>>3961897
>>A hunt, far from home. Food is scarce at the best of times. There is only so much Clan Eldir could provide for a separate clan entire. Thus was the need for further, wider rangings. And fraternisation with the reclusive huntsmen of the clan. [Companion: Kvasir]

>>3961897
>Caravan escort, providing necessary protection for wagons of warm clothing and salted fish from Clan Eldir. The young widow Arni was leading the pack until they came. Considered by short-sighted drengir to be an inglorious job with little chance for battle-glory... until it isn't. [Companion: Hrafn]

>>3961897
>Caravan escort, providing necessary protection for wagons of warm clothing and salted fish from Clan Eldir. The young widow Arni was leading the pack until they came. Considered by short-sighted drengir to be an inglorious job with little chance for battle-glory... until it isn't. [Companion: Hrafn]

>>3961897
>Caravan escort, providing necessary protection for wagons of warm clothing and salted fish from Clan Eldir. The young widow Arni was leading the pack until they came. Considered by short-sighted drengir to be an inglorious job with little chance for battle-glory... until it isn't. [Companion: Hrafn]

>>3961897
>>Caravan escort, providing necessary protection for wagons of warm clothing and salted fish from Clan Eldir. The young widow Arni was leading the pack until they came. Considered by short-sighted drengir to be an inglorious job with little chance for battle-glory... until it isn't. [Companion: Hrafn]


welcome back

>>3961926
>>3961927
>>3962154
>>3962174

Fifteenth Winter
Two days past

Logistic operations are the backbone of every armies, and a society is only as strong as its militaries. The men of Clan Einar did not, for the most part, understand this. They saw only a loss of opportunity in riding out to meet the allied Clan Eldir wagons, preferring offensive operations to defensive ones. Such is the nature of the barbarian - they quarrel among their littlesome tribes for scraps instead of consolidating what they have.

As long as this vainglorious factionalism of the Nordmann goes unchecked, they will remain a little people, beneath the notices of those builders of civilisations.

Caesar volunteered to meet the allies of Clan Eldir and their wagons of necessities, and for this, he was given ten men. A small contingent of men for a small task of there and back again.

--

The valley is a vignette of black and white. Snow covers where it can, and black rocks protrude where it cannot. Winter has come early this year, again. An inauspicious mark. The last claimed fourty-two lives, and that was with Eldir support. The hunters have been forced to go abroad further and further, breaching into Phinnoi territories.

May they return safe, and unharmed, you breath silently. May the forests be full of bounty.

"Haakonson!"

You raise your eyes to see Oddi, a man of Clan Eldir, teamster and trader. He is grinning widely, holding the leash of the horse pulling the lead wagon in one hand, waving with the next. "So you came this year as well. Look how you've grown! Gods, you will become taller than your own father when we next meet." He was audience to your deadly duel with Finngeir, and was no less friendly for it. A northern attitude, that. What is done is done - let the living get on living. "When will you become chieftain, I wonder? It would be a marvel to behold you in the battlefield, knowing your prowess as a child."

"My father does not plan to abdicate any time soon," you reply. Your eye darts to the opulent blue of his cape. Dyed, foreign - a significant haul from faraway lands. "Hail, Oddi. The year has been good to you." You signal to your men, who silently mesh into the security detail of Clan Eldir, quietly exchanging pleasantries on their own. The Eldir have proven faithful allies in hard times. Meeting them and seeing the cartloads of goods does your men no small amount of good in morale and humour.

"Ah-h, but it has," the merchant sighs contentedly, as you join step with the man. "The voyage this fall was especially easy. Only two storms, and three ships lost." He leans in conspiratorially. "I've even saved enough to get married, business expenses aside. You know Hjallmar, by Oakengrove?"

You nod. "The man with three daughters."

"Each more beauteous than the last." He sighs dreamily. "I seek the hand of the youngest, and he has made it known that she will not part her father's household but save for a prince's ransom. The greedy bastard. It is my hope that the wealth I have stored for the past years would be enough to rid his overbearing arms from his daughter."

Starting a family - that is the dream of all young men in the north. Family signifies stability, respectability, prestige. It is for this reason that they sail out, year after year. Fathers count their daughters very dear, and only great wealth can persuade them to part.

>"Allow me to be the first to congratulate you. Have you an idea for the name of your firstborn?" [HONESTAS]

>"Oddi, you randy rogue. You would have had enough and more to spare had you not kept throwing torcs and amulets at one-night wenches!" [COMITAS]

>"May we all live long enough to see that day. Let us focus on the journey at hand." It does not do for a warrior to fraternise too closely with a... merchant. [SEVERITAS]

>CUSTOM

>>3962308
>"Allow me to be the first to congratulate you. Have you an idea for the name of your firstborn?" [HONESTAS]
That's good!

>>3962308
>>"Allow me to be the first to congratulate you. Have you an idea for the name of your firstborn?" [HONESTAS]

planning to start a family? he is as goood as dead with a death flag like that, next thing he's going to say he is 2 days from retiring as a merchant and this is his last trip

>>3962308

>"Allow me to be the first to congratulate you. Have you an idea for the name of your firstborn?" [HONESTAS]

>>3962308
Getting banner saga vibes here, chief. (Which is far from a bad thing.)

If I am voice my opinion on the incarnation of Caesar, how about we strive to become a mystic YET charismatic leader of a band of heroes this time around?

>"Allow me to be the first to congratulate you. Have you an idea for the name of your firstborn?" [HONESTAS]

>>3962541
I'm all for the magic, the band of heroes and everything could come with I guess

>>3962308
>"Allow me to be the first to congratulate you. Have you an idea for the name of your firstborn?" [HONESTAS]

by the way, how old is Ceasar right now?

>>3962766
15
>>3962308
>>"Allow me to be the first to congratulate you. Have you an idea for the name of your firstborn?" [HONESTAS]

>>3962541
Never played that game, though I used the art for it on thread 3 iirc as the main pic. Is it good?

>>3962313
Hah

>>3963118
its awesome, 3 games already out if I'm not mistaken but I just played 1 and 2

>>3962310
>>3962313
>>3962518
>>3962541
>>3962766
>>3962792
>"Allow me to be the first to congratulate you. Have you an idea for the name of your firstborn?" [HONESTAS]

You were never one to discriminate by one's station of birth. Merchants earn disdain for their shyness from combat, it is true - but you are not purely of the North. The ties of commerce bind even these primitive tribe-states together in clusters of grumbling coalitions and trade-truces. A man such as Oddi braves his own dangers as well, plying the routes of gold both in land and sea.

"I have not gotten that far ahead yet," he confesses, all smiles. "The future lady-wife of mine shall have a hand in deciding it. They say that merchants make poor poets, and I plan for my child to have the most lovable of names." The euphoric joy of a man anticipating a peak in his life - how it gladdens your heart! Think not that Caesar of all people would quibble in another's joy with a crease of aristocratic frown; it was he who once saw to the feeding of the common Romans at his own expense.

"Perhaps I shall name him after you, Vakur," he says, after a thoughtful pause. "Vakur. Ever-watchful. Guarded. Yes, it is a good name. And doubly so for being yours."

"Love has turned your tongue to a tool of unmerited flattery," you chuckle, and he turns earnest.

"No small matter, this, Vakur. The deeds of a bearer of name only raises its prestige. I was named Oddi - sword-point - because my father wished me to become a warrior, like him. Well, we know what came of that. But more than that, Oddi was the name of a godsblessed warrior in my clan. He lived a long life, or so the skalds say. With a beautiful wife, seven children, and a warm hearth to call his own. Gods willing, I shall be as he by the next fortnight."

"Gods willing," you say lightly. Do they will it? "I am surprised you do not plan to get married in your own clan. Hjallmar is of the Veturlithi."

"Love hath no borders," he replies blissfully. "And as for the Veturlithi... well, they are allies, are they not? Just like the Eldir and the Einar."

"Just like," you agree, the lie going unheeded past lovestruck Oddi's ears. You do not trust the Veturlithi.

"Inter-clan marriages are what kept the alliance together," the merchant continues. "It is good that such marriages are made, and the higher profile they are, the better. Not only for the alliance, mind - more children need be born to offset the loss. Ah, but if only our own chieftain's daughter would understand that."

"The lady Arni is yet to remarry?" you ask.

His smile turns sly. "Our chieftain's rose has refused every bee her father has presented her from his own own apiary. I wonder if she seeks someone from beyond? Someone she knows to be full of pluck and daring and bravado, but not so familiar so as to breed contempt. An exciting outsider."

"And you say that merchants do not make poets."

"Pfah, all poets are liars. They wheedle out something for nothing; a song for a meal, a verse of flowery prose for gold. What is a fine voice outside the drinking halls? A whole lot of nothing. Me, I deal in solid things. Real things. I am an honest merchant."

An oxymoron if you've ever heard one. You bark out a laughter, provoking fake indignation from the homely teamster.

>Bachelorhood is a political chip not to be hastily discarded, and you have bigger aspirations than to be the husband of a chieftain's daughter. Kinship is foundational for tribes and principalities. You want something... greater. "I am too young," you say simply. "There is still much of the world I would experience ere I fade gently into domestic bliss."

>This binding with the Eldir would concretise the fellowship between the two clans. More importantly, this is sure to grant you the political boost that your father is so reluctant of providing. "We only met once," you say defensively, beginning the coy song-and-dance of intermediary courtship. "And not under the most favourable of circumstances."

>CUSTOM

>>3963219
>>This binding with the Eldir would concretise the fellowship between the two clans. More importantly, this is sure to grant you the political boost that your father is so reluctant of providing. "We only met once," you say defensively, beginning the coy song-and-dance of intermediary courtship. "And not under the most favourable of circumstances."

It's a good political maneuver, besides do we really prefer kidnaping Roman woman.
Missing a chance is worse than losing a battle sometimes

>>3963219

>This binding with the Eldir would concretise the fellowship between the two clans. More importantly, this is sure to grant you the political boost that your father is so reluctant of providing. "We only met once," you say defensively, beginning the coy song-and-dance of intermediary courtship. "And not under the most favourable of circumstances."

Besides all that, she proved corageous and faithful, defending honor. She's someone who would not betray us and that is essential. Kind of admire her courage in front of danger where other woman would plead and beg.

>>3963219

>This binding with the Eldir would concretise the fellowship between the two clans. More importantly, this is sure to grant you the political boost that your father is so reluctant of providing. "We only met once," you say defensively, beginning the coy song-and-dance of intermediary courtship. "And not under the most favourable of circumstances."

>>3963219

>This binding with the Eldir would concretise the fellowship between the two clans. More importantly, this is sure to grant you the political boost that your father is so reluctant of providing. "We only met once," you say defensively, beginning the coy song-and-dance of intermediary courtship. "And not under the most favourable of circumstances."
She's nice, the bird may fly again.
>inb4 gruesome death at childbirth

>>3963219
>>Bachelorhood is a political chip not to be hastily discarded, and you have bigger aspirations than to be the husband of a chieftain's daughter. Kinship is foundational for tribes and principalities. You want something... greater. "I am too young," you say simply. "There is still much of the world I would experience ere I fade gently into domestic bliss."

>>3963219

>This binding with the Eldir would concretise the fellowship between the two clans. More importantly, this is sure to grant you the political boost that your father is so reluctant of providing. "We only met once," you say defensively, beginning the coy song-and-dance of intermediary courtship. "And not under the most favourable of circumstances."

Would prefer a Valkyrie but a shield maiden is nice too.

>>3963219
>This binding with the Eldir would concretise the fellowship between the two clans. More importantly, this is sure to grant you the political boost that your father is so reluctant of providing. "We only met once," you say defensively, beginning the coy song-and-dance of intermediary courtship. "And not under the most favourable of circumstances."

I wich we could knoll more about her before we try anything. Would she agree with Ceasar ideals? We are trying to change the entire culture of her people after all.

>>3964420
no somuch really, last thread we voted to mix things up so its more a modernization of their things than really a change

>>Bachelorhood is a political chip not to be hastily discarded, and you have bigger aspirations than to be the husband of a chieftain's daughter. Kinship is foundational for tribes and principalities. You want something... greater. "I am too young," you say simply. "There is still much of the world I would experience ere I fade gently into domestic bliss."

>>3963219
>This binding with the Eldir would concretise the fellowship between the two clans. More importantly, this is sure to grant you the political boost that your father is so reluctant of providing. "We only met once," you say defensively, beginning the coy song-and-dance of intermediary courtship. "And not under the most favourable of circumstances."

>>3963219
>This binding with the Eldir would concretise the fellowship between the two clans. More importantly, this is sure to grant you the political boost that your father is so reluctant of providing. "We only met once," you say defensively, beginning the coy song-and-dance of intermediary courtship. "And not under the most favourable of circumstances."

>>3963406
>>3963429
>>3963451
>>3963516
>>3964088
>>3964420
>>3964960
>>3965635
>>This binding with the Eldir would concretise the fellowship between the two clans. More importantly, this is sure to grant you the political boost that your father is so reluctant of providing. "We only met once," you say defensively, beginning the coy song-and-dance of intermediary courtship. "And not under the most favourable of circumstances."

This doesn't lock in anything, just tells me that you are interested in the option. And there willbe more socialising before it comes to actual marriage.

That he had love-affairs in the provinces, too, is suggested by another of the ribald verses sung during the Gallic triumph:
Home we bring our bald whoremonger;
Romans, lock your wives away!
All the bags of gold you lent him
Went his Gallic tarts to pay.
- Suetonius, De Vita Caesarum

Caesar, you incorrigible romantic.

The tradesman gives you a knowing wink even as he nods sagely. "True, true. No point rushing things, especially not something as important as a marriage, eh? It is still something to consider, young Vakur. A man may become renown by his own hands, but it is his choice of wife that cements his happiness."

Undiscernible mix of emotions churn within you as you look on the jubilant Oddi. He is engrossed in the wedding-to-be, his future plans, the children he would have, the barns he would raise. A life in the farm will do him good, he says. Travel has its joys, but it is no life for a man beginning to show grays in his beard.

"The roads goes ever on and on," he says reflectively, "but a life has to end up somewhere, in the end. A wife, a warm house, children asleep and table heavy - that, that is best in life."

"May it be as you say, friend Oddi," you reply. And you think on what the future may hold two days later.

A great sorcery did you perform the night of your survival, Vakur, and sorceries such as that are not done without marks made. It is a dangerous thing, a foul thing, potentially fatal not to your body but your immortal, golden soul itself - but you survived then, mostly unscathed.

Mostly. The warpish winds of fate clings to you like so many cobwebs in the mind, mumbling nonsense and nothings, disturbing your peace. It is a triumph of your will that you are not become a gibbering wreck of a man, mazed by his own many-voice minds.

But occasionally these whispers of times before time becomes ever so slightly coherent, forming a frame upon which the may-be may be seen by the sapient mind. You saw a battlefield mere days beyond the present, and it was not to your liking - a macabre vision of Einar and Eldir dead provided sound by crows perched atop branches and sightless eyes, singing racuously of the break of their fast. Inhumanly pale faces flickering between the deep-shadowed trees.

You retain the face of a man unconcerned, lest it spook others. "Yes," you smile gently. "Happy days lie before you."

>The greatest Greek tragedies sing of self-fulfilling prophecies; how the valiant effort of the Hero is ultimately thwarted by the unyielding walls of Fortune. Caesar understood this, and in understanding, was the better of many a named hero of famous epics. Active struggle brings misery. Only with passive acceptance may one chance a quiet escape. [Inactivity is activity of a kind]

>Caesar, having experienced the mutability of the Fates first-hand the night his father and his entire tribe was destined to be destroyed, once again sought to scorn the weavers of Fortune, utterly without regard for the wrath of those spinstresses who work their millennia-long stories untiring. Under the guise of scouting ahead, he left the caravan to see what the near-future may hold in that ravine that your nightdream showed. [Hrafn comes automatically, number of men to bring along in next vote]

>Custom

>>3965874
>>Caesar, having experienced the mutability of the Fates first-hand the night his father and his entire tribe was destined to be destroyed, once again sought to scorn the weavers of Fortune, utterly without regard for the wrath of those spinstresses who work their millennia-long stories untiring. Under the guise of scouting ahead, he left the caravan to see what the near-future may hold in that ravine that your nightdream showed. [Hrafn comes automatically, number of men to bring along in next vote]

well fate has no bearing here, we magic it away if necessary

>>3965874

>Custom

If we do nothing, the fate fulfils itself and the carnage at the ambush will happen, if we take warriors away, the Fate will use it as an excuse and say that our actions led to the carnage that will happen, by weakening the caravan.

No mortal action can bend the Fate, it will just rearange with whatever we do.

But Vakur learned of something that can bend the Fate, the myatic is fought with mysticism.

The side wounded, one-eyed Vakur will stand watch tonight, and with his far reaching vision will divine where this ambush will happen.

We will fullfil the prophecy, but we will drive our attackers to the place of attacked, so their bodies occupy where our bodies would lay dead, a life for a life, a death for a death, Fate bent but not broken.

Tldr; use magik to see where and when, then counter ambush the sons of whores.

>>3965874
>Caesar, having experienced the mutability of the Fates first-hand the night his father and his entire tribe was destined to be destroyed, once again sought to scorn the weavers of Fortune, utterly without regard for the wrath of those spinstresses who work their millennia-long stories untiring. Under the guise of scouting ahead, he left the caravan to see what the near-future may hold in that ravine that your nightdream showed. [Hrafn comes automatically, number of men to bring along in next vote]

>>3965874
Sounds good man supporting>>3965901

>>3965901
Yeah this is rad as fuck
>support

>>3965901
Gods damn it, I like it! Substitute the victims with the assailants.

now we just need to see everything through the eyes of a raven that was passing by and saw the glint of metal, knowing that a feast of corpses usually follows

>>3965901
Supporting

>>3963118
Yeah, good game. Really interesting plot and detailed worldbuilding, plus fun mechanics.

>>3965901
supporting

>>3965901
Support

Glad to see you back Fortuna

>>3966308
>>3966468
>>3966254
>>3966125
>>3965964
>>3965943
>>3965901

Flame... against flame. The self-same things desire alike, and in sharing desires - the desire to set aflame, to burn, ravage, destroy, drink greedily what oxygen and flammables remain - they are inevitably set against each other. There can only be one.

It is so with the threads of destinies that are woven among kin and kith. The southerly gale is counteracted by the northern squall. An eastern breeze frustrates winds of the west.

The strings shiver with horrified anticipation with every vibration that comes from meddlesome fingers of those that should not be. Under ordinary circumstances, these intrusions are quickly spotted, their origins identified, their mischiefs undone. But you are not an ordinary thing. Half-man, half-god, your soul is not so easily identifiable, so easily categorised. This will give you a slim iota-drop of a chance.

Such a small chance. It is a dangerous gamble you play, One-Eye. With every instance of fateweaving you put forth your immortal, golden soul as collateral, to be plucked from your shell like sugared resin from a fossil-branch. Do you dare?

The night falls. Guards are changed. You slip away, unnoticed, ensconced in the shroud of night. If you are to commit sorceries foul, it must not be seen, it must not be heard. No Nordmann must know of your perfidious ways, lest you be condemned as Un-man.

>Toss dice numbering three, each of six-sides. We will see how the Forest greets this lone intruder.

Rolled 4 (1d6)

>>3967783
oh boy, always the dice to get in the way of plans

>>3967783
since the dice changed, are we looking for low or high here?

Rolled 3 (1d6)

>>3967783

Rolled 5 (1d6)

>>3967783

Rolled 1 (1d6)

>>3967783
>>3967818
I think low rolls are good. Is this right Fortuna?

>>3968328
Yep, though your 1 is unfortunately too late

>>3967987
>3

It is a while til you find a suitable clearing, far enough from the encamped Eldir-Einar to be... suitable. The woods are strangely empty of sound. There is no skittering of vermin feet beneath the low bush-grass, no - not even with your considerable hear-sight. Nor do you feel the slight tremor that comes with stealthy foot-pads that silence the haunt of larger beasts. A silent night. An unholy night. Yours is the only rustle in the rising darkness.

Nevertheless, you continue.

Fragment-knowledge of what may come to pass lends urgency, imbuing speed to cautious feet. A branch crackles neath a hurried step. You are in enemy territory, watchful man. The Forest harbours deep hatred for the works of Man, whose sharp, stone axe and subtle traps pain and irritate the sylvan lords grey-bearded with moss.

Gasping, hacking coughs. You are out of breath when you find it - a small cairn, flatstones stacked atop another. Roman disdain for all things pagan wells up within your patriotic breast -- and fades, almost as quickly, with the pushing of the Vakur-ego. This is a good place, the Scanian mind muses - a safe place, marked by some passer-by, long ago, to signify a place of neutrality. Here, at least, you will be undisturbed. Here, you may attempt your hand at beginning the ritual that fuels the Art.

A decision remains - to borrow the fuelstuff of another, or to reach from your own stock. Each has its bonus, each its malus.

>You begin gathering fallen branches to build up a Fire.

>You take a moment to gather your breath, then move to find the source of the trickle - Water.

>Caesar, you have done many things in your Roman life to become the Power that you almost became. A consummate politician, there is very little you are unwilling to do if it would allow you to attain your goals. The desecration of a neutral spot and the Corpse buried therein is a small price to pay for the knowledge which you seek - for the dominion you should temporarily acquire over the mystical arts with neither barter nor beggary.

>Scanian pride spits bile at the idea of begging for power from another. One may as well admit defeat, if one cannot achieve things by one's own strength. That is the rationale behind the detestation toward practitioners of arcane arts. You will risk dipping from Your Own well.

>Custom suggestion

>>3968345
>You take a moment to gather your breath, then move to find the source of the trickle - Water.
I think water will get less attention than fire
>Scanian pride spits bile at the idea of begging for power from another. One may as well admit defeat, if one cannot achieve things by one's own strength. That is the rationale behind the detestation toward practitioners of arcane arts. You will risk dipping from Your Own well.

>>3968346
>>You take a moment to gather your breath, then move to find the source of the trickle - Water.

less chance of been seen as fire draws attention and less likely to draw the fury of whatever roams here, this place is very useful to be destroyed

>>3968353
+1

>>3968346
>Scanian pride spits bile at the idea of begging for power from another. One may as well admit defeat, if one cannot achieve things by one's own strength. That is the rationale behind the detestation toward practitioners of arcane arts. You will risk dipping from Your Own well.
It's a matter of principle.

>>You take a moment to gather your breath, then move to find the source of the trickle - Water.

>>3968346
>>Caesar, you have done many things in your Roman life to become the Power that you almost became. A consummate politician, there is very little you are unwilling to do if it would allow you to attain your goals. The desecration of a neutral spot and the Corpse buried therein is a small price to pay for the knowledge which you seek - for the dominion you should temporarily acquire over the mystical arts with neither barter nor beggary

ded?

>>3970074
it usually takes time, stay strong anon, Vakur will punish those fuckers

>Scanian pride spits bile at the idea of begging for power from another. One may as well admit defeat, if one cannot achieve things by one's own strength. That is the rationale behind the detestation toward practitioners of arcane arts. You will risk dipping from Your Own well.

>>3970074
Nah, probably not.

Fortuna runs slower quests, but they are so high quality that any wait is worth it

>>3970074
>>3970106
So, I got volunteered into helping the local church in preparation of the upcoming holiday. I apologise for not putting out a notice saying that beforehand. Busy, busy day.

>>3971245
Oh you

>>3968353
Sorry for asking so late but, could I get clarification on this? Is this a vote for utilising the essence of Water, or powering through yourself?

>>3971395
I'll put out an update this evening at the latest (GMT), once I get some sit-me-down time. Probably will get vote clarification before then!

>>3971395
I though we were supposed to choose more than one. My bad. I'll go with the water one.

>>You take a moment to gather your breath, then move to find the source of the trickling sound - Water.

The song of rushing waters becomes clearer as you depart the pile of stones. Lilting, jubilant, exhilarated voices mesh with one another in impossible harmony, forming a three-fold choir of wordless tunes a cappella.

Your throat turns dry. Your tongue feels desert-parched. Water, water - an ancestral longing, a survival longing. Fire was Man's creation, but Water begat Man. And Water knows much that Water won't tell.

There - just beneath the waving surface of the waters, the feminine forms- do you see, Vakur? The shadows of night hinders those of terrestrial eyes, but your single eye is worth more than the seeing-organs of all mankind combined. You squint - a human habit, that, and entirely unnecessary, but it allows your flesh-limited mind to focus your vision. Their forms become clearer to you in the passing of a moment. Water has deigned to entertain herself - selves - with your audience. Black-glistening eyes like smooth pebbles of the riverbed stare expectantly, patiently. Waiting. Wondering. Mocking.

>Caesar knelt, so that he may cup his hands together to dip from the river and quench his thirst.

>Caesar ignored the desire of his body even as the inborne dryness threatened to choke his words. [DC]

>>3972005

>Caesar knelt, so that he may cup his hands together to dip from the river and quench his thirst.

Mingle with the water spirits

>>3972005
>>Caesar knelt, so that he may cup his hands together to dip from the river and quench his thirst.

>>3972005
>>Caesar ignored the desire of his body even as the inborne dryness threatened to choke his words. [DC]

Gotta escape those base impulses to be hydrated if you desire Godhood

>>3972005
>>Caesar knelt, so that he may cup his hands together to dip from the river and quench his thirst.

show the stuff we want to see

>Caesar ignored the desire of his body even as the inborne dryness threatened to choke his words. [DC]

>>3972005
>>Caesar ignored the desire of his body even as the inborne dryness threatened to choke his words. [DC]

>>3972005
>Caesar ignored the desire of his body even as the inborne dryness threatened to choke his words. [DC]
Fuck off, water spirits

>>3972005

>>Caesar knelt, so that he may cup his hands together to dip from the river and quench his thirst]

>>Caesar ignored the desire of his body even as the inborne dryness threatened to choke his words. [DC]

Router was down yesterday, and 4chan is blocked at work so I couldn't check then


>>3972175
>>3973520
>>3973582
>>3973607
>>3973789
You do not kneel. You came here to barter, not to beg. But a parched tongue does not wag as freely, not even when it is one owned by you, Politician. Roll the pigs' knuckle-bones inscribed numeric values of one through six, three in number.

Rolled 6 (1d6)

>>3975360

Rolled 5 (1d6)

>>3975360

Damn, we fucked, lets hope for clutch anon with the 1

Rolled 4 (1d6)

>>3975360

>>3975375
>4

Small decisions can leave large repercussions when dealing with those of the powers.

Consider the nykr. They are utterly clueless are in the fragility of your kind. They do not breath air as you do, nor do they drown with their lungs, water-filled. Their feet do not turn to lead when mired by sea weeds, and they do not kick desperately to try to break surface. That is their way - for them, to be deprived of oxygen is merely a trick, a gaff, a little-thing played for laughs - cruel are these spirits fair who are beautiful like the shining gods, and know as much and more combined.

But one can know much, but remain unwise. How many fanciful males have drowned to touch their enchanting forms without the water-faeries realising the need of the earth-bound man? At least the women dead are often volunteers, escapees from the difficulties of Scanian wife-lives.

You resist the urge to kneel down and take sip the waters of the river, and the denuded water-women, not because you are wise in forest-lore as the gothi and his servants are, but because of pride. Pride of your heritage as a Roman, who never knelt to apparitions spiritual; pride, because you are Caesar, and Caesar does not kneel. For now.

But independence is often a costly thing, You find your words turn as dust within your mouth. Moisture escapes with your breath, leaving chapped gums and stone-dry tongue. And the juvenile chorus of girl-things snicker, rejoicing in your discomfort, swimming closer to look at your chalk-like lips, the surprised face.

One lifts her head coyly, and asks: "What is it that you wish of us, Far-seer? Why have you called out to us, divorced us from the weave of our Mother Water to take form?"

A lady-form with hair twice as long as her nude body entwined around her limbs says unchastely: "Seek you a love potion for a comely maiden you have grown desirous of?"

"Shame, sister! He is but a babe, fit to suckle no women's breasts but his mother's."

"You have eyes like mortals have lives, delight of my soul," the long-haired one laughs. "This one is old - older than his flesh-case would indicate. Isn't that right, manling?" she turns fluidly to address you, wading closer to the boundary between land and water in such a way to display her womenly charms. But this is not a woman. "Yes... I can smell the fervency of youthful... masculinity," she coos. "You would make a fun plaything for us. The last one we had went limp."

"Far too easily," a girlish spirit complains from her perch atop a jutting rock. "They don't make males like they used to."

>Speech no longer a desirable option due to the unnatural impediments affected by the spirits-of-the-waters, Caesar reached out to wrench the lady-of-the-water from her comfortable seat of water. For if they would not serve his purpose in life, one of their number would do so - in death.

>Caesar opened his lips, and spoke - [DC] [Further speech options opened after DC check]

>Custom suggestion

>>3975393
>>Caesar opened his lips, and spoke - [DC] [Further speech options opened after DC check]

well at least we didn't fucked up the magic, nice, let's get this thing going

>>3975393

>Caesar opened his lips, and spoke - [DC] [Further speech options opened after DC check]

Not burning any bridges until is necessary.

>>3975393

>Caesar opened his lips, and spoke - [DC] [Further speech options opened after DC check]

>>3975393
>>Caesar opened his lips, and spoke - [DC] [Further speech options opened after DC check]
oh yeah play with me ladies

>>3975393
>>Caesar opened his lips, and spoke - [DC] [Further speech options opened after DC check]

If we get a second chance to talk, why not take it?

>>3975395
>>3975399
>>3975425
>>3975451
>>3975627
Sixth Son of Haakon, you knew the rites of the Romans well. Long you led the redoubtable Latins in prayer and in song, in peace and war, all according to the mos maiorum - the contractual relationship of client-patron between gods and men. "We give," the Latins murmured solemnly, "so that you may give." Roman piety knows not the fiery passions of the northern barbari.

But this is a different land. Its soil does not know the song-and-dance of your forefathers. The traditional ways familiar in the sightless eyes of the gravestones along the Via Appia is foreign in this roadless place. Heathen spirits and savage gods roam amidst the grassy knolls of the Always-Winter.

You are a stranger in a hostile land, and many are the disadvantages that come with it.

It would have been otherwise had you apprenticed yourself under the venerable gothi. You would have come to know the runes - to read and carve alike - and gain knowledge in what passes for chirurgy in the wildlands. Influence, power, and respect far beyond your physical age would have been afforded you, whisperer of chieftains, spider of many webs.

But you would not be king.

Ifs and hads - paralytics of the wise. Perhaps it is for the best that you took the simple way. The straightforward way. A soldier you were in the before-time, and a soldier you remain now, eyes set secure on the none-throne of your father. If the price to be paid is ignorance in the subtler arts, so be it.

Here your priestly training will not help you; nor will your Roman gods lend aid as they surely must have done in those times before this time. For what man could fell the seven provinces of the Republic alone and unaided?

What god did you pray to then? To whom do you offer your prayers now?

The sand in your mouth does not stop your oration. Will it be enough to persuade the maidens of pooled waters?

>Roll 3d20

>>3977222

>>3977233

Rolled 12 (1d20)

>>3977222
ah, change of dice

Rolled 4 (1d20)

>>3977222

Rolled 16 (1d20)

>>3977222
Time to bust out the old Julius charm.

>>3977249
Nice, Vakur the water fucker, nothing better than D to make a good argument

>1 Success

>"Goddesses of the waters," Caesar began, honey-tongued as the lying Danaans whose Greek rule the Roman elite political. For, he reasoned, if they were taking the form of nubile maidens, then surely the human hubris common among the fairer sex would affect them as well. [NOBILITAS]

>"I come to barter," Caesar said. A laconic statement - but there is less to nit-pick in so short a sentence. This was unexplored territory to him - priestly rites he had made, burnt offerings lifted, but all in the name of the Latin Rite. Never the pagan. Caution ruled him. [PRVDENTIA]

>"A challenge, I came to issue," spoke spear-shaking Vakur Haakonsson. "A duel for price of a favour given." In speaking thus he drew from his experience among the Nordmenn, and their penchant for using duels as means to resolve conflict. The land makes the man - then why not the gods and spirits and fae, as well? [VIRTVS]

>Custom suggestion

>>3979015

>"A challenge, I came to issue," spoke spear-shaking Vakur Haakonsson. "A duel for price of a favour given." In speaking thus he drew from his experience among the Nordmenn, and their penchant for using duels as means to resolve conflict. The land makes the man - then why not the gods and spirits and fae, as well? [VIRTVS]

Since they are northen spirits this seems like their bread and butter.

They as the challenged however, can choose the nature of the challenge, and I doubt it will be fighting one of them, either a champion or some other form of challenge that is not fighting

The first one is as good as getting drowned and the northern people think very little of merchants to make me confortable with the barter

>>3979015
>"A challenge, I came to issue," spoke spear-shaking Vakur Haakonsson. "A duel for price of a favour given." In speaking thus he drew from his experience among the Nordmenn, and their penchant for using duels as means to resolve conflict. The land makes the man - then why not the gods and spirits and fae, as well? [VIRTVS]

>>3979015
>"Goddesses of the waters," Caesar began, honey-tongued as the lying Danaans whose Greek rule the Roman elite political. For, he reasoned, if they were taking the form of nubile maidens, then surely the human hubris common among the fairer sex would affect them as well. [NOBILITAS]

Yeah, let's seduce the puddle spirits

>>3979015
>"Goddesses of the waters," Caesar began, honey-tongued as the lying Danaans whose Greek rule the Roman elite political. For, he reasoned, if they were taking the form of nubile maidens, then surely the human hubris common among the fairer sex would affect them as well. [NOBILITAS]

>>3979015

>"A challenge, I came to issue," spoke spear-shaking Vakur Haakonsson. "A duel for price of a favour given." In speaking thus he drew from his experience among the Nordmenn, and their penchant for using duels as means to resolve conflict. The land makes the man - then why not the gods and spirits and fae, as well? [VIRTVS]

Defeat one with the power of fists and then we can probably fuck her, its the equivalent to courtship I think.

>>3979015
>>"Goddesses of the waters," Caesar began, honey-tongued as the lying Danaans whose Greek rule the Roman elite political. For, he reasoned, if they were taking the form of nubile maidens, then surely the human hubris common among the fairer sex would affect them as well. [NOBILITAS]

>>3979015
>>"Goddesses of the waters," Caesar began, honey-tongued as the lying Danaans whose Greek rule the Roman elite political. For, he reasoned, if they were taking the form of nubile maidens, then surely the human hubris common among the fairer sex would affect them as well. [NOBILITAS]

>>3979015


>"A challenge, I came to issue," spoke spear-shaking Vakur Haakonsson. "A duel for price of a favour given." In speaking thus he drew from his experience among the Nordmenn, and their penchant for using duels as means to resolve conflict. The land makes the man - then why not the gods and spirits and fae, as well? [VIRTVS]

>"A challenge, I came to issue," spoke spear-shaking Vakur Haakonsson. "A duel for price of a favour given." In speaking thus he drew from his experience among the Nordmenn, and their penchant for using duels as means to resolve conflict. The land makes the man - then why not the gods and spirits and fae, as well? [VIRTVS]

>>3981177
>>3979716
>>3979119
>>3979031
>>3979024
>"A challenge, I came to issue," spoke spear-shaking Vakur Haakonsson. "A duel for price of a favour given." In speaking thus he drew from his experience among the Nordmenn, and their penchant for using duels as means to resolve conflict. The land makes the man - then why not the gods and spirits and fae, as well? [VIRTVS]

You do not know of the nykr. Not as they truly are. They are the tales of womenfolk to you, nobling, fantastical and improbable. You were groomed as warrior-thegn by right of birth and power, and such old wives' tale are left to the servants and the priests. But you have a keener sight than most.

It is as if a veil has been lifted from your eye, now that you have mastered your desire to quench the Thirst, physical and otherwise. You see faint shimmers, under-water disturbances that eddy and pool the ongoing currents, and nearly gag. There float the cold-preserved bodies of men in varying ages, former suitors to the luscious forms that would make any man sigh in pleasure. Their postcoital pleasure-grimace leer at you in a macabre imitation of suggestive smiles, set against their unblinking faces, frozen until the ends of time. You might have counted among their number, Caesar, had you not shown restraint in your own lustful designs.

The willow-maidens of riverside titter among themselves in hushed frenzy. Drooping canopies quiver with excitement at the thought of something new - new, in their muted centuries-long lives. Days and nights they amused themselves with successive generations of children of Man, sending them flirtatious hisses, promising them the pleasure of a lifetime. A sexual climax that could never be replicated by a mortal wife.

You are a novelty to them, Vakur. You did not kneel to slake your thirst, nor did you try to clumsily woo one of their number, as mortals are wont to do.

"A challenge," you repeat yourself, after waiting a good long moment.

"Wait a while, manling," the long-haired false-woman hushes. "We must... gather consensus."

The night is still young. You are beyond the boundary of the neutral ground.

>Put them on the defensive. Give them no room for thought other than to react. "Am I to understand that the ladies of the waters are reluctant to engage in a simple game with a mere mortal?"

>Uncertainty. How far can you push? "Very well," you reply reluctantly. A spear and a shield is poor company for a lone man in the Forest.

>Custom suggestion

>>3981235

>Custom suggestion

"If you fear.....my spear....how about wrestling then? Or am I to understand yoy are reluctant to play with a mortal? A challenge for a favor and we can all have fun."

>>3981235
How much time do we have before the caravan is attacked?

>>3981281
Its 2 days

>>3981235
>Put them on the defensive. Give them no room for thought other than to react. "Am I to understand that the ladies of the waters are reluctant to engage in a simple game with a mere mortal?"
Usually gods and spirits have a different perception of time. What if they take years to come to a consensus.

>>3981235
Good thing we didn't try to seduce them, now to get some rapport and keep them guessing

>Uncertainty. How far can you push? "Very well," you reply reluctantly. A spear and a shield is poor company for a lone man in the Forest.

>>3981299
How about we mix both them. First we try waiting:
>Uncertainty. How far can you push? "Very well," you reply reluctantly. A spear and a shield is poor company for a lone man in the Forest.
But if we feel that they are taking too long, say, 2-3 hours, we try putting them on the defensive:
>Put them on the defensive. Give them no room for thought other than to react. "Am I to understand that the ladies of the waters are reluctant to engage in a simple game with a mere mortal?"

>>3981235

>Uncertainty. How far can you push? "Very well," you reply reluctantly. A spear and a shield is poor company for a lone man in the Forest.

>>3981506
Actually this is a good idea.


Amd this write in is not bad too>>3981258

>>3981281
>>3981299
Less than two, since it's night time now

>>3982495
So which option are you voting on?

>>3983200
Go with this then >>3981506

You settle down. The earth is damp. A light mist forms serene earthbound clouds, absorbing moonlight to shine silver. A peaceful vista that you might have enjoyed without care, had you been in the south, where civilised men drove fantastic beasts away, long ago. There is no room for satyrs and nymphs in the dominion of man. You are beginning to realise why.

This is the first time you are experiencing the northern night alone, without the comforting company of fire. There were stories, sagas of heroes in the olden times that experienced similar straits. You try to remember such a one, and fail. Your soldierly trainings in this life left no room for idle audienceship to myths and folk-tales. The riverine nymphs continue their sing-song discussion, each sentence a melody of water against rock.

Your leg aches from sitting too long. The moonlight, faint as it was, is no more. How long have you been sitting here? How long have you waited? You flex your fingers, feel them creak in protest as they stiffly open up their grip against the spear-shaft. And the waterfolk continue to discuss merrily along.

Too long. "How long do you intend to-"

>Sixth Sense
>Three d100

Rolled 51 (1d100)

>>3983288

Rolled 11 (1d100)

>>3983288

Rolled 14 (1d100)

>>3983288

>>3983293
>>3983332
>>3983344
>Two success
>Double Crit

Betrayal does things to a man. Suspicion becomes second nature, a seedling of paranoia that never quite goes away. You know how it feels to be at the other end of a deadly scheme. The senatorial knives that repeatedly plunged into your flesh... they are phantom pains to you even here, an entire world away.

It isn't paranoia, is it? No. Justified suspicions cannot be accurately called that. Let us chalk it up to the hypothetical sixth sense, then. You pounce from your half-seated position and hit the ground low, poising in such a way as to minimise the force of impact without the slightest bit of exertion. Something in your mind told you to move away, and away you have moved. And when you raise your eyes to reorient yourself, you see why.

Jutting from the musty soil is the missile that nearly took your life, a glowing, gossamer-thin shaft shining with an inborn light, vibrating from its impact against the spot where your leg rested a split-second ago. You have no doubt the arrowhead is just as fantastic to behold, if not more so, though you cannot see it, so deep is the arrow dug in into the midnight-frozen soil.

The always-amused laughter of sport-thirsty nykr ricochet around the secluded grotto. They have accepted your challenge. And their champion has arrived.

The Alfar. What are they? Where did they come from? What are their motives, their root-desires, the keystone-thoughts that motivate them to do the things that they do? Nothing so base as hunger, of this all Northmenn know - the feast tables of the Erlking is long and laden with splendour, though their fares are forbidden to mortalkind. Nor would they desire anything so crude like Northish crafts and weapons, sturdy but ugly things. Their hunts against mankind are inexplicable, the detritus of tribal tools always left behind. Never looted. Even to the oldest of the gothi, their goals are alien, their plans inscrutable.

"See into the eyes of the Ljosalfr whose arrows never miss, manling," croons the thin-breasted water-waif, her sweet voice seductively low. "Know that to challenge the daughters of the Water is to court your end."

Vakur, Caesar Reborn
>Combat = +102DC [Battered +0, Cripple [Side-Wound] -10DC, Watchful +5DC, Unnatural Strength +20DC, Godsoul +20DC, Nordmann +10DC, Legionary Elite +10DC, Inimitable Experience +25DC, One-Eyed -10DC/+20MDC, Common Spear +10DC, Common Helm +0DC, Raider Mailshirt +12DC, Roundshield +10DC [2]]
>Armour Value = +25DC [Raider Mailshirt +15AV, Roundshield +10AV, Common Helm +10AV]

VS

The Archer
>Combat = +105DC [Healthy? +5DC, Unnatural Strength +20DC, Child of Light +15DC, Multi-Shot +0DC, Ancient +15DC, Aurochs-horn Composite Bow +20DC, Boon of the Forest +30DC]
>Armour Value = +25AV[Crestless Helm +10AV, Heavy-banded linothorax of Wilusa +15AV]

>Personal Combat 47DC
>Three rolls of 100

Rolled 16 (1d100)

>>3983386
Nice

Spirits are cool

>>3983398
Can we loot this things if we defeat him? Better, can we have the archer himself!?

>>3983405
If you can touch it

Rolled 10 (1d100)

>>3983386

Rolled 11 (1d100)

>>3983386

>>3983415

>>3983565
>>3983432
>>3983398
He seems prety toucheable

>>3983415
>>3983573
300% touched

>>3983573
He seems pretty dead, I don’t think we ever rolled this well.

This is unprecedented

>>3983689
On eyed, limping man using a spear to slay supernatural stuff, I wonder who that remind of....

>>3983689
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=usPahZq0P5s

I've came back from the god damn dead just to post this shitty meme.

>>3983398
>>3983432
>>3983565
>3 Success
>Double Crit: Opponent Disarmed
>Opponent's Boon: Cannot Miss

To the man with a bow, the whole world is a target to aim.

The axioms of ageless military dictates provided for the infantryman facing against a marksman is simple; do not. And if you must, rely on your shield and heavy armour.

Your shield is wood, your coat of mail brittle iron. Hardly something that would stop mortal arrows, never mind that. Put in such a situation, there is a specific sequence of actions an infantryman bereft of ranged support should do against the foe of superior range.

Shorten the distance. Delay the firing of the bow. Strike when and if possible. And pray very hard that you do not find yourself with an arrow through your throat.

There is no half-questions within your mind in this moment. No time to ask yourself if it might even be touched by your arms or the daft musings on the degree of pain you will experience once that unnatural missile implants itself deep within your body. There is only the running, the sliver-thin spurt of chemical joy derived from your reptilian brain drenched with adrenaline as you fly across the short distance.

He pulls another arrow from the sheath tied against his thigh.

Treacherous undergrowth tries to arrest your progress, greenfingers twining against your animal skin boots. You kick them away root-whole.

The elf knocks his bow - the arrowhead is terribly bright - unfazed by your stampede, calm as death, a smug grin in his inhumanly - torturously - beautiful face, a face somehow familiar within the tangled ladder of your gene-memories.

You throw your spear. He dodges with an infuriating snicker and a side-step. He lets his arrow loose, a shaft of eye-searing light, flying with the speed of Hermes the Messenger himself -

And you slam it aside with your left-handed shield, ignoring of the burning inferno that erupts from the point of contact between its wood and that thing. You drop the shield without a single thought, or what remains of it. Ah-h, a quiet part of your mind notes with satisfaction: now he panics. He is not invulnerable, after all. Beneath the disgustingly handsome face sculpted to gloat eternal is fear. Fear of pain. Fear of uncertainty. Fear of a marksman, facing the soldier who has successfully passed the gauntlet of arrows.

You have arrived.

>Right hook

>Knifing

>Knee-to-stomach

>Headbutt

>Custom

>>3983689
>>3983734
Almost exactly thirty minutes, that's pretty amusing. A happy winter solstice to you, fellow pagans!

>>3983734

When you are so skilled at combat that you negate a divine boon through pure skill :P

>>3983734

>Knee-to-stomach

No air, no nimbleness, no dodging. And bonus points for having our hands on him.

Good showing archer but the challenge is ours

>>3983702
Vakur the goddamn second coming of Odin

>>3983734
>Knee-to-stomach

>>3983746
>Knee-to-stomach

>>3983734
>Knee-to-stomach

>>3984558
>>3984467
>>3983757
>>3983753
>Knee-to-stomach

You wince, the old side-wound stabbing cold ice as protest against the overswift movement - first the running, and now this - but your kneecap connects with enough force to cause him to double down, hacking thin air and even more ichor, spraying sun-white liquid over the forest floor. That stops his hands. They were going for his sword.

You punch, you wrestle, kick and bite. Keep him occupied, unable to free his hands long enough to withdraw the deadly blade from its sheath. A normal man would be dead or dying from the strength of your blow, ribs fractured in five different places, organs ruptered from splintered rib-cage shards, stomach shredded open and bleeding digestive fluids that eat from the inside. This one is made of sterner stuff.

Vakur, Caesar Reborn
>Combat = +77DC [Battered +0, Cripple [Side-Wound] -10DC, Exhausted [1] -5DC, Watchful +5DC, Unnatural Strength +20DC, Godsoul +20DC, Nordmann +10DC, Legionary Elite +10DC, Inimitable Experience +25DC, One-Eyed -10DC/+20MDC, Common Helm +0DC, Raider Mailshirt +12DC]
>Armour Value = +15DC [Raider Mailshirt +15AV, Common Helm +10AV]

VS

The Archer
>Combat = +60DC [Wounded -10DC, Exhausted [1] -5DC,Unnatural Strength +20DC, Child of Light +15DC, Multi-Shot +0DC, Ancient +15DC, Boon of the Forest +30DC]
>Armour Value = +25AV[Crestless Helm +10AV, Heavy-banded linothorax of Wilusa +15AV]

>Personal Combat 67DC
>Three rolls of 100

Rolled 67 (1d100)

>>3984588
Time to subdue

Rolled 2 (1d100)

>>3984588

File: images (55).jpg (11 KB, 388x348)

11 KB JPG

Moooore, touch me moooore!

Rolled 40 (1d100)

>>3984588

>>3984633
Status: touched

>>3984591
>>3984615
>>3984652
>3 Success

He tries to run away. You stop him, of course. The maidens of the waters are tricky creatures. They might claim a stalemate if your opponent flees without conceding to defeat. He turns his back, fleet feet ready to spring away, and you fly into a tackle - your leg, how it protests! - bringing the both of you down against the ground.

His attacks begin to flag, desperation sapping their accuracy. They scratch aimlessly, the elf unable to see his attacker behind him, inflicting superficial cuts and bruises. Your blows in comparison are methodical; left hand grabbing his neck and raising his head, the right landing repeated blows against his temple. His hands slacken as he grows discombobulated from the unrelenting strikes against his head. Your knee forms a fulcrum against the small of his back, drawing a long, unearthly scream from the long-haired alfr.

Your fist purples denting his helmet. Your side has almost certainly reopened as it tends to when you overexert yourself. But the pain from your damaged body is nothing compared to the relief that floods your system when you hear the slight crack-pop. His back has given out.

His arms turn limp. You squeeze out a last burst of strength, punching down with your knee for one more bone-sickening crunch, earning a satisfying whimper from the prostrate figure beneath you. Then you roll off his body, exhausted, unable to do anything but breath for long seconds. Your left hand weakly feels your side, and feels the wet. It will need to be stitched again.

"This cannot be," a weak voice escapes to your right. He is still breathing. What sturdy creatures they are. "Who are you, to defeat one such as I? Barbarian. Vermin. Short-lived plaything. You don't even have a name." Despite the foreignness of his tongue, you understand their meaning. It is the speech of your forefathers, from a time before they fled the walled city of Wilusa, the bright-eyed race of soldiers who defied the assembled fleet of Danaan mariners.

"This was not what I was promised," he wheezes. "A life of happiness... the most beautiful woman in the world as my wife..."

>Exploration of ancestral memories
>Three d100

Rolled 39 (1d100)

>>3984744
Man touched that guy all over.

Rolled 26 (1d100)

>>3984744
Well pal, its just a friendly bout and I'm on top, and I do have a name Vakur, earned in blood

Rolled 55 (1d100)

>>3984744

You got bamboozled mate, don’t trust strange water ladies.

>>3984744
Rules number one: don’t try to kill someone if you are not ready to die yourselves, that’s the basic of basic.

>26: Success

An archer speaking the archaic dialect of the Trojans, a man who was promised much. The handsome face bronzed with a warmer sun than that of the north. And the last, crucial piece of the puzzle clicks together: the engrammic fossils of your gene-sires that offers you a glimpse of a man in passionate kiss with the most beautiful woman in the world, to the consternation of his relatives around him.

"My son," you hear an echo of a voice. "You have brought doom upon us all."

You utter his name in unaccented Greek: "Paris." He whimpers as the name drops from your lips. "Least among the sons of Priam."

"By former I was called, and the latter..." his voice, now faint, slows to a slur, "the envious claimed." He turns his head toward you with great difficulty. "Who are you, you Greek in the garb of the Normanni, who would address me in my proper name?"

>"I am a Nordmann," Vakur replied stoically, unsheathing his tool-knife. "And you are a corpse." Then with a simple swipe, he drew a shining line across the fallen archer's throat. Northern sensibilities restrict bemoaning of ancient wrongs. [SEVERITAS]

>"A better man than you ever were," quoth the Roman bitterly. "Wife-stealer, doombringer, the seed of destruction that brought venerable Ilium down!" [IVSTITIA]

>Custom

>>3984891
>>"A better man than you ever were," quoth the Roman bitterly. "Wife-stealer, doombringer, the seed of destruction that brought venerable Ilium down!" [IVSTITIA]

>>3984899
Why do we hate him again? No wrong to us was caused by his folly.
At least I see no reason to be outraged by his actions, they brought destroction in ancient times yes, but those are what they are, ancient times.

>>3984899
And nothing of value was lost, Paris is a cunt. :P

>>3984906
Roman are supposedly descended from the survivor of Troy(in myth, not actually true), so that mean he is responsible for the tragedy that befell our ancestors.

>>3984899
>>"A better man than you ever were," quoth the Roman bitterly. "Wife-stealer, doombringer, the seed of destruction that brought venerable Ilium down!" [IVSTITIA]

>>3984911
Well, not much meaning on that now I suppose. A shackle that does not belong to us.

If anything we should be grateful to the ladies in the water for giving us a chance to kill the bastard then.

>>3984899


>"I am a Nordmann," Vakur replied stoically, unsheathing his tool-knife. "And you are a corpse." Then with a simple swipe, he drew a shining line across the fallen archer's throat. Northern sensibilities restrict bemoaning of ancient wrongs. [SEVERITAS]

To thing that Paris would be slain to provide a vision tp fool Fate and save a bunch of nordmann, how low have you fallen archer.

Let us get our deal done.

>>3984906
>>3984911
Specifically the line of Aeneas, one of the princes of Troy. Paris is a bit of a shithead and is the reason Troy gets into the war in the first place, after his abduction of the queen of Sparta.

Hector who is considered greatest among the Trojan princes (and Paris' brother) heckled him thus:

But soon as magnificent Paris marked Atrides
shining among the champions, Paris' spirit shook.
Backing into his friendly ranks, he cringed from death
as one who trips on a snake in a hilltop hollow
recoils, suddenly, trembling grips his knees
and pallor takes his cheeks and back he shrinks.
So he dissolved again in the proud Trojan lines,
dreading Atrides-
magnificent, brave Paris.

At one glance
Hector raked his brother with insults, stinging taunts:
"Paris, appalling Paris! Our prince of beauty-
mad for women, you lure them all to ruin!
Would to god you'd never been born, died unwed.
That's all I'd ask. Better that way by far
than to have you strutting here, an outrage-
a mockery in the eyes of all our enemies. Why,
the long-haired Achaeans must be roaring with laughter!

[redacted]

You...
curse to your father, your city and all your people,
a joy to our enemies, rank disgrace to yourself!"

I have a feeling Homer was being sarcastic about Paris being magnificent. Virgil's Aeneid details the mythical escape of Aeneas and the migration of the proto-Romans.

>>3984958
The question is, how did this bastard end up here? How come he, of all people, became immortal?

>>3984966
Why, like everyone else, of course. Through his legend.

>>3984977
Clarification
Both options end up with him dead?or the second is to talk with him, even if in an accusatory manner...

is the first one killing him now
And the second one entertaining a round of bitching?

>>3984982
You have understood the options before you perfectly. There is, of course, the option of writing up something and submitting them for public vote.

>>3984899
>"A better man than you ever were," quoth the Roman bitterly. "Wife-stealer, doombringer, the seed of destruction that brought venerable Ilium down!" [IVSTITIA]

>>3984899
>custom
"I'm a normanii but once in the past I was a roman, and they before them were greek from Troy, and you brought ruin to tham all, how do you plan to attone for the blood spilt in your foolishness?"

Maybe we can get something out of this more than the simple victory in the duel

>>3984899
>"A better man than you ever were," quoth the Roman bitterly. "Wife-stealer, doombringer, the seed of destruction that brought venerable Ilium down!" [IVSTITIA]

>>3984977
In his legend Philoctetes was supposed to have killed him.

>>3984904
>>3984916
>>3985137
>>3985483

Flaring nose. Bulging veins. The visible signs of anger. "What the immortal gods set in their hearts, no mortal may deny," he speaks. Breaks between words become pauses, pauses become stretches. The light begins to fade from his body. "You were not there. You cannot judge me." He closes his eyes resignedly. "I had no... choice."

"There is always a choice."

"For nobodies like you, mongrel."

"For everyone."

The ghost of his previous mocking smile returns. "You know nothing, scholar of the north. Pray you do not become known to the histories like I, lest you become a puppet of the gods."

Pity the Hero, cries the madman of Siek-Tapr. They are automata stuck in their little loops, doomed in death as in life to perform for an invisible audience.

You are filled with questions - are all of the alfar as he, departed spirits of once-greats? Heroes, protagonists of stories long past, plucked from the grey fields of Elysium for the gods to use as they wish? Then dread: will you eventually become like him, without self-will and self-control, an ethereal servant for the machinations of long-planning gods?

All excellent questions... for another time.

The prince of steep-walled Wilusa fades away without another word. You lift your eyes to see that the sky has turned the colour of pre-dawn grey. The Forest is filled with natural noises of a thousand little-lives waking up, no longer blanketed by the oppressive silence of a unified will. And the river-on-the-gorge runs quietly. You would almost believe you had spent the night hallucinating if not for the bow that has found its way into your hand. And the aching wound of your freshly torn side.

"A challenge met, and overcome," the waif-form says stiffly, not at all enthusiastic that you survived. "It was short... but very fun. You should stay here, handsome child. We could do with our own champion."

"There's always another of these... elves."

"Not ours, not ours," her sisters chime in.

"That he came here was mere chance," the girl shrugs, almost succeeding in making it look human. "Not our doing, no. We do not hold the leash to the men of light."

"Then..."

"A challenge met. One challenge. One boon." She swims closer, extends her arms over the water-land boundary gingerly, and says, "Unless you want to offer us... yourself?"

"The one boon it is." Their eyes turn cold with disappointment.

>Safety of the Caravan

>An Answer to a Question

>>3986693
>Safety of the Caravan
That's why we came here to begin with

>>3986693

>Safety of the Caravan

Let us fool Fate

>>3986693
>>Safety of the Caravan

>>3986693
>Safety of the Caravan

>>3986693
>An Answer to a Question

Tsk, tsk, why so risk adverse?

>>3986781
Is not risk averse as fooling the Fate is already a risk on itself, coming here was nothing but risky
And wasting it on a question makes everything we did for the ganble of fate to be for nothin

Axles creek. Wheels turn. A guard yawns. It spreads to the teamsters and drivers and one of the oxen. The Forest behind them is loud with animated bird-cries. The men visibly relax, now that they are beyond the malignant gaze of the woods.

"Another successful delivery," Hrafn says cheerfully, blowing warm breath into his hands. Underneath his habitual optimism is a current of nervousness, the quick avian head-bob that earned him his name: raven. "Odd that no one attacked us. Clanless have been active in these parts."

"Survivors from that war party two years back, weren't they?" Oddi says nonchalantly. "They wouldn't dare attack us. Not when we have Haakonsson escorting us."

"You're probably right, merch." He shoots a lingering look into the grove of trees left behind. "The crows have been going nuts for a while, now. Wonder if a bear awoke early and grabbed a snack." A smile plays along his face made thin by the winter's fast. "Oi, Haakonsson! When we arrive, we should grab Kvasir for a bear hunt."

There is nothing more prestigious than a bear kill for Kvasir's kin.

You nod. No one would notice that your side is freshly bandaged, the way you move. Easygoing. Personable. A comrade-in-arms to the soldiery of the north. Such is the mask you have chosen in this life. "I'll need a new shield first. And a bigger spear."

Oddi tuts. "You should know better than leaving your shield around. What would you have done if we'd gotten attacked? A warrior without a shield is like a man without his manhood."

"Yes, we get it," Hrafn sighs. "You're getting married soon. You will get to polish your knob. Gods, that is all you can talk about, isn't it? Your not-even-yet-wife."

"You just don't get it." The merchant shakes his head with an aura of a man who has experienced much. "Wouldn't, not until you get married. Save and scrounge like me instead of wasting your geld on dice, Hrafn, and you too will become a man of the house someday."

"Hmph. Sex can't be so good that you could abandon the dice."

So on and so forth. Harmless banter between familiar acquaintances. Hrafn grumbles of his losses from last night's game, while Oddi - the hypocrite, he was playing too, and won the pot more often than not - switches between teasing him and daydreaming aloud about his soon-to-be wife.

You stave off the tax of an unslept night that threatens to catch you on your feet. Staying awake is difficult in the monotony of a safe journey.

The second day ends without a fanfare, save for the flutter of dark wings beneath the grey canopies now far away, where birds of carrion congregate for an unexpected feast.

Happy Holidays! I more or less have an idea of the character you guys have settled on - warrior-king sneakily performing magics despite its taboo nature - and that'll make things easier to write and provide options for in the future, though some of the write-ins through off my prepackaged plans by miles! This isn't to discourage custom options, of course - they exist for a reason, lets me explore roads I didn't even consider. I'll likely be quickening the pace from the next thread onward, now that Vakur will be of beard-growing age. I imagine we'll be returning to the Commentarii format more...

End of this thread. Shower me with criticisms. The new reboot hasn't been exactly inspired, even in my eyes, though the start was really fun to write. I wish I didn't keep losing steam. One of the reasons I envy ForgottenQM is the way he is able to stay consistent with his writing, whereas I fluctuate wildly depending on unknown factors.

>>3987920
Thanks for running, the magic aspect and the fact that he doesn't shy away from the frontlines are very nice, Vakur is shaping up nicely and his uncanny resblance to a certain god is fun too

Happy holydays and thanks again for running

>>3987920
wine of prose when

>>3984906
>>3984911
Caesar is descended from Aeneas, so Juno hating him is this faggot's fault.

>>3987920
Your writing is fine. The thing you should work on is your update speed/frequency.