A group of distinctly Northern adventurers were seen loitering outside the Temple of Umberlee at the Docks of Baldur's Gate. After they had gathered together in number, they went inside for a time - and then emerged again and immediately moved through the Docks and East Gate of the City. Rumors told that these warriors had been sponsored by a mysterious benefactor to hunt a witch, and indeed when they departed the City they moved with purpose beyond mere wanderlust.
Leaving Baldur's Gate on foot the four made way across the bridge and followed the long road South, leaving lawless bandits and marauders mauled by the wolven companions of the two women.
At The Friendly Arm Inn, the four were seen to become five as they were joined by another of their fellowship - a sorceress from the far reach of Icewind Dale. Further on the road they crossed paths with adventurers moving North, stopping to speak a time of the roads - but both teams stayed their own course.
Finally, the Northern troop camped on the road between Beregost and Nashkel. They patrolled the region throughout the night, hunting wyvern and skirmishing xvart warbands. They prowled the ruins of Ulcaster, and even entered into them.
When at the camp they ate roast, bantered together and the men test their strength brawling and grappling. All in all, these Northerners kept a vigil on the road and occasionally hosted travelers at their fire. One by one, the fellowship dispersed at dawn - but not without resolving to gather again.
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Having secured a debt of Harvard Sigurdsson, a cunning and shrewd old woman was able to wrangle the Northerners to serve her on an assignment that would take them high into the ranges of the Cloud Peaks, in search of rare spell components. Tempted by a beautiful jewel Star Sapphire for reward, they went.
After dismembering their way through the Uldoon Trail, emerging victorious over several ambushes by outlaws, the intrepid warriors raided a giant warcamp and then encountered a necromancer Spirit Troll. Rather than humoring its wicked proposals, the Northerners butchered the giant - as it should be.
High in the blizzard, they made way toward the promised caverns - butchering their way through yetis and cruel elemental winds to get there. Once within, the deed for which they were hired was done. A bloody task.
Returning to Baldur's Gate, the elderly one went her way - and the Northerners, glutted on glory, to pawn great bags of plunder taken by their might from the scaled ones.
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The Greenest Inn was populated this day with Northern adventurers who had been active in the realm recently, drinking and dining peacefully - until a dark wanderer arrived. Confronted by the massive Rashemi in worg skins, the Uthgardt wanderer did not balk - and, proved by his bravery, was welcomed to the fellowship table where he drank and ate, sharing the tale of his coming to these strange Southern lands. Two of the party left for the Uldoon Trail along with the Uthgardt rover.
After midnight the trio were seen to return to Nashkel from the Southern roads, a successful raid on the giant camp. With them they carried spoils for their trouble, each their own.
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After the Northerners arrived in Soubar and took rest at the tavern a meeting with a man set about a grim course of events.
An exchange shared in the Ruathen tongue by two men who met in the tavern but seemed to know one another escalated by accusations of blood feud into invitations of violence. The group moved out into the night air, and steel shon under he light of the moon in the hands of two men.
The duel was quick and bloody, over like lightning. The berserker would have cut the man in half with the opening assault, if the smaller and older man was not so quick on his feet. A lashing of a seax from the elder opened the berserker's flesh on the hand, but the thrust of the broadsword that answered pierced the chest, and brought the Ruathym elder to his knees. The youth knelt, offering quiet words to the defeated - but his apparent mercy was met with a blade to the neck. Wounded, and gushing from the throat, the berserker killed his enemy - blood of two Northern sons staining Soubar soil.
The old man, called Sigurd son of Tarben by the younger was an adventurer whose saga from several years gone is still kept in the libraries of Baldur's Gate. He had his head cut from his remains by a large man in worg skins, and offered to the fair haired victor as a trophy. The headless body itself was taken by the dark furred giant as the gang departed, which later appeared strung upside down by the feet from a tree not far from Greenest, where it had become food for the ravens. Some know the killer as Harvard, son of Sigurd, son of Tarben. Why would he kill his father?
From Greenest hall, boisterous festivity and solemn gestures as the children of the Northern realms enjoyed their victory with song, verse, dance; and debated many things...
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A berserkergang depart Soubar for the Troll Claws this day. Storming the ogre castle, they crossed the path of a powerful warrior.
Guthewulf, of the Great Worm Tribe - a strong and, it was proved, very cunning warrior hailing from the Spine of the World at the farthermost reaches of the North.
As it often comes to pass when warriors cross paths, Guthewulf agreed to a duel with the fair son of Ruathym. A brutal match, and a close victory for the red bearded warrior.
Shortly after, a Ffolk man traveling the road alone spied the gang, and - noticing they were of the Northlander stock - stopped to share his thoughts on their kind. It ended grimly.
Travelers of the land might have spied the man strung upside down from a tall pine at the border of the Troll Claws, with his lungs dragged out of his back in blood eagle.
After hunting many of the more primitive giants on the Troll Claws, by Guthewulf's guide the troop came to their desired destination. The holdings of the stone jotun Thane.
It went as you might expect. Hills of gold and chests, as 'big as houses', brimming with treasures. One might believe the tales they told, for the great train of wealth that was hauled back to Greenest for hoarding.
Later, another warrior found them at Greenest - a small Northman, disfigured in the face. A hard done by stranger, he found his place.
Most often on the Sword Coast, the fair Ruathym male among the blossoming warband is seen roaming in company of a dark Uthgardt hunter.
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A loud horn is heard echoing through the lands. The horn is no other then Jandar's. It comes from Greenest. If one is near they can smell the burning of cooked meat. Boar! Jandar calles to the Worgs, for he has put on a great feast in their honor. And to settle the bet of fetching boar meat it's self. It seems he has gone beyond that. Ale flows, people laugh and throw fists! All in the name of the Worgs! So come and fill your bellies with meat and ale!
Violence in the village - a necromancer, lured by rumor of warriors who did not fear death sought allies - and was cut down by Wulfrik's axe. He gave her over to the Radiant Heartsman who witnessed the deed, and declared his given word honored to the Knights, that he would deal to the evil witch who plagued the roads between Nashkel and Beregost on their behalf.
After their revelry the warband seemed to gather all of their belongings from Greenest and make the long trek North to Baldurs Gate...
There, at the church of Umberlee, offerings were made - star sapphire, blood, and a rent golden idol of a snake taken during a temple raid. The price for safe travel.
By expertly sailing the Sword Coast, the warband arrived at the destination. Roaringshore. On the sands of Little Luskan the seer among them cast bones - and the omen showed the good pleasure of the spirits. The mercenary Northmen would reside here, closer to Thundar's Ride, ahead of the great battle to come...
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"See! warp is stretched
For warriors' fall,
Lo! weft in loom
'Tis wet with blood;
Now fight foreboding,
'Neath friends' swift fingers,
Our grey woof waxeth
With war's alarms,
Our warp bloodred,
Our weft corseblue.
"This woof is y-woven
With entrails of men,
This warp is hardweighted
With heads of the slain,
Spears blood-besprinkled
For spindles we use,
Our loom ironbound,
And arrows our reels;
With swords for our shuttles
This war-woof we work;
So weave we, weird sisters,
Our warwinning woof.
"Now Warwinner walketh
To weave in her turn,
Now Swordswinger steppeth,
Now Swiftstroke, now Storm;
When they speed the shuttle
How spearheads shall flash!
Shields crash, and helmgnawer
On harness bite hard!
"Wind we, wind swiftly
Our warwinning woof
Woof erst for king youthful
Foredoomed as his own,
Forth now we will ride,
Then through the ranks rushing
Be busy where friends
Blows blithe give and take.
"Wind we, wind swiftly
Our warwinning woof,
After that let us steadfastly
Stand by the brave king;
Then men shall mark mournful
Their shields red with gore,
How Swordstroke and Spearthrust
Stood stout by the prince.
"Wind we, wind swiftly
Our warwinning woof.
When sword-bearing rovers
To banners rush on,
Mind, maidens, we spare not
One life in the fray!
We corse-choosing sisters
Have charge of the slain.
"Now new-coming nations
That island shall rule,
Who on outlying headlands
Abode ere the fight;
I say that King mighty
To death now is done,
Now low before spearpoint
That Earl bows his head.
"Soon over all Ersemen
Sharp sorrow shall fall,
That woe to those warriors
Shall wane nevermore;
Our woof now is woven.
Now battlefield waste,
O'er land and o'er water
War tidings shall leap.
"Now surely 'tis gruesome
To gaze all around.
When bloodred through heaven
Drives cloudrack o'er head;
Air soon shall be deep hued
With dying men's blood
When this our spaedom
Comes speedy to pass.
"So cheerily chant we
Charms for the young king,
Come maidens lift loudly
His warwinning lay;
Let him who now listens
Learn well with his ears
And gladden brave swordsmen
With bursts of war's song.
"Now mount we our horses,
Now bare we our brands,
Now haste we hard, maidens,
Hence far, far, away."
Ere Ulf son of Hjalmar came
a sea-wolf gold-lusting, lore-seeking,
returns to roots, in kin and kind.
Erik's axe test him, and war's furnace proved him
a red eel got well under the ox's hoof
Slaves of the Withered Man, slitherers of Niflheim,
seek Wulfrik among the living.
A berserker shared table with a draugr queen,
Threats were no trade for his peace there;
Wulfrik the Deceiver, gafol commanded;
Gold for the fury of the Norsemen to cease.
Poisons and curse, three cowards fly;
For all their dealing, their doom only dealt.
Evil for evil, blood for blood,
the brooders brood, the schemers scheme
And for red morning surer, of battle, all dreamed
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Wulfrik fought a dwarven brawler in the pits of Soubar. The first fight, Wulfrik was beaten down without laying a hand on the fierce dwarf. Demanding a second round, he fared only a little better - striking the master dwarven grappler twice before being thrown on his back. The third round, however, the gods were with Wulfrik - at least a little. He battled the dwarf so fiercely with a MIGHTY blow that he knocked the stout old creature out of the ring! Victory was snatched from the Northman regardless - it came down to one deciding maneuver, and Wulfrik again was outmatched, thrown blooded to the dust by the monk... A Skald, Ravnsdottir, watching the battle had surely spurred him on to a determined repeat the contest; if this loss was to make it into his saga, let him at least not be recorded a coward also, for lack of striving.
Down to Niflheim.... adventures in forgotten places.
Some of the Northerners were recently 'guests' at the Phoenix Lodge, seen to enter invited. It is said, however, that they 'overstayed their welcome'. From other chance meetings that follow, it seems the Northmen - or at least Wulfrik - keep an interest in the matter.
By night, a certain elf determined to present himself to brooding barbarians. They spoke together some time at the Arena of Baldur's Gate, and left in company to the Fields of the Dead... whatever was intended, they were not seen to return the same way.
Men and women of the North were seen to bring a man through Roaringshore, down into the fighting pits of the Broken Goblet. After an hour of what sound to be terrible violence and horrors, the cry of command came; "Head-first! Down the grate-hole!"
Surely enough, the poor man was later seen in a shamefully treated condition, crawling himself out from a little rock tunnel that connect the tavern waste to the harbor of Little Luskan.
Many foes, mysterious and magical, fall. From raided temples, and raided castles, the Northmen take troves of plunder of the land for themselves and their people.
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On the 10th of Marpenoth, a group of Ruathyr Islanders and Northerners test their mettle against one another in the arenas outside Baldur's Gate. Rumor has it these mercenaries, sometimes known as Fangs of the Black Worg, have been hired to fight in the campaign at Thundar's Ride.
The stakes were high; gold and more unusual terms also offered between competitors.
After the war games the fellowship moved to the city and spent time recovering at a local bar. No rest for the wicked - it is said there was a great disturbance not long after the Northerner's arrival at the hall, resulting in an eviction of all patrons and a patrol of the streets. Most of the mercenaries were seen to leave Duchal lands together after some manner of dispute with another party in the Northern Farmlands.
Far out at sea, a boat burned on the horizon. Three Ruathyr watched from the end of the pier at Roaringshore. Later in the Broken Goblet many steins were poured out on the floor by the foreigners in some heathen gesture.
Northerners have been met on the island off of Ulgoth's Beard a lot recently....
A meeting in the Sword Arm Inn of Roaringshore between four Islanders. Wulfrik was the last to leave, and he had stormed from the inn with an anger the others who left before him had nothing of. Furniture was thrown by the berserker in his furor. It may be that the son of Hans would be unwelcome again - seen as darkening the doorway - if he dare to return too soon.
Seven heroes of the Islands and one child of Uthgar camped at the bridge to Durlag's Tower.
First Axe Wulfrik 'the Deceiver' Icewalker, Völva Sigrid 'the Fair' Grimsdottir, Lawspeaker Erik 'the Unmeasurable' Ulfsson, the mischievous Seer called Fritjof, Skald Grimhildr Ulvsdottir the Battle Maiden, Rune Skarthisson the Tall, Mjoll Tormigard of Norland - called Skullbreaker and Thunderfist and Stigandr 'the Scowler' Ravenseye, the only dark head among the fellowship - an Utghardt Tribesman and Hunt Master
Left behind were Ulf son of Hjalmar, Guardian of the Secret Things,
and Khadra Wynterborne of Icewind Dale, called Winter Witch
In Durlag's Tower they confronted the cursed, sword-sowing strife,
As strangers in a strange land, the Islander and Northerner mercenaries begin to grasp a 'bigger picture' of the power struggles in the realm, and consider how to navigate these troubled waters.
Northerners as mercenaries attend the war rooms of the Thundar's Ride Campaign.
In the High Places above Nashkel gifts are given. The Hunter's horn bellows into the canyon a long and might blast, echoing with a magical din...
Sigrid the Fair, daughter of Grim.
Wulfrik Icewalker discusses visions with the prophetic Völva.
Throughout the land are unlikely reminders of home. From the heights of the frosted Cloud Peaks to the shores of the Sword Coast...
Chance encounters at Firewine Bridge.
In these evil days, more is sorrow than mirth at the tables of the Worg. Politics tribal and external churn - nonetheless, ambitions are gained upon with voracious and wolven appetites.
A Thing was summoned by Wulfrik Icewalker - presided over by Lawspeaker Erik Ulfsson. After all free men and women had spoken their piece the matter was judged - the verdict a wounding one.
