Menu
News
All News
Dungeons & Dragons
Level Up: Advanced 5th Edition
Pathfinder
Starfinder
Warhammer
2d20 System
Year Zero Engine
Industry News
Reviews
Dragon Reflections
Columns
Weekly Digests
Weekly News Digest
Freebies, Sales & Bundles
RPG Print News
RPG Crowdfunding News
Game Content
ENterplanetary DimENsions
Mythological Figures
Opinion
Worlds of Design
Peregrine's Next
RPG Evolution
Other Columns
From the Freelancing Frontline
Monster ENcyclopedia
WotC/TSR Alumni Look Back
4 Hours w/RSD (Ryan Dancey)
The Road to 3E (Jonathan Tweet)
Greenwood's Realms (Ed Greenwood)
Drawmij's TSR (Jim Ward)
Community
Forums & Topics
Forum List
Latest Posts
Forum list
*Dungeons & Dragons
Level Up: Advanced 5th Edition
D&D Older Editions
*TTRPGs General
*Pathfinder & Starfinder
EN Publishing
*Geek Talk & Media
Search forums
Chat/Discord
Resources
Wiki
Pages
Latest activity
Media
New media
New comments
Search media
Downloads
Latest reviews
Search resources
EN Publishing
Store
EN5ider
Adventures in ZEITGEIST
Awfully Cheerful Engine
What's OLD is NEW
Judge Dredd & The Worlds Of 2000AD
War of the Burning Sky
Level Up: Advanced 5E
Events & Releases
Upcoming Events
Private Events
Featured Events
Socials!
Twitch
YouTube
Facebook (EN Publishing)
Facebook (EN World)
Twitter
Instagram
TikTok
Podcast
Features
Top 5 RPGs Compiled Charts 2004-Present
Adventure Game Industry Market Research Summary (RPGs) V1.0
Ryan Dancey: Acquiring TSR
Q&A With Gary Gygax
D&D Rules FAQs
TSR, WotC, & Paizo: A Comparative History
D&D Pronunciation Guide
Million Dollar TTRPG Kickstarters
Tabletop RPG Podcast Hall of Fame
Eric Noah's Unofficial D&D 3rd Edition News
D&D in the Mainstream
D&D & RPG History
About Morrus
Log in
Register
What's new
Search
Search
Search titles only
By:
Forums & Topics
Forum List
Latest Posts
Forum list
*Dungeons & Dragons
Level Up: Advanced 5th Edition
D&D Older Editions
*TTRPGs General
*Pathfinder & Starfinder
EN Publishing
*Geek Talk & Media
Search forums
Chat/Discord
Menu
Log in
Register
Install the app
Install
The
VOIDRUNNER'S CODEX
is coming! Explore new worlds, fight oppressive empires, fend off fearsome aliens, and wield deadly psionics with this comprehensive boxed set expansion for 5E and A5E!
Community
Playing the Game
Story Hour
Harhall (updated 3/6)
JavaScript is disabled. For a better experience, please enable JavaScript in your browser before proceeding.
You are using an out of date browser. It may not display this or other websites correctly.
You should upgrade or use an
alternative browser
.
Reply to thread
Message
<blockquote data-quote="Sepulchrave II" data-source="post: 3384789" data-attributes="member: 4303"><p><strong>2: OTER</strong></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>Three hours before dawn, Oter roused himself and stood, drawing his cloak about him. The Moon – just past its first quarter – had set, but the sky had cleared and stars were visible through gaps in the roof of the cowshed. Dying embers cast a faint, ruddy glow. The smell of horses filled his nostrils, and men snored in a low hum. The air was still and frigid. He shivered.</p><p></p><p>"Going somewhere?" Lek opened an eye.</p><p></p><p>Oter kicked him. "Sorry. Didn't see you." He slunk outside.</p><p></p><p>By the broken doors of the byre, Meurig – the Welshman – stood in silent vigil, leaning heavily on his spear. He said nothing, accustomed as he was to the strange comings and goings of his master. Oter loped with a long, quick, stride North and West across the moorlands.</p><p></p><p>Lek rose, stood outside, and pondered.</p><p></p><p>As Mars arose in fire, the Ascendant's ruler – mighty Jupiter – set, afflicted by the Great Malefic; retrograde and exiled in the West. The katarche of the Chaldean Mysteries – of which he had learned much from Cordoban merchants – suggested violence in Lek's mind: Ares would soon act untrammeled. Oter, responding to some more visceral impulse, must have known it, and gone to seek it out.</p><p></p><p><em>Tyr rides abroad tonight</em>, Lek knew.</p><p></p><p></p><p>**</p><p></p><p>It was generally conceded that Oter's magic – although subject to suspicion from all, and loathing by most – was somehow more wholesome than Lek's. Or perhaps it was the fact that Oter himself was less unctuous and more earthy than his half-brother, and demonstrated traits to which those who knew both siblings found it easier to relate: Lek's coolness and subtlety did little to engender comfort in those who followed him. Oter's passions were more transparent, although his actions were equally considered. He was eccentric, certainly, but less <em>sinister</em>; nor did he evince the sadism which his brother occasionally revealed in his dealings with those who had crossed him.</p><p></p><p>Oter came upon the tracks in the half-light of dawn, following an old Roman byway which bore Northward: he studied them intently. They were fresh: at least a dozen riders, likely equipped for war, by the weight of the hoofprints in the snow and mud. He briefly considered tracing the trail back to their camp of the previous night – it must be nearby – but rejected the idea. Oter reached down, picked a small clod of frozen earth, and pressed it to his forehead, muttering a rune. He began to move at an easy, swift jog.</p><p></p><p><em>Must follow the tracks, only a few hours old.</em></p><p></p><p>Doubtless many other bands were abroad: it was a period of uncertainty, and old scores were being settled left and right. But twelve or fifteen was a threatening number, and whether they styled themselves <em>brigands</em> or <em>retainers</em> mattered little in Oter's eyes: it was their purpose which concerned him. He quickened his pace yet further; the horses were moving at a walk through the hills. He was certain he could catch them within two hours; less, if they rested. In the event, only a quarter-hour passed, before Oter stumbled across them: he quickly used magic to obscure himself, and moved to within fifty yards. </p><p></p><p>They were veteran warrors – battle-hardened Danes, who bore notched axes and travel-stained cloaks. Men loyal to Eric of East Anglia or to one of his thanes, maybe; likely riding from the Five Burghs. Oter could not clearly make out their conversation, but they seemed agitated, and in some disagreement. If he moved too close – even masked by a spell – he knew he might reveal himself, and he contented himself with skulking in a patch of gorse near the roadside, catching occasional words and observing their attitudes. Two of them – apparently of high standing, as both wore byrnies – had dismounted and were close to open conflict with one another. Some dispute of honour, perhaps?</p><p></p><p>A sword rang out: Oter observed that the wielder – a greybeard who wore a close helmet of silvered steel and a purple-stained cloak of heavy wool – unsheathed and then struck with a practiced flourish. The blade bit through mail, into flesh and sinew. As the younger man – a ruddy-faced Dane with long plaits – screamed in pain and staggered backwards, groping for his own weapon, the other pressed forwards and landed two more blows, quickly felling him. He turned to the rest of the band, who had begun to assume a wide semicircle in anticipation of a fight which had proven to be, in the event, disappointingly short.</p><p></p><p>"Lest we forget our duty," his voice rose in a Norse dialect with a thick Frisian accent, and carried to Oter where he lurked, "we are not to butcher their priests, nor steal gold from their churches. Were that it was as in prior days, but it is not: this was made clear, ere we embarked. We will observe this peace. This is my last word on the matter, and as Kol discovered, my position is not flexible."</p><p></p><p>Murmurs of assent issued from the assembled party.</p><p></p><p>Oter watched as two of them – Kol's kinsmen, maybe – silently strapped the warrior's body to his saddle. As the band moved off, Oter waited. After they had disappeared up the trail, he scoured the ground for some memento of their presence, and after stooping and retrieving a strand of fibre, he ran swiftly South.</p><p></p><p>*</p><p></p><p>The company was preparing to ride, when Oter returned to the byre.</p><p></p><p>"Did you find death?" Lek asked. Inwardly, he was relieved that death had not found his brother.</p><p></p><p>Oter nodded. "Another band – thirteen of them. Danes from Stamford or Lincoln, probably. One was called Kol. Do you know of him?"</p><p></p><p>"I know no Kol."</p><p></p><p>"Nor will you; he is now dead."</p><p></p><p>"Alas for Kol," Lek said drily. "He met his end while you watched on?"</p><p></p><p>"An older man – purple-cloaked, with a bright helmet – cut him down. A Frisian. Some relic of the Heathen Army, no doubt."</p><p></p><p>"That may be Aki of Dorestad; one of Roerik's many bastards. He wears a violet cloak."</p><p></p><p>"He is good."</p><p></p><p>Lek smiled. "Oh, yes. He's good."</p><p></p><p>"You've met him, I take it?"</p><p></p><p>"He and Sinir were acquainted. Both were in Ivar's band. Aki went with him to Ireland, and stayed after the king died there."</p><p></p><p>"And now?"</p><p></p><p>"He has estates near Torksey. I have no idea why he might be abroad, before you ask."</p><p></p><p>"You are well-informed," Oter stretched his frame, and joints cracked. "But thirteen men with unknown purpose within two days of Harhall makes me nervous. The steading is little defended. Whatever their reason for riding, it is not innocent pillage – Kol was slain for some infraction regarding the murder of priests and the looting of churches. Perhaps, in his zeal, he struck down an abbot and stole his regalia: I must confess, I have been tempted to do the same. In any event, apparently the clergy are not to be targeted in Aki's schemes, despite the easy gold."</p><p></p><p>"Aki was baptized for political reasons in Ireland; he probably feels uneasy."</p><p></p><p>"You are <em>very</em> well informed," Oter was visibly impressed. "They were riding northeast – I assume that Aki intended to return home by way of the roads. Unless he has outlawed himself. Maybe he was making for the forest. Is he loyal to York?"</p><p></p><p>"He is loyal to himself."</p><p></p><p>"I am against splitting our band over this," Oter said carefully. "And I say we press on, regardless. The opportunity is too great."</p><p></p><p>Lek nodded. "It is agreed; and I'm sure that our sister has no qualms – it is not her land which is threatened. But Aki has no quarrel with us that I know of."</p><p></p><p>Luta approached them, girding her sword. "They're ready. Let's move. Oter, you'd better share the news, or I'm going to be disappointed."</p><p></p><p>"Another company is close by," Oter said simply. "A dozen strong. We are assuming that their agenda is not related to ours, or to us."</p><p></p><p>"There will be a good deal of blood-letting before Edward asserts his power," Luta grinned, "and that may take several years. How long before we reach the headwaters of the Dean?"</p><p></p><p>"By tomorrow, if it stays clear," Oter grunted.</p><p></p><p>They made their way North and West through the peaks, along scree-filled valleys and over high moorland: no more snow fell, but the freezing wind cut through their cloaks and caused them to hunch in their saddles.</p><p></p><p>At dusk on the second day, they descended upon an isolated community – a steading with a longhouse, and a clutch of crofts – sending the farmers and their families into a frenzy of fear and uncertainty. Lek, seeking board rather than plunder, was careful to appease the freeholder – a suspicious man named Beorhtric – with more than enough silver to offset the ravenous appetite of his men. Only one fight ensued – between Badothin the Kentishman and Burhed, Beorhtric's son – and Luta was quick to come between them with her sword drawn. Badothin scowled, but swiftly backed down under Luta's stern gaze; jewelry changed hands in weregild. Beorhtric's ale might be considered fair game; his daughter-in-law was not. Luta, furious at her retainer's behaviour – and the ring that he had cost her – took him outside and roundly thrashed him. Badothin, with a bloody and bruised face, was charged with picketing the horses for the remainder of the night; after standing alone for five hours in a frozen paddock, he was relieved by Athelnoth, whom mead had rendered affable and benign.</p><p></p><p>Within the cramped longhouse, Lek and Luta probed Beorhtric for information regarding the current allegiances of the thanes on the floodplains ahead of them. Lek was surprised – and gratified – by his sister's ability to mollify their host; moreover, her capacity for charm involved neither subterfuge nor duplicity, something – Lek remarked silently to himself – that he might learn from. The intrusion upon Beorhtric's Yule celebrations remained exactly that, however, and despite the enforced discipline amongst the company, the atmosphere was strained and tense – the farmer and his family were both used to, and comfortable with, their relative isolation.</p><p></p><p>The next morning, as Beorhtric stood and watched the horsemen ride away, he turned to his sons with a grim expression.</p><p></p><p>"When they return – incensed with rapine and slaughter – their courtesy may be much diminished."</p><p></p><p></p><p>**</p><p></p><p></p><p>Now Oter ranged ahead of the warband, his eyes and ears alert to any sign of danger. His mount – a skewbald colt named Laski – was restless; sensitive to Oter's own mood. Left and right of the column – which moved in single file, following the course one of the Dean's many tributaries – Lek had also placed outriders: Wilareus to the North; to the South, Ecgfrith, a woodcrafty scout from Evesham, loyal to Luta.</p><p></p><p>It was still and clear, and by mid-morning signs of settlement had begun to appear again. Oter encourged Laski to a pace, then a tolt, forging ahead along the valley bottom toward a well-maintained hazel stand. His eyes caught a narrow plume of bluish smoke to the North, and Oter slowed his steed again and began to move directly toward it. From Beorhtric's description, these must be the holdings of Asgrim, a wealthy freeman sworn to Ornolf. </p><p></p><p>Oter dismounted and tethered Laski, calmed him, and moved the last hundred yards through the coppice on foot, masking himself from view with magic. Crouching, he looked out across a furlong of open ground – a snow-covered field, broken only by a food-trough – to a turfed longhouse and its attendant outbuildings. Close to the dwelling, Oter spied a trio of men engaged in idle conversation beside a woodpile. The faint aroma of roasted meats and nuts reached his nose. His hackles rose and blood began to pump in his ears when Oter heard sound through the trees to his left: a stone's throw from where he hid, an old man in a heavy cloak slowly gathered kindling, stooping painfully to gather hazel twigs and pausing frequently to catch his breath. Cursing, Oter silently withdrew through the trees, retrieved Laski, and sped South towards the main company.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Sepulchrave II, post: 3384789, member: 4303"] [B]2: OTER[/B] Three hours before dawn, Oter roused himself and stood, drawing his cloak about him. The Moon – just past its first quarter – had set, but the sky had cleared and stars were visible through gaps in the roof of the cowshed. Dying embers cast a faint, ruddy glow. The smell of horses filled his nostrils, and men snored in a low hum. The air was still and frigid. He shivered. "Going somewhere?" Lek opened an eye. Oter kicked him. "Sorry. Didn't see you." He slunk outside. By the broken doors of the byre, Meurig – the Welshman – stood in silent vigil, leaning heavily on his spear. He said nothing, accustomed as he was to the strange comings and goings of his master. Oter loped with a long, quick, stride North and West across the moorlands. Lek rose, stood outside, and pondered. As Mars arose in fire, the Ascendant's ruler – mighty Jupiter – set, afflicted by the Great Malefic; retrograde and exiled in the West. The katarche of the Chaldean Mysteries – of which he had learned much from Cordoban merchants – suggested violence in Lek's mind: Ares would soon act untrammeled. Oter, responding to some more visceral impulse, must have known it, and gone to seek it out. [I]Tyr rides abroad tonight[/I], Lek knew. ** It was generally conceded that Oter's magic – although subject to suspicion from all, and loathing by most – was somehow more wholesome than Lek's. Or perhaps it was the fact that Oter himself was less unctuous and more earthy than his half-brother, and demonstrated traits to which those who knew both siblings found it easier to relate: Lek's coolness and subtlety did little to engender comfort in those who followed him. Oter's passions were more transparent, although his actions were equally considered. He was eccentric, certainly, but less [I]sinister[/I]; nor did he evince the sadism which his brother occasionally revealed in his dealings with those who had crossed him. Oter came upon the tracks in the half-light of dawn, following an old Roman byway which bore Northward: he studied them intently. They were fresh: at least a dozen riders, likely equipped for war, by the weight of the hoofprints in the snow and mud. He briefly considered tracing the trail back to their camp of the previous night – it must be nearby – but rejected the idea. Oter reached down, picked a small clod of frozen earth, and pressed it to his forehead, muttering a rune. He began to move at an easy, swift jog. [I]Must follow the tracks, only a few hours old.[/I] Doubtless many other bands were abroad: it was a period of uncertainty, and old scores were being settled left and right. But twelve or fifteen was a threatening number, and whether they styled themselves [I]brigands[/I] or [I]retainers[/I] mattered little in Oter's eyes: it was their purpose which concerned him. He quickened his pace yet further; the horses were moving at a walk through the hills. He was certain he could catch them within two hours; less, if they rested. In the event, only a quarter-hour passed, before Oter stumbled across them: he quickly used magic to obscure himself, and moved to within fifty yards. They were veteran warrors – battle-hardened Danes, who bore notched axes and travel-stained cloaks. Men loyal to Eric of East Anglia or to one of his thanes, maybe; likely riding from the Five Burghs. Oter could not clearly make out their conversation, but they seemed agitated, and in some disagreement. If he moved too close – even masked by a spell – he knew he might reveal himself, and he contented himself with skulking in a patch of gorse near the roadside, catching occasional words and observing their attitudes. Two of them – apparently of high standing, as both wore byrnies – had dismounted and were close to open conflict with one another. Some dispute of honour, perhaps? A sword rang out: Oter observed that the wielder – a greybeard who wore a close helmet of silvered steel and a purple-stained cloak of heavy wool – unsheathed and then struck with a practiced flourish. The blade bit through mail, into flesh and sinew. As the younger man – a ruddy-faced Dane with long plaits – screamed in pain and staggered backwards, groping for his own weapon, the other pressed forwards and landed two more blows, quickly felling him. He turned to the rest of the band, who had begun to assume a wide semicircle in anticipation of a fight which had proven to be, in the event, disappointingly short. "Lest we forget our duty," his voice rose in a Norse dialect with a thick Frisian accent, and carried to Oter where he lurked, "we are not to butcher their priests, nor steal gold from their churches. Were that it was as in prior days, but it is not: this was made clear, ere we embarked. We will observe this peace. This is my last word on the matter, and as Kol discovered, my position is not flexible." Murmurs of assent issued from the assembled party. Oter watched as two of them – Kol's kinsmen, maybe – silently strapped the warrior's body to his saddle. As the band moved off, Oter waited. After they had disappeared up the trail, he scoured the ground for some memento of their presence, and after stooping and retrieving a strand of fibre, he ran swiftly South. * The company was preparing to ride, when Oter returned to the byre. "Did you find death?" Lek asked. Inwardly, he was relieved that death had not found his brother. Oter nodded. "Another band – thirteen of them. Danes from Stamford or Lincoln, probably. One was called Kol. Do you know of him?" "I know no Kol." "Nor will you; he is now dead." "Alas for Kol," Lek said drily. "He met his end while you watched on?" "An older man – purple-cloaked, with a bright helmet – cut him down. A Frisian. Some relic of the Heathen Army, no doubt." "That may be Aki of Dorestad; one of Roerik's many bastards. He wears a violet cloak." "He is good." Lek smiled. "Oh, yes. He's good." "You've met him, I take it?" "He and Sinir were acquainted. Both were in Ivar's band. Aki went with him to Ireland, and stayed after the king died there." "And now?" "He has estates near Torksey. I have no idea why he might be abroad, before you ask." "You are well-informed," Oter stretched his frame, and joints cracked. "But thirteen men with unknown purpose within two days of Harhall makes me nervous. The steading is little defended. Whatever their reason for riding, it is not innocent pillage – Kol was slain for some infraction regarding the murder of priests and the looting of churches. Perhaps, in his zeal, he struck down an abbot and stole his regalia: I must confess, I have been tempted to do the same. In any event, apparently the clergy are not to be targeted in Aki's schemes, despite the easy gold." "Aki was baptized for political reasons in Ireland; he probably feels uneasy." "You are [I]very[/I] well informed," Oter was visibly impressed. "They were riding northeast – I assume that Aki intended to return home by way of the roads. Unless he has outlawed himself. Maybe he was making for the forest. Is he loyal to York?" "He is loyal to himself." "I am against splitting our band over this," Oter said carefully. "And I say we press on, regardless. The opportunity is too great." Lek nodded. "It is agreed; and I'm sure that our sister has no qualms – it is not her land which is threatened. But Aki has no quarrel with us that I know of." Luta approached them, girding her sword. "They're ready. Let's move. Oter, you'd better share the news, or I'm going to be disappointed." "Another company is close by," Oter said simply. "A dozen strong. We are assuming that their agenda is not related to ours, or to us." "There will be a good deal of blood-letting before Edward asserts his power," Luta grinned, "and that may take several years. How long before we reach the headwaters of the Dean?" "By tomorrow, if it stays clear," Oter grunted. They made their way North and West through the peaks, along scree-filled valleys and over high moorland: no more snow fell, but the freezing wind cut through their cloaks and caused them to hunch in their saddles. At dusk on the second day, they descended upon an isolated community – a steading with a longhouse, and a clutch of crofts – sending the farmers and their families into a frenzy of fear and uncertainty. Lek, seeking board rather than plunder, was careful to appease the freeholder – a suspicious man named Beorhtric – with more than enough silver to offset the ravenous appetite of his men. Only one fight ensued – between Badothin the Kentishman and Burhed, Beorhtric's son – and Luta was quick to come between them with her sword drawn. Badothin scowled, but swiftly backed down under Luta's stern gaze; jewelry changed hands in weregild. Beorhtric's ale might be considered fair game; his daughter-in-law was not. Luta, furious at her retainer's behaviour – and the ring that he had cost her – took him outside and roundly thrashed him. Badothin, with a bloody and bruised face, was charged with picketing the horses for the remainder of the night; after standing alone for five hours in a frozen paddock, he was relieved by Athelnoth, whom mead had rendered affable and benign. Within the cramped longhouse, Lek and Luta probed Beorhtric for information regarding the current allegiances of the thanes on the floodplains ahead of them. Lek was surprised – and gratified – by his sister's ability to mollify their host; moreover, her capacity for charm involved neither subterfuge nor duplicity, something – Lek remarked silently to himself – that he might learn from. The intrusion upon Beorhtric's Yule celebrations remained exactly that, however, and despite the enforced discipline amongst the company, the atmosphere was strained and tense – the farmer and his family were both used to, and comfortable with, their relative isolation. The next morning, as Beorhtric stood and watched the horsemen ride away, he turned to his sons with a grim expression. "When they return – incensed with rapine and slaughter – their courtesy may be much diminished." ** Now Oter ranged ahead of the warband, his eyes and ears alert to any sign of danger. His mount – a skewbald colt named Laski – was restless; sensitive to Oter's own mood. Left and right of the column – which moved in single file, following the course one of the Dean's many tributaries – Lek had also placed outriders: Wilareus to the North; to the South, Ecgfrith, a woodcrafty scout from Evesham, loyal to Luta. It was still and clear, and by mid-morning signs of settlement had begun to appear again. Oter encourged Laski to a pace, then a tolt, forging ahead along the valley bottom toward a well-maintained hazel stand. His eyes caught a narrow plume of bluish smoke to the North, and Oter slowed his steed again and began to move directly toward it. From Beorhtric's description, these must be the holdings of Asgrim, a wealthy freeman sworn to Ornolf. Oter dismounted and tethered Laski, calmed him, and moved the last hundred yards through the coppice on foot, masking himself from view with magic. Crouching, he looked out across a furlong of open ground – a snow-covered field, broken only by a food-trough – to a turfed longhouse and its attendant outbuildings. Close to the dwelling, Oter spied a trio of men engaged in idle conversation beside a woodpile. The faint aroma of roasted meats and nuts reached his nose. His hackles rose and blood began to pump in his ears when Oter heard sound through the trees to his left: a stone's throw from where he hid, an old man in a heavy cloak slowly gathered kindling, stooping painfully to gather hazel twigs and pausing frequently to catch his breath. Cursing, Oter silently withdrew through the trees, retrieved Laski, and sped South towards the main company. [/QUOTE]
Insert quotes…
Verification
Post reply
Community
Playing the Game
Story Hour
Harhall (updated 3/6)
Top