For over two months, the remnants of your clan have been at sea. At first the Bera was alone, fleeing to the West as Hyboria burned. Messenger birds directed you to other Norse ships, and for a month you traveled with a fleet of fifty vessels. A desperate plan formed throughout the fleet: the ships would sail into the uncharted West and find new land, where your enemies would not harass you, where the Gods might still speak.
But after a month, a great squall swept across the sea. When it cleared, your ship was alone. With no other option, you continued to the West. You defended your clan against tritons, wurms, and zombie penguins, to name a few. The Bera is less crowded than when you departed, sadly due to disease, drowning, and beasts. Two weeks ago, a falling star streaked across the sky, pointing directly to the west. Your falling spirits were bolstered, and the rowers picked up their pace. Then, finally, you sighted land.
The shoreline stretched across the horizon. It could be an island, but it must be larger than Hyboria was. The stars seem to indicate that you have been blown south from your home, and the climate is warmer. There is no sign of other ships in your fleet.
A shallow bay was located almost immediately, and you scouted the immediate square mile along with other longboats of clansmen. The wilds were relatively hospitable and full of game, although you found mostly flightless birds and reptiles. Everyone reported a safe wilderness, and your clan was unloaded.
One day has passed since landfall. The crew is busy felling trees to build a defensive wall, and eventually a longhouse. Earl Gaermund summons you and all the fighting men of the clan to receive your assignments.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Ill Omens
From Marc:
I leave this record within the archives the Earl as a warning to future travelers who decide to brave the perils of the open seas to travel back to Isle of Faeroe
The event began a week into the second month of our travel. We had not seen land for longer than any of us wished. I had been feeling a growing sense of unease and had spent many a night consulting with the star of Kharid for a hint of what was to come. Kharid was not forthcoming, only giving scattered glimpses: splashing water, the sound of combat, muted roars, splintering wood… the last caused me to shudder… that image did not bode well while we were on the open seas. When our wizard, Bartix approached me with my companions shared concern of my withdrawal I decided to share my fears with. I knew were approaching something of great peril and whatever it was was close.
With Ruriks encouragement we approached the Earl Gaermund with the advice that he slow the Bera at much as possible while we took a longboat and scout ahead. Though the Earl had concerns over our stores of food he agreed to slow the dragonship for three days. We rearranged personnel so that only ourselves and a few rowmen were aboard the longboat and departed.
***********
Two days passed with nothing of note occurring. My companions were becoming vocal expressing that I should perhaps spend less time staring at the stars. If only they knew of the joy, wonder and horror that I see and feel from the astral aspects.
On the third day Oddney spotted an island in the distance. "That's it! " I cried, as a feeling of utmost certainty hit me. "That's what we're looking for."
No sooner than I finished my exclamation Edgar yelled for us to look at the water. Circling us were shadows in the water, moving too fast to make out. There were several but none large enough to endanger the boat. While we were wondering if they were going to attack we noticed they began to circle the boat. They seemed to increase in number as the water shifted and began to swirl around us. The speed increased rapidly and formed a vortex trapping our boat. I glanced to Bartix and his grim nod confirmed my sense that there was sorcery involved.
We tried to disrupt the vortex, however Bartix wasn't able to freeze enough of the vortex to stop it, my eldritch blasts weren't harming the wurms enough and Hermiads arrow were ineffective on targets under the water. Oddneys electric bolt caused one to leap out of the water. It was some kind of wurm! Our boat continued to race in tighter and tighter circles, the floorboards groaning, then cracking. My last memory was hearing a sharp cracking sound behind me and a heavy blow to my head.
The next thing I remember is trying to decide which was more uncomfortable, the sharp pain in my skull, the salty crunchiness of the sand in my mouth, or the itchiness in my trousers. I cracked my eyes open saw the half eaten skull of one of the rowers. With a shout I rolled away discomforts forgotten. Staggering to my feet I saw the rest of my shipmates in various states of consciousness and dress. Most of our armor had been damaged, some straps chewed, some plate dented. As I looked my sense of horror increased as I noticed that every one of the rowers had at least one major limb missing. Two were still alive, with Erik administering them. Armor,I realized, those without armor had been eaten… Bartix!
I spun looking for him. "Relax," I heard from behind me, "I got lucky…Mendas woke up before anything happened." Mendas grinned as he flourished, then sheathed two knives. Three gutted wurm corpses lay at his feet.
Shaking my head I breathed a sigh of relief that the rest of my armored companions were okay, though some armor was going to have to be replaced. Then I noticed Edgar was missing. No one had any idea where he was.
Looking at our surroundings I discovered we were in a subterranean corridor. It was warm… very warm. I was perspiring under my armor. Now that I noticed the temperature I saw that everyones skin had the light sheen of sweat. Water lapped at one end off the corridor. The water was dark with no hints as to how deep it wasLight shone down on the party from a few rocks that had had light cast on them. My inspection of our area complete I focused back on the wurm carcasses.
"Hmm," I said as I examined the corpses, "they look to be very young, their lids don't open." The other agreed but didn't have any other input. Hermiad pointed out that there were several wurm trails leading down the corridor away from the water. Unwilling to explore the water again we gathered our belongings, lit some torches and cautiously crept down the corridor.
Sounds wafted to us from ahead. Snorting sounds, growls, and what I could only describe as bark running against sand. The heat increased steadily. "I have a bad feeling about this, " said Mendas. Our jaws set grimly, we continued. A faint glow appeared ahead that grew stronger as we continued. And the heat continued to increase.
The corridor opened up and our worse suspicions were confirmed. We had come out into a large cavern. It was large…a few hundred feet long as it was wide. We could see hints of other corridors in various spots around the room. High above us we could see the walls sloped inward like a cone. The walls stopped in a circle through which we could see the sky. The room had many, many wurms in it. But they didn't attack. They hissed and slithered as they bumped and crawled over each other.
As we walked forward they backed away and kept their distance. It was if they knew we were a threat. After a few minutes we came upon a shelf… there was a drop of at least 50 feet with pits of bubbling lava. But scariest of all were the eggs….. hundreds of eggs lined all in the area below. A breeding ground. Even as we watched an egg top broke and a wurm slowly crawled out. As we watched we began to wonder how they got to the level we were on. As if to answer the question, the wurm suddenly rose into the air and slowly drift towards us. It soared over us and landed on the floor behind us. Startled we saw that the rest of the wurms had formed a line and were facing us.
Then we heard, no, not really heard… the words were placed directly into our minds. "My young ones are hungry." The voice "sounded" raspy, ancient. We exchanged worried looks as we drew our swords, knives and other implements, "and you two-legged ones have annoyed me with your interference."
A dark shadow appeared in the closest corridor to us and a gigantic head appeared… followed by a long serpentine body. "You triggered my preparations for the floating food not far from here. But there is time, yes, time before the brood hatches. I can prepare it again. But until then you shall be a snack for my young ones."
With that declaration the front lines of the young wurms surged forward. I immediately answered with dire radiance, the light burning the lightly armored wurms. Magic missiles erupted from Bartixs hands and the twangs from Hermiads bow and Oddneys crossbow filled the air. The wurms were dying easily but they were getting closer much too fast. A poison cloud covered the front ranks. Wurms twisted in agony as they shuddered and died. A gust of wind blew the poison cloud towards us. We coughed and our knees buckled as the edges of the cloud reached us.
"Stop that, are you trying to kill us, "cried Erik.
"I didn't create that wind, "answered Bartix as he released the spell.
A shadow appeared over us. I glanced up in time to see the serpents tail high above us. I barely threw myself out of the way as the tail impacted the floor throwing us from our feet. As it swept across the floor it knocked us toward the crowd of wurms. Dropping our ranged weapons we began to melee. "We've got to take out the big one" yelled Rurik as the tail crashed among us.
The fighters formed a circle around the magic users keeping the wurms away as we attached the serpent. I used a number of my spells, as did Bartix and Erik with no real effect. A couple wurms squeezed through the defenses biting the three of us badly. The tail crashed down again catching Rurik and knocking the rest of us onto our backsides. The wurms surged sensing our weakness but we managed to beat them back. Eriks cross shone brightly as he attempted to keep up with the damage we were taking. We were getting massacred, it was only a matter of time before one us fell.
"Bartix, "I called, "do you still have your ice field available?"
"Yes, you want me to slow down some of these wurms?"
"No, use it on the serpent; we've got to take him out. Wait for it, "I directed as I said a silent prayer to Gibbeth and cast the dark dream on the serpent. I felt it take hold and my mind split as I shared the serpents perspective of its surroundings. The floor beneath it split causing it to pull back away from us sharply. As the floor beneath it crumbled it danced to and fro trying to keep on solid ground.
"Ice," cast Bartix as the serpent stumbled back. It hit the field of ice that suddenly appeared beneath it and slide to the edge… and fell over. Second later we heard what sounded like the cross between a thud and a splash.
"To me, to me" cried Rurik, as we rallied one more time. The wurms surged once more, then quickly began to retreat as the sharp blades hacked at them. They began to act less and less coordinated and began to avoid us as they struggled to get away.
With the wurms retreating we all breathed a sigh of relief. Exhausted, I fell onto my side, gasping for breath. Ichor dripping from their blades, the fighters lowered their weapons. I was relieved it was over until I felt water tugging at my clothes.
We exclaimed in surprise and dismay as water washed across the floor and spilled into the area below us. We heard rumblinging all around us followed by water blasting out of the many corridors around the sides of the room. We heard the hiss of water hitting a hot surface below us.
Water poured from the various corridors threatening to sweep us of the edge of the precipice. We struggled to stay where we were. "That's curious, " said Oddney as the water level began to rise over our knees, "how is the water getting so high?"
Amazement stole over Hermiads face, "I don't think the water is rising, I think the island is sinking." Astonishment stole over the whole party. I felt at awe… if the serpent had been maintaining the state of the island, the power of its enchantments was astounding.
The water quickly filled the cavern and we were pushed towards the top. We swam towards the center and was ejected into the general sea. The water roiled and frothed from the displacement of the land. I struggled to fight the undertow of the island and saw the others were struggling as well, except for…Oddney! I called Hermiad, Bartix, and Mendas for help and we dove to try to find Oddney.
Luckily her frantic effort had kept her from sinking too far. We grasped her on the sides and struggled to pull her to the surface. With the weight of her armor there was no way we were going to be able to keep her afloat. Bartix had arrived to that conclusion and started to unbuckle it only to be knocked aside by Oddney, "are you crazy, you know what I went through to ..glub" as we all were pulled under the surface. I began to feel we were done for when a rough hand grabbed my hair… I screamed as it was pulled and water rushed into my mouth. The hand repositioned itself to my shoulder and with painful squeezing drew me towards the surface. Thankfully it repositioned itself under my arm.
As my head broke the surface I was surprised to see it was Edgar! "Look, I made a boat" he said referring to mix of planks and tree trunks he was sitting on. With his help we were able to pull Oddney and the rest of us out of the water and onto the mishmash of boards and trunks.
After we collected ourselves and recounted our experience to Edgar, we learned that when the longboat had been pulled under Edgar had managed to grab the mast and was able to float back to the surface. He was able to get to the island and spent the rest of his time knocking down trees and attempting to tie the trunks together along with some of the planks that washed to shore. When the island sank he sat on the logs and stayed afloat.
*********
It was almost two days later when the fleet caught up with us. And for us, now sunburned, dehydrated and exhausted, it was the most welcome sight in the world.
I leave this record within the archives the Earl as a warning to future travelers who decide to brave the perils of the open seas to travel back to Isle of Faeroe
The event began a week into the second month of our travel. We had not seen land for longer than any of us wished. I had been feeling a growing sense of unease and had spent many a night consulting with the star of Kharid for a hint of what was to come. Kharid was not forthcoming, only giving scattered glimpses: splashing water, the sound of combat, muted roars, splintering wood… the last caused me to shudder… that image did not bode well while we were on the open seas. When our wizard, Bartix approached me with my companions shared concern of my withdrawal I decided to share my fears with. I knew were approaching something of great peril and whatever it was was close.
With Ruriks encouragement we approached the Earl Gaermund with the advice that he slow the Bera at much as possible while we took a longboat and scout ahead. Though the Earl had concerns over our stores of food he agreed to slow the dragonship for three days. We rearranged personnel so that only ourselves and a few rowmen were aboard the longboat and departed.
***********
Two days passed with nothing of note occurring. My companions were becoming vocal expressing that I should perhaps spend less time staring at the stars. If only they knew of the joy, wonder and horror that I see and feel from the astral aspects.
On the third day Oddney spotted an island in the distance. "That's it! " I cried, as a feeling of utmost certainty hit me. "That's what we're looking for."
No sooner than I finished my exclamation Edgar yelled for us to look at the water. Circling us were shadows in the water, moving too fast to make out. There were several but none large enough to endanger the boat. While we were wondering if they were going to attack we noticed they began to circle the boat. They seemed to increase in number as the water shifted and began to swirl around us. The speed increased rapidly and formed a vortex trapping our boat. I glanced to Bartix and his grim nod confirmed my sense that there was sorcery involved.
We tried to disrupt the vortex, however Bartix wasn't able to freeze enough of the vortex to stop it, my eldritch blasts weren't harming the wurms enough and Hermiads arrow were ineffective on targets under the water. Oddneys electric bolt caused one to leap out of the water. It was some kind of wurm! Our boat continued to race in tighter and tighter circles, the floorboards groaning, then cracking. My last memory was hearing a sharp cracking sound behind me and a heavy blow to my head.
The next thing I remember is trying to decide which was more uncomfortable, the sharp pain in my skull, the salty crunchiness of the sand in my mouth, or the itchiness in my trousers. I cracked my eyes open saw the half eaten skull of one of the rowers. With a shout I rolled away discomforts forgotten. Staggering to my feet I saw the rest of my shipmates in various states of consciousness and dress. Most of our armor had been damaged, some straps chewed, some plate dented. As I looked my sense of horror increased as I noticed that every one of the rowers had at least one major limb missing. Two were still alive, with Erik administering them. Armor,I realized, those without armor had been eaten… Bartix!
I spun looking for him. "Relax," I heard from behind me, "I got lucky…Mendas woke up before anything happened." Mendas grinned as he flourished, then sheathed two knives. Three gutted wurm corpses lay at his feet.
Shaking my head I breathed a sigh of relief that the rest of my armored companions were okay, though some armor was going to have to be replaced. Then I noticed Edgar was missing. No one had any idea where he was.
Looking at our surroundings I discovered we were in a subterranean corridor. It was warm… very warm. I was perspiring under my armor. Now that I noticed the temperature I saw that everyones skin had the light sheen of sweat. Water lapped at one end off the corridor. The water was dark with no hints as to how deep it wasLight shone down on the party from a few rocks that had had light cast on them. My inspection of our area complete I focused back on the wurm carcasses.
"Hmm," I said as I examined the corpses, "they look to be very young, their lids don't open." The other agreed but didn't have any other input. Hermiad pointed out that there were several wurm trails leading down the corridor away from the water. Unwilling to explore the water again we gathered our belongings, lit some torches and cautiously crept down the corridor.
Sounds wafted to us from ahead. Snorting sounds, growls, and what I could only describe as bark running against sand. The heat increased steadily. "I have a bad feeling about this, " said Mendas. Our jaws set grimly, we continued. A faint glow appeared ahead that grew stronger as we continued. And the heat continued to increase.
The corridor opened up and our worse suspicions were confirmed. We had come out into a large cavern. It was large…a few hundred feet long as it was wide. We could see hints of other corridors in various spots around the room. High above us we could see the walls sloped inward like a cone. The walls stopped in a circle through which we could see the sky. The room had many, many wurms in it. But they didn't attack. They hissed and slithered as they bumped and crawled over each other.
As we walked forward they backed away and kept their distance. It was if they knew we were a threat. After a few minutes we came upon a shelf… there was a drop of at least 50 feet with pits of bubbling lava. But scariest of all were the eggs….. hundreds of eggs lined all in the area below. A breeding ground. Even as we watched an egg top broke and a wurm slowly crawled out. As we watched we began to wonder how they got to the level we were on. As if to answer the question, the wurm suddenly rose into the air and slowly drift towards us. It soared over us and landed on the floor behind us. Startled we saw that the rest of the wurms had formed a line and were facing us.
Then we heard, no, not really heard… the words were placed directly into our minds. "My young ones are hungry." The voice "sounded" raspy, ancient. We exchanged worried looks as we drew our swords, knives and other implements, "and you two-legged ones have annoyed me with your interference."
A dark shadow appeared in the closest corridor to us and a gigantic head appeared… followed by a long serpentine body. "You triggered my preparations for the floating food not far from here. But there is time, yes, time before the brood hatches. I can prepare it again. But until then you shall be a snack for my young ones."
With that declaration the front lines of the young wurms surged forward. I immediately answered with dire radiance, the light burning the lightly armored wurms. Magic missiles erupted from Bartixs hands and the twangs from Hermiads bow and Oddneys crossbow filled the air. The wurms were dying easily but they were getting closer much too fast. A poison cloud covered the front ranks. Wurms twisted in agony as they shuddered and died. A gust of wind blew the poison cloud towards us. We coughed and our knees buckled as the edges of the cloud reached us.
"Stop that, are you trying to kill us, "cried Erik.
"I didn't create that wind, "answered Bartix as he released the spell.
A shadow appeared over us. I glanced up in time to see the serpents tail high above us. I barely threw myself out of the way as the tail impacted the floor throwing us from our feet. As it swept across the floor it knocked us toward the crowd of wurms. Dropping our ranged weapons we began to melee. "We've got to take out the big one" yelled Rurik as the tail crashed among us.
The fighters formed a circle around the magic users keeping the wurms away as we attached the serpent. I used a number of my spells, as did Bartix and Erik with no real effect. A couple wurms squeezed through the defenses biting the three of us badly. The tail crashed down again catching Rurik and knocking the rest of us onto our backsides. The wurms surged sensing our weakness but we managed to beat them back. Eriks cross shone brightly as he attempted to keep up with the damage we were taking. We were getting massacred, it was only a matter of time before one us fell.
"Bartix, "I called, "do you still have your ice field available?"
"Yes, you want me to slow down some of these wurms?"
"No, use it on the serpent; we've got to take him out. Wait for it, "I directed as I said a silent prayer to Gibbeth and cast the dark dream on the serpent. I felt it take hold and my mind split as I shared the serpents perspective of its surroundings. The floor beneath it split causing it to pull back away from us sharply. As the floor beneath it crumbled it danced to and fro trying to keep on solid ground.
"Ice," cast Bartix as the serpent stumbled back. It hit the field of ice that suddenly appeared beneath it and slide to the edge… and fell over. Second later we heard what sounded like the cross between a thud and a splash.
"To me, to me" cried Rurik, as we rallied one more time. The wurms surged once more, then quickly began to retreat as the sharp blades hacked at them. They began to act less and less coordinated and began to avoid us as they struggled to get away.
With the wurms retreating we all breathed a sigh of relief. Exhausted, I fell onto my side, gasping for breath. Ichor dripping from their blades, the fighters lowered their weapons. I was relieved it was over until I felt water tugging at my clothes.
We exclaimed in surprise and dismay as water washed across the floor and spilled into the area below us. We heard rumblinging all around us followed by water blasting out of the many corridors around the sides of the room. We heard the hiss of water hitting a hot surface below us.
Water poured from the various corridors threatening to sweep us of the edge of the precipice. We struggled to stay where we were. "That's curious, " said Oddney as the water level began to rise over our knees, "how is the water getting so high?"
Amazement stole over Hermiads face, "I don't think the water is rising, I think the island is sinking." Astonishment stole over the whole party. I felt at awe… if the serpent had been maintaining the state of the island, the power of its enchantments was astounding.
The water quickly filled the cavern and we were pushed towards the top. We swam towards the center and was ejected into the general sea. The water roiled and frothed from the displacement of the land. I struggled to fight the undertow of the island and saw the others were struggling as well, except for…Oddney! I called Hermiad, Bartix, and Mendas for help and we dove to try to find Oddney.
Luckily her frantic effort had kept her from sinking too far. We grasped her on the sides and struggled to pull her to the surface. With the weight of her armor there was no way we were going to be able to keep her afloat. Bartix had arrived to that conclusion and started to unbuckle it only to be knocked aside by Oddney, "are you crazy, you know what I went through to ..glub" as we all were pulled under the surface. I began to feel we were done for when a rough hand grabbed my hair… I screamed as it was pulled and water rushed into my mouth. The hand repositioned itself to my shoulder and with painful squeezing drew me towards the surface. Thankfully it repositioned itself under my arm.
As my head broke the surface I was surprised to see it was Edgar! "Look, I made a boat" he said referring to mix of planks and tree trunks he was sitting on. With his help we were able to pull Oddney and the rest of us out of the water and onto the mishmash of boards and trunks.
After we collected ourselves and recounted our experience to Edgar, we learned that when the longboat had been pulled under Edgar had managed to grab the mast and was able to float back to the surface. He was able to get to the island and spent the rest of his time knocking down trees and attempting to tie the trunks together along with some of the planks that washed to shore. When the island sank he sat on the logs and stayed afloat.
*********
It was almost two days later when the fleet caught up with us. And for us, now sunburned, dehydrated and exhausted, it was the most welcome sight in the world.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Rurik Gets Drunk - A Viking Epic Short
From Matt:
Standing on the bow of the Havhingsten af Glendalough, sad pride of the tattered Norse fleet, Hauld Rurik Ragnarson, Scourge Raider of the Battle of Clontarff, Mediator to the Svaltafar Accord and Underking to Jarl Ragnar the Charred is deep in his cups. Having nearly escaped the Albion White Fleet (bounty hunters of the North Seas) and parlaying with the Great Wyrm of Hyboria (at what cost!) the Norsemen slowly plow through a deep mist on a moonless night. "This dark mist matches my mood on this night," Rurik states to no-one in particular.
"Why do you take your drink alone?" asks the mist in reply.
"These people I find myself with are fine folk indeed, brave as any I've seen. But they are not my people and they don't know of my home. When I think of my home I drink with my kinsmen, so I drink alone," replied Rurik.
"I see," says the mist.
"To whom exactly am I addressing?" asks Rurik as he takes another pull of grog and leans into the great carved stallion figurehead of the ship.
"I am the Mist and I am the Prophet. I am from the Gallows and I am Wise," claims the mist.
"You are Odin then," states Rurik.
"Indeed," responds the Mist. "I bring news from Vinland."
There is a pause as the waves lap at the hull. Rurik takes this as a cue to take another pull of grog from his horn as a reply.
"I see the fall of Helsblud, Hauld, indeed the fall of your people. Your father Jarl Ragnar the Charred is defeated and subjugated - caged like an animal such that he will never reach Vahalla. Vultures feast on the bones of your oldest brother Ollie Ragnarson. He was killed for sport in the arenas. Your sisters Eir and Idona pray to me for death as they are despoiled daily. Your family's subjects are either enslaved, wait for death in the arenas or torture pits or have already turned traitor to you."
Rurik settles further into his drink.
"Does this bother you Hauld?" asks the Mist.
Rurik drags his proud weary form upright and looks deep into the swirling miasma. "You are not Odin for Odin rarely speaks the truth." With that Hauld Rurik Ragnarson, Scourge Raider of the Battle of Clontarff, Mediator to the Svaltafar Accord and Underking to Jarl Ragnar the Charred buries his axe Angantyr deep into the mist-being's skull. A keening cry rolls over the water and reverberates along every hull in the fleet bringing a brief pause to every warrior's drinking.
Rurik settles back down into the figurehead and brings the horn to his lips once more.
Standing on the bow of the Havhingsten af Glendalough, sad pride of the tattered Norse fleet, Hauld Rurik Ragnarson, Scourge Raider of the Battle of Clontarff, Mediator to the Svaltafar Accord and Underking to Jarl Ragnar the Charred is deep in his cups. Having nearly escaped the Albion White Fleet (bounty hunters of the North Seas) and parlaying with the Great Wyrm of Hyboria (at what cost!) the Norsemen slowly plow through a deep mist on a moonless night. "This dark mist matches my mood on this night," Rurik states to no-one in particular.
"Why do you take your drink alone?" asks the mist in reply.
"These people I find myself with are fine folk indeed, brave as any I've seen. But they are not my people and they don't know of my home. When I think of my home I drink with my kinsmen, so I drink alone," replied Rurik.
"I see," says the mist.
"To whom exactly am I addressing?" asks Rurik as he takes another pull of grog and leans into the great carved stallion figurehead of the ship.
"I am the Mist and I am the Prophet. I am from the Gallows and I am Wise," claims the mist.
"You are Odin then," states Rurik.
"Indeed," responds the Mist. "I bring news from Vinland."
There is a pause as the waves lap at the hull. Rurik takes this as a cue to take another pull of grog from his horn as a reply.
"I see the fall of Helsblud, Hauld, indeed the fall of your people. Your father Jarl Ragnar the Charred is defeated and subjugated - caged like an animal such that he will never reach Vahalla. Vultures feast on the bones of your oldest brother Ollie Ragnarson. He was killed for sport in the arenas. Your sisters Eir and Idona pray to me for death as they are despoiled daily. Your family's subjects are either enslaved, wait for death in the arenas or torture pits or have already turned traitor to you."
Rurik settles further into his drink.
"Does this bother you Hauld?" asks the Mist.
Rurik drags his proud weary form upright and looks deep into the swirling miasma. "You are not Odin for Odin rarely speaks the truth." With that Hauld Rurik Ragnarson, Scourge Raider of the Battle of Clontarff, Mediator to the Svaltafar Accord and Underking to Jarl Ragnar the Charred buries his axe Angantyr deep into the mist-being's skull. A keening cry rolls over the water and reverberates along every hull in the fleet bringing a brief pause to every warrior's drinking.
Rurik settles back down into the figurehead and brings the horn to his lips once more.
Monday, December 8, 2008
Concussion
From Rebecca:
A green world slowly comes into focus around me … and I am most assuredly not aboard the Bera. Leaves rustle in front of my face as a squirrel bounds down a huge, twisted ash bough just above my head; the branches stretch up and outward to enclose the sky. Yggdrasill, the World Tree. Home of the Fates I serve. Its roots reach into every world, supporting, connecting, always in danger of failing. As I stand, a graying woman pours a pail of water onto a nearby root. “You again.”
“Good evening, Wyrd.” Careful manners, with her. “An honor to see you.”
Wyrd’s sister, Being, packs white clay around another root without looking up. “She must need something. She never visits unless she needs something.” Being twitches suddenly, as if pinched, and glares over her shoulder. “There’s that gnawing again in the Underdark,” she grumbles. “And we just got that root patched up. There’s something new down there.”
The third and prettiest sister, Necessity, just smiles at me. The roots are not her concern, or not yet: many more generations will pass under her crescent knife before she finally fells the Tree. I hope.
Being rises, shaking the clay from her hands. Where it falls, the flowers and crawling things turn white. “Well, why did you come here, child?”
I pause, blinking at a confusion of red memories. “I … I’m not sure I meant to.” Wyrd frowns: one does not waste her time with casual visits. “I think I hit my head.”
“Well you aren’t dead,” Necessity says carelessly. “I would know.”
“If she’s brought herself here,” says Wyrd, “it is for a purpose, no matter whether she knows it. Will we let her go away empty-handed?” The women share a considering look. I swallow. Serving the Three Sisters is not like serving the younger gods so popular among my Paladin colleagues. The younger gods can be capricious, even cruel; compared to them, the Fates are sedate. They just aren’t … safe. People appreciate gifts from the gods. You hardly ever hear anyone enjoying a “gift of the Fates.”
“This way,” beckons Wyrd, before disappearing around the huge bole of the Tree. Being takes my arm in hers and, with Necessity following us, we step in and out of interlaced roots until we reach a pool nestled in the crook of one. The pool ripples as we look at it; for a moment, I think I see an eye at the bottom. A drinking horn hangs from a branch nearby.
“Mimir’s Well,” I say quietly. A gust of wind stirs the branches and briefly takes the shape of four deer, dancing lightly on the boughs before racing off in their cardinal directions. “But where is Mimir?”
“Gone.” Necessity is no longer smiling. “Abandoned his fountain of knowledge and prophecy, as have the gods who once held court here.”
“You may not drink from the Well,” Wyrd says warningly. “Those days are over, and the price is beyond you in any case. But you may look.”
I take a hesitant step forward, kneel, and peer into the pool.
Images rush over me in waves, one replacing the other before I can comprehend them. I see flashes of places and people, some familiar, some strange. The great trunk of the World Tree rent by enormous claws. An aged Hermiad shooting down the four deer of the wind as they flee. Sunrise from a shore I’ve never seen before. Wyrd placing her thumbprint on an infant Rurik’s forehead. Bartix decorating our longboat as if for a festival. Myself as a child, trapped in the flames of our burning house. Varin reaching into a pool. A huge white bird perched on Being’s prone body. Edgar sitting on a high cliff. A hand carving Mendas’ name into a wooden tablet. Darkness.
A dim, smoky space comes slowly into focus around me, smelling strongly of herbs and salt. I can feel the rise and fall of the Bera as she follows the waves. The bandage around my head feels heavy; the ship’s healer bends over me, offering a drink and asking me to name the days of the week. I shut my eyes and try to separate reality from what I’ve seen.
A green world slowly comes into focus around me … and I am most assuredly not aboard the Bera. Leaves rustle in front of my face as a squirrel bounds down a huge, twisted ash bough just above my head; the branches stretch up and outward to enclose the sky. Yggdrasill, the World Tree. Home of the Fates I serve. Its roots reach into every world, supporting, connecting, always in danger of failing. As I stand, a graying woman pours a pail of water onto a nearby root. “You again.”
“Good evening, Wyrd.” Careful manners, with her. “An honor to see you.”
Wyrd’s sister, Being, packs white clay around another root without looking up. “She must need something. She never visits unless she needs something.” Being twitches suddenly, as if pinched, and glares over her shoulder. “There’s that gnawing again in the Underdark,” she grumbles. “And we just got that root patched up. There’s something new down there.”
The third and prettiest sister, Necessity, just smiles at me. The roots are not her concern, or not yet: many more generations will pass under her crescent knife before she finally fells the Tree. I hope.
Being rises, shaking the clay from her hands. Where it falls, the flowers and crawling things turn white. “Well, why did you come here, child?”
I pause, blinking at a confusion of red memories. “I … I’m not sure I meant to.” Wyrd frowns: one does not waste her time with casual visits. “I think I hit my head.”
“Well you aren’t dead,” Necessity says carelessly. “I would know.”
“If she’s brought herself here,” says Wyrd, “it is for a purpose, no matter whether she knows it. Will we let her go away empty-handed?” The women share a considering look. I swallow. Serving the Three Sisters is not like serving the younger gods so popular among my Paladin colleagues. The younger gods can be capricious, even cruel; compared to them, the Fates are sedate. They just aren’t … safe. People appreciate gifts from the gods. You hardly ever hear anyone enjoying a “gift of the Fates.”
“This way,” beckons Wyrd, before disappearing around the huge bole of the Tree. Being takes my arm in hers and, with Necessity following us, we step in and out of interlaced roots until we reach a pool nestled in the crook of one. The pool ripples as we look at it; for a moment, I think I see an eye at the bottom. A drinking horn hangs from a branch nearby.
“Mimir’s Well,” I say quietly. A gust of wind stirs the branches and briefly takes the shape of four deer, dancing lightly on the boughs before racing off in their cardinal directions. “But where is Mimir?”
“Gone.” Necessity is no longer smiling. “Abandoned his fountain of knowledge and prophecy, as have the gods who once held court here.”
“You may not drink from the Well,” Wyrd says warningly. “Those days are over, and the price is beyond you in any case. But you may look.”
I take a hesitant step forward, kneel, and peer into the pool.
Images rush over me in waves, one replacing the other before I can comprehend them. I see flashes of places and people, some familiar, some strange. The great trunk of the World Tree rent by enormous claws. An aged Hermiad shooting down the four deer of the wind as they flee. Sunrise from a shore I’ve never seen before. Wyrd placing her thumbprint on an infant Rurik’s forehead. Bartix decorating our longboat as if for a festival. Myself as a child, trapped in the flames of our burning house. Varin reaching into a pool. A huge white bird perched on Being’s prone body. Edgar sitting on a high cliff. A hand carving Mendas’ name into a wooden tablet. Darkness.
A dim, smoky space comes slowly into focus around me, smelling strongly of herbs and salt. I can feel the rise and fall of the Bera as she follows the waves. The bandage around my head feels heavy; the ship’s healer bends over me, offering a drink and asking me to name the days of the week. I shut my eyes and try to separate reality from what I’ve seen.
Edgar: the Robot Haberdasher
From Martin (click on the thumbnail to Warforged-size it):
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Siege of Hyboria, Part 2
Last time we met, we played part 2 of the Siege of Hyboria adventure. This was a small arc, so it wrapped up in two games.
Zach was unable to show, so Bartix the Wizard hung around the background. But Andrew joined us for the first time! He brought Erik the Green, a human Cleric. A party cleric, score!
We started on the Isle of Faeroe, newly cleared of invaders. The players laid out their plan: they would load all of their clan members (both fighters and civilians) onto the half-completed dragonship and make for Hyboria. There they would join with Earl Gaermmund and the rest of the clan. To get half a boat loaded with people to the mainland would take some sort of skill challenge!
There were a lot of things to do around the boat, and these are the skills that the players found to get them there:
Edward the fighter: Endurance checks to row
Erik the Cleric: Nature checks to navigate
Hermiad the ranger: Acrobatics checks to climb the rigging
Mendas the rogue: Athletics checks to climb the rigging
Oddny the paladin: History checks to navigate
Rurik the warlord: Diplomacy checks to motivate the crew
Varin the warlock: Diplomacy checks to motivate the crew
They made six consecutive rolls with only one failure. That got them almost all the way there, close enough to Hyboria to see the invading fleet in the harbor. An albatross circled the ship suspiciously, then landed and delivered a message from Earl Gaermund: the vikings were to land their vessel and help defend the city. Brawk! Hello! There will be more bird messengers, by the way... I am uncomfortable doing an English accent or a squeaky kobold, but I can always do a bird.
With at least 20 Albion warships before them, the players hatched a new plan to cause as much chaos as they could before they landed.
As part 1, Mendas would act as a solo agent to set boats on fire. He armed himself with Edgar's Wavestrider boots and Oddny's Flaming longsword. He planned to run across the water to an enemy ship, cut a bag of boating tar with the flaming sword, throw it aboard, then slice the ship with flame for good measure. To do this he would need an Athletics check for running, a stealth check to avoid detection, and an attack roll to hurt the ship. The boots would normally just let a user skirt the water for a movement round, but their daily power allowed the effect to extend for an encounter. I made a judgment call to limit this effect for fifteen minutes.
For part 2, the rest of the party offloaded all NPCs onto longboats. The Fightin' Vikings made a combat landing in Hyboria Harbor, and the Civilian Vikings went out to look for safety. The adventurers then set their boat on fire and aimed for the fleet! They made another set of skill rolls (though the Motivate the Rowers with Diplomacy tactic was no longer valid, as the rowers had been sent away), and successfully sideswiped two more boats before the fire got out of control.
Meanwhile, Mendas was having middling luck. He successfully set two Albion ships on fire without being seen. But then he failed his Athletics check, flagging behind his original plan. He got to the third boat, set that on fire, and failed Athletics again! Now he could either get to a fourth boat (where he'd be stuck), or abandon his attempt and rush to meet the friendly (flaming) boat. He chose the latter and ran towards the flaming collision.
The rest of the party was drawing some attention from the fleet, and chose to end their strategy by boarding an enemy ship and riding it into the harbor.
They made a final skill roll, got their collapsing boat near an Albion galley, and climbed aboard! They found a party of Orc and Hobgoblin mercenaries their to receive them.
Finally, like more than an hour into the evening, we rolled for initiative.
The monster ship was arrayed with three Hobgoblin archers (what, no Orc missile troops? I had wanted this adventure to be all Orcs) in the back of the boat, aided by Orc minions. Two Orc Beserkers stood ready to absorb the charge. The players acted quickly to take out those aiding minions, with Hermiad, Varin, and Oddny (left with a magic crossbow but no magic sword) hitting and killing. No +2 for me! It was getting pretty clear to me that the party had figured out my minis-shorthand for which orcs had just one hit-point. As well they should: warriors and schlubs would look different in real life.
Edgar and Rurik got stuck in with the heavy Orcs, with Erik throwing his Daily power over at the surviving archer. These orcs lasted quite a bit longer than last game, getting their Warrior Surge off. But the archers continued to pepper the party with arrows.
Finally in the fourth round, Mendas got to the boat and climbed up in the back. With his Stealth roll, the archer was unaware of his presence, and the Sneak Attack damage finished the guy off.
There were now 7 warriors facing four monsters, and we could start to see some good flanks. The orcs and hobgoblins fell and the boat was theirs!
Now there were a lot of places that possessing a stolen Albion corsair could have taken the game, but I had an encounter planned in the city on shore, and it was pretty cool. So in the name of getting to that, I railroaded things along. Maybe a more experienced GM could have worked the plan into the reality of the game; in hindsight now, I have some ideas. But whatever; I said that the players sideswiped two more ships and crashed their stolen vessel into the Albion harbor, where their Earl had asked for their assistance. On the shore they found the city burning, but the Norse had control of at least part of the harbor, and Earl Gaermund was relatively easy to locate, He and the clan were working to drive a wedge into the invaders, and the players saw that their clansmen they had dispatched in longboats earlier had joined the fight.
The Earl had a mission for them: a suspiciously strong band of Orc mercenaries had stormed the city's signal tower. Gaermund suspected that they might be trying to signal a second wave of the invasion fleet, but nothing had been seen yet. He asked the party to storm the signal tower and stop whatever the orcs were up to. The players agreed and set off into the warzone, making some quick stealth rolls to pick through the rubble unnoticed. Varin drew an arrow, but they made it to the entrance of the tower mostly unharmed.
The stairs were unguarded, although the vikings had to cross through the bodies of a previous attempt to storm the tower. Three stories up, the stairway opened into a mammoth room full of orcs and fire!
In the far corner of the room was a great fire pit, designed to flash signals along an island chain back to the Scandi mainland, back before the Norse were pushed out. The orcs had stoked the fire beyond its design limits, and a blaze now overflowed the pit and spilled out onto the stone tile floor. I modeled the fire with flame tokens and a fire elemental in the center of the pit, but I explained to the players that this was a mundane (if large) fire. The room had some partitions and beds... a crew had lived here to maintain the signal fire, and doubtless their bodies were somewhere in the room. Also scattered around the room were chests and crates. Runish text marked the chests as "oil" and the crates as "sand." The boxes had been indiscriminately broken into by invaders ignorant of Norse glyphs.
Finally, a warparty of orcs turned to meet the players: a war-grizzled old chieftan, a shaman softly glowing with mystical power, and 9 orc footsoldiers.
We rolled initiative and got stuck in!
The party charged in, fanning out to encompass the orc threat.
Varin, Rurik, and Mendas met the strongest infantry, including the chieftan, in the center of the room.
Oddny, Edgar, and Erik were engaged by the lightly-armored orc skirmishers, but were giving far more than they were taking.
Varin skirted the edge of the room, cursing the opposing magic-user.At the end of the first round of combat, three orcs were dead, but no-one else that had been hit had been bloodied. The chieftan in particular seemed tough and hard to hit.
Then, as the party watched, the fire began to spread. Flame engulfed every square adjacent to an existing blaze, so that the zone of fire grew out of the corner. The party was concerned, but obviously the orcs had to come first.
We continued the combat, and the skirmishers and minions quickly went down. The vikings now had the numbers advantage, but the two orc beserkers, the chieftan, and the mage were going strong. The orc soldiers were doing decent damage, but the mage kept missing. Meanwhile he was besieged by Erik, Varin, and Mendas, and the flames were creeping up behind him cutting off his escape. So that was that, he was down.
The flames spread again, engulfing a chest of oil. It exploded, sending flame out in fifteen-foot arcs around the room.
On the south side of the fire the flames burned through the wooden crates before them, Sand spilled out of the released bags and stopped the spread, though the fire would obviously go around this obstacle soon. Elsewhere a brazier was overcome, causing a smaller explosion as its wood and oil tipped and spilled over. Someone (Erik, I think) was hit by flames and took 5 damage.
The party concentrated on one of the orc beserkers and brought him down, despite his healing surge. An orc greataxe landed on viking flesh though; these guys were still fighting. Rurik decided that they had the orcs pretty much under control, but the fire was going to kill them if they let it. He braved the fire to see if he could control it, striding into the flames to reach the crates of sand. The fire would do five damage, but he resisted 6 fire! Boo! So he was fine. With a remaining minor action, he threw a sandbag into a nearby square and extinguished the flames. Then, a round later, the flames spread again... but they were not able to spread beyond it.
The fallen body of the mage was next to the flames now, and the party saw a plume of green smoke issuing from his belt. Erik and Mendas rushed over and recovered two pouches of a curious green powder from his belt. This was their plan, then, to seed the signal fire with special green smoke and send a message to the fleet. The vikings pocketed the powder and returned to the battle.
The last orc footsoldier fell, and everyone concentrated on the Chieftan. He was bloodied, then took his healing surge and attacked with renewed strength.
The party dug in, but every sword was needed to take him down. At this point people started looking at Rurik, who was not helping kill anything but fire! He had stationed himself next to the sandbags and was throwing three a round, cutting a line in the spreading fire. He looked at the rest of the party, asking anyone to throw a sandbag if they could! I think Varin and Erik took some minor actions to try and disperse the fire, but the focus remained on the orc war chief. Finally, after several rounds of combat, he went down.
We mopped up by having everyone throw sand. At 21 bags a turn, even this fire could be quelched. Not as good as it could have with a Ray of Frost or a Freezing Cloud, but you know, Bartix can't show up every game! The Orc mage ended up holding a +2 Rod of First Blood, which Varin pocketed. He was also holding that odd green powder, which never saw the fire.
How ironic that stopping a fire still resulted in a pyrrhic victory... the party descended from the tower, but Hyboria was obviously a lost cause. Earl Gaermund ordered his clan to pile into the Bera, their main dragonship. They returned briefly to the Isle of Faeroe to pick up supplies, but then they set off, fleeing from Albion and her allies, to find a new life in the west!
So that went pretty well... I didn't like railroading, but I did like drinking, which is probably the reason I was a tad slow on my feet. Anyway, the fire seemed to work, and we killed a lot of orcs. This may be the last time that there are orcs in the campaign, but I feel like I made good use of them. Thanks to Anthony for taking pictures during the game!
Casualties:
8 Orc Drudges
3 Hobgoblin Archers
3 Orc Raiders
6 Orc Beserkers
1 Orc Eye of Gruumsh
1 Orc Chieftan
26 beers
Zach was unable to show, so Bartix the Wizard hung around the background. But Andrew joined us for the first time! He brought Erik the Green, a human Cleric. A party cleric, score!
We started on the Isle of Faeroe, newly cleared of invaders. The players laid out their plan: they would load all of their clan members (both fighters and civilians) onto the half-completed dragonship and make for Hyboria. There they would join with Earl Gaermmund and the rest of the clan. To get half a boat loaded with people to the mainland would take some sort of skill challenge!
There were a lot of things to do around the boat, and these are the skills that the players found to get them there:
Edward the fighter: Endurance checks to row
Erik the Cleric: Nature checks to navigate
Hermiad the ranger: Acrobatics checks to climb the rigging
Mendas the rogue: Athletics checks to climb the rigging
Oddny the paladin: History checks to navigate
Rurik the warlord: Diplomacy checks to motivate the crew
Varin the warlock: Diplomacy checks to motivate the crew
They made six consecutive rolls with only one failure. That got them almost all the way there, close enough to Hyboria to see the invading fleet in the harbor. An albatross circled the ship suspiciously, then landed and delivered a message from Earl Gaermund: the vikings were to land their vessel and help defend the city. Brawk! Hello! There will be more bird messengers, by the way... I am uncomfortable doing an English accent or a squeaky kobold, but I can always do a bird.
With at least 20 Albion warships before them, the players hatched a new plan to cause as much chaos as they could before they landed.
As part 1, Mendas would act as a solo agent to set boats on fire. He armed himself with Edgar's Wavestrider boots and Oddny's Flaming longsword. He planned to run across the water to an enemy ship, cut a bag of boating tar with the flaming sword, throw it aboard, then slice the ship with flame for good measure. To do this he would need an Athletics check for running, a stealth check to avoid detection, and an attack roll to hurt the ship. The boots would normally just let a user skirt the water for a movement round, but their daily power allowed the effect to extend for an encounter. I made a judgment call to limit this effect for fifteen minutes.
For part 2, the rest of the party offloaded all NPCs onto longboats. The Fightin' Vikings made a combat landing in Hyboria Harbor, and the Civilian Vikings went out to look for safety. The adventurers then set their boat on fire and aimed for the fleet! They made another set of skill rolls (though the Motivate the Rowers with Diplomacy tactic was no longer valid, as the rowers had been sent away), and successfully sideswiped two more boats before the fire got out of control.
Meanwhile, Mendas was having middling luck. He successfully set two Albion ships on fire without being seen. But then he failed his Athletics check, flagging behind his original plan. He got to the third boat, set that on fire, and failed Athletics again! Now he could either get to a fourth boat (where he'd be stuck), or abandon his attempt and rush to meet the friendly (flaming) boat. He chose the latter and ran towards the flaming collision.
The rest of the party was drawing some attention from the fleet, and chose to end their strategy by boarding an enemy ship and riding it into the harbor.
They made a final skill roll, got their collapsing boat near an Albion galley, and climbed aboard! They found a party of Orc and Hobgoblin mercenaries their to receive them.
Finally, like more than an hour into the evening, we rolled for initiative.
The monster ship was arrayed with three Hobgoblin archers (what, no Orc missile troops? I had wanted this adventure to be all Orcs) in the back of the boat, aided by Orc minions. Two Orc Beserkers stood ready to absorb the charge. The players acted quickly to take out those aiding minions, with Hermiad, Varin, and Oddny (left with a magic crossbow but no magic sword) hitting and killing. No +2 for me! It was getting pretty clear to me that the party had figured out my minis-shorthand for which orcs had just one hit-point. As well they should: warriors and schlubs would look different in real life.
Edgar and Rurik got stuck in with the heavy Orcs, with Erik throwing his Daily power over at the surviving archer. These orcs lasted quite a bit longer than last game, getting their Warrior Surge off. But the archers continued to pepper the party with arrows.
Finally in the fourth round, Mendas got to the boat and climbed up in the back. With his Stealth roll, the archer was unaware of his presence, and the Sneak Attack damage finished the guy off.
There were now 7 warriors facing four monsters, and we could start to see some good flanks. The orcs and hobgoblins fell and the boat was theirs!
Now there were a lot of places that possessing a stolen Albion corsair could have taken the game, but I had an encounter planned in the city on shore, and it was pretty cool. So in the name of getting to that, I railroaded things along. Maybe a more experienced GM could have worked the plan into the reality of the game; in hindsight now, I have some ideas. But whatever; I said that the players sideswiped two more ships and crashed their stolen vessel into the Albion harbor, where their Earl had asked for their assistance. On the shore they found the city burning, but the Norse had control of at least part of the harbor, and Earl Gaermund was relatively easy to locate, He and the clan were working to drive a wedge into the invaders, and the players saw that their clansmen they had dispatched in longboats earlier had joined the fight.
The Earl had a mission for them: a suspiciously strong band of Orc mercenaries had stormed the city's signal tower. Gaermund suspected that they might be trying to signal a second wave of the invasion fleet, but nothing had been seen yet. He asked the party to storm the signal tower and stop whatever the orcs were up to. The players agreed and set off into the warzone, making some quick stealth rolls to pick through the rubble unnoticed. Varin drew an arrow, but they made it to the entrance of the tower mostly unharmed.
The stairs were unguarded, although the vikings had to cross through the bodies of a previous attempt to storm the tower. Three stories up, the stairway opened into a mammoth room full of orcs and fire!
In the far corner of the room was a great fire pit, designed to flash signals along an island chain back to the Scandi mainland, back before the Norse were pushed out. The orcs had stoked the fire beyond its design limits, and a blaze now overflowed the pit and spilled out onto the stone tile floor. I modeled the fire with flame tokens and a fire elemental in the center of the pit, but I explained to the players that this was a mundane (if large) fire. The room had some partitions and beds... a crew had lived here to maintain the signal fire, and doubtless their bodies were somewhere in the room. Also scattered around the room were chests and crates. Runish text marked the chests as "oil" and the crates as "sand." The boxes had been indiscriminately broken into by invaders ignorant of Norse glyphs.
Finally, a warparty of orcs turned to meet the players: a war-grizzled old chieftan, a shaman softly glowing with mystical power, and 9 orc footsoldiers.
We rolled initiative and got stuck in!
The party charged in, fanning out to encompass the orc threat.
Varin, Rurik, and Mendas met the strongest infantry, including the chieftan, in the center of the room.
Oddny, Edgar, and Erik were engaged by the lightly-armored orc skirmishers, but were giving far more than they were taking.
Varin skirted the edge of the room, cursing the opposing magic-user.At the end of the first round of combat, three orcs were dead, but no-one else that had been hit had been bloodied. The chieftan in particular seemed tough and hard to hit.
Then, as the party watched, the fire began to spread. Flame engulfed every square adjacent to an existing blaze, so that the zone of fire grew out of the corner. The party was concerned, but obviously the orcs had to come first.
We continued the combat, and the skirmishers and minions quickly went down. The vikings now had the numbers advantage, but the two orc beserkers, the chieftan, and the mage were going strong. The orc soldiers were doing decent damage, but the mage kept missing. Meanwhile he was besieged by Erik, Varin, and Mendas, and the flames were creeping up behind him cutting off his escape. So that was that, he was down.
The flames spread again, engulfing a chest of oil. It exploded, sending flame out in fifteen-foot arcs around the room.
On the south side of the fire the flames burned through the wooden crates before them, Sand spilled out of the released bags and stopped the spread, though the fire would obviously go around this obstacle soon. Elsewhere a brazier was overcome, causing a smaller explosion as its wood and oil tipped and spilled over. Someone (Erik, I think) was hit by flames and took 5 damage.
The party concentrated on one of the orc beserkers and brought him down, despite his healing surge. An orc greataxe landed on viking flesh though; these guys were still fighting. Rurik decided that they had the orcs pretty much under control, but the fire was going to kill them if they let it. He braved the fire to see if he could control it, striding into the flames to reach the crates of sand. The fire would do five damage, but he resisted 6 fire! Boo! So he was fine. With a remaining minor action, he threw a sandbag into a nearby square and extinguished the flames. Then, a round later, the flames spread again... but they were not able to spread beyond it.
The fallen body of the mage was next to the flames now, and the party saw a plume of green smoke issuing from his belt. Erik and Mendas rushed over and recovered two pouches of a curious green powder from his belt. This was their plan, then, to seed the signal fire with special green smoke and send a message to the fleet. The vikings pocketed the powder and returned to the battle.
The last orc footsoldier fell, and everyone concentrated on the Chieftan. He was bloodied, then took his healing surge and attacked with renewed strength.
The party dug in, but every sword was needed to take him down. At this point people started looking at Rurik, who was not helping kill anything but fire! He had stationed himself next to the sandbags and was throwing three a round, cutting a line in the spreading fire. He looked at the rest of the party, asking anyone to throw a sandbag if they could! I think Varin and Erik took some minor actions to try and disperse the fire, but the focus remained on the orc war chief. Finally, after several rounds of combat, he went down.
We mopped up by having everyone throw sand. At 21 bags a turn, even this fire could be quelched. Not as good as it could have with a Ray of Frost or a Freezing Cloud, but you know, Bartix can't show up every game! The Orc mage ended up holding a +2 Rod of First Blood, which Varin pocketed. He was also holding that odd green powder, which never saw the fire.
How ironic that stopping a fire still resulted in a pyrrhic victory... the party descended from the tower, but Hyboria was obviously a lost cause. Earl Gaermund ordered his clan to pile into the Bera, their main dragonship. They returned briefly to the Isle of Faeroe to pick up supplies, but then they set off, fleeing from Albion and her allies, to find a new life in the west!
So that went pretty well... I didn't like railroading, but I did like drinking, which is probably the reason I was a tad slow on my feet. Anyway, the fire seemed to work, and we killed a lot of orcs. This may be the last time that there are orcs in the campaign, but I feel like I made good use of them. Thanks to Anthony for taking pictures during the game!
Casualties:
8 Orc Drudges
3 Hobgoblin Archers
3 Orc Raiders
6 Orc Beserkers
1 Orc Eye of Gruumsh
1 Orc Chieftan
26 beers
Sounds Like Trouble
From Marcus:
"You're bluffing. I call."
Mendas grinned triumphantly and laid down his cards."Thor's Hammer!"
"By Odin!" "Aw man." "Sheesh, again?"
Mendas leaned forward and scooped up the untidy pile of tokens from the decking. "Here's a nice collection of chores I don't have to do. Looks like I'll be on overboard duty again," he smirked.
"Just deal them out again, I'm - " Rurik's growl was interrupted by the clanging of the shift bell. "Dammit!"
Mendas casually rose, stretched, and reached for the Wavestrider boots. "Have fun fishing, boys."
Rurik glared sourly at him, stood, and stomped off, making his way back toward the middle of the dragon boat, followed by the others. Mendas gathered up the cards and put them away, then climbed nimbly to the top of the carved dragon head behind him to ostentatiously pull on the boots. He stretched out along its nose, leaning back against its forehead with his hands behind his head, as the others wrestled the nets into the longboat. Finally they began to pull away and Mendas wiggled his fingers at them as they left, grumbling. The longboat shrank into the distance.
Actually, Mendas thought as he waited, overboard duty was deadly boring, and he'd really rather have been on the boat. Only that first kid had ever actually fallen overboard, and he'd been hauled back aboard before the boots could even be found. But the chance at pretending to leisure while the others struggled with the nets had just been too delicious to resist.
Time wore on. He really ought to go down to the healer’s tent and check with Eri kto see how Oddny was doing... she was still laid up from that last adventure, and while she was - wait, why was the longboat coming back already? And fast... too fast.
The boat slowed when it was still a long ways off... was that fighting on board? What was going on? The boat rocked violently, then settled and began shifting direction. A silvery magic missile shot into the air above the boat, and faded.
That settled it. Mendas grabbed the dragon's neck and slid down the front of the ship, activating the boots. He dropped lightly to the water and ran toward the longboat. What was going on?By Thor! They were pushing Edgar overboard! The warforged disappeared into the water, his safety lines cut. Mendas finally closed on the boat, then slowed as a faint, eerie melody reached his ears, compelling, demanding. Siren song! Mendas had heard the tales of this nautical menace while just a child. He struggled to fight it and managed to jerk up his feet, unbalancing and dumping himself in the water.
The shock of the cold brought him to his senses momentarily. He stuffed fingers in his ears and kicked, trying to swim away with just his feet. After a few minutes he gave up, pulled his fingers from his ears, and struggled to stand upright upon the waves. The song had lessened enough to lose its grip, and Mendas ran hastily back to the middle of the dragon ship. A crowd of people had noticed his actions and a couple of them helped pull him up.
"What's going on?" asked the man who'd been appointed watch captain. "Who's..." "Sirens!" said Mendas over his shoulder as he pushed his way through the curious crowd. The Earl's tent should have the most... he burst in, and the Earl and his chiefs glanced up from the maps at the interruption. "Mendas? What is it?" Mendas raced around the tent, snatching candles from their holders. Four should beenough. "Sirens, sir, they've got the longboat." Mendas sped from the tent, stuffing three of the candles into his pockets. Back outside, the watch captain was full of useless questions. "Did you see them? How many of them are there?" "I just heard them," Mendas replied, mashing a candle. The man's third useless question went unheard as Mendas stuffed wax into his ears, blotting all sound. "No time! Get a rescue party or something!" He vaulted back over the edge of the ship and raced across the water toward the now-distant longboat.
Panting, gasping, he drew near the boat at last. Only Bartix remained, standing shakily in the bow. As Mendas approached, he lowered his head and jumped overboard. "No!" cried Mendas. Too late, too late, he should have been faster... but the boat had been so faraway, and it had taken too long to swim away to begin with. Fifteen minutes... he stopped and stared down into the water he stood upon. Forms moved in the murk... the enchantment on the boots gave out abruptly and Mendas plunged into the icy water. He found himself face to face with a surprised-looking green woman-shape, like a maiden formed from seaweed, with a sinuous fish-tail. She gave him a puzzled look, then swam forward and kissed him before his could react. Suddenly the water vanished from around him, and he gasped in surprise. Wait... no, the water was still there, but he could breathe it now, and it felt cool, not cold. She swam down and away, unconcerned, and he paddled after as best he could.
The sea was shallow here, and only a few minutes later they reached the bottom. There were two other sirens there, both with their mouths open, presumably singing. Also there were two large mounds on the sea floor, formed of coral, riddled with holes - cages, Mendas realized. One had huge fish in it, moving slowly about. The other had his friends. Larders, thought Mendas with a shiver.
The siren in front of him swam to the cage door, incongruously made of heavy iron-bound wood, possibly salvaged from some shipwreck. She floated before the door and began pulling it open – now would be the perfect time to strike, thought Mendas... but he'd never catch the other two, not underwater. They moved with an impossible fluid grace and his paddling would never catch up. He would have to bide his time and pretend to be controlled.
The door opened and the siren moved inside and glanced back at him expectantly. He swam into the cage. Rurik and Hermiad were tied to the cage wall using some sort of seaweed rope, and Varin was in the process of fastening Bartix to the wall in the same way. All four had blank looks on their faces. Varin finished up and looked dully over at Mendas.
Mendas swam over to the cage wall, turned about, and held out his arms. Varin immediately began binding him with the seaweed rope. Mendas stared into his face as he did so, and caught a faint glimmer there - Varin recognized that Mendas hadn't been in the longboat. As the ropes went on, Mendas could tell Varin was fighting to include some looseness in the binding - good! Varin finished the binding and swam to the center of the chamber. Mendas could see the singing sirens move close to the cage and Rurik, Hermiad, and Bartix began struggling violently against their bonds. Mendas did also -carefully. After a few minutes, they stopped struggling. Only Hermiad had freed one arm, and he docilely held it back against the cage wall as Varin rebound it, more securely this time. Once the four of them were tied, the other two sirens entered the cage. One remained near the door, singing.
Varin then moved against the cage wall himself, and held out his arms. The two sirens in front bound him cruelly tight against the wall, then moved back as he struggled briefly like the others. All prisoners secured, thought Mendas. Go away now...
And they did. The siren in the back closed her mouth, and the three green forms left the cage, locking it securely, and vanished into the murk. Everyone's eyes immediately focused on Mendas,and they began asking questions. "I can't hear ya boys, I've got wax in my ears". He wrenched back and forth at the bindings and freed an arm."You might want to discuss strategy at this point - are we gonna ambush them when they come back, maybe?" He managed to pull a dagger and began cutting through his other bonds. "And yes, I've got enough wax for everybody."
Freed at last, he glanced up at the others. "Yes, yes, I know, I'm awesome." Their looks of admiration turned to irony. Mendas smirked - this would be good for weeks. Then his smirk faded. He hadn't been quick enough to rescue Edgar, after all.
The others were clearly discussing tactics as he cut them loose and handed each half a candle. Rurik repeatedly pointed to Mendas, then to the cage door, gesturing as if to hold it shut. "Right. I'll try to close and hold the door." Rurik shrugged, unsatisfied, but whatever specific nuance he was after, Mendas wasn't going to try and remove his wax just to hear. After a few more minutes of discussion -"Better snap it up, boys, we don't know when they'll be back" - the others stuffed the wax into their ears and resumed their positions against the wall, holding their bonds loosely. Mendas checked them over and made a few artful adjustments, then resumed his own place. They waited.
And waited. Ten slow minutes dragged by, and they began exchanging glances. Perhaps they should just leave? Then Hermiad's gaze snapped to the distance, and he resumed a blank stare. Everyone copied him as five forms swam up to the cage door and entered – the three sirens, and two larger, male tritons. These were more reptilian aspect, husky, bearing tridents and cruel grins. The larger of the two tritons swam slowly along the line of prisoners, largely ignoring Mendas, pinching some of the others as he passed, presumably to check for tenderness. One siren stayed well in the back, her mouth open.
The triton reached Rurik, and paused. These bonds were loose... it looked quizzically up at Rurik. Rurik's wicked smile was his only warning as the five Vikings burst into action.
Outside, something large and deadly moved slowly toward the cage. Faint shrieks, yells, and flashes of light testified to the chaos within. The presence loomed up to the cage door and halted. Wisps of green blood escaped from the cage to dissipate in the ocean water.
The cage door rattled, and was flung open. One lone siren, bleeding heavily, burst through it, and had just enough time to register surprise before being bisected. The cursing halfling following it looked up and grinned. "Nice of you to join us, Edgar."
After that, there wasn't much to do. A quick search of the area revealed a seaweed-covered chest, and the giant fish were easy pickings and would feed the clan well. The real problem was Edgar. Removing their wax, they tried to coordinate an attempt to tie ropes to him and drag him up, but the whole thing was an abyssal failure – Edgar was too heavy, and there just wasn't any way for them to get enough traction in the water, even leaving the chest behind.
"I've got it!" said Mendas. "First, we wrap him up with everything we've got. Second..."
A few minutes later, their heads broke the surface of the water. They immediately spotted two longboats, the one they'd left, and a second next to it. The clan's warrior maidens were spread across both of them, and let out a cheer. Hands reached out to pull the warriors from the water, and Mendas climbed aboard. "Mendas! Are you alright?" asked Oddny. Mendas smiled broadly up at her and began a flippant answer, but his bravado was spoiled by the stream of seawater that gushed from his mouth. Disconcerted, he turned back to the rail and spent the next minute getting air and water separated and back in their correct places. "Well," he gasped at last, "I was doing fine until I hit air again". "You guys had me worried there," said Oddny. She smiled, pale but obviously faring better. "I should have known you could handle yourselves." The smile shifted to a look of concern, as she counted the men. "Wait - where's Edgar?"
"Well, we had a little trouble lifting him off the seafloor," said Mendas, "but I expect he'll be along shortly..." Mendas pointed down into the water at a large, pale blob just becoming visible. It rose slowly and breached the ocean's surface with a spray of water,then settled, rocking slightly. A huge block of ice with a hollow space inside, containing one wooden chest, three dead giant fish, and one shivering, annoyed Warforged. "It's a good thing we had Bartix along."
That night there was a party aboard the dragon boat, and the clan cheered as the warriors told their story. The Earl ordered extra rations of ale, and everyone feasted on the day's catch. "Well done, halfling," said Rurik grudgingly. "I guess it's a lucky thing after all that you drew that Thor's Hammer and got overboard duty."
Mendas smirked. Luck had had nothing to do with it.
"You're bluffing. I call."
Mendas grinned triumphantly and laid down his cards."Thor's Hammer!"
"By Odin!" "Aw man." "Sheesh, again?"
Mendas leaned forward and scooped up the untidy pile of tokens from the decking. "Here's a nice collection of chores I don't have to do. Looks like I'll be on overboard duty again," he smirked.
"Just deal them out again, I'm - " Rurik's growl was interrupted by the clanging of the shift bell. "Dammit!"
Mendas casually rose, stretched, and reached for the Wavestrider boots. "Have fun fishing, boys."
Rurik glared sourly at him, stood, and stomped off, making his way back toward the middle of the dragon boat, followed by the others. Mendas gathered up the cards and put them away, then climbed nimbly to the top of the carved dragon head behind him to ostentatiously pull on the boots. He stretched out along its nose, leaning back against its forehead with his hands behind his head, as the others wrestled the nets into the longboat. Finally they began to pull away and Mendas wiggled his fingers at them as they left, grumbling. The longboat shrank into the distance.
Actually, Mendas thought as he waited, overboard duty was deadly boring, and he'd really rather have been on the boat. Only that first kid had ever actually fallen overboard, and he'd been hauled back aboard before the boots could even be found. But the chance at pretending to leisure while the others struggled with the nets had just been too delicious to resist.
Time wore on. He really ought to go down to the healer’s tent and check with Eri kto see how Oddny was doing... she was still laid up from that last adventure, and while she was - wait, why was the longboat coming back already? And fast... too fast.
The boat slowed when it was still a long ways off... was that fighting on board? What was going on? The boat rocked violently, then settled and began shifting direction. A silvery magic missile shot into the air above the boat, and faded.
That settled it. Mendas grabbed the dragon's neck and slid down the front of the ship, activating the boots. He dropped lightly to the water and ran toward the longboat. What was going on?By Thor! They were pushing Edgar overboard! The warforged disappeared into the water, his safety lines cut. Mendas finally closed on the boat, then slowed as a faint, eerie melody reached his ears, compelling, demanding. Siren song! Mendas had heard the tales of this nautical menace while just a child. He struggled to fight it and managed to jerk up his feet, unbalancing and dumping himself in the water.
The shock of the cold brought him to his senses momentarily. He stuffed fingers in his ears and kicked, trying to swim away with just his feet. After a few minutes he gave up, pulled his fingers from his ears, and struggled to stand upright upon the waves. The song had lessened enough to lose its grip, and Mendas ran hastily back to the middle of the dragon ship. A crowd of people had noticed his actions and a couple of them helped pull him up.
"What's going on?" asked the man who'd been appointed watch captain. "Who's..." "Sirens!" said Mendas over his shoulder as he pushed his way through the curious crowd. The Earl's tent should have the most... he burst in, and the Earl and his chiefs glanced up from the maps at the interruption. "Mendas? What is it?" Mendas raced around the tent, snatching candles from their holders. Four should beenough. "Sirens, sir, they've got the longboat." Mendas sped from the tent, stuffing three of the candles into his pockets. Back outside, the watch captain was full of useless questions. "Did you see them? How many of them are there?" "I just heard them," Mendas replied, mashing a candle. The man's third useless question went unheard as Mendas stuffed wax into his ears, blotting all sound. "No time! Get a rescue party or something!" He vaulted back over the edge of the ship and raced across the water toward the now-distant longboat.
Panting, gasping, he drew near the boat at last. Only Bartix remained, standing shakily in the bow. As Mendas approached, he lowered his head and jumped overboard. "No!" cried Mendas. Too late, too late, he should have been faster... but the boat had been so faraway, and it had taken too long to swim away to begin with. Fifteen minutes... he stopped and stared down into the water he stood upon. Forms moved in the murk... the enchantment on the boots gave out abruptly and Mendas plunged into the icy water. He found himself face to face with a surprised-looking green woman-shape, like a maiden formed from seaweed, with a sinuous fish-tail. She gave him a puzzled look, then swam forward and kissed him before his could react. Suddenly the water vanished from around him, and he gasped in surprise. Wait... no, the water was still there, but he could breathe it now, and it felt cool, not cold. She swam down and away, unconcerned, and he paddled after as best he could.
The sea was shallow here, and only a few minutes later they reached the bottom. There were two other sirens there, both with their mouths open, presumably singing. Also there were two large mounds on the sea floor, formed of coral, riddled with holes - cages, Mendas realized. One had huge fish in it, moving slowly about. The other had his friends. Larders, thought Mendas with a shiver.
The siren in front of him swam to the cage door, incongruously made of heavy iron-bound wood, possibly salvaged from some shipwreck. She floated before the door and began pulling it open – now would be the perfect time to strike, thought Mendas... but he'd never catch the other two, not underwater. They moved with an impossible fluid grace and his paddling would never catch up. He would have to bide his time and pretend to be controlled.
The door opened and the siren moved inside and glanced back at him expectantly. He swam into the cage. Rurik and Hermiad were tied to the cage wall using some sort of seaweed rope, and Varin was in the process of fastening Bartix to the wall in the same way. All four had blank looks on their faces. Varin finished up and looked dully over at Mendas.
Mendas swam over to the cage wall, turned about, and held out his arms. Varin immediately began binding him with the seaweed rope. Mendas stared into his face as he did so, and caught a faint glimmer there - Varin recognized that Mendas hadn't been in the longboat. As the ropes went on, Mendas could tell Varin was fighting to include some looseness in the binding - good! Varin finished the binding and swam to the center of the chamber. Mendas could see the singing sirens move close to the cage and Rurik, Hermiad, and Bartix began struggling violently against their bonds. Mendas did also -carefully. After a few minutes, they stopped struggling. Only Hermiad had freed one arm, and he docilely held it back against the cage wall as Varin rebound it, more securely this time. Once the four of them were tied, the other two sirens entered the cage. One remained near the door, singing.
Varin then moved against the cage wall himself, and held out his arms. The two sirens in front bound him cruelly tight against the wall, then moved back as he struggled briefly like the others. All prisoners secured, thought Mendas. Go away now...
And they did. The siren in the back closed her mouth, and the three green forms left the cage, locking it securely, and vanished into the murk. Everyone's eyes immediately focused on Mendas,and they began asking questions. "I can't hear ya boys, I've got wax in my ears". He wrenched back and forth at the bindings and freed an arm."You might want to discuss strategy at this point - are we gonna ambush them when they come back, maybe?" He managed to pull a dagger and began cutting through his other bonds. "And yes, I've got enough wax for everybody."
Freed at last, he glanced up at the others. "Yes, yes, I know, I'm awesome." Their looks of admiration turned to irony. Mendas smirked - this would be good for weeks. Then his smirk faded. He hadn't been quick enough to rescue Edgar, after all.
The others were clearly discussing tactics as he cut them loose and handed each half a candle. Rurik repeatedly pointed to Mendas, then to the cage door, gesturing as if to hold it shut. "Right. I'll try to close and hold the door." Rurik shrugged, unsatisfied, but whatever specific nuance he was after, Mendas wasn't going to try and remove his wax just to hear. After a few more minutes of discussion -"Better snap it up, boys, we don't know when they'll be back" - the others stuffed the wax into their ears and resumed their positions against the wall, holding their bonds loosely. Mendas checked them over and made a few artful adjustments, then resumed his own place. They waited.
And waited. Ten slow minutes dragged by, and they began exchanging glances. Perhaps they should just leave? Then Hermiad's gaze snapped to the distance, and he resumed a blank stare. Everyone copied him as five forms swam up to the cage door and entered – the three sirens, and two larger, male tritons. These were more reptilian aspect, husky, bearing tridents and cruel grins. The larger of the two tritons swam slowly along the line of prisoners, largely ignoring Mendas, pinching some of the others as he passed, presumably to check for tenderness. One siren stayed well in the back, her mouth open.
The triton reached Rurik, and paused. These bonds were loose... it looked quizzically up at Rurik. Rurik's wicked smile was his only warning as the five Vikings burst into action.
Outside, something large and deadly moved slowly toward the cage. Faint shrieks, yells, and flashes of light testified to the chaos within. The presence loomed up to the cage door and halted. Wisps of green blood escaped from the cage to dissipate in the ocean water.
The cage door rattled, and was flung open. One lone siren, bleeding heavily, burst through it, and had just enough time to register surprise before being bisected. The cursing halfling following it looked up and grinned. "Nice of you to join us, Edgar."
After that, there wasn't much to do. A quick search of the area revealed a seaweed-covered chest, and the giant fish were easy pickings and would feed the clan well. The real problem was Edgar. Removing their wax, they tried to coordinate an attempt to tie ropes to him and drag him up, but the whole thing was an abyssal failure – Edgar was too heavy, and there just wasn't any way for them to get enough traction in the water, even leaving the chest behind.
"I've got it!" said Mendas. "First, we wrap him up with everything we've got. Second..."
A few minutes later, their heads broke the surface of the water. They immediately spotted two longboats, the one they'd left, and a second next to it. The clan's warrior maidens were spread across both of them, and let out a cheer. Hands reached out to pull the warriors from the water, and Mendas climbed aboard. "Mendas! Are you alright?" asked Oddny. Mendas smiled broadly up at her and began a flippant answer, but his bravado was spoiled by the stream of seawater that gushed from his mouth. Disconcerted, he turned back to the rail and spent the next minute getting air and water separated and back in their correct places. "Well," he gasped at last, "I was doing fine until I hit air again". "You guys had me worried there," said Oddny. She smiled, pale but obviously faring better. "I should have known you could handle yourselves." The smile shifted to a look of concern, as she counted the men. "Wait - where's Edgar?"
"Well, we had a little trouble lifting him off the seafloor," said Mendas, "but I expect he'll be along shortly..." Mendas pointed down into the water at a large, pale blob just becoming visible. It rose slowly and breached the ocean's surface with a spray of water,then settled, rocking slightly. A huge block of ice with a hollow space inside, containing one wooden chest, three dead giant fish, and one shivering, annoyed Warforged. "It's a good thing we had Bartix along."
That night there was a party aboard the dragon boat, and the clan cheered as the warriors told their story. The Earl ordered extra rations of ale, and everyone feasted on the day's catch. "Well done, halfling," said Rurik grudgingly. "I guess it's a lucky thing after all that you drew that Thor's Hammer and got overboard duty."
Mendas smirked. Luck had had nothing to do with it.
Call Me Hermiad
From Anthony:
Call me Hermiad. No particular reason, except that is my name. My tale is not one of courage or might, but of survival. Months on the open north seas can be treacherous, lonely, and did I mention treacherous? Icebergs, dire polar bears, chilling winds, months without resupply, and no destination on the horizon; save that of hope. But this particular tale centers on my adventure, nay obsession, with keeping my clan protected from the most nefarious sea threat of them all: zombie penguins.
Our first encounter with these foul beasts was a month out of Hyboria. We had grown accustomed to seeing pods of spinning dolphins and flocks of gull birds following our ship. A careful arrow shot or spear could feed the boat for a meal. These were considered a delicacy, as most of our diet was rotting meat and the occasional net of fish. But gradually fewer birds were to be found, fish would turn up dead in our path, and the dolphins nonexistent. Then one day a dark fog encircled the boats. Having not eaten in several days, the watches were frantically hunting some form of food. Unbeknownst to us, we were the food.
The first cry of "dahl-feen" from the lead boat sounded of cheer as if prayers were answered. Bowmen and chuckers readied their weapons only to be caught by surprise -- these were not dolphins at all. A mighty froth quieted only to let forth a binary explosion of black and white. Dozens of forms engulfed the lead ship, sliding on their bellies along the decks only to stand up and show their ghastly true forms. Sleek in body they almost had a beauty of form and function to their design -- this ruined by grotesque disfigurement of their faces. Their heads bore fire red eyes and partially decomposed flesh surrounded jagged sharp beaks; these were of unnatural origin. Voraciously they attacked the lead boat crew jumping, pecking, and clawing with a ferocity the departed were not prepared for. Dozens were lost in the first barrage and scant hope of survival for the rest. The other ships in the flotilla, ours included, prepared for a counter strike, but at this time there was no need. In a final act of selflessness the captain lit his own vessel ablaze, taking the zombie horde to the briny deep along with himself and his ship. We could do little but watch in horror.
As we had the best fighting crew in the fleet, we took the lead, prepared for the next go-round with the undead sea creatures. The quiet did not last long, but at least we were prepared. I took an elevated position on a swing chair in the rigging with 200 arrows ready to loose. My comrades in arms were ready as well, but those are their stories to tell. The sea churned forth once again, warning of the evil hell about to spawn. Our warlord prepared the ship by constructing higher walls on the front and sides so that the enemy could only board from the rear. He referred to this strategy as an inverted soupson flank. Now I could direct my fire in one direction and once out of arrows, rope slide into the middle of the melee and continue.
The plan worked to perfection. At first the devil birds smashed into our improved walls. Unable to engulf the deck they attempted to attack in the only way open to them: our trap. The first kill was a mid-air shot as the beasts shot out of the water, but this victory was not to be savored. Immediately I fired another and another almost continuously. The zombie corpses littered our wake, but only a few had managed to get onto deck where they were quickly dispatched by our brutes. The second wave burst forth in greater numbers and this time we were not so lucky. I decimated their numbers, but our deck was quickly consumed by the black and white beasts. Our fighters held their own, though. I bought them time and with time, they finished off the horde with minimal losses. After three more assaults we grew weary, but also had a greater concern.
My supply of arrows was dreadfully low. While I longed to enter the melee, I was the only one keeping the surge from overtaking the ship. For every one I killed, it blocked the passage of three more, leaving only a dozen or so to be dealt with at a time. But this could not last. Our cleric and paladin were able to turn away some of the groups that were in greater numbers, but even that could not continue unless we could rest. We got a cabin boy named Budd to make me arrows as fast as he could, but that might buy me twenty or more shots before we were done for.
That's when, by chance, I noticed a curious anomaly in their attack. Each wave seemed to follow a larger penguin into battle. Most of the time, I would miss the leader but pick off the trailing wave which would clog the entrance. My mistake had been shooting at them as they emerged from the water -- usually too late to hit the leader but catching the followers mid-air or on deck (which then clogged their ability to land more on our ship). But alas, I noticed the sea would turn from deep blue to grey an instant before the froth and subsequent launching of the zombie penguins. Acting on instinct, I fired one of my precious remaining arrows at this spot. It caught one of the leader zombies in the throat, who then surfaced slightly only to go limp and sink. To my amazement, the throng of followers proceeded to follow their leader mindlessly downward. I tested the theory on the next attack with the same result. If I could get the leader of each wave before they launched, we could survive this.
Quickly the entire ship changed focus from prepared defense, to making me arrows and getting other archers into the rigging. Word was passed to all the remaining boats, who did likewise. For three more days I stayed up there killing dozens more of the large leaders, but no more zombies ever made it aboard. On the fourth day, the soupy fog broke to a beautiful clear sky. Once more, gulls were visible and started following our convoy. The attacks abated entirely and we could rest easily, knowing we were -- at least for the moment -- safe.
Later our scholars and mages proposed that the zombie penguins were the guard force for a necromancer on his own island. The larger ones were the only ones with sight (or at least good enough vision to lead the groups up onto the ships). Their explanations made sense from both a practical and archanic sense -- and were good enough for most to sleep well, knowing the danger was behind us. However, it is not enough for me. I will not rest fully until we are on dry land. Until then, I will keep a constant vigil up atop the rigging searching for that shadowy sign that slippery, pecking death approaches.
Call me Hermiad. No particular reason, except that is my name. My tale is not one of courage or might, but of survival. Months on the open north seas can be treacherous, lonely, and did I mention treacherous? Icebergs, dire polar bears, chilling winds, months without resupply, and no destination on the horizon; save that of hope. But this particular tale centers on my adventure, nay obsession, with keeping my clan protected from the most nefarious sea threat of them all: zombie penguins.
Our first encounter with these foul beasts was a month out of Hyboria. We had grown accustomed to seeing pods of spinning dolphins and flocks of gull birds following our ship. A careful arrow shot or spear could feed the boat for a meal. These were considered a delicacy, as most of our diet was rotting meat and the occasional net of fish. But gradually fewer birds were to be found, fish would turn up dead in our path, and the dolphins nonexistent. Then one day a dark fog encircled the boats. Having not eaten in several days, the watches were frantically hunting some form of food. Unbeknownst to us, we were the food.
The first cry of "dahl-feen" from the lead boat sounded of cheer as if prayers were answered. Bowmen and chuckers readied their weapons only to be caught by surprise -- these were not dolphins at all. A mighty froth quieted only to let forth a binary explosion of black and white. Dozens of forms engulfed the lead ship, sliding on their bellies along the decks only to stand up and show their ghastly true forms. Sleek in body they almost had a beauty of form and function to their design -- this ruined by grotesque disfigurement of their faces. Their heads bore fire red eyes and partially decomposed flesh surrounded jagged sharp beaks; these were of unnatural origin. Voraciously they attacked the lead boat crew jumping, pecking, and clawing with a ferocity the departed were not prepared for. Dozens were lost in the first barrage and scant hope of survival for the rest. The other ships in the flotilla, ours included, prepared for a counter strike, but at this time there was no need. In a final act of selflessness the captain lit his own vessel ablaze, taking the zombie horde to the briny deep along with himself and his ship. We could do little but watch in horror.
As we had the best fighting crew in the fleet, we took the lead, prepared for the next go-round with the undead sea creatures. The quiet did not last long, but at least we were prepared. I took an elevated position on a swing chair in the rigging with 200 arrows ready to loose. My comrades in arms were ready as well, but those are their stories to tell. The sea churned forth once again, warning of the evil hell about to spawn. Our warlord prepared the ship by constructing higher walls on the front and sides so that the enemy could only board from the rear. He referred to this strategy as an inverted soupson flank. Now I could direct my fire in one direction and once out of arrows, rope slide into the middle of the melee and continue.
The plan worked to perfection. At first the devil birds smashed into our improved walls. Unable to engulf the deck they attempted to attack in the only way open to them: our trap. The first kill was a mid-air shot as the beasts shot out of the water, but this victory was not to be savored. Immediately I fired another and another almost continuously. The zombie corpses littered our wake, but only a few had managed to get onto deck where they were quickly dispatched by our brutes. The second wave burst forth in greater numbers and this time we were not so lucky. I decimated their numbers, but our deck was quickly consumed by the black and white beasts. Our fighters held their own, though. I bought them time and with time, they finished off the horde with minimal losses. After three more assaults we grew weary, but also had a greater concern.
My supply of arrows was dreadfully low. While I longed to enter the melee, I was the only one keeping the surge from overtaking the ship. For every one I killed, it blocked the passage of three more, leaving only a dozen or so to be dealt with at a time. But this could not last. Our cleric and paladin were able to turn away some of the groups that were in greater numbers, but even that could not continue unless we could rest. We got a cabin boy named Budd to make me arrows as fast as he could, but that might buy me twenty or more shots before we were done for.
That's when, by chance, I noticed a curious anomaly in their attack. Each wave seemed to follow a larger penguin into battle. Most of the time, I would miss the leader but pick off the trailing wave which would clog the entrance. My mistake had been shooting at them as they emerged from the water -- usually too late to hit the leader but catching the followers mid-air or on deck (which then clogged their ability to land more on our ship). But alas, I noticed the sea would turn from deep blue to grey an instant before the froth and subsequent launching of the zombie penguins. Acting on instinct, I fired one of my precious remaining arrows at this spot. It caught one of the leader zombies in the throat, who then surfaced slightly only to go limp and sink. To my amazement, the throng of followers proceeded to follow their leader mindlessly downward. I tested the theory on the next attack with the same result. If I could get the leader of each wave before they launched, we could survive this.
Quickly the entire ship changed focus from prepared defense, to making me arrows and getting other archers into the rigging. Word was passed to all the remaining boats, who did likewise. For three more days I stayed up there killing dozens more of the large leaders, but no more zombies ever made it aboard. On the fourth day, the soupy fog broke to a beautiful clear sky. Once more, gulls were visible and started following our convoy. The attacks abated entirely and we could rest easily, knowing we were -- at least for the moment -- safe.
Later our scholars and mages proposed that the zombie penguins were the guard force for a necromancer on his own island. The larger ones were the only ones with sight (or at least good enough vision to lead the groups up onto the ships). Their explanations made sense from both a practical and archanic sense -- and were good enough for most to sleep well, knowing the danger was behind us. However, it is not enough for me. I will not rest fully until we are on dry land. Until then, I will keep a constant vigil up atop the rigging searching for that shadowy sign that slippery, pecking death approaches.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
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