Hey folks!

As the "Lords of the Boards" have suffered my dungeons and dragons intrusions in their superhero forums before, I'm hoping Im not overstepping my bounds in throwing some more on here for those who might be interested.

I got to thinking awhile ago, after admiring myself in the mirror of my "And Dragons Shall Rule ..." campign, set in the Forgotten Realms, that if I ever wanted to, say, write a book, or even just some short stories, based on some of this stuff, I'd be at the mercy of ... WotC I guess. And of course, I'd be very limited in what I could actually do in that setting. "And Dragons Shall Rule ..." for instance would never fly. Just take a look at their weak ass (sorry, beauties in the eye ...) "Dragon Rage" (or whatever) series of novels ... wow, how underwhelming.

Anyway, we dont have any such hinderances when we create our own campaign settings; which I've spent the past week or so doing. In order to cut down on the time consuming "from scratch" process, I've opted for a different approach ... to base the campaign setting in this world. The map is what it is, the cultures and empires and histories and works of Man are what they are (more or less) up until the 3rd century CE. I focus on (post 3rd century) NW Europe of course, but the cultures of India and Asia are also signficant, the Slavic culture of NE Europe, most of African south of Egypt, the Americas needless to say perhaps. Only the Roman Empire gets the short end of the stick. Hey. A DnD game NEEDS ruins. Mine has lots!

Now, before I elaborate on what befell the Empire, the history of the North has been altered in one small way with very significant rammifications ... the Great Cooling that heralded the end of the Celtic Bronze Age never occurred. This means that the great prosperity that the tribes of southern Scandinavia enjoyed over the Bronze Age continued. Their trade routes to the British Isles and Poland never broke down, land resources did not shrink creating "surplus" populations, there was never any (early) push into the area Northern Germany and beyond. As a result the Celts were in a better position to face the advance of Rome. Hispania, much of Gaul, and Britannia still fell to Caesar, but the Celtic kingdom of Hercynia also grew up between the Harz and the Alps, unconqoured and unconquorable.

General Historical Background

As for the Empire ... socio-cultural breakdown and discord had been definitive elements of it from at least the time of Christ. Historically, Christianity was but one of many urban salvation cults that eventually evolved out of the citiies of the Empire. Rulers and people were becoming more and more motivated by selfish individualism and personal gain. The New Testament speaks of demon and possession amongst the folk of the Empire.

As I have it, the art of high socery began to be cultivate during this period via demon conjurations. The lack of magical knowledge early on allowed many of these demons to escape, resulting in the numerous reports of possession. This dynamic fed itself, snowballing, socio-cultural and political, all leading to the Crisis of the 3rd Century. Beyond the historical discord of the age, a group of sorcerors, intend on gaining power enough to rule the world, sought to open the very gates to the Infernal Realms, located in old Judea. They succeeded, but were overwhelmed by the flood of evil that poured forth. And soon the Empire joined them, ravaged by a motely horde of demons and madmen.

By the end of the 3rd century, what would become known as the "Wild Horde" had ravaged Italy and began to spill over the Alps; raiding into Hercynia and surrounding lands. The Gallic Empire (what was left of the Empire), Hercynia, and the various tribes of the Ingaevones (Nordic/Germanic peoples) all united to beat back the initial invasion.

Hercynia and Gaul are still faced with smallscale raids every so often in the following years, and are thus forced to remain ever vigilant. As a result, Britannia, neglected and well nigh defenceless fractures from the Empire to deal with it’s own Pictish problems. Some Ingaevonic tribes thence take to raiding Britannia, while others are invited in to settle coastal areas of the Saxon Shore, and the Hadrian’s Wall area.

The Kingdom of Denmark emerges in Jutland as Hedeby becomes the centre of trade in the Northlands. Likewise, the power of the Swedes continues to wax, while excess Ingaevonic populations begin to expand southward to the Harz Mountains.

Meanwhile, south of the Alps, the numerous women raped by the demons when the Wild Horde ravaged the Empire give birth to the race of orcs. These orcs breed at an astounding rate.

Hence, in 350 CE, another Wild Horde pours out of Italy, this time made up predominatly of orcs, but still complimented by many fiends and led by the blackened fiend Wod. This time around clumsy ships are made use of to harass even the islands and coastal regions of the Northlands.

The Hebrides are over-run by orcii, as are the Orkneys (which take their name from the orcs! hehehe), and not even the Ingaevonic lands go untouched. Hercynia is for a time overrun, with Wod building fortresses as far north as the Harz mountains in order to entrench his largely goblinoid forces. The power of Wod is broken in the North via a number of successive victories fought between 429 CE and 435 CE, that force him out of Hercynia and back over the Alps. From here the raids begin to peter out, becoming small and less frequent.

In 440 CE the largest muster the North has ever seen occurs, as men gather from throughout the Gallic Empire, Hercynia, Britannia, Denmark, Sweden and the various petty Ingaevonic tribes and launch a counter raid into Italy. Battles are fought throughout the Boot, orcii and demons are hunted to their lairs and slaughtered. The blackened giant fiend called Wod by the Ingaevones is forced into single combat with the Ingaevonic hero, Hama, and slain.

Legend says that only Wod’s mortal form was destroyed and that he can still be heard leading his band of werewolves, fiends, and madmen in the fierce winds of the winter months.

Nevertheless, pockets of ocrii survive in the higher reaches of the mountains of Western Europe, as well as the aforementioned islands, and continue to be a periodic thorn in the side of Northerners. And legend says that some demons still lurk in the depths of the ruins of the old Empire, while others, the left-overs of the “great invasions“, still haunt the lonely regions of the North itself.

NOTE: MAGIC

Magic in this world is en pare with magic as displayed in our own myths and legends. Magic items, even the weakest, are rare, but not unheard of. Small scale priestly powers are fairly common, but the more epic spells, while not unknown, are rare and more a thing found in ancient stories. Wizard magic is fairly low key, but many dark tomes were penned in the Empire before its fall, and these can be the source of many of the more epic level, conventional DnD type magic.

History of the Saxonlands

During the first war against the Wild Horde in the NW from 276 to 280, Ingaevonic mercs were used heavily by the Kingdom of Hercynia and the Gallic Empire. These mercs returned to settle the lands down to the northern slopes of the Harz mountains. The characteristic seax that many carry as a side arm earned them the collective name Saxons, though they collectively acknowledge no common authority.

From 300 CE to 350 CE, the Saxons engage in petty small-scale raids and skirmishes with each other, and surrounding peoples. Populations swell, prosperity prevails, and life is good.

From 350 to 427 the Wild Horde of the demon Wod advances over the Alps ravaging Hercynia, and coming to dominate both Hercynia and Saxony alike; the latter from their stronghold atop the Brocken in the Harz Mountains.

Some of the Saxon-Lords bend knee to Wod is hopes of currying favour, others adopt a more rebellious attitude resulting in a mass liquidation of Saxon nobility over the next decade. All goodly folk live in fear under the tyranny of Wod and his lapdogs.

In 427 the temple of Freya in the old Ingaevonic homeland is sacked and the necklace that adorned the goddesses image born off by Wod. The hero Hama, said to be of the same stock as King Offa of Anglia who’s might kept Wod out of Jutland, arises in response to this. He sows the seeds of rebellion amongst the Saxon, cultivates alliances with the Slavs to the east, and by early 429 drives Wod’s forces out of the “Wolfenberg” (?). They flee with the Brisingamen into Hercynia.

By the end of 429 Hama follows, harrying the forces of Wod with the support, not only of his own Saxon-Slav alliance, but also that of many a Hercynian. By 435, the power of the Horde is broken in Hercynia, and Wod and what remains of his Horde flees back across the Alps.

By the end of 440 Hama follows as apart of the largest army ever gathered in the Northlands; made up of Ingaevones and Saxons, Hercynians, Brits and Gallics. Italy is ravaged. The power base of the horde decimated. Hama faces Wod in the city of Rome. His sword Mimming is shattered in the conflict, but he neverthless wins the duel with his seax, and carries the Brisingamen back North.



Returning to the North, Hama settled in the great fortification he had built at what became known as Hamberg. By the time of his death in 466 CE his twelve sons were established as the 12 Saxon-Lords, and they are the progenitors of all such houses today. As a result of his devotion “to the Saxons”, and/or the usefulness of the seax in his battle with Wod, Hama is sometimes remembered as “Saxnote” or “Companion of the Seax/Saxons”.

No sooner had Hama passed away then his offspring began to fall into disputes, with their descendents increasingly holding to their own counsels and courts, and with one faction constantly at “war” with another.



In 535 CE Hercynia, tired of the raids being carried out by the Saxons, march on Saxony, dealing successive defeats to its bickering lords over the course of the year. They are rallied by Irmin over the following year though, who is proclaimed King of the Saxons -- even Hama is only called so in retrospect -- and the Hercynians are driven out. On the very eve of his coronation however it was discovered that Irmin’s luck came via the conjuration of demons (some say Wod himself), and he was thus hung instead by the very council, ie the Saxon Council, he had established. While all still feared Wod enough to go along with this, some were not lost to the potential of slander by rivals.

The Saxon Council has met once every 3 years ever since … and while it has never enabled the Saxons to act as a unified kingdom, it has kept them in touch, resulted in many joint ventures between various collections of the 12 lords, and served as a formal venue for lords to resolve issues and disputes and bring end to feuds between nobles in view of their peers.

And so the Saxonlands have remained for the past hundred years ...

NOTE: RELIGION in the NORTH

The Ingaevones and branch of Saxons worship a protoGermanic religion. Most of the Eddaic deities are present, minus Balder (a hero-king), Loki (????), Odin and Thor. Hama and the god Mannus together fill the role of the more benevolent aspects of Woden. Tyr is the high god of the pantheon. Fjorgynn the thunder god. Wod replaces Loki. Frey, ie. Ing, is perhaps the most prominent of the gods of the north, the father of Kings and leaders.

The Hercynians are staunchly Celtic pagan.

The three original kingdoms of the Gallic Empire (Hispania, Gaul and Britannia) are a mixture of Romano-Celtic belief and Christian. The latter predominates in the countryside, along with Celtic identity sympathies, while the latter maintains equal footing with Celtic belief in the cities along with strong Roman sympathies, ie. we are the last bastion of the glory of the Old Empire!

Cool? Lame? Doesnt belong on this forum keep it off?

Oh, I forgot to add in the history that the Infernal Gate was at last closed by a group of holymen from India and the "Last Legion"; the latter of which had the equipment and training equivalent to 1st century BC legions. They clove their way through the demons hordes of ancient Judea and guarded the Hindu priests as they chanted the Infernal Gate closed. Only a sole survivor returned to tell the tale, and he fell prey to an unclean spirit soon after.

Ingaevonic Religion

The Ingaevones believe in a pantheon of gods and goddesses centred around the Gloryfather Tius and his many divine and semi-divine mortal offspring, but also including various lesser spirits condusive to the wellbeing of the communities. The greater gods of the Ingaevones are ...

Tius - god of the heavens, heroism, glory, and judgement

Nerth - goddess of the earth and sea, of peace and prosperity

Mann - god of social order and human potential/achievement

Ingus-Frao - god of health, holiness, virility and kinship, progenitor of aetheling lines

Frua - goddess of art, beauty, passion, and witchcraft

Fergunn - the Thunderer, god of protection

Fosite - god of diplomacy and conflict resolution

Austro - goddess of radiance and renewal

Fifel - god of the ocean

Saga - goddess of history

Gefion - goddess of giving

Weyland - god of smithing

Other figures include …

The Mothers - protective goddesses and ancestress, worshipped in threes.

Donar - a Swedish warrior said to have been blessed by Fergunn; renowned for his great strength and his battle with the dread wyrm Nidhhogg.

Hama - mythic hero, founder of the noble lines of Saxony, slayer of Wod,

Baldaeg and Hother - mythical Saxon lords who’s story is a pessimistic warriors parable regarding the faultering of the heroic ethic to the spirit of blind violence

Sun, Moon, Day, Night - chariot riding keepers of time; more the object of daily devotionals than the seasonal of “the gods”

Wod - dread demon of felony, fury, possession/insanity, and terror

House-wights, Yard-spirits - general household luck and health

Nidhhogg - demon-wyrm of shame, disgrace and corruption; brother of Wod

Wyrd - the force of movement and dynamism in time … ultimately the force of transience. Juxtaposed to Tiwaz and the eternal glory of divinity

The Ingaevonic Priesthood

While informal worship of the deities and spirits can and is conducted by any number of informal “priests” who lead the rites and fill that role within their households, families and/or guilds, the Ingaevonic tribes also cultivate a more professional priesthood in the station of “high-priest” or “priest-king”.

It is said that Ingus-Frao was the first priest-king of the Ingaevones, giving up both sword and steed to wed the spirit of land and folk. His touch it was said could heal the sick and infirm of mind or soul, his blood turn the ground it fell upon green and fruitful, and his bones make the lands they were buried in both peaceful and prosperous. While thence forth he went into battle armed only with the standard of his folk -- Ingus was formerly an unrivalled warrior that slew men with effortless ease -- his very presence heartened and empowered his warriors.

Such is the archetype that the station of high-priest was born from. Ingaevonic high-priests are invariably drawn from amongst the aetheling houses of a tribe, who can show blood descent from Ingus. They also tend to be older men with a history of accomplishment behind them. They cannot bare edged weapons, and they cannot ride mares. They lead their tribe or kingdom in the great Blessings (Yule, Austro, Midsummer, and Harvest) of the year, and carry the standards of their folk into battle. They ward and wear the oath-ring and open all tribal counsels and courts. They preside silently over courts and councils save when called upon to mediate or where custom dictates their intervention; such as in cases involving trial by ordeal, trial by combat or cases involving imprisonment, flogging or executions.

In the case of trial by ordeal or combat, the high-priest must consecrate the rite, which gives the rituals their sacral powers (see below).

In the case of potential imprisonments, floggings or executions the high-priest is required to cast and interpret the runes in order to divine the will of Tiwaz on the matter. If the lots come up in favour of the accused, they are dealt a more dignified penalty up to and including “outlawry“ in the case of capital offences.

Finally, the high-priest tends to the temple, it’s grounds, and the sacral herds often found in association with such holysteads. In their duties, both menial and sacral, high-priests are served by a dozen hands or so hands. Such servants learn much of formal priestly lore and ritual, and carry their knowledge back to their home communities.

Special Legal Powers

All Ingaevonic high priests know the rituals for the legal ordeals known as the Rod of Righteousness and the Trial by Combat. Some use one to the exclusion of the other, but all know both.

The rod of righteousness is a long sanctified length of raw iron that is heated red hot where the truth of testimony is disputed. The person swears the truth of the matter in the name of Tius while grasping the red hot rod. If they speak the truth, they are protected from heat. If they lie, they are burned rendering the hand useless for 1 - 4 weeks.

The trial by combat is also most often used to prove/disprove slanderous accusation … such as perjury. Failure to challenge such accusations is proof of truth, failure to rise to the accusations defence is proof of falsity. Champions can be chosen by one or both sides. Tius is invoked to preside over the dispute and the righteous, whichever party it might be, fights as though under the influence of both a Prayer spell and an Aid spell. Combats can continue unto death, first blood, or the more open ended cry for quarter/mercy.


Wonder-workers

While anyone can ultimately carry out the rituals involved in seasonal blessings, marriages, or name fastenings, etc., and hence be dubbed a “priest” for all intents and purposes, not all priests can be called “miracle-” or “wonder-” workers. Wonder-workers are people, not merely of great devotion and/or performers of ritual, but people whom the gods have called or otherwise taken particular interest. They have the ear of the gods, and their prayers are not only better heard, but more often answered. While priesthood might be dubbed a profession, wonder-working is definitive of the “priest as character class“.

The bloodline of Ingus-Frao is indeed more prone to producing wonder-workers. Hence while such blood is a prerequisite for the position of high-priest. And indeed, most high-priests do demonstrate at least some small level of wonder-working (equal to 1st through 3rd level priest class), but this has not always been the case examples of poor choice and poor ethics, of scoundrels appointed to the position merely as a result of their bloodline, do exists in Ingaevonic history. Mind you, examples of poor farm boys demonstrating wonder-working are also known in the history of the Folk.

In short, the class of priest, ie. wonder worker, is a playable class open to anyone Ingaevone of any social caste. Peasant wonder-workers might even find themselves or begin play as a servant of the high-priest. However, only those with aetheling blood can ever actually become the high-priest of the tribe.

Wonder-worker Spells

As per the “priest spells” found in the Players Handbook. While all wonder-workers must embody the customs and ethics of the folk, and engage in time consuming daily devotionals, their wonder-working is very spur of the moment. They utter heartfelt prayers as needs arise, and the deities either help or they don’t according to their own whims and the conduct of the wonder-worker in question. Ultimately, the gods are under no special obligation to answer prayers, so wonder-workers must be careful not to offend them patrons with selfish or frivolous requests.

Places of Worship

The formal rituals of the Ingaevonic peoples take place both in the open air, in natural settings regarded as holy, and in temples that can be found within walking distance of such sacred fields or springs or groves. The great temples of the Ingaevones are thatched with gold, silver and/or other precious metals, and very beautiful in their construction. Within are found a variety of small idols of the various deities, while the worship hall is generally dominated by up to three towering statues of the chief deity/s of the tribe in question. These idols are praeter-human in appearance -- in honour of the ultimate mystery of the divine -- but are of masterful design and at times even adorned with precious metals such as with the famous necklace Brisingamen that adorns Frua’s idol.



The power of “frith” (kinship) rules in both the temples “and” on holy ground. For all purposes save “victory-blessing” weapons are not allowed in or on holy ground, while any acts such as violence, the relieving of one’s self, or other similar acts of vulgarity and lowliness are deemed blasphemous; a capital offence in the eyes of the law, and sometimes a lynchable offence in the eyes of the folk.

Some temples also contain a “frith stool” which will grant the protection of the gods to those who can reach it; thus forcing those who would harm the possible offender to deal with the matter by the customs of law.

Other items found within the great Ingaevonic temples are the tribal oath-ring and battle standard, while all holysteads have finely crafted drinking horns and altar bowls of varying sizes.

MAGIC

Beyond “wonder-working” itself, the Ingaevones also know of two other forms of magic; witchcraft and rune magic.

Witchcraft

Witchcraft is more akin to wonder-working, operating, mechanically, as the priest class does; that that the witch is gaining their power from nature spirits and demons as opposed to more deific spirits. It further differs in terms of that the devotionals the witches engage in involve strongly erotic, even sexual element that has led some to characterize witches as “the whores of Wod”. The more powerful witches merely generate sexual energy and then award it to the spirit/s they’ve called on. Others are brutishly TAKEN by the spirits. More often, witches award the less powerful spirits, and are taken by the more powerful.

“Light witchcraft” tends to stick to the least of spirits, those most easily seduced and controlled by the witch, and as a result they are also limited to less powerful magic, but highly seductive witches, eg. the goddess Frua, are said to be able to tame even the most aloof of deities or domineering of devils.

Witches are often feared by the folk, and the longer they remain in any one community (that knows of their powers) the greater the chance a lynch mob will gather against them at the slightest provocation; eg. someone‘s cow mysteriously dies. The basic chance is 10% cumulative per week; adj. downward by -5% for good deeds done for the community that week, by 1% more for each point of Charisma the witch has above 15, and +10% if any unexplainable bad thing happens to the community that week. These score are all cumulative from the day a community discovers a witch in it’s region, and decreasing by -1% for every day after her departure. Hence, witches will tend to move around, and/or settle only in lonely, out of the way reaches. Great troops of white witches often engage in regular processions throughout the Ingaevonic lands. While tales exist of witches that went on to marry warlords, or rule as priest-queens in their own right, these witches are exceptional.

Witches can form groups to increase their power … +1 lvl to spell effectiveness (range, duration, etc) for every three others witches, and +1 level to caster spell knowledge for every 9. Eg. A level 2 witch, who is usually limited to 1st level spells, can cast 2nd level spells with the help of nine other witches, 3rd level spells with the aid of 18 others, 4th level spells with the aid of 27 others, etc.

Casting spells beyond one’s level however is a risk … 15% chance per level dif. that the demon “conjured” for the spell will “violate” the casters in various carnal and inhumane ways; taking what they want and leaving nothing in turn This is reduced by 5% for each point of Charisma of the main witch over 14. The violated witch is left incapable of working witchcraft for 30 days - her Constitution score due to her injuries while her coven of helpers is generally slaughtered.

While witches must have both Intelligence and Wisdom scores higher than 9, it is Charisma (rather than Wisdom) that ultimately effects the max. level of spells they can cast (unaided).

Men can practice witchcraft as well as women, but due to what is perhaps unfairly considered the “inherently unmanly” nature of the practice they are even tolerated. The male witch’s weekly chance of exciting a lynch-mob are doubled.

Ten men in colourful tunics, cloaks and breeches made their way southward into the low-lying, forest covered Hercynian Mountains that stretched across the southern border of the Saxonlands and separated them from the Celtic kingdom of Hercynia. Most of the men were fair of hair and complexion, and on the young side, but already well into sprouting the beards that would mark them as men. Most also bore the typcial Saxon arms of spear and shield, with their trademark shortsword, called a seax, sheathed on their belts. Two of these men rode atop horseback, while the others made their way on foot; one with a trio of hardworking Rottweilers on leash.



The men on horseback, along with the dog-handler, were clearly the veterans amongst the otherwise youthful troop. The first on horseback carried some 45 winters. He was of average size, but strong of build, and his long but wellgroomed brown hair was streaked with grey. He wore both hair and beard braided in the ancient style of the North Danes. His name was Helmut, second cousin to Lord Albrecht of Gisilberg and amongst the foremost of the warriors of the Gislar.

The other man on horseback, Otto by name, carried as many winters as Helmut, but his red mane had long since balded on his crown, while his bristly redbeard was welltrimmed. Otto stood nearly a head taller than most men, and was of a great, robust, but not altogether unagile build. His line was well known for producing men of exceptional size and strength, and opinion amongst the folk ran from a belief that they must have trollblood in them to they must be the descendents of the legendary Swedish warrior-priest Red Donar. His line had served the Gisilings, the rulers of Gisilberg, for generations now. And they had done so with such great honour and distinction that they could boast a weak relation to the Gisilings through the female line. Not that Otto or his kindred were given to boasting of pedigrees or past honours, or had their mind set on anything other than the task life had laid immediately before them. Unlike most of his fellows here, Otto himself was armed with a shield and great axe instead of the usual spear.

The final veteran was Erhard, who carried as many winters as either Helmut or Otto, but was of a tall and lean, but not unmuscular build. His dirty blonde hair and beard was more ruggedly kept than his fellows, and had mostly given way to grey. He bore the typical arms of the Saxons, but while a compotent warrior, Erhard was noted for his service as hunter, tracker, and pack-handler to the Gisilings.

Amongst the half-dozen or so young men that accompanied the veterans there was Harek, the son of Helmut; a lad of some 18 winters and all but a younger, less battle-scarred version of his father. The same could be said of Otto's son, Hauk, who, even at 16 winters, was already beginning to outstrip the height and breadth of most full grown men. His hair and beard were likewise a bright red, but young Hauk lacked his father's paunch and was much more heroic of build and graceful of movement. Sheathed at the youths hip, opposite his seax, was the pattern-welded sword that had been left to him by his grandfather.

Of other Gislings there was also Edgar, son of the High-Priest Ermund and nephew of Lord Albrecht. Edgar carried some 19 winters, made a point of keeping well-shaven and was well-known for prefering his own company to that of others. While his social status and otherwise friendly disposition made him less of a pariah amongst his peers than one might imagine, his willful beardlessness often made him the butt of "friendly humour" amongst his peers. Unbeknowst to most, Edgar was also a dabbler in rune wizardry. While literacy in runic script was common amongst the ruling houses of the various Ingaevonic tribes -- many of whom had taken to authoring and compiling veritable libraries of runic scrolls on such topics as poetry, history and legend, philosophy, etc. -- practice of the deeper, more magical side of the script was, as with any form of "sorcery" that was not clearly divine/priestly in nature, regarded with great apprehension and suspicion by the folk of the North.

Forsooth, it was told in the most ancient of myths that the runes were fathered by "the giant Wod". But the legends did go on to say how the god Mann learned the runes from Wod during a short period as the demonlord's prisoner in the earliest days of Creation. Mann reshaped the runes into a higher form of 24 staves of power before using their might to escape captivity and bind Wod in the underworld. He went on to share the runes with his Ingaevonic children. And of course, unlike the "sorcery" of the witch, or even the priestly wonder-worker, either of which hinged on the proper entreatment of gods, demons or spirits, runic wizardry perscribed a path of self-empowerment and direct personal manipulations of the fundamental forces of Creation. But such was the fear born of Wod's reign of tyranny some 200 years ago that any overtly magical use of the runes was held in suscpicion.

Fortuantely for Edgar, his father, and those like them, the general toleration of the runic script as a form of writing often enabled them to hide their "wizard marks" in plain sight.

As for the other youths, they were made up of the churlish friends of the Gisiling lads; unremarkable Saxons tending toward fair hair and complexion, of average height and builds, dressed in the style and baring the arms of their folk. Their names were Elmer, Dirk, Karl, and Falco.

And so it was the year 675 by the Christian Reckoning of the southlands, and another spring had fallen upon the lands of the Gislar; as those Saxons who customarily attended the Thing (court) established by the Gisilings in generations passed had come to be called. The Blessing of Austro, radiant goddess of vitality and renewal was a month gone, and the men of Gisilberg had been preparing to set out on their regular springtide trading expedition to mighty Hamberg in the north. As the day of departure grew nigh however, Lord Albrecht received word that his mining encampment of Glitterstead, itself less than a full days journey due south into the heavily forested Hercynian Mountains, had suffered a viscious raid that ahd left many wounded a a number dead. As a result, Helmut, Otto, and Erhard were charged with the task of tracking these raiders and bringing an end to the threat they posed.

And so it was that the veterans gathered the lads and set off first to Glitterstead. Here they found that a number of the small collection of buildings that made up the mining encampment showed signs of fire damage. A trio of graves marked by shovels or picks sat at the outskirts of camp while a like number of men in shoddy tunic and breaches and animal skins hung from a nearby tree. Clearly the raiders had been a gang of outlaws, the likes of which would indeed congragate into gangs from time to time and lair in lonely, haunted, and out of the way regions -- regions not unlike the Hercynian Mountains -- from which they'd harry the lands of good folk.

As for the Hercynian Mountains, they were a range of low-lying, forest covered mountains that marked the southern border of the Saxonlands and separated them from the Celtic kingdom of Hercynia to the south. Neither Celt nor Ingaevone however had ever inhabitted the range in any great numbers. In the eldest of times, they were said to be the home of the race of dwarves, who taught the Celts the secrets of iron. The dwarven populations were however hit hard by the first Wild Horde that poured over the Northlands from the south, and even harder still when the second Horde, led by the demonlord Wod himself, entrenched their forces in the mountain range. During Wod's reign of tyranny, the dwarves were nearly driven to extinction, but it was not until the decade of feuding between the dwarves and the men of both Hercynia and Saxony that the dwarves at last disappeared from the world of men altogether. Some say the dwarves, formerly the fastest of friends with men, who had taught them the secrets of iron and forged blades capable of turning the demon hordes, had simply gorwn tired of the fighting and so retired back into the subterranean depths from whence they had originally sprung. Others say the agents of Wod had arose from deep within the those same depths to slaughter the dwarves within their unassailable mountain halls during their winter slumbers.



And so the mountain range remains largely a no-mans land unto this day, with neither Hercynian Celt nor Saxon straying too far up it's slopes or into it's valleys. While the great orc hunts of old have not been held for a generation now, some claim that dens of orcii are still breeding in the depths of the range, while numerous tales form a number of different localities tell of the demons and ghosts that haunt the lonely ruins of mountains. Indeed, every now and then a hunter does venture into its fringes never to be heard from again.

Now, as luck would have it, Erhard's dogs had picked up the spore of the raiders the following morning. And the trail would lead them deeper into the Hercynian Mountains.

For an entire day the band tracked the spore; at times having to rely solely on the noses of the dogs, while at others finding clear and recent signs of human passage. Their journey was thus made quick, but with day's end they set up camp and established watches for the night. All went well until the third and final watch, when ghostly lights were seen dancing some hundred or so feet off in the woods. The rest of the band was quickly awakened and talk of "Wod lights" and the "spirits of the evil dead" quickly set the nape hairs of the gathered Saxons aprickle, when suddenly the sound of a great roar, as though from some enormous beast, followed by a violent thrashing of the underbrush, erupted some 30 or 40 feet off to their right. All turned, raising shield and leveling spear at whatever horror might be rushing upon them, but after an eternal moment nothing but silence and stillness reigned. And as for the ghostly lights, which Edgar himself had remained attentive of, these simply fizzled from view.

While Helmut ordered all to remain vigilant against whatever might still be lurking in the darkness, it soon became apparent that nothing was. Not anymore. The tension had left the air. But it was then that Falco first noticed that Karl was no longer amongst them. Harek, who had been standing watch claimed that Karl had indeed been present when the lights first appeared, as he had personally woken him up. And yet, there was no trace of the strong, athletic young man. Erhard looked for tracks but could find nothing out of the ordinary. He set the dogs on Karl's scent, but they only began to track him back in the direction of Glitterstead. He was simply gone ... vanished into thin air as it were.

As the group began to discuss what might have befallen Karl, they suddenly heard a wimpering cry in the far off distance. It was the voice of Karl, crying out for help. And it continued to do so again and again every few minutes. The lads were soon moved to take up their spears and head out in search of their friend, but were reigned in by Helmut, who warned them that, if that voice was indeed even Karl's, he was likely being used as bait. And so it was that the lads stood down, enduring the periodic, agonized cries for help from their friend, until the first hint of day appeared in the eastern sky. If legend held true, the power of Sunne, the golden goddess of the sun, would banish any evil that might be afoot here and speed their search for their friend.

And so they broke camp and began making their way southeast, in the direction they believed the cries had come from. And yet it was soon noticed that, with the breaking of dawn, Karl's cries ceased. Thence, an uncharacteristically frightened Falco argued that Karl was dead, and that their priority was the raiders. They should return to their camp of last night and pick up the raider trail from there. While most had no desire abandon Karl until they at least learned his fate, Helmut ultimately decided that Falco was right. He did however allow Otto, Hauk, Harek, and Edgar to press on in search of Karl, while he and the others doubled back and got back on the trail of the raiders.

It was around noon hour when Otto and the lads at last burst into a clearing. Therein stood nearly a dozen shaggy looking men in animal skins and tattered clothes ... undoubtedly men ranked amongst the raiders they sought. They stood about the clearing looking at the man bound high up the trunk of a prominent tree, his chest literally ripped asunder and his insides empty of organs.

It was the body of Karl.

After a brief moment of shock on both sides, the Gisilings launched an angry attack on the gathered raiders. And while outnumbered two to one, they eventually slaughtered them to a man. All save for the man Edgar had grounded and held at spear point. As they questioned this man, they heard the approach of dogs, and were soon joined by Helmut and the others, who, for reasons now evident, had picked up the raider spore only to be led back in this direction.

Their raider captive was a Hercynian by birth, though many more Saxons, and even a Slav, had been found amongst the nine dead. He was wild-eyed, at one moment laughing, the next sobbing and crying, like a madman, but was questioned anyway regarding the raid on Glitterstead. He confirmed that his fellows had taken part in that raid. He was then questioned on Karl, but denied that he or his fellows had anything to do with the lad's terrible fate. He freely added that they were themselves fleeing from their base, perhaps a half days travel further south and east of here, because some great evil had awoken over the last night and reaped a great slaughter of his fellows.

At this, Edgar recalled a dream he had over the winter months ... of a ruin of blackstone set high in the Hercynian Mountains, and of how it seemed his spirit soared from the heights above the ruin and then sped downward, through it's upper reaches and then on into its pitch black depths. There, shrouded in the darkness of it's nether regions, a fire suddenly flared up on the opposite side of the great basement he was in, and a hissing laugh caused the Gisling to awaken in a cold sweat.
-
Edgar questioned the mad raider, asking him if he and his had laired in a ruin of blackstone? But the madman merely giggled maniacly, saying that since they Gislar were most certainly going to lead him to his own death, he would be more than happy to lead them to their former lair and thus, to their own deaths.
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Falco again spoke, saying that the raiders were dead, their duty fulfilled, and that now their task was to return the body of Karl to his kinsfolk back in Gisilberg. Most agreed, but Hauk neverthless mentioned that the madman could be lying, and that they should venture to the lair to see for themselves. And so again, Helmut divided the band in two; Otto, Hauk, Edgar and Harek would follow the madman to the former lair of his wolfhead companions, mindful of course of the potential for praeternatural evil and/or human betrayal, while Helmut and the others carried Karl's body back to Gisilberg.
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And so it went, with Otto and the lads pushing ever deeper into the forests of the Hercynian Mountains, until after a long and hard afternoons hike they at last spotted the jutting crag the madman had spoken of. Surviving the night, the mad Hercynian led the lot of them up a barely discernable path to a deep fissure in the crag where the rock seemeed to level out and smooth ... where they soon found stairs carved out of the surrounding rock ... all eventually leading up to a large set of double doors made of worked stone and standing slightly ajar. A trio of raider corpses lined the pathway leading up to doors, one of which had his face torn off, while two of the others had their chest cavities torn open and their insides scraped, or eaten, clean.
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The madman became fearful as he again beheld the doom of his former companions, saying that he was now ready to meet his doom at their hands, but Hauk was moved to instead free him from his bonds. He gave the mad Hercynian a spear and told him to be on his way never to return to the lands of the Gislar. He and the others then busied themselves with the fashioning of some crude torches. They would enter this place -- which they gathered to be one of the lost holds of the dwarves -- and take a better look around before at last returning to Gisilberg with their news.




Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 02/11/2012 07:10PM by Powersurge.

And so Otto, Hauk, Harek and Edgar ventured through the great stone doors that formed the entrance to the old dwarven hold. They quickly found themselves within a darkness that had never seen the light of day. The vastness of the entrance hall could be sensed well beyond the light cast by their makeshift torches, and it's smooth, levellled floor carried on a mere twenty feet before dropping away into a deep chasm that cut across the room some forty feet from wall to wall. The other side sat well beyond the torchlight, but was presumably joined to this side by an old, shoddy looking 3 rope bridge; which actually entwined three ropes to walk upon, while another two ropes acted as rails and small lengths periodically linked the railing ropes to the walk rope.

Hauk stepped up to the edge and hurled his torch across the chasm. And while it fell short of the otherside -- to disappear down the chasm some 100 or so feet below -- it neverthless did manage to illuminated the opposing side, which sat some 40 feet off.

Harek remarked how the folk of Glitterstead said some 30 to 40 woflheads had made up the raiding, but between those hanged back at Glitterstead, those they themselves slew yesterday, and those they had found on the path leading up to the entry to this hold, they had found less than 20 so far. Where was the "great slaughter" their former wolfhead captive had gibbered of? Otto replied that they were no doubt, further on beyond the chasm, as few signs of any encampment were to be seen thus far. Of course, it might be a dangerous matter for men the size of either Otto or Hauk to set foot upon the aged rope bridge. It migth not hold their great weight.

Edgar on the otherhand was of a more regular size. And noted for his grace and athleticism as well. He was quite confident in his own ability to cross the bridge, and less spooked than the others of the "strange occurrences" that experienced of late. And of course, perhaps their prisoner hadindeed lied to them. The could not return to Gisilberg without being sure. And so, torch in hand, Edgar braved the sketchy bridge. And while his progress was shakey and careful, he eventually arrived safely at the otherside.

The Gisiling quickly noted that a great scattering of stones and boulders of various sizes sat scattered across the 30 foot swath of ground that led up to another great set of stone doors carved with the mastery and imagery of the dwarvenfolk. Approaching the doors, the young runemeister was surprised to see the signs of of witchcraft, of ritual magic, at the base fo the doors; a headless rooster hung upside down from the door, burnt remains of what was likely a small pouch of herbs, and number of strange, complex hex-signs drawn in blood. Edgar knew well the secret meanings of runes, and what he beheld here was either complete gibberish, or witchcraft the likes of which was known ... only in legend. It was a powerful incantation that Edgar had only just begun to guess, if scarcely believe, was aimed at the creation of the dreaded druagar, the walking dead, when the bloody torso of an outlaw's corpse -- apparently torn in two by something -- came crawling out from behind a nearby boulder. Further sounds of laboured movement quickly brought Edgar's attention to yet another mangled outlaw; this one rising slowly up off the ground from behind another large boulder.

Meanwhile, cries of alarming and warshouts went up form the other side of the chasm.

Edgar backed toward the chasm as the recently slain corpses lumbered and crawled ever closer too him. He briefly considered drawing the seax Harek had lent him prior to crossing and having at the unholy fiends, but quickly resolved to instead drop his torch and make his way with all due haste across the clumsy rope bridge. And so it was, with Edgar nearly falling to his doom about midway across. As he pulled himself back up, the Gisiling looked back to see the walking corpse that purtsued him step off the of the edge of the chasm and plunge heedlessly into it's depths. The crawler however managed to take hold of one of the ropes on the bridge and slowly began to shimmy it's way across.

In the meantime, Otto, Hauk and Harek found themselves assailed by the outlaw corpses they'd found on the path leading up to the dwarven hold. Otto opened with a viscious axe swing that sunk through the corpse's collar bone and clove on into it's breastplate; kicking the fiend off of his axe once done. And while it fell, it took but a moment for it too slowly begin to get back to it's feet. All three warriors were taken aback by this, and both Otto and Hauk suffered many bites in the ensuing battle. But in the end, the Gisilings stood victorious over their undead assailants, while Edgar easily finishwd off his pursuant when it eventually reached the otherside itself.

When asked what he had found over there, Edgar mentioned first the doors, but then, with some hesitation and disbelief, aded the evidence of witchcraft. Powerful witchcraft.

The warriors spent the remainder of the day double-timing it back to the lands of the Gislar. And they remained very much on edge as they slept and stood guard out in the wilds, under the canopy of the trees that night. While their moods were not brightened by the fog that greated the following morning, they nevertheless made it to Glitterstead by late afternoon of the following day. While they had intitially planned on staying here for the night however, that soon changed after Harek was taken aback while relating the tale of their findings to the mining folk over supper that eve. His own words being, " ... and so the very band of outlaws that had struck at Glitterstead did themselves fall victim to some dark witchcraft ...".


Thence, barely had they finished their meal when Harek pressed his fellows to man-up for the short remainder of the journey that would carry them home to Gisilberg. And as they walked along the dirt road that would carry them home, the spring sun beginning to set in the West, Harek shared his suspicions with his fellows; that, maybe, this witch who had plied her craft at the old dwarven hold, perhaps she was a resident of Glitterstead? Mayhap even a kinsmen of one of the slain? Hauk protested that the evil that slew the outlaws also slew Karl, but Edgar noted that witches deal with demons and other beastial spirits, which, when poorly leashed and left to themselves, care not about the laws or morality of men.

And so the 4 continued on into the darkness of early evening, at last making their way down from the mountians and back to Gisilberg. Gisilberg proper was an impressive fortification by Northern standards, occupying a craggy hill that jutted some 40' out of the surrounding plain and surrounded by a stone wall with defensive towers. Within stood an impressive hybrid of Ingaevonic wood-work architecture and dwarven stonework. The town of Gisilberg had grown up at the foot of its namesake, and was home to some 250 households.




Otto immediately made his way up to Gisilberg castle to share their findings and suspicions with Lord Albrecht, while the remaining youths, spurred on by Edgar, sought to learn the fate of Karl's body as Edgar feared that Karl's corpse might also be subject to this witchery. They soon learned from Karl's kinsfolk that his body presently rested in one of the "death huts" found near the town's graveyard, and would be buried on the morrow. Despite the late hour, the trio continued out to the death hut. Only Edgar entered, and he was relieved to find Karl's body at rest therein.


The following day found Lord Albrecht holding counsel with many of his chosen advisors. Not only was there this news of witchery to be considered, but word had also come in just this morning that the trade caravan that headed north for Hamsberg had suffered a raid. This had undoubtedly come at the hands of the folk of Drakensberg, as small seasonal raiding and counter-raiding had becoe the norm between the two tribes over the past several years. While such raids were generally tolerated by the Lords of Saxony, and indeed looked as oppurtunity for younger men to prove their battle prowess amongst the folk, to raid a lord's carvan ... that could potentially mean war.

As for Edgar, he lost little time in seeking out his father and sharing with him his concerns about Karl's corpse. His father told him of the age old practices of burying one the folk feared might wlak after death, and Edgar subsequently shared this knowledge with Karl's kinsfolk. They asked Edgar to over the burial. And so went the day.

But by days end, Lord Albrecht had at last come to a decision on how this matter of the Drakensberg, witchcraft and old dwarven ruins would be pursued ..




Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 02/18/2012 10:44PM by Powersurge.

Rune Wizardy

The Rune Wizardy of the Northwind campaign setting is fundamentally no different from the more customary wizard of generic Dungeons and Dragons. The difference lies primarily in the magical tradition they have been schooled in; wit hthe rune wizard having been schooled in the Ingaevonic tradition of rune based magic. Ultimately however, a wizard of any culture or tradition can cast the spells of any other if they have knowledge of that traditions language and script.

Also, rune spells are not studied as per traditional DnD spells. They are known and remember from the time they are learned. However, as with any form of magic, preparations must be made. In game terms the actual mechanics are essentially all the same. The priest must spend time practicing spiritual disciplines, the more conventional wizard must spend time "studying" his spells (again), and the runester must spend time prepping his spells via carving and chanting and what not, but this all takes an hour per spell, regardless. It is, for the most part, mere "colour". Mind you, rune charms can be lost, stolen, destroyed, discovered, etc. before they are activated.

The casting time of rune charms are 2 segements faster than their equivalent wizard spells; as a result of their being largely pre-prepared.

Rune magic is less well developed than the tradtions that evolved within and out of the old empire. And so another way it differs from conventional wizardy are the number, power, and types of rune spells available to the rune wizard. Once again, this does not keep the rune wizard from being able to cast the more powerful southern spells if he can read and understand the tongue of the spell, eg. Latin, Sumerian, etc. Nor does it keep a rune wizard from translating a foreign into runic, but this is as costly and time consuming as the creation of a new spell.

Preexisting rune spells are all found in the conventional wizard's list of spells, and fall under 18 general categories as reflected in the 18 songs of the Havamal. One type for instance are "Shield Runes", which are not simply one spell, but ANY type of spell that is protective in nature. Some, like Shield or Armour or Protection from Evil, are elementary variations, while others, like Protection from Normal Arrows or Prismatic Sphere (if it existed), are more advanced variations of the same rune.

Again, mere colour for the most part.

Wizard Spells (2nd edition) of the more runic variety are ...

1st level spells - Affect Normal Fires, Armour, Change Self, Charm Person, Comprehend Languages, Detect Magic, Erase, Find Familiar (also open to witches as a first level spell), Friends, Identify, Message, Protection from Evil, Shield, Spook, Wall of Fog, and Wizard Mark.

2nd level spells - Alter Self, Bind, Detect Evil, Forget, Knock, Know Alignment, Locate Object, Scare, Strength, Summon Swarm, Whispering Wind, Wizard Lock.

3rd level spells - Clairaudience, Clairvoyance, Delude, Dispel Magic, Explosive Runes, Feign Death, Gust of Wind, Hold Person, Hold Undead, Non-Detection, Protection from Evil 10' radius, Protection from Normal Missles, Sepia Snake Sigil, Suggestion, Tongues, Wraith Form.

Note: This read needs more thought and work, but this is the jist of something immedaitely playable and comprehensible from the classic Dungeons and Dragons standpoint.



RACES



The Northwind campaign setting lacks many of the fantastic races of classic DnD; at least in regards to playable characters.

Dwarves: Yes, dwarves are known, but mostly from legend these days, ie. 675 CE. They were residents mostly of the Hercynian Mountians, and forsook the world of men some 200 years ago. They gave the knowledge of iron-working to the Celts, were responsible for all of the great stonework of the North, forged weapons of power with which men fought back the Wild Hordes, only for men to seek to hobble and enslave them for the craft they'd already demonstrated an abundent willingness to share. While a dwarf p.c. is not ENTIRELY inconceivable, it is highly unlikely.

Halflings: Yes, but we call them midgets ... or even pygmys. They're short people. As such, they are -1 to Strength and have a max of 17, but also have a +1 to one of the following (players choice), Intelligence, Dexterity or Charisma (max of 18 in each case). It's there if you want to play a, you know, short person. The one from Game of Thrones is pretty cool.

Elves: Yes, there are elves. But you can't play one. An elf is a spirit on pare with the deities, angels and demons, and likewise an inhabitant of the otherworlds. They are inherently powerful, and could only conceivablly make a playable character, by DM's discretion, at the higher levels of play. Higly unlikely. Certainly not as the usual(?) "from-level-one-onward" type character.

Half-Elves - Yes. We've seen you. We know who you are. But seriously, the elves, like the gods, were known at times to mix their blood with mortal men, resulting in elf/human hybrids. These elves are tall and slender, fine of feature, pale of skin, and fair of hair ... like Tolkein's elves. They conform in all ways to the classic dungeons and dragons Half-Elf save that they operate under none of the level restrictions of the classic half-elf. Half elves are VERY rare, and do not constitute a race unto themselves, but can be considered an open class.

Half-Orc - Yes, but, you know, why??? Your most likely background story is that your mom got raped by an orc and for some reason (she was Christian?) she chose not to abort. So you popped out. You probably killed her in the process, cause you're a little bigger than the average human. You're ugly, tend toward surly and carnal behaviors, and your community despises you ... and will probably kill you at first oppurtunity. Working with whatever room that leaves you, the class can be considered open. Have fun surviving level 1 and the threat of ... you're own party.

Sub-races of Man - The world is what it is, with East Indians, Native Americans, Africans, Asians, etc. Most societies are ethno-cultural in nature, and the melting pot of the old empire, with its overland highways, now lie in ruin; a haunt to demons and orcs. Nevertheless, Man remains the master of the sea- and river-ways and even overland trade has continued where old legends don't keep (wise) folk away. Anything is possible here, though some inter-mixtures are more likely than others based on the simple logic of proximity, ie. the Native Americans for instance. Men hate those who have wronged them or whom they have otherwise come into competiton/conflict with. Differing values and ways of doing can make these hostilities worse. And sometimes this is folk of a different ethnicity. But ultimately the prevailing worldview is that an enemy is an enemy, a friend is a friend, and a man is a man, no matter shade of skin. Most ethnicities are fairly comfortable in their own little niches and not given to any kind of **unnatural** (as opposed to natural) prejudice.

Character Classes



Warrior - the fighter is of course the most common character class in Northwind in general and the amongst the Ingaevones in specific; were some degree of martial accomplishment is expected of all men, and all men tend to dress in the general fashions and carry their arms of their tribe whether they be of the actual warrior character class or not.

Priests and Wizards - already dealt with in preceding installments.

Rogue - I like that this class has long since changed it's name from theif to rogue; opening the gneeral idea at the root of the class open to interpretation. I for instance like think that Indiana Jones or Lara croft are "Rogues", for all that we dont generally associate them with crime as we do a "thief". Anyone who is exceptionally stealthy, who has put some level of study into the mechanics of locks or traps, who is an exceptional climber, etc. is a Rogue ... even if he wears a tunic, carries a spear and axe, and is not at all shy about desiring to stick you with one or the other. This is certainly a playable class in the North. It just has to be justified appropriately, eg. my father was a smith and engineer, and I spent much of youth learning from him while not climbing the cliffs and skirting the forests of my home village.

Bards - Certainly. Colour it as you will ... skald, shaper, gleeman. Amongst the Ingaevones the magic of the bard class is of course Rune magic, and as a hybrid warrior/wizard class, the bard class makes up the more usual form of rune wizard found in the North. Egil Skallagrimsson would have been a bard ... with a 17 or 18 Strength.

Rangers - Certainly. amongst the Ingaevones these are goodly nature woodsman warriors that are likened unto witches in that some of them have goodly relations with the spirits of nature and can work magic thereby. They tend to be loners, and are at a -2 (-10%) on reaction rolls with most people, but do not invoke the same level of fear/hate as the witch.

Paladin - Holy Warriors. Certainly. As common amongst the Ingaevones as elsewhere, with similar special attributes, the ability to cast priest spells at higher levels, etc., but lacking the characteristic ideology and obsessiveness, depending of course on culture and belief. Amongst the Ingaevones, such a warrior is likely an aristocrat, and certainly pious, but is by no means a religous zealot, and comes off more as a warrior that happens to be divinely blessed than some religously obsessed type.

Chapter 3

And so it was that Lord Albrecht of Gisilberg issued the call to muster and sent forth a declaration of war to Lord Baeldric of Drakensberg. This had been no idle border raid, such as was common amongst all of the Ingaevonic tribes. A sport of sorts. Rather, the caravan raided by the folk of Drakensberg was bountiful and carried with it no small amount of gold taken over the winter from the mines at Glitterstead. It's loss would be felt by all of the Gislar. And while this act did serve as a breach to the common laws that goverened the lords of the Saxonlands, and so could be dealt with at the great Saxon Council, this council/court convened but once every 3 years and was last held but last year. And so Lord Albrecht resolved that he and the Gislar would meet the Lord Baeldric and his force in a weeks time on the battlefield hallowed by the customs and combats of generations passed. There Lord Baeldric would either recompense for this transgression or a tribute would be forced from him.

As for the matter of witchcraft, the Lord of Gisilberg spoke with Edgar under secret counsel about this. He charged the lad, his nephew, with the task of investigating this matter himself, but warned him to guard his tongue as he conducted his investigation so as to spook neither the folk of Glitterstead nor the potential witch. He further advised the lad to speak first with the camps headman, Thurstan. He would know the regular work crews that came up to the mines from Gisilberg and the surrounding lands of the Gislar. And he would know of others in the general area that might also be of interest.

Edgar spent the remainder of the day in the Beer Hall gather up what support he could from amongst his friends and kinsfolk. Most however were eager about the looming war on the onehand, and none too keen on witchery on the other. Nevertheless, by the time the night was through Edgar had won the pledge of Harek, Falco, and Dirk.

That night Edgar had a wyrdling dream of his journey up to Glitterstead. He had been given to such prophetic dreaming since a child, though it had always regarded small things. Hence, he knew even as he and his companions set out for Glitterstead on that drizzly spring morning that Thurstan would tell him of a hunter named Garmund that had some strange stories to tell of late, and of a woman named Helga that lived alone in the lands further out beyond the encampment. And so it was, with the walk up to Glitterstead and the meeting with Thurstan unfolding even as he had dreamt it.

Edgar asked Harek to lead Dirk and Falco out to Garmund's hold, itself some distance west of Glitterstead. For his own part, Edgar went forth alone to talk to this Helga. He knew from his dream that she was at once innocent of any witchcraft, quite learned in herbal lore, and quite young and beautiful. And so she was. They spoke for well over an hour just outside the door to her humble dwelling. As with his dream, she offered him no hospitality or shelter from the rain, but was not otherwise unkind. And by the end of their conversaton, with skies clearing overhead, Helga said that she hoped Edgar would return on the morrow as she had quite enjoyed their conversation.

Meeting up with the others back at small beer hall at Glitterstead, Harek related that they had spoken with this Garmund, and that he spoke of some "very strange" carcasses he'd seen while out hunting late last year and early this year, in the valleys due south of here ... torn up like he'd never seen before. But otherwise left untouched by scavengers. For his own part, the old hunter believed that a troll had moved into the region, but he would lead them to where he'd seen the last carcass tomorrow, and if it was still there, they would see if it in anywise resembled Karl's corpse.

Edgar related in turn that Helga didn't appear to be a witch, that her charms were little more than herbal and superstitious folk magic, but that he would return to her abode tomorrow for a closer look. Dirk joked that this Helga's "charms" possibly went beyond those Edgar had willingfully mentioned.

And so it was that the following morning both parties went their separate ways. Edgar found Helga much more "cleaned up" than he had yesterday. She was no more than 25 winters herself, and as Edgar learned throughout the day, she was formerly a thrall from the Northlands, bought by one of the Gislar with the intent on making her his wife, but unaccepted by his kinsfolk. He built her this cottage here, but then died 2 seasons back in a mining accident. She had since survived by selling her herbs in Gisilberg, and at times, she admitted with shame, providing "company" to the odd miner.

This did not discourage Edgar, who grew fonder and fonder of Helga, and she for him, as the day went on and turned into night. But they had only just finished making love that evening, and were laying in each others caressing embrace, when the shouts of men arose from outside. Torchlight could be seen flickering through the shutters on the small shacks window. A man called out for "the Gisiling" to bring the witch out, from by "aye!" from a number of other manly throats.

Edgar jumped up and donned no more than his cloak before grabbing his spear and opening the door. He assured the gathered men, perhaps just over a dozen of them, that he had been sent by Lord Albrecht himself to investigate this matter and that there was no witchcraft to be found here. To which one of the crowd responded that it was Edgar himself that came to Glitterstead looking for witchcraft, and that now the lad sat bewitched ... undoubtedly locked in the hags limbs no small time ago and now enthralled to her and her evil. Again, the mob demanded that Helga be brought forth. And when Edgar again refused them, three of them forced their way in, took control of Edgar and dragged him outside. And as they exited, two others went in, put a sack over Helga's head -- to keep her from speaking her spells -- and dragged her outside as well.

The men simply restrained Edgar, not altogether unmindful of his status as a Gisiling, but as for Helga, they strapped her to the trunk of an old dead tree that stood nearby and began to douse her in oil. Edgar was frantic at his lovers impending fate, but he could not struggle from of the thre emen that held him down, and the others went on seemingly oblivious to his threats of Gisiling vengeance, until he at last demanded the matter be settled by single combat and accused them all of cowardice if they did not accept his terms.

At this, the men sobred. His terms were agreed upon. The duel would be fought until death or quarter, but Edgar would face the biggest of the gathered miners; a bald and beardless Hercynian who neverthless sported a great moustache and stood a paunchy 6' 2". The duel was swift and ended with Edgar on the ground and spear levelled at his throat. When he failed to yield, the Hercynian twirled his spear about and struck the lad unconscious with it's buttend.

The Gisiling was wakened moments later to the horrific shreiks of Helga as her body was engulfed and slowly devoured by flames. Edgar tried to stand on shakey knees as the rest of the men stumbled backwards, blank of expression as though in shock over the horror of the scene. At last Edgar gained his feet and stumbled over to Helga's burning form, but he could do nothing. Nothing but wait for her shrieks to dwindle into agonized whimpers and then to finally fall silent altogether. The flames themselves did not last long after, leaving Helga's charred and smouldering corpse hanging from the tree trunk.

Chapter 4

And so it was that Edgar took the time to bury the burnt remains of Helga. Then, with the rising of the sun, he made his way back to Glitterstead where he immediately proceeded to the personal cabin of Headman Thurstan and confronted him personally over the burning. He demanded to see the body of the miner they claimed had died "mysteriously". And indeed, Edgar's inspection of the corpse revealed red stains on the man's finger tips, and berries lodged in the man's throat. The fool had eaten poison berries! Edgar was wroth, but while Thurstan's was not unremorseful he nevertheless argued that it was Edgar who had brought talk of witchery to Glitterstead, stirring up the fears of the people, and then had the unwisdom to lock limbs with the chief suspect ... to share the bed of a potential seductress and fornicator with unclean spirits. How else could they interpret Edgar's sudden "change of heart" as he stood there, naked, and now claiming that the lass was, without a doubt, no witch? Surely he had been bewitched! And if nothing else, Thurstan reasoned, better they all be rotten bastards then risk a return of the evil and tyranny of Wod.

While Edgar could see something of Thurstan's point, most noteably regarding how the Gisiling had brought his own integrity into question, he nevertheless promised that his uncle, the Lord Albrecht, would hear of this matter and of Thurstan's loose lips; for how else did anyone in Glitterstead know of Edgar's business here? Thurstan's only reply was a remorseful, "men must do as they must."

And so Edgar next made his way over to the camp's small beer hall. Most of the miners had already taken their breakfast and set off to work, but therein the Gisiling nevertheless found his kinsman Harek, along with Falco and Dirk, still lounging about. He greeted them and told them his tragic tale yester-eve. Harek was of half a mind to go run Thurstan through this very moment for daring to handle a Gisling in any such manner as his men did, but Edgar nay-said him and pointed out that any such actions would be for Lord Albrecht himself to decide upon. He then asked into the matter of Garmund the hunter and these "unusual husks" of his.

Harek told that, indeed, these husks of Garmund's were very unusual. They had in fact found a fresh one ... torn up right and proper, partially devoured, but carrying a tremendous, musky stench to them which might be the reason scavengers wold not touch them. For Harek's part, he had seen the remains of Karl and a number of the wolfheads found at the old dwarven hold. This looked nothing like them. It was likely as Garmund said, some form of troll had entered the area. Harek went on to argue that Hauk, and others, might well rub their lack of particpation in the war with Drakensberg in ... up here in the Hercynian Mountains chasing "witches, ghosts and fairies" as they were. If however they could return to Gisilberg as trollslayers, like heroes of legend, well, far from holding their manhood in question, the other lads would all be green with envy.


It was thus agreed upon that they would test their luck agaisnt this troll before continuing to pursue this matter of witchery. Perhaps the two were related? Either way, the rest of the day was spent securing the aid of Garmund, who said that he might well be able to track the fiend, and marshalling what aid they could from the miners of Glitterstead. Of these, only 4 men were willing to lend their aid, two young men around their own grown-but-as-yet-untested age, an old man of some fifty winters who feared he would end up suffering the pains of old age and die in misery, and one more man of a few years who rightly believed that if there was a troll nearby they'd best get it before it started getting them.

The group set out the following morning, eventually coming to the area the most recent husk was found in. En route Edgar spied an old turfed hut, partially built into the ground. Garmund said that it belonged to a mad old hermit that had long made his home in these parts, and Edgar made amental note of it; intending to look into the matter once their troll business was complete.

By late morning they had arrived at the site of the husk. It was gone, but the bloody mess that remained was clear proof that it had indeed once been here. And it did not take long for Garmund to pick up the spour of the troll. They tracked it for the remainder of the day, straying ever more south and west, and ever closer to the border of the kingdom of Hercynia, until they at last spied a broad cave mouth at the bottom of a wide ravine.

A quick camp was set up and no few moments were lost in conversation regarding how to best approach this matter. According to the myths and legends of the Ingaevones, trolls could be turned to stone from sunlight. And so, while they might not be able to trick or force the troll out into the sunlight, they could use it to cover their escape if their assault went awry. And so, before anymore daylight could be lost quibbling over the minute, and often contradictory details of troll lore, Harek and Edgar had sparked up a torch and began making their way toward the cave mouth. They were soon joined by Garmund, while the others quickly fell in behind them.



Within they encountered, first, a largish troll of monsterous visage standing nearly 8' tall, and then two smaller but nevertheless ferocious ones standing around 7' tall. These emerged from a deep chamber within the cave even as the large troll fell. In the two battles, the old timer and two youthful miners, along with Garmund the hunter, were all salughtered by the viscious claws of the trolls. But in the end, the luck of the Gisiling's proved to be exceptional, and the trolls -- a mother and her two nearly grown troll pups still groggy from their days sleep -- were slain! But THREE trolls nevertheless ... who's heads they took as proof of their manly exploits before quitting the troll den altogether.

Victorious in their battle agaisnt the trolls, Edgar, Harek, Falco, Dirk, and the one surviving miner spent the night at the camp they'd set up before setting out on the return trip to Glitterstead the following morning. Along the way, Edgar stopped at the hut of the mad hermit Garmund had told them of on their way out. He found the hermit to be a wild-eyed, spindley limbed, and an overall pitiful excuse for a man. A raving lunatic to be sure, who threatened the Gisiling with the wrath of Wod, all the while spitting folkish curses and shaking a churlish attempt at a nithing staff at him. But Edgar knew of runecraft and witchery, and that of the madman was akin to Helga's ... folkish nonsense with no power ... mere pagentry on behalf of this frightened old lunatic, designed to frighten off those who might harm him in his isolation.

Edgar soon left the company of the madman, unimpressed, but unable to shake his mention, his warning, that "Hagguth is once again on the prowl". He knew this name, Haggutha, but could not place it at first. Then later, after meeting up with the others and pressing on to Glitterstead, both Falco and Dirk mentioned that they too recalled this name. They recalled that when they were but pupplings, a number of men had gone missing in the Hyrcenian Mountains and how the adults whispered in hushed tones about "Burnt Haggutha" or "Hagguth the Witch" and shuddered at the possilbity of her "return".

And so it was the following day that the Gislar lads returned to Gisilberg. There Edgar sought out his grandmother and he asked her of Haggutha. She hushed him and scratched hexes of protection in the air, explaining that it was forbidden to speak that dark and unholy name. But when Edgar explained to her the tale of Karl, the wolfheads, the witchery found at the dwarven hold, and then of the words of the madman, the wise old crone knew the tale of Hagguth could be hidden no longer.

She spoke of the reign of her own great uncle, the Lord Gisilbert, some hundred seasons agone, and of the great turmoil that followed his wedding to a Saxon lass who name has since been stricken from scrolls and neglected by gleomen. All that is remembered is that she was quite possibly the most beautiful woman in all of Saxony, sought after by all of the lords that ruled in the southern reaches of the Saxon lands. Battles were fought for her hand, and in the end it was Lord Gisiling that claimed her as his prize. His love for her was great, and it ruled him in everyway. He would hear no wrong of her ... on pain of death ... but she was fickle and trothless, her "indiscretions" many and varied.



Many a man, both earl and thrall, knew her. And she was a great friend to all evil women. Crowds of such vixens were said to follow her about. And some said that this was no gossipy en tourage, but indeed a witches coven, and the Lady a witchqueen. Some say her coven numbered in the hundreds, and that she in fact drew her power from Wod himself; not indirectly as all witches ultimately do, but via personal and direct invocation! And some say that she was responsible for the rash of young children that went missing during this time; a belief that ultimately sparked war amongst the southern Saxon Lords once again. And while Lord Gisilbert was once again victorious, this time in defense of his Lady, he was struck a wound that proved to be mortal in the closing battle. And with his death, it was the Gisilings themselves that seized Gisilbert's lady, placed a bag over her head, and charged her before the Tivar with witchery. And it is for this reason alone that the Gisiling's maintain their rank and station today. But in the end, the witchqueen was found guilty and burned at the stake. Her remains were then taken to the Nebel-bogs upon the Brocken in the Hercynian Mountains, and there sunk deep to join the other offspring of shameful felony and malicious deceit.

And so it was thought that the matter had been dealt with and life got back to normal in the Saxon south. But no more than a season had passed when those very Gisilings and their co-conspirators that had taken part in the trial of Gisilbert's lady began to turn up horribly slain. Hagguth as the folk began to call her had crawled out of the Nebel-bogs to seek her revenge.



Some say her witches gathtered to chant her back to life, other say say likewise but it was not the lady that arose from those bogs, but something older and more terrible still. But many died, and such was the fear that, before long, folk began leaving their unwanted children at the Nebel-bogs as offerings to appease Burnt Haggautha and satiate her anger. This worked until the folk themselves could no longer tolerate it. A hero emerged to track down Burnt Haggutha, slay and burn her once again, and then return her remains to the Nebel-bogs.

And so again the matter was thought dealt with and a generation passed, when again folk began disappearing and then turning up horribly murdered and multilated. Again the folk whispered of the return of the Hagguth the Witch. But, as the story goes, this time Hagguth had the misfortune of capturing two Gisiling youths, Edgar's own great-grandfather and his sister in fact. They are said to had tricked Hagguth, slipping their bonds and locking her in her own huy, before burning it down and recommitting her remains to the Nebel-bogs. Indeed, Edgar's grandmother continued, it remains that whenever someone goes missing in the Hercynian Mountians whispers will again begin to be heard of the old witch Haggutha; though such rumours die as quickly as they are born lest they lend to her actual return.

But this time ... THIS time ... Edgar himself had seen the signs. What else could it have been that snuck into their midst and bore off Karl without a trace? That tore his chest open and poicked his insides clean? That done the same to a small army of wolfheads? And then new witchery powerful enough to cause the dead to get up and walk?

Edgar believed he now had answers for Lord Albrecht.

And so it was that early the next morning Edgar, Harek, Falco, and Dirk made with all due haste northward and westward out of Giselberg bound for the lands of the Drackensberg Saxons and the army of Lord Albrecht Gisiling. The travelled for the majority of the day before at last reaching the tradtional battle ground between the folk of Gisilberg and Drackensberg. A small band of Gislar warriors were readying to set out of their way back to their lands with a small band of wounded and dead as the Edgar, his kinsmen and friends came upon them. In the great sweep cleaing behind them, the women of those Drackenvolk slain could be seen searching for thier dead and wialing their grief at their lose here today.

Clearly, the Gislar had won the field.

Edgar and Harek bespeeched the Gislar wounded, and they told of how the Gislar had ridden out with an impress muster of some 600 Gislar including Lord Albrecht's own 100 housecarls. The Lord Baeldric was well supported by his own household troops, number ing some 75, but found no great heart for his cause amongst the Drackensvolk, of whom a mere 300 answered his call to muster. Though the young, hotheaded Baeldric was resolute, and his men not lacking in manhood, the battle was swift that day. The straping young Hauke slew two of the Drackenfolk by his own hand before going on to tforce the submission of Lord Baeldric's 3rd cousin, Thiery, as well. As so went the battle as a whole, as the angry and spirited Gislar slammed into a spiritless force half their size, and set them to flight in short order. Lord Baeldric and the remainder of his force retreated behind the walls of Drackensberg, while Lord Albrecht and the Gislar were quick to follow in pursuit. They reckoned that even now Lord Albrecht probably had Drackensberg under seige.

And so bidding the band of wounded and dead farewell, Edgar and company carried on with all due haste for Drackensberg where, by sundown, they found the encampment of the Gislar and the tent of Lord Albrecht Gisiling. Edgar was anxious to share his terrible suspicions with his uncle, but was equally careful to be neither too hastey nor too thoughtless about the company he voiced his suspicions in. And truth be told, Lord Albrecht was muchly preoccuppied withthe course of the war. He was in a mood and angered over the Lord Baeldric's continued defiance from behind the walls of Drackensberg. Did he not realise the Gislar had set him to flight at that point which most battles begin in earnest??? And that his stores in Drackensberg could hardly be well equiped far any kind of seige???

And so it was that Lord Albrecht took to, aye, occassional assaults on the mighty gates of Drackensberg, if for no other reason than to keep his men occuppied, but mostly to relying on time, scouts and patrols around Drackensberg. He would starve them out if necessary.

During the days that followed, Edgar sought out his father, the High-Priest Edmund, and shared with him the tale of his investigation and growing suspicions of Burnt Haggutha. Edmund bade his son to guard his tongue on his matters, but encouraged him that he did indeed take his suspcioins seriously. When this war was done, the two of them would have to take a secret trip to the Nebel-bogs, there to cast the lots and learn wyrd of Burnt Haggutha.

And so it was that 3 days had passed since the seige of Drackensberg had begun when a Gislar scouting party returned with news of a large force of some 200 fighting men coming in from the southwest; a band of well outfitted mercenaries from the Gallic Empire by the look of them. And with them they brought some "great ogre" as the scout called it, a "troll", standing some 10' tall, and barely controllable by the some dozen men that held it's chains.

These mercenaries were clearly hirelings of Baeldric, bought and paid for by the mines of Glitterstead itself ironically enough no doubt, and could very well represent a severe threat to the largely unarmoured Gislar force. And so it was that Albrecht left Otto, a small contigents of house-carls, and some 150 Gislar to maintain the seige at Drackensberg, while he himself led his remaining 75 housecarls and 245 Gislar against the force of Gallic mercenaries.

The battle was fierce and lasted for nearly an hour, before a sorely tested force of Gislar at last managed to gain the upper hand and swing the tide of battle in their favour. It was at this point however that the beleagured mercenaries unleashed their battle-troll. It swept away a swathe of Gislar before at last met by Lord Albrecht, Hauke, Edgar, Harek, and a number of his housecarl's. It slew these latter at a blow, but eventually began to faulter under the combined assault of the Gisilings. And even as it did the mercenaries were already begining to fall into a retreat. Before it's death however, the ogre lashed out with the last of it's blind fury even as Lord Albrecht sought to dart in for a killing stroke. The Gisiling lord however, was overly confident in his attack. His aged bones were snapped, his body crumpled, beneath the terrible power of the ogres blow. Edgar was then quick to dispatch the brute with a well placed cast of his spear, but there lay the Lord of the Gisilings, stretched upon the earth, his limbs laying at such angles as to make a man ill from the sight, and coughing up blood to betray some terrible internal wounds. Edmund and Edgar did what they could for their beloved kinsman, but the Lord of the Gislar passed away within moments of the ogres own death.

The Gislar could waste little time in mourning however, if they were as to yet win the day. They would return with all due haste to the seige of Drackensberg, and their Otto would asusme the mantle of warlord until the resolution of the war. However, on their return to Drackensberg they met with Otto and the force that had been left in his care. In the face of Otto's significantly smaller force, and with a force of 100 Drackenvolk appearing as reinforcements, Lord Baeldric threw upon the gates of his fortress and set Otto to flight. Moreover, scouts soon arrived to inform the Gislar that the remaining Gallic mercenaries had themselves rallied around Lord Baeldric, and the combined force was hot on their heels.

The Gislar were quick to rally around Otto and proclaim him their warlord; eager to march forth and face the wolfish Lord Baeldric; eager to avenge the death of their Lord. And yet Wyrd had struck the wind from the sails of the Gislar. Their luck, so strong at the onset of the war, had at last run out, and after a spirited attempt to again break the lines of the remaining Gallic mercenaries, the Gislar at last began to fall back and the Warlord Otto was forced to soud the retreat.

And so it was that the mighty Gislar returned home, their cause lost, their lord slain, and the matter of succession now looming. The pride of the Gislings had suffered a major blow.

And so it was that the Gisilings were forced to fallback into their lands. Warlord Otto was wroth. Not only had the Dracken-Lord, Baeldric, raided a caravan travelling under the protection of a Saxon-Lord’s Banner, a crime by the common Law of the Saxon-Lords, but he went on to secure it with the aid of a large force of foreigners; an action not dealt with under the Law of the Saxon-Lords, but clearly markedly different than the customarily permissive allowance of individual foreigners in the retinues of the Saxon-Lords. And now, if only to make matters worse, the Gisiling-Lord, noble Albrecht, lay dead.

Otto had riders sent immediately throughout the lands of the Gislar, to muster the great fyrd in anticipation of a counter-invasion by the Drackenvolk. And it was not long before an emissary from Drackenberg arrived at Gisilberg. He bore Lord Baeldric’s demands for the unconditional surrender of the Gisilings, and at this the great, red bearded Otto nearly beheaded the messenger himself right there in the High Hall of Gisilberg, and would have too if not for the timely intervention and stern eloquence of High-Priest Edmund. He bade the Drackling messenger to return to his lord with word that the Gisiling’s well knew that Baeldric’s forces had suffered just as greatly as those of the Gislar. And added that while the Drackenvolk were probably somewhat more stirred up now, that they clearly lent their lord little enough support in this ill-schemed endeavour; word of which was being carried to their fellow Saxon-Lords even as they parleyed. Moreover, thanks to the battle-prowess of Otto‘s own son, and strapping Hauke, the Gisiling‘s had as their hostage Baeldric‘s cousin, Sigric, and reminded that so young a Lord did not on the High-Seat of Drackenberg without reason.

And so the messenger was sent on his way. And indeed, while regular patrols did ride out to ward the border between the respective lands, the great fyrd of the Gislar was soon dispersed as no counter-invasion was immediately forthcoming.

In the meantime, High-Priest Edmund prepared for his brother’s funeral even and readied for the rites of succession. He further bespeeched his son, Edgar, telling him that while he could not be concerned with the matter of Haggutha at the moment, the two of them would travel together to the Nebel Bogs when a new Lord sat in the High-Seat, and there he would cast the lots to determine if Hagguth the Witch still slumbered in their dark, fetid depths. He further bade Edgar --- who, like Harek, was neither old nor accomplished enough to be considered for the Lordship under prevailing familial conditions -- to collect his friends and dare another journey back to the dwarven hold they’d discovered within the Hercynian Mountains. The possibility of wealth and/or war-gear that it might contain could not be ignored. The Gislar could potentially recover their losses of late. Perhaps more.

While Edgar was hesitant as a result of “a presence” within the wooded mountains, Edmund reminded his son that there was no glory without risk; bidding the youth in increasing distraction and lack of patience to go forth and make himself worthy of his name and ancestry; adding that the witch had been defeated before, and once by children as far as the legends go!

The following day, some 4 days after their return from the lands of the Drackenvolk, Edgar set out from Gisilberg with his kinsman Harek, Erhard the Pack-handler and a trio of his dogs, Hauke “the Troll-AND-Manslayer” (as he was now calling himself), and their friends Falco, Dirk, and Elmer. Edgar also had in tow the strong-backed thrall, Dredge, who would help carry their gear and perform various mundane tasks around camp. Edgar armed him with a dagger.

Their journey to Glitterstead was swift that morning, and they lingered only long enough to learn that all was well in the mining camp before again setting out at the energetic pace they‘d set for the first day. And during that first day, all were full of their deeds in the recent war. All had stories to tell, but Harek had returned with a suit of Gallic ringmail; stripped from a fallen Gaul as per custom. Never to be outdone though, Hauke could boast that he returned with 3 suits of Gallic mail! Edgar retorted that 3 suits of ringmail was almost as good as 3 trolls!

And so it went until nightfall, when all boisterousness and bravado fell away from the lads, and a silence fell over them for reasons that none dared speak of, but all knew only too well. Burnt Haggutha. Or whatever other evil lurked within the mountains. But before long, Hauke began to pull them out of it with timely tales of the wandering priest, Red Donar, mortal son of Fergunn the Rainmaker; of his matchless might, goodly deeds, and how he could lay entire legions of demons low with a single blow from his oaken cudgel. And indeed, of how some believed that Donar still watches over the world of men from his fathers side in the heavens, and wards it against the kinsmen of Wod.

It had long been said that Hauke’s kinsmen resembled Red Donar. And so it was said again this eve.

Hauke agreed with this assessment.

The band survived the night and arrived at the dwarven hold mid-morning on their third day. It remained as they’d left it. The twice-slain corpses of the outlaws still littered the entry hall; left untouched by scavengers and both reeking and maggot ridden. Edgar believed Burnt Haggutha’s touch defiled their remains not unlike troll musk. And yet, when they made their way to the opposing side of the great chasm that dominated the entry hall, they found the great stone inner-doors to be locked from the inside. And not with any common mechanism, but with a dwarven lock crafted with dwarven wit and wisdom, and built right into the very doors themselves!

The disappointment was great amongst the group; that they’d come all this way only to find the door impenetrable and barred against them. Edgar however knew of a rune-charm that could loosen bonds and release fetters. He did not know the charm himself, but his father might. Or his father might know someone who knows. If they could but carve him one, he could surely open the lock with it. He did not share this with his fellow of course; only that he would seek the counsels of his father on this matter upon their return.

And yet as luck would have it, that very night the entire camp was roused by terrifying shrieks and horrific commotion that arose first from that direction, and then another, and then yet another, and eerie “Wod-lights” began to dance amidst the trees no more than a hundred strides beyond the camp. And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the noises and lights, ceased.

For a long moment eerie silence reigned, at last broken by an anguished cry from a strangely familiar voice not far off in the distance. Edgar asked each man to sound off as the cries of agony continued. And all did. All save for Falco.

Falco had been taken. This was Edgar’s only thought as he dashed out of camp, spear in hand, in hopes of helping his dear friend. The anguished cries soon ceased, but it was not long after this that Edgar burst into a clearing. The moon was bright, and he could the remains of Falco laying on the ground, chest torn open and, undoubtedly, his insides devoured. At the opposing edge of the clearing stood a small cloaked figure, back facing the Gisiling. Edgar felt a rush of anger and began to charge the figure, only to be stopped dead in his tracks as it turned. It was Helga crying tears of blood, there in the moonlight! And yet it could not be, the Gisiling thought, cursing her as Haggutha as he thrust his spear at her, only for her to catch the spear tip and -- with hand unbloodied and an uncanny strength even for a large man -- throw Edgar back and to the ground. She took a step toward Edgar, but then stopped, looking momentarily perplexed as she sniffed the air, but what that, the sorrow on her beautiful face was replaced with scathing fury. She shrieked at Edgar as though from a thousand voices and then twirled as though caught in a whirlwind, until left standing in her stand was a tall, boney hag with blackened skin, hellish eyes, a nearly bald head of long greyish hair, and a fierce mouth of pointed, rotting teeth.

It was then that Harek and Hauke, who had followed Edgar into the night, burst into the clearing. Harek quickly pulled his kinsmen to his feet and told him to run, but Edgar instead decided to attempt another attack. The fiend easily thwarted this, knocking the spear aside, taking hold of Edgar by the throat and lifting him off his feet, but was forced to let him go when both Harek and Hauke slammed into her. As it went, the tackle barely did more than budge Haggutha, and she tossed the warriors off of her with near effortless ease.

Again, Harek shouted at Edgar to RUN!!! And this time Edgar did not fail to heed his kinsman. However, as luck would again have it, neither time nor speed eventually brought the son of Edmund back to camp. He had fallen off course, and soon came to realize that he was lost. And yet, as he moved the hideous wails of Burnt Haggutha faded ever more into the distance. And by the time they stopped altogether, Edgar had bumped into Harek. He was equally lost, but reasoned that, if they survived the night, they could climbed one of the mountains come morning and spot out the Brocken. Thus oriented, getting back to Gisilberg would be a small matter.

Reflections on the World of Northwind: Trade and Civilization

As noted in my opening post, two main features distinguish the pseudo-historical world of Northwind from out own history. The first was the abscence of the "Great Cooling" of the late Celtic Bronze Age, which brought an end to the great prosperity of the Nordic peoples, caused their trade routes to Poland and the British Isles to breakdown, and spurred the first Great Migration out of their southern Scandinavian homeland and into Modenr Germany and beyond.

This fact, with the addition of a strong dwarven prescence, ie. stonework and engineering, enabled populations to densify into urban centers (rather than migrate). In fact, the dwarves be damned! The natural problems that arise from population densification, combined with the increased level of affluence alone would had given rise to the same engineering solutions, eg. irrigation, that it gave rise to in other parts of the real world. But there were dwarves. And they sped up the entire process. They're not around anymore, becasue we humans pissed them off, but enough of dwarves already!

The second distinguishing feature of Northwind is that the Roman Empire lies in ruin, and has twice produced enormous hordes of demons and/or orcii and madmen; some of which still haunt the ruins and wilds of the old empire. It's trade routes are shattered. Those who have dared brave it's old roads, or travel it's seas and brave it old ports, have (mostly) never been heard from again. Trade no longer flows from the south. And it has been this way for almost 400 years.

This places a great significance on the Baltic, as the Mediterranean of Northwind. One need but Google "Viking Trade Routes" to get an idea of how this will look in Northwind; keeping in mind that the Empire, ALL of it, both west and east on out to the very borders of Pakistan in fact, lies in ruin and THOSE "viking trade routes" are NOT open of course.

A few major centers in the North are Hedeby in Denmark with a population of some 15,000 to be rivalled only by Sweden's Birka, also around 15,000, ie. WAY more than their RW Viking Age equivalents. I'm not sure what the captial of the fictional Celtic kingdom of Hercynia will be, but it's population will probably be around 15,000 as well. Hamburg is around 5,000, while the other bergs of the Saxonlords are around 1,000. Lutetia (ie. Paris) and London are only around 5,000 themselves, and thus well below capacity and mostly occupied only by those Gallo-Roman families wealthy enough to maintain their estates therein ... maybe ...

I'm finding it hard to get my mind around the notion that the south is no longer the origin point of wealth and trade. Hence the recent "BIG DEAL" made in the campaign over "Gallic ringmail", but that reality is that the Gallic Empire is not so much the last bastion of Hellensitic civlization, as it is the decaying ruins of Hellenistic civilization. It's barely holding on ... and ... hmmm ... and it's only the undying rustic sensilbities of the North that enables it to stand on anything resembling equal footing with the North. I still kinda want the south to be the realm of large cities and "Gallic ringmail", so I'm going to have to think about this. Maybe they had shrewd merchants who made sure not to alienate the North, and were on top of the changes from day one??? Maybe they stayed in the good graces of a few clans of dwarves???

the Gisiling Saga (spring, 675 CE)

As for Hauke himself, he arrived back at camp, winded, with the witch still wailing in the distance behind him. The others had already broken camp, and they did not take long to depart once all realized neither Harek nor Edgar were hot on the son of Otto's heels. Even Hauke himself confirmed this retreat; arguing that they could come back in the morning and use Erhard and his dogs to track the Gisilings, but could do little for them stumbling about in the darkness or dead.

And so it was tha thte remaing band -- made up of Hauke, Erhard, Elmer, Dirk, and Dredge the thrall -- gathered firebrands and began to make their way with all due haste back in the direction of Glitterstead. Before long the hideous wailing of the fiend ceased, and while this served only to double the speed of the band's retreat they to, in time, came to rest. As they rested somebody was heard approaching their camp, and this turned out to be Edgar. He was overjoyed that he had found them and strode forward to give Hauke a brotherly hug of appreciation, only for the strapping youth to push him back ad hack at Edgar's grasping arms with his broadsword. A black oily ichor went flying through the air out of the wound Hauke had cut, and a familar, blood curdling wail rose from the throat of Edgar even as his false visage fell away ... leaving the tall, boney, and blackened form of Haggutha standing in his stead.

"It bleeds!!!" exclaimed Hauke as he stumbled back only to quickly regain his composure at the realization; and just in time to raise his shield against the praeterhuman strength and daggerlike nails of the witch. There was a brief skirmish between the warlike youths and the witch, but in the end Burnt Haggutha struck both Dirk and Elmer hard blows that sent them sprawling, and then went on to beat down Hauke's guard before savagely raking him on either side of his face and neck.

At that, Erhard then called out, commanding the lads to run even as he unleashed his 3 rottweillers with the command to kill. The first to lauch itself at the witch was caught in midair with one of her deadly clawed hands before being disemboweled by the other. The other two however, put up a valiant effort; keeping the blackened crone busy for several minutes before their barks gave way to wimpers and then fell silent.

And so they continued on until morning. And then on through the next day until they reached the security of Glitterstead. Here, Hauke spread word of the witch and the missing Gisilings -- Headman Thurstan whispered that this was the doing of the witch Helga and how they were lucky to have burned her before she'd rosed Wod Himself! -- but they lingered for no more than a night before pressing on to Gisilberg.


In the meantime, Edgar and Harek continued on through the darkness of the wooded mountains; stumbling and bumping their way through the roughage of the primal woods, but mostly following the many creeks and streams that flow out of the mountains. Their going was slow, soggy, and generally unpleasant, but it nevertheless led them on a certain course away from the charred and hellish crone until bright Sunne at last crested the surrounding highlands and bathed the valleys with her victorious light. And with the breaking of day, the two Gislings continued on much more confidently and with sure direction; to the top of the nearest and most significant elevation, from which they spotted the Brocken some 2 or 3 days due north of their position.

From here, the Gisilings made their way, north-northwest, down the mountain; planning to pass to the west of the Brocken and make their way to Gisilberg's eastward neighbour, Warinberg, who's Lord, Reginar , had long been on goodly terms with the Gisilings. And so went their path for the remainder of the day. The following day they continued on through this primordial heartland of the Hercynian Mountains. Around noon, they were attacked by a duo of large, naked men with hellish coloured skin and tusked, boarlike faces. They wielded crude clubs and attacked with a reckless disregard. Edgar was able to trip his up and, knife in hand, keep it occupied on the ground for long enough for Harek to deal with his. And he could not have dealt with his any sooner as, despite Edgar's early advantage -- mounted atop the fallen beast-man with knife in hand -- he lacked the strength and skill to drive the blade home, and his strong and frantic opponent soon bucked him off and regained it's feet. Harek however afford the beast-thing little honour before he slew it out of concern for his kinsman's safety.

Orcs. What else walks like a man, but has blackened skin, fiendish eyes and the face and temperment of a wild boar? Travellers said that entire tribes of orcii were still spread across the small isles north of Britiannia, such that they came to be called the Orkney's after their inhabitants. And of course, as far as talk went, everyone knew that demons and their orcii offspring still haunted the ruins of the old southern empire, but the great orcii hunts that were once the rite of passage for the southern lads of the Saxonlands had come to an end in the time of their grandfathers. Clearly though, it was as the hunters said, that, while exceedingly fewer in numbers, small clanns of Hercynian orcii still dwelt in the more forbidding reaches of the mountains.

Harek noted with a certain revulsion that these orcii they had slain, while stoutly built, as men, nevertheless had "both parts" ... both the parts of men and the parts of women. He then took one of their heads as proof of their deed, and the two continued on their journey.

That night they camped at the southwestern foot of the Brocken. Edgar slept fitfully that night as Harek stood watch, and he again dreamt he was flying high over the Brocken, circling it before swooping down through its gates and doors, and down winding flights of stone stairs, into a great pitch black chamber in it's deepest bowels. Then at the far end of the great chamber partially obscured flames sprang into being, dancing and flickering about as though moved by some spectral wind.

Edgar again awakened in a fright; knowing the feel of this type of dream from more common dreams via experiences from his young childhood onward. He gazed at Harek from acrossing the fire he had built with a bow-drill early, and then up into the thick darkness of night toward the heights of the Brocken.

It was then that both Gisilings were alerted of ... something, someone, stumbling thorugh the brush toward their camp. Edgar sprung to his feet, knife in hand, while Harek readied seax and shield. To both their surprise and relief it turned out to be Hauke, who stumbled into camp short of breathe saying how he had been searching for them and how happy he was he had found them. He continued to move toward Edgar as the runester exclaimed their relief that he was not Haggutha, when their redhaired friend transformed into the the charred boney crone in mid stride; wrapping one of her clawed hands around Edgar's throat and lifting him, effortlessly, off his feet. Harek moved to intervene but the witch merely hissed at him and struck him so mighty a blow that he was sent sprawling nito the bush where he could do not but lay stunned and dazed.

Edgar sought to pry her grip off his neck, but it was like iron and his struggles were in vain. He begged the fiend why she did this too him, that he had done no harm to her! And with this she again took the form of Helga, weeping tears of blood, and crying to Edgar of how she loved him and he let her burn. And as she spoke her fair skin again began to blister and burn as whisps of smokey began to emerge from her blonde tresses, until at last Helga again burst into flame before Edgar's eyes. While the flames did not burn, he again struggled against he grip denying his guilt and proclaiming that he had in fact sought to champion her!

Again, burning Helga transformed back into the char-skinned Haggutha. Her fiendish eyes blazed with hell-fury as she hisses viciously at the Gisiling. He sat helpless, consciousness quickly fading, as the witchfiend drew back it's other hand in prepation to disembowel him .... when suddenly a brilliant silvery-gold light rained down on the scene from overhead. Edgar began to fell to the earth as Haggutha recoiled and retreat out of the light.

The runester then felt himself gentlly eased down. He looked at and saw a fair maiden with pale skin and dressed in a flowing white gown. She caressed Edgar's face as he lay there, head cocked to oneside, in an adoring manner, one of a mother looking down at her child, and then ... it was Harek there looking down on Edgar and pulling him back to his feet.

Edgar immediately asked his kinsmen if he had seen it? Harek admitted to noticing some bright light as he came back to his sense. Both had heard of the White Ladies of the Mountains, and indeed they were most often seen over the springtide. Some say they are the spirits of powerful ancestrohat still watch over their offspring. Others that they are elf-maidens in service of Frua, but always they are goodly and helpful to the Saxons. This, Edgar reasoned, was undoubtedly the White Lady; who's shining might had driven Burnt Haggutha back into the darkness.

Exhausted himself, but unwilling to test their luck any further, Harek advised that they take brands from the fire and move on through the rest of the night and through the day until the reach Warinberg. And so it was, with a great thunderstorm rising up by noon the following day and the miserable looking Gisiling youths at making it to the hospitality of Werinberg.

And the lads remained for some 3 days as the guests of Lord Reginar. They provided him with news of the orcii they had found, but otherwsie kept quiet on the matter of Haggutha; saying instead that they had been hunting and, in their recklessness, had separated from their party and gotten. Edgar often enjoyed the company of Reginar's daughter, the beauteous, Alflaed. And while she was sure to leave no one feeling left out or ignred, she clearly enjoyed the pleasant conversation and time she spent with knowledgable Edgar.

But within three days time, the storm had cleared, and, with promoses of his return, Edgar bade the Lady Alflaed, her father and kin farewell, as did Harek, and the two were on their way along the wagon trail back to Gisilberg; some days travel to the west.

As so it was that Edgar and Harek at last arrived home in Gisilberg. They were warmly greated by both kinsmen and folk, who had anticipated their return since word was first received from Lord Reginar of Warinberg such 4 days agone. Harek was pleased to learn that his father, Helmut, had been hailed as the new Lord of the Gislar. As for Edgar, he lost little time in seeking the company of his father, the High-Priest Edmund, and confirming all that Hauk had already told of upon his own return several days earlier; of the locked doors within the dwarven hold, of the death of Falco, and of Edgar's further experiences with what he now certainly believed was Burnt Haggutha. He went on to speak of the orcii he and Harek had encountered within the heart of the Hercynian Mountains, of his dreams of the ruins of the Darkhold atop the Brocken, and of their subsequent encounter with Haggutha in which they were saved by the sudden appearance of the White Lady.

Edmund was greatly concerned about all of this; especially with Edgar's added talk of these dreams of his and their images of a stirring of vitality within the bowels of the Darkhold. He wondered if Lord Baeldric's seeming "madness" was not itself somehow tied into all of this, and decided that the wealth of this dwarven hold would have to wait. He bade his son organize an expedition up to the ruins of the Darkhold on the summit of the Brocken. He would accompany them himself, High-Priest Edmund would, and they would skirt the Nebel Bogs themselves before pushing on to the Darkhold itself and scouting it out for any evil that might there be afoot.

And so it was. A mere two days later a small band rode out of Gisilberg made up of High-Priest Edmund, Otto, Harek, Edgar, Hauk, and six Gisiling housecarls. They rode first for Warinberg. The castle itself stood high upon a commanding hill, the Brocken clear in it's sight. On a clear day a sharped eyed man could even glimpse the ruins of the Darkhold from the vantage of Warinberg's watch-tower. Indeed, castle Warinberg was stouter than the other castles of the southern Saxonlands, and was the first to be be erected in the wake of Wod's retreat from the Hercynian Mountains. It's original purpose was to ward the Saxonlands against any return of power to the Darkhold.

The Gisling band was warmly received by Lord Reginar. Edmund spent the evening in counsel with both Reginar and his brother, the High-Priest Reginold, sharing his intent and beleifs with them. They in turn revealed that they themselves had received a number of reports since the Blessing of Austro of dancing lights or flickering fires atop the Brocken, deep in the witching hour, when most good folk slept. These reports had at last meritted the attnetion of Lord Reginar and he was even now preparing a small scouting party to look into the matter. By evenings end, Lord Reginar offered to send six his own household warriors up to the Darkhold along with Edmund; an offer which the High-Priest of the Gisilings graciously accepted.

In the meantime, Edgar spent his time in the company of Alflaed. He was briefly introduced to her illfavoured brother, Lothar, who was a tall, skinny and clumsy looking lad of some 18 winters. His hair was long and dark, his beard and moustache thin and patchy, and his skin a clamy pale. Lothar did not linger long in their company however before again slinkng off out of sight and back into his own company.

And so went the night; in the goodly hospitality of Warinberg.

But it was a fitfull night for Edgar; filled with fitiful dreams of the Brocken, terrible demons, and beauteous Alflaed being borne off by these despite his best of efforts. But while awakened by these dreams, in the deep hours of the night, Edgar knew that these ones were indeed just dreams. Subconscious bibblebabble. Still, left unnerved by them, the runester took the oppurtunity to steal out of Warinberg into the privacy of the surrounding woods, where he took to charging a couple of rune charms he mght need in the days to come. As he set into this however he came here the approach of someone. It turned out to be Lothar, who said he had seen someone steal out of the castle and so followed. He asked Edgar what he was up to, alone, out here in the woods, in the depths of the witching hour? And before the Gisiling could answer, Lothar gestured with eyes both curious and knowing to the rune carved stick that sat on a cloth before the Gisiling? Edgar explained that he was just practicing his rune script, but Lothar then comments on the magical components that surrounded then charm and were bound onto it. He continued to comment on the galdering, the singing of magical sounds, that he had heard on his approach and said, witha certain casual matter-of-factness, that it seemed Edgar was more likely charging a rune tine than practicing his rune script.

This led to some conversation between the two lads, as Lothar revealed that he too had an inkling of the hidden powers of the runes. Edgar interrupted before Lothar could go on, asking him if he needed a teacher in such things, and offer which Alflaed's brother was quick and gracious to accept. But the conversation continued on to Lothar's sister, and of the relative degrees both existed as outsiders amongst their kin and endured ridicule. In the end, Lothar stood watch while Edgar completed charging his rune wands and then declared as they made their way back to Warinberg that he would declare his desire to join the expedition to the Darkhold to his father over breakfast; saying that he hoped this would please his father and he would thus not kick him so hard the next his disappointment in his son grew too much to bare.

And indeed, while surprised and taken aback by Lothar's uncharacteristic boldness, Lord Reginar gave his consent.

And so it was that following breakfast the Gisiling band readied up alongside Lothar and his 6 housecarls and the lot of them set out. By mid-morning of the following day, they were skirting the wooded and ever-misty Nebel Bogs. It did not take long for Edgar to spy out signs that witchery had been worked here in the past month, while far off into the bog what most agreed was a human corpse could be glimpsed hanging from the neck, dangling and swaying in the wind from the branch of a distant tree.

Nerves frayed, even in broad daylight, the band pressed on, nearing the summit and setting up camp in the early afternoon. Leaving Otto, Harek, anda collection of housecarls behind at camp, the others pressed on to the ruins of the Darkhold.

The fields leading up to the ruin proper were strewn with a multitude of large blocks of black stone; the same stone the castle itself was made from and a stone very much unlike any seen in the Saxonlands. According to Lothar the stone blocks formerly made up the thick walls and defensive towers that once surrounded the Darkhold, but which had long since been pulled down by the sons of Mannus. High-Priest Edmund said that he could feel a faint evil eminating from the stones themselves.

As for the ruin proper, it was the rements of a once mighty castle that had long since been laid to waste, gutted by fire, various sections of walls collapsed and ajoining towers toppled. They entered the wide open entry hall and found it to be thick with webs inside. And it was not long before the band found itself under attack from a giant black spider the leg span of which was some 6 feet across! Nevertheless, the gathered folk were well protected by their mail and wargear, and it was a small effort for the gathered warriors to dispatch to monstrosity. An old human body, shrivelled and draiend of blood was found within it's webs. It was once a Saxon male judging by its hair and garb, and they took from it's corpse the seax that hung from its belt, and the two ornate gold rings that sat upon it's shrivelled fingers, before pressing on deeper into the ruins.

Soon their search carried them down several flights of stairs, and through various dungeon and torture areas, until they at last arrived at the great dark hall from Edgar's dream. It stood empty save for the makeshift altar that someone had raised in the center of it's far wall. Upon it sat a bronze brazzier, dried blood stained it's surface, and several human skulls, with small bits of rotting flesh still hanging from them, sat on and around the altar. Edmund swooned with the evil that radiated from the altar, while Edgar caught his father and order his Gislar housecarls to destroy it. They were apprehensive and did not want to invoke the displeasure of whatever demon it might be devoted to, but were moved to action when Edmund nodded his head iun consent with his son's order.

However, no sooner had the first warrior struck the brazzier off of the altar when a creature, dusky of skin and standing some 2' tall lunged out of the darkness and attacked the offending warrior. It was spindly of body and limb, pointy of ear and ferious of visage, and had sharp needlelike claws and a small mouth full of razorlike teeth. All had heard tales of such fiends, kobolds as they were known. Usually they inhabitted mines and if not properly appeased would often be the death of miners, but sometimes they could be bound in service to some warlock or witch; as wopuld appear to have been the case in this instance.

It took hardly any time for the gathered warriors to dispatch this first kobold; which immediately vapourized upon death into a cloud of noxious fumes that left the men choking and gagging. Nevertheless, two more kobolds lept from out of the darkness to take it's place, and then four more, and then eight more, and then 16 more until the gathered Saxon force at last found itself beset, faultering, and forced to sound the retreat. Of them all, only Lothar, Hauk, and Edgar returned to the surface thence to seek to safety of their camp. Their housecarl's had been overwhelmd by the horde of kobolds. All save Lothat had wounds to show for their troubles. And the recent ill-luck of the Gislings had yet to relent as High-Priest Edmund was cut off and went down beneath a swarm of the small fiends. In fact, only Edgar's quick thinking in using his spear to jar shut one of the old rusted iron doors that sat between the deep dungeons and the main level prevented the horde of kobold's from following them into the dusky evening.

Back at camp a sorrowful Edgar proclaimed that evil was indeed once again present within the Darkhold. He went on to state that, the Mothers' permitting, they would make their way back to Warinberg on the 'morrow and there hold counsel with Lord Reginar and High-Priest Reginold on the matter.

Otto would have it not! He had already, less than a moon ago, left one lord laying unavenged. And now he was determined to return to the Darkhold and, at the very least, bare the corpse of High-Priest Edmund back to Gisilberg with them. This, or to stretch himself out alongside his High-Priest in the accused ruins. Both himself, and his son, Hauk, as well if need be. In fact, any and all of the Gislar present if they themselves had any sense of honour or dignity; any sense of their name, glorious, shameful or utterly unremarkable, that would live on long after their mortal flesh was devoured by the wolfish grave.

And so it was that Edgar, Harek and the remaining Gislar housecarl's readied up for a swift return to the black ruins atop the Brocken. Edgar bade Lothar to follow, but neither he and muchless his own men had much stomach for the task. And so they remained to man the camp and keep the fires high against the night, while the Gislar set out for the Darkhold.

Once again entering the forbidden fortress, Edgar soon retrieved the spear he had used to jar closed the rusted old iron door leading to the deeper levels of the fortresses dungeons. And soon after this, they were once again beset by a horde of kobolds. This time however, their forces were funnelled down a narrow hallway, enabling Otto and Hauk to fight abreast and hold back the fiends for several moments. Eventually though, the band had to engage in a fighting retreat to more open and spacious confines as the noxious fumes frolm the slain kobolds became too much to bare.

And so it went until a long last the noxious fiends simply stopped emerging from the darkness.

Penetrating to the Hold's deepest depth, to the room they had found the blaphemous altar in, they found High-Priest Edmund, covered in scratches and wounds, but nevertheless struggling to rise to his feet. He was alive! Otto and Edgar quickly rushed to his side to aid him in standing, and indeed had to carry him all the way back to camp; where his wounds were cleaned and dressed and Edgar adminstered certain herbal concoctions that should help dispel the kobold toxins. Nevertheless, Edgar went to Harek soon after and asked him to remain awake outside of Edmund's tent and watch over him this night. When Harek asked why, his kinsman answered that he suspected that this might not be his father, or perhaps that his father might be possessed by an evil spirit. Afterall, why would he still be alive?

And so went the night; with eerie mists rising up out of the Nebel Bogs throughout the night to cloak the Brocken in it's uncanny embrace. Hauk again told stories of Red Donar to hearten the men against fears of Haggutha and the evils of the Darkhold. And indeed, save for a blood curdling screeched that echoed from somewhere miles off, deep within the Hercynian Mountians, the night passed without incident.

Come morning a make-shift stretch was fashioned for Edmund and the troop set off back to the Brocken for Warinberg. The men nervously eyed the Nebel Bogs as they again passed them late that morning, but the rest of the otherwsie pleasant day passed without incident. That is, until a figure emerged from the other side of the clearing they'd set up camp in. The figure was a big man, as big Hauk, but rough and unkept looking, baring shield and battle axe, and dressed in the wolfpelts. He had a wild look in his eyes that could be seen even at a distance, and a frothy foam was begin to build around his mouth, cling to his bushy brown moustahce and beard. He beat on his shield with his axe and roared for a challenge; a challenge that was immedaitely answered by Hauk who answered with a similar roar as he clanged sword and shield. The two lost no tiem in moving toward each other, slowly building speed until each was in a full charge. Weapons swung, shields clashed, both men stumbled from the collision and the battle was joined. And it raged on for a goodly time with, at first Hauk enjoying the upperhand, and then the wolfcoatedman; the latter enough so that Harek began to move to a closer vantage point lest he need to avenge a fallen friend. Nevertheless, in the end, a desparate Hauk struck a terrible blow, cutting the wolfcoatedman from groin to gut, and sending him to the ground in his death throws.

The men whispered again of the evil spirits of the Darkhold, the return of the servants of the demonlord Wod.

But for all of this the rest of the journey to Warinberg was uneventful and enjoyed pleasant weather. Once there, they enjoyed the hospitality of the Warings until Edmund was stabilized and well enough to travel. In the meantime, Odo spoke with the Lord of Warinberg of their findings at the Darkhold, while Edgar spent much time with Alflaed and Lothar. As for Hauk and Harek, they spent much time carousing at the local beer hall; where Hauk's fame, his battle with the berserker, had proceeded him. He even began to develope a liking for a comely local lass by the name of Olga, and she for him. However, as boisterous as ever, Hauk provoked a fist-i-cuff with Harek late one night in the beer hall, and suffered a humbling from the luck of the Gisilings.

And so went the days until High-Priest Edmund was fit for travel, and the Gislar set out on their return to Gisilberg.

The journey from Warinberg to Gisilberg took a mere two days. The band enjoyed goodly weather, and the journey was made all the easier on High-Priest Edmund thanks to the wagon the Warrings had lent them. Upon their arrival, Otto ordered the lot of them to proceed directly to Castle Gisilberg without their usual first stop at the town beer hall to drink with the common folk and boast of their deeds. It might after all be a dangerous thing to let on too much about their discoveries, and accompanying mishaps, before discussing things with Lord Helmut.

And so it went, with Otto retiring into secret counsel with Lord Helmut while Edgar called for the leeches as Harek and Hauk carried High-Priest Edmund to his bedchamber. The head leech of the Gisilings, Igor by name, gave Edmund a thorough look-over and guaranteed Edgar that his father, while undoubtedly weakened from the trip, was nevertheless on the mend and would of course have his full attention. Edgar responded by pulling Igor aside and in hushed tones asking him to keep an eye on Edmund for any peculiar behaviour. When asked what he meant, Edgar swore the leech to silence on the matter and then told of his suspicions; that the High-Priest of the Gisilings may have been possessed, or even replaced, during their experience in the depths of the Darkhold. The shocked leech hammer-signed himself after the Christian style and then promised to alert Edgar of the slightest oddity.

That evening, the band kept their own company in Castle Gisilberg; eating and drinking to be sure but under orders from Otto to be tight lipped on all that had transpired until he said otherwise. And what better way to render the matter moot? There was some cheer and boisterousness of course, but the mood was mostly sombre. Especially Edgar who’s worry for his father was compounded by a dread of what might be masquerading as his father. And so he tabled the matter for discussion, ultimately asking who knew best of such diabolical matters as baleful spirits and possession? The band answered unanimously; Christians. But when asked where they might find a Christian, the answers were a less insightful Gaul or the British Isles, the cities of the North??? Hamberg maybe???

Nevertheless, Edgar resolved that he would travel to Hamberg; there seek a Christian who might come have a look at his father. To this end he secured the aid of his kinsmen Harek, as well as that of Hauk and Dirk, and ultimately that of Elmer as well. Each secured what part of their inheritance their kinsfolk were willing to offer and then set off on their own means bound first for Warinberg. There they en listed the company of Lothar and Alflaed, along with one of Lord Reginar’s own house carls, before moving on to Magdeburg.

En route they came upon a small woodland hamlet due east of Warinberg where they spent the night in the small communities beer hall. Late that night Edgar snuck out to go carve the rune charms he thought he might need in days to come, but as he abandoned the settled lands for greater seclusion he was attacked by a ghoulish fiend … gaunt and pale, reeking of death, with hellish eyes and pointed teeth. He barely escaped back to the beer hall, where he at once woke the others and told them of his night time encounter. A guard was set for the rest of the night, and come morning Lothar questioned the locals on the matter.

The locals expressed their deepest regret over the attack on Edgar, and such was their hospitality and good nature that none had reason to doubt their sincerity. The folk then related how in recent months the mounds of their ancestors had been broken into, the remains defiled, by the accursed “eaters of the dead”. All had heard the tales of these fiends, born of outlaws and wretches that meet their death in the wilds and lay, unburied, on unhallowed ground. None really know the reason the fiends eat the dead, but many are the reasons offered, with perhaps the most profound being to torment the living. Indeed, the fiends would feed on the living as well the locals added, for two of their own number had gone missing in recent weeks and these ghouls were believed to be the cause. The locals then pleaded with the band of nobles to seek out and extinguish this evil, lest the entire hamlet be lost … and in it’s loss feed the growth of this gang of wolfish ghouls. And so it was that the band made it’s way to the local lichyard, and found a small gang of ghoulish fiends nesting within the trio of grave mounds that made it up. The well armed and armoured warriors made short work of the ghouls and emerged relatively unscathed. All except for Dirk, who fell under the surprise attack of one of their number and nearly had his throat chewed out.

It was thence decided that the Warring house-carl would accompany Dirk back to Warinberg. The house carl himself refused unless accompanied by the Lady Alflaed, his charge, as well, but, in his youth, was eventually forced to submit to the will of Alflaed herself on the matter.

So it was decided, and so it passed with the band continuing on their journey soon after lunch that day.

Within 2 more days they had reached the Elbe; where they purchased ferry passage across the river and immediately sought the hospitality of Lord Sigmar Sigling of Magdeberg. Like Gisilberg itself, Magdeberg had been built with dwarven craft and cunning atop a nearby hill, and stood as a formidable fortress on guard against southern and eastern incursions. It’s associated township -- itself a fine stroll off from Magdeberg proper -- was itself lively and abustle with the merchant activity that made it’s way up and down the Elbe throughout the summer months. While no larger than the town of Gisilberg -- if one did not count the many merchant pavilions that would spring up with the seasons trade -- it was also somewhat more rowdy and cosmopolitan in character; though the amount of traffic, the frithguild and it’s own general folkish sense of itself kept the town from the danger and seediness that could be found in the trade-cities of Britannia or the Gallic Empire for instance.

The Gislar spent a mere trio of days here, reacquainting themselves with those peers of theirs amongst the Siglings they had met in prior years at the Saxon Assembly, and drinking with them at a rowdy river front beer hall. And while times were goodly had, by the end of the 3rd day passage up river had been found and purchased. Edgar had tactfully questioned the Siglings, along with a number of river-merchants of Hamberg and it’s Christian presence, and word did indeed have it that a small Christian perish did in fact exist there serving a handful of the ill-fortuned wretches that any sizeable trade community will inevitably accumulate.

And soon again the band recommenced with it’s journey, this time up the Elbe and aboard one of the fine longboats that had served the Ingaevones so well for over a thousand years; their images visible on the ancient alfstones found throughout the coastal areas of the homeland. The nights went well, whether they set up their own riverside camps or put in at one riverside hamlet or another, and by late afternoon of the 4th day they had reached the northern extreme of the ever-narrowing lower Elbe valley. Hamberg itself dwarfed either Gisilberg or Magdeberg, and was home to roughly 5,000 Saxons year around. That number could easily double at the height of the trade season, and it was set to receive such numbers; with numerous beer halls and inns, and all of the others shops and services a travelling merchant might require or be interested in. Castle Hamberg stood, not quite so stout as Gisilberg or Magdeburg, but commandingly nevertheless at the center of the large town, while far off to the southwest a great craggy hill rose sharply, like a column, out of the wooded hills found there. Waters cascaded down from an unseen source on one of it’s plateaus while at it’s summit stood the famous stave-temple of Hamberg, thatched with gold and silver, and gleaming like divinity itself in the summer sun.