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Post by Stix on Sept 27, 2008 23:03:02 GMT -5
After two to three miles of trudging through the snow, the scent of roasting meat draws the group closer to the nearest sign of civilization. The four happen upon a large hall constructed of logs and an overturned ship, its gables lined with warriors' shields. In the distance, a river wends through steep, rocky mountains, and the baying of wolves -- dozens of them, at least -- elicits a disquieted snorting and whinnying from a nearby enclosed stable. From inside, a loud and commanding voice speaks litanies in the tongue sacred to the gods of Asgard.
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Post by hilathic on Sept 28, 2008 6:45:03 GMT -5
Shivering from the cold, Hilathic holds his arms around his shoulders trying to keep the heat inside the warm cloak. "There must be a fire near by. Sure would be nice to stop and warm up."
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Post by exile on Sept 29, 2008 9:19:29 GMT -5
Head cocked attentively, Hadrian pauses before the threshold to the lodge to listen to the words of a tongue long absent from his life but forever ingrained in his soul. With a studious eye he hunts along the rows of shields lining the gable, searching for a rune or sign that might decry the allegiances of the structure.
“Stop we shall, but I pray not for long. Come, cutters, and remember that we are guests in their hall should they deign to allow us entry.”
If not, he considered, well, they would tackle that when it arose…
Raising a gloved hand to the door, he knocked heavily upon the rough timbers.
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Post by TheGratefulNed on Sept 29, 2008 10:05:40 GMT -5
Despite the snow's melting with his body heat and seeping through his light-weight clothing, the ashen-skinned tiefling doesn't slow or even seem to notice the pervasive chill. The Cipher nods almost automatically in agreement to the other half-fiend's comment of warming around a fire. "Some drying out of clothing would certainly be welcome too."
Three sets of foot-prints and one set of hoof-prints are the only betrayal of the small group's course as they approach the hall. When they're within earshot of the sagas being told in the unknown language, Gl'Fnak halts and turns his head toward their employer. "This is your land and your expedition, do you understand what's being said and whether the occupants here are likely to be friendly or hostile?"
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Post by exile on Sept 29, 2008 20:42:51 GMT -5
(OOC: I assumed the language being spoken is a Norse dialect, which Hadrian would understand, but as it hasn’t specifically been detailed I’m not sure that I can comment on the first question. I’ll wait for Stix to weigh in on the subject, possibly with a translation.)
Offering a mischievous wink to the pair of teiflings, Hadrian strains his ears to pick out the words from the chorus of voices. “At night, with the fires blazing and the mead flowing freely, many lodges are welcoming of strangers. But when the light has fled the sky after a day of loss, and the wine serves only to fan the flames of discontent, then tempers can quickly boil over. This is Ysgard, cutter. From one day to the next, who can say?”
“I’ll lann you this, however. Hospitality is not dead in this realm. We’d do much better to announce ourselves at the door than to try to steal in through the cellar.”
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Post by exile on Oct 18, 2008 10:29:38 GMT -5
After listening to the lilting intonations rising up through the timbers of the lodge the aasimar's countenance softens with a look of satisfaction and a new light dances in his cheerful eyes.
"Fortune favors us, cutters. We are among brothers."
Raising his hand to the door a second time, he knocks once more and waits a moment longer for his entreaty to be heard and answered from within. If no response is forthcoming, he attempts to open the way himself.
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Post by hilathic on Oct 22, 2008 17:01:14 GMT -5
"This biting cold makes me feel like I've been standing here for weeks awaiting the answer to the knock on a door." Hilathic pauses a moment looking over Quicksilver closely. "I've seen you before, now that I think back on it. Swindling berks in the Zero's, I do believe."
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Post by Stix on Oct 23, 2008 12:29:37 GMT -5
The great door opens slowly, revealing a stout Asgardian dressed in his finest. In the language of the realm, he calls inside -- the words "aasimar" and "tieflings" can be picked out, having no language-specific equivalent -- and, receiving a response from within, opens the door to admit them.
Within the hall are three long tables, the central one hosting only the men (and a handful of women) who have the look of hardened warriors, flanked by tables full of women, children, and laborers. A robed skald stands reciting sacred verses at the far end of the hall, near the hearth, where an enormous yule log as big around as a horse sits on rollers to be fed into the fire as the night goes on.
"Vilkommen," says an approaching figure, a young man with shoulder-length blonde tresses, a piercing stare, and a commanding tone. "Welcome, guests. Be seated and partake in our hospitality."
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Post by exile on Oct 23, 2008 22:25:24 GMT -5
The warmth of the lodge was a welcome respite from the chill winds and blanketing snows of the world beyond its walls and Hadrian was glad of the invitation. Stepping beneath the lintel and into the pool of light cast off from the great blazing hearth, he quickly shed his gloves and offered his arm to the fair haired man in greeting. The gloves themselves he tucked conspicuously into his belt, alongside the etched valknut that ornamented his buckle. To the Norse men of Ysgard, the rune unmistakably declared his allegiance to Odin the Allfather, as did the tattooed ravens which bedecked the backs of his now naked hands.
“You honor us with your hospitality, friend. I am Hadrian of the Bleak Cabal, and these are my men. We are most pleased to join your lodge this evening and hear the wisdom of the Hávamál recited.”
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Post by Stix on Oct 27, 2008 9:01:49 GMT -5
"Sons of the All-Father are forever welcome in my hall," the host offers with a hint of a smile, taking Hadrian's arm in greeting. "What has called you into the cold on the longest night?" As he asks, the young man ushers the company toward the rightmost table, covered end to end with the bounties of a feast -- roast fowl and all manner of game and stock animals, soup kettles, bread, cheese, puddings made with rice and berries, and many small kegs of mead.
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Post by exile on Oct 27, 2008 21:16:59 GMT -5
Bowing his head graciously, Hadrian follows closely on the young man’s heels. For a moment his gaze lights upon the considerable Yule log being fed by inches into the hearth. Even should his hosts deign to part with it he was uncertain of the ability of his troupe to lift it, much less cart it around Ysgard. Still, nothing at all could be accomplished without their consent; even if the gathering were to disperse no thief in the planes could make off with such a fire and he wasn’t about to sanction its procurement by force. Besides, these men and women were kinsmen and he did not wish to dishonor them. Speaking the truth seemed the most prudent course to take in this instance.
“I wish that it were something less pressing delivering us in to your company tonight, but since you ask I must confess that we have business to resolve in Asgard this eve. I pray that this does not offend but as much as we might wish to enjoy such welcome companionship until the fires burn low, we’ve actually come in search of Yule logs; three of them infact, and still burning.”
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Post by Stix on Nov 11, 2008 19:00:43 GMT -5
"No small task," the young jarl comments. He turns toward the skald at the head of the hall and raises one hand; after the remainder of the verse is said, the orator falls silent.
"You have entered respectfully, and I shall allow you to leave as such -- indeed, with our yule log in tow -- if you will gift us as guests." The skald repeats the young man's words in the Asgardian tongue. "It is a long darkness, and my people would have this hall lit with tradition, warmed with the best fare of our lands, and filled with fine words and quick wit.
"Ingvi Haraldsson, my skald, will translate for you. If each of you will tell us a tale, sing or play, make us laugh, then my gratitude will be yours, and you will carry the log from the hall to an ox-cart that I will make ready for you."
Expectant eyes of young and old, warrior and weaver-woman settle on the group. "It is only words I ask in exchange for a root of Yggdrasil, which my men and I hewed ourselves in the depths of Niflheim. The price is not a steep one, guests."
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Post by hilathic on Nov 16, 2008 7:51:03 GMT -5
"Then a song it is from me my good, friend." Hilathic says as he happily steps forward brandishing his harmonica. "That is if no one else minds me going first?" Not waiting for a response from the others, Hilathic begins to play a powerful dirge, one to inspire battle and uplift the assemblies moral even higher.
Musical Instruments. Skill 16
[dice=20] [rand=3617656778243125766759445355383549965738428495013749605438877601]
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Post by exile on Nov 26, 2008 22:00:30 GMT -5
Hadrian watches the performance with a smile of relief; he had been unsure of Tensar’s judgment with regard to Hilathic until now. The berk’s strengths were beginning to emerge however and Hadrian was pleasantly surprised. As the bard’s enthralling melody assuaged his uncertainties, Hadrian's eye turned to the crowd in an effort to judge how well they were receiving the music. (OOC: If no one minds that I’m advancing the scene a bit… On a side note, I've chatted a couple times with wraith in the past few weeks and shes a little wrapped up in real life at the moment. I wouldn't hold my breath about a post from her end any time soon.)As the last notes of the dirge faded away into the quiet night Hadrian rose from his seat and began to speak in his commanding baritone, acknowledging first the skald and then his audience. “ I offer you a story, friends; the saga of Thorsteinn House-Power” Waiting patiently while his introduction was translated back into his mother tongue, Hadrian offered a nod of thanks to the wizened storyteller and began the recounting of the tale. “ Í þann tíma, er Hákon jarl Sigurðarson réð fyrir Noregi, bjó sá bóndi í Gaulardal, er Brynjólfr hét. Hann var kallaðr úlfaldi. Hann var lendr maðr ok mikil kempa. Kona hans hét Dagný…........” |
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Post by Stix on Mar 8, 2009 10:05:16 GMT -5
The people of the hall fall into a reverent silence as the stranger in their midst speaks their native tongue. The skald is likewise silent -- perhaps a bit annoyed that he is unable to contribute to the tale, but a respectful listener all the same. With the Bleakers having entertained their audience, the jarl applauds them both and the people follow suit.
"You have my thanks, strangers. I am prepared to pay my forfeit in good faith -- you have but to carry it from my hall." He gestures to the enormous yule log with a hint of mischief in his smile.
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Post by exile on Mar 14, 2009 10:40:44 GMT -5
“Cor!” Hadrian muttered beneath his breath as his gaze alit upon the smoldering Yule Log. Here they stood: the spellslinger, the naked tiefling, the pit-fighter, and himself a man of the cloth; even if they could hoist it within the confines of the hall there was almost no way they would be able to drag it back across the snowcapped hills to the portal. But then what choice did they have?
“I don’t suppose you have a sled we might borrow, friend?” he inquired with an easy laugh. “Alright, cutters, gather round and grab a hold. Times a’wasting!”
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Post by TheGratefulNed on Mar 18, 2009 10:23:34 GMT -5
The ashen-skinned Baatorian follows the others into the hall and pauses momentarily while his eyes adjust to the firelight. Glancing about with a grin toying at one corner of his closed lips, Gl'Fnak's pitted black eyes briefly size up their hosts before returning focus to his employer. He listens intently to the other tiefling's performance of what seems to be an encouraging battle song. When Hadrian begins speaking in the unknown language, the horse-legged tiefling watches with concealed astonishment at the effect these words seem to be having on the hall's occupants.
Inwardly relieved that the two performances seem to have been sufficient, Gl'Fnak gauges the size of the burning log before adding, "I can move it myself with little effort for about an hour and a half. That'll allow us time to find or fashion a means of moving it further, if more time is needed here. Also, those flames hold no bite for my flesh." He turns his expressionless gaze toward Hadrian, waiting for his employers say in the matter. With a quick glance at the lord of the hall he adds, "if the use of my abilities is permitted, that is."
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Post by Stix on Mar 18, 2009 14:45:17 GMT -5
"It is the strength in a man's arms that brought it here, and it shall be the strength of a man's arms to take it away." Considering the small group, the lord of the hall adds, "But I will not force you to carry it through the snow to whatever end -- snatched away from the jaws of Nidhoggr, it deserves more dignity! Once it is carried from the hall, I shall provide you an ox-cart to take it on your way."
Almost unnoticed, the skald has been translating the jarl's words to the people of the hall, who hang on every one. Many of the great epics begin with challenges such as these... to see them begin to unfold before their very eyes must be the greatest excitement in peacetime that the people have seen in a year or more.
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Post by exile on Mar 18, 2009 20:42:18 GMT -5
“Very well, cutters,” Hadrian conceded. “If this task must be performed by the sweat of our brows and the labor of our backs, then so be it.”
Seizing the initiative, the aasimar led the way across the crowded chamber to the yule log, every eye in the room following in his path. Dusting off his palms against one another, he knelt down at the fore front of the timber and looked back expectantly at his companions.
“On three, hey cutters?”
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Post by TheGratefulNed on Mar 19, 2009 0:05:23 GMT -5
Nodding and smiling genuinely at the all-too-expected words of their host, Gl'Fnak pivots on one hoof and follows only a step behind Hadrian. He walks directly to the burning end and grabs the large log without hesitation. He pauses to wait for the others to surround the prize their story and song won and prepares to set his back to the labor.
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