Baldur's Gate : The Sword Coast Chronicles : NWN2 Persistent World

The voyage started like any other.

Leofric stood on the shore of Néahdún, looking out southward across the wide, gray expanse of the sea. The longship was drawn up on the beach as men loaded supplies and arms for the voyage and the crew prepared to set sail. Down on the beach a line of ten men--all captives due to be executed--were kneeling in the surf with their heads bowed and hands and feet bound. The cold northern winds blew stiffly and stirred the cloak fastened at one shoulder with a brooch of worked gold and enameled with twisting, knotted forms of birds and beasts, beneath which he wore a coat of mail and a tunic of rough wool. A large round shield was slung at his back and he carried a tall long-axe in one hand, his seax hung in its sheath at the front of his belt, and a sword hung at his hip. The belt was of finely worked leather with a heavy buckle of gold engraved with more knotwork forms, matching the sheath of his seax and the scabbard of his sword. Beneath one arm he held a spectacled spangenhelm.

At his side stood Wulfhere, dressed in a fine tunic of green wool edged with golden silk. It was embroidered throughout with knotwork floral designs in silver wire, and he warded himself against the cold with a red woolen cloak fastened at his shoulder with a large disk-shaped broach of gold set with many precious stones. On his graying head he wore a circlet of gold, and there was a fine sword at his side. As did all other free men, the King wore his seax on the front of his belt.

Wulfhere King looked up into a sky the color of slate. The wind stirred his hair and beard, and tugged at the edges of his cloak. "This is foul weather on which to be sailing. Rán may be difficult to satisfy."

Leofric nodded and continued to gaze out to sea. "The men are ready for the voyage, my Lord. When we return, there will be many good tales for the scops to sing in your hall, and much renown won in your name."

The King clasped his hands behind his back and heaved a deep sigh. "Yet I am uneasy. The sea is unpredictable this time of year, and a laden ship will be even more dangerous to manage."

"My Lord has the best helmsman in the north. Ælfheagh could manage a in a winter's gale. If any man could challenge the sea queen's wrath and triumph it is he. We have a good, strong ship, and good men at the oars. I say let Rán rage, it will be in vain!"

Wulfhere managed a small, rueful chuckle at his gesið's boast. "Be wary, my friend, if you do not wish to dine in Rán's dreary halls, for the Gods have a way of punishing hubris."

"Rán will be placated by the sacrifice, and I intend to be sure we have plenty of silver to appeal to her vanity if she gets uppity." Leofric grinned. "The weather is foul, but more to my advantage. Oswald would not expect a raid by sea at this season. His fyrd will be watching the inland roads, and we could sail into his own harbor. Tíw will surely bring us victory!"

The King remained subdued. "There is only one who knows the wyrd of all men, and Wóden's wife reveals nothing of what she sees. Tíw may grant victory in the battle you seek, but Rán may still emerge the victor."

Leofric's mood shifted and he grunted. "Better to fall at Oswald's hand than endure an eternity in Rán's company." He flashed a smile at the King. "You know how much I hate a leaky roof!"

Wulfhere King then laughed fully and slapped his gesið heartily on his back. "Rán may even spit you back out, unable to bear your company!" The King extended his hand, and Leofric accepted it. The two clasped arms firmly for a moment. "Þunor watch over you, my friend. And let Rán be satisfied with your offering."

The King then stood away as Leofric hefted his gear and made his way down the beach to the waiting ship. At the water's edge a voice rose above the roar of the surf rolling against the shore: "With this blood, let Rán be appeased, and the journey of our brothers be swift and successful!" At a sign the throats of the ten captives were then cut, spilling their blood into the water. Leofric then aided his men in pushing the boat from the shore until it could float freely, and clambered aboard.

The crew, all large men with mail coats and grim faces, took to their oars and under the power of their mighty arms the longship stood out to sea.

They were not long into the voyage when the weather turned against them utterly. Thick, black clouds formed a solid roof over their heads, rain fell in drenching sheets, and towering swells crashed down on the longship. The open hull left them no relief from the rain, wind, and water, and the men could only hunker down miserably into what shelter could be found in the floor of the vessel.

Ælfheagh clung to the tiller in an effort to keep the ship on course as they were buffeted by the seas. Leofric passed up and down the benches, drenched from head to toe and shouting encouragement to the men. "Let Rán rage, lads! Gold enough to fill the hold and placate her awaits in Oswald's coffers!" He found a hammer among the tools scattered across the bottom of the ship as it was pitched by the storm and hefted it overhead. "Thunor watches over our journey and Tíw will guide us to victory!"

However his voice was lost in the howl of the wind and the roar of the sea as it foamed about them, and crashed down into their heads. Then a great mass of water reared up ahead of them. It struck the bow of the ship with such force that the vessel was nearly lifted from the water. Leofric was thrown violently backwards, and the wave broke over the ship, washing across the open hull. Leofric forced himself upright and nursed the side of his head. Blood streamed from a cut across his scalp, and several of the crew left their places to help him back upright.

"Everyone all right?" he asked. The faces that looked back at him were pale from seasickness and anxiety. "I told you, lads, my head is harder than Rán's!" The crew broke out into nervous laughter, but remained on edge as waves continued to hammer the ship. "We'll beat this storm yet. Hold tight, lads, and think of the song we make here today!"

Leofric turned towards the stern to address the helmsman. "Ælfheagh, check your course, Rán is doing her damndest to blow us out to--" As he turned his words died in his throat.

Ælfheagh was gone.

He rushed towards the stern as the ship continued to heave around him and looked out into the darkness. All he could see was the surging surface of the sea and the wall of rain, and the helmsman was nowhere to be found. "Hel's vipers!" he spat, and seized the tiller himself.

With all his strength Leofric struggled against the storm to hold the ship's course steady, but the force of the wind and the surging of the sea tossed the ship mercilessly. For hours he battled the tiller, until his arms burned from the strain. Lightning flashed and the wind screamed in his ears, and the vessel pitched wildly as the sea vented its fury against them. But as the storm raged, Leofric laughed. "A worthy battle you're giving me, Rán, but I'll master this storm. Already I can feel your fury ebbing!"

And as he spoke, it seemed as if the storm was indeed weakening. The wind was less fierce and the rain slackened, and the waves were less lofty. Leofric's men took heart and looked out to the rolling dark waters.

"Have courage, lads!" Leofric said. "Rán is vanquished!"

But even as the sea began to calm again, a great wave some thirty fathoms high reared up in the vessel's path, as if some last great effort by the sea goddess. The men quailed, and even Leofric's face paled as the wall of water advanced on them.

"Hel's vipers!" he muttered.

The surge slammed into the bow of the ship. Planks cracked and shattered, flinging splinters the size of spears through the men. Many were impaled and others were tossed casually from their places as the vessel pitched upward violently. The mast was shorn from its place and thrown casually aside. Men screamed as they tumbled into the water. The keep broke and the longship was folded nearly in two. Leofric, his hands white on the broken shaft of the tiller, tumbled end over end into the icy water.

Clad in his mail coat and with his sword at his side, Leofric almost immediately disappeared beneath the surface and took a lungful of water in a frantic effort to draw a breath as he fell. With powerful strokes of his arms he managed to regain the surface and gasped in a ragged breath of air, and seized the shattered hulk of the ship, floating in pieces on the swelling waves. He found his shield and long-axe among the wreckage, but of the crew there was no sign. Leofric called out for some time for them, but the only answer was the howling of the wind and the voice of the sea, which may have sounded as Rán's laughter in his ears.

For some time he clung to the broken hull and drifted with it. The storm continued to rage and he lost all sense of the passing of the hours. Finally--whether hours or days he could not tell--the storm finally broke. The clouds parted and the full moon appeared in a sky lit with countless silver points of fire. Then in the distance, silhouetted black against the deep indigo of night, he could make out the distant shoulders of hills rising up above the sea.

Leofric slung his shield across his shoulder and took his long-axe in hand. Gathering what little other gear he could from the wreckage he pushed himself away and began the long swim to shore.

He woke again on a desolate stretch of beach, still clutching his long-axe tightly in one hand. His cloak, tunic and pants were soaked through, and his beard and hair were wild and unkempt. He could remember little of the long swim but the burning of his arms as he fought against the current to reach shore. A momentary smile reached his lips at the accomplishment. His people often held contests of swimming and diving in full war gear, but few could boast of such a feat as besting the full fury of Rán.

His thoughts were immediately sobered, however, as he recalled his missing crew, all of whom had been swallowed by the sea.

Enjoy the feasting with Rán, lads. It seems the Gods have some other wyrd in mind for me.

It was still dark, with the moon riding high overhead, but he did not know if he had awoken the same night he was cast into the sea, or if he slept through until the following day, or even the day after. All Leofric knew was he was cold, wet and alone. His arms and shoulders burned from the effort of the swim, and his head throbbed from wherever he struck it when he was thrown off balance by the wave that swept Ælfheah overboard.

With an effort and supporting himself on his long-axe, Leofric pushed himself to his feet and brushed the wet sand from his face, beard and garments. The rain had ceased, and all he could hear was the roar of the surf. There was some wreckage from his ship washed up on the shore, and plenty of other driftwood on the beach for him to use, so he set about gathering up as much as he could. He returned to the small bit of gear he managed to salvage from the hulk of the longship before it sank and found a throwing axe and a few other necessities within. With the throwing axe in hand he went to work cutting up the driftwood and wreckage, and soon had a small fire going. Leofric unslung his shield and unbuckled his belt and set them both aside, then stripped off his mail coat and wet clothes and sat before the fire.

As his clothes dried he dressed again. He forgot his cold and weariness, and the pain in his head eased an empty feeling filled his belly, but there was nothing in his salvaged gear to eat and he knew nothing of the local plant life to know what was good. The beach was deserted of any animal life but his own, and he lacked the gear to try and fish. So he gathered up his belongings again, doused his fire, and started inland.

After a short time he came upon the beginnings of a road leading north and south through a lightly wooden field. Rising on the East side of the road in the South was a ruined building of stone. Leofric's spirits lifted somewhat as he inspected the remnants of the structure, unlike anything he had seen. Buildings meant people, though these, it seemed, had long since vanished. Only wildlife inhabited it now, and the only signs of human activity he saw were a handful of bandits along the road.

Leofric continued north, and soon came upon a small camp and, to his astonishment, a great bridge of stone spanning a river.

"Þunor's hammer!" he exclaimed. "Surely this must have been built by eotenas!"

His outburst caught the attention of several locals at the camp, including a shieldmaiden by the name of Scarlett and a scop who named himself Gregor. Leofric gave his name in turn, and soon knew the name of the City waiting up ahead: Baldur's Gate.

Leofric knelt beside a large, flat stone near the merchant camp. In one corner, bored into the surface of the stone, was an ælf-cup. His armor, weapons, and every other piece of iron among his possessions was set aside. Curiously, the ælfas of the strange lands surrounding the City did not show the aversion to iron that the lore of his people ascribed, but he nonetheless did not wish to take the chance of offending them during his offering by having the metal on his person.

I need to see if there might be a place to find a silver knife in this City for such things.

Coming by his offering proved surprisingly difficult. The sort of honey cakes favored by the ælfas were not to be found and he instead had to pay a little extra gold to the keeper of one of the inns, called the Blade and Stars, to have them made (Leofric spent one night in the place called the "Elfsong" by the locals, but the strange ghostly singing, however beautiful, frightened him. Ælf-magic was not a thing to trifle with). The milk proved more readily had, and it cost little to have a skin filled with it.

Leofric took the skin of milk in hand and unstoppered it, and filled the ælf-cup entirely. He then placed his offering of honey cakes, along with a few pieces of silver--a metal most loved by the ælfas, his people believed--atop the stone. Then he bowed over slightly and touched his hand to his heart.

"Thank you, for sending me the good ælf who aided me in the ruins," he said. "Please accept this offering as a show of my gratitude."

The fight in the ruins south of the City was a valiant one. He entered alone to test his sword, and deliver a message to the wicce studying the passages below and had not been long below before he met the ælf and the great boar which followed him. Leofric was not about to refuse the company of such a wight when offered, so they continued together into the ruins. They found some treasure, which the ælf graciously allowed him to keep most of what they found, and of the coin Leofric gave the ælf the larger share. This, perhaps, was decisive in the events that followed. Ælfas could be as fickle as any Man, but they are, of course, powerful wights and it is always wise to be in their good graces.

After fighting their way through small þyrsas the ælf called "kobolds," they reached the lower levels. Leofric found a place where the stone walls were crumbling, and managed to force a path through. There they were set upon from both sides by three even stranger þyrsas armed with large swords. The ælf engaged the enemy behind them, while Leofric sprung forward to hold back the two in front. The ring of steel filled the confines of the cavern. Though greatly wounded, Leofric fought on and felled one of his opponents. The ælf swiftly defeated his own enemy, and turned to aid Leofric with the third, but despite the use of his ælf-magic Leofric's wounds were too great and he fell.

He woke again some time later, and found himself in a strange building outside the ruins, with a large man named Greenwolf standing over him. As Leofric came fully back to his senses, Greenwolf named the place as Candlekeep and that he must have fallen in battle. Having not woken to find himself in the company of Wóden and the honored battle-dead in Wælheall, he knew that ælf-magic had saved him.

Greenwolf accompanied Leofric on the road north to the old fortress south of the ruins. There they parted company, ending the adventure. Leofric was nonetheless frustrated at a second failure to carry out a task given to him; first Rán cheated him of the renown of his raid on Oswald, and now he failed to deliver the message to the wicce in the ruins. He was feeling stronger after his ordeal on the sea, but his frustration was mounting. Even if he had the means to do so, he could not return to Néahdún without achieving some deed of renown. To turn back, defeated by Rán in his bold endeavor, would only bring him shame in the eyes of Wulfhere King and his other gesiðs.

Leofric pushed himself to his feet and backed away respectfully from the stone and its ælf-cup, then gathered up his gear.

This is an OOC posting for the benefit of those who deal with Leofric (well, and me PLAYING him) and have no clue what he's talking about when he invokes the names of his gods. Leofric does not deny the existence of the pantheons of the Forgotten Realms. Instead, as he learns about the new world in which he has found himself, he recognizes them as aspects of his own deities.
Wóden is the chief deity of Leofric's people, the ruler of all the other gods and from whom the Kings of his homeland claim descent. Wóden rules from his hall of Wællheal, where he keeps half of those who have been slain in battle. They are brought to the hall and tended there by the wælcyrigan, who serve Wóden. In addition to his duties as chieftain of the gods, Wóden also serves as a god of poetry, wisdom and inspiration; it is said to be Wóden who discovered the Runes and gave them to Man. However he can also be a violent god and brutal, and sacrifices are often made to him in times of war.

As the chieftain of the Gods, Leofric equates Ao's station with Wóden. He also sees Wóden's place as a giver of poetic inspiration in the god Oghma, and Deneir's role as Oghma's scribe reflects Wóden's role in the discovery of the Runes. Garagos's wild recklessness and violence in battle also reflects Wóden.
Fríge is the wife and advisor of Wóden, as well as a goddess of motherhood. Fríge is also the only being who knows the wyrd of all beings, but this knowledge she keeps to herself.

Although none of the goddesses of the Forgotten Realms fill the role of consort and advisor to Ao, Leofric nonetheless sees her place as the goddess of motherhood in Hathor, and her knowledge of the fate of all beings is strongly reflected by Selune.
The god of thunder and storms is an incredibly important deity among Leofric's people. Þunor is Wóden's son is widely seen as a protector of mankind, and a fierce enemy of the eotenas and þyrsas. Because of this, his hammer is viewed as a symbol of protection, and among Leofric's people hammers are used for blessing; either by placing a hammer in the lap of an individual--such as the lap of a bride on her wedding day--or by waving a hammer over the item to be blessed. The wearing of amulets shaped in the forms of hammers are also common as protective charms. Þunor's name is frequently invoked in hallowing grounds, fire, food and drink to protect the people from evil wights, who fear the thunder god's wrath.

Although the most obvious comparison with Þunor is the Faerunian storm god, Talos, Leofric also sees Helm as a central aspect of Þunor, as he is also a protector god.
Tíw is the god whom Leofric follows most closely. He is his people's god of war, and his name is invoked to bring victory and success in battle. Leofric sees Tempus as virtually identical to Tíw.
Forsetta is the god ruling over law among Leofric's people. He sees both Tyr and Torm as aspects of the law-giver.
Hama is the guardian of the Rainbow Bridge and the god's domains. Thus, Leofric views aspects of Helm in him.
Frea is the god of the sun, fertility and prosperity among Leofric's people. He is called upon to ensure a good harvest, by bringing ample sunlight and rainfall for his people's crops.

Most obviously, Leofric recognizes Lathander's role with the sun as an aspect of Frea, but it is Chauntea whom he most strongly connects with the god of prosperity, due to their shared role in ensuring a productive harvest.
Frea's sister is a goddess of unusual power. She is the goddess of love, beauty, sex, marriage and magic among Leofric's people, and notorious as a creator of strife. Perhaps most striking, is that she receives the remaining half of the battle dead in her halls. Frea is a woman of remarkable beauty, and is called upon for matters of love and lust; her own amorous exploits are legendary.

Leofric most strongly associates Sune with Frea, however he also recognizes the goddes of magic Mystra as an aspect of her. Frea's tendencies towards creating strife leads Leofric to associating some aspects of her with Cyric.
Rán is perhaps the most capricious of all his people's deities. She is the goddess of the sea, and is violent, spiteful and unpredictable. Rán keeps all those who have died at sea in her halls, and is said to catch men in her great net to drag them down to drown. Leofric's people offer blood sacrifices to Rán before a voyage, generally executing one captive for every ten men setting out on a voyage. However even these sacrifices are sometimes useless, as Rán is unpredictable and may in greed claim the entire crew anyway. She can, however, at times be placated with gifts of gold.

Her consort, Éagor, is often kinder and of better nature.

Leofric directly compares Umberlee with Rán.
Eostre is a goddess of the Spring, purity, youth and new life. Leofric recognizes much of her in Lathander.
Hel is the goddess of the dead among Leofric's people. She claims all who die except those taken by Wóden, Frea and Rán; all who die of age, disease, natural disasters, and other causes other than battle and drowning. Parts of her halls are said to be light and peaceful, and others are drab, dull and lifeless. In her deepest vaults is the place where the worst of sinners meet their punishment; chained to the rocks with vipers dripping venom on their faces for eternity. Hel does not readily give up those who come to her domain and, unlike Wóden, Frea and Rán, neither sends messengers nor comes forth herself to claim the dead who are her due.

Myrkul and Jergal represent aspects of Hel to Leofric, and he also views Talona and her pestilences as part of Hel.
Wéland is a semi-divine figure among Leofric's people. Although born a mortal man, Wéland is smith of legendary skill, which has elevated him to a nearly godlike status. He is said to have forged among the greatest arms and armor known, and is renowned even for his work with precious metals and stones.

Leofric recognizes Gond as the deified aspect of Wéland.