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The Swordlands - updated 28th May; The Hanged Man
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<blockquote data-quote="Mathew_Freeman" data-source="post: 4527169" data-attributes="member: 1846"><p><strong>"The Blessing Of Kord Be Upon You All!"</strong></p><p></p><p>As each member of the group climbed aboard the ship, Iben spoke quietly under his breath, asking for the blessing of the village spirits in their quest. The villagers had repaired the damage to the sail, and with two days sailing ahead all where keen to be off. The dark clouds in the sky promised that it was not to be an easy journey.</p><p></p><p>Indeed, within minutes of leaving Kindraed (For the last time? wondered Iben to himself), the skies opened and the rain began to hammer down. For two days, in dim light and through choppy water, the group fought the elements to make their way to Himimborg. The air elemental trapped within the boat did it's best, but still water had to bailed out more or less continuously. Eventually, Sigurd hit upon a conjuration that could help the spirit fight the elements more freely, and the little ship surged ahead. Naming the spirit Ariel in thank, Sigurd asked her what the group could do in return. "I would like a pattern to be woven into the sail," she replied. "It can be very dull looking at the same white sheet all day." Grinning, Sigurd agreed.</p><p></p><p>Eventually, and with the bodies of the heroes burning with fatigue and their clothes and posessions soaked through with rain and seawater, Himimborg came into view. Several hundred a-frame wooden buildings, some several stories high, looked down on a habour filled with fishing vessels and longships. Lights shone from some windows, but largely it was dark. As the group arrives, Iben leaps out and tied the boat to the quay, urging us onwards.</p><p></p><p>At the highest point in Himimborg stands the Great Hall – both a Temple to Kord and the seat of governance. The rest of the town seems deathly quiet, the muddy streets empty of people. As he moved up the wooden steps, Thunder detected no sounds of life in the houses all about him. Ahead, a young child suddenly crosses their view, chasing a dog – but again, no sound but that of the barking animal.</p><p></p><p>Lights blaze from the Great Hall – from many windows, and from torches set all about it's huge doors. These doors are slightly ajar, and as we approach they crash open from within. A man, large and bearded, crashes through them, on fire! He throws himself to the ground, rolling over and over to put the flames out. Thunder reaches down to give him a hand back up onto his feet, and with a grunt the man rights himself. He turns and shouts "Schweinhund!" and charges back inside. Exchanging looks, the party follows him more slowly.</p><p></p><p>Inside is a scene of chaos. In the centre of the Hall burns a huge fire, more than 10 feet across. The smoke has spread throughout the room, obscuring everything after a few feet of vision. Dimly visible are many human figures – drinking, dancing, eating, fighting, joking & laughing with each other; often all at once. Bones litter the floor all across the room. Some are small, but others look much larger, perhaps those of a great beast of ancient times.</p><p></p><p>Thunder took a deep breath of the smoker air, feeling the Holy Presence of Kord manifest in the atmosphere. The life he could feel around him surged through him, filling him with energy and purpose. Raising his arms, he bellowed into the room:</p><p></p><p>"The Blessing of Kord Be Upon You All, People of Himimborg!" With his words, he blessed the room, sending a shockwave of divine power throughout. The smoke rippled as it passed, and the bones surrounding him were pushed back.</p><p></p><p>Utter silence fell across the room.</p><p></p><p>Staring at Thunder, the men & women of Himimborg stood stock still at this interruption to their festivities. A frozen tableau displayed itself around the room – four men engaged in an arm-wrestling contest, two men in an axe-throwing contest, three serving women holding giant pitchers of ale – all had stopped and were staring at him.</p><p></p><p>Slowly, a single figure moved forwards through the smoke. He was short and slight, in contrast with the others with long grey hair and a wearing black robes. Looking Thunder and the others up and down, almost disdainfully, he asks with gentle emphasis "Auslanders?"</p><p></p><p>"We are," replies Thunder. "We have come through the Gap and via Kindraed to speak with King Siegfried. My name is the Promise of Distant Thunder, and I am a Warforged of the Legion that Waits. These are my companions – Aengus, Sigurd, Karl and Iben of Kindraed. We have news that the King must hear."</p><p></p><p>"Thunder, hmm?" replies the man. "I must blame you for the weather, yes?" He indicates the windows of the Great Hall as another blast of lightning splits the sky outside. Seeming to come to a decision, the man looks across at all the members of the group. "My name is Serkeljof. I am, how you say, the King's right hand. He is not here – he went to fight with raiders, taking the best of the Knights of Himimborg with him."</p><p></p><p>The man seems very tightly controlled, keeping himself under precise pressure. Almost no emotion crosses his face as he speaks, even as Aengus and the others begin to ask him questions. It appears that the King has been incomunicado for around three months now, since leaving Himimborg, and a plan has been hatched for the remaining Knights to go look for him. Serkeljof seems to be evaluating the group as they speak to him.</p><p></p><p>"Perhaps you would care to join us?" he asks. "Obviously such… mighty heroes would be an asset to our little expedition."</p><p></p><p>Hackles are raised at the implied insult, and the party decide to prove themselves to all present. This is a Hall of contests and competitions – the Knights of Himimborg shall be shown that this group of adventurers are not to be put down!</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Mathew_Freeman, post: 4527169, member: 1846"] [b]"The Blessing Of Kord Be Upon You All!"[/b] As each member of the group climbed aboard the ship, Iben spoke quietly under his breath, asking for the blessing of the village spirits in their quest. The villagers had repaired the damage to the sail, and with two days sailing ahead all where keen to be off. The dark clouds in the sky promised that it was not to be an easy journey. Indeed, within minutes of leaving Kindraed (For the last time? wondered Iben to himself), the skies opened and the rain began to hammer down. For two days, in dim light and through choppy water, the group fought the elements to make their way to Himimborg. The air elemental trapped within the boat did it's best, but still water had to bailed out more or less continuously. Eventually, Sigurd hit upon a conjuration that could help the spirit fight the elements more freely, and the little ship surged ahead. Naming the spirit Ariel in thank, Sigurd asked her what the group could do in return. "I would like a pattern to be woven into the sail," she replied. "It can be very dull looking at the same white sheet all day." Grinning, Sigurd agreed. Eventually, and with the bodies of the heroes burning with fatigue and their clothes and posessions soaked through with rain and seawater, Himimborg came into view. Several hundred a-frame wooden buildings, some several stories high, looked down on a habour filled with fishing vessels and longships. Lights shone from some windows, but largely it was dark. As the group arrives, Iben leaps out and tied the boat to the quay, urging us onwards. At the highest point in Himimborg stands the Great Hall – both a Temple to Kord and the seat of governance. The rest of the town seems deathly quiet, the muddy streets empty of people. As he moved up the wooden steps, Thunder detected no sounds of life in the houses all about him. Ahead, a young child suddenly crosses their view, chasing a dog – but again, no sound but that of the barking animal. Lights blaze from the Great Hall – from many windows, and from torches set all about it's huge doors. These doors are slightly ajar, and as we approach they crash open from within. A man, large and bearded, crashes through them, on fire! He throws himself to the ground, rolling over and over to put the flames out. Thunder reaches down to give him a hand back up onto his feet, and with a grunt the man rights himself. He turns and shouts "Schweinhund!" and charges back inside. Exchanging looks, the party follows him more slowly. Inside is a scene of chaos. In the centre of the Hall burns a huge fire, more than 10 feet across. The smoke has spread throughout the room, obscuring everything after a few feet of vision. Dimly visible are many human figures – drinking, dancing, eating, fighting, joking & laughing with each other; often all at once. Bones litter the floor all across the room. Some are small, but others look much larger, perhaps those of a great beast of ancient times. Thunder took a deep breath of the smoker air, feeling the Holy Presence of Kord manifest in the atmosphere. The life he could feel around him surged through him, filling him with energy and purpose. Raising his arms, he bellowed into the room: "The Blessing of Kord Be Upon You All, People of Himimborg!" With his words, he blessed the room, sending a shockwave of divine power throughout. The smoke rippled as it passed, and the bones surrounding him were pushed back. Utter silence fell across the room. Staring at Thunder, the men & women of Himimborg stood stock still at this interruption to their festivities. A frozen tableau displayed itself around the room – four men engaged in an arm-wrestling contest, two men in an axe-throwing contest, three serving women holding giant pitchers of ale – all had stopped and were staring at him. Slowly, a single figure moved forwards through the smoke. He was short and slight, in contrast with the others with long grey hair and a wearing black robes. Looking Thunder and the others up and down, almost disdainfully, he asks with gentle emphasis "Auslanders?" "We are," replies Thunder. "We have come through the Gap and via Kindraed to speak with King Siegfried. My name is the Promise of Distant Thunder, and I am a Warforged of the Legion that Waits. These are my companions – Aengus, Sigurd, Karl and Iben of Kindraed. We have news that the King must hear." "Thunder, hmm?" replies the man. "I must blame you for the weather, yes?" He indicates the windows of the Great Hall as another blast of lightning splits the sky outside. Seeming to come to a decision, the man looks across at all the members of the group. "My name is Serkeljof. I am, how you say, the King's right hand. He is not here – he went to fight with raiders, taking the best of the Knights of Himimborg with him." The man seems very tightly controlled, keeping himself under precise pressure. Almost no emotion crosses his face as he speaks, even as Aengus and the others begin to ask him questions. It appears that the King has been incomunicado for around three months now, since leaving Himimborg, and a plan has been hatched for the remaining Knights to go look for him. Serkeljof seems to be evaluating the group as they speak to him. "Perhaps you would care to join us?" he asks. "Obviously such… mighty heroes would be an asset to our little expedition." Hackles are raised at the implied insult, and the party decide to prove themselves to all present. This is a Hall of contests and competitions – the Knights of Himimborg shall be shown that this group of adventurers are not to be put down! [/QUOTE]
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