Tuesday, August 9, 2016

Orathian’s Brescia Downtime

Orathian Bjomolf
Orathian walked in the brisk morning air, giving himself and his pack some distance from the harsh and rueful eyes of Brescia and the coughing dwarf woman and turned his gaze towards the solemn Ironcrags to the north. The sun was on the rise, its unyielding rays causing Orathian’s weasel to jump from the light to the druid’s other shoulder. Orathian smiled, summoned his will and transferred his senses to his raven companion Zoltan flying overhead trusting the white wolf Ghost to guard him while the druid was temporarily distracted. They followed his every direction, the druid’s companions, even into slimy dungeons; getting away from civilization would be good therapy for the pack before traveling to Zobeck.

Using Zoltan’s senses, Orathian looked for a glade or other suitable place of solitude on this the first day of Orathian’s retraining, leaving behind his old warrior ways of Northman raiding to fully embrace the druidic path. Ghost seemed to sense Orathian’s discovery because the wolf howled as his master found a location that fit the druid’s needs.

A half hour later, the Weasel now sleeping in Orathian’s hip sack and Zoltan perched on the druid’s shoulder, Orathian found what he had seen with the raven’s eyes from over a mile away; it was a tree seemingly grown independent from the soil of the earth. The curving tree’s green leaves were tinged with red and sometimes brown, and provided a natural habitat for each member of Orathian’s pack; tree boughs for Zoltan, small dark holes for Weasel, and a canopy of roots over dry cool flat stone for the druid and Ghost.

Orathian set about immediately drawing power within him before opening a dialogue with the tree, a meditative exercise that gathered his will, but before he could continue a ripple from the tree caused the druid to look closer. Orathian stood transfixed as a green light that began as a pin hole parted the tree bark like heavy curtains as a beautiful green eyed woman stepped lithely from the green light emanating from the trunk of the tree and stood silently before the druid. The woman had small twigs, feathers, and leaves weaved into the braids of her red locks; she wore a green gown magical boots and a simple stick as a weapon. Behind her, the light was gone and the tree appeared as it had before. She was a wild child and the druid loved her at once.

Orathian’s mouth went dry, “Who are you?” Orathian said without any measure of decorum and corrected himself. “I’m sorry, where are my manners? Good morning my lady, I am the druid Orathian of the Northlands and these are my pack.” He said as he motioned to Ghost and the rest. “May I have the pleasure of knowing name?” At the druid’s side Ghost stood passively.

Several uncomfortable moments passed as Orathian struggled to stay silent; Orathian was not very well spoken in the best of days, but in front of this woman, he felt compelled to speak. The woman looked to his pack and Orathian detected a glint of a smile and when he did it occurred to the druid she was fey born and likely did not immediately understand him. Orathian considered and instead addressed her in the druidic tongue, the effect was immediate.

Her name was Brighid and she too was a druid and once the language barrier was breeched, they talked into the night. She explained that the night before she came to this very tree seeking to call her animal companion because her path to that achievement deviated early in her travels. Brighid was a cohort to Yngvi druid of the White Forest to the south following him instead of following the call of the wild. Brighid eventually would explain how Yngvi died successfully defending the Scarlet Citadel from dark beasts leaving her behind and alone. Since then she has been looking for a ley line to tap into its power, which is why she came here to this same tree.

Later that night lying naked under the canopy of stars and the light of the moon, both druids, their legs and arms wrapped around each other, “I can teach you how to call your companion and create a bond with a pack of your own.” Orathian said offering his expertise in exchange for her help in the remaining days before his travel to Zobeck.

“Thank you, but you too came here for a reason,” Brighid said slyly. “Orathian, you did not tell me why you came here.” A look of concern on her beautiful features.

“I must train, refocus my talents, harden my resolve, and at the same time build a better bond with Ghost.” He replied as it occurred to each of them they could help each other out in ways neither of them could have dreamt. 

Tuesday, August 2, 2016

Downtime resources

As mentioned earlier, I would like to implement our fame score, albeit a little creatively. As your heroes travel Midgard spreading the words of Thor and Loki, your success and fame shall bring you reward. Each new region you win over will herald you. With gifts of all manner, and to your liking. Each region shall collectively give you downtime resources for you to spend as you wish. This will be based off your fame score. Once these units are spent in a region, you will have to purchase them as per usual rules explained in the SRD. There is however one important exception. As you all know, magic is somewhat rare in Midgard. Thus the value of one unit of magic is 1,000 gp instead of 100.

Now then, the formula to calculate what resources you are gifted are easy, and as follows.
You earn a number of goods equal to your fame score multiplied by .7 . You earn a number of labor equal to your fame score multiplied by .7 . You earn a number of influence equal to your fame score. Finally, you earn a number of magic equal to your fame score multiplied by .2 . We will be going by the suggested fame point rewards from the SRD, which means you all get to add 1 fame point for each level you have attained. Also, I have decided that each mythic tier you achieve garners 5 fame points. So a seventh level character with four mythic tiers would have a minimum fame score of 27. You can not sell these free units for coin. Please feel free to post questions or comments in the comment section of this post.

Wednesday, July 27, 2016

The Free City of Zobeck

The Free City of Zobeck shares borders with four states: the dwarven Ironcrag cantons to the west, the undead-ruled Principalities of Morgau and Doresh to the north and east, the human kingdom of the Magdar to the south, and the female dominated Duchy of Perun’s Daughter far to the east, at the mouth of the River Argent. Together, these regions, and nearby areas like the Margreve forest, the Cloudwall Mountains, the subterranean cities of the Ghoul Imperium and Lillefor, and the Electoral Kingdom of Krakova, constitute the Crossroads of Midgard. Even the shadow fey’s Shadow Realm touches this area via the fey roads.

The regions of Midgard spin around the Crossroads region like spokes around a wheel. Everything that goes from north to south and east to west passes along the River Argent, the Sultan’s Road, the Great Northern Road, and other well-trod trade routes, all with their own difficulties and dangers. But the nations that thrive in the heartland know how to spin copper into gold and how to turn a sinking barge into a prince’s ransom. Though they borrow language, customs, tools, and even gods from all their neighbors, the Crossroads have their own code, their own pride, and their own way of doing business. Welcome to the beating heart of the world.

Saturday, February 27, 2016

The Heroes of Havardr

Olaf Wotankarl sat himself into the brushed lion hide cushion. As a favored scribe and historion of Odin's, this Asgardian lived in one of the tallest spires of the Academy of Asgard, giving him a commanding view of Midgard below it and the astral above it. From this tower he records the deeds of history, using his magic crystal rods of visions to view in closer detail things that catch his interest. the old sage lit a pipe, poured a mug of mead and ambrosia, and wetted an intricate mechanical quill. He then brought the crystal rods of vision and wrote the details from these scenes of the Battle of Viezla, and noble house Havardr's strength and victory, even when their warriors are thought gone...

Forni, the eldest of Harvardr, had finally learned his life lesson. After the failed attempt to kill the family, he saw to it to make sure Jarl Ranulfr and his son were indeed dead, as traitors deserved. But then he offered pardon to all living Ranulfrs, claiming they would face no shame or dishonor, as they served their jarl well, despite his twisted alliances. A young, tough, bold viking stepped forward, Karl Ranulfr, and announced acceptance on behalf of his clan. He heard no dispute among his clansmen and so continued. He offered all weapons, armor and treasure of the dead Ranulfr as spoils to the victors. He swore his clan would send 5 longships this season to discover the fate of the unreturned vikings. He pledged himself and his clan to revere the temple long house Arnum Stormcloak chose. He offered a mighty weapon, smithed by his clans most experienced weapon makers, a large hammer called an earthbreaker to the champion of the temple, where upon a warrior frome his own camp fell to his knees and begged to be allowed to serve this temple as its servant.

Arnum was seen smiling and agreeing as the crystal powered off. Both Loki and Thor had by now arrived, as he requested, and had seen most of that vision.Thor smiled broadly and thanked the sage for allowing them to see. Below, Arnum couldn't know that Thor smiled, nodded and agreed just as he had while watching the formation of his church. He knew instantly, however when Thor touched his hammer in the crystal, forever allowing him to fly as his Lord Thor.

Sverrir Asvaldr, the youngest, was living up to his name. As he crept through the window, and "down" the sharply tilted stairs of the tower, he practiced all the tips he'd heard from Vorware Undhin over the past 4 days. He felt so confident from his contact with the heroes of Havaldr, that he worried not over what those less sly, less dextrous, less better than him would be deterred by. He knelt in the chamber that onced housed the frozen lady. He heaped his spoils upon the stone she had stood frozen upon. Three days now of fooling simpletons, taking advantage of the unwary, of seeing what others overlooked. He prayed, then, that Loki would not overlook him, and offered his small hoard to be seen and accepted. He watched the stone platform, for what he didn't know. Then he heard noise, as if from great gears or machines at a distance, and saw an arm of ghostly form, equal parts shadow and gold, reach out from the treasure pile and touch his chest, exactly over his heart. As he watched the hand recede and normal light conditions returned he knew he'd been touched and chosen by Loki.

Loki was likewise pleased with what he saw, and quickly made his leave before his brother started asking him questions.

The crystals lit up again, showing the thawing grasses around the hut of Asdis, the witch of Viezla. Here, Horace Krondor, a northman of enormous size and quickness was giving over a female dire wolf and her pups he had caged to the witch. He said he had seen the battle of Viezla, and watched Oratian Bjomolf fight for life and limb, side by side, the wolfs loyalty to his friend enyielding as he served to his last biting breath. He then saw the tears of the great druid heal the wolf, and took it as a holy vision. He said to the witch that he and his remote clan of northmen would never again hunt wolves for meat nor fur. He claimed his name was now Horace Krondor Wolffson, and all his clan would take the Wolffson name. Known already as the greatest of hunters and trappers of the north, their clan would now look at the wolf as brother, and work to be sure Three Glaciers Fjord would always enjoy the protective watch of Brother Wolf. As the witch took the wolves and witnessed the northman's divine inspiration, she wondered if the heroes of Harvardr realized the protective wards thier temples created extended as far as they did. Even the mythic Firth Monster had been forced from the fjord, and swam out to open sea.

The next scene showed some two hundred ancient Harvard warriors assembled at the outskirt of Viezla, preparing an ornate litter to be carried with the still frail frozen lady inside north to the home of the Harvardr clan. She is seen walking toward the litter holding hands with her rescuer, the lucky boy that kissed her. She had managed to find the strength to give the kisser his customary reward over night, and now looked forward to the halls of home where she could find a better curse for her curse of Boreas' Cold.

As the crystals began to dim, he could hear the plotting of Loki and Thor as they made their way down his tower, their triumphant conspiratorial laughter, and see the flash of rainbow energy as the heroes gathered in the new temple of Thor.