>The spirit of the jarl that charged you to guard his tomb. Though he dines with his thanes in the last mead hall, you may communicate to him through a rite, having been his most loyal retainer when you were alive.

>>5653429
>>The spirit of the jarl that charged you to guard his tomb. Though he dines with his thanes in the last mead hall, you may communicate to him through a rite, having been his most loyal retainer when you were alive.

>>5653429
>>The spirit of the jarl that charged you to guard his tomb. Though he dines with his thanes in the last mead hall, you may communicate to him through a rite, having been his most loyal retainer when you were alive.

>>5653429
>The spirit of the jarl that charged you to guard his tomb. Though he dines with his thanes in the last mead hall, you may communicate to him through a rite, having been his most loyal retainer when you were alive.

>>5653429
>The spirit of the jarl that charged you to guard his tomb. Though he dines with his thanes in the last mead hall, you may communicate to him through a rite, having been his most loyal retainer when you were alive.

>>5653429
>>The spirit of the jarl that charged you to guard his tomb. Though he dines with his thanes in the last mead hall, you may communicate to him through a rite, having been his most loyal retainer when you were alive.
WE WILL TAKE THE THE THIEF, AND DRINK FROM THEIR SKULL
With our Jarl's permission, of course!

>>5653429
>The spirit of the jarl that charged you to guard his tomb. Though he dines with his thanes in the last mead hall, you may communicate to him through a rite, having been his most loyal retainer when you were alive.

>>5653429
>The spirit of the jarl that charged you to guard his tomb. Though he dines with his thanes in the last mead hall, you may communicate to him through a rite, having been his most loyal retainer when you were alive.

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You are not sure what it all means, but there is someone who might: the spirit of the jarl that charged you to guard his tomb. Though he dines with his thanes in the last mead hall, you may communicate to him through a rite, having been his most loyal retainer when you were alive. The rite requires fire, always a tricky subject for the draugar (who have a natural affinity for darkness and cold) but you manage to tamp down your fear and complete the rite. The runes are drawn around the fire with a bit of chalk, the favor of the one-eyed god is invoked, and a bit of your own spirit offered as a libation to the flame. Instantly the fire changes color from earthly red to an ethereal blue.

A face appears in the shimmer. To your great disappointment, it is not the jarl, but the his son, Njord. Njord has always been something of a rival to you, always competing with you for his father’s attention. Even now, he maintains his vain posturing, telling you that his father is busy and cannot speak to you and that you shouldn’t have contacted him in the first place. When you reveal that an intruder had broken into the tomb, he demands to know what was taken. But that you will only communicate to his father and he must reluctantly go and fetch him. His face fades away, but as he has not properly closed the channel, you can very soon hear voices at the threshold.

“…has that fool done now?”

“He says a thief stole something from your tomb, father.”

“I told him never to contact me over trifles.”

“Maybe he thinks their recovery would win him a place here.”

The voices break into laughter. “Don’t be ridiculous. I put him there so I wouldn’t have to deal with him up here. Always chattering about the sagas, which hero did what and what god favored whom. And not a bard’s bone in him, couldn’t carry a tune to save his jarl. Well, he did give me a few extra years, at least, so I suppose he was good enough for that. But spending all the time till the last days together? I’d rather live as a draugr. Let that be a lesson to you son, don’t take in stray pups. They have a tendency to get attached.”

“But the loyal dog will readily die for its master.”

“Aye, and so he did, in imitation of the stories he loves so much. Well, I had better see what’s what. Where is he? Is this it?”

The jarl’s familiar face appears in the flames. He greets you warmly and you return the greeting as best you can. A draugr has no expressions. A draugr does not feel pain. He can’t shed tears at any rate.

The jarl dismisses the loss of the jewels and other trinkets with a wave of his hand, but is infuriated by the theft of the magic ring. It was an ancestral relic, a gift from the ancient dweorgar passed down for generations.

“How little I asked of you and still you couldn’t do it!”

“I’m sorry, minn herra.”

1/2

“And what I will do with your apologies? Go and fetch the ring, if you’re so sorry.”

“I would but… how can I? I am bound to your tomb, minn herra, and the thief has taken the ring outside.”

The jarl does not answer.

“I am still bound to your tomb?”

The jarl still does not answer.

“You told me the ring was what kept my spirit tethered to this realm. But the ring has been stolen and I am still here… was that a lie, minn herra?”

“Of course not! How dare you accuse your jarl of falsehood!”

“Yes, minn herra, I was wrong. I don’t know what I was thinking. Of course, no great jarl would ever lie. It has always been so.”

The jarl calms and strokes his beard. “Yes, well… it happens that although the enchantment was wrought with the powers of the ring, the ring itself plays little part in maintaining that enchantment. Or so it would appear–I wouldn’t know such things as belonging to the purview of a seidman. I am a jarl.”

“Then… I can go outside?”

“You must. What a shame for my family it would be if the ring were worn on the ring of some common chapmen. I shudder to even think of it!”

“Minn herra… could I have always gone outside? Was I never truly bound to this tomb as you had commanded me?”

“You were bound by your word of honor.”

You bow your head. More than a hundred years spent in this dusty place, never once feeling the sunlight on your cheek or the wind in your hair (you don’t have hair or cheeks and cannot feel as such, but still!). You never even had the luxury of sleep. But, yes, you did have your honor.

“And you are bound by it still. I charge you now to retrieve my ring. Consider it a quest, as in the sagas, like when the Lady goddess went to retrieve her hammer from the giant.”

“That was actually the thunder-god in disguise,” you mumble.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“So? What are you waiting for? I don’t want to hear from you again until you have the ring back on my finger. Give me your word.”

>You swear an oath, for whatever the jarl's faults, he still took you into his house when you were orphaned, even against the wishes of his own family.
>Your service has ended here. Whatever favors you owed him have already been repaid. Make it known that you will now pursue your own tale, instead of being a sorry footnote to the jarl's.
>You cross your bony fingers behind your back as you speak. Yes, you'll fetch the ring, but not for the jarl's sake.
>Write-in

>>5653879
>You cross your bony fingers behind your back as you speak. Yes, you'll fetch the ring, but not for the jarl's sake.

>>5653879

>You swear an oath, for whatever the jarl's faults, he still took you into his house when you were orphaned, even against the wishes of his own family.

For better or worse, we must keep to our word, until the Jarl releases us

>>5653879
>>You swear an oath, for whatever the jarl's faults, he still took you into his house when you were orphaned, even against the wishes of his own family.

>>5653879
>You cross your bony fingers behind your back as you speak. Yes, you'll fetch the ring, but not for the jarl's sake.

>>5653879
>You cross your bony fingers behind your back as you speak. Yes, you'll fetch the ring, but not for the jarl's sake.

>>5653879
>>You swear an oath, for whatever the jarl's faults, he still took you into his house when you were orphaned, even against the wishes of his own family.

Swear that we will reclaim his ring, and protect it forever more!

Conveniently, this leaves it open for us to keep it in the future should we change our mind. Reclaiming it from the thief doesn't necessarily mean bringing it to the tomb, and protecting it doesn't mean leaving it upon the jarl's finger... look at what happened last time!

>>5653879
>You swear an oath, for whatever the jarl's faults, he still took you into his house when you were orphaned, even against the wishes of his own family.

>>5653987
>support

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You swear an oath, for whatever the jarl's faults, he still took you into his house when you were orphaned, even against the wishes of his own family. It is what your loyalty and your honor demand, even if they go unrewarded (or are mocked). And who knows? Perhaps one day someone will record their history and you will be immortalized in a saga of your own. That sort of immortality is all you ever wanted. Even if he cannot sleep, a draugr can dream.
The jarl, satisfied with your oath, returns to the eternal feast. His son offers these parting words, spoken with proud contempt. “My father has grown soft in the time he has spent here, but I have grown more hard. If you should fail, I will make it known that you are an oathbreaker. The daughter of the trickster god herself shall hear of it and you will be confined to her dark domain forever.”

A draugr cannot feel fear. “You can’t do that. I fell in battle! I was a warrior!”

“Unless you find the ring, you will be just another forgotten soul in the valleys deep and dark beneath the tree of the world, your story lost to time. This I swear, or my name is not Njord.” The channel closes and the flames die out at once, leaving only darkness in their wake.

Your loyal hound, Wiglaf, comes and sits beside you, wagging his incorporeal tall on the flagstones. You pat his head. “Guess we’ll need to make some preparations, eh Wiglaf?” He barks happily, a sound only spirits (or those attuned to them) can hear. Going into the outside world means you'll have to deal with mortals. Animals will happily avoid you. And you have no interest in seeking out monsters. Men, on the other hand, are unpredictable. Most will fear and revile you, as is proper. Those with some connection to the other world may be sympathetic (like the witch). But a brave few will attempt to destroy you for the sake of renown. It is no small feat to slay a draugr, especially one as old as you. You'll need to prepare.

>The witch is quite resourceful. She's sure to have some kind of solution--perhaps a disguise or an enchantment that can mask your nature.
>The best preparation is the same as it was in life: a good shield and a sharp ax. The equipment in the armory of the tomb has long since rusted away, but the enchantments on the jarl's sarcophagus should have kept his arms pristine... though it would be an affront to the one-eyed god to take them.
>Perhaps there's no need for you to leave the tomb at all. At least, not yet. You can have the troll go out in your place, possessing a part of his mind to guide his efforts. A few trinkets from the vault should convince him to any task you wish.
>Write-in

>>5654118
>>The witch is quite resourceful. She's sure to have some kind of solution--perhaps a disguise or an enchantment that can mask your nature.

>>5654118
>The witch is quite resourceful. She's sure to have some kind of solution--perhaps a disguise or an enchantment that can mask your nature.

>>5654118

What about the jarl's dickish son Njord? Can we raid his grave instead of his dad's?

We swore an oath to the jarl, not to his bitch-ass son. If that's not an option, then I would pick witch

>The witch is quite resourceful. She's sure to have some kind of solution--perhaps a disguise or an enchantment that can mask your nature.

>>5654267
His tomb is sure to be somewhere in the area, but he wasn't buried with his father and did not accumulate as much treasure. Since you died before he did, you don't know where the tomb is exactly, but since you're not bound to defend it, you could rob it if you found it.

>>5654280

Alright, count me in for cracking open Njord’s grave then

>>5654118
>>The witch is quite resourceful. She's sure to have some kind of solution--perhaps a disguise or an enchantment that can mask your nature.
Bring the lock of hair. Maybe that could help her track the thief?
>>5654267
I support raiding Njord's grave. If the fucker lies, then we'll climb out of Hel and shove his own axe so far down his throat he'll have a new tail to put between his legs as he runs away! THIS, THIS I WILL SWEAR!

>>5654118
>The witch is quite resourceful. She's sure to have some kind of solution--perhaps a disguise or an enchantment that can mask your nature.

>>5654118
>The witch is quite resourceful. She's sure to have some kind of solution--perhaps a disguise or an enchantment that can mask your nature.

>>5654118
>>The witch is quite resourceful. She's sure to have some kind of solution--perhaps a disguise or an enchantment that can mask your nature.
Bring the hair

>Raid Njord tomb if we find it

>>5654118
>>The witch is quite resourceful. She's sure to have some kind of solution--perhaps a disguise or an enchantment that can mask your nature.
Maybe ask if she can scry for the identity and whereabouts of the thief
And also info about the outside world.
Ask about Njord's tomb while we are there.

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>>5654128
>>5654169
>>5654267
>>5654280
>>5654286
>>5654328
>>5654343
>>5654434
>>5654577
>>5654598

The witch is quite resourceful. She's sure to have some kind of solution--perhaps a disguise or an enchantment that can mask your nature. You can show her the lock of hair too, maybe she can provide some insight into the whereabouts or identity of the thief.

"I'll need you to stay here Wiglaf." The witch is not very fond of dogs, having closer affinity with the feline species. She can also be stubborn and proud (as when she refused to sing for a whole month because you didn't compliment her new hat). You must take precautions not to annoy her. Wiglaf does not seem to understand this and circles around you excitedly. "No, Wiglaf. Stay. Sit." You point to the sarcophagus and he bows his head and circling again, reluctantly lies down at its base.

The witch's abode consists of a few cordoned off, connected tunnels. A round wooden door bars the main entry point (where it came from you've no idea) and inside, curtains separate parts of the tunnels into rooms. In the largest tunnel she has dug a narrow hole in the ceiling leading all the way to the surface, to serve as a chimney. You find her there, as usual, churning a massive black pot of some bubbling witch-oil. In fact, it's just stew. She ladles out a heaping bowl for herself and three bowls for her cats, which suddenly appear from behind the other curtains to feed.

You explain the situation while she eats. You do not mention the magic ring. The witch has never struck you as a particularly avaricious individual, but you never can know with mortals. When you show her the lock of hair, she perks up and examines it carefully. But when you mention your need for a disguise, she frowns and shakes her head.

"Can't do it. Can't be done. Look at you. You're nothing but bones held together with spit and spirit. You glow in the dark. You smell. You make no sound when you move about. Yes, we could put you in some clothes, some boots, cover your face. Put an illusion over you. But that smell? They'll notice. And they'll be scared and they won't know why, but they'll want to know why, and they'll soon go about finding out."

"So it's impossible after all?"

She looks down at the lock of hair again. "You said she passed through all of the protective charms?"

You answer carefully, for the charms were of the witch's own design, part of the price to let her stay. "So it seems. But maybe she found another way in? I can't say. I'm sure your charms were not at fault... wait, she? It's a woman?"

"Of course it's a woman. This hair is much too fine and soft to be a man's." She stirs her spoon. "There is one way... but no, you'll never agree to it."

"What is it? I'm sure we can come to some compromise." Perhaps she'll want something from the vault. Well, so long as you can retrieve the magic ring, the rest is moot.

"We'll need bodies," she says, with a wicked smile. "And I'll have to accompany you."

1/2

Rather than disguise you as you are, she explains that it would be easier if you simply possessed another body, a dead one, preferably one that died recently. She can hide its nature better than she can hide yours. However, for the enchantment to work, she will have to come with you (also in disguise). It is not a charm that can be maintained from afar. The catch is: how to get a dead body the first place?

>There is one body which has been perfectly preserved and to which you have ready access: the jarl's. You're certain he would not approve.
>The witch also mentioned an alternative: grafting living flesh onto your own body. Regular flesh wouldn't be enough to mask the fear-inducing stench, but troll fat on the other hand... (the resident troll will need some convincing to part with his, admittedly ample, flesh)
>There might be other tombs in the vicinity--including that of the jarl's son, Njord. Failing that, there should at least be a cemetery where the common folk are buried. Of course, bringing the recently deceased back to life comes with its own share of troubles.
>Write-in

>>5654635
>There might be other tombs in the vicinity--including that of the jarl's son, Njord. Failing that, there should at least be a cemetery where the common folk are buried. Of course, bringing the recently deceased back to life comes with its own share of troubles.

>>5654635
>>The witch also mentioned an alternative: grafting living flesh onto your own body. Regular flesh wouldn't be enough to mask the fear-inducing stench, but troll fat on the other hand... (the resident troll will need some convincing to part with his, admittedly ample, flesh)
Make him a nice new club, he ought to like that.

>>5654635
>>There might be other tombs in the vicinity--including that of the jarl's son, Njord. Failing that, there should at least be a cemetery where the common folk are buried. Of course, bringing the recently deceased back to life comes with its own share of troubles

that is so useless

>>5654635

>There might be other tombs in the vicinity--including that of the jarl's son, Njord. Failing that, there should at least be a cemetery where the common folk are buried. Of course, bringing the recently deceased back to life comes with its own share of troubles.

>>5654635
>The witch also mentioned an alternative: grafting living flesh onto your own body. Regular flesh wouldn't be enough to mask the fear-inducing stench, but troll fat on the other hand... (the resident troll will need some convincing to part with his, admittedly ample, flesh)

Robbing the grave of someone who has done nothing to deserve it, does not sit well with me. We still have our honor, unlike the shitty son, but finding his tomb will take an unknown amount of time, time we may not have because who knows where the ring is going in the meantime.
The troll, on the other hand isn't really going anywhere, and was also a guard (of sorts), so some of the blame lies with him and so he can contribute to fixing the situation.
What kind of convincing or "convincing" it would take is something that can be figured out when we get there.

>>5654805
Troll flesh time. time to get weird.

>>5654635
>There might be other tombs in the vicinity--including that of the jarl's son, Njord. Failing that, there should at least be a cemetery where the common folk are buried. Of course, bringing the recently deceased back to life comes with its own share of troubles.

>>5654635
>There is one body which has been perfectly preserved and to which you have ready access: the jarl's. You're certain he would not approve.
The Jarl will never approve of us so lets do this job our way.

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There might be other tombs in the vicinity--including that of the jarl's son, Njord. Failing that, there should at least be a cemetery where the common folk are buried. Of course, bringing the recently deceased back to life comes with its own share of troubles. The witch leaves you to the task while she begins preparing for the ritual as well as her own disguise.

For the first time in over a hundred years, you venture outside the jarl's tomb. It is a cold, moonless night, with the only illumination coming from the stars overhead and your own glowing spirit. An owl hoots somewhere in the trees about you. There is faint scent of loam and the sweeter scent of ripe fruit. Wiglaf is with you and the two of you cut a haphazard course through the forested valley, not worrying about losing your way back, for a strange sensation in the back of your mind seems to always point toward the jarl's final resting place. The woods are not as heavy as you remember them. Many of the trees have been cut down, which means civilization cannot be far behind. You suspected as much, for where else could the boys that you sometimes scare come from? And your thief?

After many hours of searching you finally come upon a cairn, marking the entry to another tomb. The runes carved into the stones have faded but enough letters are visible to guess the name "Njord". It is a much smaller and much less elaborate structure than his father's. You guess he lost most of his father's inheritance in concessions to his other thanes, who would not have remained with him otherwise. The crypt is wholly unprotected. No charms, no guards, and certainly no draugr. You reach the vaults in short order, unmolested. They have long since been cleaned of all their treasures, though it seems the thieves did not know about the secret room behind the statue. You would have missed it yourself, if not for an identical secret room in the jarl's vault, from which the design was taken. Njord's sarcophagus has also not been disturbed and he was at least able to afford the enchantments to preserve his body from decay. It is only a little paler for all the years that have passed. If you didn't know any better, you would think he was only sleeping. It helps that Njord was fair in looks. He used to revel in the attention he got from the thane's daughters, their serving maids, and even their wives. It got him into trouble on more than one occasion and may have contributed to his spoiled, arrogant nature. And it was over a woman that he finally perished. Yet for all his escapades he never sired a son, legitimate or otherwise.

1/2

>>5655062
>>5654648
>>5654652
>>5654753
>>5654762
>>5654799
>>5654805
>>5654811
>>5654817
>>5654983

Your own looks were nothing to boast of and you died before you had the chance to sire a heir (though you did have a wife). You've always wondered what it was like to be so admired. You reach into the coffin and are about to hoist the body on your shoulders, when Wiglaf begins to bark at the entrance of the vault. You turn. You can hear footsteps in the tunnel, soon accompanied by a flicking patch of light and shadow on the tunnel wall. With were moments before their arrival:

>You attempt to scare them away with a terrible battle cry, extinguishing their flames with your cold breath.
>You calmly await them in the vault. It may be the thief, in which case your quest is finished.
>You sic Wiglaf on them. His bites are harmless to corporeal flesh but can sap the will and energy to fight.
>Write-in

>>5655063

Press yourself against the corner of the tomb and try to ambush them?

>>5655063
>You calmly await them in the vault. It may be the thief, in which case your quest is finished.
In the style >>5655078 proposes.

>>5655099
>>5655078
+1

>>5655063
>>5655099 +1

>>5655078
+1
A thief merely adopts the darkness. We where (re)born into it. Molded bybut

>>5655063
We don’t want people to know we’re here, so noise is bad. We need to be fucking mice.
>Write in
Hide in the coffin with Njord. Sick Wiglaf on them, they should just think they’re tired and walk away. If they are thieves, extinguish the flame and attack them in darkness once they open the coffin (it’s very hard to hide dead bodies, and we’d have to assume the identity of the grave robbers)

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>>5655078
>>5655099
>>5655183
>>5655231
>>5655262
>>5655713

You calmly await them in the vault. It may be the thief, in which case your quest is finished. You press yourself against the corner of the tomb with the statue, diminishing your spirit and attuning yourself to the darkness. Draugr have a natural affinity with shadow and can even become one with them when conditions are right. In a tomb like this--your natural habitat--it is not difficult to make yourself entirely disappear.

The circle of flickering light gets closer and closer, growing brighter as it approaches. What finally emerges from the tunnel is far beyond your expectations. A little girl, near the cusp of womanhood, dressed in a strange new kind of armor made of interlocking steel plates. The armor seems to have been made specially for her, or else is enchanted, for it supports her small frame perfectly. You have never before seen its like. The short sword in her hand however, which glows with a golden-red hue, is one with which you are quite familiar. Valkyrsteel. A blade forged by the electors of the slain, imbued with their royal power, that it might cut spirit as easily as flesh. Mortal iron, even alloyed into steel, is nothing more than a minor nuisance to the draugar, but the arms of the immortal are deadly and put fear even into your heart.

The girl carefully approaches Njord's sarcophagus. The torchlight forms a halo about her uncovered head, revealing bright straw-colored hair not dissimilar to the lock which was left in the jarl's tomb. You can sense no magic ring on her. Despite her strange regalia, her face retains the fairness and innocence of a child. She has not yet detected you. Part of you nurses a hope that she is not the thief, for it would be shameful to lift a hand against a mere child--even if she be (as you suspect), the spawn of the immortal cup-bearers. Thus, you wait, caught between your duty and your warrior's honor.

She circles the sarcophagus, lays her torch down, and then pushes against its lid. It moves by inches--she has not yet come into the strength of her immortal ancestors, if indeed she is their descendent. Finally, the lid is removed enough to gain access to the head. The girl peers inside, her eyes wide with disbelief. She puts her hand inside, perhaps to test whether the body, so well-preserved, is truly dead. Then she stands there a moment, staring at the face, and finally, seemingly coming to a decision, takes her sword in both hands and raises it high above her head, preparing to plunge it into the neck of the corpse.

>Reveal yourself and use all your powers to frighten her away from the deed and from the tomb
>Remain hidden and allow her to ruin the body--you'll have to find another but better she does not encounter you
>Charge her while she is distracted, aiming to take her sword from her
>Write-in

>>5656176
>Charge her while she is distracted, aiming to take her sword from her
Oop!

>>5656176
>Remain hidden and allow her to ruin the body--you'll have to find another but better she does not encounter you

>>5656176
>>Charge her while she is distracted, aiming to take her sword from her

>>5656176

>Charge her while she is distracted, aiming to take her sword from her

>>5656176
>Charge her while she is distracted, aiming to take her sword from her

>>5656176
>Charge her while she is distracted, aiming to take her sword from her

Is our presence dangerous to her? As in do we radiate harmful magics or carry diseases?

>>5656376
No diseases or harmful aura as such. Draugr are more about fear, darkness and cold. If you went all out you could (maybe) stop her heart but that would require a concerted effort and likely exhaust you.

>>5656176
>>Remain hidden and allow her to ruin the body--you'll have to find another but better she does not encounter you

Come on guys, if we interact with her that’s one more person who knows of our existence. Right now we’re at a witch and a troll. The last thing we need is nobility knowing of us. If she cuts the head, we just have to wear a high collar on a mostly preserved body. She’s not a peasant, she’s blatantly royalty and if she starts spewing about a draugr, everyone will be on the hunt, including trained knights. Strangely she has a weapon specific to us, which leads to questions as to where she got it. Given the armor is made for her, she’s obviously from a rich bloodline who can afford to let their daughter go on quests doing who knows what. Which means she’s either really well trained and can take us or this area has enough guards she can stroll about by herself with high end equipment and be a LARPerator for 1300AD /k/.

>>5656176
>>Charge her while she is distracted, aiming to take her sword from her
Stupid girl deserves to be punished

>>5656176
>>Remain hidden and allow her to ruin the body--you'll have to find another but better she does not encounter you
Get fucked njord

>>5656176
Alright, I'm interested in this quest. I am just trying to figure out if this is a Skyrim Quest or not.

As for the vote
>Call out to her. If she wishes to fight we fight fairly as Nords. If she wishes to talk, then a conversation shall be had.

>>5656647
>Get fucked njord
I fucking lost. Hahaha

>>5656406
>Noble girl attempts to desecrate a tomb and gets a firm but gentle rebuke from the ancestral guardians.
She'll probably get a clip around the ear and told not to do that again if she tells anyone.

>>5656805
>She'll probably get a clip around the ear and told not to do that again if she tells anyone.
She’s been sent on a quest by her taking the time for body identification. She can’t recognize the smell of a draugr, but she can see one and she can definitely scream there was one at Njord’s tomb and recognize his body if it starts walking

>>5656176
>>5656178
>>5656268
>>5656329
>>5656332
>>5656334
>>5656376
>>5656406
>>5656500
>>5656647
>>5656702

You charge her while she is distracted, aiming to take her sword from her. Quick as shadow you leap upon her, pushing her hands away before she can deliver the blow. The blade is knocked from her hands and skitters toward the tunnel entrance. Unwielded, the valkyrsteel loses its enchanted hue and returns to common metal. As for the girl, the attack and the suddenness of your fearsome presence prove to be too much for her. She rears back, and in her panic trips over her own feet and falls down the steps leading up onto the sarcophagus onto the hard stone below, and then goes still.

Blood pools around her uncovered head, soiling her golden hair. You can still sense her spirit clinging desperately to her body--she is not dead yet--but the grip is loosening with every second that passes. A brief search of her person reveals no sign of the ring nor any other evidence of the robbery. Her strange armor appears to be unenchanted, but custom-made, and forged with skill far beyond than what mortal men are capable--the work of dweorgar. The wound is not beyond healing, but will require nursing and treatment. Without it, she will die.

She poses a mystery even greater than the thief (though you are still not certain that she is not the thief). An ordinary looking girl in dweorgarcraft, wielding a blade of valkyrsteel, braving the tomb of an ancient prince in order to mutilate his corpse. Who is she? What are her motivations? Where did she come from? Most of all, what is her story? She alone may hold the answers to such questions, and with her death, they may be lost forever.

>You choose to leave her to her fate, letting her story come to a strange and ignominious end.
>You will bring her to the witch. She's a skilled healer in her own right and the girl's story seems too interesting to go unheard.
>You offer up some of your spirit and with your icy magic close her wounds with frost. The rest you leave to her own force of will.
>Write-in

>>5656840
>>You choose to leave her to her fate, letting her story come to a strange and ignominious end.

>>5656840
>>You will bring her to the witch. She's a skilled healer in her own right and the girl's story seems too interesting to go unheard.
Cut off some of her or Njord’s cloak to blindfold and bind her, then proceed to the witch. No need for an innocent death. We can loot the girl or Njord’s body, then barter it to the witch to save the girl. We should also take her weapon in the case we encounter some unfriendly draugr or other undead enemies

>>5656840
>You will bring her to the witch. She's a skilled healer in her own right and the girl's story seems too interesting to go unheard.
Let's be sure to hide the valkyrsteel.

>>5656840
>You offer up some of your spirit and with your icy magic close her wounds with frost. The rest you leave to her own force of will.
We need to get back to our quest before the trail goes cold. It might be worth keeping her around as a squire. Make up some bullshit about her being bound to us when she wakes up. Till then get back to harvesting Njords remains

>>5656840
>You offer up some of your spirit and with your icy magic close her wounds with frost. The rest you leave to her own force of will.

>>5656702
>Skyrim Quest or not
Not, I think. The Aesir and the Valkyries have been references, the latter explicitly, and I don't believe they exist in Elder Scrolls.

>>5656840
>Claim her flesh for your own. Whether she's alive or remains so after you do so is of no consequence - her body is likely to hold power that could prove useful to you.
Possession if we got it, or just inhabiting her corpse if we don't. Either way, her blood's gotta be potent...and if we're wearing her flesh, we might be capable of wielding that valkyrsteel.

>>5656856
support

>>5656840
>>Claim her flesh for your own. Whether she's alive or remains so after you do so is of no consequence - her body is likely to hold power that could prove useful to you.

>>5656840
>You will bring her to the witch. She's a skilled healer in her own right and the girl's story seems too interesting to go unheard.

>>5657011
Support

>>5656840
>>You will bring her to the witch. She's a skilled healer in her own right and the girl's story seems too interesting to go unheard.
>>You offer up some of your spirit and with your icy magic close her wounds with frost. The rest you leave to her own force of will.

Close her wounds and then bring her to the witch. She clearly has resources, resources that will help us get the ring back.

>>5656840
>You will bring her to the witch. She's a skilled healer in her own right and the girl's story seems too interesting to go unheard.

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>>5656840
>>5656841
>>5656856
>>5656857
>>5656908
>>5656928
>>5657011
>>5657223
>>5657248
>>5657347

You will bring her to the witch. She's a skilled healer in her own right and the girl's story seems too interesting to go unheard. So, with Njord's corpse on one shoulder and with the girl on the other (and her sword tied to your waist), you exit the tomb. Outside, tied to the cairn, is a massive ram, the size of a pony, with great curled horns. It has been saddled and laden with baggage. These hardy mounts, the so-called riding rams, are one of the many offspring of the thunder-god's chariot pullers, Grinder and Gaptooth. They are more sedate than the descendants of the wise god's mount, the slipper, but not nearly as brave. The commoners use them to pull their plows and carts. The girl must have used it as a mount. They make good pets and they can trek long distances, especially over rough terrain, and are excellent climbers.

However, being a mortal creature, it is naturally afraid of the undead. It tries with all its might to escape its bonds--the rope tied around its neck to the pillar of stones--as you come near, but the knot holds. You diminish your spirit has much as you can but the ram will not let you touch him. You must lay the girl on her stomach atop the ram's saddle and guide it strongly by its reins. In this way, you make your way back to the jarl's tomb (following that lingering sensation in your mind) and present yourself to the witch.

The witch asks few questions and begins to immediately treat the girl's wounds. But when she first saw the girl, and especially when she examined her face, there was something in her eyes which disturbed you, a pitiless greed. As for the corpse, she tells you to put in the adjacent room, upon an altar she has fashioned from a circular slab of stone. Candles have been set around its circumference and there are runes carved all along its edge. Not the work of a few hours, this. It is said that witches, who have a kinship with the sisters of the well, can see into the pattern of woven fate. They can read the unwritten stories of others (through ironically not their own). Is it possible she knew all this would transpire? Does she know how your own story will end?

You arrange the body on the altar as per her instructions and then return to the girl. She is resting now on a small divan, unarmored, covered in a thick blanket and surrounded by the witch's cats (which hiss when you come near). Her head is wrapped in bandages and her spirit has nestled again in her body.

"She'll live," says the witch. "But she's lost a great deal of blood and will take some time to wake."

"Is she the thief?"

1/2

>>5657427
The witch shakes her head. She holds out her hand for the lock of hair and when you give it to her, she holds it up to another, straighter lock, which she must have cut from the girl when she was dressing the wound. "It's not the right shape nor color. One is dark and curly, the other is straight and fair."

"That's a relief. It would be a great shame to have to harm her, a mere child."

"There is nothing mere about her, except her height."

"All the more reason to preserve her! What a story she must have!"

The witch is quiet for a moment. "We haven't discussed payment. You know our kind never works for free."

"Yes, that is so. What is it you want?"

She gazes into the sleeping face of the girl, and then looks back at you. There is that greed in her ancient eyes again. It is the girl she wants.

"What will you do with her?"

"I shall make her my own. She will be the means to restore my youth! Her pristine body..." She gently parts the golden hair from the child's brow, a motherly gesture made hideous.

>"She is not mine to give."
>"Take her then, but only after my quest is done."
>"I shall not give you anything. You'll help me or leave this place."
>Write-in

>>5657428
>"She is not mine to give."

>>5657428
>>"She is not mine to give."

>>5657428
>"She is not mine to give

>>5657428
>"She is not mine to give."
Your price is too steep and you know it witch, a fair bargain is what is needed. You and the child can discuss that later.

>>5657428
>"She is not mine to give."

>>5657428
>Write-in
Lob her head off. She’s trying to commit blatant evil and will only use us for as long as we are useful to her. If she demands a life for healing, think of how much more she will charge us. Better we execute her before she gets any smart ideas
>>5657452
>>5657458
>>5657469
>>5657484
>>5657495
Hear me out frenpais

>>5657502
>If she demands a life for healing
To be clear, the trade is for helping you possess the corpse of Njord. She healed her for her own purposes.

>>5657503
Thanks for the clarification

>>5657428
>>"She is not mine to give."

>>5657428
>"She is not mine to give."
I don't know what kinds of things a witch covets but we cannot offer up the child so we may have to do without her magicks.


>"help me or leave this place."
Might work but I don't know if threatening her is fair or will work.

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>>5657428
>>>5657452
>>5657458
>>5657469
>>5657484
>>5657495
>>5657502
>>5657670
>>5657762

"She is not mine to give."

The witch scoffs. "You saved her life: that puts her in your debt."

"But not to sell like a common thrall!" Your indignation summons all the fury of your spirit and dims all the lights in the chamber. Even the witch, with so many years behind her, cannot help but cower. Yet, still, the greed does not leave her eyes.

"Fine," she says, in a quiet voice. "So it shall be."

"Swear by your staff, swear by the one-eyed god, and swear by his Lady, who taught him the art of magic, that you will not harm this girl or allow harm to come to her."

The witch spits over her shoulder. To swear by a witch's staff is binding enough, but to swear twice by the gods carries a grievous penalty if ever broken. "I swear. But nothing can be got for nothing."

"Take whatever else from the tomb you wish. There are jewels and gold enough to buy a hundred thralls to whatever fell purpose you desire."

"Whatever I wish?"

"But the jarl himself, of course, or his possessions," you quickly add, avoiding her trap.

"Hmm. So be it. I shall take something of the tomb, as you propose." She falls into thought, then she beckons for you to come into the next room to begin the ritual of possession. She tells you to lay down on the floor, next to the altar, then begins to draw runes around your body. She then draws a second circle of runes, and sits down in it and begins to sing in the seidr-tongue. You feel your spirit slowly gather to a point in your eyes and then to flow out of it like water through a channel. The spirit gathers at a spot floating above you and soon you can see your own body lying on the floor below, your form now wholly incorporeal. This lasts only a moment. The gloomy setting washes away and a gentle landscape takes its place. Rolling hills, a sunset, and a sward of sweet smelling grass. Yourself sitting in the shade of a great tree. You know this place... it is from your childhood, but that was too long ago and you cannot place it now.

As you rest, a figure in the distance approaches, their face obscured by the sun. As they come closer, you can make out a woman with short, golden hair--the same hue as the girl's--and small set of white wings upon her back. Her eyes are a glow of divine gold beneath her hair and her dress is not the battle-armor with which she would greet the fallen, but the sensual simplicity of the cup-bearer's. She sits in a kneeled position before you and bows her head in respectful greeting.

"There is not much time," she says. Her voice is lighter and sweeter than honey cream.

"Time for what?"

"To tell you all that I must."

What you wouldn't give to have that time! How you envy the slain for this music!

"Speak quickly then." Though it pains you to say it.

1/2

>>5658423
"Then first, my gratitude for delivering my daughter from the embrace of death." She bows her head again, lower this time. "Second, my warning--though futile--of the witch's betrayal."

"Impossible! She swore an unbreakable oath."

"No, 'tis not my daughter I speak of, but yourself. Even now she works to possess the undying body you have left behind and shall abscond with it before you wake. You shall be trapped in the corpse to which she has bound you. In none of this has she broken her oath, nor the deal she struck, for she has merely taken something from the tomb, as you agreed."

"Myself."

She nods. "And now the third: my blessing." Then she rises to her feet and walking over to you she plants a kiss upon your brow, leaving you with the din of battle in your ears. "With this, you shall not cease without the witch's persistent magic, as she had hoped, but shall go on as many days as bloodied gold you offer to my lord each night. Because you have neither blood nor gold, I shall task my daughter to assist you. I ask only that you protect her, till her story be done--or yours. And now you must go."

"Tell me, maiden of the one-eyed god, shall I ever drink from your cup?"

You think she smiles. "That verse is yet to be sung."

Then, as swiftly as it came, the vision falls away and you find yourself in the candlelit room once again, naked, resting now on the altar stone. Your true body is gone. The witch, in her haste, left Njord's possession in a small pile. You dress yourself in the burial tunic, the ancient chainmail, the belt. His sword has rusted to nothing but the scabbard is good. Your natural powers are greatly diminished in this body, you are a mere revenant now, no longer a fearsome draugr. But you are still an undead, still unable to feel pain, hunger, fear, or fatigue. Still immortal. But you can also sense something of the mead-maiden's magic in your spirit, a lively warmth mixed with the witch's binding spell, which makes you something more or different. How, you do not yet know.

>Your quest remains the same. You need to retrieve the ring first and with your new body you venture out immediately toward civilization.
>The cup-bearer tasked you to guard the girl, her daughter, so you will nurse her and wait for her to wake.
>The witch could not have gotten far, it may not be too late to seek a trail. She cannot have gone toward the mortals at any rate.
>Write-in

I know I took some liberties here for the sake of moving the plot along. I was going to do another vote, but it felt a bit redundant so I just went ahead with it. Hopefully you guys aren't too put off by this bit of railroading. I don't plan on making a habit of it in any case.

>>5658425

Good update QM. That is the balance to strike. How granular do you make the choices? I think this is a good start to a quest. No complains about liberties taken here.

>Your quest remains the same. You need to retrieve the ring first and with your new body you venture out immediately toward civilization
Let's double check on the girl is recovering and go get our troll friend.

Young female protaganist, pet dog, evil witch with mal intent, good witch blessing our party AND the whole thing maybe a dream and/or an allegory for our death? This isn't Skyrim quest it's Wizard of Oz quest. If we are the Scarecrow and the troll is the Lion then we just need a tin man to complete the set

>>5658425
>The cup-bearer tasked you to guard the girl, her daughter, so you will nurse her and wait for her to wake.

>>5658425
>>The cup-bearer tasked you to guard the girl, her daughter, so you will nurse her and wait for her to wake.
Search the tomb for more arms and armor as well. A fine helm and a good sword are essential to survival.

>>5658425
I don’t get it OP, do we need the witches magic to survive? Also, how do I make this black so it doesn’t ruin the text

>>5658437
The choices are meant to give me just enough info to write the next update. So it's usually not beyond your immediate next action. However, in this case, I felt that doing another poll to accept or reject the witch's deal would have slowed things down and been redundant. I also felt everything followed nicely from the previous choice and the characters motivations. It still feels a bit railroady to me, but I can at least say that the quest will never be more railroady than this.

>>5658641
To recap: the witch said that her possession ritual requires her to accompany you, or else the magic will eventually dissipate. Normally this would mean your spirit automatically returns to your original body (the draugr) but the witch is now in possession of it. The valkyrie that spoke to you during the ritual used her own powers to sustain the possession even without the witch, but it will require a nightly sacrifice to her lord (Odin) of "bloodied gold". Her daughter knows what this is and has been charged by her to help you.

And you can spoiler text by hitting ctrl+s

>>5658425
>The cup-bearer tasked you to guard the girl, her daughter, so you will nurse her and wait for her to wake.
When she wakes, we get her story, and then she helps us get blood and gold, and continue on our true quest. Seems a fair bargain.

>>5658768
+1. But we’re lobbing that witches head off at some point. Might be difficult given she’s in the body of a draugr, I have the feeling doom is gonna be spelled in the sky if we don’t make it a point to hunt her down before she gets an even darker idea. She just stiffed our deal and we can’t let anyone deal with a post menopausal woman rant about health issues in the body of a draugr

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>>5658425
>>5658437
>>5658566
>>5658599
>>5658641
>>5658768

The cup-bearer tasked you to guard the girl, her daughter, so you will nurse her and wait for her to wake. She is still resting peacefully on the divan, still guarded by the witch's cats. The witch has indeed kept her oath, though it seems she also had the foresight to steal her sword, for you cannot you find it anywhere in the room. What a pity! The valkyrsteel would have made all negotiations simple.

You examine your new body while you wait. The witch had an assortment of mirrors which she had brought with her when she first moved in. In them, you can see a handsome visage, strange without its usual haughty expression. Stranger still the soft, yielding flesh upon your bones, toenails, fingernails, teeth, gums, eyes, a nose, a tongue, lips, ears, hair, and of course, one other appendage, without which you have lived so long that it is almost unwieldy now. But your flesh, bloodless and breathless, is cold and pale to the touch. And there is a wound in your chest from a sword plunged too deep for any mortal to survive. A close look under strong light would give your nature away even to the most distracted observer.

On the other hand, you can talk again. You can sing again! You were always envious of Njord's singing voice (though he only used it for trivial things like wooing women). You can't help but run through a few verses of your favorite saga: the theft of the hurler's hammer.

Then loud spake, Noise,
the giants' leader:
"Who ever saw bride
more keenly bite?
I ne'er saw bride
with a broader bite,
Nor a maiden who drank
more mead than this!

Overawed by your own pleasant melody, you are still more astonished when the verse is finished by another, still sweeter voice, almost inhuman in its perfection.

Hard by there sat
the serving-maid wise,
So well she answered
the giant's words:
"From food has milady
eight nights fasted,
So hot was her longing
for her homeland.

The girl has waked. Her voice does honor to her divine parentage, but moreso her readiness for battle, for the moment she opens her eyes, she seeks out the hilt of her sword. But her scabbard is empty, and seeing instead the very corpse she was set to behead only hours ago, casually walking about, she panics and once more tries to flee. She does not get far. The blood loss makes her woozy, and you catch her just in time before she falls and then carry her back to the divan.

"It will be some time before you can move around by yourself," you say. "But since you're awake, have some food and regain your strength."

"You were dead... and there was a draugr..." She touches her head to confirm the wound. "You saved me? But you were dead!"

1/2

Strange. You assumed her mother would have explained everything to her, as she did to you. But, as you give your her own version of the story, it is apparent that she has told her nothing. She has never even met her mother, except in half-remembered dreams. And though she refuses to speak about her past (it probably didn't help that you insisted she render it in song), she is willing to help you for saving her life.

"Bloodied gold... that's an easy one," she says, slurping down the last of the witch's stew.

"What does it mean?"

"To leave gold pieces, marked with blood, for the ravens."

"That's all?"

"The gods lack imagination--or else the men that worship them. It's a fairly common ritual, I've seen men in the town perform it before. I can help you do it, but as you can see, I'm lacking in both blood and gold right now."

There's plenty of gold in the jarl's vault. But where to get some blood? Perhaps the troll? But troll blood may be taken as an insult. The gods are sensitive about such things. Your musings are interrupted by Wiglaf, who had been wandering the tunnels all the while and has suddenly returned with tidings of visitors to the tomb. Those young brats again.

>You decide to leave the girl here and go scare them off as usual. You don't want them to venture too deep.
>It may prove difficult to scare them off in your present form. You'll just wait them out instead.
>This is the perfect opportunity to test out your new disguise and possibly get some fresh blood.
>Write-in

>>5659401
>This is the perfect opportunity to test out your new disguise and possibly get some fresh blood.
Just don't kill them or hurt them too much

>>5659465
Supporting. Nonlethal violence, but enough to teach them a lesson. This is now a mugging. Fork over your gold and hold out your hand for your palm to be sliced, or be beheaded!

(The beheading is a bluff)

>>5659401
>Write in
Send wiglaf to sap them of energy and the will to fight; then pop out and make a blood curdling scream and charge them to make them go away
Maybe whisper to the girl she’s okay and you’ll be back, and the draugr that attacked her is gone (kinda sorta. We’ll explain everything later

>>5659401
>>5659663
+1

How durable is our new body?
Stabbings, crushing, decapitation,fire.
How badly do each of these affect us?
if the answer is we don't know/you haven't decided yet that's fine

>>5659465
>>5659663

I’ll back this. More importantly, these guys probably have a sense of the local graverobbers and could point us in the direction of our main target?

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>>5659465
>>5659663
>>5659681
>>5660140
>>5660428
This is the perfect opportunity to test out your new disguise and possibly get some fresh blood. You tell the girl to rest, while you head out to meet them with Wiglaf. The brats are roaming the tunnels in a tight group, six in all. One wears a polished helmet that keeps slipping past his eyes--their leader, for he barks commands to the rest

"Halt!" you say.

"Who speaks?" says the helmed one, brandishing a long knife. "Show thyself!"

You walk up to them calmly, letting them take the full measure of you.

"An adventurer!" whispers one of them.

"Ask him about the treasure, Rolf," says another, pulling at the helmed one's sleeve.

"Ask him about the ghost," adds another.

The helmed one shrugs off the first boy and then shows you the point of his knife. "Lead us to the treasure, knave," he says. Bravery without the mettle to behind it; his voice trembling as much as his sword arm .

In one quick movement, you grab the knife by its blade and yank it from his grip. "You never should have come here," you say.

"Give me back my weapon!" says Rolf.

"No," you say.

The boy is utterly dumbfounded. His helmet slips down again and he does not even bother to fix it. It seems he is unaccustomed to not getting his way. "Do you know who I am?"

"Rolf, maybe we should just go..." says one of the boys. The others are very much of the same opinion.

"I'm not leaving without my knife," says Rolf.

By his manners, speech, and pride, this Rolf is of noble blood. And nobles, as a rule, are never without some means of conveyance in their purse. Thus, you present them with an ultimatum: they lay down all the gold in their possession... or else. The others are ready to sacrifice their pocket change, but Rolf would rather engage in deadly combat. This soon spawns an argument between him and the rest of the group, which quickly grows heated (as other abuses and quarrels are brought up). Your remonstrances are no use, and the noise soon attracts an unfortunate guest: the resident troll.

>You need to ensure the kids get away safely. Hold back the troll while they escape.
>The troll will not recognize you in this body, you'll need to preserve yourself first. Let the kids fend for themselves.
>Trying to run away or escape is risky, your best bet is to trick him, say by offering one of the kids as tribute.
>Write-in

>>5660790
>You need to ensure the kids get away safely. Hold back the troll while they escape.
We have honour

>>5660790
>You need to ensure the kids get away safely. Hold back the troll while they escape.
The troll's SORT of a friend, right? Maybe we can distract him for a bit by telling whom who we are and what happened? We are a man who loves to hear and tell tales, after all!

>>5660790
>The troll will not recognize you in this body, you'll need to preserve yourself first. Let the kids fend for themselves
They may be young but troll caves are adult learning environments.

>>5660790
>The troll will not recognize you in this body, you'll need to preserve yourself first. Let the kids fend for themselves.

They went into a tomb looking for adventure, and they found it. No need to actively offer one to the troll, but also not your problem what happens to them.
Those who get out, if any, will have more respect for the final resting place of others.

>>5660904
+1

>>5660790

>The troll will not recognize you in this body, you'll need to preserve yourself first. Let the kids fend for themselves.

Listen, they got themselves into this mess and we’re bound by no oath to assist them. We gotta protect ourselves to finish our own tasks.

Rolled 1 (1d2)

>>5660814
>>5660904
>>5661626
1

>>5662085
>>5661133
>>5660940
2

>>5663758

The kids, still in the midst of their debate, do not notice the troll at first. Then one of them begins pulling on Rolf's sleeve, and when the latter tries to shrug him off again, he grabs his head with both hands and turns it around. Everyone falls silent.

"Grendy," you say. The troll turns to the sound of his name, squints its lidless eyes at you, and, as you feared, does not recognize you in your new body, and turns back to the children--morsels in his mind. "Grendy," you say again. "No. They are not for eating."

"Manflesh!" he replies. He's licking his tusks now. Never a good sign.

"Hand me one of your torches," you whisper to the boys.

"Don't give him anything until he returns my knife!" says Rolf.

The boys hesitate.

"Now!" you hiss.

One of the boys, the smallest in the group, gives in and throws you his torch. Revenants do not have as much a fear of flame as draugr, that is their advantage, but trolls are terrified of it. Burnt flesh is the only thing they cannot regenerate. You wave the torch in the troll's face, and it cowers with a piteous moan.

"Back! Go back, Grendy! I don't want to hurt you."

"Grendy wants manflesh," he says.

"They are not for eating! I'll get you some food later. Deer meat."

Grendy seems to consider this, looking behind him toward the tunnels, then at the boys, then back at the tunnels. You wave at the boys to retreat. They begin to inch back slowly--all but Rolf.

"Fresh meat?" asks Grendy.

"Right off the bone, and dripping with blood. I promise."

He licks his tusks again, then slowly, he turns. You finally relax.

Rolf, taking advantage of this momentary lapse of tension, snatches his knife back from your hand and then charges the troll, managing to drive the knife into its calf, before the troll grabs him and hoists him off the floor.

"Help me!" says Rolf, to his friends. The boys all exchange glances and then immediately run away. "Cowards!" Rolf yells after them. Then he locks eyes with you. "You! Knave! Save me!"

How you would love to just leave this brat in his predicament! But, he is only a child, and moreover, of noble blood. His death would not go unnoticed, or unpunished.

1/2

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>>5663788
"Put him down, Grendy," you say.

"He hurt Grendy!" says the troll, shaking the child like he were a doll.

You advance slowly, torch raised. "Put him down."

"Grendy will eat him."

Rolf begins to sob.

You are close enough now to grab the knife jutting out of his calf. The wound has already begun to close, forming a stone-like scab around the blade.

"I said he was not for eating, Grendy."

"Manflesh is for eating!" says Grendy. He raises the child's head to his maw and then tears it off in one vicious bite.

"Grendy!" you cry, pulling the knife from his leg, then slamming the torchhead into the wound. The troll screams in pain, dropping the lifeless boy. Then, he charges you. You deftly roll away, causing him to slam into the tunnel wall. You run out into another tunnel, and lumbers after you, gaining speed with every step in spite of his wound.

Then, you hit a dead end.

You raise the knife and the torch. "I don't want to hurt you anymore, Grendy. Turn back now!"

He charges you again, but this time, there is no room for evasive maneuvers. He swipes at your head, casually knocking it from your shoulders by the force of the blow. But not before you manage to plunge the knife into his temple. He goes slack. Your severed head rolls a few feet away, finally settling on its cheek.

Directing your decapitated body to retrieve its head is perhaps the strangest thing you've done in all your years. Njord is not likely to happy about this, but its nothing a few stitches can't fix. You wish you could say the same for the boy. Annoying as he was, he was still just a child.

You go to retrieve the knife from Grendy's head. Already, he's beginning to heal from what would otherwise be a fatal wound. In a few hours he'll be whole again. But there'll be no deer for him tonight.

Knife in pocket and head tucked under armpit, you guide your body back to where Rolf fell. To your great astonishment, his corpse nowhere to be found. Where could he have gone without a head? Unless... of course! His helmet! The troll must have torn it off in place of his head.

Then, he lives. But where could he have gone? Surely, not deeper into the tunnels? You hear a distant shriek, the cry of a young girl. You sigh. Nothing is ever easy.

You find Rolf with the girl, as you suspected. He's lying face down on the ground, a bump swelling on the back of his head. The girl is standing over him in her underclothes, holding her scabbard (with which she has apparently beaten the child into submission).

"The lecher tried to carry me away."

"He's not dead is he?"

She pokes the boys side with her toe. "Still breathing," she says. Then she looks up, and seeing your own sorry state, she staggers back. "What..."

"It's a long story," you say. "Can you... I think she keeps it in the second drawer."

She retrieves some needle and thread and gets to work sewing you back together.

2/3

>>5663790
"If we do the ritual tonight, you will be wholly mended again," she says. "But for now, I suppose this will do. Don't turn your head too much or too quickly or else it will come undone."

You feel your neck. It's the work of an expert hand, though more a tailor's than a surgeon's. It makes you all the more curious about her story.

"What'll we do with him?" she asks.

>"Take him outside the tomb before he wakes up."
>"Bring him back to town ourselves."
>"Keep him here and use his blood for the ritual."
>Write-in

>>5663792
>"Keep him here and use his blood for the ritual."
The fool owes us that much.

>>5663792

>"Keep him here and use his blood for the ritual."

>>5663792
>Keep him here and use his blood for the ritual."

>>5663792
>"Keep him here and use his blood for the ritual."

File: red_raven.png (5 KB, 226x223)

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>>5663798
>>5663832
>>5663857
>>5663934
"Keep him here and use his blood for the ritual."

The girl seems to have no qualms about this. She lies back down on the divan, thoroughly exhausted from her efforts. You pick up the boy and prop him up onto a chair. In a moment, his eyes flutter open.

"What? Ow!" He fingers the bump on the back of his head. "Where am I? What have you done to me?"

"You want me to knock him out again?" asks the girl.

The boy whimpers and protects his face with his arms.

"That won't be necessary," you reply, gently lowering the boys arms.

"What are you going to do to me? You can't keep me here! My father will hear of this! He'll send men to come looking for me. You won't get away with any of this, knave."

"I'll knock him out again," says the girl, beginning to get out of her covers.

You wave her back. "What is it you think I've gotten away with? Saving your life? Saving the lives of your friends?"

He grows quiet. "...are they safe?"

"They escaped."

"And the troll?"

"He won't be bothering us for a while. He would've walked away if you hadn't charged in like a fool."

"He charged a troll?" asks the girl. "What an idiot!"

The boy's pudgy cheeks flush with shame, but when he looks at the girl, he can make no response. You take the opportunity to explain to him his current situation and your demands. He naturally refuses everything and instead demands the return of his knife, which you reluctantly surrender.

"You have to release me," he says, having composed himself again.

You gesture toward the open door. "Be warned, boy: the troll is not dead, merely wounded. And the tunnels are hard to navigate even with light."

"You guide me out then," he says, his voice shaking. "You know the way, don't you?"

"Why should he?" says the girl. "You're not going to help him, right?"

"I wasn't speaking to you," he says. "And he should help me because if he doesn't, he'll face the wrath of House Redraven."

The girl sits up at mention of this name, but it has no significance to you.

"But," he continues, "if you were to bring me to the treasure room, knave, and lead me safely out, I might be willing to help you. I'll even introduce you to my father."

"And if there's no treasure?"

"It matters not. The history of it will be reward enough."

>Enough of this. You draw his blood by force and then leave him outside the tomb.
>The wrath of a noble house is not a trifling matter, and a favor from them could go a long way. Do as he says for now.
>Kick him out into the tunnels and let him see his own way out, if he can. Let his noble house come, you'll take them all on.
>Write-in

>>5664020
>Enough of this. You draw his blood by force and then leave him outside the tomb.
And keep his knife. We're already beholden to one pair of haughty, shit-eating nobles who took advantage of us. This whelp and the family which reared such a soiled ignoramus deserves nothing from us. He doesn't even have the decency to repay a life-debt, so he is without honor.

>>5664020
>Enough of this. You draw his blood by force and then leave him outside the tomb.
Get fucked Rolf.

>>5664020

>Enough of this. You draw his blood by force and then leave him outside the tomb.

It would be good for his character development if we treat him badly, to be honest.

>>5664020
>Enough of this. You draw his blood by force and then leave him outside the tomb.

"Tell me, does the name Njord mean anything to you?"

We HAVE to know. We HAVE to, because although I sincerely doubt Njord was able to reproduce (and didn't, to our knowledge), it's possible he had a kid that we never knew of, and I want to LAUGH at him for his idiot kids once we get the ring back if he did.

Enough of this. You draw his blood by force and then leave him outside the tomb. The last you see of him is his fading back as he sobs over his bandaged arm. Good riddance. Even if part of you feels your treatment was harsh (you even took his knife), the greater part feels it was deserved and will be a good lesson for him. Whatever the strength of this House Redraven, a house as equally unknown to you as the name "Njord" was unknown to the boy, they cannot be much to sire a child so little in honor. Even the girl understood the gravity of a life-debt. Granted, she is not even of mortal birth, but all the same, to be shown up in manly duty by a girl-child... well, to his credit, Rolf did seem to feel shame when you scolded him for it. His cheeks flushed again and he could say nothing in response. And you suppose it took some bravery to charge headlong into a troll. But bravery without honor, as the sagas say, is mere tyranny.

With a jar full of the boy's blood and a few golden baubles from the jarl's vault, you have all you need to perform the ritual. The girl says it is best to wait till after midnight, when magic power is at is height. In the meantime, she takes a bit more food and, growing weary of bedrest, decides to tend to her armor. It's near dark, though still some hours before the appointed time.

>You make conversation with the girl, learning more about her past and the outside world
>You go and check on Grendy, to make sure he has recovered and to make amends
>You search the witch's place thoroughly, for anything useful she may have left behind
>Write-in

>>5664545
>You make conversation with the girl, learning more about her past and the outside world
We don't even know her name.

>>5664545

>You search the witch's place thoroughly, for anything useful she may have left behind

There’s probably at least something we can scrounge up

>>5664545
>You search the witch's place thoroughly, for anything useful she may have left behind

>>5664545
>Search the witches place
I’m curious where she disappeared to

>>5664545
>You go and check on Grendy, to make sure he has recovered and to make amends
We can chat with the girl on our journey

File: owl_puppet.jpg (39 KB, 564x564)

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>>5664555
>>5664578
>>5664616
>>5664759
>>5664771

You search the witch's place thoroughly, for anything useful she may have left behind. Her staff and cloak, the items most imbued with her magic, she has taken with her, but you soon discover a hidden tunnel behind the cabinet in which she has stored, among other things, her medicines and tinctures and a shelf full of leather bound books. There is also a small chest containing a purse full of runestones, some knuckle-bones, and a magnificent drinking horn covered in runic inscriptions. You sense magic in all of them. The knuckle-bones may be used to read the weave of fate, if one be trained in its art (as you are not), or more mundanely, to cheat in games of chance. The drinking horn is a true prize--or it would be if you weren't undead--for it fills itself perpetually with golden mead of a kingly brew, even as might be served in the last mead hall.

The runestones appear to have a different purpose altogether. Ordinarily they are used to commune with the gods or in elaborate rituals like that which you used to possess this body. However, these stones have been carved into careful shapes, like keys, and it is not long before you discover the lock they fit: a small puppet, made of wood, bone, and feather, in the shape of an owl. The runestones slot into insets alongs its head, torso and back, and, you suspect, if they are placed with a willing spirit at hand, the puppet will be brought to life.

As for the books, you can make neither heads nor tails of them. Of the few that have picture and diagrams you guess that one is a recipe book (for medicines and meals alike), another is a book detailing rituals, and one a journal of some kind, for it contains sketches of the tomb's layout, the troll, and even yourself.

As you cannot take everything with you, you'll have to decide what to leave behind.

>Write-in

>>5665231
Leave the books and the owl puppet. The knuckle-bones and drinking horn could be useful for getting information (get someone loaded, challenge them to a dice game for info, win). The owl puppet can carry itself, once we animate it!

>>5665231
Damn, all of these are nice (except maybe the books). How many items can we take with us?

>>5665299
Whatever makes sense. I'm not too anal about inventory management. If you can justify carrying it somehow (as in an in character reason for taking and some way to physically carry it) I'll allow it. The only restriction is that at least one thing has to be left behind, since I did say you can't take everything.

To give a sense of the size of things: the leather bound books are about the size of ordinary textbooks. The runestones are like marbles. The puppet is the same size as an actual adult owl. The knuckle-bones are dice sized. The drinking horn is about the size of a boot.

>>5665231
>>5665330
Alright, so the real question is whether we leave the puppet or the horn behind, they take the most space. I think we can fit only one of these in a rucksack.
Let's go with
>Take: the recipe and ritual books, knuckle-bones, drinking horn
>Leave: all other books, runestones and puppet
Drinking horn may come useful if we ever need to treat someone, establish good relations. Knuckle-bones may be used to cheat in games of chance, that's pretty helpful. Recipe and ritual books we may not be able to understand, but someone we meet on our journey may.

It PAINS me to abandon the puppet and runestones, because a cool spirit friend would be nice if we ever come around one that wants to possess the puppet, but it is what it is.

>>5665231
>Write in
We’re stripping to our underwear and using our pants and tunic to as either a sack or a tarp to drag all the items with us
>>5665268
>>5665299
>>5665394
Give me a +1, we’ve solved our hail problem and u guys need to agree so we can fix it
>>5665330
I have solved the problem to our dilemma OP ;)

>>5665872
Forgot to mention
Undead don’t ungo fatigue iirc, so we can carry things that would fatigue human muscles with ease

>>5665872
Forgot to add
Reasoning for taking all of it: this bitch thought it was valuable so we do too

>>5665394

Backing this, we can always come back for the other stuff later

File: horn.jpg (29 KB, 564x340)

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The recipe and ritual books, knuckle-bones, and drinking horn you take with you. The other books, the runestones and the puppet, you leave behind. The horn can make for a compelling gift or as a simple way to establish friendly relations. The knuckle-bones may come in handy for games of chance (though you are not fond of underhanded schemes). Finally the books may be of interest to someone more reputable than the witch and may win their favor. With her betrayal, you'll need another seidman to return you to your original body. The horn and the bones are easily carried your person, the books, however, must be put inside the baggage of the girl's riding-ram. You briefly consider putting the ghost of your loyal hound, Wiglaf, into the puppet, but decide to let him remain in the tomb (though he wished very much to accompany you).

With that, midnight finally comes and you and the girl head outside the tomb again, climbing over the valley to a small hill clear of trees where a sliver of moon shines down. The girl gathers stones and tinder for a small fire, directing you all the while to the specifics of the ritual.

"Put all in a circle, not a heap. No, that's too small, you need to sit inside. That's right. Now, pour the blood all long the circle so that every piece has some blood on it. Don't use it all. Now, take a bit in your fingers and mark your right eye with it, down, with your thumb, like this. Now, wait."

Twice the girl goes into the wood to gather more firewood, but the third time she falls asleep and the fire dies away. Having no need for rest, you remain sitting until the first light of dawn, thinking of your quest, thinking of the cup-bearer's voice and her final words. At last, you see a shadow circling the glittering gold and looking up you see the enormous raven descending in a gentle spiral. Then it swoops down and swipes one of the golden trinkets in its talon and you feel a surge of warmth that enters through your right eye, joining with the warmth of the mead-maiden's magic and filling you from toe to top. Where there was one raven, soon there are dozens, and they descend in a swarm and when they rise again there is not one scrap of gold that remains. You feel utterly invigorated. With the amount of gold you have offered, you sense you will not need to perform this ritual for another moon.

The girl, suddenly waking by the rush of horses beneath her cheek, scans the valley for their source. "There!" she whispers, in a quivering voice, nodding at a group of half-dozen helmeted men atop black steeds, all arrayed in armor and surcoats bearing a red moon behind a black raven. Near the front rides a pudgy little boy on a pony, pointing out the entrance of the tomb. You mark the bandage on his arm with grim recognition. It is Rolf.

>Hide and wait for them to pass.
>Hail them openly and make up a story.
>Spook their horses when they enter the tomb
>Write-in

>>5666321
>Hide and wait for them to pass.
Damn, how could I have forgotten about Wiglaf? We could've taken everything with us, couldn't we? Regarding the vote, there's no reason to spook the horses and it may reveal us, which is dangerous.

>>5666321

>Hide and wait for them to pass.

With a little luck they'll never know how close they came to us.

>>5666321

>steal their horses when they enter the tomb

Let’s make sure that lil snitch Rolf has to walk home. Plus, we should really try to steal a horse for our own purposes

>>5666499
>>5666321
+1

>>5666321
>>5666499 has the right of it
>steal their horses when they enter the tomb
We're on a quest! that makes it okay. We'll return it later, maybe.

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>>5666406
>>5666492
>>5666499
>>5666596
>>5666879

"We should hide," says the girl, crawling on her hands and knees to the other side of the hill. From their low vantage they cannot see your movements, though you can see all of theirs. You watch them dismount their horses and cautiously enter the tomb. One of their men has been left behind to guard the mounts but he is a corpulent fellow and soon employs himself in rummaging through his baggage for vittles.

You wait until he is in the throes of his eating and the other men have gone deeper into the tomb, and then you strike.

"What are you doing!" says the girl, reluctantly following after you. "Are you crazy?"

"We'll take their horses. It will slow them down if nothing else and help speed us on our own task."

"If they were not your enemies before, they will surely be so now."

"I'm not afraid of them."

"They're the most powerful house in the realm, only one other dares to stand against them--will you listen!"

You're near the base of the hill now. The guard has not yet noticed, too busy with his cheese and hardtack. You could take him out by surprise, easily, but that is not the warrior's way. You'll face him head on. He cannot call for help in any case, as his companions are too deep in the tomb now to hear him.

He jumps to his feet when you appear and reaches for his weapon: a one-handed ax with with a blade and a pointed metal head. All you have is your knife, which he instantly recognizes.

"It's you! Thief!" He then begins to shout. "I've found him! He's here!" But there's no response.

The two of you begin to circle. How long has it been since you've had a proper duel? A century at least. And you've won your share of them, and had the scars to prove it. Yet, all those feats and contests of strength are now lost, you are the hero of no tale. You are remembered by no one. What was it all for, you wonder?

The guard charges, his axe raised high over his head. He slashes downward at your shoulder. You jump away. However, as your knife is shorter this his axe, you'll need to close the distance to strike. Fortunately, his technique is unrefined and his weight, while it adds power to his blows, also makes them sluggish and fatiguing.

>You'll skirt around him, baiting and tiring him out
>You'll counter one of his swings to enter his guard
>You'll wait for an opportune moment to throw your knife
>Write-in

>>5667125

>You'll skirt around him, baiting and tiring him out

This is probably wisest

>>5667125
> You'll skirt around him, baiting and tiring him out

>>5667125
>You’ll bait him
Also, we should try to see who our challenger is, his position within the family, etc. We need to establish relations with this family, best way is through acts of mercy.
I’d like us to put him in a blood (not air) choke so he gets knocked out. While he’s being choked we should offer some level of explanation to help cut back on animosity, apologize, and when he’s out put a blanket on him so he doesn’t get cold (you know, so we don’t piss people off. Small acts go a long way. We could even take his knife and leave the boys, given it sounds like it’s an important family piece)

>>5667490

>let’s be as kind as we can to the Viking savage who’s trying to kill us, as we are a nice undead revenant

Never change, anon, you have a heart of gold

>>5667125
>You'll skirt around him, baiting and tiring him out
>go nonlethal if possible
If not, oh well. One more for Valhalla's halls!

>>5667125
>You'll skirt around him, baiting and tiring him out

>>5667125
>>5667150 >>5667220 >>5667490 >>5667692 >>5667896

You'll skirt around him, baiting and tiring him out. The undead do not feel fatigue, their strength remains constant no matter how long the fight, no matter how hard. Your opponent is soon made aware of this. His whiffed strikes and your constant feints exhaust him in a matter of minutes and it is not long before his arms slack, his breath comes short, and his axe drags along the earth. He makes one last cry for help, shouting with all his remaining strength for his companions. But no aid arrives and seeing that he is bested he throws his axe aside and faces you with his head held high.

"Make it quick," he says.

"You'll not plead for your life?"

He scowls. "I'm no coward."

You sheathe your blade. "Nor, I."

"No quarter was asked," he says, still resolute. You admire his courage. There is something in his face which resembles the boy, an uncle perhaps, or an older brother, but nothing of his haughtiness.

"So noted. Give me your horses."

"Can't do it. You'll have to kill me."

"Don't be so eager for death, friend. Take it from me, it's not all they say it is."

"And who are you then, 'friend'?"

You look down at your hands, Njord's hands, the pearly flesh of them, the stoppered veins beneath the skin. "Whatever the boy told you was not the truth."

He leans forward on the butt of his axe. "That's his knife though isn't it?"

You throw the knife at his feet. "I only took it to teach him a lesson. I'm no thief."

"And the wound you gave him? Was that a lesson too?"

"Hardly a wound to the son of a warrior. But if he bears a scar from it, it will remind him of the burden of his honor."

The man spits. It seems he would say something in response, but then he thinks the better of it and sighs. "Aye, that reminder might not do him so ill. But that's a task better left to his father, not to a stranger. You had no right."

"I saved his life. His ingratitude deserved more than what I gave him."

"If that be true, then come with us to the lord of the house. Present your case and receive your satisfaction."

"The son of that house does not give confidence of fair-dealing."

He shrugs. "Flee and the boy's story will be the truth."

>You knock him out and take the horses, as planned.
>You acquiesce and decide to go with them to the lord
>You leave on foot and seek out the rival house the girl mentioned
>Write-in

>>5668097
>You knock him out and take the horses, as planned.
We're undead. We're beyond being sidetracked by mortal politics.

>>5668097
>You knock him out and take the horses, as planned.
>>5668124
Yep. What this guy said.

>>5668124

Backing this. We’re not going to trial against a 10 year old boy lol

>>5668097
>Write-in
>Agree to return and stand trial. But first, we need to get those guys out of the tunnel before they kill Grundy or Grundy kills them
Uncle seems reasonable, us sparing him will go a long way. Us saving the whole family will go even further. They already know about Grundy, but perhaps we can bargain for his life. It sounds as though the uncle understands Ralf is a problem. As insane as it is, we need a community. They have our face, it’s time to make our record pure, then we can travel freely. If need be, we can “accept” lashings for our lack of consideration and see about walking free (we don’t feel pain after all). Our oath to the Jarl isn’t an “or else”, it’s in as much as we can. If we can’t, we can’t. The Jarl’s lust for a possession that is useless to him in the afterlife isn’t important. Stopping the witch who could assemble an army to attack this family and our people is of great importance.
We need to relay this information to the most powerful person as fast as we can, we can bullshit whatever we need. But we can’t just let these innocent people become slaves to a monster in our former body

>>5668124
>>5668142
We need to humble ourselves and submit to our local authorities. We’re asking for someone bigger and stronger to come for us. It’s not worth it, the Jarl’s Valhalla drama from beyond the vail can wait until Ragnarok for all I care, stopping the witch will do these people far better then getting our ungrateful Jarl a ring borderline pointless ring back. If the Jarl has a problem with us changing priorities, then it sucks to be him. What we should do however is inform whoever might enforce the oath on us a heads up what we’re up to, I’m sure they’ll have mercy, especially once they hear of the lives that are at stake

>>5668162
>>5668168

I truly dig the effortposting anon, but I reject the conceit that we have to show up to the local thane, hat in hand,

That little shit Rolf invaded our tomb AND we saved his life. It’s not our problem that he’s an asshole and led his uncles into troll territory.

>>5668162
>>5668168
I do feel bad for Grendy, but he DOES also eat people, so getting stabbed by some people may be a just enough fate.

>>5668162
>>5668168
I don't think stopping the witch is as important as you make it out to be. I highly doubt she's capable of assembling an army of monsters as a threat to humans or anything like that, and she didn't seem to be intent on doing that either. How did you reach that conclusion?

Retrieving the ring is more important than chasing after her, since the former has some very real repercussions in case of our failure, unlike the latter. We could spend an eternity under the roots of the World Tree! Besides, we have no leads on the location of the witch, while we've at least got the hair of the woman that took the ring.

I understand why you may be worried about the great clan going after us, but there's a fair chance of them imprisoning us even if we show up before their lord since they may believe Rolf's bullshit instead of our story.

At the end of the day, I think it's best to steal the horses, abscond to the nearest town, and quietly begin the search for the ring.

File: greystone.jpg (53 KB, 563x823)

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You knock him out and take the horses, as planned. Further discourse would have been fruitless and surrendering to him and putting yourself at the mercy of his House only pulls you further from your appointed task. With the girl's direction, you ride toward that other clan she mentioned, rivals to the House of Redraven.

"And are you from that House yourself? You speak of them as familiars."

She is quiet before answering. "I was a thrall of that House," she says.

A child of an immortal to serve as a slave in a court of mortals! The girl intrigues you with every passing hour. You try to probe more out of her, but she dismisses her past as an "old, tedious story". Your behavior toward the guard and the borrowing of the horses did not suit her as well. Not because of any dishonor (for you did win them in fair combat) but a fear of what reprisals may come. She explains how House Redraven has come to crown itself ruler of more than one-half of this realm, with more than two-score thanes at its beck and call, and how the blood feud between it and House Whitewolf, present since their founding, has in recent times, with their accumulation of powers, brought them to the brink of civil war.

"There's no doubt the Lord of Whitewolf will welcome you with open arms for the slight you offered their rivals. But in both their eyes you have now taken a side. The fat one was right: the boy's story will now pass as the truth."

"If Grendy doesn't kill them first."

"Now there's a sobering thought." She laughs, letting her voice echo through the empty hills.

You ride across hill and dale till you come to a great coursing river, the very same you used to send little toy boats into when you were a lad, and when, you were a little older, larger canoes on which you sailed to the lake downstream to fish. An enormous wooden bridge has been built over one slice of it, which was not there before, and on the other side, in the distance, you can see the rise of stone walls, capped towers, and banners whose glory far outclass the rude thatch and beam meadhalls of your time. The peasants upon the fields flee to their cottages at your passing. The mothers hold their naked children to their bodies.

"It is the sigil of the Redraven," explains the girl. "Many a village have they put to torch. On both sides. Though none would dare raid so close to this hold, the seat of their House, Greystone."

Somewhere a bell begins to ring and another bell from the castle answers. Then a host of men a dozen strong come charging down the dirt path and in short order, surround you, their lances poised to strike at your slightest movement. In your time, there were not so many horses and never so many skilled riders. The leader of the band, a man with a downward scar on each cheek running to each corner of his lips, so that he looks as if tears ran perpetually from his eyes, rides a step forward from the circle.

1/2

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>>5668713
"You are either very brave or very stupid, sir, to come to this place, bearing those colors."

The girl answers for you. "He is not of their House," she says. "These horses he won from them in fair combat."

He glances at the girl, seeming to recognize her at once. "Why, if it isn't battling Brynda!"

The girl flushes to the tips of her hair at this moniker. "My lord Holger," she says, bowing her head.

"Father shall be delighted to see you again," he replies. "He was quite heartbroken when you left."

"When I was freed, you mean?"

He frowns. "When you freed yourself, yes." He glances at the horses, and then at you. "Are these an offering then?"

>"Yes, a token of my goodwill."
>"No, they are my own spoils."
>"Maybe, if the courtesy is returned."
>Write-in

>>5668714
>"Maybe, if the courtesy is returned."

>>5668714

>"Maybe, if the courtesy is returned

These guys are probably assholes as well.

>>5668714
>"Maybe, if the courtesy is returned."
Too good for mead halls, are they? Can't trust 'em.

>>5668714
>Maybe, if the courtesy is returned

>>5668745
>>5668803
>>5668907
>>5668994

"Maybe, if the courtesy is returned."

Holger's smile tightens slightly. When he speaks again his words ring with false cheer. "Naturally, we would not deny a true warrior our hospitality. If, indeed, he be a warrior in truth, and not a snake in wait."

You let the comment pass. Even with their numbers, they could not fell you here but each would fail one by one against your eternal strength; it is for the girl's sake you stay your arm. And soon, Holger, sensing your undefeated confidence, parts his company to let you pass and then guides you himself to the castle.

In the courtyard, the lower denizens are busy with their daily labors. A swarm of stablehands come to take your horses and the horses of the riders. The girl's attention is caught by the ringing of steel and it seems she might almost leave the company for the forge, but then Holger engages her again, finding yourself perhaps too unfamiliar (or unnatural) for conversation.

"Will you sing for us tonight? You must."

Brynda, as she was called, seems in no mood for speech, let alone songs. She looks up at one of the towers rising high above the wall, the men poised there with strange instruments in their hands, watching the procession below.

"You know it soothes his madness," says Holger, to Brynda's non-reply.

"And inflames it," she replies.

You enter the main hall, lit by strange and wondrous glass upon the walls, colored in as many colors as the heavenly arc which appears after heavy rain. Upon the throne is a man with dim grey eyes and hollow cheeks. Wisps of ghost white hair crown his head and looks as if he does not know where or when he is. When his eye falls on the girl, they light up with pleasure and he begins to say something which is made incomprehensible by his debility: he has no teeth nor tongue.

But that is not what interests you most about him, no, not even the great wolf which lies sleeping beside his stone chair, near the size of a horse, it is the ring he wears upon his right hand. The same which once adorned your dead jarl. The question which remains is answered at once by the entrance of a slight, pale, young woman, whose beauty silences the crowd and, it seems, the whole world. You note (unbothered as you are by human sentiments) the golden color of her hair.

She stands on the other side of her father's throne, placing her hand upon his. "Brynhildr," she says. By the one-eye's wife, what an awful voice! A rasp like a dagger scraped over ice. "It's good to see you are well." She turns to you, lingering on your features. "Who might you be, sir? And why has my husband brought you to this hall?"

>The jig is up! You demand the return of the stolen ring.
>You'll play the guest for now.
>Let her husband answer for you
>Write-in

>>5670955
>You'll play the guest for now.
Easy boys, let's not jump the gun.

>>5665231
Could have put the killed boys spirit into it

>>5670955
>The jig is up! You demand the return of the stolen ring.
But, you know, do it in a way that doesn't seem hostile.
Maybe add a bit of guilt about graverobbing, or reveal that we swore an oath to return the property to where it belongs at all costs.

>>5670955

>You'll play the guest for now.

>>5670955
>You'll play the guest for now.

>>5670955

>You'll play the guest for now.

File: daughter.jpg (66 KB, 564x752)

66 KB JPG

You'll play the guest for now. The tale behind this circumstance must be fantastical indeed, what you believed was a thief has become the daughter of a jarl. What you thought was the seat of power is nothing more than a broken old man. And what you considered his only son is son only by marriage. You must play your hand carefully.

"A friend of your House, my lady," you reply, bowing your head slightly, as is proper for one of her stature. She looks to her husband who then nods to corroborate your claim.

"He has beggared them of a few of their horses," he says, though unconvincingly.

"Then, you are welcome, sir. Those with common enemies often make uncommon friends."

Her husband then begins to give loud orders to his men to decamp and the ensuing ruckus of thralls and soldiers is such that no further conversation is at all possible. You too are attended by a rush of servants, young rose-cheeked girls eager to disrobe you of your armor, enchanted by Njord's naturally good looks, made supernatural by your deathly pale. They would drag you to the baths, the first of many courtesies afforded to a guest of honor. Out the corner of your eye, amid the consternation, you spy the girl, Bryndhildr, approaching the throne. There she speaks in a low voice with the jarl's daughter, her head bowed. The jarl gestures for her to come near and she does, he points to her empty scabbard. Here, Brynhildr glances at you and says something you cannot make out over the din of the giggling girls, who drag you away from the hall.

They accompany you to the baths and would have eagerly aided your efforts had you allowed it (a luxury you never had in actual life), but you leave them at the threshold. If they saw the wound you bore, they might ask questions you cannot easily answer. It is a strange thing to wash a body bereft of all sense. You cannot feel the warmth of the water, only know its warmth by intellect. The sting of cold air when you step out, which you might have winced at when you were living, is just another indifferent sensation. How you hated those sudden, bitter chills as a boy! And how much you miss them now!

A servant takes you back to the hall, upon which has now been set long tables and chairs, and innumerable dishes that come one after another from the kitchen. They have set beside the plates strange instruments: a pronged spear not bigger than your hand, which they use to skewer the meat and bring it to their mouths. This the lady and some of the men use, though the jarl and his son-in-law eat with their hands, as is right.

1/2

>>5672157
The daughter stares at you throughout the dinner, and when you regard her, she gives a startled smile, embarrassed of her own raptures. "Forgive me, I thought you looked familiar. Have we met before?"

"I have known of you, madam, but we have never met."

"Perhaps as children?"

"I was a child a long time ago."

"You do not look it. The seasons have been too kind to you." She smiles again. "Tell me, sir, what are your intentions with us?"

"My intentions?"

"Will you join our House?"

Her husband slams his hand down on the table. Absolute silence. He glares at his wife, but his wife pays him no heed, continuing as though he were no more than an ornament of the hall. And he for his part only seethes in silence.

"We have need of brave warriors. To have taken so many horses alone is an uncommon feat. I am not versed in military matters but I do not think I speak wrong when I say that none in our company could have done it."

Her husband begins ripping a large roast duck into small pieces with his hands.

"Will you join our House, sir, and ride against our enemies? We shall reward you handsomely."

>Yes
>No
>Write-in

>>5672159

>”your halls are strongly founded and your jarl wise, lady. I would win your house battles, but you must let me set my price. If these terms are unfavorable, then take these horses in good will and let me depart.”

>>5672159
>"Yes", but it's probably a lie actually
Inwardly: give us our fucking riiiiiiing! Reeee! I don't want to go to Hel because some harlot thought our oath-ring looked good upon her mad old father's decrepit finger!

>>5672159
>Write-in but say yes
>>5672186
>>5672191
+1

>Say that we want a moment with the soon-to-be corpse to win eldery mystical wisdom and bind you to the house.
>They can look if they want.
>Do ritualistic crap to prepare our mind to the cosmic true we are about to get.
>Breathe the smoke of a torch, mark runes on your face with water...
>Open a window.
>Kneel in front of the old man and hold his hand as if you were going to kiss it.
>Take the ring a jump out the window.
>Ride away.

>>5672159
>No
>>5672186
>>5672191
>>5672232
Think about it, anons, considering oaths are an integral part of the quest, she's going to make us swear an oath of loyalty. Is it really worth it to bind our life to them under threat of being an oathbreaker for the ring? I think we should find some other way of obtaining it, through subterfuge or otherwise. Besides, the daughter seems to be a witch of some sort (since she managed to disable the traps), so it's best not to associate with her too much.

>>5672159
>>5672186
Support

>>5672425
That is the point anon

Say that we gonna swear a oath, and then run away with the ring before doing so.

You cant break a oath if there was no oath

>>5672709
>implying she won't demand an oath immediately

>>5672764
Can you see the future, anon?

A oath is big deal, so is normal to wait a moment to make sure everything is in its proper place first.

Like make sure that the ring is with its true owner

”Your halls are strongly founded and your jarl wise, lady. I would win your house battles, but you must let me set my price. If these terms are unfavorable, then take these horses in good will and let me depart.”

This was not the answer she expected, nor her husband. The latter seems torn between relief over the possible out and anger for the presumption to demand your own price. The former's reaction is more intricate. There is some price she has suddenly imagined (or has been imagining all the while) which has aroused something in her she cannot wholly master.

In the end it resolves to anger, without her husband's ambivalence. "Common churl!" she shrieks, in her terrible rasp. "You dare make demands in reply to my magnanimity! And as if I needed your concession! I could take your horses as well as your life with a snap of my fingers." She holds up her hand, her chest heaving, ready to execute her threat. "You are a spy from the enemy, sent here to mock and insult us! Let you set your own price--the audacity!"

"Ingrid..." starts her husband, but he is silenced immediately by a wild look. Even he understands that this is taking things too far and breaks a sacred custom, which, if its news were to spread, would be the ruin of their House's honor for ten generations.

In all this the man sitting at the head of the table, the jarl, had been noisily slurping his food, shoving handfuls into his toothless maw. Now, at last finished with his meal, he wipes his soiled mouth and bends his it toward his daughter's ear. He speaks in a tongueless whisper comprehensible to her alone, that flushes her skin to the hue of shame. Her raised hand falls limply on the table.

Then, with lowered eyes, swallowing her summoned pride, she speaks as her father's mouth: "What price, good sir?"

>The ring
>The truth
>Herself
>An oath
>A fiefdom
>Write-in

>>5673655

>the truth

“You mistake me, noble Lady. I ask not for wealth in gold, nor jewels of the earth. I ask for 3 truthful answers to three questions asked. No more, no less.”

This a great option for us, lots of room to maneuver and get her to reveal the origin of the ring

>>5673702
I can support this. If we just ask for the ring, she'll just say "no" and we'll have to fight our way out anyway.

>>5673655
>The truth

>>5673655
>>5673702
+1

>>5673655
>A witch.
Gonna hunt that bitch down with the forces of the kingdom, I am.
If she thinks she can steal our body and get away without consequences, she better think again.

>>5673702
>>5673773
>>5673813
>>5674704

Let's go ahead with
>The truth

I like anon's formulation into three questions so I will now let you write-in the questions you want to ask.

>What questions will you ask?

>>5674847
>How did you make the child of a Valkyrie your slave?
>What magical powers do you have?
>Where did you get that ring, which your father now wears?

>>5674905
Last question isn't very good, we already know where she got the ring. If we must ask about the ring, it's best to ask WHY they sought the ring. After all, if we know the reasoning behind it, then we can determine a good way to entice them to part with it.

>>5675554
I was more thinking "make her admit she looted it from a noble's grave in public" with that. Then we can demand it back and dramatically reveal our nature and purpose, maybe. Put a scare into them.

>>5675558
That has the potential to work in diminishing her standing drastically, hmm.
I suppose if we do that though, I'd want to phrase it as "Tell me everything there is to know about how this house came into possession of the ring sitting upon your Father's hand."
It involves where she got it, what methods she used, how she learned of it, etcetera.

>>5674847
>>5674905
Sounds good, I suppose.
>>5675567
That's not a question though.

>>5675742
That's semantics. We asked for the truth, we could just say "Answer three things" instead of specifying questions. Easy.

>>5675952
This

>4 days
QM? All good?

>>5676811
Ye, just got a bit busy at work. Will update soon.

>>5677068
Right on, busy season satrted dor me as well. Take your time!

>How did you make the child of a Valkyrie your thrall?
>How did you pass through the seidr of the vitki who dwelled within the barrow?
>Why did you set out for the ring you gave your father?

>>5677068
I believe QM will post an update one day...

>>5678976
>over a week
I fear it is, as they say, joever.

File: soon_tm.jpg (68 KB, 2179x1147)

68 KB JPG

>>5678976
>>5679058
>Look to my coming at last light on the 7th day. At dawn, look to the East.

“You mistake me, noble Lady. I ask not for gold, nor jewels, nor land. None of those interest me." This does not seem to placate her much, though her father is gazing at your steadily now, with curiosity. "Give me three honest answers to three of my questions. No more, no less.”

She glances at her father and her father nods without breaking his gaze from you.

"Ask, then."

"How is it that a child of an immortal cup-bearer came to thralldom in your keep?"

The lady frowns. "You ask this of me? Why not of the subject herself?" She looks to Brynhildr, sitting beside you, no longer in her strange armor but in a colorful flowing robe more suited to her sex. She too is frowning.

"She has not been charged to speak the truth," you reply.

"Let her now answer for herself and I shall hold her to that truth," says the lady. She raises her brows at Brynhildr and the latter reluctantly rises to her feet. She clasps her hands together, the fingers curling in like two caught hooks, and places them beneath her chest. She raises her chin, closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and begins to sing. Her song is beyond any music you have ever heard. For a brief moment, her verses seem to swim before your eyes as living visions and her sweet voice touches that flame which her mother has put within you, making it rise. She sings of a hermit dweorg, an outcast, that found her in the wilderness as a child. Too poor of means to raise her in the wood, he brought her to Greystone, intending to rear her by the profits of his trade: the hammering of steel and gold. They lived for some years in happiness, till the jarl, present here, discovered the dweorg's skill and demanded he join their keep and make armor for his own use. The dweorg, having once renounced such crafts, refused. The jarl pressed him, offered him a high place in his kingdom, thralls, golden coins, even his own daughter to wed (at this, the lady bristles). The dweorg refused them all.

The jarl then ordered his men to steal into the dweorg's house and take from him what he had come to love most in the world (here, Brynhildr's eyes run freely with tears, though her voice does not cease nor break even for a moment). The jarl took them both as thralls, treating the one like his own child and the other like a horse which does not obey. The dweorg worked and worked, night and day he hammered steel and gold until the thing was done. A suit of armor and a lance like no other in the realm of men. The jarl realized the value of the things as soon he put his hands upon them and fearing a competitor--even among his own men--he drove the lance through its creator's heart, killing him where he stood. Brynhildr, having nowhere else to go and being too young to seek out a place, remained with the jarl.

"The facts have been twisted but a little," says the lady, with indignation, "but they are straight enough to my memory." With that, Brynhildr returns to her seat, wiping her eyes with her sleeve.

>>5679088
"But the elector of the slain, her mother? What is her part in this?" you ask.

Brynhildr shakes her head, but her speech is done and she will speak no more.

"That is not known to us, sir," says the lady. "The dweorg told us so when he brought her, and so our augurs tell us likewise, and so have you also confirmed it. I should likewise ask you how you came to that knowledge yourself, but now, one question has been asked and answered. Ask again, sir, if you will."

You look to the jarl. There is something strange about this story, if it was indeed the truth, it was not entirely so. If you were not mistaken, there were the mists in the jarl's eyes too, when the thrust of his lance was mentioned. Yet, it seems to be the story that all here have accepted, and so it must suffice.

Now to the main point: "What supernatural powers does the noble lady possess?"

All eyes turn to Lady Ingrid. Even the jarl did not expect such a question, let alone her husband. It seems none here know of her abilities, and it is likely none know of her adventures either.

"Supernatural powers!" says the lady, with a scoff, and a round of nervous laughter.

"I remind the noble lady she is bound by oath to speak the truth."

The lady's eyes grow hard.

"What's he talking about Ingrid?" asks her husband. "What powers?"

"I would ask for a brief respite. I feel faint," she says.

The jarl slams his hand down on the table, making everyone jump. He lets out a terrible tongueless command. Her daughter must speak, he has bid her to rise.

She rises. "I have learnt the wards of the one-eyed's wife and their counterspells. I have mastered the curses of the daughter of the trickster. I have begun to study the secret arts of the dweorgarcraft, and the illusions and concoctions of the trickster. I do not possess the sight, nor the tongue of birds, nor the gift of song, but I can read the hearts of men by the lots they cast." At the beginning of this confession, tears fell freely down the lady's eyes, by the end, she speaks with quiet pride. The vagaries of magic are not an art suitable for the noble born, for the possessors of such gifts are considered to be cut off from the race of mortals and their pursuits. They must devote themself wholly to the holy life and separate themselves from the offices of power (except, occasionally, as aloof advisors). There are tales of sorcerer-kings that all men know, but in them tyranny is the end. They serve as warnings. The princess of a house can no more be a servant of the trickster and the Lady, than a dog can be a cat, or a man, a woman. Even a hundred years ago it was considered bad luck. By the looks on the faces around the table, it is doubly so now.

Cont.

>>5679090
"A witch!" says Holger. He clutches his head. "What have I done? I've married a witch, a sister to the well-keepers! And you!" He points to the jarl. "You foul, toothless, old liar! You stole me into this house with your honeyed words and false promises. I made this house what it is, with my men, and my strength of arm. And for what? For beauty that does not bear fruit." Another reason such craft is discouraged: allegiance to the otherworld requires the renunciation of progeny in this one. "It is well you have no tongue now, old mute, or I would cut it from you, myself. What, you didn't know? Is that any better? Not to know your own daughter dances beneath the moon."

Holger rises from the table, and those of his men (the majority), rise with him and follow him out of the hall. You can hear them shout for their horses and the thunder of their hooves as they ride out the keep. Those who remain are silent and faceless as gravestones. Finally, the jarl mutters something, and the lady sits (head still held high, though the tracks of tears remain upon her face).

"Your third question, sir," she says.

You've come this far. It's time to finish this. "Where and wherefore did you get the ring that sits upon your father's hand?" you say.

The lady's eyes flash. "Why do you ask this? Who are you!"

"You will answer, noble lady," you say. You look to the jarl. He glances up from the ring on his hand, and nods to the men sitting on his other side, his most loyal guard. They rise and place themselves behind his daughter.

"Father," she says, her voice trembling. "I cannot answer. Please, do not make me answer." He father does not even look at her, he is busy trying to take off the ring. "No, father, you can't take it off. Please!" She turns wildly to the guards. "Kill him!" she shrieks, pointing at you. They do not move an inch. She tries to stop her father, but the guards hold her fast. The jarl has gotten the ring off and placed it on his plate. It is indeed the same ring, the inscription inside is precisely the same.

"Father, please, you must put on the ring. Please!" She snatches the ring and attempts to put it on him by force, but he hides his hands by folding his arms, and the lady can do nothing. She slumps in her chair, hiding her face in her hands. A change comes rapidly over the jarl, his eyes glaze, his hair seems to lose its luster, his wrinkles deepen, rings darken beneath his eyes, his limbs and fingers grow thin, and begin to tremble with weakness. He looks about him as though he does not know where or when he is. Whatever sickness came upon him in starts, now has claimed him entire. The hall is filled with his mindless, frightened moaning. He is lost.

Cont.

>>5679092
"I took the ring from a dead king's tomb, where I had read it would be." The lady speaks with a dead, tuneless voice, her face still covered. "Spun with the most potent dweorgarcraft, a panacea to all ills, so it was written in the legend I had read. So it was to my father's ailing mind. Upon a dead man's hand it was useless, upon my father's..."

At last, she uncovers her face. Her eyes as cold and sharp as storm-water. "So, good sir, you have destroyed our house with your questions--or I, with my answers--but do not forget your oath. I have lost husband and father, my secrets, my standing, and with them, the station the Whitewolves have held so long in this realm. And to this broken house, you must now swear allegiance, whatever good it will do us."

>Renege on your word. You came for the ring and now you'll take it and fulfill your quest.
>She has kept her oath, to her own vast ruin. You must now keep yours.
>Slay them all where they stand in a spectacle of gore, cleaning your hands of their geas upon you
>Write-in

>>5679093
>I must return the ring to my lord; when this is done, I will serve you. If you refuse, I know one other way to clean myself of my geas...
>And so you now know the answer to your own question, milady. You know who I am: the draugr of the hill

>>5679093
HE RETURNS!
So are we oath-bound to keep our deal or can we go "haha, you decided to answer questions before I have sworn an oath, you've fucked up", take the ring and go back to the tomb? Because I don't remember us saying explicitly "I swear upon the gods" or anything like with the witch and our dead jarl, but I get the feeling implicit promises count as well for the oathbreaker punishment. We may have to swear allegiance in the end.

>>5679134
As hilarious it would be to let you just yell psych and moonwalk out of there, the oath was implicit the moment you set terms and she accepted them. That doesn't mean you have to keep the oath (even the gods don't always do so, consider the binding of the fame-wolf), but it would be considered out of character for someone so in love with the old sagas and so you'll need to give some powerful justification for it.

>>5679163
I see. Well, I don't know if this will count as a suitable justification but we could say something like
>"Your house has enslaved two innocents because of greed and robbed a dead man of his rightful possessions. I see no reason to believe you have enough honour left not to betray me for some petty reason if I decide to serve you." Take the ring and leave for the tomb.
Would that be in-character? If not, I'll support this >>5679120

>>5679093

>She has kept her oath, to her own vast ruin. You must now keep yours.

Well, the good news is that once she’s dead, we can take the ring back to our jarl. All of this lady’s troubles are her own doing, we dindu nuffin

>>5679185
Correction: if not, let's go with
>She has kept her oath, to her own vast ruin. You must now keep yours.

>>5679120
>>5679185
>Support, and add that the former thrall is our charge, and thus we won't condemn them back to the same fate.

We'll compensate them with the horses we took from their rivals, besides the one we took for ourselves.

Third post to flesh out our answer.

>Clarify we did not swear an oath, and cannot do so to her, as we are not amongst the living. Offer the horses besides what we rode in on to repay the cost we demanded of her, and offer arcane tomes in return for assistance in tracking down the body-snatching vitki we gained them from.

Also we need to take Wiglaf with us in the owl, and check on the troll.

>>5679285
Pretty sure the desd can sweat oaths and, as a witch, she knows it.

>>5679120
This

If she say no remind her that she have no honor so the only thing keeping her save of our wrath is our honor.

We cant kill her, just make her think that.

>>5679300
*dead
*swear
Damn mobileposters (me).

>>5679093
>She has kept her oath, to her own vast ruin. You must now keep yours.

We will restore the ring before entering service. Finish one duty before accepting another.
After that, we keep our oath and enter the service of this house.

Not hers, the house. That is the deal we made.

Though considering her father died, her husband left, and she is a witch who can't lead the house because no one will follow her, based on the bit on how witches are about the same as the family dog in that regard.
That leaves her "daughter" I guess. From thrall to lady of the house. Quite a promotion.

>>5679120
Also, I like this bit.
>And so you now know the answer to your own question, milady. You know who I am: the draugr of the hill.

>>5680628
Well, correction. He didn't die, but he's not far off and might as well be dead as far as leading the house is concerned.

>>5679093
>>5679120 >>5679134 >>5679196 >>5680628

All present await your answer. The jarl's loyal thanes seem ready to cut you down should you refuse, though they seem of equal mind to cut down the lady. The girl, Brynhildr, seems more preoccupied with the madness of the jarl. Despite all she has suffered at his hands, there was also enough kindness to now summon her concern.

As for yourself, one matter has been resolved--the ring--but another--your body--remains at large. While you could easily absolve yourself of any geas here by force of arms, it has too much of the stench of the oathbreaker to consider it. This house is greatly diminished, but that is only by mortal reckoning. With yourself at their side, there is no earthly that could stand against them.

"You must give me the ring, noble lady," you say.

She scoffs. "Who are you to demand it?"

"I am its keeper."

She pales by the sudden recognition your identity.

"Yes, noble lady, I am that immortal, the very same who was charged to protect that which you have pilfered. I have come to return the ring to its rightful place; when this is done, I will serve you."

"He's lying!" says one of the thanes. "An immortal? What hogwash!" There is a general murmur of concurrence to this disbelief.

"A demonstration, perhaps?" asks the lady.

The men are all attention.

You take one of the sharp, tined instruments among the plates and hold it up. Then with one quick, unhesitant blow, you pierce through the palm of your hand, till the tines are buried deep in the dead flesh. There is no pain, no reaction of any kind upon your face. You unstick the tool and let it clatter on the table, where one of the thanes snatches it up and examines it closely, marveling at the lack of blood.

"If that is insufficient to gain your faith, I know of one other way, which will clean myself of my geas besides..."

The men move to their weapons, but their hearts have grown timid. The lady, to her credit, maintains her composure.

"Take the ring, sir, and serve me."

"Nay, noble lady, that was not oath to which we swore. For three answers, I shall join now your house, and I shall ride against your enemies. But I serve no one but myself."

The lady grows pensive at this. "Very well," she says, at the last. "Our chiefest enemy is the House of the Redraven, put my father upon their seat, and consider your service done." So saying, she takes the ring and moving round to your side of the table, kneels as she presents it to your hand.

***

Cont.

>>5682002
Later, riding alone back to the jarl's tomb, you find there a great host gathered at the entrance. Upon the lip of the hill below which tomb lies is a great burning pyre and atop this pyre the smoking remains of Grendy, the troll. Amid the crowd you spot the fat guard you dueled with before, as well as the other men that went into the tomb, and Rolf, still with the bandaged arm, now adorned with jewels, crowns, and golden things all retrieved from the vaults, sitting upon his horse a perfectly contented little prince. A group of men then emerge from the tomb, peasants by their garb, hauling, with ropes, a heavy sarcophagus. It is the jarl they have unearthed. They have brought him out of his resting place: a deadly offense to the dead and those who guard them.

>You ride against them with all your terrible might, one against a hundred
>You stay hidden as you are. Your quest is merely delayed, you'll pay them back tenfold for this offense, in time.
>You disguise yourself and sneak among their party, following them until you can place ring surreptitiously on the jarl's finger
>Write-in

>>5682003

Those absolute fuckheads.

>You stay hidden as you are. Your quest is merely delayed, you'll pay them back tenfold for this offense, in time.

Memorize their faces and track them until nightfall.

In the night, sneak into their camp and murder that lil bitch Rolf and his family.

>>5682003
>You ride against them with all your terrible might, one against a hundred

>>5682003
>You disguise yourself and sneak among their party, following them until you can place ring surreptitiously on the jarl's finger
Oath: kept. He's a dick, anyway.

>>5682003
>>You disguise yourself and sneak among their party, following them until you can place ring surreptitiously on the jarl's finger
>>5682059
This

Sorry for namefagging

>>5682003
>You stay hidden as you are. Your quest is merely delayed, you'll pay them back tenfold for this offense, in time.

>You disguise yourself and sneak among their party, following them until you can place ring surreptitiously on the jarl's finger

I think I'm going to discontinue this quest.

Beyond the fact that my job and side projects are keeping me busy, my heart just isn't in this anymore. I know where I wanted to take this, the themes I wanted to explore etc. but I'm a bit dissatisfied by how unquestlike it's become. Looking at other quests on this board and from the past, I think a quest does need some kind of mechanical system, randomness through dice rolling and so on. It makes it more fun to play, I think.

>>5684757
You could introduce those mechanics? Never too late.

That said, a quest you force yourself to run against your will is a quest nobody will enjoy, least of all you. Do whatyou must. This quest will be missed, though.

Thank you for running, and for not ghosting. Any chance of a finale "natural conclusion" post, where we at least get that ring on that there finger?

>>5684757
I look forward to your next quest, in that case! I hope this, your first quest, has given you a lot of feedback on what you want to do differently and the kind of moves you need to make to get the tone and story you want going.
If you come up with the new quest anytime soon, please plug it in here if it's still up!

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>>5684757
I am content to have both a quest with and one without mechanics, and as >>5684768 said, it's never too late to introduce them if you think they're essential. I am also fine with updates taking a long time, so long as they do come in the end. You could always take a break and continue when you're feeling more confident in your ability to run consistently.

However, if you've set your mind on ending this, I will bitterly accept it. It's always bad to lose another good quest, but that's how life is sometimes. I hope you return in the future with another project you're more enthusiastic about and we can all quest together again. Let us know it's you in the /qtg/ then. Godspeed and thanks for running.

>>5684757

No worries QM, there’s something to be said for canceling outright rather than letting the quest die on the vine with no messaging.

Good as it is, this quest has now been archived.