Words of the Raven - Northward

[Eclecticon]

Spluttering with indignant rage, the young warrior drops his wineskin and reaches, somewhat unsteadily, for his mace.  "You sod-born bastard!  I'll crack your skull and leave your body for..."

"VIGLAR," comes a bellow from above, and instantly all the challenge seems to drain out of the young warrior.  An indistinct face appears at the top of one of the towers.  "Don't be an idiot, boy!  These men are Beorning emissaries, and we are honourable folk.  You'll not lay a finger on them!  None of you will!"  Viglar leaves his mace where it lies and reaches down to reclaim his wineskin, which even now slowly trickles its contents out to be drunk up by the earth.  He shoots Grimbeorn a look of undisguised hatred as he does so. 

"Bring them up," concludes the voice from above, "and give them ale.  They shall enjoy the hospitality of the house of Viglund." 

[Eclecticon]

Still fuming, Viglar nonetheless complies without question, leading them up the winding path to the oak-wood gates, which are heaved open by grunting warriors in dull mail.  Grimbeorn and Hathcyn are ushered through a low door into the longhouse, where the air is thick with lingering smoke and the smell of Men living closely together.  The banked hearth seems to fill the room more with shadows than with light, but the gleam of firelight on cold iron is unmistakable.  Clad in mail of his own, Viglund sits on a throne on which are mounted the antlers of a great elk, and regards the pair through narrowed eyes.  Nearby, on a plain wooden chair, sits Rorin, one eye swollen shut beneath a dark bruise.  Despite his obvious discomfort, though, his countenance fairly beams when he recognises Grimbeorn. 

As the pair approach the throne, a maiden, her dark hair bound in a tight braid and her gaze raised to meet the guests emerges from behind the throne.  The servant she leads, the Beornings initially take for a deformed cripple, but it becomes clear as it approaches, bearing three drinking horns on a crudely-carved tray, that it is a goblin very much akin to those that fought, and fell, in the skirmish not a week ago.  With a deep curtsey, the maiden passes the first, and largest, horn to Viglund before offering the other two to Grimbeorn and Hathcyn.  Within them sits a dark ale, thick as soup. 

[Telcontar]

  i'm supporting cast here for Grimbeorn with few skills applicable for this situation. Hathcyn will however keep his eyes open.
Awareness roll to see if there are any clues in plain sight, sherlock holmes deduction style.

Rolled 1d12 : 1, total 1

Rolled 3d6 : 2, 5, 4, total 11

[Eclecticon]

Hathcyn glances around, attempting to subtly pick out any details that may assist the upcoming negotiations.  Between the unfamiliar surroundings and the pervasive dimness, he can glean little.  Quickly, however, others of Viglund's folk begin to fill the hall, called to witness, or to assist, or perhaps simply by the novelty of unexpected guests. 


Let's see what you can find out from them with an Insight roll...

1d12 : 3, total 3
Rolled 3d6 : 6, 5, 4, total 15

[Eclecticon]

The warmth and fellow-feeling with which Beorn's hall overflowed at the recent feast seems completely unknown here.  The grim-faced men who soon pack the hall are quiet and cold, and eye even each other warily.  One, however, gazes at the maiden offering the ale with barely-concealed lust, though she keeps her own eyes away from him.  Hathcyn sees another lean a scored shield bearing the device of a golden boar's tusk against the outer wall.  When Viglar seats himself on a bench by the throne, the owner tusk-shield looks at him and his face twists, for a heartbeat, into a snarl. 

"Come on," Viglar calls.  "Drink up!  Or do the bear-kin not learn the manners common to civilised folk?"


Watcha think, Matt?  Is Grimbeorn thirsty?

[Eclecticon]

Hathcyn, by the way, will have two bonus dice in the upcoming 'discussions'.  I'll make the same roll for Grimbeorn:

1d12 : 1, total 1
Rolled 3d6 : 3, 1, 4, total 8

[Eclecticon]

Grimbeorn does not let his gaze leave that of Viglund.  To do so, he knows, would be to acknowledge weakness in front of the northern chieftain. 

[Telcontar]

Hathcyn raised his mug high to the rafters, "I salute this hall and its master. May the songs of your people be sung loud and proud beneath your roof."

With that he took a deep drink from the cup keeping his eyes on the lord before him.

[Telcontar]

  matt how do you want to approach this? I dont want to throw anything out else out there unless we have a plan.

Do you want to try and ransom Rorin? Buy him? Negotiate. Start a war...

[GandalfOfBorg]

Grimbeorn doesn't give the drink another thought and downs it, wipes his mouth to his sleeve.  "I am here to secure the release of the dwarf.  What reason do you have for him being detained?  What offense did he give that warranted being treated in this manner and condition?"

  Plan: talk our way out of it, otherwise secure the release by way of aggressive negotiations.

[Telcontar]

  my skill set supports part B. All the talky types are talking away south.

[GandalfOfBorg]

  I keep thinking about the first scene of Phantom Menace.... I wonder if the negotiations will be short.

[tomcat]

I think it would be greatly helpful if you guys had Force powers!

[Telcontar]

Qui-gon never turned into a ragging bear!

Paul, is Rorin bound in anyway? How many men in the hall are armed and armoured? Is there another way out of the hall? Is this like a norse hall with a main door, hall with ceiling hole and apartments in the back?

[Eclecticon]

As the two Beornings drink, many of the Viglundings perceptibly relax.  They half expected us to come here with a declaration of war, Hathcyn realises.  But the rituals of hospitality have now been observed, and bonds of honour now proscribe open hostility. 

"I am surprised, southerner," the lord of the hall quips.  "For I was certain that you sought your kinfolk.  Perhaps the closeness we feel towards our own is... less among your folk.  No matter!"  He indicates Rorin with a dismissive wave.  "He surrendered to my warriors after a brave fight, and it is given to me to demand a ransom.  If Beorn will pay it, he'll be saving me the trouble of getting a message to the Lonely Mountain.  I think a hundred cattle will suffice for one like him.  It'll go some way towards easing the offence those other Dwarves have given me." 

"Now, tell me who I have the pleasure to host in my home."


Tom, Rorin isn't bound, but nor is he armed.  He's carrying himself in a manner that makes it pretty clear that he's been hurt badly, and not long ago.

Apart from Viglund, there are half a dozen men armed and ready to fight, and another thirty or so who, Hathcyn had no doubt, could fetch arms in short order if a fight broke out.

The layout of the hall is more or less as you have described it, though there's a passage to the right of the throne that you would guess leads to the base of a watchtower that's very near to the hall.