Tveir: Wyrd of the Winter King

Wyrd of the Winter King
Northlands, Hordaland
Silvermeade Hall
Mid fall

It has been six months since that fateful night at the Tor. Jarl Olaf has decided to take the Long Serpent, his best longship, farther north than any Northlander has ever sailed, far up the coast of Nûkland and into the mythical land of the Far North. This is not a casual decision; the whale and seal hunting has been poor this year. Adding to this, the harvest is expected to be well below average for it has been a cool and wet summer. If provisions are not laid in for the winter, or at least something that could be traded for grain such as walrus tusk or sealskins, things are looking to be grim for Halfstead. True, the jarl is wise and keeps a well-stocked granary, but he is also loath to tap it unless absolutely necessary.

Thus, he has assembled a crew of huscarls, favored sailors, and other householders, a total of 60 plus the six of you. The Long Serpent is a fine ship, much used in whaling and raiding, and has many times carried the jarl into battle with both men and beasts. Common lore says that she is a lucky ship and those who sail on her return rich and draped in glory. The characters, as householders of the jarl who recently gained some notoriety over the rescue of his daughters from the witch Sibbe the Unkempt, are invited along on this voyage, their first under the direct command of their jarl. Among you is also Hraven Tyrssen, known as Brindlemane, a young man who had recently impressed the jarl with his endurance and wisdom, having survived a spiritual journey (as the jarldom called it) that few if any could hope to endure. That he was an experienced sailor was also a consideration.

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When five days out of the North Sea and into the embrace of the Great Ocean on your journey, Young Ljot (remember, no relation to Old Ljot) yells out that he has spotted land. A small glint of reflected light can be seen on the horizon. Jarl Olaf orders that a course be set toward it. As the longship approaches, a huge iceberg comes into view, less a floating block of ice than an island — a full glacier perhaps — of ice drifting through the sea. Such a large iceberg has not been seen in generations.The glacier is easily three miles in diameter and has a gentle slope from the water line that abruptly becomes a jagged wall of ice cliffs hundreds of feet high. As the Long Serpent sails around the iceberg, the party spots a break in the ice cliffs that leads to a long valley. At the head of the valley can be seen a structure of ice with towering spires and a broken curtain wall.

Jarl Olaf has the Long Serpent brought to within a short distance of the shore, nearest where the valley lies. Ordering the oarsmen to backwater to hold the ship steady, he addresses the crew. "Hold her steady Old Ljot! This sight is strange to my eyes, and I desire to learn more about it. Is this unnatural thing a threat or a boon? In my father’s father’s time, a great fortune in gold and silver was found on a city of ice afloat in the sea, blown across the whale road by forces unknown. Does any here have the mind’s-worth to explore this palace of ice with me?" Four of the Jarl’s huscarls, One-Eyed Sven, Berg Geirson, Young Ljot, and Hauk Arinbjornson immediately volunteer.

Kara looks at the restless sea with grim determination. It has been too long since they last ventured out into the world. The thick black fur collar of her overcoat is blown back and forth by the ice cold winds. The warrior stands at the ship’s rail, both gloved hands holding onto the wood tightly.

Healing her hand has taken much longer than Kara cared for, recurring tremors and the occasional spasm remind her that some of the damage is still within. It has taken weeks of rest and uselessness and boredom – oh, the boredom! – to regain any movement in her fingers.

If there is a silver lining, it is the appreciation the warrior feels when she thinks about the visits of her new found comrades these past few months. Oren, Runar, Rin and even Yäns* - each in their own way have helped her keep her sanity – first while she was confined to her rooms, then when she had to find out how difficult and agonizingly slow it was to get in fighting shape once more. Without them, the young woman might have lost all heart.

The jarl’s daughter has also been helpful in keeping Kara occupied and distracted from her own weakness. The young girl has shown a considerable amount of aptitude for tracking and hunting as well as for wielding a blade.

Although her own training has been vigorous, not least to purge the feeling of guilt about having gone into battle without having fully mastered her new axe, she feels uneasy about testing her skills in another encounter. Will she be able to fell their enemies? To protect her men when it counts?

He was a wild one, there had been no doubt to any who had known the lad that he would have been an invaluable addittion. For the last six months he had been physically training, he was unproven and had been hard in the pursuit of finding a way to prove himself. Heavy lifting, mountain climbing, hunting. Not for sport but for the coming season. The young berserker used his youth to his advantage and tried to out work anyone.

"Valhalla or nothing!" Had been his Mantra, whenever something dangerous needed doing, whenever a task proved challenging he was there to give his all.

The poor whaling and seal hunting had greatly diminished his personal coffers. His family whalers by trade entered a period of hardship by the loss of the critical resource. Much loss this year with the death of Egil and Hraven being called to the Jarls service. Leaving only the aging Tyr and Astrid to manage the affairs. Hraven the Brindlemane joined the raid seeking silver and thralls to ease the burden on his parents.

It was good to have someone on the oar who pulled with immense strength, seemingly tireless as he did so. Never a complaint from him in this regard. The sea was the sea. Njord behaved as he ought to. It was we sailing it who were the ones out of place. The challenge of overcoming swells and rogue waves was Hraven's idea of sport.

"How far does it all go on, and where do oceans end?
The Autumn wind, and even tide do take us through Midgaard.
Still long we've come and seen only sea til now.
As we sail I often wonder how far til asgaard?"

Still the tedium of rowing day in and day out did become tiresome. So when the Jarl asked for volunteers, the youth, dressed strangely in nothing but skill cordage, steel chain, and a Wolfskin eagerly volunteered taking his shield, shortbow, axe, and quiver to stand with the Jarl's retainers.

The pursuit of arcana proved to take up much of Oren's time in recent days. When he wasn't puzzling over the secrets Signy had taught him he was out in the square, training with shield and sword. Truth be told the recently freed thrall had much to prove to the Jarl and his people and had relished the opportunity to do so. When the chance came to sail, Oren jumped at it.

Though the trip had been far longer and far colder than he had predicted, Oren did his best to keep spirits up with rowdy songs and trance inducing chants. Kitted out in new furs and an oil-skin pack to keep his tools dry the half-blood felt ready to face the rigors of seafaring, though his relief was great when Young Ljot called out for land.

The sight of the ice castle instantly got the bard on his feet and he was among the first of his fellows to volunteer. What wonders might await in a place so inspired...

The last six months had been a time of transition for Runar. Whilst his intelligence and charm had earned him some small respect as a useful servant, the privilege reserved for proven warriors was a closed door to him. His part in the rescue - and the slaying of two outlaws by his hand - had forced that door open.

His earliest explorations of the mystic arts had been secret experiments. Emboldened by his newly-won status, he delighted in esoteric discussions with Oren, Signy, Rin and Odi. These proved fruitful, leading to the discovery of many useful runes of power. He felt, at times, that his mind was flooding with magic, like a river in spring.

Whenever he needed grounding, he visited Kara. His meagre skill with the staff made him a competitive sparring partner for the two warrior-women, one young and one recovering. Somehow, though, the bruises suffered in training didn't sting as they once did.

Unused to the biting cold of these ocean voyages, Runar is swathed in thick wool - cloak, mittens, hood and all. Despite this, his teeth still chatter. But the strange glacier makes him forget all discomfort. What mysteries might it conceal? He also volunteers to join the expedition.

Yäns spent his downtime split between his hunting craft and his new family; his wife was 5 moons pregnant by the time they left for the north.
He also enjoyed his visits with other members of the crew. He even developed respect, if not full trust, for the bard.

His excursions into the wild proved useful for his preparations. He built quite a survival kit:
-Soapstone oil lamp
-Parka made from Elk fur inner liner, sealskin outer
-Gill net
-5’ harpoon with detachable barbed bone tip
-Pump drill
-Bone Scraper
-Soapstone jars for tallow
-Optical Calcite for tracking the sun

When the voyage of the Long Serpent was under way, Yäns found himself standing dreamily at the bow most of the time. His mind stirred wildly with imagination as stories from his childhood frolicked to the surface. He remembers hearing tales of Jörmungandr, the World Serpent, and swore he saw its great shape darkening the waters beneath them. He felt certain that they would be swallowed whole if anything about their journey displeased the gods. He made daily sacrifices over the side of the ship in hopes to do his part.
When Young Ljot proclaimed sighting land , the huntsman felt relieved and excited all at once. He had already told the Jarl that he was up for being the first explorer as needed, so when the call came, Yäns simply stepped forward and nodded.

Rin spent most of the time leading to the voyage attending to his duties as a Goddi. A man of a few words, he mostly kept to himself even though he enjoyed the reunions with his comrades from the Tor expedition. And he couldn't hold the fact that he longed for more action, now that he got a taste of what real battle is like. Probably the reason why he chose to invest in a solid chainmail.

When the boat departed he wore as much fur as he could find and jumped in, eager to finally experience some thrill again. He tried to make himself useful while at see, even though tending boats is not his expertise. When the mountain is seen and volunteers to explore it are called, he makes himself known without hesitating.

Before going he prepares a Cure Light Wounds spell as has been his habit for some time. And this is the reason he is seen with a good eye among the crew.

The iceberg is approximately 3 miles in diameter. It is surrounded on all sides by an ice shelf that towers over the surrounding waves and calves off smaller ice floes of its own from time to time. At the southern end of the berg, this ice shelf is lower to the water and forms a beach of sorts that leads up to the frozen valley. Inland from the ice shelf rise the steep ice cliffs of the central plateau. These are cracked and broken but are otherwise sheer cliffs 400 feet high, essentially impossible to climb without casualties. You can tell that the climb is impossible. The spires of the frozen palace are visible atop the height of the iceberg, and it seems the valley provides the only feasible way to reach it.

Piloted by the skilled hands of Old Ljot and driven by strong men at the oars, the Long Serpent is brought in as close to the ice shelf as she can. Still, the gap between the ship and the ice is at least 7 feet wide, and the frozen shore looks slippery. Jarl Olaf orders the oars on the landward side of the ship extended and held steady by the oarsman. This then allows the shore party to "run the oars" from the ship to the ice shelf.

The four huscarls run ahead of you, fanning out toward the valley that leads to the height of the iceberg where you can see strange towers of glittering white. It is your job to keep an eye on them and move forward together to any one of them that might be attacked or encounter a hazard of some kind. The jarl and his guards are also waiting in the ship, watching the huscarls advance.

Suddenly, a sound like the Horns of Hel blasts through the still air. All eyes turn toward the great ice massif in the center of the berg as the braying blast sounds again, echoing off the surrounding waves. A great mist of ice crystals has arisen from the ice cliffs from the force of the horn blasts and drift in shimmering clouds around the cliff. Suddenly, the ice crystals begin to swirl and are picked up and swept along as if by a heavy wind that is suddenly issuing over the tops of the cliff and down toward the edges of the berg. The clouds of glittering ice descend toward you like a rapidly lowering veil, obscuring everything in their path.

As the winds race towards the party Oren dashes ahead to keep as close to the Huscarls as possible and then ducks for cover so as not to be blown off his feet, using his shield to block himself from the blast. The bard yells, "Shield wall!" and hopes the others get in formation...

Yäns runs the oars before the oarsmen become alarmed and break their hold. He elevates one side of his large, sealskin parka and prepares for the pummeling of ice.

"Its targeting the ship, move it!"

No time to think, Brindlemane threw one length of chain around the mast. Then ran and jumped to the shore of the berg running full bore to try and avoid the ice storm. He raised his own shield and continued to barrel up the ramp reasoning they were too far for persons to be the target.

He unwound the chain and rope from his body and found some cover to duck behind anchoring himself, and the ship. Hunkering behind his shield.

Runar ducks under Yäns' parka and holds both hands above his eyes to protect them. He peers deeply into the approaching mist, fearing it might conceal some threat.

Rin imitates Oren, ducking under cover and interposing his shield.

Kara joins her comrades and gets lower as well. Like Yäns she uses her thick overcoat as shield against the rapidly advancing onslaught of ice and wind and braces herself half expecting to catch a glance of Skadi drawing her bow.

The wind hits you like a sledge. Visibility is reduced to only a few inches in moments and even the loudest yells are drowned out by the howling blast. Everyone is coated with a layer of snow and fine ice. All of you are knocked prone and quickly buried in ice crystals and snow. By creating the mock shield-wall, however, you avoided the worst of it. The winds did not scatter you, nor did they batter you like a ram. The howling gale lasts for a full 15 minutes, and then the din goes quiet and the world disappears.

After forty-five minutes or so, you all manage to dig out from the ice crystals and snow that thundered across and over you. Although the wind does not stop, tearing at you like chill claws, the maelstrom of ice and snow no longer fills the air other than as a fast-moving mist at knee-height. The sight, now that there is some visibility, is not encouraging. The gaunt ice cliff and its descending vale stands as it did before, and the strange ice spires still rise high atop it. Of the huscarls who came ashore with you, however, there is no sign. Looking seaward provides even more anguish. Waves are still being whipped up by the wind near the iceberg, but the waters beyond are a flat blue mirror, and the Long Serpent, if it survived the wind, is no longer anywhere in sight. You are alone on the sea and trapped on this island of ice.

The area you find yourselves stranded on is a short but wide beach of ice and snow that runs inland on a gentle slope for 75 feet. It sits on the southern edge of the iceberg, and to the east and west are higher ice shelves that occasionally calve off chunks as large as a feasting hall. To the north lies the great ice summit surrounded by foreboding cliffs. Straight ahead, however, is an opening to a moderately steep valley that cuts through the glacier to the plateau high above.

After a few moments of taking in their surroundings, the characters hear the sound of a war horn echoing down from the cliffs above. You recognize it as the call of One-Eyed Sven’s hunting horn. You can determine that the horn is coming from the entrance to the valley ahead, but because Sven is upwind of you, any attempt to signal back to him is lost in the still-screaming wind.

Oren points towards the entrance to the valley and begins to trudge towards it through the thick blanket of snow and ice...

Yäns turns to any near who can hear,
This is surely the work of the great eagle of the north! We are near the edge of this world. I’m sure you will recall this poem:
Hraesvelg, he is called,
who sits at heaven’s end,
a giant in eagle’s shape.
From his wings,
it is said, the winds
blow over all men’.

And then he, too, begins the slow incline of the valley.

Brindlemane howled with the squall, sheltered behind his shield he broke the ice free of it and immediately set forth to what was the only visible path of egress. Cold was nothing new to the naked warrior who began to jog to get his temperature up. Without bothering to try to speak over the wind he offered a length of chain to Oren, pushing the pace harder now that there were two in close proximity. Shield held overhead warding the chilling wind off his face with no care to the rest of his naked body. He was grinning like a hungry wolf at Oren as he took the lead.

The Valley of Frozen Fears

Along the lower part of the valley, the valley floor is fairly clean of debris, and slopes gently up to a large hump of glacial ice in the middle valley zone. The walls of the lower valley are pierced with an abundance of caves, most of them fairly large— cave mouths more than a dozen feet in diameter. None of the caves is less than 50 feet up sheer cliffs of ice. The ice around some of these caves is a different color than the rest, running from deep blues to dark purples, and these inexplicably show no signs of melt in the sunlight.

The chain and Hraven's great strength prove a boon to movement through the snow. Above, the sun shifts and you can see as the western walls of the valley begin to darken. In several hours the steep walls will block any direct light and temperatures will drop drastically.