Sorry folks, looks like you'll have to delete and revote again, thought i'd sorted this but I must have buggered up somehow.
It was great when I, Glaroug, The Black Wolf, responded just as you had written when dear old mom cast aside her authority.
Haha! The adventure is just begining lads!
Haha! The adventure is just begining lads!
"let me find this Dwarf Nathaniel." You urge looking into your friends eyes. "I know the Dale like the back of my hand, and when unsure the Gem can guide me." You sit back and look from Nathaniel to Iselore and back again, and your next words are a prideful challenge. "This task is made for me, you cannot deny it!"
Nathaniel looks to Iselore and raises his shaggy eyebrows, you can see he wants this for you. The old Elf looks at the ground until the silence becomes heavy and uncomfortable, and then raises his eyes to yours. "Why do you want this Black Wolf, what do you gain?"
"What do I gain!" You snap leaping from your chair in anger and amazement. "You damn well know what I gain Iselore, a chance for hope, home and honour. A chance to break the curse upon my family and ensure no more folllow me upon the hopeless quest." You point at him and snarl. "And if that is too selfish for you then I will admit, I also do this for the Reghedman and the north, since you are so keen to take away the Kuldahar Druid!"
Iselore eyes ignite with green fire and he strides forward with a pantherish grace, towering over you and grasping your raised arm with a terrible strength. "Do you swear to this task then Wolf, do you accept it as a matter of honour and obligation?"
"DAMN RIGHT I DO!"
"Then the quest is yours Black Wolf, and you will not abandon it!" A shock of power runs through your body and weaves itself into your being, you try to fight against it but your acceptance renders your magics useless.
"A geas!" You spit. "Damn you Guardian, was my word not enough?"
"Not for me and not for the north!" He proclaims meeting your glare with one of his own.
You nod and grimace then stride for the door, slamming it open you emerge into the sun dappled afternnon of Kuldahar, but your rage sours any pleasure you might have had in the day. The Elf maiden waiting outside the door shrinks back from your fury, her eyes wide and fearful and you stride to your home unmindful of the pain in your leg.
The cool darkness of the Evening Shade is a sweet balm on your raging temper and you lean against the door breathing heavily for a moment. "The self righteous bastard had no right!" You mutter to yourself.
Finally feeling a semblance of calm return you stride into the sitting room of the Inn, and count out fat golden coins from your purse. Twenty such coins is a small fortune, and will see your mother and brothers living in comfort for many months, it will only leave you with a handful but then again you live hard when on the tundra and do not need them so much.
You place the coins down on the table beside your mothers chair, and are surprised when Aud grasps your hand in her own. "What is the matter Eldest, what ails you?" She asks.
You ignore the attempt at friendship, and snatch your hand back, it is too late and too little. "The coins will see you through 'til my return, ready the household and my brothers." You snap and turn to the door.
"Eldest?" You ignore her call and stride back into the afternoon light.
There are preparations to be made for your departure, where do you go?
Nathaniel looks to Iselore and raises his shaggy eyebrows, you can see he wants this for you. The old Elf looks at the ground until the silence becomes heavy and uncomfortable, and then raises his eyes to yours. "Why do you want this Black Wolf, what do you gain?"
"What do I gain!" You snap leaping from your chair in anger and amazement. "You damn well know what I gain Iselore, a chance for hope, home and honour. A chance to break the curse upon my family and ensure no more folllow me upon the hopeless quest." You point at him and snarl. "And if that is too selfish for you then I will admit, I also do this for the Reghedman and the north, since you are so keen to take away the Kuldahar Druid!"
Iselore eyes ignite with green fire and he strides forward with a pantherish grace, towering over you and grasping your raised arm with a terrible strength. "Do you swear to this task then Wolf, do you accept it as a matter of honour and obligation?"
"DAMN RIGHT I DO!"
"Then the quest is yours Black Wolf, and you will not abandon it!" A shock of power runs through your body and weaves itself into your being, you try to fight against it but your acceptance renders your magics useless.
"A geas!" You spit. "Damn you Guardian, was my word not enough?"
"Not for me and not for the north!" He proclaims meeting your glare with one of his own.
You nod and grimace then stride for the door, slamming it open you emerge into the sun dappled afternnon of Kuldahar, but your rage sours any pleasure you might have had in the day. The Elf maiden waiting outside the door shrinks back from your fury, her eyes wide and fearful and you stride to your home unmindful of the pain in your leg.
The cool darkness of the Evening Shade is a sweet balm on your raging temper and you lean against the door breathing heavily for a moment. "The self righteous bastard had no right!" You mutter to yourself.
Finally feeling a semblance of calm return you stride into the sitting room of the Inn, and count out fat golden coins from your purse. Twenty such coins is a small fortune, and will see your mother and brothers living in comfort for many months, it will only leave you with a handful but then again you live hard when on the tundra and do not need them so much.
You place the coins down on the table beside your mothers chair, and are surprised when Aud grasps your hand in her own. "What is the matter Eldest, what ails you?" She asks.
You ignore the attempt at friendship, and snatch your hand back, it is too late and too little. "The coins will see you through 'til my return, ready the household and my brothers." You snap and turn to the door.
"Eldest?" You ignore her call and stride back into the afternoon light.
There are preparations to be made for your departure, where do you go?
Argh, I'm torn. The last curios shop I visited very useful during my journey through Sigil and the beyond. But a drunken fight written by Bloth could lead to some really awesome possibilities. Hmm....
Indeed.
Indeed.
Would have liked to head over to the smithy or Gerth's place to look for something useful for the travel. However, the Wolf just gave away most of his gold, so probably wouldn't be able to buy anything decent anyway.
A tankard or 12, and some good ol' face-smashing it is!
A tankard or 12, and some good ol' face-smashing it is!
You spit on the ground and stride down the path to the Root Cellar tavern, first you need a drink and then you need to slam your fist into the face of the first person to bother you, after that you'll play it by ear.
As you stride up to the doors of the tavern, your pained knee still putting an ocassional grimace of pain onto your face, you hear a jaunty tune ringing out from inside. Pushing open the doors you are washed in golden light, smoke and a roar of gaiety and celebration. Damn near half of Kuldahar must be celebrating the vote on the Mythal passing, farmers dressed in their sunday best swing around their goodwives, hunters lounge in corners eyes squinted at the unusual illumination, crafters and merchants chat business around their tables and on the small raised stage a motley band of ruffians fiddle, blow and bang away at their instruments with consumate skill.
You shove your way through the crowd, recieving a few pats on the back, a number of welcomes and a brimming mug of ale shoved into your hand. When you come to the bar you simply slide into a corner, facing the rest of the drinkers and lounge with one arm on the counter and another raising your rapidly emptying mug to your lips. Strange, so many people around and so much noise and bustle yet you feel just as alone as when running over the Dale, the wind whistling around you.
You slam your mug on the counter a few times hoping to catch the attention of the serving lasses, but they're busy running back and forth from the spigots, and don't notice you tucked away in the shadowy corner. Suddenly a trap door slams open behind the bar, and a hogshead of ale begins to rise from the cellar, eventually revealing a stout Dwarf underneath it who's managing to cradle at pint at the same time as his burden. You slam a gold piece on the bar and his head swivels your way, he gives you a wink and then toddles off to tap the barrel and replace a rapidly emptying one.
He returns with a small cask under one arm, shoves it on the bar next to your coin and jumps up on a stool behind the counter. "Dwarven Hearthale lad, and anything else you want for a week or so, judging by the weight of that coin!"
You toss it to him and he bites down on it with relish, then quickly secrets it away before shoving his hand out towards you. "Name's Grim friend, owner and 'ost."
You shake his hand and take a long pull on the fresh pint he pours, damn good stuff, almost chewy but easy going down and pleasant in the gullet. A warm glow seems to blossom in your gut, Grim nods in obvious pride at your relish.
After a few more pints sat in companionable silence with the Dwarf, you begin to feel a little of your tension running away, there is little point in starting a fight here. These puppies might be loud, but they know not to bother a wolf, and really what challenge is there in bullying old friends. Best just to get pished and pass out sometime before dawn, Grim matching you pint for pint seems to have the same idea.
With a whistle the Dwarf leans over the bar. "Now that there is a beauty." He says, looking at the hilt of your ancestral sword.
You unhook the scabbard from your belt and slap the sword down on the bar for your friend to inspect, he does so with reverent carefulness, slowly sliding the blade forth, his nose almost against the steel as he mumbles to himself.
"Ha forgot I even made this." He chuckles to himself.
You fall off your stool.
Staggering back to your feet, to a wave of cheers and good natured cries of: "The Black Wolfs pissed!" You lean forward on the bar and fix the Tavernkeeper with an unsteady eye.
"Did you just say you made that?" You ask.
"Aye, when I was a young smith in Dorn's Deep, big blond lad called Kresselack came a calling, looked a bit like you actually." He pauses to take a swig and then continues. "Wanted a blade crafting so we obliged him, he damn well paid enough, fairly tricky bit of runecrafting if I do say so myself."
"How so?" You ask, surprised and fascinated.
"Well it's a blood forged sword, the enchantments only really awaken when it's held by Kresselack's blood, had to quench the steel in a bath of his blood during the forging. To everybody else it's just an enchanted blade with a few runes to hold back the cold of the Dale." He pauses for another swig and then slaps the bar. "But for that big lad it became something else entirely."
"What?"
"A part of him, as light to weild as his own fists and blazing with the cold fury of a Heart of Winter, appropriate for the evil bastard if you asks me. No offense!"
You grunt and slide the great blade over to your side of the bar, examining it in the flickering light of the tavern, your host departs to change barrels again and you let your will sink into the steel. Yes there is something sleeping there, something that waits to be awakened with a drop of Black Wolf blood.
Grim soon returns with another cask for the two of you and you clip the scabbard back onto your belt, you are a little too sober with the news you just learned, and so set to your next pint with a will. The Dwarf looks over the bar as you slam the empty pint back down. "You got an 'ole in your neck lad?" He asks with a chuckle, quickly pouring you another pint.
The tavern is slowly emptying now, a chorus of snores rising from behind overturned tables and too comfortable benches, the good folk weaving their way home in the gloom, ocassionally stopping to bless the great Oak with the gift of water.
Talk turns to Dorn's Deep and the Dwarf himself, as one of the few survivors and clan members of that lost Dwarrowdelve your host should by rights be helping rebuild the Deep along with his brethren. But he settled here and decided to stay, you left at too young an age for drinking and thus never met him before, but apparently he's been in Kuldahar for over a century. Strange to think there are facets of your home that you are ignorant of, but most of your life has been spent on the quest, so it's no surprise.
Eventually the Dwarf claps his knees and bids you goodnight, before trundling downstairs to sleep underground among his ale in comfort. You rise, thank him with a hand over your heart and bow, he nods and winks before disappearing below.
Steadying yourself on the bar you survey the room with a bleary eye and stride unsteadily to the door, the fresh air of the night hits you like a ton of bricks as you emerge, and you stumble to the pool under the Druid statues of Tolben and Arundel, leaning over to lap up a mouthful of the Kuldahar's sweet root water. It feels damn good, nice and cold.
You sit down on the rim of the stone lined pool and pull your sword forth, thinking on what the Dwarf said, and your ancestor Kresselack the Black Wolf's reign over Icewind Dale weilding this weapon.
What do you do?
As you stride up to the doors of the tavern, your pained knee still putting an ocassional grimace of pain onto your face, you hear a jaunty tune ringing out from inside. Pushing open the doors you are washed in golden light, smoke and a roar of gaiety and celebration. Damn near half of Kuldahar must be celebrating the vote on the Mythal passing, farmers dressed in their sunday best swing around their goodwives, hunters lounge in corners eyes squinted at the unusual illumination, crafters and merchants chat business around their tables and on the small raised stage a motley band of ruffians fiddle, blow and bang away at their instruments with consumate skill.
You shove your way through the crowd, recieving a few pats on the back, a number of welcomes and a brimming mug of ale shoved into your hand. When you come to the bar you simply slide into a corner, facing the rest of the drinkers and lounge with one arm on the counter and another raising your rapidly emptying mug to your lips. Strange, so many people around and so much noise and bustle yet you feel just as alone as when running over the Dale, the wind whistling around you.
You slam your mug on the counter a few times hoping to catch the attention of the serving lasses, but they're busy running back and forth from the spigots, and don't notice you tucked away in the shadowy corner. Suddenly a trap door slams open behind the bar, and a hogshead of ale begins to rise from the cellar, eventually revealing a stout Dwarf underneath it who's managing to cradle at pint at the same time as his burden. You slam a gold piece on the bar and his head swivels your way, he gives you a wink and then toddles off to tap the barrel and replace a rapidly emptying one.
He returns with a small cask under one arm, shoves it on the bar next to your coin and jumps up on a stool behind the counter. "Dwarven Hearthale lad, and anything else you want for a week or so, judging by the weight of that coin!"
You toss it to him and he bites down on it with relish, then quickly secrets it away before shoving his hand out towards you. "Name's Grim friend, owner and 'ost."
You shake his hand and take a long pull on the fresh pint he pours, damn good stuff, almost chewy but easy going down and pleasant in the gullet. A warm glow seems to blossom in your gut, Grim nods in obvious pride at your relish.
After a few more pints sat in companionable silence with the Dwarf, you begin to feel a little of your tension running away, there is little point in starting a fight here. These puppies might be loud, but they know not to bother a wolf, and really what challenge is there in bullying old friends. Best just to get pished and pass out sometime before dawn, Grim matching you pint for pint seems to have the same idea.
With a whistle the Dwarf leans over the bar. "Now that there is a beauty." He says, looking at the hilt of your ancestral sword.
You unhook the scabbard from your belt and slap the sword down on the bar for your friend to inspect, he does so with reverent carefulness, slowly sliding the blade forth, his nose almost against the steel as he mumbles to himself.
"Ha forgot I even made this." He chuckles to himself.
You fall off your stool.
Staggering back to your feet, to a wave of cheers and good natured cries of: "The Black Wolfs pissed!" You lean forward on the bar and fix the Tavernkeeper with an unsteady eye.
"Did you just say you made that?" You ask.
"Aye, when I was a young smith in Dorn's Deep, big blond lad called Kresselack came a calling, looked a bit like you actually." He pauses to take a swig and then continues. "Wanted a blade crafting so we obliged him, he damn well paid enough, fairly tricky bit of runecrafting if I do say so myself."
"How so?" You ask, surprised and fascinated.
"Well it's a blood forged sword, the enchantments only really awaken when it's held by Kresselack's blood, had to quench the steel in a bath of his blood during the forging. To everybody else it's just an enchanted blade with a few runes to hold back the cold of the Dale." He pauses for another swig and then slaps the bar. "But for that big lad it became something else entirely."
"What?"
"A part of him, as light to weild as his own fists and blazing with the cold fury of a Heart of Winter, appropriate for the evil bastard if you asks me. No offense!"
You grunt and slide the great blade over to your side of the bar, examining it in the flickering light of the tavern, your host departs to change barrels again and you let your will sink into the steel. Yes there is something sleeping there, something that waits to be awakened with a drop of Black Wolf blood.
Grim soon returns with another cask for the two of you and you clip the scabbard back onto your belt, you are a little too sober with the news you just learned, and so set to your next pint with a will. The Dwarf looks over the bar as you slam the empty pint back down. "You got an 'ole in your neck lad?" He asks with a chuckle, quickly pouring you another pint.
The tavern is slowly emptying now, a chorus of snores rising from behind overturned tables and too comfortable benches, the good folk weaving their way home in the gloom, ocassionally stopping to bless the great Oak with the gift of water.
Talk turns to Dorn's Deep and the Dwarf himself, as one of the few survivors and clan members of that lost Dwarrowdelve your host should by rights be helping rebuild the Deep along with his brethren. But he settled here and decided to stay, you left at too young an age for drinking and thus never met him before, but apparently he's been in Kuldahar for over a century. Strange to think there are facets of your home that you are ignorant of, but most of your life has been spent on the quest, so it's no surprise.
Eventually the Dwarf claps his knees and bids you goodnight, before trundling downstairs to sleep underground among his ale in comfort. You rise, thank him with a hand over your heart and bow, he nods and winks before disappearing below.
Steadying yourself on the bar you survey the room with a bleary eye and stride unsteadily to the door, the fresh air of the night hits you like a ton of bricks as you emerge, and you stumble to the pool under the Druid statues of Tolben and Arundel, leaning over to lap up a mouthful of the Kuldahar's sweet root water. It feels damn good, nice and cold.
You sit down on the rim of the stone lined pool and pull your sword forth, thinking on what the Dwarf said, and your ancestor Kresselack the Black Wolf's reign over Icewind Dale weilding this weapon.
What do you do?
Last edited:
Easily, easily my favorite...chapter?...so far. Very glad the Wolf popped into the Root Cellar.
This image was just awesome and hilarious
Not sure where to place my vote just yet. Its a three way tie
This image was just awesome and hilarious
Not sure where to place my vote just yet. Its a three way tie
Just couldn't find a way to get Black Wolf in a barney, without it seeming a bit artificial to the character you've chosen for him so far. He's been an angry, proud and arrogant bloke, but not a thug. Anyway thanks and next update tomorrow if that's allright with everyone.
Screw it. A fat lot of good the Black Wolf's ancestors have been so far. Let's get to know the blade personally. Commencing vote change. Just hope no one gets called a fly again
Slowly you draw your palm over the blades keen edge, and let your blood drip down its length.
At first there is nothing, just an echo lingering in your mind, like an almost heard howl from far away, then a flicker of blue flame ignites. With a silent roar the fire consume the blade, spreading down its length until only the hilt remains unignited. You hold it before you, a torch of frigid blue flame, and feel the power radiating from its cold heart.
It is supernaturally cold, and you notice that the little pool at the base of the Druid statues has frozen over from the mere presence of it, and yet the few flames that lick over onto your hand are not painful, they are warm and welcoming. It feels like a part of you, an extension of your hand and will, and a strange thought comes to mind as you think on this symbiosis it promises.
With a shrug you thrust the sword into the ground and walk away, turning around a dozen yards distant you extend your hand and feel the comforting weight of the sword filling your hand again, like a good hound it comes at its masters call. A useful ability to say the least, you will never truly be unarmed.
You cannot help the grin that bursts forth or the joy that you feel at finding this secret, a secret that has lain in your family for generations. Throwing back your head you howl in satisfaction, letting Kuldahar echo to your exultation, then you lope off into the shadows of night.
The morning finds you standing by the Heartstone Gem, one hand on the hilt of your ancestral sword and the other hovering over the relic. You feel three presences at your back and without turning greet them. "Druids, Elf, are you ready then?"
Nathaniel gives a low laugh as you turn around to see the Elfs shocked face, "Learning a few of the Guardians tricks eh Wolf?" You smile and keep to yourself that you saw them in the facets of the Gem.
Nathaniel carries a stout Backpack that he passes to you, it is filled with Dwarven Waybread and flasks of Kuldahar Applespirit, a potent rough cider brimming with the life and warmth of the great Oak itself. He places a hand on your shoulder as you adjust the pack under your great fur cloak, "Come home Black Wolf." He says and then walks off into his little house under the roots.
Iselore turns to you and you can see power gathering in his eyes. "The winds await, I shall leave you and this Pathfinder at the limits of the Oaks influence, are you prepared?"
"As ever."
The bitter cold of the Kuldahar pass blasts into you, the towering rime covered masses of the Spine of the World rise all around, and snow gathers at your feet. Behind you the warmth of the Kuldahar can be felt, without a word you lope away, the quest awaits on the Icewind Dale.
Where are you heading?
At first there is nothing, just an echo lingering in your mind, like an almost heard howl from far away, then a flicker of blue flame ignites. With a silent roar the fire consume the blade, spreading down its length until only the hilt remains unignited. You hold it before you, a torch of frigid blue flame, and feel the power radiating from its cold heart.
It is supernaturally cold, and you notice that the little pool at the base of the Druid statues has frozen over from the mere presence of it, and yet the few flames that lick over onto your hand are not painful, they are warm and welcoming. It feels like a part of you, an extension of your hand and will, and a strange thought comes to mind as you think on this symbiosis it promises.
With a shrug you thrust the sword into the ground and walk away, turning around a dozen yards distant you extend your hand and feel the comforting weight of the sword filling your hand again, like a good hound it comes at its masters call. A useful ability to say the least, you will never truly be unarmed.
You cannot help the grin that bursts forth or the joy that you feel at finding this secret, a secret that has lain in your family for generations. Throwing back your head you howl in satisfaction, letting Kuldahar echo to your exultation, then you lope off into the shadows of night.
The morning finds you standing by the Heartstone Gem, one hand on the hilt of your ancestral sword and the other hovering over the relic. You feel three presences at your back and without turning greet them. "Druids, Elf, are you ready then?"
Nathaniel gives a low laugh as you turn around to see the Elfs shocked face, "Learning a few of the Guardians tricks eh Wolf?" You smile and keep to yourself that you saw them in the facets of the Gem.
Nathaniel carries a stout Backpack that he passes to you, it is filled with Dwarven Waybread and flasks of Kuldahar Applespirit, a potent rough cider brimming with the life and warmth of the great Oak itself. He places a hand on your shoulder as you adjust the pack under your great fur cloak, "Come home Black Wolf." He says and then walks off into his little house under the roots.
Iselore turns to you and you can see power gathering in his eyes. "The winds await, I shall leave you and this Pathfinder at the limits of the Oaks influence, are you prepared?"
"As ever."
The bitter cold of the Kuldahar pass blasts into you, the towering rime covered masses of the Spine of the World rise all around, and snow gathers at your feet. Behind you the warmth of the Kuldahar can be felt, without a word you lope away, the quest awaits on the Icewind Dale.
Where are you heading?