Pity the Hero! He is damned to live in the saccharine circle of mythic arcs as a play-thing of the gods.
—the Madman of Siek-Tapr

Divine Being, you are become immortal.

The Gods spurn you yet and will not accept you among their pantheon. But there are those sympathetic to your plight yet, those Prometheans who would still see mankind as equals and not slaves. Silent are they amidst their golden brethren, for they have seen what comes to those who favour humanity. Yet they exist, and their machinations have saved you from the pits of Tartarus that Mother Juno would have damned you for all eternity within.

Instead, your golden soul will linger for a time and space more in the mortal realms, choosing your new birthplace in...

>The Place Between the Rivers
Parthia, ancient enemy of Rome, the first of the Twin Civilisations that uphold the firmaments. Here it was that your kind first glimpsed its manifest destiny.

>Windblown Plains
Land of the reclusive horse lords, independent as the wind of their frost-crystalised plains. For centuries have they rebuffed the effeminising influence of Sinaean decadence.

>Among Iceborne Barbarians
Golden-bearded and blue-painted, these burly warriors live in savage tribal communes. None have ever united them.

>Indolent Breadbasket
The golden once-kingdom of the blackest soil. Fertile beyond belief, it is the granary of this already ancient world.

>Citadel of Oars
A Dreamer like you once united the disparate polis of these quarrelsome Danaans. He died, and they splintered again. Treacherous, cunning, and fiendishly bright, they are united in their ingenuity but fractured in all else.

>>3848846
>>Among Iceborne Barbarians
Caesar the Viking. Yes please

>>3848846
>The Place Between the Rivers
The irony will be very funny!

>>3848846
>>Among Iceborne Barbarians


is this in the same universe of BC or a paralel universe?

>>3848846

>Among Iceborne Barbarians
Sure, let's do this.

>>3848846
>>Among Iceborne Barbarians
Alrighty then.

>>3848846
>Indolent Breadbasket
The golden once-kingdom of the blackest soil. Fertile beyond belief, it is the granary of this already ancient world.

isekai as farmer and fuck a lot of farm girls!

>>3848846
>Windblown Plains
Land of the reclusive horse lords, independent as the wind of their frost-crystalised plains. For centuries have they rebuffed the effeminising influence of Sinaean decadence.

>are these the mongols?

>>3848846
>Among Iceborne Barbarians
Please say we'll start with fully adult Caesar this time, maybe even with a family of his own before setting on the journey.

File: The Beidi.jpg (539 KB, 1109x1500)

539 KB JPG

>>3848879
Other way around, BC was loosely based on fantasifying Commentarii

>>3848913
picrelated.jpg

>>3848928
Will be elaborated on the next round of votes

PSA: This is a slower paced quest than BCQ with one or two update a day, like the Commentarii previously.

>>3848933
Oh cool. I hope we can play as feminized Caesar

>>3848853
>>3848879
>>3848887
>>3848898
>>3848928

A hard land, for hard men.

You know of the Gauls. Brave, tall, and noble in their own ways, though ultimately deluded in believing themselves better for their independence from Rome. A delusion you yourself corrected with your green legions who turned veteran by trial of blood and fire. But these are not the Gauls.

You know of the Germans. Masterful horsemen from colder climes than Gaul, braver and stronger still than their southron cousins for lack of contact from the civilised world. Wine and silk they see as nothing but intermediary-assets to purchase sword and iron with, refusing to sully their bodies with the like. They are a quiet and dtermined race north of the Rhine, who will never kneel to Roman authority - not with you in charge. But these are not the Germans.

They call themselves Nordmenn - men of the north. And their home is ice and freezing water. Little of anything edible grow here in these inhospitable lands. Bronze is scarce, iron scarcer still, and tribes are wretchedly small not because of any deficiencies on their women, but for the lack of food. This is a climate not even the Germans would willingly inflict on themselves. Yes, those warriors who stride aproud in the nude mid-winter in full view of Roman legionaries - they themselves would never look upon this hoarfrosted hinterlands as home.

But the Nordmenn do. And they are both stronger and weaker for it. Stronger, because any child who survives his tenth winter is twice a survivor as any Gaulish chieftain. Weaker, because the frequent deaths of mothers and infants alike put the Nordmenn in a constant threat of annihilation. The lack of womenfolk is a constant worry for any chieftain able to see beyond his own generation. If any village is to last for more than two generations, it must solve the lack proactively.

>>3848978

Longships are launched by lusty men to take hold of precious she-lives from the hands of softer southerners. Jewels and gold are valued, yes, but not as much as iron and bedwarmers for the long winter nights. What use are glittering things if not to be traded for more useful, practical objects of true worth? Damn civilisation and damn culture. That is for men with fat bellies and warm beds.

And the cold is not the only danger that lurks in these dark forests. Black things, unnatural things, creatures of the ancient nights. Beware of the forest, little one. Lest you be stolen away in the night, replaced by wrinkled sacks of flesh that yowl piteously for milk.

Beware, for things of the night that may be the death of your immortal soul.

-=-

Tenth Winter
Character Generation

It is time for the rolling of the dice. Will you be born into slavery, or the beloved son of a powerful thegn? Only Fortuna knows, and she does not speak of the odds.

Birth rank

>Three 1d20

>>3848969
North is not a good place for feminised anythings

Rolled 3 (1d20)

>>3848984

Rolled 18 (1d20)

>>3848984

Rolled 6 (1d20)

>>3848984
>>3848996
Aww no shield maiden waifu then?

>>3848998
>3
Very good, remember that this is a roll under quest so 1 is good, high is bad

>>3849013
as soon as we find one to bring back home

He is old. That is a compliment in such a place as this. The old and infirm are a waste of mead and meat, fit only for leading the suicidal charge that will see him honourably sent into the hall of the gods to drink and make merry forever more, or banished into the long dark, his ultimate fate left unseen and unrecorded.

But this is not a weak and feeble old man. Long grey beard he has, well-groomed and washed. On his fingers are three thick golden rings, unadorned by any precious stones but large and pure. His undyed cloak is held together by a long, ornate bronze pin. And he is strong still - strong enough to warrant a place in the battlefield with his men. No doddering senile couch-leader, this.

This is the jarl. Prince of a small slice of this northernmost peninsula the mad Nordmenn call home. And he is your father.

"Son," he says to the boy - no, man - beside him. Then shifts uneasy on his feet. The boy is strange, he thinks, remembering back to his birth. The unusual ease with which the baby, unprotesting, came out. How he took his first breath without a slap to compel the cry of life. The strength and skill with which he constantly bested his age-group, then the older boys, until now at the age of ten, he has come to take the rite of passage.

How his gold-flecked eyes of grey can become so intent when he is deep in thought.

>"Father," the manling who was once known as Caesar replies. Cordially, though not coldly. You have reservations on giving this barbarian your full filial affection, though you understand that this is your biological father in this life.

>You nod once to communicate that you have heard him and raise your hand in respect, as fits the action of a man to his jarl, though not a son to a father. You are his offspring and his wealth will be your inheritance - but you do not need to accept him as Father.

>Your face break into a grin, dispelling the previous thoughtful countenance. "Papa!" you shout, eagerly planting your face into his armoured bosom. There is no harm in enjoying a renewed childhood and all that comes with it.

>>3849063
>>Your face break into a grin, dispelling the previous thoughtful countenance. "Papa!" you shout, eagerly planting your face into his armoured bosom. There is no harm in enjoying a renewed childhood and all that comes with it.

indulge in inocence while we can

>>3849063
>"Father," the manling who was once known as Caesar replies. Cordially, though not coldly. You have reservations on giving this barbarian your full filial affection, though you understand that this is your biological father in this life.
greetings, parental unit

>>3849063
>"Father," the manling who was once known as Caesar replies. Cordially, though not coldly. You have reservations on giving this barbarian your full filial affection, though you understand that this is your biological father in this life.

>>3849063
>"Father," the manling who was once known as Caesar replies. Cordially, though not coldly. You have reservations on giving this barbarian your full filial affection, though you understand that this is your biological father in this life.
My god, it's back! The Commentarii!

>>3849063

>Your face break into a grin, dispelling the previous thoughtful countenance. "Papa!" you shout, eagerly planting your face into his armoured bosom. There is no harm in enjoying a renewed childhood and all that comes with it.

No pragmaticfag thanks

>>3849063
>>Your face break into a grin, dispelling the previous thoughtful countenance. "Papa!" you shout, eagerly planting your face into his armoured bosom. There is no harm in enjoying a renewed childhood and all that comes with it.

>>3849063

>>Your face break into a grin, dispelling the previous thoughtful countenance. "Papa!" you shout, eagerly planting your face into his armoured bosom. There is no harm in enjoying a renewed childhood and all that comes with it.

>>3849071
>>3849083
>>3849084
>>3849117

>>Your face break into a grin, dispelling the previous thoughtful countenance. "Papa!" you shout, eagerly planting your face into his armoured bosom. There is no harm in enjoying a renewed childhood and all that comes with it.

As an innocent child who does not know the grief of man do you act, and in so convincing a manner that your father forgets for a moment the precocity of his sixth son. His stoic visage softens, and he taps light your shoulder - once, twice - uncertain and rather embarrassed, the difference in his age and yours so much more noticeable now that you are in embrace. Five decades the war-wise chieftain has seen, thirty of them as leader of men. True, the scale of battle in this scantly populated lands is nothing like as grand or numerous as the things of the southrons, they who breed like prized mares, even the wives of the most common of slaves, and do so without worry of frozen toddlers and cradle-snatchers. But they are few, just as their enemies are. And his son has only seen a single decade yet.

The jarl enters a troubled mood. Nerve-wracked already as a leader of warriors, soon to part for Galician coasts - cousins they may be, but as equal a target in the eyes of the Nordmenn - his mind is filled with premonitions of deaths, not from an evil omen espoused by the oracle (for wise women know better than to risk their lives giving negative auspices to men, those quick-raging bulls) but from a personal and private place in the heart. His son, having wintered his tenth, would partake in the raid. A kinder of ten! Even the youngest in the tribe had been three and ten when he first partook in the Nordmenn trade.

Loss has caused the old chieftain grief. Five sons sent to the halls of the war-gods, grievous long before their alotted time was run out. Strong in arms a Nordmann may be, but arrows and iron do not discriminate. Now might he lose his sixth and only son?

"Son," he repeats, voice a-tremble, so unlike his usual dour self. "You need not join the raid at this age. Three more winters I can easily give you - my own sword has not tasted blood until I was fifteen. There is no cowardice in patience! Will you not stay behind as the man of the household? Tend to the affairs of home, see to the tilling of the earth by the thralls."

>But Caesar would not be convinced to give up the privilege of becoming Named. For among the Nordmenn, you are nothing, less than nothing, until you have taken your first life, snatched away your first loot from the dead and dying hands of the weak. Is it valour? Or impatience? No, it is a self-assured certainty. Laugh, Caesar - a man two decades your inferior in martial experience worries so for your sake.

>Caesar is nothing if not patient, and his infinite life-span moderates any youthful urges of violence he may have. The Nordmenn go on their raids once a year, always in the summer when the seas are mellow and the ice have molten. What are three more summers and winters to be spent in the safety of the wooden halls? It bothers you not that you must play servant-boy to the hearthmen of your father for that many years longer. For it is truly extraordinary for a kinder of ten to gain a name, and not at all a burden expected of you.

>>3849313
>But Caesar would not be convinced to give up the privilege of becoming Named. For among the Nordmenn, you are nothing, less than nothing, until you have taken your first life, snatched away your first loot from the dead and dying hands of the weak. Is it valour? Or impatience? No, it is a self-assured certainty. Laugh, Caesar - a man two decades your inferior in martial experience worries so for your sake.

>>3849313
>>Caesar is nothing if not patient, and his infinite life-span moderates any youthful urges of violence he may have. The Nordmenn go on their raids once a year, always in the summer when the seas are mellow and the ice have molten. What are three more summers and winters to be spent in the safety of the wooden halls? It bothers you not that you must play servant-boy to the hearthmen of your father for that many years longer. For it is truly extraordinary for a kinder of ten to gain a name, and not at all a burden expected of you.

this gets the patient trait?

>>3849341
Patient vs Valorous
Or dead, depending

>>3849313
>Caesar is nothing if not patient, and his infinite life-span moderates any youthful urges of violence he may have. The Nordmenn go on their raids once a year, always in the summer when the seas are mellow and the ice have molten. What are three more summers and winters to be spent in the safety of the wooden halls? It bothers you not that you must play servant-boy to the hearthmen of your father for that many years longer. For it is truly extraordinary for a kinder of ten to gain a name, and not at all a burden expected of you

>>3849313

>But Caesar would not be convinced to give up the privilege of becoming Named. For among the Nordmenn, you are nothing, less than nothing, until you have taken your first life, snatched away your first loot from the dead and dying hands of the weak. Is it valour? Or impatience? No, it is a self-assured certainty. Laugh, Caesar - a man two decades your inferior in martial experience worries so for your sake.

Valour then!

>>3849313
>But Caesar would not be convinced to give up the privilege of becoming Named. For among the Nordmenn, you are nothing, less than nothing, until you have taken your first life, snatched away your first loot from the dead and dying hands of the weak. Is it valour? Or impatience? No, it is a self-assured certainty. Laugh, Caesar - a man two decades your inferior in martial experience worries so for your sake.

>But Caesar would not be convinced to give up the privilege of becoming Named. For among the Nordmenn, you are nothing, less than nothing, until you have taken your first life, snatched away your first loot from the dead and dying hands of the weak. Is it valour? Or impatience? No, it is a self-assured certainty. Laugh, Caesar - a man two decades your inferior in martial experience worries so for your sake.

A worried father's advice is forsaken in favour of that ancient adage: Carpe diem.

The heavy-hearted chieftain sighs but does not do further to dissuade his warlusting son. It is unseemly to coddle, even those kinder who have seen ten winters. The weak must be weeded out as soon as possible in this resource-barren peninsula. Foohardy eagerness is not a trait conducive to long-term survival. The north is far too cold for a hot-headed man to survive.

If he is so eager to die, the gods' will be done. But, the old chieftain adds silently, if he succeeds...

What uncountable honour. No child in living memory has gained his Name in such few winters. And for a Nordmann, honour is a greater virtue than wealth. Insults lead to deaths, slights (perceived and real) into bitter blood-grudges between dynasts. One's Name must not be sullied needlessly in a land with so little to spare. A poor reputation can mean the difference between life and death come winter. The old chieftain imagines it: the son of the jarl Haakon Einarsson, ten years old and already a drengr.

What will my son become? the barbarian wonders. Anxious anticipation boils within him, threatening to spill over. But he must maintain calm. The summer's raid is the year's greatest event in any Normanni settlement. And for good reason; their continued survival depends on it.

The shipmasters begin crowing for stragglers to hurry. Heaving a deep sigh, the aged warrior places his own helm - no horns on these; no self-respecting vikingr would suffer so gaudy an ornament - and hefts his oak-shafted spear. It is time for the sailing. May the gods grant you mercy in your sojourn through the frigid sea.

>Weather 3d20

(Three 1d20s, not three 3d20s)

Rolled 2 (1d20)

>>3849402

Rolled 9 (1d20)

>>3849402

Rolled 11 (1d20)

>>3849408

Rolled 12 (1d20)

>>3849402

Rolled 9 (1d20)

>>3849402

>>3849409
nice weather

>>3849409
>2
Really good rolls this thread, so far

>>3849427
Yes indeed. It's a mercy that it's a roll-under quest, though.

Rage—bard, strum the forlorn strings of those foreign instruments that so pleases your primitive gods. The wooden halls of your uncaring gods are alight with fire and mirth, their ambrosia-equivalent filling that war-crazed higher beings with its heady barley scents. Sing of the crashing waves towering five times the height of full grown men, shaking and hurling would-be warriors out of their painstakingly wrought longships, lessened in number and pride by the majesty of the sea, turning those bodies carrion for the deep-dwellers of the unspeakable pelagian depths.

What foolhardy madness drove Man to populate these inhospitable frozen shores, so far away from the twinkling of civilisation? No machinations of the gods caused this, none but the curiosity of early Man. Following the migration of majestic beasts for food they wandered ever northward, until suddenly, gripped with a frostwinter enough to induce crisis of existence in the hairiest of these post-apes, they realised the extinction of the mammoth-herds.

Two men are lost in the voyage: sweet-fingered Hjallmar Vagnusson, always a bright spot in the mead halls of the jarl - your father - and Uggi the Orphan, a tragic youth who yearned to become a full-fledged member of the hirð. A dream dashed away by the unexpected gutting by swordfish that, frightened by the storm, dove up from the water-surface and struck its unintended deathblow against the two-year raidling. He gripped your hand with the strength of a dying man. "Incribe my name on the rune-stones, Nameless One!" he beseeched you then, slick with ocean water and blood. "Remember me when you become jarl - do not let my name be forgotten, set aside from that of others', just because I am an orphan!"

>You held his hand through his dying throes, comforting him in his final hours.

>The vikings threw him to the sea, still convulsing. It is an ill omen to have a dying man on your longship.

>>3849438
>>The vikings threw him to the sea, still convulsing. It is an ill omen to have a dying man on your longship.

>>3849438
>The vikings threw him to the sea, still convulsing. It is an ill omen to have a dying man on your longship.
It's better to please the gods than a dying youth, and northern gods are callous.

>>3849438
>>The vikings threw him to the sea, still convulsing. It is an ill omen to have a dying man on your longship.

>>3849438
>>You held his hand through his dying throes, comforting him in his final hours.
we are here to bring glory to humankind

>>3849438

>>You held his hand through his dying throes, comforting him in his final hours.

>>3849438
>The vikings threw him to the sea, still convulsing. It is an ill omen to have a dying man on your longship.

>The vikings threw him to the sea, still convulsing. It is an ill omen to have a dying man on your longship.

And this is considered fair weather among the blameless Nordmenn. No ships lost, only two men slain. No tribe can ever count on such smooth sailing to happen once a generation.

You help the others throw the unlucky orphan, struck by a freak accident. Or is it the drunken game of sea gods? The North is a hard place for hard men, and such people create in their minds the sternest of gods. Better to please those higher beings that may keep watch than to comfort a dead youth.

"It was foretold," a warrior shrugs his helmeted head. "The lifespan of all are already carved out in the standing stone of fate. What remains blank is the manner of our deaths and the quality of our lives before. Glory and death!" he shouts, and the other rowers echo the cry. Glory and death. For these fatalistic people, there is little else to look forward to.

"It need not be this way," you mutter. The others ignore you. You are not even drengr, little boy. Your hands are unblooded, your soul untainted by another's death. What know you of fate and gods and destinies? You are Nameless. Nothing. It remains to be seen whether the gods will allow you to be Named, or die ignominiously unnamed and forgotten.

What strange compulsion brought you to this land, Caesar, where ice sail like merchant vessels and the greatest cities number in the thousands, if at that? What potential could you possibly see in these fate-hardened men who, though peerless warriors and survivors, are too few in number and resigned in their fates? Was it to flee Mother Juno's extensive reach by hiding in these heathen lands whose gods do not care of the majesty of Olympus, mountain of the gods? Or was it a test to yourself, to sharpen yourself against the deadly things of the North?

Whatever the temporary downturn of mood from the orphan's unusual death, it is alleviated as the longshipmen shout at one another in a slow, extended roll-call. Finding that only two are dead does wonders to morale.

>Weather [Final Approach] three 1d20

Rolled 11 (1d20)

>>3849473

Rolled 6 (1d20)

>>3849473

Rolled 11 (1d20)

>>3849473

>6

Cattle die,
friends die,
and the same with you;
but I know of something that never dies
and that's a dead person's deeds.
—Gestaþáttr, Stanza 77

The currents have led the leiðangr-conscript longships astray. Six die by the time of sighting of land, valiant hearts stoppered by wave-frozen cold. The forlorn call of the names bounce longship to longship, announcing the deaths of Named ones, extolling their deeds, giving their friends and families separated by differences in vessels boarded to mourn before the coming of the battle. Five names are called, one ignored. By this you know that one of the dead was unnamed, like you. Plucked from the bosom of your tribe without acknowledgement. The sea is a treacherous wife.

But land is more dangerous still. There, those rocks - do you see it? Yes! It is washed smooth by aeons of waves, black and nearly invisible, following the contours of the unsteady waters. The helmsman - is he blind? Why does he not cry out?

>"Watch out, you fool!" you shout. "Rocks!" Will he see it in time?

>Coastal waves can suddenly dash even the heaviest of longships into the land in the blink of an eye. You push against the helmsman, steer the ship away yourself.

>>3849506
>Coastal waves can suddenly dash even the heaviest of longships into the land in the blink of an eye. You push against the helmsman, steer the ship away yourself.
He probably won't listen to the words of a nameless boy. I'm not sure if we're strong enough yet, but we can at least try.

>>3849506
>Coastal waves can suddenly dash even the heaviest of longships into the land in the blink of an eye. You push against the helmsman, steer the ship away yourself.

>>3849506
>Coastal waves can suddenly dash even the heaviest of longships into the land in the blink of an eye. You push against the helmsman, steer the ship away yourself.

>>3849506
>>"Watch out, you fool!" you shout. "Rocks!" Will he see it in time?

>>3849506
>>Coastal waves can suddenly dash even the heaviest of longships into the land in the blink of an eye. You push against the helmsman, steer the ship away yourself.

>Coastal waves can suddenly dash even the heaviest of longships into the land in the blink of an eye. You push against the helmsman, steer the ship away yourself.

The helmsman is too busy watching the waves to react sufficiently. Caught flat-footed by your body throw, he threatens to spill out with a cry. Only quick-handed Steingrimmur's reaction saves him the fate of the frozen dead. Even as you turn the longship in a radical shift, he regains balance, stomps your way. In his hand is his spear, in his face anger. You aren't so sure he will be merely using the staff of his spear.

"Stop!" Steingrimmur says. "Look at that stone, helmsman. We almost froze to our deaths, and so near land. It would not be too much a pity to drown in warm Galician waters, but I prefer more the blazing hearths of our bold jarl - with plump Gaulish women in my arms," he adds with a barking laugh.

He speaks true. All aboard can see. The helmsman's furor abates, calms to a reluctant sullenness. "He could have warned me."

>"And would you have reacted in time?" you counter.

>You say nothing.

>>3849529
>>You say nothing.

>>3849506
>"Watch out, you fool!" you shout. "Rocks!" Will he see it in time?
If we fail to warn him, it's on him for not listening. If we fail to steer the boat after we push the helmsman, everyone on the ship will probably blame us if something bad happens.

>>3849529
>>You say nothing.

>>3849529
>>You say nothing.

>>3849529
>You say nothing.

>>3849506

>Coastal waves can suddenly dash even the heaviest of longships into the land in the blink of an eye. You push against the helmsman, steer the ship away yourself.

better get a beating than half our crew to be dead

>>3849529
>You say nothing.

>>You say nothing.

>You say nothing.

And you will do nothing. The styræsmand is lord of his vessel, and a nameless kindr giving lip to one such threatens the entire social fabric, even if he be the sole living son of the jarl. For the jarlar are in the end merely primus inter pares in this primitive commune, no true king but a leader as long as his name is held in greatest honour.

Know that the helmsman's attitude does nothing to raise his name. But neither has he challenged yours. Peace is restored after uneasy two-blinks where some of the drengir wait for you to retort. Yours is the valour to meet out dangers far beyond your years, but also initiative that would rival any quick-limbed drengr, and the wisdom to shut your mouth when circumstances dictate. Some notes this. Others, friends and kinsmen of the helmsman, shrug it off as chance, ill luck. Bjarni is an able seafarer, they say out loud among themselves. They say that the gods themselves must have raised that smooth-washed rock from the sea, or he would have seen it.

Steingrimmur, though a friend of the honoured styræsmand, maintains quiet. What curious child, he thinks, this Nameless one. If gods will it, he will become a good captain himself.

-=-

Night-shrouded waters lap against the smooth-sanded shore. A large Galician village celebrates the end of spring labours, a short break to begin an even shorter festivity before attending to the preparations necessary for autumn. The sun-warmed Gauls do not notice the dragonspouted longships nestled in the nooks of the rocky in-betweens where land meets water, for now. They are no fools, however. They know this is vikingr season when their unwelcome cousins from the ghastly north make headway to steal women and kill men. Sentries stand staring into the wine-dark sea. It is far too black to see anything, true. This is why they rely on wind-carried sound.

>Three d20s

Rolled 19 (1d20)

>>3849577

>>3849578
:D

Rolled 7 (1d20)

>>3849577

Rolled 15 (1d20)

>>3849577
Woman stealing is kind of meh, but hey, lets get this over with.

Rolled 18 (1d20)

>>3849577

>>3849577
>0MawI
roll(1d20)

>>3849591
>tfw dont know how to roll

>>3849593
options field
write
dice+1d20

Rolled 12 (1d20)

>>3849577

File: evgenij-kungur-1080.jpg (474 KB, 1920x801)

474 KB JPG

>7

Seven ships are still in the waves when the sentries spot them. What gave them away - clink of weapons, creak of wooden ships? It does not matter now. They cry out even as they are felled by cruel nordic spears. Brave men. Or uncaring. They would know that there is only death or enslavement in the hands of the northerners.

The settlement beyond is filled with uncertain shouts and frightened screams. City living has softened the Gauls. You step out with the twenty-something others. Each longship is also a military unit, twenty-four oars and one steersman (or helmsman) leading the group. You have lost two, but you were bundled as an extra, occupying little space and doing no rowing. The helmsman, Finngeir of name, shouts at the rowing-tired men to begin climbing up the beach incline toward the city. Plunder and death await.

And you hear a sound from a place some ways to the right of the Galician settlement itself. A familiar sound. One that you have made yourself so frequently in your past life.

"Forma! Ad signia!"

A visiting legate, you think, attending the feasts of these Gauls as the representative of Rome herself. And with him, a not insignificant detachment of the local legion.

>You countermand the order of the helmsman. "Romans!" you shout, with more volume than the others expect. "The legion must be broken in its formation or it is over!"

>The legion will form, and there will be deaths. But they cannot catch you all, even with all your loot and bound captives, caught in surprise as they are and slowed by their heavy arms. You meekly follow the lead of Finngeir.

>>3849616
Oh, this is a legitimately tough choice. I want to use Caesar's knowledge, but why would the others believe the words of a nameless boy?

>>3849616
>>You countermand the order of the helmsman. "Romans!" you shout, with more volume than the others expect. "The legion must be broken in its formation or it is over!"

deaql with the biggest threat before it fucks us over, time to die romans

>>3849616
>>You countermand the order of the helmsman. "Romans!" you shout, with more volume than the others expect. "The legion must be broken in its formation or it is over!"

>>3849616
>>You countermand the order of the helmsman. "Romans!" you shout, with more volume than the others expect. "The legion must be broken in its formation or it is over!"

>>3849616

>You countermand the order of the helmsman. "Romans!" you shout, with more volume than the others expect. "The legion must be broken in its formation or it is over!"

>>3849622
>>3849623
>>3849625
>>3849628

>Voice of Command
>Bo3 d20 [+5]

>>3849633
(the [+5] is to DC, not roll itself, and thus is beneficial)

Rolled 4 (1d20)

>>3849633
Surely you mean

Rolled 12 (1d20)

>>3849633

Rolled 1 (1d20)

>>3849633
this is to convince, or to actually fight? we are probably going to have heavy losses on this one

Rolled 4 (1d20)

>>3849633

>>3849641
>1
Nice, and for convincing

Rolled 9 (1d20)

>>3849633

There is power in your words, young Caesar Without Name. The men of Finngeir's retinue halt. Even those from other longships under the command of disparate captains are filled with an inexplicable urge to follow and throw their lives against the infamous Romans and their metal-clad soldiers.

The Nordmann is ill-clad for war. Only the wealthy can afford anything close to armour, and helmets are not commonplace, if perched atop heads, being dented and holed - leftovers from when its last owner gave it away freely and unwillingly. Every man is mandated to have a shield and spear. Nothing more. Two out of one are equipped with bows and arrows. But their fingers are too oar-stiff to bend the strings proper, and the legionaries too close.

You lead the charge against the metal-clad soldiers still in disarray, and see fear and consternation in their Mediterranean sun-browned faces. Some of them are young, but more old. Veterans who have been stationed in the north to guard Rome against Germanic incursions.

Old enough to have been yours, once.

Their banner unfurls just as you are three spear-lengths away from the closest legionary. It reads:

LEGIO IX HISPANA

Cue the laughter of thirsting gods.

>You stall, stop altogether, and throw down your weapon. This was your legion in a past life. Men you raised and led and bled and fought with, bound in a brotherhood closer than blood relations. "Stop!" you shout, and the flood of vikingr slow behind you.

>Pity and sadness does not stay your hand, Caesar. They stand now in your way - ignorant of your nature, certainly, but now is not the place nor the time to reveal any such thing. If there is one consolation, it is the speed with which they formed up mere minutes after the sentries were alerted. You are filled with paternal pride. Then you jump.

>>3849656
>Pity and sadness does not stay your hand, Caesar. They stand now in your way - ignorant of your nature, certainly, but now is not the place nor the time to reveal any such thing. If there is one consolation, it is the speed with which they formed up mere minutes after the sentries were alerted. You are filled with paternal pride. Then you jump.
We can shed a tear for them after, when we are alone. Right now, we are a nordman.

>>3849656
>>Pity and sadness does not stay your hand, Caesar. They stand now in your way - ignorant of your nature, certainly, but now is not the place nor the time to reveal any such thing. If there is one consolation, it is the speed with which they formed up mere minutes after the sentries were alerted. You are filled with paternal pride. Then you jump.

>>3849656
>Pity and sadness does not stay your hand, Caesar. They stand now in your way - ignorant of your nature, certainly, but now is not the place nor the time to reveal any such thing. If there is one consolation, it is the speed with which they formed up mere minutes after the sentries were alerted. You are filled with paternal pride. Then you jump.

>>3849656
>Pity and sadness does not stay your hand, Caesar. They stand now in your way - ignorant of your nature, certainly, but now is not the place nor the time to reveal any such thing. If there is one consolation, it is the speed with which they formed up mere minutes after the sentries were alerted. You are filled with paternal pride. Then you jump.

Good place for a break, I think. Vote is still open but no more updates until tomorrow. Thoughts so far? Wasn't expecting vikings and I know little about them, so had to go on a quick wiki pillaging.

>>3849688
nice, I expect our raid to take a turn for the worse now that we are facing romans, but if the peasants flee we can atleast pillage the roman's weapons, that should get us a very nice houl

>>3849688
It's been good so far, nicely in your old style. Hopefully it'll go on that way. One thing is on my mind, though: are we going back to Sinae eventually?

>>3849688
expected them to be picked even if I didnt want them . but it is fun to imagine ceasar as a viking what will that make?
Carous rex?

>>3849695
Depends on the way long-term votes go

>>3849698
Charlemagne? It can be that it will remain small scale since the north will be very difficult to unify

>>3849656
>>Pity and sadness does not stay your hand, Caesar. They stand now in your way - ignorant of your nature, certainly, but now is not the place nor the time to reveal any such thing. If there is one consolation, it is the speed with which they formed up mere minutes after the sentries were alerted. You are filled with paternal pride. Then you jump.

Its sad, but i doubt we could solve this peacefully. If we don't fight, they will kill us.

>>3849701
Since we're Norse can we go West to America instead?

dice 1d20

>>3849711
I would not be opposed to viking caesar conquering vinland

>>3849656
>Pity and sadness does not stay your hand, Caesar. They stand now in your way - ignorant of your nature, certainly, but now is not the place nor the time to reveal any such thing. If there is one consolation, it is the speed with which they formed up mere minutes after the sentries were alerted. You are filled with paternal pride. Then you jump.

>>3849711
That would be a cool alt his

>>3849656
>Pity and sadness does not stay your hand, Caesar. They stand now in your way - ignorant of your nature, certainly, but now is not the place nor the time to reveal any such thing. If there is one consolation, it is the speed with which they formed up mere minutes after the sentries were alerted. You are filled with paternal pride. Then you jump.

>>3849704
Theoretically, if we write a letter to loyalist whom we know a secret that only the two of us can know. It's possible to convince him to a meeting.

>>3849711
I love this idea far more than I probably should.

Though fucking up Eastern Europe for land or unifying with our Germanic cousins is also tempting.

>>3849711
A Western voyage strikes me as a bit bland. Maybe it's just me, but the notion doesn't really hold any appeal.
Either staying in Europe and unifying Scandinavia with Germany in a new empire or going east to recreate our aims from the first Commentarii would be more interesting, I think.

>Implying the best option isn't to venture (north)east and pull an extremely Swedish empire off
No Poltava if there's no Russia bois

>>3850656
Rurik was a viking anyway, so it could just end up being Russia.

>>3850578
it should be arround 34 BC given that ceasar died 44 BC we can go to east med to see what happens in 30 years

>>Pity and sadness does not stay your hand, Caesar. They stand now in your way - ignorant of your nature, certainly, but now is not the place nor the time to reveal any such thing. If there is one consolation, it is the speed with which they formed up mere minutes after the sentries were alerted. You are filled with paternal pride. Then you jump.

Hark! The beauteous valkyrjur have taken flight, leaving behind those fire-comforted halls to harvest the worthwhile dead. Many will see their fathers and fathers' fathers tonight, faced against Roman steel and Roman discipline as they are. Already the pila are flying - the drengir throw down their wooden shields, useless now with broken spears dangling from their sides. Others lie dead, the javelins having found their mark. After having survived so long, eluded death from natural and unnatural means—

How transient, the life of man.

You are the first to reach the massed ranks of the milites arraigned against you and your kind. You can see the disdain under their noble Roman brows - savages, barbarians, forsakers of civilisation. How well you understand that disdain. You drilled it into these men yourself.

And now, you will break them.

>You abandon yourself to the berserk-rage of your savage blood-ancestors.

>There is a methodical calm to your butchery, one only seasoned campaigners of a true army can possess.

This is beautiful. Just saying.

>>3850892

>There is a methodical calm to your butchery, one only seasoned campaigners of a true army can possess.

We can get furious warriors any time we want. Disciplined soldiers are much more valuable. And by getting the best of both, we will win.

>>3850893
Thanks! Also just realised I didn't put my name on

>>3850892
>>There is a methodical calm to your butchery, one only seasoned campaigners of a true army can possess.

>>3850892
>>You abandon yourself to the berserk-rage of your savage blood-ancestors.

>>3850892
>There is a methodical calm to your butchery, one only seasoned campaigners of a true army can possess.

>>3850892
>There is a methodical calm to your butchery, one only seasoned campaigners of a true army can possess.

>>3850894
>>3850906
>>3850943

Lift the necks of victim-lambs, stir the sacrificial pyres. Let us see how Wotan and his court fare against Mars, Avenger and Dominator.

The time for divination is come. Roll the aleae, hear the rattle of ivory against dirt.

>Three d20

Rolled 8 (1d20)

>>3850955

Rolled 11 (1d20)

>>3850955

Rolled 10 (1d20)

>>3850955

Rolled 15 (1d20)

>>3850955

shit, this is gonna hurt

>8

You are exalted among Man, nameless though you be. See how you stride amidst the dead with eyes of storming grey and lightning gold! Demigod! Arrester of heavens' will! Your kind walked the earth in aeons past when warriors clad in bronze lived and died according to the woven looms of Fate.

Vikingar dead trail your footsteps, unarmoured in life, unarmed in death; lifted to a glory of eternal afterlife nevertheless, carried on by winged chariots of warm-fleshed she-warriors, the inimitable valkyrjur, who will be their mates in the halls of war - where the hearth is warm and the drinking-horns are never emptied. Weep not for those brave, bold, savage, barbaric comrades, for they go to a better place. Better than your eventual destination. Ah! Doom lays thick on your waifish shoulders. Death is not come for you yet.

The first six, the bravest six, six who ran closest with you - Thinur, Salvar, Rafn, Vilbogi, Uddi, Ylur; remember their names! They died by your side today with the names of their forefathers in their lips, the first to do so but not the last, felled by ten times as many pila of the second wave. Two pierce you as well, unarmoured as you are, the lean sailors' shirt giving way, holding little in the way of resistance. To your side, an organ hit; against your left arm, your shield arm, piercing through the forearm.

But you are not dead. You have arrived before the tall proud men of Rome, and it is now that the slaughter begins.

>Three d20

Rolled 18 (1d20)

>>3850955

Rolled 18 (1d20)

>>3850966

Rolled 7 (1d20)

>>3850966
Watch this save

Rolled 3 (1d20)

>>3850966

>>3850971
Nice save, but it will still cost us, the guys are tough

Don't know if many raiders will be left at the end, we are going the way of Phyrrus

>>3850973
Going northerner is basically hardmode

>>3850973
They would have broken us one way or another- these are the legions so near to their absolute prime, after all. Our mistake was getting caught at all.

>>3850975
The eternal dilema for these guys, even in the face of a superior foe, you must not back down and show valor, how else are the valkyries to find the bright light emanating from oir brave dead hearts if you chest is buried in the mud because we turned tail and ran?

If those she-warriors do exist, they will see us proud, in life or death.

Nameless One [22/30]
>Combat = +95DC [Injured -5DC, Unnatural Strength +20DC, Godsoul +20DC, Nordmann +10DC, Legionary Elite +10DC, Inimitable Experience +25DC, Spear of Ash +5DC, Shield of Oak +5DC, Outnumbered [7] -35DC]
>Armour Value = 10AV [Shield of Oak +10DC]

VS

>7
Legionary Contubernium
Decanus Aemilius
Miles Lukotorix
Miles Malo
Miles Tinkomaros
Miles Stefanos
Miles Bomilcar
Miles Oxyntasia
>Combat = 100DC [Imperial Discipline +10DC, Gladii +10DC, Scuta +10DC, Comrades-In-Arms +70DC]

>Combat 45DC
>Three rolls of 100

Rolled 72 (1d100)

>>3850988

Rolled 84 (1d100)

>>3850988
Not true latins, these? Aside from the decanus of course.

>>3850991
Would you deny those faithful Germans who served as your bodyguards in the fields of war the appellation of being Roman?

Rolled 51 (1d100)

>>3850988

>>3850992
Latins I said, not Romans. Some small comfort.

>>3850989
>>3850991
>>3850993

>Zero Success

Gratifying, is it not? To see your legacy so well enduring. The soldiers do not falter. Shields raised, dagger-like gladii nip against your flesh from between the solid wall of wood and embossed metal, darting in and out - too quick and numerous for you to counter. You are filled with stab-wounds the likes of which would fell lesser men.

Do you remember, Caesar? The fateful day in the Theatre of Pompeius? Twenty three times you were stabbed by Romans, true Romans, they who believed they were doing the ailing Republic good.

>Three rolls of 100, DC40

Rolled 23 (1d100)

>>3851000

Rolled 63 (1d100)

>>3851000

Rolled 52 (1d100)

>>3851000

You are near death, but not dead. It is a frightening sight to behold - this child-warrior, bleeding gold from two dozen wounds, ignoring the gutting shaft-broken pila that drag on with him. He does not cry out in pain, nor does he stall in his relentless march. For a march it is - no barbarian rage-fuelled charge, this, but a series of footsteps calculated, designed. The decanus falls first, and his veteran lieutenant the next. Spear-thrusts made with more vigour than is possible in this bleeding child bores through their armour, crumbling Hispanian steel as dry paper.

The name of Mars is on their lips, those stoic, silent legionaries - they have broken their verbal fast, spoken and screamed out loud in terror. Even the centurions, those brave, bold men without peer, they join the chant, the supplicating not-prayers, for they know that the gods have abandoned them. How can it be, that a child - a stripling of a decade - would crash through the ranks of legionaries, tried and true in the Germanian front? What freak accident is this? They cry that Mars has forsaken them to die in this foreign land. Mars! Mars! Why have you abandoned us?

Mars turns his proud head aside. For in this day, this is the dominion of the stern warfathers of the north, the cruel yet generous ones who freely accept the souls of worthy warriors to their immortal halls. Avenging Mars will not forget this day, the day his legion-lives were shattered against the thrust of the northern horde. His eyes are not on you, for they are on the hoar-frosted beards of Wotan and his ululating æsir. How he hates those bearded god-things of the north.

Look how the waves of vikingar follow through your example, running like the very sea-waves themselves, crashing, overwhelming, destroying those neatly-arrayed lines of Rome. Destroying what you have created. There is a perversity in this moment. The gods - save anguished Mars, the life-concerned Mars - smile and nod, trading ambrosia-filled goblets and making merry, for they have scored against you either way.

Curse the name of Mother Juno, she who hated scions of Troy ever since Paris, accursed, lust-stricken Paris, stole Helen from her rightful husband and began a war that rose above all wars. Rage, rage against the sycophantic Jupiter, who would rather have a quiet marriage-bed than fight to assert his will within the collegiate of the gods.

You feel more than hear yourself fall. Blood everywhere dews the night earth misty red, pounding like beans spilled over drums with the footsteps of the rampaging vikingar. They have been roused to their blood-fury, shamed to take to the sword by the example of a Nameless kindr against such superior foes. A giant hand takes you with ease, turning your motionless head to face its owner - your father, knelt onto viscera-soured ground. He weeps into your childish chest, ignoring the death of the bold drengir.

You weep to the slaughter of the brave Romans.

The battle is yours.

>>3851025
Welp, if we are dead where are our valkyries?!
I demand shieldmaiden puss!

"He still holds breath."

"We do not carry the dead on our longships. It is not done."

"He is still alive."

"And he will die soon. Listen to me, Haakon. Listen!"

A sound of choked grief.

"There. It is fine to cry. Your son was brave today. If he isn't brought to Valhǫll, then it is not a place worth going to, nei? He saved us. Routed the Romans. The Romans!" A sad laugh. "Would that our scouts had keen ears as his."

"I will string the hall with their innards—"

"Calm! They are not to blame. The Romans were not here when they came to spy in these lands in the spring. Ill fate. Nothing more."

"The seiðkona should have foreseen this."

"The men of steel? They are beyond the remit of her like. They have their own gods, their own magics. How can you blame her for it? How can you blame anyone for his death? You know just as well as I, Haakon. All deaths are fated. It is the manner in which one dies that raises one's name."

"...but he had no name."

A name. You stir from what was meant to be your death-bed. You open your eyes and see what was once a Gaulish chieftain's abode, the owner now dead, likely as not. Your body was cleaned while you were unconscious. You are dressed in clean warm clothing foreign to your ten winters in the north. Linen. Dyed wool. Such luxuries are ill-afforded up in the hinterlands. The looting must be proceeding apace.

Your revival goes unnoticed by jarl Haakon, your father, and his bosom-friend and half brother Sigtyr. There is a moment to think on what to take up as your name.

>Name suggestions?

>>3851027
>Thurgestr
Latinized to Turgesius, which sounds good.

https://www.nordicnames.de/wiki/List_of_approved_Icelandic_male_names#Y_.2F_.C3.9D

This is a good resource for names

>>3851027
Vakur

>>3851033
Old Norse vakr = 'wakeful', 'watchful', 'alert', 'valiant', 'brave', 'fast'

>>3851030
Þórgestr - thunder/thundering + stranger/guest

>>3851035
Vakr sound awesome
Watchful because of the stones thing
Brave and fast, the first to the romans

Describes well our naming saga

>>3851044
Has a nice ring to it doesn't it?

>>3851027
"Einar". A warrior who stands alone.

Vakr

Cæsar
Cýrus
Cesar
for maximun ironi

>>3851080
>>3851044
+1

>>3851044
Support

A raised hand, a word rasped out: "Vakur." The two brothers still at your voice. "That will be my name," you continue. "I was brave today, wasn't I, papa?"

Cragged palms cup your chin. Callused fingers that have known little but the wood of swordhilts and spears run along your cheek with a newfound wonder as though you are a just-born, freshly brought into the world. "My son lives."

"The other captains will not like bringing so wounded a man," your uncle says cautiously. A man. To think you had to go to so far to gain the approval of these barbarians. A smile creeps up on your face. The movement brings fresh jolts of pain. You must have scruffed it heavily. A head-bash from some legionary's scutum, or a simple punch? It is all a blur. There is no order in personal combat.

"I will bring him in my ship."

The greatest of taboos - to burden a longship with a near-corpse. Uncle Sigtyr sighs. "No."

"You have no say in this. This is my son."

"I will bring him back in mine. Peace - don't look so angry. I know that your oarsmen trust you. Enough to commit this sacrilege. But you must remember, Haakon, you are not the leader of one longship. You led us here. All of us. And you will bring us back."

"I would not let you do something so..." hesitation fogs his voice.

"Blasphemous? Too late to worry what the gods might think of this," your uncle says wryly. "His body should have been piled on to the pyre hours ago." Precious few medicine men among the northerners, and none that can be spared for dangerous raids. Thus do the incurably wounded find solace in a quick slit of the throat, burning of the flesh. "Let him make the return trip with me. We will stand back, so that the rest of the longship fleet not be cursed together. Oh, hesitations and pauses!" he chides when your father falls silent. "Where is the bold Haakon who proposed to the girl half the village had their eyes on?"

You find yourself comforted by the easy laughter of your uncle. Half-brother he may be, but the Nordmenn care little for such details. Death is their neighbour, remarriages a fact of life. Why grudge the inclusion of children from different mothers, fathers?

"Go, Haakon," your uncle says. "I will take care of the boy. With the sacrifice of my oarsmen, if need be. You have my word."

"I would never ask for you to go so far, Sig."

"But I'm offering anyway. Now fly! You have a fleet to lead."

>>3851629
>You nod wordlessly and accept the cup, hoping your stomach will not hurl.
Can't trust barbarian water. Might have plague in it.

-=-

The longships that so quietly snuck to the coastland - familiar to you, though not these Nordmenn - now fade away gently, the only hint of their departure subdued ripples in the unnaturally still waters. Watching them fade into the fog-laden sea is strange. You were never one for the sea. Too unstable. Give me two solid earth to support my feet, you think. Like a Roman. The sea has ever been hostile to your former race.

A pyre is burning. It emanates delicious smell of burning pork in frying fat. And you gag, knowing it to be the flesh of dead men. A bloody, fiery altar for their aloof gods of war.

You shiver into your woolen blanket.

"Can you drink?"

You turn to find Sigtyr. He carries a goblet of mead. You can smell its reek even from this distance. For some reason, the Nordmenn are fiercely taken to their vile drink of rotten honey-and-fruits. Sharper and stinkier than civilised wine, but grape does not grow in the cold north. It is simultaneously an offence against your palate and an unspoken praise, an acknowledgement of your impending adulthood. The only time children are given mead is during festivals. In others, they must steal and scrounge it from the plates of their fathers.

Not that you ever did. You despise the drink.

>"I would much prefer water," you say, wrinkling your nose.

>You nod wordlessly and accept the cup, hoping your stomach will not hurl.

>>3851633
No need to revote, I was just removing a typo - had to do it two times because I forgot to put the correction in the second one =_=

>>3851636
>You nod wordlessly and accept the cup, hoping your stomach will not hurl.
Corpses burning kind of tend to emanate a smell quite opposite to "Delicious" but ok.

>>3851629


>You nod wordlessly and accept the cup, hoping your stomach will not hurl.
Why offend the guy who is risking for us?

>>3851641
What does it smell like? Asking for, uh, reasons.

>>3851636
>>You nod wordlessly and accept the cup, hoping your stomach will not hurl.

>>3851645
it's not very appetizing because you have all the nasty parts burning too and releasing their smell

if it was a choice cut over a barbecue I bet it would smell delicious tho

>>3851655
Sure, let's go with that. Entrails of war-prisoners not valuable enough to bring back cut out as burnt offerings to the gods for the sake of safe journey home.

>>3851655
>>3851645
for the same reason, if you throw an entire dead pig into a bonfire the smell will not be good too

>>3851645
Well, burning hair tends to factor into the smell quite a lot.

A firefighter explained it as "Burnt Beef, Burnt Hair, the smell and taste of coagulated blood, and a hint of burning plastic."
I fortunately can't speak from personal experience.

>You nod wordlessly and accept the cup, hoping your stomach will not hurl.

It is touch and go from the moment the cold quasi-liquid touches your lips and down your throat, but you manage to keep it down. Barely. "Good man," your uncle laughs, slapping your shoulder. That undoes that. "Ah-h, you're like Haakon. Never cared for his mead, too. To think, we chose for our jarl a man who can't hold his drink. Here, have mine. And don't worry, I won't slap your back this time."

You gingerly take the offered drinking horn. Nothing but to go through this. You are feeling pretty thirsty, and water of unknown provenance can hardly be trusted.

"Steingrimmur tells me you fought like Thor himself last night," he says, watching the waves lap the grey shore. "A child beyond his years."

"Not well enough."

"Too hard on yourself, child." You give him a look. "Don't look at me like that. You haven't been officially named yet, and that cannot happen until we return home. A raid is not over until it is fully concluded. The golden blood has people talking."

Ah. You spilled copious amounts, enough not to be able to hide it. "Is it a bad omen?"

"Well, not necessarily," uncle Sigtyr says. "But it is magic. And not everyone looks well on seið. On the other hand... I have a hard time believing you would be breathing were it not for this. Who is to say it is not a blessing of the gods?"

You hide your bitter smile neath the rim of the drinking vessel.

>"Why did you volunteer to stay behind?"

>"And how do you feel about magic, uncle?"

>>3851687
>>"Why did you volunteer to stay behind?"

>>3851687

>"And how do you feel about magic, uncle?"

>>3851687
>"Why did you volunteer to stay behind?"

>>3851687
>"And how do you feel about magic, uncle?

>>3851687

>"Why did you volunteer to stay behind?"

>>3851645
Smells like burnt pork and burning hair. First time I smelled burning man flesh I couldn't eat pork for months and barbequed pork for even longer. The smell... it's far too similar to pork except with more burning hair and plastic. Overall a memory I would prefer to forget. Though I've heard that babies smell like fish when cooked for some reason. Fortunately, I never had to confirm that.

Admittedly it smells FAR worse if the corpses were allowed to rot before burning. That results in a far more miserable odor. The smell of burning rot is awful.

>>3851687
>"And how do you feel about magic, uncle?"

>"Why did you volunteer to stay behind?"

>>3851687
>"And how do you feel about magic, uncle?"

>>3852179
Are you a firefighter anon?

4 : 4

:I

I'll be back in the thread later in the afternoon

>>3852682
"and how do you feel about volunteering to stay behind, my magic uncle?"

>>3851687
>"Why did you volunteer to stay behind?"

>"Why did you volunteer to stay behind?"

He answers your question with another question. "Two animals in the forest are caught by traps. One finds the metal teeth wedged tight against its neck, the other biting secure its feet. Which would you say will find release before the hunter returns to check the spoils of his work?"

"The foot-bound one," you answer. "He will gnaw his feet to the bones and leave, limping but free."

He nods. "Better to sacrifice the unimportant man for the good of the clan, lad. Your father is a very important figure. Not just because he's the jarl, but because he was found worthy of being it. When he ceases to be, he will have to step down, let some hot-headed youngster wrangle with its duties and responsibilities, but that time is not yet come. Even Finngeir the Rash dare not challenge mighty Haakon to the hólmganga. And likely will not be doing so, not until the beard falling to his chest turns snow-white."

There is some wisdom in that. Centuries of hard living has geared the Nordmann to look to the continuation of the whole, not the self, though it is limited within the tribal structure - nowhere near close the megalithic society of humankind you once envisaged. But it is there, a primitive, tinkling echo of the universal dream. The society is the ultimate expression of that which is human.

One day, you will turn these fragmented northerners to part of a greater whole. That day is not today. It may not even be within the century. But someday. Little is of certainty in your chaos-filled world.

Yes, there is some folkish wisdom in his words. But it is incomplete. "That is an animal's impulse," you reply. "You underestimate the import of yourself and your longship, uncle. Loss of an entire crew - all twenty-odd oarsmen - that is a blow severe, no matter how you look at it. No organism can live long were it to self-cannibalise its limbs every time it meets difficulties and troubles. Sooner or later, the noose will tighten, and it will find that it has none but its head left to give."

"Ho? The manling thinks to give advice to his greybeards!" your uncle says jokingly. "How then would you resolve the situation, pray? What will you do when you find yourself against such a threat?"

How indeed will you act when you find entities greater than yourself spinning the loom of treachery to weave great plots against you and your kind?

>"A dog is a wolf made familiar and friendly," you reply. "Why waste away in the wild when the trapper may provide a means of symbiosis?" Better to survive a lap-dog of the once-enemy than to face starvation every winter. Is it not, Caesar?

>"As you say, uncle, the animal would chew its leg off to flee. But that is an animal compelled by base instincts and fear. A human would remain in the trap."

>>3852834

>"As you say, uncle, the animal would chew its leg off to flee. But that is an animal compelled by base instincts and fear. A human would remain in the trap."

>>3852834
o shit I dont think they will apreciate our answer
but fuck it
>>"A dog is a wolf made familiar and friendly," you reply. "Why waste away in the wild when the trapper may provide a means of symbiosis?" Better to survive a lap-dog of the once-enemy than to face starvation every winter. Is it not, Caesar?

>>3852834
>>"As you say, uncle, the animal would chew its leg off to flee. But that is an animal compelled by base instincts and fear. A human would remain in the trap."

>"As you say, uncle, the animal would chew its leg off to flee. But that is an animal compelled by base instincts and fear. A human would remain in the trap."

>>3852834
>>"As you say, uncle, the animal would chew its leg off to flee. But that is an animal compelled by base instincts and fear. A human would remain in the trap."

>>3852871
>A human would remain in the trap
And what would a human do in a trap? Fool or bargain with the hunter?

>>3852882
pretend to be dead or harmless and ambush the hunter!

>>3852834
>"As you say, uncle, the animal would chew its leg off to flee. But that is an animal compelled by base instincts and fear. A human would remain in the trap."

>"As you say, uncle, the animal would chew its leg off to flee. But that is an animal compelled by base instincts and fear. A human would remain in the trap."

And in doing so, you would meet the trapper, gaining a chance to eliminate not the threat but the source itself. Reckless? Undoubtedly. But any other choice is a prolonged extinction. Humanity does not have eternity to achieve its dream. There are forces within and without that conspire eternally for its downfall. Better to endure the temporary pain to know your opponent than to dance around the blades in the dark.

Uncle Sigtyr chuckles, unknowing of the extent of this conversation allegorical. "You will be a mighty chieftain yourself one day, with that kind of determination," he says, standing up and streching his limbs. "One day. And may my children's children see it - the glory you will bring to our clan! But you are a patient today. No more entrapping yourself for now, nephew. Let us return to the cottage. Arnulfur will have prepared the porridge."

Turning against the summer dawn rising in the west, your uncle lifts your blanket-wrapped body and carries you bed. He has promised to wait for the fleet to depart in full lest the gods curse the whole leiðangr, and wait he will, him and his faithful oarsmen the only living souls in the once thriving Galician settlement - as soon as you are healed enough to endure the journey north.

Dally overlong, and you may hear the leather sandals of the vengeful Romans.

>Three d10

Rolled 1 (1d10)

>>3852940

Rolled 8 (1d10)

>>3852940

Rolled 8 (1d10)

>>3852940
the norse gods protect!

Rolled 8 (1d10)

>>3852940

>>3852946
>>3852944
>>3852943
that's a whole bunch of 8s

Rolled 10 (1d10)

>>3852940

Rolled 9 (1d10)

>>3852940

Rolled 8 (1d10)

>>3852940

File: Perilous Journey.jpg (267 KB, 1044x1285)

267 KB JPG

>1

Arise, Higher Being.

Your flesh, scourged by the trials of battle, now glisten anew with unnatural health. Such travails has it suffered in its short life: hacked, torn apart, twisted by such things of cold iron and wood. Scars criss cross your young flesh in streaks of white, no more the ugly red gash of raw meat chopped to the ivory bone. Pale points of newborn flesh mark where the dozens of Roman javelins pierced deep your body, those cruel things in their impossibility to wrest out without those iron heads collecting their dues of the flesh.

All in the course of a single day. It is a veritable miracle. Could it be a sign of respect from the warfathers in their fire-lit halls, a gesture of friendship? Or is it perchance a mark of grace, royal gift lowered unto a subject who accomplished a service for their martial majesties for having up-shown the Greco-Roman god of war? No Hermes appears to detail the how or why; yours is to receive, theirs to grant. Such is the way of the northern gods, inscrutable in their unpredictable generosities.

The men take your renewal without comment. Pushing the last remaining longboat communally-owned (as is the way of the Nordmenn, for no man, not even a chieftain, can sail of the dragon-headed ships by himself) by the oarsmen and helmsman both, they carefully skid across the sand-gravelled shores to allow her to float on water once more. They do not grumble a passenger in you, freakish and disturbing though you be, but an uneasy silence pervades the party, nothing like the trade of banter of the sailor-warriors on the last legs of a successful raid. For in their eyes, you have ceased to be the little Haakonsson, child of the jarl and nephew to much-liked Sigtyr. They saw you die. Or come near to it so as for the distinction to not matter. Now you sit among them, nibbling your sea-brined crackers, sipping the watered-down mead. Ready for the return trip home.

Unlike the others who went before them, you will travel alone, a fragment of a fleet left to fend for itself. No one will hear your drowning cries come the waves; none will mark your passing and its manner in the calm after the storm.

So live, little Dreamer. Do not allow the unspeakable things of the sea to become your nightmare's end.

>Three d20

Sorry for the late update, fell asleep after lying on bed after getting neck ache. Good night

Rolled 10 (1d20)

>>3853876
Watch this critical fail!

Rolled 9 (1d20)

>>3853876
May Ran give us passage or use our body to feed her beasts, whatever comes

>>3853876

Rolled 19 (1d20)

>>3853876

>>3853926
>>3853929
I fucked up my first roll and then I roll a fucking 19. Hopefully, my luck improves by tomorrow.

Rolled 8 (1d20)

>>3853876

OHHHH SHIT FORTUNA IS BACK

>>3854212
It's fukken awesome, innit? We /frozenbarbarians/ now

Just caught up, this is a blessed quest OP. Play on.

ded?

>>3855189
Nah, Fortuna's gonna settle into normal posting soon

on another note, part of me broke when we had to kill the same Romans we raised

>>3855847
We didn't have a choice. It would have been different if there was someone high ranking whom we personally knew as we could use them to confirm our previous identity. Since the QM stated there wasn't anyone present there we personally knew then we had no choice.

>>3854231
I do love this.
>>3853876
So fortuna is this to replace the china quest? I do like norse more so i dont mind it. Or are we having alternate alternate realities or multiple Cesars here?

>>3855905
I said that you knew this legion. Caesar made it a habit of memorising the names of his legionaries. Sooooo...

>>3856224
Yeah, sorta, it's a reboot

>>3855847
Internet died, not my fault

>9

Home is the creaking of ships moored upland against errant waves and the rain. It is the dance of the flames on night-time torches of the watchmen against the night and the forest, the spill of golden hearth-light between the cracks of crudely joined wooden walls.

Waterlogged and pickled with sea-salt, you hop down the gravel-sand. Even the beach sounds different, all rough and pebbled and covered with forest-sticks. The warm Galician sun has not followed you north. The others follow suit, silent as wraith-lords - no cheer among them from having passed through the lonely gauntlet. Their return has cost them dearly - nine souls, each dear friends. A ship's crew know each other intimately. After all, they must entrust their lives to each other. And the styræsmand - captain, helmsman, and navigator in one - ties them all together in a web of personal loyalty. That is the kind of person your uncle is.

That is the kind of person Finngeir is.

He watches you with fire in his eyes, one with the crowd but set apart by his height, his noble birth. No doubt there - that is envy and anger and all the dark things smouldering in a man whose command was taken from him in a most unusual manner. The man resents you, dear Caesar. He thinks you have wrested from him that which gave him honour and respect.

And a man's honour is such a delicate thing in this eternally-frozen land.

His gaze burns the back of your head, making it hard to pay attention to the gothi, name-giver and priest of the barbarians. Not too dissimilar, the old man, with the druidae that you put at end to with the sword mere decades ago. The only difference would be that the druids of the Celts worked in groups. The gothi is one and alone. You wonder if they ever convene in circles as their southron cousins have done.

"You left a stranger, a child," the old man speaks, rattling his rowan staff. There are fragrant dried herbs tied as accessories, runic symbols carved with dark-red ink. "And you return, a nameless guest."

[1/3]

"No guest am I, father," you reply. "But Haakonsson, chieftain of the three tribes of Lade. No child, either, for I have slain a man in the heat of battle - I have taken possession from the Unnamed with force. But you are correct in that I am nameless, though I have accomplished deeds enough for five sǫgurnar. For this, I demand a Name, and I shall not move from this hall until I have been granted one."

"Does he speak true?" the gothi says, peering into the crowd. "Or speak he lies and deceit only to gain his Name and join the three tribes of Lade?"

"He speaks the truth." Uncle Sigtyr steps forward. "Father, I have seen him take the lead against the Romans whose iron is death. I saw him die a hundred-fold, stabbed and hacked by their ingenious weapons, and take as many lives as they thought they did from him."

The aged priest says: "You speak as though you mourn a dead man."

Your uncle nods "And dead he should be, but Wotan saw otherwise. Look! See the pale blade-marks, the entry-wounds that would make the One-Eyed Father himself shiver in pain. I say to you that he received enough wound to kill five men, but rose up again in a single day."

"Sorcery and magic," a sneering voice. Finngeir, son of nobility, must you rush off to meet your forefathers so soon? "So the brat has been healed by sorceries. What more might we find - a glamour, perhaps? Some wicked disguise by the elf-children to plant one of theirs among our midst?"

Your uncle would attack him there and then - how he rages, blood-boiling, the blood of the Nordmenn who cannot take insult. It is your father's steely arms that binds him in his place. This is hallowed ground here. No violence can happen here, not without the say-so of the man of gods.

The dream-rousing petals have been scattered and crushed. They induce the truth out of men and women both, or so the gothi says. You know better. It is a psychidelic. And it turns men herb-drunk.

"Would you contest Sigtyr's claim, Finngeir the Rash?" the gothi chuckles, voice laced with unsubtle warning. "You bring death on your head if you disrupt the rites with flippant accusations."

"Then let me give something more concrete, Father," he says. "A matter that Sigtyr, honoured captain, would not dispute. That child, nameless and without title, took from me - wrested my command! He had the gall to command me and mine to the charge, a call that only the styræsmand can give. The other captains are silent," his words take a jeering tone. "Are they perhaps overawed by the reputation of his father? Haakon of the Six Sons! If the first five of his sons were as mighty as he, then they would be among us as colleagues, captains, steersmen and helmers of sea-steeds. I have more raids under my belt than the sons of Haakon-chieftain combined.

[2/3]

"Hear me, Father! The child who is nothing dared strike against the very foundation of our hallowed traditions. Not even Named, he would commit such sacrilege. What other atrocities might the fey-touched brat commit to break down our ancient brotherhood?"

"A one-sided version of a tale is often as misleading as none," your father says without emotion.

"Ask my oarsmen, they who took your son to to your attack site, the place filled with so many Romans," he retorts. "They will speak true, and truer still for having seen him in action on a ship."

"They have no say in this gathering," the speaker for warfathers of the wooden halls says flatly. "All free man may convene to a Naming, but only the captains of ships may put forward claims." He is patient, the priest. Would have to be. Tribal societies are so very fragile, dependent on an interlinked system of honour and mutual respect that is threatened by a single rash actor. See how Finngeir darkens the mood of what is supposed to be a jubilant occasion - the Naming of the chieftain's son! Here and there, a whispered muttering of agreement. A rift has been formed, factions fomented.

Only blood can wash over such crevasses of human relations now.

"My honour has been put to question by the child, who would fancy himself a leader of men before the conclusion of his first battle," Finngeir of the fair hair growls. "I demand satisfaction by the hólmganga."

A challenge to a duel. And you were so looking forward to getting a good night's sleep, too.

>"I thank you for your verbosity, fair-headed Finngeir. It has given me time to rest my travel-soaked bones." [COMITAS]

>"I would ask one thing - we do this to the first blood, not to the death." Let him interpret that as you suing for mercy, if he wishes. It is always a tragedy to lose seasoned captains of men. [CLEMENTIA]

>You laugh. "It truly is easier to find men who will volunteer to die, than it is to find those who would bear pain with patience. Finngeir Finnbogisson, would you truly throw your life away for a moment of military necessity?" [DIGNITAS]

>You are a child of few words. "Very well." [GRAVITAS]

>>3856481
>>"I would ask one thing - we do this to the first blood, not to the death." Let him interpret that as you suing for mercy, if he wishes. It is always a tragedy to lose seasoned captains of men. [CLEMENTIA]

he truly has no choice but to chalenge us, I see no ill intent, we did offend his honor by giving his men orders, I would not like to throw the few lives we have away, and an experienced one at that, good enough to survive the legion

>>3856481
>"I would ask one thing - we do this to the first blood, not to the death." Let him interpret that as you suing for mercy, if he wishes. It is always a tragedy to lose seasoned captains of men. [CLEMENTIA]

>>3856481
>>You are a child of few words. "Very well." [GRAVITAS]
We are still nameless . Let us respect the seriousness of this duel .There is still chance that we lose, so if we do let it be with dignity

>>3856481
>>You are a child of few words. "Very well." [GRAVITAS]

>>3856481

>"I would ask one thing - we do this to the first blood, not to the death." Let him interpret that as you suing for mercy, if he wishes. It is always a tragedy to lose seasoned captains of men. [CLEMENTIA]

>>3856481
>You are a child of few words. "Very well." [GRAVITAS]

>>3856481
>You are a child of few words. "Very well." [GRAVITAS]

>>3856481
>You are a child of few words. "Very well." [GRAVITAS]

>>3856481
>You are a child of few words. "Very well."

>>You are a child of few words. "Very well." [GRAVITAS]

>>3856481
>You are a child of few words. "Very well." [GRAVITAS]

>>3856481
>"I thank you for your verbosity, fair-headed Finngeir. It has given me time to rest my travel-soaked bones."

>>3856481
>"I would ask one thing - we do this to the first blood, not to the death." Let him interpret that as you suing for mercy, if he wishes. It is always a tragedy to lose seasoned captains of men. [CLEMENTIA]

>>3856481
>You are a child of few words. "Very well." [GRAVITAS]

While we wait for Fortuna I thought about coming up with some goals for when we become the Jarl.

.1 We need to find a way to increase our population. Nearly going extinct every year can't continue if we're going to be something greater than barbarians.
.2 We need to increase food supplies and find new way's to get food.
.3 we need a language and writing to bing us Norse man together. We also need writing to began civilizing are people.
.4 Are religion is fractured and has no way to be learned other than having somebody tell you stories. We should have these tales written down and began building temples and statues to our Norse gods.
.5 We should find new income sources other than farming, animal husbandry, and raids. The seas are not kind and they kill many of us and wast resources when boats are destroyed. I say we focus on metalworking for amour and weapons the other germanic's will give us much to be able to fight the Romans on equal footing.
.6 We should encourage Intlectiul pursuits like philosophy, architecture, the natural sciences, medicine, etc. We could use the All-Father as the reason why we're trying to get people to adopt roman way's an ideas.
To round off I think we should encourage ideas and parts of Roman culture but only to create a new and greater culture based on traditional Roman and germanic values.

>>3857629
the only way to farm or have a steady population is to start conquering lands to the south, which means going to war against those elusive germans, it's hard but if anyone can do it is us with the help of the northen gods

fuck incorporating roman culture, we are at a different place now

>>3857633
Not all of it or even a lot of it, only the parts that are good about Roman culture. I want our culture to be almost entirely Norse but there are benefits with incorporating small amounts of Roman culture to ours. But like I said I'm Norse all the way.

I agree with conquering the land to our south to get access to better farming. But we should look into getting our Tundras to grow something. It would be a shame to completely abandon our native lands.

>>3857633
>>3857679
It might also be good to try and conquer the lands of England that the Romans can't capture. An extremely early version of Danelaw or I guess in our case Norselaw?

>>3857633
>>3857679
If we need land to farm the East is better then South. Otherwise, we have to fight the fucking Germanic tribes who are both greatly outnumber us and are able to even beat back the Romans. Germans are good if we need allies but to conquer them right away is going to be far too difficult. If anything the Germans are potential allies and not enemies.

>>3857692
Do we even have the navigation technology and sea charts to pull that of right now? I mean it's not a bad idea especially if we grab Ireland and Iceland.

>>3857716
I mean we have the stars that's what most Norse used right? Ireland might be good but Iceland is right out. Too far away with current ship technology and getting enough food would be a bitch to get. I see Ireland being good but we're going to fight the Picts and even the Romans couldn't beat them had to build a fucking wall just to stop them. I'm assuming we're in southern Sweden so if we can fight or make our way to northern Denmark then our food situation should improve. Then we could conquer the rest of Denmark and truly form a kingdom. With that power, I think we could easily conquer either into Germania or push into Britannia and establish the Norselaw.

>>3857742
You're confusing Scotland with Ireland. The Romans never tried fighting the Irish, and certainly didn't build a wall to keep them out; considering that Ireland is an island, after all.

>>3857775
Yea your right but the people from Scotland at that time later moved into Ireland so in a sense, the same people that the Romans were fighting will be in Ireland although my knowledge of English antiquity so I very may well be wrong and confusing the two. Either way, getting to and fighting whatever people are in Ireland will be hard but not as hard as fighting the Scottish barbarians in England. Though there are a lot more benefits to taking over as much of England as we can. They have better resources and a better environment for farming compared to Ireland.

>>3857793
*although my knowledge of English antiquity isn't great

Fucking typo

>>3857692
>>3857716
>Conquer Britain sailing possibility
Technically we're nine centuries early on any large scale raiding (prompted by a multitude of factors such as lack of women, rise in population of young males, and centralisation of near-royal authorities) but we're doing it anyway

>Conquering the Germans
Not by your own three tribes, you ain't. Gonna need the entire Norse at your back for a campaign of that size.

>>3855847
>>3856478
I'd also point out that you did know their names, as I listed them down in the combat VS thing

>You are a child of few words. "Very well." [GRAVITAS]

Scatter your ash, heretic priest of the north. Wrench free your long cloak and place it aground, cover as much of the earth as you can. Cover their duel from the sight of warm-earth Freyja, for no mother loves to see her children commit fratricide.

Blessed are the Vanir among the sight of men. They loved the children of Man too much; theirs was the swift-growing vines to provide mortal merriment, theirs the soft-strung lyre to be accompanied by slow love-making by the hearthenside.

And by loving mankind they fell to ruin among their divine colleagues. They are gone now, dead - even the immortals are not truly impervious to death, after all. Snake-tongued Juno encouraged them, the barbaric Æsir, urged them on to make war against their peace-loving cousins. Shattered now, gone to the dust. The few who survive, Freyja, chieftainness now of that secret and much diminished league, now take to silent watch, powerless to raise her fingers in aid of mortalkind.

You step forward onto the rough cloak-turned-dueling ground. Your weapons are whatever you had at the time - a crude spear with ashen shaft that has seen too much combat with your near-death against the Romans, a small round wooden shield that has seen better days - before it was half covered by pila. You miss the trusty heft of the gladius dearly.

But swords are a luxury in this place without smiths and forges, without mines of steel and iron. For one sword, ten spears might be made; for one sword, fifteen shields embossed. Many Romans were felled those weeks ago when you clashed against the Hispanic Legion, one of your oldest, loyal to Augustus after your death. They will portion out the superior equipment according to each man's deeds and station after all is done and ended.

All is not done and ended yet. Your muscles are stiff, rubbed sore by salt-clung cloth. No armour are you afforded, merely nameless as you are, nor helm, to protect the head. The north is a truly resource-poor land. Perhaps that is why it breeds such hard men who would tangle with those ten times better armed than they.

Though in your case, you are the one less armed and armoured. Finngeir steps forward onto the three-meter grounding of cloak, ironed mail-shirt glistening in the hearthenfire. He has a fine helm that has not seen too many dents, and a shield - a large clipeus in truth, likely looted from a Gaul with Grecian tastes - emblazoned with the head of an unknown mythic figure. His dead bronze-gold eyes stare lidlessly to you. What a fate the heroes of the old had, to go through their divine trials for the sake of a peaceful life, only to become mascots of death after their stories' end.

Nameless One
>Combat = +81DC [Injured -5DC, Tired -5DC, Unnatural Strength +20DC, Godsoul +20DC, Nordmann +10DC, Legionary Elite +10DC, Inimitable Experience +25DC, Much-Used Spear of Ash +4DC, Battered Shield of Oak +2DC]
>Armour Value = 6AV [Shield of Oak +6DC]

VS

Finngeir Finnbogisson, thegn and styræsmand of the village of Thunn
>Combat = 95DC [Healthy +5DC, Captain of Men +10DC, Nordmann +10DC, Vikingr +10DC, Veteran-Warrior +5DC, Iron Spangenhelm +10DC, Fine Longsword +15DC, Exquisite Buckler +10DC, Iron Mail-shirt +20DC]
>Armour Value = 45AV[Iron Mail-shirt +20DC, Exquisite Buckler +10DC, Iron Spangenhelm +15DC]

Personal Combat DC36
>Three d100

Rolled 56 (1d100)

>>3858423

>>3858422
>Snake-tongued Juno encouraged them, the barbaric Æsir, urged them on to make war against their peace-loving cousins
fucking juno

Rolled 34 (1d100)

>>3858423

Rolled 97 (1d100)

>>3858423
For Freyja!

>>3858451
Better worship Odin in the future.

>>3858452
No it's cool, didn't get a double crit like usual, she's already helping kek, just felt sorry for her current isolation, gotta bring her back

Rolled 9 (1d100)

>>3858423
Remember the dead, for they will teach you.
Remember the wrath of Mars, for he will oppose us
But most importantly- remember the basics of CQC

>>3858444
>>3858447
>>3858451

>1 Success

The sea has not been overly kind, and the mark of the nautical sojourn undertook shows its mark. His sword clips you in the knee in a glancing blow, one that you would have ignored, too used are you in full Roman panoply of Iberian steel. But you are unarmoured, Caesar. And between the flesh of man and child, cold iron does not discriminate.

Gold ichor flows from the flesh wound, spawning frowns and whispered gasps as they fall heavy on the cloak-carpeted floor that demarcates the area of the fight. And you realise - too late - the political ploy of one Finngeir. Cunning is the default state of humanity! You were too used to the soft-spoken Danaans who come bearing gifts of poison and flattery that, faced with the simple Nordmenn in the periphery of the known world, you assumed them unable to orchestrate incidents politic.

He intends to shame you, Nameless One. The blood, the free-flowing golden thing, it marks you, sets you apart. Xenophobia is the survival mechanism of the primitive societies of old, and the Nordmenn are primitive indeed. Why bother to kill the child when he can simply demonstrate your otherness? No - his attacks are too guarded, his feints too playful. The man does not see you as a true opponent. This is a mockery of a swordfight, a ludus scaenicus that holds no stakes for the challenger himself, for he regards you still a child.

"Do you yield, No-Name?" he calls out. "If you ever wished to end the fight with first blood, then now is the time to speak."

Foolish is the man who speaks ere the battle's end.

>You slam your foot on the cloak-carpeted floor and slide it backwards, disturbing his footing. [Dirty Fighting] [1 Success]

>You take the opportunity of the minuscule-pause of speech to take an undisturbed breath, a commodity so often ignored by the amateurs in war. [Legionary] [No Cost]

>But to let insult unanswered is not the way of the Nordmann. "Is the old-wise Finngeir so winded from the duel that he must sue for its cessation so soon?" you taunt. [Taunt] [1 Success]

Each Success point can be spent then and there, or be banked for later in the same fight. Trying out a new thing because I felt like it. As the quest progresses, you will find that I often change things up and ruffle up the values as well, because I'm not exactly mechanically inclined. Hope that isn't too much of a turn-off for those of you who like to get number-crunching.

>>3858583
>>But to let insult unanswered is not the way of the Nordmann. "Is the old-wise Finngeir so winded from the duel that he must sue for its cessation so soon?" you taunt. [Taunt] [1 Success]

make him over commit, better not use dirty fighting, if he intends to shame us in front of the others we should not give him more fuel to work the fires

>>3858583

>But to let insult unanswered is not the way of the Nordmann. "Is the old-wise Finngeir so winded from the duel that he must sue for its cessation so soon?" you taunt. [Taunt] [1 Success]

It will be easier for them to accept us if we act as one of them

>>3858583
>But to let insult unanswered is not the way of the Nordmann. "Is the old-wise Finngeir so winded from the duel that he must sue for its cessation so soon?" you taunt. [Taunt] [1 Success]

>>3858583

>But to let insult unanswered is not the way of the Nordmann. "Is the old-wise Finngeir so winded from the duel that he must sue for its cessation so soon?" you taunt. [Taunt] [1 Success]

>>3858583
>But to let insult unanswered is not the way of the Nordmann. "Is the old-wise Finngeir so winded from the duel that he must sue for its cessation so soon?" you taunt. [Taunt] [1 Success]

>But to let insult unanswered is not the way of the Nordmann. "Is the old-wise Finngeir so winded from the duel that he must sue for its cessation so soon?" you taunt. [Taunt] [1 Success]

>>3858583
>>But to let insult unanswered is not the way of the Nordmann. "Is the old-wise Finngeir so winded from the duel that he must sue for its cessation so soon?" you taunt. [Taunt] [1 Success]

>>3858583
>But to let insult unanswered is not the way of the Nordmann. "Is the old-wise Finngeir so winded from the duel that he must sue for its cessation so soon?" you taunt. [Taunt] [1 Success]

It's good to see Fortuna writing again, how I've missed it! Though, it is a shame that Commentarii is now finished forever, I hope this lives up to that. My knowledge on this part of the world isn't very great, so I probably won't be making as many, if any, suggestions or write ins here as I did in Commentarii.

>>3858583
>>But to let insult unanswered is not the way of the Nordmann. "Is the old-wise Finngeir so winded from the duel that he must sue for its cessation so soon?" you taunt. [Taunt] [1 Success]
hah fuck the old faggot if he had shut his mouth as politelly as us I would be tempted to save his live. Thiss setles it then kill him and if possible do it fast and with grace.Let others see what happens to Gloating idiots and fools

>>3858583
can we take both breath and taunt ?the breath has no cost so does it demand an action?

>>3858583
>You take the opportunity of the minuscule-pause of speech to take an undisturbed breath, a commodity so often ignored by the amateurs in war. [Legionary] [No Cost]
Win first gloat latter insults will be answered wiith blood