Fitt II: The Blind Witch

The last hour is a blur in your memory, a discordant chaos of blood, iron, fire, and snow; the cries of the dying still ring in your ears.  Heading north from the abandoned village where your Blóðbard captors made camp you find yourself in an empty plain of snow, part of the irregular vastness called the White Waste.  Any roads that once crossed this rugged, bitter land have long since been buried.  Behind you lies death and horror; ahead, uncertainty.

Kylfa, some distance away you see a dark shape lying in the snow.  At first you take it for a rock, but then you see it move faintly - it is a woman, collapsed into a heap.

"There is a woman ahead."  Kylfa points straight ahead and grunts

"An odd place to run into a lone woman," Katla observes.

"Aslaug! What is it, girl? Go and see," Ragnvaldr says.

Sjack, without waiting, spurs his horse towards the woman.

Aslaug bounds forward and approaches the form tentatively.

Ragnvaldr mutters under his breath at the shapeshifter's impatience.

Kylfa whispers in his horse's ear, and they proceed cautiously towards the woman

The woman has dark red-brown hair and a voluptuous figure which her insufficient clothing - a long, diaphanous gown of Southron silk - does little to hide.  She is unconscious, her skin bluish-white.  Despite her garment she looks like a Northlander.

Æskil follows.

Andreas waits at a distance for a moment, huddling under his rich fur cloak, then joins the others.

"Is she dead?" Ragnvaldr asks.

"She lives," Sjack says.  "Barely.  Poorly dressed."

"Hmph.  If she is not dead, she must wish to be," Kylfa growls.

Sjack moves to pick her up.  "Well dressed. Poor for weather."

"How in Hel did she end up out here?" Katla asks.

"The North is full of questions with no answers, these days," Andreas observes.

"Be careful. I don't like this," Æskil says.

"She's dying." Sjack picks her up.  "Need furs."

"So she is. Wrap her up in my cloak. What little good it will do..." Andreas unclasps it and hands it to Sjack.

Sjack takes the cloak when it's offered.  He carefully wraps her in it.

Ragnvaldr throws his blanket to Sjack. "Here, this too."

Sjack takes the blanket with a nod of thanks and wraps her in it.

Katla looks around for tracks to try and determine the direction the woman may have come from.

"With her garb, she can't have been out here long, and whoever left her must be near," Æskil says.

You see a few disturbed tracks in the snow - with the wind and darkness they are hard to make out, but it looks like she came from northeast of here.  The wind is picking up, the snow falling even more densely: a true blizzard is upon you.  Your eyes water from the wind, but the tears freeze on your face.  Each breath in is an agony of cold.  You can hear nothing save the elemental wail of the wind, as loud and terrible as a Jötunn's primal roar.

"Fire and shelter." Sjack seems more concerned with the near-dead woman than the cold.

Katla bites her lip as the cold breeze whips her. She is well enough accustomed to life in these northern wastes to not be more than mildly irritated by it.

Æskil, Andreas, a white shape too large to be a snowflake swoops out of the sky towards you, only just visible through the blizzard.  As it nears you see that it is a white raven.  The creature caws, a sound somehow audible over the shriek of the wind.  It circles for a moment, lingering near you, then flaps away towards the east.

"A sign, perhaps," Andreas says.  "Another question left unanswered."

"It looks like she came from the North, whoever she is," Katla says.

"Shelter. Fire," Sjack insists.  "Or she will die."

"And us," Kylfa says.

"Maybe there's shelter to the north then," Ragnvaldr says.

"We must move," Æskil says.

Kylfa grunts and nods, urging his horse onward

Sjack nods at Kylfa. "Move fast. I'll take her."

"On!"  Ragnvaldr clumsily spurs his horse.

Sjack puts the woman on his horse.

The raven sits in a tree to the east, watching the party.  It caws again, then flies to the head of Kylfa's horse.

Kylfa squints at the bird.

"What omen, strange beast?"

The white raven speaks a single word with a hoarse animal voice: "Follow." It flies to a small bush on the edge of the nearby forest – the dark trees of Ironwood looming to the northeast, the shadows between them black as Ginnungagap.

Sjack looks at the raven, startled. "Sacred bird. Good omen. We should follow."

Kylfa grunts.  "Agreed.  But be wary."

Katla rides with speed, scouting ahead.

The forest is almost totally black; the raven seems to glimmer in the darkness.  No footsteps, human or beast, seem to have breached the pristine surface of the snow here.

Sjack steers his horse after the raven.

Kylfa turns his horse to follow the raven, but his hand still tightly holds his knotted club.  Ragnvaldr likewise follows, hunched low against the weather.

Æskil follows, wary of a trap.

As you approach Ironwood your horses shy away, neighing with unease.  Aslaug whimpers and cringes.

"Ironwood. Dangerous without strange omen. Be wary. Know this place," Sjack says.

Katla unsheathes her sword and looks about warily before she spurs her mount forward.

Several of the horses back up, snorting, refusing to enter the wood.

Ragnvaldr grunts in anger and dismounts.

Sjack looks at the others. "Who can take her?"

"This is not a good tiem to abandon our mounts. I will try to soothe them."  Katla calms one of the panicked steeds.

Æskil chuckles to himself at the milk-drinkers trying to ride their horses.

Ragnvaldr scowls at Æskil, then chuckles himself as he sees the grim humour of their predicament.

Sjack looks around at the others. "Rope."  He scowls at his horse in frustration. "Stop. Now."

"Steady yourself, brave steed," Andreas urges his horse.  "Sometimes our feet lead us where we would not go."

Kylfa turns his horse about and walks to the other animals, taking their reins and attempting to call them.

Ragnvaldr ruffles Aslaug's fur and mutters reassurances.

Æskil manages a laugh at the scene around him.

Between them, Kylfa and Katla manage to calm all of the mounts.  Seeing the rest of their fellow equines enter the forest, herding instincts take over and the anxious horses fall in line.

 The raven leads you through the still, snow-covered forest.  It caws impatiently.

"I need rope."  Sjack looks at the others, sighs, and searches his pack for rope.  "Hold for moment. Ironwood dangerous."

Kylfa grunts.

Sjack looks around in frustration. "Someone take her. I must shift.  Will stay away from beasts."

Andreas nods, and moves to shift the woman to his own mount.

Katla digs into her saddlebags for a moment, then tosses a coil of rope to Sjack.  "I will need that back."

Seeing Andreas will take the woman, Sjack gives Katla a nod of thanks but tosses the rope back. "No longer need."

Sjack walks a short distance away and shifts into Linnorm form, making sure to stay downwind of the horses.

"Very well then."

You press on into the dark wood, following the raven.  Presently you near a small clearing.  A wooden hut with a welcoming light under the door stands here.  The raven caws; the door opens slightly and it flaps inside.

"Well this looks like a trap if I've ever seen one," Æskil says.

Sjack looks at the others. "I shall approach first, I believe. This could easily be a trap, and I mistrust this raven. Still, I will approach first to be certain."

"No other shelter," Kyfla points out.

"If a trap it is, it must be sprung, or we freeze," Ragnvaldr observes.

Kylfa dismounts and ties his horse to a nearby tree.

Ragnvaldr dismounts and readies his spear wearily.

"This bird offers us shelter freely," Andreas says.  "Fear not. We must be gracious."

"I will take a look around," Katla says.  "Make sure there are no people skulking about in the surrounding woods."

Æskil gets off his horse, his old joints stiff from the ride and wind.

Sjack nods to Katla. "Sound plan."

Katla rides in a wide circle around the hut, her keen eyes searching the trees.

Andreas rides sedately up to the hut and dismounts, putting the woman over his shoulder.

Kylfa grunts, shakes his head, and walks directly up to the door.

Æskil sighs and follows the party up to the door, still wary.

Sirje, you sense a presence approaching your hut - a creature neither wholly human nor animal.

Sirje snaps her head up following the unseen presence

Verjartix looks at Sirje, himself a long serpent standing on two legs. He turns his head slightly to the side in curiosity. "It takes an impressive person to see me in this weather."

You enter a small hut.  Dried herbs and small skinned animals hang from the ceiling and a small fireplace blazes with a warm glow up against the far wall.  A bubbling cauldron sits above the fireplace, full of a meaty stew; the aroma fills the room and reminds you of your hunger.  A woman stands inside the small warm hut – willowy, once pretty, marred by weather and a hard life. She has long black hair and eyes hidden by a ragged blindfold.

Kylfa raps his knuckle once on the door and peers inside.  "Who dwells?"

Andreas pushes through, the woman draped over his shoulder.   "We seek guest-right... and shelter from this storm."

Ragnvaldr approaches behind the others, still wary.

"Will you grant them this shelter?

Kylfa stands just outside the door, letting the others converse.

"She obviously seeks us," Æskil says.  "What is it that you want Blind One?"

"I... was expecting you. Some of you," Sirje says.  "Do enter.  Samran told me of your coming."  Sirje strokes the white raven and feeds him a small morsel

"But why lead us here?" Æskil demands.  "You have a reason, I'm sure."

"Oh, reasons I have. I am just not always sure what they are." Sirje tries to smile. She seems to be out of practice.

Andreas crosses the threshold, gently placing the woman down near the fire and sits next to her.  "Regardless of your reason, you have my thanks. Your charity speaks well of you."

"I shall remain outside for now - in these woods, it's not safe to leave the edges unguarded." Verjartix looks somewhat nervously at the threshold of her door.

Ragnvaldr smiles at the serpent-creature's apparent discomfort.

"Do come in, all of you, close the door

Katla returns from her scouting trip, just now arriving at the door.

"Very well," Kylfa says.
"I request that you allow my entrance into your dwelling: while I reside her, I will guard your blood with mine, unless you should threaten my companions," Verjartix says.

Sirje walks up to Verjartix.  "You I do not know.  Are you welcome?" Sirje puts a hand on the beast.  "Ah, but he is inside. I see. You can enter too."

Verjartix nods and crosses the threshold - small sparks erupt from the edges of his form as he does.

Ragnvaldr enters.

Kylfa shoves his cudgel in his belt and enters the hut.  "A good den."

Æskil shuffles his feet impatiently, his hand drifting to his axe, then back away.

Katla enters warily, though happy to get under some shelter.

Sirje closes the door after the last has entered, shutting out the howling wind and freezing cold

"Speak your mind, frost-eyes," Æskil says to Sirje.  "We are cold, tired, and hungry, and I for one do not have time for childish word-games."

"Games? I offer you shelter and food. That is all."

"Some courtesy, Æskil," Andreas says.  "This woman has offered us shelter from the storm."

The hut is crowded with everyone within, but you manage to all fit.  The hearth's warmth is welcome.  Your horses will survive the night outside - the trees break the wind, at least.

Kylfa lowers his bear-hood for the first time since he joined the party, revealing his matted, dark hair tied behind his head.

"It's best we put the woman by the fire. I will warm her further." Verjartix, seeing the woman by the fire, takes his serpentine form and gently curls around her. "This body is hotter than that of a man. I will warm her more quickly."

Ragnvaldr winces at the thought of the snake-thing so close to someone.

"Who is she?" Sirje asks.

"We do not know," Verjartix says.

"We were hoping you could tell us," Æskil replies.

"I did not see her," Sirje says quietly.

"She was in the snow," Kylfa explains.

"She had been on her way, coming to the place we found her at roughly from this direction," Katla says.

Sirje offers all of the party stew from the cauldron.

"My thanks, I am hungry."  Ragnvaldr concentrates on devouring the stew for the time being

"Then you must eat."

Kylfa enthusiastically accepts the stew, grunting appreciatively.

Andreas takes a bowl of the stew, clasping his hands in prayer before eating.

Katla takes a bowl in her hands, then begins to rapidly empty it.

Kylfa sits against a wall, trying to make his great hide-covered form as small as possible, and digs into the stew.

Æskil continues to pace, obviously anxious.

Ragnvaldr glances up from his bowl. "Sit, Æskil the Grey. If we are meant harm, it is already too late."

"I have sat long enough on horse."

Verjartix flicks his tongue towards the stew in a very snakelike gesture. "If I could have a bowl over here, I would be grateful - I'm loath to risk this woman's death."

Sirje sits by the fire and puts down a bowl beside Verjartix.  "Tomorrow you leave. And I go with you. That is why you have come here."

Æskil gives a bitter laugh. "And the woman was bait? Or a trick of the Norns?"

Verjartix laps at the stew with his forked tongue, wrapping it around chunks to pull them in his mouth. "How do you know such things?"  He seems to be getting frustrated with the difficulty he's having with the stew - eating this way, it's slow going.

"I see it in the Omens," Sirje answers.  "The Stones. The steaming entrails of a fox or a bird. Many places"

"And where does your sight see us bound, witch?" Andreas says.

"What do they tell you, other than that we leave and you with us?" Verjartix adds.  "And you did not see me..." Verjartix seems to be slightly pleased by that.

"I see many things but not everything. The woman is a riddle for you, and me, to ponder," Sirje says.  "They do not tell me more than they have to. Tomorrow I will ask them again.  Now, we eat and weather the storm outside.  There will time enough for sorrows and hopes later."

Ragnvaldr shrugs and returns his attention to the food.

Verjartix remains coiled loosely around the woman, still struggling with eating like this.

Warmed by the fire and by Sjack's serpentine coils, the woman stirs, colour returning to her cheeks.  She sleepily opens large, dark green eyes and regards everyone with a dozy look that quickly turns to fear and suspicion.  Then she notices Sjack.  She squirms and draws back, clearly terrified.

Verjartix as she stirs, moves away from her a bit to avoid causing her to panic.

Sirje stands up suddenly, watching the woman.

"Ah! She does live," Ragnvaldr says.

She calms once you slip away.  "What are you going to do with me?" she asks, her voice querulous.

Kylfa shrugs and grunts.  "No plans."

"We are going to feed you and keep you warm," Verjartix elaborates.  "After that, we had no intentions."

Ragnvaldr grins.  "Yet."

Verjartix, seeing the woman is awake, returns to his human form, and shoots Ragnvaldr a harsh glare. "No intentions she does not wish." His voice is extremely firm.

Ragnvaldr doesn't even look at Sjack.

"She must be tougher than she looks," Katla says.  "I was quite certain she'd not survive the night."

Sirje pours the last of the soup into a bowl and hands it to her. "Eat". Then she returns to the fire.

"Who... who are you?"  She seems unsure who to be more frightened of – the shapeshifter who turns into a giant serpent or the brutish raider leering at her. She accepts the bowl and attacks the soup greedily.

"Strangers.  Men, and beasts, and men of beast-shape.  I am Kylfa."

"We should return the question," Katla says.

Æskil watches from the corner, his pacing stopped.

"I am Sjack. And you?"

"My name is Eyfura."

Katla finishes her bowl of stew, wipes her mouth on a sleeve and dryly states her name: "Katla."

"Eyfura.  What brought you to this cold in those clothes?"  Sjack's voice, oddly enough, seems cooler and more distant now that he's out of his serpent form.

Ragnvaldr licks his bowl clean and leans back in his seat, eyes hooded with exhaustion.

"I was travelling with my kinsmen.  We had fled our homeland - our crops had failed, game was scarce, and every day it grew colder and colder.  We hoped to travel South, to warmer lands where Fimbulvinter has been less cruel, but we were attacked by the brigands who roam this country and scattered.  Now I am lost, with little hope of finding my kin... and to make matters worse, I have lost my clan's greatest heirloom."

"Wandering this wasteland, starving and cold, I strayed too near the borders of Ironwood.  From out of the wood came a swarm of Kobolds  - evil vættir the size of children, but with hideous faces and claws and fangs like those of beasts.  These forest-goblins swarmed all over me, tearing off my furs and jewels, including the rune-stone necklace of my clan; these they flung into filthy sacks.  I fled before the sprites could ravish me, squirming from their grasp, but I fear my family's greatest treasure is lost forever."

Andreas, you can sense that she's pagan.

Kylfa grunts distastefully at the mention of Kobolds.

Æskil stops pacing at the mention of Kobolds.

"I know Kobolds," Sjack murmurs. "Nasty. Cruel. Worth killing without extra motivation."   He grunts. "Vicious magpies. Would not have ravished. Would have eaten. Collect glitter."

Æskil, Sjack, you're very familiar with Kobolds - unpleasant creatures who dwell in burrows and mines, causing mischief.  Notorious thieves, they are attracted by shiny objects, much like certain birds.

"And from where do you hail, Eyfura?" Andreas asks.

"From the north, at the edge of the Hrafnlands."

"Ah."

Æskil slowly walks to the woman and simply says "Where?"

"I... I can show you where to find them, I think, for they accosted me near a certain distinctive stone, which I would recognize."

Sjack nods at Æskil. "Kobolds - pleasure to kill. Like rats."

"This is not about pleasure, this is about debts to pay. Blood for blood."

Sjack simply nods. As cold as he seems, it's hard to imagine him taking legitimate pleasure in anything right now. "Not my pleasure. His."

"Why we seek this blood?" Kylfa asks.

"They are Kobolds," Sjack says.  "That is enough. Morning. We go to kill."

Kylfa grunts dubiously

"Enough for you perhaps," Katla says.

Sjack looks at Katla. "Kobolds like Blóðbards but weaker. Kill, steal, eat. That is all."

Eyfura turns to Kylfa.  "If you reclaimed my family's necklace, I would give you all of my other treasures - bracelets, rings, and earrings, set with precious stones."

"My treasures, like those of the bear - warmth, sleep, and food."

"Treasure not needed," Sjack declares. "Will help."

"The beasts already took your treasures," Katla points out.  "We could kill them for that. Indded. But we needn't your permission to keep them, anyway."

Andreas remains seated in silent contemplation.

"I had hoped you would take further from this forest, but I will follow you," Sirje says. "North of here they live, although I do not know where. Even I stay clear of those creatures."

Eyfura turns to Katla but says nothing.  "I... I think I will sleep again now," she says.  Her bowl is clean.

Sirje laughs. "You are all still too kind. This is the Fimbulvinter. You must take what is given to you by the gods. Take not, but turn nothing down, or none of us will live to see the spring, if it ever comes.

"The gods have deserted Midgard," she says to Sirje.  "Surely if they cared for us, they would not let us suffer so?"

"The gods are preparing for war. Or they sleep, saving their strength for hardships to come. But they have not abandoned us."

"Perhaps it is as you say," Eyfura says to Sirje.  "My mind is troubled, clouded."

"Do not worry, girl. You will see I speak the truth soon enough. Now sleep."

Sjack walks over to meet Katla's eyes.

Æskil walks to a wall, sits down and closes his eyes before saying. "I will go with the woman in the morning to the rock. Now is for sleep, later is for talk and blood." Æskil nod off.

Kylfa puts his bowl aside, crosses his arms, and nods at Sirje.  "We still give thanks."

"Katla. Shield-Madien. You are warrior. This is chance for battle. For victory. The Kobolds would treat any like Blóðbards treat you. Will you fight for this woman's pleas?"

I will fight. But not for pleas."

Sjack maintains his hold on her eyes, not blinking. "Then for victory. For thrill of battle. We return heirloom but take rest. It is right."

"I will fight for the glory, and the plunder to be had."

Æskil snores loudly.

"I do not like to fight for... things," Kylfa says. "Even an heirloom-thing.  It is just a thing."

"Yet even warriors need food and roofs over their heads," Sirje says.

Kylfa grunts.  "We speak again of this, tomorrow."

Ragnvaldr sleeps deeply.

Kylfa pulls the bear-hood back over his head and curls up in a furry ball.

Katla settles down, facing the hut's doorway, her back against the wall. She sets her sword beside her, readily by her hand.

"Must sleep as Verjartix. Weary. Too long hidden."  Sjack begins to shift forms again.

Andreas, you think you remember some reference to these "Kobolds" in the teachings of the Faith - you believe the Church maintains they are some species of minor demon, or imp, sent by the Fallen One to do mischief.  You can remember nothing of their strengths or weaknesses, however.

Andreas stirs as he begins to fall asleep. He takes out his copy of the Acta Sanctorum, and thumbs through its pages by the flickering light of the fire.

Referring to the scriptures, you confirm that Kobolds are indeed a species of imp.  They dislike sunlight and fire intensely, and are extremely cowardly.  They are known for setting traps.  Bold displays of prowess frighten them.  They delight in stealing metal objects and gemstones, and sometimes are known to snatch weapons from sheathes and scamper away.

The party slumbers deeply, undisturbed.

Kylfa snores loudly

The next morn all but Ragnvaldr awake.  The big-boned warrior snores, back to the wall, and refuses to be woken.

Kylfa nods and grunts approvingly at Ragnvaldr.  "That is the sleep of the winter-bear."

Verjartix, upon waking, stretches his serpentine form. "Do we leave upon having eaten, or do we wait until later in the morning?"

"Let him slumber," Katla says.  "More treasure for the rest of us."

Verjartix nods.

Eyfura stirs and stretches sleepily.  Much of her colour has returned, and she now looks healthy enough.

"It would be best to see this through as soon as we are able," Andreas urges.

She nods.  "Come.  I will lead you to where the goblins assailed me."

"I would rather we do not return," Sirje says.  "I have been here too long. I have furs and food. Take what you need. Can you walk, girl?

"Yes, I am able."

Kylfa grumbles.  "Still it is just a mere thing.  But all others are going, so... very well."

"We will eat better after battle," Katla says.  "And do battle better before eating ourselves full. Let us be on our way!"

Æskil is especially quiet this morning, but his face gives clues to thinking and memories.

"Be wary of these Kobolds," Andreas warns as the party readies itself for travel.  "They are servants of the Fallen, and are clever and malicious, delighting in trickery and traps. But as all Demons do, they fear the Father's fire."

"Hmph.  I can make only a little fire," Kyfla says.

Verjartix nods at Andreas. "Despite that, they are small and weak, easily broken and killed."

Sirje checks the small traps around her house

One of the traps has caught a rabbit.

"If Ragnvaldr can not be woken, it would be best to return, dwell here one night," Verjartix says.

"Yes, I would not leave him," Kylfa agrees.

Sirje brings the rabbit back in and cuts its throat, its fresh blood spilling across the wooden table.  "You asked for what the future held I will find your answers."  Sirje opens the belly of the rabbit, and feels its entrails for the tell-tale signs of futures good and bad.  "I see danger in the den of the voracious ones," she says. "Things hiding in the shadows. That is to be expected yes, but certainty is of some value.  Even a small blade can gut a man, especially if he never sees it."

"How far away is this place we will be going, Eyfura?" Kylfa asks.

"I am unsure - but not far, unless you rode for many miles before bringing me here."

"We should ride then," Katla says.  "In this deep snow it might be too long to make it there and back on foot before nightfall."

"Then we ride," Andreas says.

Verjartix nods at Katla. "I will travel in this form, atop the snow - I do not sink the way a horse or man would.   I will remain ahead to avoid startling the beasts of burden."

"I have no horse of my own I'm afraid," Sirje says.  "I will ride with you if one of you will have me."

"You may use my host's... Mine. You may use mine," Verjartix offers.

"So be it.  Thank you, snake-I-do-not-know."

Verjartix seems a bit confused by his noun usage.

"May I ride with you?" Eyfura asks Sirje.

"You may."

She mounts the horse behind you.

You ride from the forest and out into the Waste.  The snow is abating, the skies clearing.  Eyfura directs you northwards.

Verjartix sets off to stay ahead of the horses, a rolling, slithering gait, his legs used to help keep him moving forward.

After a brief ride the woman locates the landmark she spoke of: a forlorn runestone inscribed with images of Ymir's murder and butchering, and the subsequent creation of Midgard from his dismembered parts - flesh for earth, hair for trees, bones for mountains, blood for sea, brains for cloud, skull for sky.

"This is where the Kobolds attacked me," Eyfura says.  "They came from yonder."  She points towards the nearby eaves of Ironwood - dark rows of conifers, tall and foreboding.

Verjartix takes a winding path because he has to move after the horses have turned from Eyfura's directions.

"I do not fight well on a horse's back," Kylfa growls.

Verjartix approaches, remaining far enough to not spook the horses.

Katla moves toward the eaves and looks for any signs of the Kobold's passage, late though it may be.

Kylfa sees Andreas at work and opts to help him

"The forest is wrong here.  They have left their mark," Sirje says.

You find a few scattered tracks leading into the wood, but the snow has filled most of them in.  Further inside the forest they may be clearer.

"Their passage is unclear," Andreas says, frowning.  "Come, we must head further into this wood."

Kylfa grunts.

Æskil follows, wary.

"I will return to the hut," Eyfura says.  "In case the sleeping one awakes and believes you to have abandoned him."

"You will be safe alone?" Kylfa asks.

"Don't get lost," Katla says.  "Just follow the hoofmarks. They are fresh and easy to see."

"I am certain of the way.  Thank you."

"Norns guide you," Æskil says.

"Tell him to come if he does indeed awake," Sirje says.  "Quickly. He is missing. Supposed to be here."

Eyfura departs.

Within the wood the air smells of decay, only slightly sweetened by pine.  The trees press claustrophobically close; snarled roots almost seem to claw at your ankles.  You can see no discernable path.  The trees are thick enough that the ground is only partially snow-covered.  A set of tracks made by many small, clawed feet winds into the undergrowth.

Verjartix hisses in a sigh-like motion. "She is soft. Supple. Weak. I worry we'll have to bear her as a burden until we can foist her somewhere safe."  Verjartix silences upon seeing the tracks.

"And here, a path. Let us see where it leads."  Andreas presses his mount onwards.

The going is becoming very difficult for your horses.  The trees are too densely packed.

Æskil covers the rear.

Verjartix pulls in his legs to slither, making movement more simple, and follows the path, careful not to glide over it.

Kylfa grunts and dismounts, then ties his horse up and strides forward, his lumbering form moving smoothly through the brush as if it were not even there.

"Come, time for our own legs to carry us."  Æskil dismounts.

You continue to follow the tracks.

Katla gets down from the saddle and ties her mount's reins to a tree, laughing at Sjack-snake's words. "It sounds like a burden you're quite eager to bear."

Verjartix looks at Katla, grinning slightly. "While her flesh would not be displeasing, she is weak. She would not truly satisfy either of us. A strong woman, one with will and fire and desire, that would."

"Well, good luck finding one that finds snakes to her liking, then," Katla says.

He grins again at Katla. "I would not in this form - my desires do not run as they do when I am a man. But as a man..." Verjartix simply lets out a slight, hissing laugh before returning to the duty at hand.

Andreas clutches his axe tightly, picking his way through the grasping thorns and bushes.

Up ahead a decomposing human corpse has been pinned to a tree with sharpened stakes.  Based on his long, white-blond beard and runic tattoos he was a Blodbard raider.  His hands have been pinned to the bark above his head and his chest cavity and belly have been opened, flesh peeled back and ribs broken.  The man has been completely eviscerated, his heart, liver, stomach, intestines, and other innards removed.  The gnaw-marks and scratches covered his body suggest that his organs were consumed.

"Fallen-work, for all to see," Andreas says darkly.

"A warning," Sjack says.

"A challenge," Æskil muses.

Kylfa simly grunts in distaste.

"We are on their land now," Sirje says.

Verjartix nods. "And cruel preforms cruelty to the cruel to warn the weak. It is good than we are not weak."  

Only more tracks, leading past the corpse.

"Let us continue.  This man is beyond anything," Æskil growls.

Kylfa grunts and nods.

"He is within Hel's grasp, as he should be," Verjartix says.

"A fitting end for a Bloodbeard, I'd say," Katla observes.

"I'll take lead, I suppose," Æskil says.

"It might be best if I take lead," Verjartix says.

"Very well, snake."

"I can move with more stealth...and the Kobolds may not attack should they see me first."

Katla proceeds some ways off on the right flank of the party.

Kylfa bends down, takes up a pinch of dirt, throws it over himself and casts Longstrider with a whisper.  "I will do so.  I will take the back."  Kylfa moves to the rear, moving swiftly despite the bulk of furs upon him.

Verjartix, you notice that the tracks swerve up ahead, and then you spot a suspicious heap of leaves and foliage - likely disguising some sort of trap.

Verjartix lets out a hissing sigh. "A trap of sorts. Stand back and toss a stone atop it, to trigger.  I would myself, but I lack the needed equipment."

Æskil throws a stone.

The camouflage collapses, revealing a pit perhaps twenty feet deep with sharpened stakes at the bottom.

"A simple trap," Verjartrix hisses.  "Be wary - Kobold snares are often more clever."

Verjartix, Æskil, you see a small shape lurking in the shadow of a tree, watching you carefully.  Child-sized and horribly hunched, the creature has filthy, mottled skin, very long, deft-looking fingers, and a mouth crowded with fangs.  Its eyes are small and clever-looking and its hair long, like hanging moss.  The hideous little being is garbed in a patchwork of poorly tanned furs culled from squirrels, rabbits, and mice.  It wears a small knife at its waist and carries a short spear.

Upon seeing it, Verjartix darts forward, snapping a bite at it before it can tell it's been spotted.

"Where there is one, there are many..." Æskil grumbles.

You clamp your jaws around the creature, striking swiftly.  It squeals in agony and stabs with its spear; you swat the weapon aside.

Kylfa turns and watches carefully for any flanking while the others maul the lone Kobold

The creature somehow squirms free of your jaws and evades your other attacks!

Æskil takes several strides and swings at the fleeing beast.

Katla moves forth toward the sounds of combat. She emerges from the woods with bow in hand, an arrow nocked. With a swift draw and aim she lets the missile fly

Kylfa takes out his sling and waits, should the creature try to get away.

The creature ducks Æskil’s blow but Katla’s arrow strikes home.

"Slippery little misspawn," Verjartix hisses.

The arrow pins the creature to a tree, impaling it through it tiny belly.

Kylfa grunts with approval and puts his sling away.

It’s not dead.  It gibbers in pain, flailing, tugging weakly at the arrow.

Verjartix rolls up and swiftly attempts to bite its head off.

Æskil walks to the creature. "Where?"

Verjartix stops himself, fangs inches away.

Æskil yells at the beast again, spittle flying from his mouth, "Where!"

The creature gibbers further.  It appears unable to understand you.  Kylfa, you recognize its language as some bastard, degenerate dialect of Álfari.

"Hold. Let me."  Kylfa walks up to it and growls the same in Álfari - "Where."

"What do you seek?!" the creature whimpers.  "Please, release me!  I lead you to much treasure!"  It thrashes with decreasing vigour, green blood oozing from its belly.

Katla stands back, leaving the interrogation to Sjack and Kylfa. She watches their backs, keeping a look out for more Kobolds.

"A necklace.  You stole it from a woman.  Where?"

Verjartix not know what the creature is saying, keeps his jaw open near its head to provide a continued threat.

"Woman?" the creature croaks weakly.  "What woman?  Whom do you speak of?"  Greenish blood is trickling from the creature’s mouth.  You cannot tell if it speaks falsehoods or no, but you can’t see why it would lie about such a thing...

It seems to be drifting near to unconsciousness.

"A woman in silk.  Northlander.  If you do not know her, or the necklace, no reason to keep you." Kylfa raises his club over the creature's head.

Verjartix licks at the blood. "Kylfa, have you asked it where they keep the treasure?

"The necklace.  The treasure.  Now."

The creature's head jerks feebly as its life begins to slip away.  "Treasure... treasure in the warren.  Help me.  Release me.  I show you..."

Kylfa turns to the others.  "It says treasure is in the warren.  Wants release.  Says nothing of the woman, or the necklace."

Verjartix lets out a hissing sigh. "Will he take us to it? I have already tasted his blood, I could spare or end him."

"A wicked creature," Andreas declares.  "Better it dies."

"I have told you its words.  Do as you will."  Kylfa trudges back to the rear.

"You want it to live?" Sirje asks.

"Only long enough to make our task easier," Verjartix says.

"I cannot claim I care for it," Sirje says.

"It says it will lead us," Kylfa says.  "I do not trust it, but you decide."

It spasms, limbs twitching.  Soon it will be gone.

"Either we let it lead us, or look for their lair on our own," Kylfa says.

"Thank you, Blind-One, for sparing me the use of a spell on that vermin.

"My name is Sirje," Sirje says to Verjartix.  She turns to tend to the Kobold, in an effort to keep it alive, for now.

You pull the arrow from the creature’s body and tend the Kobold’s wounds, staunching its bleeding.

"I am called Thorntongue."  The creature is still desperately weak.  "I... I show you to the warren?"

Kylfa returns to translate for it once it starts speaking again.  "It is called Thorntongue. It says it shows us to the warren."

The child-sized creature leads you through the forest, scampering over roots and stones, still feeble despite Sirje’s aid.  Three times it points out other traps, tripwires and snares.

Kylfa takes a position near the front to continue translating for it, if need be.

Up ahead, an enormous dead tree rises out of the ground, blackened by fire; it stands in the midst of a small clearing.  At the huge, gnarled tree’s base a small hole is visible - perhaps just big enough to enter if stooped.  Sharpened stakes have been planted outside the tree, each bearing the decaying head of a human or wolf.

"The warren," Thorntongue says, pointing to the tree.

"I sense my ogre size-magic will not be useful here," Kylfa says sardonically.  "It says this is the warren."

Katla frowns at the sight of the tiny crevice. "Looks like we'll have trouble to enter there, if we can fit at all."

"Trouble or no, it is what we must do," Andreas insists.

"I can enter without problem. I shall lead," Verjatix hisses.

"Does it go with us, or do we leave it here?" Kylfa asks.

"Ask it if there are further traps within?" Verjartix says.

"We will be easy prey for traps and ambushes down in those tunnels," Sirje says.  "Be wary."

"Do not leave it free to cause mischief, it comes with us," Andreas says.

"Tie it up," Katla suggests.  "It'll only make trouble if we take it along further."

"Thorntongue.  Traps, within?"

"No traps in the warren, only without."

"It says there are no traps within," Kylfa translates.

"Then kill it," Verjartix  says.  "It serves no further use."

"No."  Kylfa grabs the creature by the scruff of its neck.

Verjartix turns to Kylfa.  "You were ready for its death before, Old One. Why spare it now?"

"Because to guide is hospitality.  To kill it would be nithingsverk."  

"Why bicker so over the fate of this wretched creature? Death will likely claim it anyway, once we're done with the bloody work in the warren," Katla says.

"I say put its head on a spike and be done with the thing," Æskil suggests.  "It will not hesitate to kill us or warn its kin. There may be other tunnels he is not showing us."

"Thorntongue," Kylfa says in Álfari.  "I count to five, in my head."

"Weak and wounded and bereft of home, where would it go?" Katla asks.

"Their kind has no place after. They will die anyway. And if its own kind find it, and learn of what it did, they will kill it slowly, painfully. Killing it is a mercy."  Verjartix looks at Katla.  "The Shield-Madien has a point."

"You run in the forest.  If I ever see you again, I will eat you."

The creature gurgles.

Kylfa releases the creature, and calmly says to it - "One."

Thorntongue scampers away towards the edge of the clearing as fast as it can.

Katla curses, grabs her bow and prepares to let loose an arrow.

Kylfa makes no move to stop Katla.

Verjartix shrugs with his shoulders. "It is of a doomed kind anyway. No matter what, it is already dead."

"A foul thing too, but still, life is precious in winter," Sirje says.

Katla looses.

Your arrow takes it through the back of its oversized head.  It crumples to the ground at the clearing’s edge.

Kylfa shrugs and grunts.

"Life must be earned," Æskil grimly declares.

"This winter will cleanse its kind," Verjartix says. "Will cleanse many kinds. You should see this, Blind One."

"The warren may have alternative exits. It could have gone to warn it's kin of our coming," Katla says.

You hear the snap of twigs somewhere beyond the clearing.  Something is moving out there.

Verjartix whispers in a hiss. "Approaching."

Æskil draws his axe and hefts his shield.

You see the undergrowth rustling beyond the clearing, but you cannot yet see whatever is causing the disturbance.

Katla nocks another arrow and draws back the bowstring, her sights set on the tree-line. Patiently she waits for whatever is making the noises to emerge.

Andreas gets out his axe.  Æskil readies himself for battle.

"Come out. We know you are there," Sirje says.

"Kobolds might have tamed some sort of old beasts to serve them," Verjartix says.

The bushes rustle still further, and half a dozen small forms emerge from various positions around the clearing.  They prepare to throw small javelins!

"Or it could be an ambush," Verjartix hisses with a sigh.

Katla immediately shoots at the nearest figure.

Your arrow whistles over its head.

Sirje issues a murderous command, her words charged with magic.

One of the creatures suddenly turns to its fellow Kobold and flings its javelin towards it, and grazing its flesh.  The injured Kobold squeaks in pain.

Andreas charges forward, axe gleaming.  "Die, fiend!" he bellows.  The Fatherman beheads a Kobold with a single swipe of his axe.

Kylfa uses his toughness transformation, and his skin hardens into a thick hide - then he moves up to the nearest Kobold, shield and cudgel in hand.

Æskil hefts a throwing axe towards the nearest beast, ducking a javelin.

Your throw goes wide.

Kylfa swats the javelin aside and bludgeons the Kobold.

You hear a sickening smack as you lay into it.

Katla dodges a hurled javelin nimbly.

Verjartix whispers "Age of the new guard me" and a shimmering barrier appears before him as he slithers forward into the middle of the Kobolds, trying to draw their attention.

Katla puts down her bow, quickly slings her shield from her back and straps it to her arm. She draws the sword, readying herself for melee.

Sirje holds out our hand, palm down, and lower her hand slowly towards one of the Kobolds.

One of the Kobolds slumps into unconsciousness.

Æskil draws his axe, steps, and swings at the nearest Kobold.

You slash at one of the Kobolds, giving it a nasty wound.

Andreas steps forward and hacks at the nest nearest Kobold but misses.

Kylfa roars with a face full of black fur, and swings at the previously-bruised Kobold again!

You hit the creature hard, but this Kobold seems unusually tough.  It slashes at you with a small knife, but you twist aside and it trips, sprawling prone.

Kylfa laughs.

The Kobolds disappear into the undergrowth!

Verjartix snaps his head down, catching the Kobold by its head up to its waist. He thrashes the creature back and forth, snapping its spine, before turning his head straight up to swallow it whole.

It tastes foul, like rotting wood and spoiled meat.

Verjartix nods grimly. "They are foul, twisted creatures. Their time is over, as are so many.

Katla screams a howling warcry and charges to deliver a vicious downward stab on the Kobold crawling on the ground.

You skewer the Kobold.  Greenish blood spurts everywhere; it is still alive, but barely.

Æskil swings again at the Kobold, but the creature scampers away.

Andreas hacks at the Kobold crawling away, but his axe hits the earth.

Kylfa drops his shield and uses two hands to swing his club down at the prone Kobold!  He swings his knotted club downwards, and it lodges unceremoniously in the dirty creature's now-ruined skull.

The Kobolds are either dead or fled.  The warren awaits.

Katla wipes the strange monster-blood from her blade. Seeing that the rest of the Kobolds have fled, she returns to fetch the bow she dropped.

Kylfa picks up his shield and grunts.

Verjartix shifts back to human form and the Kobold's corpse, which had been lodged in his linnorm's throat, falls to the ground.

Fitt IV: The Vargar

You stand at the runestone depicting Ymir's slaughter, the corpse of the Trollwife Eyfura mirroring the primordial giant's massacre.  Blackish-green blood still pumps from the stump of Eyfura's thick, mottled neck.  Her huge, deformed body twitches now and then, and the evil words of her death-curse seem to hover in the air, echoing across the White Waste...

Katla stands a few feet from the Troll-carcass, dripping red blood on the snow. Though grievously injured, she bears her wounds with rugged stoicism.

Kylfa looks over his shoulder, back at the deeper forest.  "No need to remain."

Agreed, I feel... tired," Æskil says.

"We have won great glory today. Rest is deserved," Katla concurs.

"It is good that this creature is dead, though glory was not in it," Andreas says.  "Its soul burns in the Inferno, and that is enough."

"The strength of the bear is all but spent," Kylfa says.  "I have little else to give today."

"So, my brave companions, which way is it?" Sirje asks.

"Do you know of any place of shelter in half a day's ride from here?" Katla asks.

"Sirje - can we make it back to you hut before night falls?" Æskil asks.

"We might, but we could continue on as well.   It will not bring us closer to the end of the woods – quite the opposite.  It would be wise to decide where you want to go from here; I'm afraid my cabin can't keep you warm and fed for long."

Ragnvadlr breathes heavily.  "I would not linger here.  I've had enough of this wood and its denizens."  He spits on Eyfura's corpse.  Aslaug is gnawing on her leg.

"Ah, and you have been here for a far shorter time than I!" Sirje says.

Kylfa grunts and shrugs.

"True," Æskil notes.  "I say we make for fire, warmth, and mead."

"Mead I have little of," Sirje says.

"Then we search for a town, I suppose," Æskil says.

Sjack, back in human form nods.  "The longer we stay in these lands the greater chance my kinsmen have of recapturing us.  There is a small but well-fortified town, Wulfheim, a day's ride north of here.  We could make it there by tomorrow night if we ride hard."

"Then Wulfheim it is," Æskil responds.

"Very well," Kylfa says.

Ragnvaldr and Sjack go to get the horses from the border of the wood.

"I hope your sense of direction is correct," Katla says.  "Still, it is the best suggestion brought up thus far."

"A sense of direction..."  Kylfa makes a sound somewhere between a growl and a mumble, and casts Know Direction.

"There is also town, north of here," Sirje says.  "Hrafnford. We'll be in the lands of the Hrafnii then. I do not care much for them I must admit."

You can now lead the party north, Kylfa.

"Follow."  Kylfa mounts his horse and leads the party on.

You ride across the White Waste, over snowy fields and the occasional frozen brook or barren hill.  Though the snow has stopped the sky is still a mass of clouds, a corpse-gray shroud matching the pallid desolation below.

Quite abruptly the sky begins to darken.  Soon is has turned black as Draugr's flesh, an ugly bruise-colour shot through the patches of cadaverous gray.  The first peal of thunder sounds like a Jötunn yawning, searing the sky.  Abruptly snow begins to fall as the clouds overhead burst.

"We should seek cover," Sirje says.

Ragnvaldr nods.

Æskil coughs, and spits out blood that is nearly black. "Agreed."

Up ahead, just visible in the swirling snow, is a large hill crowned by a circle of standing stones.  In times past such a circle would be used as a thingstead, where lawspeakers would hear the grievances of the local people.  Now, in the harsh and lawless time of Fimbulvinter, such judge circles stand perennially empty, for the standards of justice and decency have been abandoned in the North, and indeed throughout all of Midgard, if rumour is believed.  Still, the stones are tall and broad, and would provide some measure of shelter against the wind.

"The stones, ahead," Kylfa says.

"Yes, let us hurry," Æskil agrees.

The sky is now totally black with cloud.  Lightning strikes again, closer now.  You lead your mounts up into the circle of stones, which provide some measure of protection - they're large enough to break the wind, at least.

"Anyone have any firewood?" Sjack asks.

Kylfa grunts and shakes his head.

Katla dismounts and tends to the horses, striving to keep them calm throughout this frightening tempest.

Along the hill there is also a small depression where a few might shelter - not large enough for the whole party and their mounts, though.

"Katla, come help me gather wood."  Æskil looks around first though, wary of more "damsels in distress."

"I will look after our mounts. You go."

You don't find any damsels, distressed or otherwise, but your search does turn up a bit of damp kindling.

Kylfa wraps his furs around his hands and begins piling and packing snow to further bolster the depression.

"I'd prefer to stay in the circle of rocks," Sirje says, stopping the bear shaman.

Lightning strikes the copse of trees not far away.  Almost instantly one of them is aflame.

Æskil laughs, "Fire's ready."  He goes to the copse and get a branch that's alight to bring back to the circle.

Kylfa grunts and ascends the hill, then makes walls of snow between the stones.

Ragnvaldr helps Kylfa in his efforts, as does Sjack.

You soon have a merry fire going and have reinforced your shelter with banks of snow.  Night steals onwards.

Kylfa grunts as he labors.  "Upon the hill, I fear we tempt the lightning..."

Ragnvadlr nods.  "Best to remove any armour you might be wearing."  He keeps his spear lowered.

"As long as the rocks stand taller I think we are safe," Sirje says.

"Then keep not too close to them," Kylfa advises.

"I agree with the witch and Ragnvadlr." Æskil removes his armour.

"Witch? is that how you speak of your former hostess?" Sire smiles.

Katla crouches by the fire to warm some of her rations.

You make a meal round the fire while people remove their armour.  The storm is terrible, but in your shelter you manage to keep yourselves from the worst of it.

"We had best decide watches before we all succumb to sleep," Æskil says.

"I will take the first guard," Katla volunteers.

Ragnvaldr nods.  "I'll take second."

"Third," Kylfa grunts.

"I will keep watch in the early morning," Sirje says.  "Dawn is a time of old power and hidden wisdom."

Sjack offers to take a watch between Sirje and Kylfa.

You turn in for the night.  Katla's watch is uneventful.  She wakens Ragnvaldr when she deems roughly two hours have past; he in turn wakens Kylfa.

Kylfa, most of your watch passes without event, but near the end of it, you spot omething approaching the camp from multiple directions - shapes blacker than the darkness around you, stalking across the snow towards the hill.  Lightning flashes, temporarily illuminating the night - there are at least half a dozen of them, loping towards you.

Kylfa takes out his signal horn and blows a series of loud blasts!

Everyone is awakened.

Katla snaps awake, instinctively reaching for the sword by her side.

"Who is out there?  Or what?" Sirje asks.

Kylfa, as they near you see that they are a pack of wolves - eight or nine of them, with night-black fur padding soundlessly over the snow towards your camp, closing in on you from every side.  They are prodigious in size, with uncannily long teeth and eyes that glimmer red.  These are no ordinary wolves - they are Vargar, demon-wolves born of Trollwives in the depths of Ironwood.

"Awake, awake!  Heat the blood and draw the iron, fell wolves are upon us!"  Kylfa grabs his shield and club, and hopes that wood and hide will be enough.

Sirje, such creatures are cunning and strong.  Though they dislike fire, they will not be deterred by it.  Some of them are known to speak the tongue of men.  Kill the pack-leader and the rest may scatter.

Ragnvaldr grabs for his spear.  Aslaug bares her teeth.

Sjack grimaces and grabs for his short bow.

Æskil jumps awake, grabbing ax and shield and helm.

Katla springs up from beneath the pile of furs she was sleeping under, hastily sheathing the sword and equipping her bow. She clambers to peer over the walls of snow made by Kylfa, looking to pick a target from among the beasts.

One of them is much larger than the others, Katla, though you fear that in this wind arrows may not find their mark easily.

"I spy one among these wolves of size greater than the rest."  Katla points at the particularly big one.

"Who will take the final charm of the bear, to take great size?" Kylfa asks.

"Fell beasts, halt! We wish you no harm if you but return to whence you came and leave us alone," Sirje says.  "Otherwise we will cut you down atop this ancient hill."

The wolves halt.  The huge one leading the pack steps forward towards the hill.  It speaks in a voice like a growl.

"I am called Illhund, son of Mánagarm, son of the Great Wolf Fenrir," the creature snarls.  "My pack has you surrounded.  Our hunger is great.  We could kill you all, but several of our number would perish.  Give us your horses to eat and we will spare your lives.  Refuse and we will feast on your entrails."

"Friends, they are your horses," Sirje says to her companions.  "I would offer them but I'm inured to the cold of this eternal winter. You might not consider the next step of our journey so lightly."

"Trust not the wicked tongue of a wolf-beast," Katla declares.  "No doubt they would stalk us as we trudge through the woods horseless and cold."

"It shames me to barter with such beasts, but I feel we would be ill served to fight..." Æskil says.

"Out there they'd pick us off one by one," Katla says.  "Better fight here, when we have advantage of this hilltop."

Kylfa scratches his beard.  "Who among you can be a good falsehood-teller?"

"A victory here will scatter them and send them into the woods with a grudge," Sirje points out.

"It is weakness to bargain," Katla insists.  "The beasts are not beholden to their word, so why settle for just horses when they can have our flesh as well?"

What holds you to your words, spirit-wolves?" Sirje asks.

Illhund barks.  "Give us the horses and I will swear on the pelt of Fenris himself, we will leave you be."

"Wait," Kylfa grumbles.

"Back to the darkness, fell dogs!" Æskil yells as he tosses his troll-ear necklace before the alpha. "Do not trifle with us, pup, for you do not know who you face..."

Some of the Vargar growl and take a step back from the grisly trophy, but Illhund snarls in what might be laughter.  "You think to frighten me with some Troll-bitch's ears?"

"I'd just as soon add your ears to that rope, but I'm feeling kind tonight..." Æskil says, boasting proudly for a man newly cursed.

Illhund seems undeterred.  "You cannot scare me so easily."

"But your kin do not seem as brave, mangy one."  Æskil  growls.  "It is easy to be brave with an army.  Now get, before I lose my patience."

Illhund looks back at his pack and barks, "Do you fear this puny human more than me?!" He bares his teeth.  "The first to run will find my teeth round his muzzle."  He turns back to Æskil.

Katla smiles even as she keeps an arrow aimed at the pack-leader. The defiant boastfulness of the cursed warrior pleases her.

"You are bold, human, I give you that.  Three horses, then.  Give us three, and we leave you be."

"Leave your 'leader' to us, and the rest may go free..." Æskil declares, speaking to the rest of the pack.

Your words seem only to have angered the beasts.  Illhund laughs.  "Enough of this.  Make your choice."

Kylfa grunts.  "I wish nothing for these cursed wolves.  Enough!"

Kylfa hunches down, casts Enlarge Person on himself, and then stands to show his height to the wolves.  "To MEN, you might be frightening."  He booms.  "Here is my promise - the LAST to run will find my cudgel in his skull!  Come and die, bastards of Loki!"

The wolves snarl and bound forward, spurred by their leader.

Katla releases the arrow with a sharp twang of the bowstring, sending the shaft flying toward the large Vargr. Her hand immediately darts to pull the next missile from the quiver.

Your arrow flies true, but the wind knocks it aside, and it only grazes the monstrous Illhund.

"Don't be foolish wolf-beasts! Turn back before it is too late," Sirje says.  "You desire the flesh of fated creatures, and you will not have it. Look at the weak thing you call a leader, he will fall beneath our blade and you will scatter like the whimpering pups you are. Begone!"

The wolves ignore your words and leap forward, enraged by Kylfa's taunt.

Sjack looses an arrow at Illhund.

The arrow embeds itself in the beast's side.  It ignores the wound completely.

"Kill Illhund first.  He will suffer in Hel for his decision!" Sirje says.

The Vargar bound up towards you with terrible speed, leaping over the walls of snow.  Suddenly they are upon you, and the stone circle becomes a chaos of fur, fangs, blood, and claws!

Kylfa gives thanks to the gods he is so tall, for his great reach may allow him to get an opportunistic smack at the first of the whelps as they move in.

You swing your club, but the nearest wolf ducks under the blow and lunges towards you.

Kylfa snarls and beats the creature off.

Katla drops her bow and is in the middle of drawing her sword when open of the monstrous wolves digs its jaws on her left shoulder, knocking her down and tearing chunks of flesh off. Somehow the shield-maiden manages to stay conscious and strike at the fell beast.

You sink your blade deep into the beast's flesh.  It howls in agony and backs away.

Andreas steps from the shadows where he had been silently praying.  He swings his long axe at the wolf Katla injured.

Andreas' blade hits the creature in the skull.  It slumps to the ground, dead.

Kylfa takes a step back and swings his oversized club at the Vargr he missed earlier.

Your club again strikes snow.  The wolf growls and hunches low, preparing to leap again.

Illhund bounds up with his pack and leaps at Kylfa, sinking his teeth into the enlarged warrior's side.

Ragnvaldr drives his spear into the Vargr savaging him.

Æskil shouts and swings at Illhund with his ax.

Illhund draws back and your blow goes wide.

Sirhje lays a healing hand on Kylfa.  "The spirits do not wish to see you go to Valhöll just yet."

Kylfa grunts as his wounds close, scab, and scar in moments.

Sjack gets out his mace and bashes the nearest wolf.

The wolf snaps its jaws, keeping you at bay.

Andreas grunts in pain as a wolf leaps on him, gnawing at his arm.

Ragnvaldr stabs at a wolf whose jaws are clamped round his leg.

Katla is completely consumed by bloodlust, the world around her fading to red mist in her eyes. She strikes with reckless abandon, no longer bearing the slightest thought to survival - living and fighting only to slay her foes.

The wolf whimpers and backs up, avoiding your wild blows.  You singe your hand in the fire and drop your sword.

Andreas takes a burning brand from the flames and lobs it at Illhund.

The brand falls short, but lands amidst several other wolves.  They bark in surprise and bound backwards.

Kylfa steps back again, keeping distance between him and Illhund, and swings at the beast with his treelike club.

You bash at the beast, hitting it on the jaw.  There is an ugly cracking sound.

Kylfa bares his teeth at the beast, daring it to strike!

Illhund bounds forward, meeting you.

Æskil, your ax bites deep into Illhund, slicing off a huge section of fur and muscle.

Illhund leaps at Kylfa, teeth flashing, and tears at the flesh of the shaman's thigh.

Ragnvaldr stabs the wolf savaging him in the head with his spear.  It whimpers and falls still.

Æskil swings again at the wolf-beast, hoping the Gods are with him this time.

Sirje continues to heal Kylfa's wounds.

You hack at the beast but in the chaos of the melee your blow goes wide.

Sjack flails with his mace, to little avail.

The horses are now in a full panic.  One of them rears, striking out at a Vargr; it whimpers and recoils, drawing back from the creature's hooves.

One of the wolves leaps at Katla and bears her to the ground, jaws fastening round her neck and tearing.   Blood spatters the snow as the warrior's life begins to ebb.

Andreas is severely injured as another of the Vargr tears at him viciously.  He bellows a war cry of Austrogötaland and charges at Illhund, long axe raised.

The gigantic wolf howls as you sink your axe into its face, putting out one of its eyes.  Blood and humours spurt everywhere.

"And James stood before the door, and his eyes blazed with the light of Our Father, and he cried "Get yee gone from here, wretched beasts, and trouble my flock no more!"

Kylfa backs up, swinging his club to fend of Illhund and the Vargar.  He lands a third blow upon the unbearable cur!

Andreas, the huge wolf bounds up to you and lunges for your face, teeth bared.  It sinks its fangs into your body, savaging  you horribly, and you are borne to the ground.  Your head strikes a stone and you black out.

Ragnvadlr turns his attention to Illhund and sinks his spear deep into the beast's side.

Illhund snarls at Æskil, who in turn punches his fist into the beasts head, stunning it long enough to bring his ax clearly between its red, glowing eyes.

Illhund goes limp and brain and viscera spray across the snow as the ax is pulled from its skull.  The Vargar panic as their leader dies.  The fell wolves of Ironwood flee, whimpering.  They scatter and are soon lost in the snow.

Kylfa gives a bestial roar, before shrinking back to his normal size and falling to his knees, panting raggedly.

Æskil is about makes good on his promise and add Illhund's ears to his necklace that already hold the troll ears but thinks twice, and instead skins Illhund, thinking to wear its pelt, head and all.

Sirje tends to the wounds of the injured.

Sjack assists with his Orm-magic.

Æskil, you slip into pain-haunted slumber.  As you fall into sleep, a vision appears before you out of the darkness.  You feel fully awake, yet are conscious of sleeping: this is like no dream you have ever experienced.  You stand in a great hall of vast dimensions with a silvery roof held up by enormous rune-graven columns.  Shields and weapons hang on the walls.  Seated on a huge chair at the far end of the room is a gigantic figure - a prodigiously muscular, grim-faced man at kleast twenty feet tall, with dark hair and beard.  He is armoured in mail and is missing one hand; he rests the scarred stump of it on one arm of the chair.

"Welcome to Valaskjalf, warrior," the towering figure says, his voice booming.  "One of my father's many halls here in Asgard.  You are not dead - I have simply called your shade to this place for a time, so that we may speak."

"Then speak."

"From this chair, the Hlidskjalf, one can see throughout all of the Nine Worlds.  Often has the gaze of the Æsir been fixed on Midgard of late, for soon we shall descend to meet our doom there.  Watching from the high seat I saw you slay the wolf known as Illhund, one of the descendents of Fenrir the Fame-Wolf, who bit my hand from my wrist.  This great deed should not go unrecognized.

"There is a magical sword which bears my name: the weapon known as Tyrfing, forged by the Dvergar in ages past.  Its history is long and bloody, for the sword has known many wielders.  During the great battle with the Huna it drank the life of many fierce foes; shortly later the blade was lost, passing into legend.

"As a reward for destroying Illhund I will reveal to you the location of Tyrfing.  The blade was last wielded by a hero named Emund Ironheart who traveled the land seeking glory.  He heard tell of a sea serpent that dwelt in the Sea of Skulls, a monster which dragged ships to the ocean floor.  Hoping to win great fame for himself Emund sailed out into the Sea and waited for many days for the creature to appear.  When it finally did so the brave warrior did battle with the beast, but the serpent swallowed him whole, and try as he might he could not cut his way out.  He drowned in the creature's belly, Tyrfing still in his grasp.

"Before he was swallowed, however, Emund had struck a terrible blow to the serpent's heart, having found a chink in the beast's scales.  The serpent died shortly after.  Its carcass washed ashore on a rocky island in the midst of the Sea of Skulls, a forsaken place called Grayfang Isle.  Sailors shun it, for it is known to the haunt of certain Sea-Draugar, whose briny grasp you must evade if you seek the sword; Tyrfing still lies within the serpent's skeleton."

"Should you fall in battle and be conveyed to Valhalla, you will make a fearsome Einherjar.  I look forward to fighting by your side at Ragnarök."

"Let's just hope that's it later, rather than sooner."

Fitt VI: The Fire-Drake and the One-Eyed Warrior

Morning comes.  You awake from the most restful sleep you've had in a long time.

Dagny is back entirely too early banging a pot in the mead-hall. "Up, all you sleepyheads! Gotta make room for the breakfast crowd!"

Kylfa grunts. "Hmmgh.  Then I will go see this healer."

"How much will you be payed today, Dagny?" Ragnvaldr asks.  "I'll double it to let me sleep longer."

Dagny smirks. "Oh, pretty generous now, aren't you? You should've gotten a room."

Ragnvaldr hauls himself to his feet and mock-punches at Dagny for her insolence.

Andreas emerges from his room with a studious expression on his face, the Acta Sanctorum held open in his hands.

"What do we wish from this man?" Kylfa asks.

Æskil groans.  "I will remain here for now," he says.  "I will feel stronger with food in my belly.  We can speak to this healer later.  Go on and speak to the Jarl, if it please you."

Katla joins the party in the mead-hall, stretching and yawning loudly

Dagny is slightly more cheerful in the morning. Maybe it's just that she hasn't had to clean up any filth yet today.

Ragnvaldr stretches, yawns, scratches, and goes to look for somewhere to piss.

Dagny presses her hand to her sinuses.

"Many words are brought to the ears of powerful men, Kylfa of Kvenland. I would hear what he knows," Andreas says.

"Why is it you have come all this way to the North where the winter is coldest, Andreas? Do you seek something?" Sirje asks.

"Winter is everywhere upon the world. It is little colder here than elsewhere. The people of Austerborg lie frozen in their homes, or else their corpses wander the streets, refusing to embrace their deaths. It is no more a burden to be here, than to be there."

"You did not answer my question."

"It is true that I am a Seeker. One of the last named by my Order. There are but eight of us who remain, and fewer seek to the title each year. When the world most needs the wisdom of Saint Mark, it finds itself lacking. No longer do we go to the south, the great Bishops there resent our mission, and no longer tolerate the Authority vested in us by Saint Mark himself."

Ragnvaldr returns with an empty bladder. "Are we off to see the Jarl or what?"

"We are," Sirje affirms.

Kylfa grunts.

"Will you fetch me some breakfast?" Katla says to Dagny with a sleepy voice.

Dagny nods. "Just so you know, breakfast is mostly the same as dinner. Maybe I can find an egg somewhere..."

"Good enough, so long as it's filling"

Dagny brings breakfast.

After a meagre breakfast you leave the tavern and head to the Jarl's fortress.  The timber keep is guarded by more of the Jarl's men.  An exceptionally tall, heavily muscled man who was seated on a stool by the entrance and sharpening his sword stands to meet you.  His eyes are like two chips of ice, an eerie pale blue.

"I'm Vatnar, Jarl Wulfgar's Housecarl," he says, his gaze cold and steady.  "What business have you with the Jarl?"

Kylfa stands in the back of the group, letting the more town-folk-savvy companions speak for him.

"Hail and well met," Katla says.  "The guard at the gate told us yesterday that the Jarl may wish to hire some blades."

"We would know if he has work for men and women of stout hearts, and stouter arms, and we would hear what news has come to Wulfheim," Andreas says.

The man chuckles.  "I suppose you lot fancy yourself warriors, is that it?  I see a weak-hearted Fatherman, a queer foreign sorcerer, two women - you are no warriors.  I won't waste my master's time with the likes of you."

Dagny is scavenging around for something to put in the 'daily special.' Times are tough and there are a lot of well-preserved dead bodies not too far from here, so you don't want to ask too many questions.

Ragnvaldr gestures to Katla.  "That woman is more a warrior that you, Vatnar Stool-Sitter."

"You question the strength of my Faith, heathen?" Andreas grumbles.

"That sounds like a challenge," Katla says. "Are you itching to test your steel, Housecarl?"

"Were I in a fouler temper I would take that for an insult," he says to Ragnvaldr grunting.  "And I don't care a whit for your Faith, milk-drinker.  You Austrogoths have forsaken the true ways, the old ways.  As for you, wench, it is beneath my dignity to fight a woman."

"Would it be beneath your dignity to be bested by one?"

"The world changes around us all, and we must adapt to it," Andreas says. "If Truth is revealed, it is man's duty to accept it."

"Let us in or I shall put you on your arse," Ragnvadlr says, less cryptically than Andreas.

"We have beaten wargs, trollkonen, kobolds and worse to come here," Sirje declares. "Do not dare question our worth as warriors."

Kylfa shrugs.  "If we are not worthy, then where he sends us, we will die, and then you will be rid of us."

Vatnar frowns.  "You begin to try my patience.  I will not trouble the Jarl with every band of riffraff who arrive at his door begging for scraps..."

Kylfa, you hear the beating of what sound like great wings.

Kylfa perks up and begins sniffing. "Something flies this way..."

"What is it, Kylfa?" Katla asks.

A dark shape swoops out of the sky and hovers over Wulfheim, casting its shadow across the timber keep: a formidable reptilian creature, serpentine in shape, with two clawed limbs and a pair of massive bat-like wings.  Its scales are coal-black, its eyes slitted and flame-orange, its teeth a gleaming white; it is the size of a small house.

Kylfa snarls and looks skyward.  "Drakkar!"

The townsfolk of Wulfheim flee in terror while the guards converge on the beast with weapons drawn.  Vatnar the Housecarl charges forwards, sword in hand, while a group of four men with atgeirar approach the monstrosity from the gate.

Dagny, you hear screams and sounds of commotion outside.

"Thor's turds! Now you'll see how we fight, Vatnar the Fool!" Ragnvaldr hefts his spear and runs towards the dragon.

Andreas, dragons are beasts warped by the influence of the Fallen One, who often appears as a serpent.  It is said that when the Great Flood wiped out all life, the Fallen One gave Dragons wings with which to fly over the waters, sparing them from the Father's wrath.

Kylfa roars and casts Aspect of the Bear upon himself; though there are no obvious physical changes, somehow Kylfa seems even more hulking, bestial, and... hairy.  He then moves twenty feet towards the dragon, and pulls out his shield while doing so.

The creature twists its sinuous neck towards the advancing guardsmen.  Its jaws open, and a stream of fire bursts from its maw, making the air quiver around it with heat and the snow turn to water.

Two of the guards are incinerated, reduced to charred husks.  Another two dart aside, scorched but alive.

Dagny comes dashing out of the back of the kitchen. "What in the..." She's got a meat cleaver in her hand, which she now brandishes like a weapon. Upon seeing the creature belch out fire, she stamps her foot. "I'M SUPPOSED TO BE THE ONE DOING THAT!'

Sirje follows Kylfa, trying to stay in cover along the way

Kylfa yells to Katla, "hold a moment!"

Dagny snarls and flings the meat cleaver at the thing.

The cleaver sinks into the beast's scaled flesh.  It grunts and twists towards Dagny.

Dagny snaps her fingers, and the cleaver comes spiraling back into her hand, which she catches on the run.

Kylfa begins intoning in a guttural, growling tongue, then raises his hand towards the drake and shouts, as the area around the beast glimmers and freezes with instantly-appearing frost.

Katla advances bow in hand, an arrow nocked.  Without showing any haste she draws, takes aim and looses a shot at the Drakkar.

The beast growls in pain as rime dapples its scales and an arrow embeds itself in its neck

Vatnar charges forwards, shrieking a war-cry, blade gleaming!  The creature flaps its wings, buffeting him and causing his swing to miss.

"Father, lend the Strength of your Fire to my blade!" Andreas calls out. "My work is not done until this beast is sent back to the torments of its master!"

The creature's shimmering black scales deflect your blow.

The surviving guards charge forward and stab with their weapons, but they too cannot penetrate the beast's thick hide.

Ragnvaldr pounds towards the reptilian horror and delivers a mighty thrust with his spear!

You sink your spear deep into the monster's body!  It snarls in pain and turns its head towards you, lunging at you, but your chainmail protects you from harm.

It swings its tail towards Vatnar but the warrior nimbly leaps aside.

Sirje reaches out and tries to quell the soul of the reptilian beast.

The spell has no effect.

Kylfa throws a pinch of powdered iron over himself, roars, and becomes huge!

Katla drops her bow, grabbing the shield slung across her back and strapping it on her shield-arm, now somewhat healed but still bearing the marks of wolf-bites. She bellows a mighty warcry and charges the beast, drawing her longsword as she sprints toward it, the same motion bringing the blade to its scaled hide.

Your blade hews into its flesh, and its hot, black blood spurts from the resulting wound!

Dagny runs around the back side of the inn, joining the rest of the group. Well, sort of. They all went into melee. She's not going to do -that-. She lets the cleaver fly again.

Once again the cleaver strikes true, this time slicing one of the creatures' wings.

Dagny catches as it comes back. "I'm going to have daily specials for the WHOLE DAMN MONTH when I'm done with you!"

Andreas swings once more.

The dragon snaps its jaws at you and brings its head back, avoiding your axe.

The guards strikes with their weapons, one of them drawing blood from the beast.

Dagny snarls. "You're do realize you're all being outfought by a scullery maid!"

Ragnvaldr , wary after the beast's last attack, swings his spear in glittering arcs, distracting and fending it off, before delivering a quick thrust

Your thrust fends the creature off but doesn't strike it.  It turns its attention to Vatnar.  The creature savages the Housecarl viciously, taking him in its jaws and hurling him across the street.  Vatnar goes flying and hits a nearby wall, his sword flying from his grasp.  Its tail swings towards Andreas but the Fatherman ducks in time.

Sirje tears off her blindfold and strides towards the dragon muttering curses in Álfari.

The Drake jerks back from your gaze, disconcerted.

Dagny sees Ragnvaldr having some trouble fending the beast off. She runs up behind the man who was kind to her earlier. She is brandishing the cleaver, tossing it up in the air and making herself a distraction. "HEY! YOU! SOON-TO-BE-DRAGONSTEAKS!"

Kylfa shouts to Katla, "You, right!"  He moves to the beast's left side and swings his club.

You distract the beast for a moment, swinging your club towards its head.

Katla ducks and rolls when the drake is distracted, using this opportunity to get to its other side. She slashed at the creature's belly as she moves.

You swing your blade, opening a huge rent along its belly.  Steaming viscera gush from the wound!

The guards chop at the beast while Andreas swings at its coils.

The monster is terribly wounded.

Ragnvaldr suddenly comes out of the whirling defensive movement for a single powerful blow.

The creature jerks back, bleeding from a dozen wounds.  Roaring, it takes to the air.

Kylfa the hulking bear-man leans back, hefting his club behind him, and hurls it with a mighty shout befitting his great stature.  It tumbles through the air like a tree trunk in a hurricane, striking the beast square in the back with a resounding crack, and bringing it crashing to the ground!

The dragon hits one of the granaries, smashing it to timbers.  Fortunately the building was almost bereft of food.

Kylfa gives a victorious roar.

Dagny flings her cleaver into the serpent, where it sticks with a rather sickening little crunch. "So. Yeah. We were going to see the Jarl, yeah?"

Katla sheathes her sword and calmly walks back to pick up her dropped bow.

Vatnar, Jarl Wulfgar's housecarl, approaches you, limping and rubbing his head.

"It seems I was wrong about you," Vatnar concedes.  He winces as he tries to move his injured shoulder.  "You may not look it, but you are valiant warriors; I have insulted you unjustly, and am in your debt.  Had you not driven it away the Fire-Drake would have wrought much worse damage.  If you still wish to speak to the Jarl, I will bring you to him now."

Dagny shrugs. "Yeah, thanks, not like you were in any state to stop us, so we were going in there anyway."

Vatnar frowns, but his expression shifts quickly and he laughs.

"Though the destruction of a servant of the Infernal Prince is reward in itself, we would be most honoured to speak with the Jarl," Andreas says.

Dagny helps Ragnvaldr up.

Sirje, you know little of these Drakkar, save for a few obscure legends.  Some claim they were once Dwarves who grew too greedy that they transformed into monstrous serpents.  Others insist they are all the spawn of Loki, through the World Serpent, sire of all Dragonkind.

"Vatnar, is this the first creature of its kind that you and your men have spotted?" Sirje says. "You did not seem terribly surprised by its arrival – at least not more than any man would be to see something unexpected."

"It is one of a clutch... I'll let the Jarl tell you more."

"Thank you." Sirje turns to the others.  "Let us leave this fell beast and go see the Jarl. I wish to speak to him."

Dagny, you recall something of the Dwarven view of Dragons.  The Dvergar speak of Drakkar as those corrupted by the urge to hoard rather than to obtain.  Dwarves seek always to consume, to acquire, to innovate - Dragons seek instead only to accumulate, to brood over their treasures with miserly avarice...

Vatnar leads you into the timber keep, through a broad foyer and into the central hall.  Shields and swords hang on the walls, along with tapestries depicting battles between men, Trolls, wolves, and stranger creatures.  At the end of the hall is a richly carved wooden chair.  A grim-faced older man is hobbling down the hall with a crutch, waving off retainers offering assistance.  It looks like his left leg is crippled, withered and lifeless, dragging along the ground.  He ignores it disdainfully.

"What happened out there Vatnar?!" the aging man demands, his voice booming.  "I heard sounds of battle!"

"One of the Fire-Drakes, my Jarl," the housecarl replies.  "They grow bolder with each passing day.  This time it seems one of them was not satisfied with burning farmsteads; it ventured into Wulfheim itself.  Had these travellers not stepped in , I fear it would have killed me, and many others besides.  We lost only two men."

Dagny taps two fingers against her forehead, a mocking salute.

"I see," Jarl Hrothik Wulfgar says, looking at each of you in turn.  "Quite a motley band of vagabonds - but looks can be deceiving.  What has brought you to Wulfheim, warriors?"  He ignores Dagny.

"The road has brought us here, and we only follow its course," Andreas says.

Dagny mumbles to Ragnvaldr and Katla. "Be so good as to mention that I fought right along with the rest of you, if you wouldn't mind."

"I do not speak for the others," Katla says. "I have come seeking gold and glory. Not necessarily in that order."

"We have come seeking food, shelter, and employ," Sirje says. "Your man tells us you can tell us more of these Drakes?"


"The Fire-Drakes, yes... a clutch of five in all - four now - has been preying on caravans and farmsteads.  They are new-hatched and small, nowhere near the size or ferocity of the elder Drakes and Linnorms who lurk in the high peaks of the Orm-Fells - but, as you witnessed, they can be dangerous enough, even singly.  Hunters and some of my own scouts have reported that all manner of Dragon-kind have been breeding in unusually high numbers up in the mountains.  I suspect that the prolonged cold of Fimbulvinter is to blame; as mares go into heat during the spring, it is said that Dragons do in the winter.  Whatever the case, the Fire-Drakes are becoming a serious problem for Wulfheim.  Whether they are hungry or merely playing with us as cats with mice they threaten my people daily.  I have sent men to deal with them before, but none returned; and I will rot in Hel before I ask the King for help.

"Clearly you are a capable band of warriors.  There is a little coin left in Wulfheim's coffers, and I can offer you other rewards: horses, weapons, food, equipment; and, like all Drakkar Fire-Drakes have a curious love of gold and jewels, which they use to nest upon.  What say you?  Will you slay these vile creatures and rid Wulfheim of their depredations?"

Dagny steps forward. "Just don't go giving away anything that's not yours-- you know what I mean, and what I want."

The Jarl looks towards Dagny.  "You must understand why I insisted you surrender the sorcerous objects.  During this evil winter men and women often forsake honour to do desperate things."

Dagny shrugs. "I fought to defend this place just like the rest. If that doesn't tell you about my honor I don't know what does."

"I am duty-bound to see to the destruction of such creatures, if able," Andreas states. "If my companions are in agreement, I would see to it, and would gladly accept any material aid so offered."

"Such a trial of might would be glorious indeed. I would undertake it, should my companions stand beside me," Katla states.

"I follow the rest till the end," Sirje assents.

"The skalds will compose songs in your honour, I am sure of it.  I will have one of my Thegns show you to their lair; return with some trophy taken from their bodies and I will reward you."  He looks again to Dagny.  "It is true you have done a service to Wulfheim, if you helped slay the Drake," he says.  "I will relinquish the objects I took into your care if you swear an oath never to use them within the walls of Wulfheim."

"You should not mistrust the young woman," Sirje says.  "She fought valiantly alongside us. Not all sorcery is of the black kind and in these times the lines between what is right and wrong tend to blur. For better and for worse."

Dagny shakes her head. "That oath would do neither of us any good. If one of those things came back..."

"If you slay the foul creatures in their lair, they will trouble us no longer."

Dagny nods. "Yeah, yeah. Kill 'em over there so they don't come over here. I've heard that before."  Dagny raises her right hand. "Fine. I, Dagny Lyrkenja do solemnly swear not to use my magical artifacts within the walls of Wulfheim EVEN IF IT'S TO HELP YOU AND THE TOWN IS BURNING DOWN so FUCK YOU for making me take such a stupid oath so whatever."

The Jarl mutters something and waves a hand to a retainer, who fetches a small wooden chest and gives it to Dagny.

Katla chuckles at Dagny's outburst. "She's got some fire in her soul. I like that!"

Dagny grins and opens the chest.

Inside are a number of scrolls, as well as a strange Dvergar device - a collapsible metal wand graven with Dwarf-runes, and your other arcane effects, including your eldritch pendant and your dagger.

Dagny pulls out a weird golden pendant, in the shape of some kind of insectoid ammonite thing, giving off a very faint green glow. She puts that around her neck. She then collects the scrolls into a small bag, and flips the wand and the dagger in her hand. "Now this is more like it."

Suddenly the doors to the hall burst open and the gate-guard with the gray braid enters the room.

"Jarl Wulfgar," he says, kneeling.  "Pardon my interruption.  A band of Ivar's men has entered Wulfheim.  I tried to deter them but they claim to be on the King's business.  I dared not turn them away.  They are well-armed, and ride horses that look near-dead with exhaustion."

"Who leads them?  How many are they?" the Jarl demands.

"Ingjuld One-Eye commands them, my Jarl.  There are eleven of them, seasoned warriors all."

"I see.  Thank you, Gunnarr. Assemble the guards outside the keep.  I will speak with Ingjuld soon."

The gray-braided guard bows and departs.  Jarl Wulfgar turns to Vatnar.

"Too many for us to risk killing them.  We would lose half the garrison, now that they're within the walls."

Jarl Wulfgar hobbles towards the exit.

Dagny shrugs. "Wish I could help, but, hey, oaths are oaths."

"We are not in good terms with the king's goons," Katla says. "We'd do the Jarl a disservice to be present while he parlays with them."

Dagny quietly addresses the group. "There's still one thing missing. My book of spells. Now that I have the rest of my stuff, I'm going to be wanting to get it back. I'll follow you as long as our paths are roughly the same."  Dagny continues, "You're free to follow me of course. Bastards who took it have some nice weapons you might be inclined to grab."

Ragnvaldr perks up.  "Indeed?"

"Dagny continues, "Flaming meteor weapons or something. I'm not really sure. They didn't really trust me enough to let me actually handle one. But I saw them in combat, and they were some nasty shit."

You are welcome to my company, the others can speak for themselves," Sirje says.

"I would gladly bear you along, Dagny," Katla says.

You can here raised voices outside.  Katla, you make out the voices. "Jarl Wulfgar," a deep, all-too familiar voice says.  "We are seeking a band of wretched criminals who have murdered seven warriors in the King's service."  You recognize the speaker as the one-eyed man with the cape of flayed human faces who led the band of marauders that held you captive.

"I know not of whom you speak," the Jarl says.  "None pass the gates without my knowledge.  The criminals you are searching for must be elsewhere.  Go now, and trouble Wulfheim no more."

Katla hisses a curse. "I swear it's that one-eyed bastard whose thugs put us in chains!"

"Indeed?" Ingjuld One-Eye responds.  "We have seen their stolen horses in the stables.  You lie, old man!"

"They are under my protection now," the Jarl declares.  "I will not hand them over to the likes of you, Ingjuld.  Now run back to your master.  You are not welcome in Wulfheim."

"To think they've rode all the way here to seek us! Almost flattering."

"You dare defy your rightful King?"  One-Eye laughs.  "I name you a traitor and nithing!  I will fight you with sword or spear or axe.  Name your weapon and we shall hold a holmgang, here and now!"

You hear someone stumble and fall - probably the Jarl.  Vatnar curses loudly.

Katla gets visibly tense. "He's challenging the jarl to a duel!"

"My Jarl, I am sorry," the Housecarl says.  "I hit my skull during the fight with the Fire-Drake  and now my vision is blurred, my head clouded, and my stomach roils as if filled with serpents - I fear I would make a poor champion."

You hear the Housecarl yell.  "Will any man here fight as the Jarl's champion?"

Dagny opens her mouth, and then mumbles something about an oath.

"They call for a man to fight for him. I would do so, but it may cast shame on the jarl."

"I am in no state to fight," Ragnvaldr mumbles.  "If these are the men who tracked us here, and the Jarl's champion loses, we'll likely be bound for Skrikborg once more."

"It serves us not to hide either way we might as well crawl out of these cowardly shadows," Sirje says.

"Still, if the local men are not up to the task, they deserve to be shamed. I will at least offer my sword!"  Katla stomps out to intervene with the scene.

Dagny sighs. "I'm not about to let something happen to the first NON-FUCKUPS I've met in this place in... I don't even know."  She quickly follows behind.

"Aha!" Ingjuld One-Eye growls as Katla emerges.  "There is one of them now!"

"Ingjuld! You maggot-ridden whelp! I will fight you in the holmgang, and I will take your head!"

Sirje follows Katla out of the main hall.

"You!?  A woman?  Ha!  Is this who you would fight in your stead, Wulfgar?  Truly, you are nithing!"

"This shield-maiden helped slay a Fire-Drake but a short time past," Vatnar bellows.  "She is more man than you, Ingjuld!"

"The Jarl can wait for his turn," Katla declares. "Not that he will get it, for you will breathe no more when I'm done with you! Or are too cowardly to face me, Ingjuld? How about it?"

Dagny sidles up to Wulfgar. "Y'know, if this gets ugly, I do believe the Jarl can release people from their oaths..." Dagny offers with a little smirk.

The Jarl looks down at Ingjuld.  "If this woman defeats you, your men must leave without further bloodshed," he says.

A look of livid fury passes swiftly over Ingjuld's face, to be replaced with a crooked grin.  "You really think you are a match for me?" he asks, fixing you with his sole remaining eye.  "I've killed more men than I can count."  He grins at you, a flash of yellow from out of his long, pale beard.  "But you know, I think I won't kill you.  I'll cripple you instead, and drag you back to Skrikborg to feed to my dogs.  I have a litter of them, half-wolf beasts with a great hunger."

"Too bad that your pups will soon be all the hungrier, and masterless."

Ingjuld snarls.  "Face me then, whore!  I will cut off your hands and feet and give you to my men, to be shared amongst them!"

Vatnar steps forward.  "You will fight till one of you yields or is slain, or if one of you steps outside the borders of the battle-space."

The Jarl's men scratch the space into the earth with their spears.

Dagny softly asks Katla, "You want me to give him a seriously bad day?" She holds up a tattered bar napkin with runes and formulas written all over it. "Nobody ever said I couldn't use this."

"I know not what you intend, but I'll trust your judgment."  Katla says to Dagny.  She spits "You better not yield, Ingjuld."

Dagny sings a song of battle.

Katla falls into a semi-crouched combat stance, eyeing her opponent and waiting for his move.

"Perhaps I'll make a gift of you to Ivar," Ingjuld says.  "Do you know what the King does with thralls like you?  He likes to carve runes into their flesh, call up spirits to invade their bodies, to use them like puppets.  You'll be stuck in your own skin, feeling everything while the spirits squabble over your hide and pull you this way and that."

Dagny joins in the chorus of people yelling. Hey, it's a fight, there's got to be taunting and cheering and such. "Hey asshole! Yeah! I'm talkin' to you! YEAH YOU! Look over here! Haha made you look!"

Ingjuld twitches, trying to ignore Dagny.  He suddenly lunges forwards, his spear flashing out with startling speed!

Katla, ready for him, lunges forward, and her sword plunges through Ingjuld's mail and into his flesh. She slashes at her attacker with lightning speed, bringing her blade to his flesh just as he's stepping forth.

He grunts in pain, continuing his lunge, and jabs his weapon into your thigh.  He wrenches his weapon away and steps back, staggering, blood streaming from his side where you pre-emptively slashed him.

Ingjuld snarls, wary.  "I think I'll just flay you to the bone.  My cloak needs patching, and though your face may not be pretty, it'll do well enough."

Dagny looks at Sirje, a bit nervously.  She jumps up. "C'mon, Katla! Snap out of it. Don't let this MOTHERFUCKER win!"

Ingjuld shouts at Dagny without looking.  "Shut your mouth, wench, or when I'm done with this one I'll give you reason to scream."

Sirje fixes the Evil Eye on Ingjuld One-eye, empty orifice to empty orifice, and strip his fortunes from him, casting doubt in his mind.

Ingjuld shudders and looks away as his cyclopean gaze meets your own eyeless stare.

Katla grimaces at the Blóðbard's stinging words. She feels a primal fury flare up within her.  She suddenly leaps forth like a tiger, howling in rage, and launches herself at Ingjuld.  Katla springs forth with her sword flourishing in a wide arc, then suddenly side-steps with wicked swiftness, redirecting her blade to get around Ingjuld's attempt at a parry. The weapon finds its way to his armpit, drawing a spray of blood as she steps back from her attack.

Ingjuld is staggered and badly wounded, blood streaming down his mail.  He coughs raggedly; his words seem to have deserted him.  Warily, he shifts his spear to a one-handed grip and plucks a throwing axe from his belt, which he hurls at Katla.

Katla blocks the axe with her shield.

Dagny pumps her fist. "You couldn't hit a fat one-legged donkey if it was close enough to piss on you!"

"Shut up!" Ingjuld yells, turning his head towards Dagny.  "When this is over I will bugger you bloody with my spear!"

Katla ignores the man's ranting, all too happy to exploit his inability to keep his attention on her. Letting out a sudden, loud scream she rushes to ram him with her shield.

Ingjuld tries to dart back, but you barrel into him shield-first and bear him to the ground!  He desperately rips a dagger from its sheathe and slashes at your legs.

 Katla kicks his hand away.  She proceeds to bear down on her opponent, raining vicious cuts with her sword.

Sirje just watches quietly from the side, waiting to see what fate has been chosen for her and her comrades

You slash off Ingjuld's ear and give him vicious wounds on his face, neck, arms, and chest!  Ingjuld roars in pain and fury and staggers to his feet, snatching up his spear!

Katla slashes out as the warrior gets to his feet, hoping to cut him down.

He ducks your cut and makes a vicious, desperate lunge with his spear!  Ingjuld impales you with his weapon, his spear punching through the mail at your shoulder and out your back, missing your lungs by mere inches.

Dagny winces.

Katla coughs a burst of blood, but stays on her feet. Driven on by her maddening berserk fury, she continues her assault despite the grievous injury.

Ingjuld staggers backwards, barely avoiding your blows.  He looks like he will continue to press his assault, but suddenly collapse to his hands and knees, his spear falling from his grasp.

"Fucking whore," he croaks.  "End it!  I won't live having been beaten by such as you!"

Katla seeing the foe defeated, falls down on one knee, balancing herself with her sword thrust to the ground.

"I would have it no other way, whelp of a sea-troll!"

Katla musters her last ounces of strength to heave her sword up, bringing it down in a mighty arc to behead the Blóðbard.

Dagny winces again, though this time it is more exaggerated and not actually concerned. "Aaaannd boom goes the alchemical powder."

Ingjuld's head drops from the spurting stump of his neck and rolls towards his own men.

The Blóðbards finger their weapons and look, for a moment, as if they might attack, but they are surrounded by the Jarl's archers and spearmen.  Muttering curses they mount their horses and ride out of Wulfheim.

Jarl Wulfgar approaches you.  "You have my thanks, shield-maiden.  You must see a healer."

"You are now either free men or dead men depending on the tales they carry back," Sirje comments.

Katla takes a good while catching her breath. Eventually, she staggers to her feed, raising Ingjuld's severed head skyward. A satisfied, somewhat macabre smile graces her bloodied face.

"I will attend to your wounds Katla, come with me," Sirje says.

"There will be more blood before the end," Vatnar says.  "Mark my words.  Ivar will not take this news lightly."

Sirje leads Katla to the backroom where they were hiding if she is willing to follow.

Dagny helps Katla, too.

Katla follows the witch, feeling at ease.

Sirje rinses her hands with clean water and slides them carefully over the deep gashes in the shield-maidens scarred skin

Katla silently endures the searing pain of her wounds being cleaned

Sirje the flesh hears her beckoning and closes of its own accord, as if time sped up in front of one's eyes, wound turning to scar turning to bruise turning to unmarked skin

The Jarl returns to his keep.  As Sirje looks to Katla's wounds, Jarl Wulfgar removes a ring from his finger.  "For fighting so valiantly, I give you this ring, an heirloom of my clan.  It is said to protect any who wear it from harm."

Dagny can't really do much, but she does sit next to Katla, trying to reassure her. "That was really something. You ripped that big motherfucker a new one."

"Again I must thank you for your craft, Sirje," Katlsa says. "Thank you also for your support, Dagny."  Katla turns to regard the Jarl. "It was an honor to fight on your behalf. I accept your gift, and will bear it proudly."

"When you decide to seek out the Fire-Drakes, seek out my Thegn, Starkad," Jarl Wulfgar says.  "He is riding back from the Hrafnlands; he should arrive tonight.  I suggest you all rest and prepare yourselves."

Dagny teases, "Killing Dragons in the morning, dueling fucking bastards in the afternoon, do you think you'll get into another fight before dinner?"

Katla nods. "The rest will be needed. And we still must pay a visit to the Gothi."

"I will need rest before we leave," Sirje says. "Keeping you alive is more tiring work than it might appear."

"You wish to speak to Brúnn?" Vatnar asks.  "I can send for him."

"Our friend will surely need to see him before we depart," Sirje says.  "He is stricken with something foul."

"Sickness?  You brought this man into Wulfheim?"  Vatnar's face darkens.

"No sickness. Foul witchery," Katla says.

"You misunderstand – this is a sickness of the more personal sort," Sirje explaisn.  "A curse cast upon his soul and his soul alone."

"I see.  Where is this accursed man?"

"Resting fitfully in his bed at the inn," Sirje says.  "His wounds refuse to close even under my administrations and they start to fester."

"I will send the Gothi to him.  He will meet you at the Well."  Vatnar barks orders and a guard departs the keep in search of the Gothi.

"He will serve you as valiantly as us," Sirje says. "And I dare say you will secure a most loyal man by sending the Gothi to his side."

"We should head there without further ado," Katla says. "Thank you for your hospitality."

Vatnar nods.  "Wulfheim thanks you."

Dagny gives a mocking salute.

Katla collects her belonging and departs.