer as he stepped onto the docks. He cracked his neck and stretched his arms, shifting the weight of his pack after he hefted it to his shoulder. "One turning of the smaller preceding the downfall of the greater, then shall be the reconvening where the first foot fell."

The Half-Ogre eyes his comrades, looking for an affirmative reaction, a nod, anything.

Gonna fast-forward below, but obviously this scene is intended for some back and forth.

---

Once in the city proper, Drakul started his way through side streets, meandering towards the town square to get a feel for the layout of the city. He stopped as he came upon groups of men, sharing a drink with any who would welcome a foreigner, expressing interest in the gods of Norðlond.

"‘Twas a Norðlonder which set me on the path to Isfjall. Taught me a bit about the gods, enough to draw me here. Plus, the raiding, am I right?!"

Mostly cheering and drinking, trading of battle stories, often making its way into a tavern for more drinking and stories before pressing on through the city, but he managed to gather a bit of useful info, too. Carousing: Success by 3. Not too successful, however, was his attempt to identify contacts among the Black Cloaks, a group mentioned to him by the Lokean that initially piqued his interest for the region. Streetwise: Fail by 4.

Eventually Drakul found his way to the temple. He paid homage to Odin, a formality really, then visited the other shrines to give a similar nod of recognition, and to inquire about Loki. The devotees directed him to a solid stone building directly next door, with a bit of snickering from other worshipers. Bowing in thanks, the Half-Ogre took his leave, heading next door.

Next door turned out to be quite literally what the devotees described: A solid stone building. The front was a smaller but similar design to the temple, but without intricate stonework, just a simple wall, no windows, and double doors. The doors would not open on first try, and the lock turned out to be absolutely unpickable, not so much because the lock was difficult as because the lock was actually solid stone. By solid, apparently, was meant a giant hunk of rock carved on the outside to appear as a building. The doors were not really doors at all, just a clever decoration, and the locks were just a further facade. Realizing the exact literalism and how mischievous it could be, in this case, Drakul was forced to deeply reconsider his less-than-deliberate methods of communication. Only for a moment, though, as a few passersby practically fell over laughing, struggling to breathe from the hilarity before eventually managing to get out the actual location of the shrine itself. Drakul laughed at the situation along with them, then headed toward the shrine to Loki.

The shrine was actually a tent, recognized only by the sigils on banners stuck into the ground on either side. Devotees wanted to keep it mobile, mainly to keep visitors on their toes, but also in case a better location turned up with the massive population influx during summer. Upon entering by the front tent flap, a huge bucket of frigid water dumped on Drakul’s head. He should have seen something like that coming. The few devotees in the shrine were already rolling on the floor, clutching their sides. His baptism, they called it, a rite initiating any who expressed interest in the lord of Mischief.

The shrine was comprised of a single priest and a few devotees. Other adherents came and went throughout the day. Only a single brazier warmed and lit the tent, a small stone altar and bronze censure sat before an intricate wooden statue of the trickster god. The rest of the afternoon, Drakul spent conversing with the priest and devotees, eager to learn more of Loki and his masterful schemes. As the time for reassembly approached, he bid good-day and headed out to the prearranged location.

I assume that either Dagrak or Brandaelfr have an inn in mind.

"Uh, what?" Brandaelfr replies. "I have no idea what you just said, but we can all meet up at the tavern called Odin's Beard later on. If we go an hour before sunset, there is a great happy hour! Plus the second floor is an inn, so we can just stumble upstairs after."

---

Brandaelfr goes and visits his parent's home. While the Jarl and his wife would not arrive in Isfjall until more temperate weather, there were still a few servants left to tend the manor in the winter. He shares a meal with the servants and regales them with his adventures. The halberd plays a prominent role, and Brandaelfr is eager to boast about it. The caretaker, a retired delver named Bjorn, is happy to listen.

Leaving most of his armor behind at the house, Brandaelfr brings his halberd and goes to visit the temple. He stops in the library and asks, "Is the Wolf around? Or the Raven? I have something I need to show them."

The Wolf was nowhere to be found, but the Raven was incredibly happy to pore over the halberd. Brandaelfr has the weapon snatched out of his hands as soon as the Raven sees the runes. "Interesting. Quite interesting. Does it always glow? What is it made of?" the Raven asks himself.

Brandaelfr lets this go on for several minutes before he clears his throat. The Raven snaps out of it a little bit and glances at the Eldhud. The Raven explains he is unsure as to what the ornate runes actually said, but he convinces Brandaelfr to allow a copy of the runes to be taken down. After doing so, the Raven says "Check in when you can, and maybe I'll have made some progress on the translation." With the parchment copy of the runes in hand, he wanders off down the library pulling volumes off the shelf and muttering to himself.

Brandaelfr says under his breath, "Weird old codger. He didn't even try to see how sharp the blade was."

Leaving the library, Brandaelfr goes outside to the courtyard and finds a few of the Allfather's Army doing drills. He joins them for a while, and then suggests they all go get some beers to relax. They share some stories about the winter in Isfjall, but Brandaelfr hears nothing useful. Carousing: Fail by 3. He may have spent most of the time talking about his halberd, and not enough letting anyone else talk, but he did have a great time. With a hearty farewell, he walks off just a little before the arranged time to make it to happy hour at Odin's Beard.
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:50, Tue 21 May 2019.

Dagrak cocks his head to the side. "Did anyone oonderstand what he just said?" Then in what he thought was a quite aside to the elf, but was in reality just as loud as normal, "Some days Ah doona think he is right in tha heed"

---

Still shaking his head, the dwarf wandered off. He had a few errands to attend to. He wandered to an enchanter and left his armor there. The last few encounters had convinced him that he needed more protection, so he had the mail re-enchanted with a higher level of a spell that would aid his defenses.

While that was in work he headed off to the temple. It had been years since the last time that he had visited Isfjall, but he could have sworn that it is was near a pub. The problem was that he had visited so many pubs last time he was here, and after a few ales, they all start to look alike. As he was standing at yet another pub, scratching his head, he remembered something. There was more than a few dwarven theories on the power of ale to reawaken the memory. Granted most scholars laughed them off as drunken ramblings, and there might have been something about small quantities, but it seemed worth a try. Besides, wandering the town was thirsty work.

Several beers later he stumbled out of the pub. it was all coming back. There was a pub with better beer a short walk to the north. And so he set out. This process went on for some time, before he arrived at last last the temple. He let out a belch then headed in.

"Dagrak Torsten! Is that you Laddie?" Roared a rumbling bass voice "Deed ya ever find your storm?"

He turned to see dark haired dwarf, well the beard was dark, the rest of the hair had been burned off 50 years ago leaving a patchwork of scars across the head.

"Gudrun! Aye it is good ta see ya laddie. I've seen many a storm, but not tha one Ah've been looking for." The two clerics continued to talk as they reached the shrine of Thor. "Is that hag Thurid still running tha library? I have more entries ta add to the archives, but we didna part on the best o' terms. Air ya willing ta sneak them in for me? Ah'll buy ya a pint later."

"HAR HAR HAR! Ya be needin' more than a pint to convince me ta run afoul of that one. If she ever found out, she burn the rest of me hair off! HAR HAR! Well Laddie, Ah'll be seeing ya around, Ah must be going."

With that Gudrun left the cleric to his prayers and meditation. Prayers and meditation that included some amount of snoring. He woke up and left the temple just in time to see the holy warrior heading into Odin's beard. Another drink seemed good to him.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:22, Tue 21 May 2019.

Drakul nodded to the Eldhuð.

"Since you are more familiar with Isfjall, deferment to your expertise on location goes without saying, though I’m glad we could agree on a time. What a joyous time it shall be!"

It wasn’t clear if he was making a joke or just unaware of what “happy hour” meant.

He grinned at the Dwarf’s comment.

"At least I’m still in my head, right or wrong! It would be worse if I were out of my mind, or if I’d lost it entirely!"

Fergurth leans down toward Dagrak and speaks rather loudly so he can hear, “he means let’s meet back here at sundown.” She then leans closer to Drakul and whispers, “try not to use big words, my Grandfather says they give Dwarves headaches”. She says this as though she really cares about the well being of their cleric’s head.

---

As the group dispersed she realized she had no clue what to do. She’d waited her whole life to travel beyond the forest and now that time was upon her she froze. She stood dumbfounded in the street, taking in all the sites. There were street merchants on every corner, tables covered in trinkets even a man pushing a cart brimming with fresh heads of cabbage. She finally snapped out of her awe when a carriage almost ran her over, “WATCH WHERE YUR STANDING” the coachman yells back at her. Hurriedly she makes her way out of the road and begins to meander down the streets. She eventually comes upon the temple where the vast majority of the people were praying to Odin. She paid her respects then began to look around for the shrine of Ull. The shrine looked more like an archery range than anything. It was customary to offer an arrow to the god of the hunt. She pulled the arrows out of her quiver, searching for the straightest and sharpest she had. She prayed a few words over the arrow, mainly just asking for protection for her family in her absence and fired it at the target set-up on the opposite side. The priest would later collect them all and burn them as an offering.
 As she exits the temple she hears a couple people laughing out loud and looks to see what is so hilarious. There standing at a stone wall is her comrade. Not sure if he’s being tricked or if he’s setting up a trick she falls back into the shadows and watches. (Stealth success by 7) After he gets the location she begins to follow him from a distance, she was curious to see what a shrine to Loki looked like. (Shadowing success by 1) Unfortunately it’s a lot harder to track someone in the city than the forest and she quickly loses him in the crowd.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:13, Mon 27 May 2019.

'Odin's beard' is all anyone hears Mog say as he quickly lleaves the area and the town even to find a good place to setup camp for the week. Spending a couple nights in a city like this might be bearable with enough alcohol but certainly not spending all day there.  Mog shows up for some drinks that night and to see if there are any rumors of undead or paying work in the area, particularly work killing undead. Mog doesn't come back every night but often enough to stay in contact.

camping out, not spending 150 on the inn. success by 8
Carousing success by 1

The adventurers travel all about town getting (re)acquainted with Isfjall. While stopping in at various taverns and temples they do pick up a few rumors and bits of gossip.

The Raven idly mentions to Brandaelfr some gossip from around the temple. A priest of the Law God, Geirolf Tyrthegn has been censured by the priesthood for stirring up thegns and huskarls to venture north on some foolish quest. A group of thegns, including Gyrid Stronghand a holy warrior and the winner of last year's Valor Festival, ventured out a few months ago. All were slain, but Gyrid made it nearly to Isfjall carrying powerful artifacts.

Dagrak hears that a summoning circle of over fifty demon worshipping cultists attempting to weaken the barriers between the nine realms was recently discovered. The holy warriors and clerics of the God of Warding are spread very thin chasing down said cultists, since that is the largest cult ever formed in the area.

While in the tent making friends with the disciples of Loki, Drakul overhears the the archive of Isfjall had several centuries old manuscripts and maps stolen. It is of particular interest to the tricksters because no one can figure out why they would be worth stealing.

Mog doesn't receive an incredibly warm welcome, but on his way back out of town to set camp someone warns him to steer clear of stone circles and dark clefts in old trees, lest he fall into a nordalf warren.

A fellow elf tells Fergurth that a small hamlet twenty miles outside Isfjall was completely wiped out. The few shocked survivors described the dead arriving in the middle of the night and slaughtering the villagers in their beds.

---

Later in the day at the agreed upon time, at a table in the back of the agreed upon tavern, the adventurers all meet back for a drink. Will this be a last goodbye before they part ways or is there perhaps something else afoot that will necessitate their continued teamwork?

Just want to give you a post or so to get back into character and talk about what you've heard.
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:54, Sat 11 Jan 2020.

Brandaelfr walks in to Odin's Beard to find that none of his companions have arrived yet. Fortunately, Frode the Innkeeper is manning the bar and says, "Brandaelfr, ya bastard! You survived eh? Let me grab you a pint and you can tell me all about it!"

"I hope you have something dark, Frode. Some of my new companions will be coming by later as well, so I hope Hege is ready for some customers!" Brandaelfr says.

A shout from the back pipes back, "You ain't brought customers yet I couldn't feed proper, Brandaelfr! Don't be distractin' my husband too much now! This is a business!"

The inn itself is old, but in good condition. The timber beams are sturdy and the ceiling thick enough to keep anyone upstairs from hearing too much of the tavern. Frode settled down years back with a wife and decided listening to adventures was nearly as good as going on them. Now the inn is the family business after he poured all of his money into it. His wife Hege cooks the food, and his twin daughters Vigdis and Ylva act as barmaids.

Nestling Gungnir in a nearby corner, Brandaelfr is all too happy to talk about the adventures and wait for everyone else to wander in.

Drakul sat down next to his demonspawn companion, patting him on the shoulder.

"I guess this is the place, huh?" he said.

Brandaelfr was probably wondering when the Half-Ogre had skulked in.

"I found a bit of intrigue while strolling the streets," he said. "Info for ears more suited to our mutual ventures."

He smiled and leaned back, waving at one of the servers and asking for a pint of whatever the Eldhuð was having. He turned to Brandaelfr’s friend and smiled again, extending a hand.

"They call me Drakul."

Dagrak was still a little drowsy as he left the temple. He stretched and enjoyed the evening sun before stepping into the street in front of a horse and cart. There was a brief commotion as the old farmer cursed at the dwarf, reining the horse in. Dagrak finally noticed the cart. "Hey! whatch where yer goin' laddie! ya might roon over a body." He continued onward and entered Odin's Beard as Branaelfr was sitting down. "Oi, Brandaelfr! There ya are lad! Bar Keep! Ah pint for me friend and I!" He plopped down with the pints. "Ah heard me a rumor that ya might be interested in. Seems that there were ah hoonred or so demon worshiping cultists what tried ta make a summoning circle. The priests of Warding air needin' help chasin' them down. The fellow didn't know ifn there was a bounty."

Drakul surprises Brandaelfr and gets him to mutter, "Where in Hel did you appear from!"

Recovering quickly, Brandaelfr talks to the barkeep and says, "Frode, I would like you to meet Drakul, servant of Mischief. He has been quite helpful in procuring high value items in the short time I have known him. Watch out for the pranks though." Brandaelfr says by way of introduction for Drakul. "It sounds he might even have a new adventure ready to go!"

Turning to face Drakul, Brandaelfr says, "Frode is an old family friend. He might even have some insight on whatever you heard on the streets, as long as we do not fall behind on our bar tabs!"

Dagrak walks into the tavern and Brandaelfr says back, "Dagrak, meet Frode the Innkeeper! I think you'll find he can easily supply you with as many pints as you can stomach provided you have the coin! It sounds like you have a quest as well. Tell us all about it."

Using a thumb to point at the loud dwarf, Brandaelfr tells Frode, "Dagrak. A cleric of the Thunderer. A bit hard of hearing and probably needs a new liver, but he is mighty helpful in a fight!"

"Ah, if a friend he be then I shall speak freely," the thief nodded, leaning in to be heard by only those at the table. "The town archive has been raided, but for maps and manuscripts that were centuries old. My sources don’t see why these would be targeted, because they are of little if any value. My guess is that someone uncovered some ancient treasure, or perhaps an old sacred or magical site, and these manuscripts were the last piece of their puzzle."

Fergurth comes bursting through the doors of the inn, but then quickly tries to regain her composure. She was short of breath so one could assume she’d ran there. She sees her new friends talking and drinking, with far two much excitement she smiles ear to ear and waves to them. Instantly realizing that she looks like a child, she shoves her hands in her pockets and lowers her smile to more of a grin. Having really no idea how ordering works she just kinda yells in a deepened voice, “I’ll have a pint of your strongest ale” and continues walking to the group. She takes a seat next to Drakul as he speaks of the missing manuscripts. “I heard that a settlement outside the city was killed by zombies. We’re good at killing zombies”

Brandaelfr welcomes Fergurth with a raised hand and gestures to the table as she sits down. "Fergurth! Welcome. First time in a tavern like this? Meet Frode, the owner of this fine establishment." Brandaelfr nods toward the owner and grins. "I'm sure you will find him quite helpful, especially if you have a story to tell."

By way of explanation to Frode, Brandaelfr says, "Fergurth is our bow expert. Some skirmishes it has seemed like Fergurth put out the eyes of every enemy, and all the rest of us did was keep them away from her."

The mention of zombies perks Brandaelfr up. "I do like killing zombies. Or ghouls. Or anything undead really. That presents us with some options though."

Going around the table, Brandaelfr says to everyone, "Drakul brings us a quest of missing maps that might point to treasure. Dagrak heard of a massive group of cultists that need eradicating. Fergurth brings us a story of nearby undead that need to be put back to rest."

He pauses to swig some of his drink and finishes with, "I heard some gossip of a quest as well! I was talking to the Raven about my halberd. He mentioned one of the priests serving Law sent quite a few thegns to their demise on some foolish quest. Even Gyrid Stronghand, winner of the Valor Festival last year, was enticed by this quest. He almost made it back to Isfjall carrying some powerful artifacts."

Dagrak belched loudly. "Ah think we should into these maps. Ah like the sound of treasure."

Mog walks into Odin's Beard and immediately walks to the bar, ordering the largest and strongest alcohol they have. As he waits for it to pour he turns and looks around for his group, noticing the excitement of the elf, he orders a second of the same.

He walks over to the table with his group and sits down, quickly chugging the first and starting to drink the second at a bit more normal of a pace.

As he walks up he hears the choice of undead and says "Anything that was dead, should stay that way. If it doesn't remember how, we should remind it."

Frode serves all the drinks with a smile, thegns fresh from winter raiding were great for business. While pouring drinks for other customers he listens to the conversation between Brandaelfr's companions then he pours another large ale and slams in down on the bar in front of another patron who had been sleeping with his head down, "Wake up Geirolf! It's time to pitch your harebrained quest again! Brandaelfr, after the stories you just told me, it might be worth hearing him out."

The man on Brandaelfr's right sits upright and begins chugging the flagon without saying a word. As the ale drizzles out the side of his mouth the party takes the man in. His disheveled, unkempt beard and wild hair standing out at the odd angles of sleep. He wears a chain shirt with a stained and torn tabard of the Tyr over it and a greatsword on his back. Brandaelfr and Dagrak recognize him as Geirolf Tyrthegn, a priest of the Law Giver, though the man is clearly much worse for the wear. The man belches loudly and wipes his mouth with his beard.

"It's all connected! All of it! The Nordalfr activity! The undead!  The rise of the demon cults! All of it is related! Nobody believes me, but it's true and I know how to bring things back into balance!"

Frode slaps his palm to his face and shakes his head. He grabs the flagon and refills it for the babbling priest, "Geirolf! Tone down the crazy and start from the beginning."

The priest nods to Frode in apology then opens his mouth to speak, thinks better if it then chugs the second flagon of ale. Setting down the flagon he takes a deep breathe then turns to the adventurers with ale dripping down his beard, but also much more composure than before, "Have you ever heard of the legends of the Hall of Judgement? The legends are true and the time to rediscover it is now. All of the turmoil of the region is related to the Hall being lost to the people of Nordlond. Rediscovering it isn't just 'a good idea for another time' as my colleagues in the temple would say; it is the only way to save Nordlond from permanently descending into chaos."

Nordlonders know that the Hall Of Judgement was the place in the Mortal Realm that touched the Divine Realm. Tyr the god known as the Law Giver would meet there with the priests and leaders of Nordlond and dispense wisdom. However, the Hall has been lost for a very long time, so long that most people think it is nothing but a legend.
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:23, Mon 20 Jan 2020.

"Geirolf laddie, is that you? I didnae recognize you." Dagrak was uncommonly at a loss for words, It had been years since he had seen the priest, and the man had grown old in that time. He shouldn't be this old either, but whatever madness plagued his mind seemed to have aged him prematurely. "Just pipe down my friend, we will look into the matter." Geirolf's state of mind worried him, but he wanted to be careful and not agitate him any further. "I thought the hall was lost forever. have ye any new knowledge of it?"

Brandaelfr responds with, "I thought that something looked familiar about that face sleeping at the bar. Geirolf Tyrthegn. The Raven mentioned you were sending men on a foolhardy quest." He ends that sentence with a squint at the priest.

"Drinking your days away is no way to convince the masses that your quest is real. Even supposing I believe some legends are real," Brandaelfr glances over at the halberd leaning against the wall, "how do you know the Hall of Judgement is one of them? Why are the rest of the priests of the Law Giver not backing you, and how does all this tie together with our rumors?"

Drakul perked up at the seemingly conspiratorial fellow.

"I like the way you think," he said. "Two questions: (1) How is it all connected, and (2) do you think there is a concerted effort to cover this up, or is it more like no one believes you because you lack proof?"

He sat eagerly awaiting the man’s tale, grabbing his ale and sipping patiently.

"If this Hall is causing the dead to rise, it needs to be found and purged." Mog says, heavily nursing his drink.

Fergurth had never heard of this Hall of Judgement before, either her clan was too far secluded or her father kept the stories to himself. Her heart rate began to increase at the thought of a new adventure arose. She sat silent but wide eyed, soaking in the conversation between her comrades and the crazy man.

"After Gyrid and his party were wiped out, the temple publicly censured me for my role in sending a beloved holy warrior of Tyr to his end. Now no one will speak with me. Frode let's me drink here because we used to adventure together as young thegns, but as I am unwelcome in most of Isfjall now there is little for me to drink and watch Nordlond deteriorate into chaos." Geirolf says, "All of the signs are connected to the Hall; I've researched the writings and I know that I'm right. I have spent almost all of my money to fund any group that would take up the quest, but none have been successful yet."

"The proof is here." He says and he draws the sword and lays it across the bar. It is an very ornate finely wrought greatsword, just by looking at it the balance and craftsmanship are apparent, from the fine edge of the blade to the intricate runes inscribed on it. "This is a sword blessed by the gods and it's recovery is a sign that the time to rediscover the Hall is now."

"Gyrid's remains were also found with this." The cleric says pulling a small object out of his pocket. It is a circular object made of pearly white bone and pure shining gold with an opaque lens in the center hanging on a fine golden chain. He lets it hang for a moment then wraps the chain up and closes his hand around the object obscuring it from view, "Are you interested now or am I wasting my breath?"

thegn (n): person who can kick butt and take names by any means, mundane or magical.
See also: adventurer, delver, monster-chow.

And to head off the question, the object is not something any of you recognize.
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:08, Thu 23 Jan 2020.

Drakul tried to focus on the trinket until it was snatched away from view.

"What is that?" he said, eyebrow raised.

Mog continues to listen, wanting to head out already but knowing his companions will have more questions he orders a third round and continues to drink casually, by his standards atleast.

"How do you know the sword is blessed? Can you read the runes, and can anyone verify it? Perhaps the Raven or someone else at the temple?" Brandaelfr asks.

He grabs hold of his own weapon and brings it closer, using the light to help illuminate all of the workmanship in the greatsword. "I have yet to find anyone who can read the runes on my own weapon, but I believe the Allfather granted this to me. Perhaps the runes will tell a different story, but I was not enlightened to a new quest the moment I laid hold of it."

"I have been able to translate the runes using some old manuscripts that I liberated from the archives. It says, Who worships evil, beware my power. The runes glow green in the moonlight and I've determined it will strike true, even against foes without bodies." Geirolf explains, "Your successful recovery of Gungnir, the weapon fabled to be sent to Midgard by The Allfather himself, is a sign from the gods that it is time to find the lost Hall."

"Now this was more of a mystery than the runes on the sword, but I've figured out how to use it!" the mad cleric says laying out the other artifact on the bar while he pulls a pile of old parchments and scrolls a bag, "Among the things I took from the archives was a map that is supposed to show the way to the Hall of Judgement, which was curious because it is nowhere to be found on the old skin."

He takes up the gold and bone artifact in his hand and works a spell in the other, "Oh mighty Tyr! Giver of Law! I seek The Hall of Judgement!"

As the spell charges the artifact the bone begins to glow, the light shimmering off the flawless gold, then the opaque lens slowly becomes translucent, "And now the Tiwstakn will reveal the location of the Hall."

He allows any of the adventurers who wish to use the Tiwstakn to examine the map etched on an old goat skin. Looking through the lens they can see glowing runes that is the ancient symbol of Tyr in the northeast corner of the map.

"Success in this quest you will bring peace and stability to all of Nordlond. Will you seek The Hall of Judgement?"

Dagrak stares intently at the artifact. He felt inexplicably drawn to this quest. He began talking in a voice uncommonly quiet and earnest. "Aye Laddie, Ah'll seek tha Hall. And not just because of our old friendship. There seems to be ah great too many odd things happening, and too few storms. Ah think tha Laird o Thoondar want me on this path."

Brandaelfr grins fiercely at the mention of Gungnir. "I'm intrigued. I have one more question though. Why haven't you gone to seek the Hall of Judgement? You have the sword, the map, and the magic object that reads the map after all."

"I am old and I couldn't do it alone. I adventured for many years, Frode and Hege joined my party for their honeymoon you know, but those years are far behind us." Geirolf says.

"You best not be calling me old Geirolf!" Hege shouts from the kitchen as Frode winces and throws up his hands in exasperation at his friend.

"Ahem. Of course not dear Hege!" the cleric calls back then turns to Brandaelfr and his companions, "Valhalla awaits me if I attempt to rediscover the Hall, but what good does that do my people? No, this quest must succeed, therefore I would send those who are most able."

"With the last of my money I purchased a team of ponies and gear so that when Tyr brought me the right thegns for the quest I could be sure they were set up to succeed. Take the map and the Tiwstakn; if you show them to the stable master he will turn over the beasts to you."

Brandaelfr smirks as Hege chastises Geirolf. "If you want the quest to succeed, you should send Hege. With Frode and the twins they could probably take on anything the Hall throws at them."

The Eldhud drains his mug and then says, "If you want to send us though, I think we are all game. Is that sword connected to the Hall? Or just the map and this Tiwstakn object? I would rather not get there and realize the sword was the key to the gate or somesuch."

"High praise coming from you Brandaelfr." Frode says, "But Hege and I are happily retired and the twins are still too young for such an undertaking."

Geirolf thinks for a moment, "I don't believe it is a part of the Hall, but it does have a connection to it. I had heard the stories of a tomb holding the remains of a warrior who had been to the Hall in days of old. The sword belonged to him, but the Tiwstakn was the real prize that Gyrid recovered."

"Brandaelfr has a point about the sword," said Drakul. "It could be a key to something, even if it’s just the key to stopping a vengeful spirit, it could mean the difference between life and death. If you could bring yourself to part with it until we return, it just might prove useful."

Fast-Talk success by 1.

"I am certain that while it might end up being useful, it will not be necessary for success." Geirolf says furrowing his brow, "After everything that's happened I can't risk the sword too. I hope you understand."

"May the gods reward your efforts with success" Geirolf says handling the Tiwstakn to Brandaelfr.

Brandaelfr takes the object carefully and places it in a pocket. He responds with, "Your word is good enough for me considering Frode also seems to believe you. We will find the Hall, and rid it of whatever malice corrupts it. Or we may fall in glorious battle. In any case, I look forward to the journey."

Leaning back in his chair, Brandaelfr says to Frode, "Looks like I will have another adventure to tell you before long. I may catch up to some of your exploits!"

I'm fine with FF to the stables, assuming everyone is done talking to Geirolf or Frode.

Drakul shrugged and nodded.

"Thank you for sharing the details of this venture with us, Geirolf. Perhaps we can prove you right and expose the coordinated efforts to cover it up!"

Same. We can FF to getting pack mules and foodstuffs, if we even need it.

Dagrak stood and drained the last of his ale. "Don't get too drunk waiting for us, Geirolf, we will only be a wee minute."