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."