The Swordlands - updated 28th May; The Hanged Man

[Mathew_Freeman]

Sigurds's Retreat, and, Fenryr's Lair

Sigurd's Retreat

Whilst recovering from the effects of a near-fatal Drow poison, Sigurd retreats to a small fisherman’s house on the black stony beaches of Skeinwael. There she completes her spiritual initiation and becomes an Oracle of Kord. She studies the natural forces around her.

By day the ebb and flow of the tide, the gentle rise and fall of the waves, the movements of schools of luminescent dragonfish as they swim through the shallows of the Kindersee, all these things speak of change to come.

By night the dark water becomes still and calm, a mirror onto the heavens where each reflected star is said to represent the soul of a hero. In the land where the brave may live forever, dead heroes dance in ripples on the surface of the sea.

For those that did not die well, their suffering in the underworld reveals itself in the Nightshade blossom that is found on the moor. A white flower with a black center the Nightshade is said to be Hel’s own flower.

Sigurd now partly dwells in the land of the dead, the stars above, their reflections below, the nightshade in the field, and the Ghulra clusters (see An Urn of Questions) that she has lain out in patterns in the straw-strewn ground of her cabin. Sigurd still dreams of Ragnarok, and come the dawn the rainbow remains clear in her minds eye. This is Kord’s land. Beyond Himinborg people talk of the gods of Aelfheim, they are but invaders in Kord’s bright gift. Lady Snowshoes, The Hanged Man, The Boon Companion, even Hel herself. One day they shall all be gone and the strength of the One God shall remain.

Worlds above and worlds below reveal their secrets to the Oracle of Kord. Making sense of the voices will take time, and her journey is just begun.

Fenryr's Lair

“If it is monsters you seek, then you have come to the right place.” announced Snøflgrøf to the adventurers as they prepared themselves for the next stage of their quest. “Here in Mycklegarth we have monsters and heroes aplenty. The biggest and baddest of which is none other than Nyfellryr, as foul a creature as ever there was. Nyfellryr has plagued these lands for many long years. It appeared from who knows where centuries ago and claimed the forests around as it’s own until it was slain by my great grandfather. During the time of The Curse it rose from the ground and then reappeared briefly. 10 years ago, when Siegmund first began his forays into this part of the world, he disturbed the dormant beast and since then a tribe of savage shapechangers has taken to worshipping it as a god. I am certain that the death of Nyfellryr will bring you closer to the end of your quest.”

The party set off from Mycklegarth guided by Finn, the storyteller. Several days journey through the woods led them to the Barghest Quarry, where they found a brutal sacrifice in progress. The survivors of the sled chase, orcs and ogres alike, were chained at the bottom of a chalk quarry pit awaiting some end. The ruined village was shrouded in a fog of chalk dust as the Barghest horde danced and howled to summon their foul god.

Making their way unchallenged through the horde the adventurers descend into the pit where they are set upon by a stampeding undead were-mammoth. Nyfellryr was nearly unstoppable, and the writhing mass of necrotic rot-grubs that constantly consumed it’s regenerating flesh were flung in a spray from the huge beast wreaking havoc amongst the living.

After a hard fight the party slew the beast, causing panic amongst the watching Barghest horde. The party decide to hasten back to Mycklegarth, before the Barghest reassemble and launch a revenge attack on the village. Leaving the quarry they find a series of chalk caves and a runic circle where once stood a warforged.

Back at Mycklegarth they are met by rejoicing villagers and carried shoulder high to Snøflgrøf. Whilst the villagers prepare to defend against the Barghest attack, Snøflgrøf asks to speak to the party in the privacy of a mud dwelling.

There he reveals that, while Nyfellryr was a terrible threat, it was not the beast they were seeking. In return for ridding Mycklegarth of this foe he tells them that it is he who is Fenryr’s heir, and offers to lay down his life to prevent Ragnarok destroying the Feywild, the land of his forefathers.

The party reluctantly acknowledge that they must do this for the greater good. Oellorn is torn as he sees that the killing of a goodly soul must serve a higher purpose. It is Karl who strikes the first blow. Attempting a mighty and well-placed death strike he finds that he has only inflicted a minor wound on the spawn of Fenryr.

Just then, Finn and his captains burst into the room, announcing that the Barghest horde has reached the village. They stop in horror at the scene that confronts them. With the cry “ASSASSINS!” Finn and the villagers tranform into werewolves and attack, some shielding their king with their bodies, others leaping ontop of the adventurers.

A savage battle ensues in which the werewolves try to drag the struggling Snøflgrøf to safety while they battle the party. In the closely confined chaos of the fight, first Karl, then Oellorn, then Aengus are infected with a form of ‘Full Moon Fever’ which sends them into a feral rage, attacking friend and foe alike, only the warforged Thunder appears to be immune to the effects of the werewolves’ bite.

After a long and brutal struggle the party succeed in killing Snøflgrøf and the werewolf captains, to find that the entire village is under attack around them. Ferocious Barghest wolves are locked in combat with the villagers who have all transformed into werewolves. The only way out of the village appears to be through the midsts of this savage battle.

Note: Firstly, regarding Sigurd. Michael, the player of Sigurd, has been unable to join the last few sessions and as such crater has agreed that his character can stay "off-screen" for a while. The decision to pick Divine Oracle as his Paragon Path was decided some time ago, happily, and as such Sigurd is going to be doing some long thinking and when she returns, hopefully she'll have some good news for us.

Moving on to the two fights in the last game, all I can say is "Ouch". The undead-were-mammoth that was Nyfellryr was bad enough, but the second attack by multiple werewolves (all of whom had a "Howl" power that caused other nearby werewolves to gain an additional basic attack) nearly did for us. With a mixture of luck and good dice-rolling (plus what I would like to modestly nominate as a very well-placed Blade Barrier) we got out of it, but at one stage two members of the party were attacking people at random in the throes of werewolf-induced battle-rage.

Best moment: Oelorn attacking Karl under the influence of said battle-rage, only for half of the damage inflicted on the Gnome to bounce back to the Paladin due to his "Shield Other" power. Comedy genius.

 

[Mathew_Freeman]

Sigurd's Divinations

“We are a world apart,” said the stars on the water, “We are not you.”

“I am Sigurd of Concordance, I am the Eye of Kord.”

“Welcome Sigurd,” spoke the souls of dead heroes, “We too are children of The One God, a thousand deaths here dance in a single ripple of your oar in the water. We are not you.”

Sigurd raised the oars out of the water and watched as water ran from them, disturbing the calm surface of the Kindersee.

“Look,” said the departed, “The Battle of Skøninjen Way!” Sigurd saw the specks of reflected light weave and bob in spreading circles on the dark water.

“Look,” said the fallen, “The Death of Bør!” More drops fell into the darkness and sent ripples across the flat plane of the sea.

“You honour me with your dance.” said Sigurd, “But I am not you, I am a world apart.”

“Yes,” spoke the dead heroes, “You are not of this land. You are an Auslander, and so shall you remain until Ragnarok comes. Surtur will reunite us, can you see?”

Sigurd looked long into the dark water. At length she spoke “Yes I see him, he is near, and Thrymm follows.”

“The power of the New Gods begins to fade.” continued the dead, “Soon, this land will once again stand alone.”

“The conjunction weakens,” replied Sigurd, “I see this too. And what of Concordance? I saw once that my city was destroyed.”

“It is Hel’s will that you are here. You have all answered the call. It was her will that forged the link between our worlds. When she is gone, so shall be the conjunction that brought you to us, and here you shall remain until the end.”

“Then it was no ocean crossing that took us to this land?”

“No,” replied the dead, “For we are world’s apart. It has always been so.”

The next day Sigurd awoke to a blood red dawn. She knew then that Fenryr’s bloodline had been broken.

Note: crater is giving us all this background knowledge between games. It's making me paranoid. What's he up to?

 

[Mathew_Freeman]

The King in His Hall, and, The Wyrmling Turns

The King in His Hall

Alone on a mountain of bones sat Serkeljof, king of Himinborg. Lost in thought, his gaze wandered over the remains of Himinborg’s defeated enemies. All about lay giants and sea-monsters piled high about the three thrones of the Great Hall, until his gaze finally came to rest on the bones of Nidhog, the great faerie dragon herself.

At length a warrior arrived, the creaking doors allowing a wedge of red sunlight to break the dim and dusty peace of the windowless hall. Tall, broad and advanced in years the braided knight approached the throne where the king sat quietly.

(Translated from Old Norse) “Sire, We have word from Kindraed, Konigshelle, and Karlsbad on the Eastern shore. We have word from Braekonsgard, Braeborg, and Brershalle at the Southern Edge. We have word from Igglingsborg, Wayweary, and Thruthgelmir at the World’s End. We have word from those that yet remain on the islands of the Kindersee. They will all answer the call. They will all make for Skeinwael and await your order.”

Serkeljof remained silent for a time, as the aged veteran patiently waited for a response. “Imagine, if you will, that you were a loyal servant of Kord,” began the king quietly, “Would it not be appropriate to kneel on entering the Hall of Rivenhart, as it has been for the five centuries or more since it was built?”

The warrior quickly knelt.

“Kindraed, you say?” continued Serkeljof, “I was not aware that goats and pigs could be trained to bear arms.”

“The thirteen families and the lands around have proffered several hundred fighting men, sire. They seem quite spirited. They will not fight in the name of Kord, but they will fight nonetheless.” explained the veteran.

Serkeljof leaned forward on the plain wooden throne. “And what of Thruthgelmir? I understood that the Auslanders had rendered that acursed hall vacant.”

“Indeed my lord. There we have the pledge of Queen Rusalka to send archers numbering near a thousand, but as mercenaries requiring gold, or gems even.”

“I should have kept that sword of Siegfried’s. It would have fetched enough to pay for twice that many.”

The veteran shifted uncomfortably as he stood up. His knees troubled him more these days.

“How long before the southern edge forces are on the northern shore?” asked the king.

“Fourteen days, maybe less with favourable winds. The Auslander witch says that Kord will bless their voyage.”

“How kind.” declared Serkeljof, as he rose to his feet and stretched out his crooked spine. “Then what remains, o valiant Fruhli, Knight Himinborg?”

The veteran Knight Himinborg and champion storyteller thought on this a while. “Er, provisions and supply trains are in progress sire…”

“Hmm, no. There must be something else…” pondered Serkeljof.

“Our scouts are searching the mountains for Siegmund’s camp, we expect to receive word any day now.”

“No, no. I’m sure there is something else.”

Fruhli thought some more. “There has been no contact with the Auslanders for near ten days…”

“Pah! There is one other thing, i’m certain…”

“I know not what my lord.” returned the baffled veteran.

Serkeljof looked skyward in despair. “My armour, perhaps?” he sighed.

Fruhli bowed quickly and strode out of the hall, calling for the king’s armour. Outside the hall he descended the muddy wooden stairs through the streets of Himinborg. All about, in the blood red light of the Cycle of The Sword, the remaining elite veteran knights were readying themselves for one final ocean voyage.

The Wyrmling Turns

This land is young and this people strong,
The children of Nidhog and Helman,
Born as slaves,
May yet die free.

As he spoke, the Battle Chaplain poured wine into the chalice.

This land is young and this people brave,
Of dragon and man,
Of this world and that,

Aldis, kneeling at the other side of the altar, took the intricately worked golden vessel in both mailed hands.

Of storm, the vengeance rising,
Of fire, the desire in our hearts,

Slowly, she raised the chalice to her long mouth.

Of ice, the resolve in our cause,
Of acid, that no chains may bind us.

As the words of the oath gradually increased in volume and intensity, she began to drink the Blood of Bahamut.

This land is young and this people true,
The sons of Man and the daughters of Wyrm,
Hold to the oath of our ancestors,
That none shall set themself above another,
That the poorest has yet a mouth to feed,
As the richest,
That the smallest has yet a life to live,
As the Mightiest,
And so with all things,
Must the heart of the Valkyr guide her.

The dragonborn paladin rises to her feet and gradually unfurls a set of wings, joint by joint, ligament by ligament, skin stretching taught over strong sinews, until the two clawed extremities could almost touch the walls on either side of her. Her whole life had been but preparation for this day. This Valkyr had reached the final stage of her rebirth, and now she would see her people to freedom.

“The Valkyr are ready, Aldis” began the Chaplain, “Will you lead them?”

Aldis breathed deeply, savouring how her wings and her armour weighed heavily across her body.

“I will,” she replied, “For the Auslanders approach. Tonight we shall pray for their safe arrival.”

Note: More background information keeping up to date with Serkeljof, and also Aldis, the PC played by randomling. Hopefully randomling will also rejoin the game at some point.

 

[Mathew_Freeman]

The Hanged Man

Whilst walking along Skeinwael’s black sand shoreline, Sigurd happened upon a trail of bare foot prints. The tide washed over them and then withdrew, fizzing and popping over the coarse dark grit. The oracle followed the faint foot prints across the beach and into the woods outside of town, where they became damp imprints across the dry earth. There in a clearing she saw a figure hanging upside down by the legs from a stooping ash, apparently caught in a hunter’s trap.

“Is this Lady Snowshoes?” asked Sigurd as she entered the clearing.

“Junge fraulein,” responded the figure in the gruff voice of an old man, “You have the benefit of both of your eyes. Do see fit to use them on occasion.”

The old man was gently swinging to and fro. The noose around his feet creaked as he slowly turned in the breeze. Sigurd stepped closer and saw that this was indeed an elderly yet heavily built man, half-elven possibly judging by his ears, dressed in weather-worn travelling clothes. His upside down face, reddened and flushed, was framed with white braided beards that hung over his broad features towards the ground, his large broken-knuckled hands trailing in the leaves that lay beneath him. One keen blue eye looked up at her while an empty socket remained where the other one should have been.

“Would you care for some assistance?” inquired the oracle, stooping while craning her neck, so as to see the old half-elven gentleman the right way up.

“Have you anything to drink?” replied the old man.

“I have some goats milk, but i’ll have to fetch it from the village.”

“You are the Auslander woman they talked about,” began the one-eyed man, ignoring Sigurd’s offer of refreshments, “And yet you bear the mark of Kord. That could be said to be… auspiscious, wouldn’t you say? And to think we had no idea who had called you!”

“The Legion must be remade.” spoke the Auslander.

“That’s all well and good i’m sure, but right now my power is on the wane, thanks to the actions of you and your companions. Don’t think me ungrateful, but what I really need you to do is to find my eye.”

Sigurd scanned the forest floor around her. “Do you think it is somewhere around here?”

“Probably not, I lost it in a storm some time ago. I suppose it could be anywhere really.”

The way the old man pronounced ‘anywhere’ left Sigurd in no doubt that he really meant it. She pondered on this for a while. The old man slowly rotated in the hanging trap. When he had come full circle Sigurd continued. “Well, if I find it I will be sure to put it aside for you.”

“That would be most kind of you fraulein. I will be sure to reward you if you are able to recover it.”

Sigurd left the clearing, scanning the leaf-strewn ground around and abouts. From far behind her the old man, still hanging upside down, called out. “Any luck?”

“Some good sized acorns, a snails shell, nothing else.” the oracle called back.

Sigurd wandered far through the forest until she had lost her way. At length she arrived at a crossroads.

Note: This serves to reintroduce Sigurd in her capacity as a PC. Happily, Michael has been able to rejoin the game after some time away. This brings the party back up to five members, and it also meant that for the first time ever we covered all four D&D 4e roles in terms of having a Defender, Leader, Controller and two Strikers. With the challenges ahead, we're going to need everyone!