Wolves Reloaded session 3
3rd SESSION
Warriors in Attendance
Cadwall
Flavius Hutchins, questing for the missing druid Meabh.
Maester Hacksson, known for the burning of St. Olhams...
...but now called "Ogre-hacker!" Ogres will remember this...
and Maester's late companion, Oscar...
as well as his newest one, Kay!
In Cernyff,
The band heard rumors of deep forests infested with pagans, and figured that their surest bet. They by chance met one Maester Hacksson, who was looking to get out of town and on the road to adventure in a hurry. Finding a collector for some of their loot, they cashed it in and made their way out.
They made their way on to St. Anfan's Monastery for hope of finding more clues as to the whereabouts of Meabh. After an overnight stay at the village of Drych, they made their way the rest of the path up the road... stopping by a corpse they found on the way. A priest had been slain, his throat slit and hands bound. The blood had not sullied his clothes however, and his body was promptly rolled and vestments secured for later use.
At St. Anfan's, Maester stayed off the grounds and set up camp, while Cadwall and Flavius questioned the monks. They found one who had just finished a chore, and inquired about the pagans to the south-east. They found out the woods there were called Moerheb Weald, and set out the next day.
As they crossed an old, wide stone bridge across a river they found a pair of gargoyles embedded in the stone. Their mouths led to throats which went deeper into the gut and so the band used their waterskins to fill the gargoyles up, out of sheer curiosity. Nothing of value was learned.
As the band went further following the course of the river south-east in the warm sun, they discovered a curious runestone with Druidic script and a depiction of some mutated giant scaring a crowd of small figures. They encamped for the night...
But their rest was disturbed! Coming carousing down the road were two of the filthiest Ogres ever, playing grab-ass with each other and all up in one anothers business! One had under its arm a bundle of dripping unimaginables while the other dragged behind it the one-armed corpse of a warrior in norse-style long maille!
Maester caught sight of this from the bushes they had hidden in, and swore then to his fellows and his hired help that he would slay these two ogres on the spot and avenge this nameless Norse cousin of his!
They all made ready: Flavius and Cadwall took up positions nearby to charge the flanks, while Maester, Oscar, and the hired footman prepared a volley.
The ogres were caught by surprise, and a javelin and two crossbow bolts struck home in them to tremendous effect. While they were not felled, they were severely wounded, and as they charged in another volley was loaded!
The second brace of shots missed, and then the melee began.
One ogre clapped his hand down on Oscar, while another pummeled Cadwall. Hacksson laid in with his blade, alongside Flavius' polearm and the footman's dagger! Soon Oscar lay broken as Cadwell rolled on the ground in pain.
Flavius fenced one ogre as the other two laid into it, and as it fell the other roared in deep pain... for it had lost the only thing it desired in the world.
As the ogre raised the corpse of the Norseman above it, every muscle became tense, the body of this terrible beast becoming rock hard as if skin itself would burst and yield before the sinew beneath, and in a gory release the corpse gave out before the Ogre's might did.
Viscera spilled everywhere, the ogre roaring and throwing the torso at Hacksson! His shield was horribly dented and thrown, while the Ogre's ferocity held the warriors at bay! It wielded the two legs and their pelvic hinge as a Nunchaku, warding the band away before extending a hand to beckon Maester close.
Hacksson dove for Oscar's shield as Flavius defended him, and brought it up just in time to have it shattered by the swinging, maille-armored corpsechaku. The footman got a jab in with his dagger, as Hacksson came up with a two-handed grip and drove his blade through between the Ogre's legs. It's strength failed and it at first slouched forward 'til the blade was hilted, before then collapsing in a massive earthshaking crash on the forest floor. Rolling the bodies, as one does, they discovered a fat pouch almost filled to the brim with silvery goodness as well as a clay bottle of some bizarre vintage. The libation inside was flavorless and thick, but just one little sip had the treasure in the pouch and on their persons ever so gently singing back to the tune of Maester's voice. The drink was put away for latter... dubbed a "Potion of Swag-finding".
The footman put forth that he join on for a half-share of treasure, and leave behind this day wage business! Hacksson agreed to support him as a companion, and thus Kay pledged himself. The band severed the monsters' heads before taking a day to rest in a camp more well hidden. Aside from a near-trampling by a band of riders in the dark of night, they found themselves well enough rested to continue on into the wilderness.
Following the course of the river the band came across another group of twenty-odd Norse warriors! They had lost one of their own in a night-time ambush by some monsters... then one of them recognized the severed Ogre heads and shouted! The desecrated body the two had been hauling was that of Hrolf, and any claim to his purse was surrendered in favor of toasting the bravery of these adventurers and the word of Hacksson, who would not escape the nickname of Ogre-Hacker for the rest of the night!
Diserth,
the destination of the Norse band, almost shrank before the trees of Moerheb Weald. It was not out of fear of their height, but out of a shrewd sense of humility. The band drank the night away when they got there, witnessing the Norse get into wrestling and petty boasts with a Frankish band, crude imitations of each others tongues and petty boasts flung across the table. The Norseman they had acquainted themselves with the most, Scan, explained that both groups worked under the same master and they were simply doing their best to keep the "continentals" honest about which were the better half of the retinue.
A morning audience was sought with both factions' master, who Scan recommended as the closest thing to leadership in the town. They left their weapons behind and found Atiq puffing on a hookah, speaking to another fellow in a foreign language. He bid his present company leave, and turned to Maester who bowed before him and presented his magical potion as a gift.
He identified it as a good few drinks of Goldsong Elixir after questioning them on what happened when they tasted it, but returned it to them. He'd rather they owe him a favor later than give him a little sundry now.
Maebh had indeed passed this way; she had personally visited him with a gift of... well, it wasn't important. But, he told her what he knew of the Druids in Moerheb Weald.
They had forsaken their pride and fallen so, so low from the others. None (of the ones he had interrogated) knew their own secret script any more, and they worshiped a dark patron, Onthloug. The corruption must have set in during the Roman occupation Atiq figured, so severe was the imperial struggle to colonize the island that the Druids took on a new master. He advised Maebh to not make contact, yet she continued on in search of their circle.
Atiq strongly recommended them to simply take what knowledge they had gained thus far home with them. So, Flavius, Maester and Cadwall did.
They purchased a modest boat at a premium and set to rowing up the river. Passing by the gargoyle-bridge, they made camp alongside it and rested, boat tilted up to provide shelter from the rain as they watched processions of pilgrims going on to St. Anfan's, always depositing coins in the gargoyles, and wondering exactly who the hell had filled them with water...
They continued upriver again, passing by a camp of confused and confounded people in mismatched clothes and shoddy shelters. They showed no signs of recognition as the band prepared crossbows and raised them in warning, and did not follow them as they floated on by...
Reaching a fork in the river, the band swung the boat around and shot downriver quickly. Within the day, they were almost past Cernyff before they came across a log strewn with ropes dangling hooks blocking the waters. Atop the barricade stood a proud, Brythonic lad in fine clothes, idly playing with a sling and demanding a 30 silver piece toll for passage.
As Kay looked on in shock, Maester simply wordlessly prepared his crossbow. Taking aim at the boy (who cursed and shouted and ran) and firing, he stuck him in the sling-arm before his quarry escaped. Quickly porting their boat around the obstacle and continuing on, their only encounter of note before reaching the channel was with a fisherman who complained loudly of having to pay a toll just to be left getting around the obstacle himself... the boy was part of one of the biggest families in town, and if it weren't for the trouble he would have taken it out of the little shit's hide.
The band forced themselves to row on and leave the city behind as they passed through Cernyff. They rowed and rowed until they at last saw Ruislish coastline, then camped for the night and decided to take much needed rest all next day. In the morning they discovered a body nearby, a bandit with an empty knife-sheath and matching blade stuck in his heart, clutching a rosary. In the evening, as Maester took the first watch, he found Orcs creeping up on the camp. There was a mutual recognition and though the foremost among them barely understood the tongues of man, out of honor for the raid on Olham's their kind had joined in they let him slip this time and faded back into darkness. They picked up camp next morning, and lugged their boat all day toward...
The Circle of the Druids.
The news of the corruption of the Druids of Moerheb Weald stung, and deliberations began. Soon, the days rituals were postponed, and a runner sent to Belcarra to gather the faithful to the Circle. An issue of immense gravity had to be decided, and soon...