Þrír: Vengeance of the Long Serpent

Vengeance of the Long Serpent
Northlands, Hordaland
Silvermeade Hall
Late fall
Early evening

It has been over a month since your return from the ice palace. You are sitting in your favorite ale hall, whiling away the day and looking for any clues to a profitable venture. Outside, a commotion is starting in the streets, and people are moving briskly, some running, toward the beach. The tavern door opens, and a young man sticks his head in. "The Long Serpent has returned!"

Heading to the beach, you see the sleek lines of a longship being drawn up onto the sand. The ship is a fine specimen, the snarling dragonhead carving removed from its prow so as not to offend the landvaettir-spirits of a friendly port, its wood polished to a golden brown, and its single mast straight and tall. The men hopping down off the ship are scraggly and tired, but still exude an aura of strength and power. They do not, however, look as excited as the crowd that has gathered on the strand. The cause of their gloomy demeanor becomes evident as the sailors greet their families, but not every family has a sailor to meet them on the shore. Seeing that not everyone who sailed on the Long Serpent has returned, the crowd grows somber and starts to disperse.

You are greeted as long-lost brothers and hastily ushered to see Hallbjorn while assailed with questions about your adventures and how they survived. One sailor does stand out. He is a large, blond man with a barrel chest and a beard that hangs down to his collar in thick rings. He alone of the bunch walks by himself, and heads from the shore to the nearest tavern, a place called Hallbjorn’s Folly. He is Hallbjorn Bolverkson and has assumed command of the ship.

Once there, he slumps his sea bag in a corner and sits down for a pint of ale and some bread. The other patrons leave him alone and, if the barkeep is asked, he replies that Hallbjorn owns the place, and always drinks alone. Any of you who approach are well met as a much-gladdened Hallbjorn claps you on the back as some of his grimness leaves him. He asks after your adventures upon the iceberg and the fate of the huscarls who went with them.

As the night wears on (or just before the characters give up and leave), Hallbjorn’s mood lightens somewhat until he stands up, orders a round of drinks for all present, and lifts his cup to Jarl Olaf Henrikson. Once all have drunk, Hallbjorn begins his story.

"We set north on the whale road to chase the seal in lands not hunted before. It was a bold move, but we had faith in our jarl, for Olaf Henrikson was a man filled with mind’sworth, always a ring-giver, and stout in the spear-din. The Long Serpent clove through the waves and our dragon’s head steered by the North Star. After three weeks of flirting with the billow maidens, Old Kalf of the bright eyes spotted a rocky peninsula rising from the sea. This we steered towards, hope deep in our breasts.

"There we found an inlet, and put the sea-steed up on a sandy bed. Our camp was made, and we began searching the shores for seal sign. This we found, and in abundance. We set to and soon had a mountain of hides and plenty of fat aboil in our pots. It was after five turnings of the sky-candle that tragedy and fortune stuck us in unequal measure.

"As we slept — even the night-men dozing, for we had seen no sign of men or monster — we were awakened by horrid shouts. Many strange men, clad in furs and brandishing spears and harpoons, flooded into our camp. The spear-din was mighty, and though we fed many of our foes to the eagles and scattered the rest, our losses were more than we could bear. Our breaker of rings, our greatest easer of raven’s hunger, that steadfast man always in the front when slaughter-dew lay broad across the grass, was dead. Not less than three spears, their iron teeth through his lungs and throat, had felled him. Others died that night, sent to feast at the table of the gods, plucked from the ground by horse-bound maidens and carried to the great hall of the Hanged God.

"The next morning we saw the trail of the villains who would take a man’s battle-seat in the night, those hall-burners, and our newest of foes. We put the Long Serpent back to sea, loaded with our bitter rewards of seal slaying, and headed ever farther north. We found a village of rough hide-draped huts and small, arrow-shaped boats. These were the foes for which our blood-embers thirsted. In the morning light, as men of justice and heart would, we descended upon them, watering the ground with their hearts, raising the spear-din, and covering their village with the raven harvest.

"Inside those tiny halls, we found a vast fortune. Walrus teeth, seal and otter hides, Freyja’s tears, strange trinkets made of Sif’s hair, and other treasures. Seeing this wonder, and knowing the price we paid, I took one of the strange men, and threatened him with my blood-worm, for if there was this in a small village, what may lay elsewhere? He told me of a great village made of stone that lay inland for many days, a place that is the home of his perverse god. Then he cursed me in the name of this ‘Althunak.’ I snapped his wolf bones and threw him into the sea.

"The Long Serpent turned her stern to the north, and crossed the whale’s way for home. That was four weeks ago, and now I am here, rich beyond by dreams, but sad, for I mourn the loss of the greatest man I have ever followed, and many shield-brothers besides.

"But also my heart has the first flutterings of courage return, for am I not a man of the sea and spear? You there (he gestures at the party) I warn you, though you be stout men, not unused to the weather of weapons, the toll to travel the sail’s road north is heavy. I have need of folk such as you, for I will take the Long Serpent back north. I would finish the task that slew the brothers of my heart and made others choose to quiver in their beds this coming winter."

As proof of his deeds, Hallbjorn dumps a large bag of gold and silver jewelry he took as part of his share from the village. Although tarnished and hacked into pieces (the better to distribute the loot) the items are still recognizable as once having been strange — almost alien — jewelry, plates, and cup carved with scenes of glaciers and monstrous beasts, as well as foreign coins of an unknown manufacture. The plates and cups obviously — from the inlaid pictures — belonged to a long-dead cult that worshiped a primal god of winter and ice, called Althunak, a being that was destroyed millennia ago by the other gods.

Having spent most of the preceding month in study's search of great majicks, Oren sat in a daze as the warrior recounted the tale of tye Jarl's death. Hardly could it be believed that the great man who took the bastard in was now gone, and so when the call came to him for vengeance he was the first to leap.

"I will go to far-sea with you and wreak vengeance upon the mongrels there! I owe the Jarl my life and I would gladly trade it to revenge him!"

Hraven's countenance had darkened considerably and his eyes burned with bitterness. Clenched fists had wrapped so tightly around his drinking horn it looked as if he would break it. He poured the remainder of his mead for the dead and took a draught of bitter kvass, those who knew him knew he only ever drank in happiness. Testing his wrath with strong drink was not something he was willing to do. He crushed pepper and ergot spur into the kvass and drank his anger with the bitter drink.

"Mark me I will take their chieftan and carve an eagle on his back for the insult. I will muster the raiders that remain and lead them to plunder and arson. My oath to Lawgiver and Bringer of War, I will see them burn."

Passion of youth, lust for blood, and a Freeman cheated of his challenge for position. A dangerous combination.

Runar returns to his family – whose farm is one of the poorest in Hordaland – a man of wealth and reputation. It is not clear who is more surprised: Runar's family, seeing the day-dreaming child they once knew mature into a renowned adventurer, or Runar himself, being urged to take advantage of his good fortune and make a bountiful marriage to strengthen the family's position.

The idea that someone might actually want to marry him utterly bemuses Runar (who had realised long ago that his prospects, being the runt of a poor family, were virtually nil), and he reacts by ignoring the suggestion entirely and burying himself in magical experiments and study of the Old Uln scrolls, aided by his Read Languages spell.

He is stunned by the news of the Jarl's fate. Though he had become intimate with death and violence over the recent months, in Runar's mind they were not things that could apply to the Jarl, who seemed like one of the invincible heroes from the sagas. He counted it a sore blow – not only to himself, for the Jarl had been the architect of his recent prosperity – but for the entire community.

Upon hearing this Kara immediately thinks of her eager little warrior. The jarls daughter, not as young as she has been, when starting her training with Kara, would surely thirst for vengeance. A feeling the tested warrior can understand herself. The gall of these northern whoresons! This they cannot let stand.

Contrasting Hraven's fire, Kara's voice deepens as she states: "Noone disgraces our clan and lives. We shall flood the cursed northern earth with their putrid blood and feed their entrails to mangy dogs. For none of their spawn shall dare think of us with anything but terror in their hearts and minds."

Eversince throwing her axe into the rugged waters to calm the gods on their way back, Kara has been trying out new weapons. She must choose sooner than she has thought, but then again - she feels like tearing these foes apart with her bare hands anyhow.

Preparations will have to be made tomorrow. Tonight is for drinking.

Yäns had not been on the shores nor had he heard the excitement ebb and flow in the crowd. He was back on his small plot of land with his wife and the new bairn she bore him while away. The pride he felt in his wife, his wee lass, and his fate welled up in him as he realized that his dream of changing the ways of his wicked ancestors was becoming a reality. He’d never forget what he witnessed as a young man, no matter how far he’d roamed since then. And now he had his own family to raise as he saw fit. Freyr was surely pleased with him to be aiding him so. In gratitude, Yäns killed his best goat to honor the god of the hunt and invited several of the crew for the feast. He held his child aloft and said her name would be Freya.

When a messenger boy came to tell him of the Jarl’s fate, he questioned the boy thoroughly to make certain he had the story right. The Jarl had taken him in, trusted him without any family connection, and even blessed his marriage to one of his nieces. Yäns never expected to feel kinship again, much less the guidance of a father figure. He wept as soon as the boy was out of sight. He said a prayer for the soul of the Jarl and headed for town.

When he saw the whole crew in the longhouse, he quickly approached them,
I am late. Tell me everything. When do we leave?

The drinks flow freely and stories are passed jovially. Though the jarl is dead, most celebrate the safe return of many of his men. A funeral will be had, but that is not tonight. Fastvi sits with you, preferring to be with Kara than her actual family. Vengeance is indeed on her mind, but you suspect it comes from youthful foolishness than from a clear head. After some time, Hallbjorn approaches once more.

"Aye, you are the best of mates a man like me can have. Strong, honest, and you know how to have a good time once the sailing is done. I am not a cringing maiden like those others, and though our losses were great, I plan to give freely of my fortune and go out to win another. Let’s toast to the next voyage of the Long Serpent and her new crew! In the morning, we will march to the Widow Olaf’s hall and offer her a split share of the boat, and she’ll take it, I tell you!

"That woman has no need of such a fine sea-steed, she has no sons, and by the time she could remarry and have one old enough to cross the whale road and face the spear-din, we’ll hand over to them a dragon-headed vessel whose mind’sworth had grown to be heard across the Northlands, aye, and beyond!"

Hraven had given himself over to the joviality of the night, he had not further touched mead on account of his dark mood - but played the part of a joyous courtier. With the loss of so many Huscarls and the Jarl himself the burdens of responsibility would soon fall on his shoulders. The very real weight of his obligation as a hersir of the tribe meant he could ill afford being seen as weak or unreliable. All vestiges of youth had to be set aside, it was time for him to prove the worth of his bloodline. He took a seat next to his Father, Tyr and consulted the grizzled veteran on matters of warfare.

"We should send word of this to the Jomsvikings. If it is to be Holy War. Moreover I think, you may yet find way to Valhalla in our quest for vengeance. We could sponsor a ship, find volunteers of the Thralls and offer them freedom for their service. I would lead them as shock troops. Your vote of confidence in me would galvanize other great men to enlist. Would you follow me to Hel, wrath and ruin?"

"My boy," says the grizzled warrior Thyr, "You still have much love for those island-bound bastards. Were it only that you saw they care for nothing but the weather of weapons and for Sif's hair. They follow a wolf-hearted breaker of rings and would as soon spread our battle-dew as raise their blood-embers by our side. They are no brothers of ours, and may Corpse-ripper feast on their corpses." He spits in disgust, not at Hraven, but at the warriors his son so venerates. Strange, considering he had spent time of his own in their service. Rare is it that he speaks of them, and never fondly.

"You have my confidence, blood-of-my-blood, but you are young yet. Fight in Hallbjorn's shield wall. Sail in his ship. Prove your minds-worth. You have the makings of greatness and have accomplished much, but you are foolhardy and have much to learn. Nobody questions your sword-arm. But they must learn to trust you."

"What is wrong with having a wolven heart? Fenris is the master of destruction. Geri and Freki, are Odin's most loyal companions. There are even those who say I am a Wolf in Human shape." Hraven jested with his father's appraisal of the Jomsvikings. Running his fingers through his beard thoughtfully, considering his father's words. "Love has Hraven for violence. Love have I for mushrooms. The most love I hold for you and mother. But most especially I love strong and brave women. No love can I lose for the Jomsvikings. Merely respect for their mastery of warfare and seamanship, the tenacity it takes for them to live in their islands, and the fear they instill in the heart the greatest warrior I have ever known." With a deferential nod he simultaneously jabbed at his father and honored him. "No greater power than making ones enemies their ally. You taught me that. Who better to bring those raving wolves to heel than I? But that is a problem that requires some discretion." Suddenly his smile curled nood souring.

A bit of the dark mood he was in showed through his eyes. He leaned upon Tyr's shoulder and lowered his voice. "I thirst for vengeance. And they killed the best of us. I will bring them death enough to claim the Name Foehammer. I swear it on my sword." He touched the triskele engraved in the hilt as he said this. "These fangs we claimed will bring many deaths in the name of our gods."

After hearing Hallbjorn speak of Althunak, Runar takes every chance to mingle with merchants, traders, travellers, tale-tellers and gossip-mongers. He eagerly seeks out any news that might concern the demon-god's cult.

"I see too much convergence in this pattern to be mere chance," he explains to his companions. "This cult was destroyed so long ago that few now know anything of it, yet our people have met it twice in a matter of weeks."

Aside from the party, none seem to have ever heard of Althunak; however, some of the older women recall tales of a demon of ice that have been passed down through the ages. None of the information is helpful, but it does inform Runar that this Althunak is not some new power.

The festivities grow more and more raucous throughout the night as many of the returning huscarls are glad to still be alive and have many tales to tell. Those of you who fall asleep in the tavern rather than in your own homes are awakened by a rather drunk Hallbjorn. "The tide leaves tomorrow two spans past dawn, and we will be on it! Good fortune, my brothers, for the Widow has agreed to split shares with us for a second voyage north. The season is late, but we can be away and back, our fortunes made or lost. Come, let us toast the new venture and seek our wyrd in foreign lands!"

Hraven studies the sea and sky from the highest point he could get to in the allotted time. Making divinations of the weather he made sacrifice to Donar. A late season raid meant the first few days on the ocean would be critical to their survival.

Kara makes only few preparations. Dissatisfied with what she has been trying out as alternative to the sunken axe, she opts for a plain bastard sword at the village's blacksmith for now. Having learned the value of potions, she gets herself a vial of the wretched tasting stuff for their journey, a new javelin and finally visits Fastvi to make her oaths.

Yäns is a simple man, so he merely replenished his quiver, made love to his wife, kissed his young child, and was ready to go.

He had worked tirelessly to build a few improvements on their plot of land. He turned the birthing hut into a storage shed, built a pen for the pigs, and set a trip wire around the perimeter tied to a warning bell. This helped him feel secure in leaving.

Oren makes ready two quivers of arrows for the journey and stows his bundle in the ship as he prepares to row. Though he had learned a great deal in his downtime he was once again ready for the open sea.

Over the next two days many preparations are made. The skies are clear and the sacrifice accepted. Kara and Oren arm themselves. Yäns ensures his family is protected. Runar continues seeking answers. The cult of Althunek remains illusive.

True to his word, the Long Serpent is refitted and ready for another voyage in two days time. Hallbjorn has been running the dockworkers and ship chandlers ragged, but in the end, he has managed to put together enough food and other provisions to last a crew of 60 for two months. He excitedly calls the crew together and introduces his newfound friends to the 50 sailors he has hired on. These men work for quarter shares, and are all experienced seamen.

The journey north is mostly under clear skies and with a good breeze blowing from the southeast. There is no need to take to the oars, and thus most of the trip can be spent in idle endeavors. Sailors are inveterate gamblers, and Hallbjorn is possibly the worst of the lot. Storytelling and music are also ways to pass the time, and Oren finds an attentive and appreciative audience.

All is not pleasant, however, and there are hardships to face. The wind and waves are calm, but the sea is cold, and nothing stays dry for long unless well protected. The longship is open with no enclosed belowdecks to speak of. Saltwater breaks across the bow and douses the party. Fresh food is running out, leaving salted pork, twice-baked bread, and dried fish as the primary ration. Most of the time, there is no opportunity to light a fire. Several of the untested Northmen who have not been to sea quickly become seasick. Overall it is promising to be an uneventful journey.

That is, until some sailors point out a dark shape approaching from the starboard (right) side of the ship, six days after setting sail. Something is beneath the surface, and is very, very large. The men cry out an alarm as it speeds towards you, and suddenly ten massive tentacles erupt from the water and begin trying to grab at the men! A large shape hides just beneath the surface off the side of the ship.

Round One of Combat
Combat Order
Party
Enemy

Hraven was asleep against the figurehead, he had spent the day on the oars and went to maintain his swords, only to fall asleep from boredom. When the kraken seized the ship Hraven, with his arms at hand bolted to his feet. His sealegs kept him upright as the longship pitched in swells and was tossed by the kraken. Espying a tentacle he drew the pair of magic blades and descended upon it in a flash. As he sprung into his attack the flaming short sword, Surtr's Nail, burst aflame.