The Weregild

The Harbingers become sleuths...

On the afternoon of the first day of Gozran, 4713, Tom and Garros sat across from each other in ‘The Willow’. Zhixian Li was resting upstairs and two suspicious characters dined together in the corner. The two Harbingers gathered what little information they could about the town from a wonderful girl named Rucia, a strangely healthy looking middle aged woman with a kind manner, and made their plans while awaiting Li to get himself down the stairs and ready for the afternoon.


Li, ‘refreshed’ from his nap, hobbled down the steps to witness a commotion. It seemed that the two strange looking men in the corner had approached his comrades and a heated exchange was occuring. One, most certainly of Fiendish heritage, was doing his best to explain to an irate Garros that they where allies. The other, definitely, of Jadwigan descent looked to be about two seconds from receiving a half hitch across his throat by the Ulfen man.

Alas, at the Fiends’ (Corvus, it had a name…) mention of Eldgrim Wyrdmake it seemed Garros outrage was quelled, simmering to a more slow rolling boil of suspicion and hatred. Tom however seemed to observe the two with curiosity. Being a well-travelled man he didn’t seem to harbor the same bigotry and was more inclined to give the two a chance to prove themselves.

The group hesitantly made their plans for the day, coming so far for nothing was not an option for the men standing in the Inn in this uncomfortable situation so they decided to get about their business.

Karpad was a town rife with problems. With their ruler, Baron Boroi, absent and unwilling to deal with the problems facing the town it seemed the town watch had done a terrible job keeping order.

Their watch-captain, Lucian Groy, had in fact contracted tallow-throat. This served to exacerbate the problems he attempted to deal with. The loss of his daughter Olya was too much. Insanity gripped him and he turned his inconsolable rage towards the Fetchlings. His open racism and blame was a flame to the powder keg that was the citizens fears.

Three ropes where hastily being tossed around a strong branch of a large, leafless willow tree in the centre of town while the men approached from the Inn. Lucian, inconsolable, was intent on seeing three Fetchling farmers hang. This proved to be an insignificant problem for Zhixian as he had seen much discrimination in his life. Easily identifying the source of the problem as Lucians diseased state he wove an ancient spell from some berries and dirt to cast the Tallowthroat clean from the mans body. After non-violently subduing the other guards who panicked the Harbingers managed to talk some sense into the old guardsmen and made promises to help them.

The rest of the afternoon was spent asking questions around town. A visit to Shade Row, The Temple of Zon Kuthon, and Boroi Manor left more frustrating questions than answers!

  • Boroi Brothers – After creeping into the Mausoleums at the Temple, reneging on a bargain to pay off the groundskeeper for access, Garros and Corvus discover the brothers tombs are empty.
  • Lurker in Light – A small, malicious creature was hiding in the basement of the Chandlery kidnapping people from the town for strange summoning rituals. The lurker had summoned a Jyoti from the energy planes to aid it just as the Harbingers sprung its trap on the back door to the cellar. It was obvious that the owner, Catalina, was allowing this. Unfortunately the powerful Jyoti was quick and powerful and overcame Zhixian Li easily getting around Garros defences. Li lay dead by the end of the fight…
  • Tallowthroat – It was now obvious that the Boroi Manor was the source/ground zero of the disease. Gavril, the only Fetchling at the manor has not been spoken to. Anya seems only concerned that her letters cannot be sent. The Baron Boroi himself is shut away in his study and the Kuthite priesthood seems unwilling to work against the Tallow-Throat for religious reasons.
Garros Garamonde - Strangers in Unfamiliar Lands
The Pursuit of Knowledge but at What Cost...


Hello darkness, my old friend
I’ve come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence

As the Harbringers drifted down Geron’s Way, Garros, in an unusual manner was restlessly turning and shifting the signet ring he wore.

The path that Garros and his companions strode was covered in dust or was it ash-like? The landscape was unlike any the retainer had ever set his eyes on, a somber overcast at every turn shrouded in a mist like haze was all Garros could see in the distance. The path was obscured by the shadowed presence of the forest that surrounded them and was enough to inspire doubt and surely idle thoughts would be another adversary to grapple with on the journey to find the means to combat the White Witches of Irrisen.

This was to be expected of course, with so much weighing on the group and Garros put a significant amount of added pressure on himself with this task charged by Eldrim Wyrdmake to find a means to undo the Mirror Men and the doll abominations that serve the White Witches desires. The swordsman wondered if what weighed on his mind also reflected in his demeanour. Their short time in Nidal had already seen blood spilt and the retainer wondered if perhaps this was ill advised. This was not a thought from a benefactor of good but rather self-preservation – what sort of repercussions would this dead body on the road reap for the Harbringers?

No, this was not self-doubt Garros thought to himself but rather it was the feeling of the unfamiliar. The retainer had never stepped out of the Land of the Linnorms save for Irrisen and treading carefully would be most prudent indeed.

As he shifted and spun his signet ring around his finger he couldn’t help but think of home and what was lost at the hands of the Jadwiga cunts. Just as the thought began to overtake the swordsman, Geron’s Way lead to the small village of Karpad just ahead in the distance.

Shifting from these thoughts Garros motioned over at Tom and began to speak, “It seems we have found our way. Best we don’t make mention of what happened on the road – wouldn’t you agree?” As he was speaking, the swordsman was scanning the village and discerned what would most likely be the inn. “I know I don’t have to tell you this Tom but we best tread carefully and not attract unwanted attention”, as the retainer pointed to the would be Inn.

As always, the venerable Tian Li seemed lost in a world of whimsical bewilderment. Not to say the man was touched but enough so that it made Garros wonder if it would be a luxury to have a simpler mind, or rather, a less distracted mind. There was a natural comfort however, knowing that the Tian accompanied the group and the swordsman wondered what part he still had to play when all the pieces were laid on the table. Whatever that may be, Garros took solace in the fact that he also wanted to see the end of the reign of the White Witches.

There was of course this traveling scholar that accompanied the Harbringers.

Garros had developed a dubious disposition for new comers ever since his dealings with an elf the group had met during their time in the Grungir Forest but the swordsman knew that this was not a time to make more enemies. To be in foreign lands would naturally lead to suspicion, yet the swordsman had complete trust in Tom and Zhixian Li but outside of these men, a reserved judgement was kept. Further to that, this traveling scholar might be of use to unravel the mysteries of the White Witches magics.

“Hmmmm”, Garros pondered as he looked at this scholar. Perhaps he would be a chip yet to be played, perhaps event yet to best serve the groups interest after all. The retainer had placed his hand with his signet ring, now properly placed on his finger, on the hilt of Absolution and spoke to his companions, “Let us make way to the village Inn. There we can find a bed to rest our head and fill our stomachs. From there we might find some clues necessary in finding what we seek”.


Nidal was so much more than what Garros and his companions could imagine and they hadn’t even begun to scratch the surface. Would their actions thus far prove to be a hindrance? Or worse yet, fatal? Everything had a price the swordsman knew that much. Even knowledge…

Karpad, Nidal. First day of Gozran, 4713

Your walking along Gerons way. A road you travelled a long ways down in order to reach this Village. The dirt on the road reminds you more of ash than sand or clay. Fine, grey and seems to have been swept well off the edges of the lane you stroll down by the wind and passers-by. It occurs to you that it resembles dust, perhaps settled on the path, undisturbed, for Karpad is certainly a backwater. Rarely visited and definitely forgotten.


Your time in Nidal and the journey from the port city of Nisroch has been unsettling. It is unlike any land you’ve visited before. Millenia under the yoke of Zon Kuthon and his loyal priesthood the Kuthites has made a populace loyal through fear, not love. A sort of group hysteria in a stockholm syndrome that has gripped their ancestors for generations long after the Earthfall. A trade for survival in exchange for eternal obedience seems to you a steep price from your perspective as a free man.

Curious of their culture you are eager to find answers to your questions but know instinctively to tread lightly here. The memory of the dark figures cloaked in shadow that keep their lords vigil over the crooked, dark forest and its creatures chills you. Any further run ins with them is sure to bring greater suspicion upon you. Time will tell if your actions thus far have invited some sadistic retribution dreamed up by the Umbral court.

You move ahead to join your comrades. Suddenly feeling more comfortable among friendly numbers.

It looks as if the small village is just ahead. Your destination.

In hindsight you hope that this journey has not been a waste of time…

The first session will begin as if you have spent a short time in the village of Karpad after travelling from Nisroch. Consider it downtime to rest and purchase goods. The ‘experience’ and investigation in the town will be re-set to accommodate new blood! The older players have however, experienced and witnessed the effects of tallowthroat.

The Saga Continues...


Every man in the procession along Geron’s way walked with a weight on his shoulders on their way back into the town of Karpad. The group had seen man things in their time in the north. The deeds they had accomplished there was quickly becoming the subject of song and saga in the towns and taverns of the Linnorm Kingdoms.

It was some consolation to the few men who walked the dark road along the forests edge that the people had been given hope. If they knew the truth of what was to come if they did not succeed in their search the Ulfen folk would not be celebrating…

Harbingers of SpringEldgrim had called them when the company had been founded deep in Blackraven Hall.

…among them let no ally be discounted. Man and Dwarf, Elf and Halfling, Nor any other creature with cause to oppose the rule of the White witches of Irrisen!

His noble voice rang in their ears still, he had laid down their mandate without pause, they where to do what the Blackravens and Kings armies could not; Discover a means to disrupt the Witches most powerful assets and then strike at the heart of Irrisen, Whitethrone.

This objective seemed so damned far away here on this backwater and desolate road in Nidal. The corrupt and sinister ways of the Nidalese people and authorities had already caused conflict with the Harbingers. A Cleric of Zon Kuthon already lay slain along the road for questioning their motives. Had it been prudent to attack them? Time would tell.

They had to find answers no matter the cost.

Bonfires burn in the night along the edge of the forest, lit by the villagers in their fear of the shadowy creatures that prey upon them recently. Looking back on the keep of the Baron Boroi (Whom they had yet to have audience with) the group sees the parapets and towers aglow with torch light. Why?


The group had seen the affects of the Tallowthroat disease first hand. It seemed the villagers thought perhaps the Shadow Plane was responsible and where superstitiously attempting to ward themselves from its affects.

Before traveling here the Harbingers did gather some information about the town. For centuries the taint of the Shadow Plane had seemed to leak into the countryside around Boroi Manor. Karpad had developed a well-known proclivity for shadow-tainted creatures over the years. A strong propensity even by Nidalese standards…

Why now then would such an affliction manifest among the populace?

It seemed some investigation would be required here…

A quest for knowledge.
Looking for answers in a land of mist and shadow.

This story began in the Thanelands. A Province ruled by Sveinn Blood-Eagle, a Linnorm King. The White Witches of Irrisen plot and scheme to invade the proud kingdoms of the Ulfen people. Queen Elvanna of the Jadwiga knows her time is running out before Baba Yaga returns to Golarion and seeks to immortalize herself by expanding her dread mothers kingdom.

An unlikely band of adventurers is caught up in this dreadful conflict. Inspired to act, each pursues their own personal vendetta against the White Witches, using all the resources at their disposal to undermine the strengths of the Irrisen military presence across the border and likewise defend the Linnorm Kings lands from invasion.

The competition of arms and subterfuge, the group believes, will ultimately end in chaos and the loss of much of the Thanelands to Queen Elvanna. Her greatest strengths are her scouts, spies and ability to communicate via “Mirror magics”. All of which the Ulfen people have fallen short in defending against.

Thwarted, but not defeated, the band has travelled south at the request of both Eldgrim Wyrdmake and Freyr Darkwine and in search of ways to defend against the constructs and mirror magics the Witches employ or even ways to turn these foul weapons against them!

They’re search takes them to…Nidal


They have arrived in the small, rural barony of Karpad in northern Nidal, located on the thinning edges of the Uskwood. Its citizens know little of the shadowy secret aristocracy in Pangolais or the core of Zon-Kuthon’s worshipers in southern Ridwan. Nevertheless, the fear and darkness that permeate Nidal are prominent here as they are throughout the nation.

Rumors of the disappearance of the daughter the influential Tiberos family and the suggestion that great volumes of knowledge exist in the Barons library have lead the adventurers to believe that the town is worth investigating. They are now at the behest of a worried noble family as well as pursuing their own ends in Nidal.

Will their adventure and investigation be fruitful or futile?

Time will tell.



Out of a shit heap and into a stinking morass. It was typical. Vas had only been in this rotten country for less than a day and already he’d made more enemies. Damnedest thing was, this time he wasn’t even trying.


He’d taken their coin, it’s true. He’d have to make good on that promise sooner or later, though after this betrayal he’d rather not. Though they may profess indifference, this country’s nobility were still complicit in the actions of their ecclesiastic fellows. As always, it was their choice to serve. Kneeling down and petitioning an empty sky was always a choice. The foolish demon didn’t understand this, either, and now it was dead. Even if it meant breaking his word, Vas would have no more of these fools.

“If that’s how they’re playing this we should leave” he snorted, “Burn their bodies and head north”

“But we can’t leave now”. It was Tom. “You’ve already taken their money, and we still don’t have what we seek here”.

Vas spit. “To hell with that. I’m leaving. Bugger this place with a broken spear”.

Tom put out a hand to stop him. “You can be that way if you must, Vas, but know we won’t come with you. If you wish to leave then this is where we part ways”.

Vas mulled it over. Abandoning this wretched country would mean not just breaking his word here, but also the deal he’d agreed to with the Ulfen. That was something he wouldn’t do. The Ulfen, at least, were always good for the gold they promised.

Also, as loathe as he was to admit it, he’d grown accustomed to the having the company of the others. He was wary of the new arrival, and he had absolutely no respect for anyone who would willfully suborn themselves to a fiend, but he’d proven useful in the fight, at least. Perhaps he would win Vas over as the others had. If not, there were plenty of ravines to drown him in.

Besides, if he was staying in this country he might as well enjoy himself. He’d kill every last fool these priests sent after him and show their god exactly what he thought of him.


Zhexian Li - Bloom in the Gloom

Li’s Journal

You wouldn’t believe the crazy bullshit going on in my life right now! We’ve reached some sort of shadowy realm filled with mushrooms and gloom, and probably jerks. Jerks are everywhere though, we know that. Very hospitable, good-mannered folk for the most part around here, jerks aside. Nobody seems to be outwardly hostile towards us in town, so we can’t look too bad.

Met a man named Leo, says his soul belongs to the devil. Probably a hell of a fiddle player, too. Leo gave us some good ideas for places to start asking questions, but I didn’t write ‘em down so they’re gone now. You know, my memory isn’t what it used to be Nergui, I’m starting to get a little old. I’ll have to ask him again later, and then again a couple more times.

The Gubernator of Nisroch (oh yes! We’re in Nisroch, Nidal by the way) has requested that we go sleep with his daughter or something. I’m too old for that, but I can share a cup of tea with her if she’s willing.

These shadow cleric folk are an interesting bunch. I should very much like to steal their garments and infiltrate them. I could probably do it, despite my age. Might get more answers from the church if we had their full co-operation, but that’s often hard to get without trickery of some sort. Plus, trickery is just more fun.

Anyway, we were heading to go sleep with that girl and we got ambushed by a bunch of gigantic moths. My trusty steed Gorbachov obliterated all of them in a few moments. All 370 of them. With his mind.

Then I went to sleep. You know me, I’m not getting any younger and I need my beauty sleep!

I’ll write to you again soon. Feel free to write me back sometime, if you’re alive and are reading my private journal for some reason.


Garros Garamonde - Vengeance. Honour. Absolution.
Searching Beyond to Find What's Within


The Blackraven Hall was indeed quite a busy place of late as Freyr Darkwine had decreed that an attack would be launched on Three-Troll. The first large scale assault against the Irrisen forces of its kind in recent memory and with that the Raven’s were eager to engage in battle. The training hall saw Ravens sparring ferociously, keeping their skills and wits as sharp as their blades but it was not only the Ravens preparing but the ‘Wyrds’ were ensuring their readiness through study and perfecting their incantations of their potent fire magics.

Word throughout the hall was that the attack and march for Three-Troll would commence in a weeks time. Garros knew this was a critical moment, he knew that they had been making waves in Irrisen and the time for subterfuge would now be dispensed with. Tom was right; the initiative was theirs and it was time to strike at the heart of the Verge Redtooth. Duke Arvanoff, the Son of Elvanna would be next.

The retainer had been resourceful throughout their attacks in Irrisen and this time was no different. He knew he could rely on Rakim and the Warrant of Trade he now possessed – this would grant them passage into the inner city of Redtooth unmolested. But, it was Vassily who was the most important chip to be played. Garros knew that they were walking into a pack of wolves and that would prove dangerous if not deadly. Surely then, why not walk straight into the den and dispatch the alpha of the pack? It would be suicide walking through the city prying for information and attempting to find ways into the Keep of the Hound. Vassily had been hired by Yuri and the retainer would use that connection as the stepping stone to the Duke.

As the fated hour approached, it did not take cajoling on Garros’ part as everyone had their reason to join this cause, though it was Li’s that made the swordsman ponder the most. Garros had ultimately concluded that he was simply content traveling with the group wherever that road would take them. This was more than enough to give cause for being allies but deeper than that – friendship.


The marching leaving the Blackraven Hall was truly a sight to behold and any Ulfen would have swelled with pride had they witnessed such a moment. This was no different for the Ravens and the Wyrd’s – Freyr at the head of the forces and with Witch hunting hero’s among their ranks, it was almost ceremonious for the troops. Garros was clasping wrists with many of the Ravens, encouraging them to fight harder and stronger and as the swordsman looked into each of their eyes he could see they felt invincible next to the hero’s of Kalsgard.

It never had crossed Garros’ mind – a hero? No, this was not for glory or for fame. Redtooth would be the staging point for every injustice, every life taken – the loss of Aelion and Owain. Though the retainer could not deny that he was not the only one to have been made to suffer at the hands of the Jadwiga and felt a uniting sense of purpose with the Ravens as they marched onwards. The White Witch’s of Irrisen would be stopped.

The march came to a stop as eventually it would have to – the hero’s of Kalsgard would make their way east as the Raven’s headed further south. Garros approached Freyr and keenly observed him, then left out a chuckle, “Many of the Raven’s claim to be the next hero’s to be sung about in the Blackraven Hall! You can’t die yet Freyr, for I want to hear what the skalds will sing of you when we return!” as he clasped his forearm. Freyr beings to speak, “Someone has to show these men how it’s done Garros! I don’t know what you have planned for Redtooh but I don’t think I need Wyrdmake to divine that answer – strike true my friend!”

The merchant cart veered away and Garros watched as the attack force marched on – these men were ready to lay down their lives against the forces of Irrisen. Delving deeper back into the Verge revealed just how severe the never ending winter really was. A constant of cold, snow and ice. What a hell the swordsman thought. As the group made their approach to Redtooth, Rakim had voiced his intent to part ways with them – citing an interest to preserve his business. Travelers come and they go, Garros would not begrudge Rakim for his desire. There had been a mutual benefit betwen the two parties and now their paths would take them in different directions.


It was up to Vassily now, he had been here before and it was time he settled his debt. Everyone paid their debts even with the blood price – or so Vassily said. The group made its way for the Keep of the Hound and Vas expressed who he was and an audience would be arranged with Yuri via one of the guards. They were escorted into a courtyard where intricate stonework was observed on the walkway. Guards were garbed with the eight-point snow flake of Irrisen and Garros saw snow glistening over top of the walk way. At the further end of the courtyard two men stood talking to each other, one who towered over the other. One wore a dead hand around his neck.

Garros was beginning to feel the all to familiar rush just before he would let loose his blades and begin to engage in the dance of death. However, he kept himself in check. Surely, this was the Duke and engaging out in the open like this would be a fools death. As he was scanning the area, he noticed two archers above but further to that he caught something from the corner of his eye. Li and Vas were casting spells. Garros wanted to say something but before he had a chance the Duke had already caught the spells being cast.

“What’s this, an attempt on my life!? Guards!” roared the Duke. A bloody battled had ensued and reinforcements had come to the aid of the Duke of Redtooth but Garros disregarded them and focused his blades on Arvanoff himself. That mummified hand dangled and bounced off his chest as he swung his massive great sword, he truly was ferocious – no regard for his own well being, only in attempt to flay his would be death dealers. Some men have been said to fight on even after the most grievous of wounds, yet Arvanoff soaked up everything that was delt to him. Eventually everyone will drop to their knees and Garros saw the Duke make a run from the battle. Dropping to one knee, blood pooling around him, the Duke grasped the hand around his neck and roared, “Mother!!”


Suddenly a massive concussive force blew out – shattering all the mirrors surrounding the courtyard save one. An immediate deep cold overtook everyone and a silhouette of a finely shaped woman began to appear in the mirror. Not only did this figure appear but she was walking right through the mirror itself. Stark white flowing locks of hair fell off of her shoulders bearing an ice crown on top of her head. There could be no mistaking the Queen of Irrisen – Elvanna, daughter of Baba Yaga. There was a maternal look to her beauty, crows feet at the sides of her eyes and she gracefully made her way to her wounded son. Garros attempted to stand but his legs would allow no such thing. Elvanna was moving her right hand in a motion Garros had seen the White Witches utilize before, a hex was upon them. He struggled both in mind and in body but it was utterly futile and everything turned black.

A little over a month later

In Garros’ mind, one success had set them forward for Freyr’s campaign had been achieved, however, their failure at an attempt on the Duke’s life had set them backwards far further back then where they had started. If it hadn’t been for the Wyrdmake and the Heralds of Summers Return, they would have been executed publicly in the capital of Irrisen.

Being so close to Elvanna and failing to achieve anything was infuriating to Garros. He could not deny that her power was incredible however. He could not fathom how such witchery works but somehow, he and the rest of his companions shared a dream or a vision. The group witness a woman and a young boy – apparitions speaking with Garros. The retainer took a moment to reflect on their escape when this dream occurred.

Wyrdmake and two agents of the Heralds of Summers Return managed to get the group to a small camp outside the border of Redtooth where they took rest for the evening. Perhaps it was left over magics left remnant in the party or perhaps strongest in Garros still but what was certain is that the apparitions were benevolent in nature.


The next morning Tom was the only one who approached Garros about what he saw in his dreams, “Garros, I saw you and what appears to be a woman and a child. But I was asleep, how could this be possible? Garros stared off as he answered Tom, “I heard my wife and child calling out to me… Their voices finally gave me the strength and courage to come to grips with my own suffering.” There was a silence between the two, “Very well Garros, I know when to keep to myself.”

The retainer went back to that moment with Aelion and Owain. It was a release of guilt, of his hatred but it signified a vindication in his actions to this point. He closed his eyes and faded to that moment, “Thank you my love…” Aelion outstretched her translucent hand onto her husbands forearm, little Owain stood roughtly up to Garros’ waist and with a smile he had never forgotten, heard his son say, “Papa’s strong!” The retainer looked into Aelion’s eyes, “No… I didn’t do anything… then… and I can’t now… I’m a man with no honour…” Aelion gave her husband a warm smile, much like she always did when she did not agree with Garros, “No… you have entirely too much!” Just before his eyes, Garros saw his wife and son beginning to fade, “My beloved… we’ll always be together… we’ll always be by your side…”


Their essence began to swirl around the retainer with incredible bright light, so bright that it was hard to keep his eyes open and just as the light began to fade Garros could see they had converged at a point just in front of him. Before the retainer stood a blade – it gleamed with a radiant light becoming more and more dull as he continued to look onward. He paced forward and grabbed the hilt of the blade and a feeling washed over his body and soul, he felt absolution. With the burden of grief and hatred now removed from the retainer he felt free to live his life as he once did. He would continue to hone his skills as a Blade of Doma, he would rebuild that which was taken from him. With Aelion and Owain now always at his side there was an even tempering between the man he used to be and what kind of man he would be now. This would strengthen Garros to means he had never known, he would not fight with a heavy heart but with an open one.

Fate, it seemed now pushed Garros and his companions away from the Land of the Linnorms – the creation and means to undo that creation of the dolls that the White Witches have unleashed upon the lands. Perhaps some sort of means to undo the witchery behind them or an artifact with the power to destroy these abominations that serve Queen Elvanna. Whatever it was they were looking was clearly not in Ulfen territory nor did the party have any means of re-entering Irrisen. Even Wyrdmake has scoured through the libraries of the Blackraven Hall and Kalsgard and no such information could be found.


The party would make their way back to Kalsgard and find a ship to take them south. Much discussion among the group had different points of interest though in all honesty Garros knew little of the south – he had spent his whole life in the Land of the Linnorms and this would be very much a new journey for him. Though he knew he could not stay the retainer felt compelled to aid in one more manner before they departed. He knew it was not yet time to rebuild Doma but he could help the Ulfen people holding against the Jadwiga.

Garros took his leave of his companions and made for an audience with Sveinn Blood-Eagle. Being regarded as a hero, did seem to have its benefits after all and as such being received by the King was easily permissible enough. As Garros entered the King’s chambers he approached Sveinn and kneeled down on one knee, “Jarl I come before you with an offer. I am about to leave these lands in search of a means to bring to an end the manifestations of the cursed dolls roaming the lands sent forth by the Witches of Irrisen. I only ask you take this and use it to further the means to protect Kalsgard. I can only imagine that Elvanna will be retaliating after what has transpired over the last few months.” The retainer handed a pouch with two hundred platinum bars to a huscarl, “Please take this as my way of supporting the Ulfen people while I make for southern lands.”


Garros was leaving his homeland a changed man, he never imagined having to leave for any reason. The search abroad was about to begin but where would it take the travelers?

Vas Nabokov - Going Home


The rocking of the boat shook Vas from his slumber. His rest had been fitful, as it had been nearly every night since the encounter with Elvanna. The slumber itself had been oddly peaceful, but since awakening he only felt mad. Yuri had been so close, and yet now he was so far away. Arvanoff and his hag had seen to that. Now Vas had two more debts to pay. There would be 3 heads for his axe now. His axe…

He looked at his new axe, the unimaginatively named Cassie II. It was of fine quality and very sharp. It could shave the hairs off a gnat, so the shopkeep said. He’d actually contemplated killing the two men who failed to bring his old axe back to him, but it wasn’t the time.This would have to suffice. He would have to get used to it. He supposed it wasn’t much different than the Splices back in Canterwall trying out new arms. With any luck it would sing its song of steel for him soon.


This made him think of home. It had been so long ago but his memories of it were clear. The Moors, the Fog, the scent of blood on the air. The stories of people who just went… missing. If you stayed quiet you could hear the faint sound of despair whistling through the trees. Funnily, it also drowned out the screams of the still living more often than not. A fact of which Vas was acutely aware. It had been the perfect place to grow up.

He knew the trip would be long but it would be worth it when his group got the information needed. He hoped Yuri was resting well. He’d need to enjoy it while he could. The bleak harbor of Nidal beckoned.

The Blackravens march...
A pre-emptive strike against Three-Troll


Freyr surveyed the Palisade wall of Three-troll from the furthest range of his two hastily assembled ballista. It was just before the dawn and he could almost see the mist and fog rising off the Grungir to the west. After discussing the particulars with Tom Gati they had come up with a plan of attack.

The siege equipment was of terrible quality and not designed to last. A short hour of sustained attack would inevitably provoke even these trolls, more intelligent than others of their species, into sallying out of the town and attacking his forces. In fact, the engineers where already preparing traps around the equipment for when they withdrew.


The hillside offered excellent terrain for keeping his forces hidden and scattered into medium sized units. Skilled now at both skirmish warfare and holding a shield-wall the Blackravens would engage the enemy forces piecemeal as they charged up to Freyrs’ position.

His banner high, and the ballistas spitting bolts of fire, the commander of the Blackravens made himself a valuable target atop a hill overlooking the town. If everything went according to their plan this fight would be over by late midday and he could withdraw back across the border.

He worried that all the events the witch hunters had set into motion had not yet provoked and serious retaliation. He hoped he would have enough time to lay waste to this large force of troll auxiliaries and regroup in the event his suspicions where accurate…


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