The voice of the King reaches long, and compels men to do the most foolhardy things.

With a force of will, you banish those banal proverbs that spring to mind. This is not the time to scheme and strategise. It is the moment that counts. As it so often has been since your rebirth in the North.

One eyed you may be, but your one eye sees more than two of any mortal man. Keen-sighted Vakur! Aptly were you Named.

Two things attract your attention, two miniature struggles between friend and foe. The young widow of Finngeir - the man you slew in the rite of your passage into manhood - defends herself with desperation, shield in one hand, her late husband's war-axe in the other.

Had she not departed with the train of men that departed your father's halls after the end of the duel?

Your mind-question is cut short as she swings her weapon threateningly against a raider who missteps, earning a curse and a cry of pain. A valiant effort. No less can be expected of the Nordmenn, whose women are screamers in battle and bed. But she is outclassed, outnumbered. Three men - foreign Nordmenn, now that you see them clearly - stalk her encircled. Women are a dear resource to the female-starved North, so often do they die in childbirth and the seven hundred seventy seven ailments of the newly mothered. The enemy northerners are unwilling to lower the value of a prime bed-slave with scars and wounds. For now.

And there, deeper into the fiery heart of the raid and battle, you see a man locked in the death-struggle of warlords with an overwhelming opponent. The giant - for no other word suits to describe the behemothic raider - smashes his over-thick spear against the beleaguered warrior's shield-arm. A resounding crack rings through the air as the not-giant flies through the air in a lazy somersault, audible even through the intermitten screams and deathly gurgles that permeate the battle.

You think him dead, but he rises to his feet unsteadily. He should have stayed down. The giant would have moved on to targets more alive. The awkward trail of his dangling arm tells clear the state of his shield-arm, but the warrior seems heedless to his impending doom. With but a war-axe and little else, he shouts a challenge. Anything to occupy the giant's attention for a little while longer. Anything to extend the survival chance of any remaining kinfolk.

Your single eye clears through the flying ash and distracting flames, jolt in surprise as you identify the wounded warrior. Haakon Einarsson, most esteemed of the jarlar of the three Scanian tribes . The man who blocks you from an early ascension into chieftainhood.

The man whom you call father.

A choice, Caesar. Would you rescue the fair battle-maiden to whom the life-debt allegiance of Finngeir's kith and kin is tied, or your father, that distant saturnine figure rarely in your life, so unused and uncertain in way of paternal affection?

>In that moment, there is only one, single, human desire burning deep within your chest, that human impetus to assist your kin. [PIETAS]

>Death is a fact of life. You have lost many whom you cherished, Caesar. What is but one more faggot of wood to feed the flames of Hades? There are things to be done in the living world, matters that need seeing to without care for the silent dead. [VIRTVS]

>>3885080
>In that moment, there is only one, single, human desire burning deep within your chest, that human impetus to assist your kin. [PIETAS]

>>3885080
>Death is a fact of life. You have lost many whom you cherished, Caesar. What is but one more faggot of wood to feed the flames of Hades? There are things to be done in the living world, matters that need seeing to without care for the silent dead. [VIRTVS]

>>3885080
>In that moment, there is only one, single, human desire burning deep within your chest, that human impetus to assist your kin. [PIETAS]
Dad will live past our 16th birthday this time.

>>3885080
>In that moment, there is only one, single, human desire burning deep within your chest, that human impetus to assist your kin. [PIETAS]

Who better to rally the rest of the tribe around?

Can we try to use our awesome presence to attract everyone aggro? :P

I'm confused as to which options is to save who

>>3885080
>In that moment, there is only one, single, human desire burning deep within your chest, that human impetus to assist your kin. [PIETAS]

>>3885080

>Death is a fact of life. You have lost many whom you cherished, Caesar. What is but one more faggot of wood to feed the flames of Hades? There are things to be done in the living world, matters that need seeing to without care for the silent dead. [VIRTVS]

Why is it another fatalities choice...*sigh*

>>3885119
Anon, why do you want to kill viking Caesar so bad?

>>3885143
Pietas is dad, Virtue is Finngeir's old woman (see: our ticket to getting Finngeir's old kin on our side)

>>3885157
now is it?

I'm torn here really

they probably won't kill her since they need her alive, and they would not withdraw without looting too so I'm not sure if she is in real danger at this exact moment.
At the same time, father can hold his own.

I'll let you guys pick this one....probably I don't know

>>3885080
>>In that moment, there is only one, single, human desire burning deep within your chest, that human impetus to assist your kin. [PIETAS]
roastie btfo

>>3885080
>>In that moment, there is only one, single, human desire burning deep within your chest, that human impetus to assist your kin. [PIETAS]

>>3885080
>In that moment, there is only one, single, human desire burning deep within your chest, that human impetus to assist your kin. [PIETAS]

>>3885080
>In that moment, there is only one, single, human desire burning deep within your chest, that human impetus to assist your kin. [PIETAS]
Gonna need to play politics soon, just don't know when
Plus, this will cement the fact that Caesar is his father's successor; not only is he named, but he also saved his dad from the jaws of death

>>3885080
>>In that moment, there is only one, single, human desire burning deep within your chest, that human impetus to assist your kin. [PIETAS]

>In that moment, there is only one, single, human desire burning deep within your chest, that human impetus to assist your kin. [PIETAS]

Never let it be said that Caesar permitted patricide while he drew breath. Loyalty - familial loyalty - is the foundation of all societies, from the primitive tribes of the Nordmenn to the Romans of towering marbles. You will not defy the filial piety demanded of any true-hearted man, though your instincts political say otherwise.

But the enemy is overwhelming, and you lack even the crudest of weapons that served your bestial ancestors, the primitive spears of rocks and flints and wood. Only fists and feet and teeth serve you in this hour. If only you had allowed yourself to take the plundered weapons Tuomi had acquired . . .

Look, little One-Eye. The mountain of a man who is your enemy raises his heavy spear triumphant. He believes the little duel over. Will you prove him wrong, Vakur?

Or will you die alone and forgotten, as so many Nordmenn do in the End?

Vakur Haakonsson
Touko, Apprentice
>Combat = +95DC [Healthy +5, Watchful +5DC, Unnatural Strength +20DC, Godsoul +20DC, Nordmann +10DC, Legionary Elite +10DC, Inimitable Experience +25DC, One-Eyed -10DC/+20MDC, Touko +10DC]
>Armour Value = null [Takes critical damage when receiving 2 or more wounds per round]

VS

Man from the Mountain
>Combat = +90DC [Injured -5DC, Immense Strength +10DC, Giantsblood +15DC, Nordmann +10DC, Champion of the King +30DC, Great Spear +20DC, Oversized Helm of Oxhide +10DC, Massive Rattlechain Shirt +20DC, Surprised -20DC]

Personal Combat DC55
>Three rolls of d100

Rolled 76 (1d100)

>>3886359
>One-Eyed -10DC/+20MDC
MAGICAL DC? gasp!

Do you accept write-ins or do we just punch him?

>>3886363
I incorporate write-ins into my writing depending on various factors, such as

- they good
- they make sense
- I can make use of them into the narrative
- It doesn't clash with what I am able to write (ie, no dicking the giant to death by skullfucking him)

I've previously added user comments made without being explicitly write-ins into the next updates, so they do exist!

Rolled 567 (1d1000)

>>3886359
let's climb that mountain and fish his eye out with our thumb, see how well he deals with it

Rolled 88 (1d100)

>>3886367
ups, I seem top have added an additiona 0

Rolled 43 (1d100)

>>3886359
Dead

At least we can create an opening for father

>>3886364
So what's with MDC, chief?

>>3886367
We call for an eye for an eye!

>>3886370
Can't do any damage that serious with just 1 non-critical success, boss

>>3886363
>>3886370
>Magical DC
The next step is to find a spear and run it through our side. After that we need to hang from a tree over a well for nine days.
We might be seen as a sissy faggot for learning sorcery, though.

>1 Success
>2 Wounds taken by Touko
>1 Wound dealt

"Glory and death, Warfather!"

With those words, Touko takes point. Of course he is a warrior. He has taken a Name. No weapons has he, having followed your example, but the humble utilitarian knife, and it is this knife that he uses now to try and make a dent on the giantish man's body.

A valiant effort that goes unrewarded.

The staff-end of the tree trunk crushes into the Fennic apprentice and guts through his sacral vestments to reveal deep crimson flesh. It is a testament to northern tenacity that he does not cry out from the mind-shattering pain.

>You launch yourself at the leg of the foeman, attempt to wrestle him down to the ground. [1 Success, +1 Exhaustion]

>Your primary goal to distract the giant is attained. Now you take a moment's breather, calm yourself for the next attack. [No Success Cost]

>You bite into your thumb to let your divine blood gauze over the wounded. [1 Success, -1 Wound, +1 Wound to specified Wounded]

>>3886376
Indeed, sorcery is considered argr, which means Unmanly, and male practitioners of the Arts is labeled as ergi, which is the nominalised version of the same word. Loki also insults Odin for being a sorcerous god in one of the sagas.

I think I have one or two updates left in me today, though I do have to go out for groceries now. Came back from Paris yesterday and had nothing to eat since fridge was empty ;_;

Gods, I ache all over. Tourism is a supremely masochistic act.

>>3886378
>You launch yourself at the leg of the foeman, attempt to wrestle him down to the ground. [1 Success, +1 Exhaustion]
The first thing to do is to bring him down, which will put him at a big disadvantage.

Oh just noticed from the last update -

>1 Wound dealt

Ignore that! It's from previous iterations of this system, and not relevant to the current one. I'm using Successes as points to buy actions instead. To clarify: the enemy has NOT taken any damage.

>>3886378
>You launch yourself at the leg of the foeman, attempt to wrestle him down to the ground. [1 Success, +1 Exhaustion]

>>3886378
>>Your primary goal to distract the giant is attained. Now you take a moment's breather, calm yourself for the next attack. [No Success Cost]

we cannot hope to bring him down I think, but at least father may rise

>>3886378

>You launch yourself at the leg of the foeman, attempt to wrestle him down to the ground. [1 Success, +1 Exhaustion]

>>3886378
>Your primary goal to distract the giant is attained. Now you take a moment's breather, calm yourself for the next attack. [No Success Cost]
If we take his attention away from father, he may be able to caught the giant off guard

>>3886378
>>Your primary goal to distract the giant is attained. Now you take a moment's breather, calm yourself for the next attack. [No Success Cost]
makes most sense for me at least

>>3886378
>>Your primary goal to distract the giant is attained. Now you take a moment's breather, calm yourself for the next attack. [No Success Cost]

>>3886380
>I think I have one or two updates left in me today
Well that was a fucking lie. Evidently I'm more tired from the trip than I gave credit for. Writing

>>Your primary goal to distract the giant is attained. Now you take a moment's breather, calm yourself for the next attack. [No Success Cost]
>Temporary Buff: Endurance I - Counteracts Exhaustion rating according to its rating

You circle the more-than-man warily, attracting attention away from the momentarily disabled Touko. Yes, you can smell it. There is abnormality in his blood.

He, too, senses the difference in you. The golden eye, perhaps, or something else - a preternatural feeler for the otherworldly that he may share as a thing of the Other. He spins his spear as he considers the diminutive form of the child-warrior before him, without shield and axe. The thwok-thwok-thwok of the massive length of wood and brittle iron is enough to make a man rethink, very seriously, the decision to challenge this being.

His voice is the rumble of mountains. "You are far and away from the glens of your kinsmen, little alfr. Have you come to lead me to your hiding-glens so that your women may know the feel of real manhood?" His laughter is powerful and ear-numbing. "Bother us not! The conflict of men is not your concern. The King has already made the pertinent sacrifices to your people."

The King. What king? The Nordmenn acknowledge no man as king.

Vakur Haakonsson
>Combat = +85DC [Healthy +5, Watchful +5DC, Unnatural Strength +20DC, Godsoul +20DC, Nordmann +10DC, Legionary Elite +10DC, Inimitable Experience +25DC, One-Eyed -10DC/+20MDC]
>Armour Value = null [Takes critical damage when receiving 2 or more wounds per round]

VS

Man from the Mountain
>Combat = +110DC [Injured -5DC, Immense Strength +10DC, Giantsblood +15DC, Nordmann +10DC, Champion of the King +30DC, Great Spear +20DC, Oversized Helm of Oxhide +10DC, Massive Rattlechain Shirt +20DC]

Personal Combat DC25
>Three rolls of d100

Rolled 4 (1d100)

>>3887557

Rolled 82 (1d100)

>>3887557
time to die it seems, again kek

Rolled 27 (1d100)

>>3887557

>>3887560
Noice

>1 Success
>1 banked Success

I ween that I hung on the windy tree,
Hung there for nine nights full nine;
With the spear I was wounded, and offered I was,
To Othin, myself to myself,
On the tree that none may know
What root beneath it runs.
None made me happy with a loaf or horn,
And there below I looked;
I took up the runes, shrieking I took them,
And forthwith back I fell.
―Sayings of the High One

You would have blacked out, if not for the inhuman constitution you were gifted with. As it is, you merely grunt, a concession to the pain that inflame your senses.

The great spear has formed union with your body, Watchful One. Its blood-dark wood sprouts from your side, digging through unarmoured flesh and yielding bone. Golden ichor flows out with the consistency of honey in a vain attempt to stem the wound, but the damage is done. A grievous blow.

This is a wound you will carry for the rest of your life.

"Many things have I slain in my long and storied life, but a child-warrior is not one of them," the superlative warrior with no peer says sadly. "Ah! Would that I were able to meet you in battle in the height of strength! I shall gain no honour now, slaying you as a kindr. But Imi is a faithful servant of the King, and the King demands the death of your tribes. Fare well, little brave man. May the maidens of battle carry your bold soul to Those on High."

>Grip the spear. Wrench it away from his over-large hands. [2 Success]

>None would possibly think you still alive, manling. Not with such great an injury. To play dead, to live another day . . . that is a kind of success. [No Success cost]

>And in the midst of the pain-blindness, one thing overwhelmes your delirious senses - the gnawing hunger that seeks to replace the golden essence of life so newly spilled. The Blood, Caesar. It calls for you in a siren song that must not be resisted. . . [2 Success, Test of Character roll]

>>3887591
>Grip the spear. Wrench it away from his over-large hands. [2 Success]

>>3887591
>Grip the spear. Wrench it away from his over-large hands. [2 Success]
Well, there's our +10 MDC.

>>3887591
>>And in the midst of the pain-blindness, one thing overwhelmes your delirious senses - the gnawing hunger that seeks to replace the golden essence of life so newly spilled. The Blood, Caesar. It calls for you in a siren song that must not be resisted. . . [2 Success, Test of Character roll]

>>3887591
>>Grip the spear. Wrench it away from his over-large hands. [2 Success]

>>3887591

>>Grip the spear. Wrench it away from his over-large hands. [2 Success]

>>3887591
>>Grip the spear. Wrench it away from his over-large hands. [2 Success]

>2 Wounds suffered
>BLEEDING
>>Grip the spear. Wrench it away from his over-large hands. [2 Success]

Your unnatural strength comes into play now. It is like taking hold of half a tree trunk, so large and unwieldy does it seem in your childish hands. And yet, it is with a familiar ease with which you heft the grossly oversized implement of war. A flush of optimism begins to rise to your cheeks, the gaping wound on your side not withstanding. For the first time in this encounter, you have more than a chance.

"You know little of the nobility of that weapon you hold so carelessly," he speaks, greater-than-man. "It was a royal gift given by the hand of the King himself, a noble thing whose tip was forged by the ancients-of-war. To Imi it was gifted, and for Imi alone will it bleed men and women and children alike. There is no possibility of a mere fae-child like you to make use of it. Surrender the spear back to me, bold kindr, and I will see you healed and taken under the service of the King, to the royal service. I swear it upon my name."

We weave myths and fairy-tales on implements of every-day use, and what are weapons but tools of a trade? Let this serve as a cautionary tale not to get too caught up by the supposed lineages of a spear that knows no master. These martial objects serve one god alone, and it is the God of War.

"And I swear an oath by mine," the voice of one whom you know as Father says behind the magnificent warrior, "that you will die tonight, breaker of truces." Sheer force of will keeps him standing now, you see. Blood coats his brow from the blunt-force trauma he suffered in his head when he was thrown like a discarded ragdoll by the great fighter. Anger suffuses him, maintains his concentration. For he is doubly furious, firstly for the sacrilege of attacking in the night of the Midsummer feast, that most unthinkable of tradition-breaks, and secondly―

"That is my son!" he wails, seeing the fist-sized wound on your side.

Vakur Haakonsson
Haakon Einarsson
>Combat = +105DC [Injured -5, Watchful +5DC, Unnatural Strength +20DC, Godsoul +20DC, Nordmann +10DC, Legionary Elite +10DC, Inimitable Experience +25DC, One-Eyed -10DC/+20MDC, Great Spear +20DC, Haakon +10DC]
>Armour Value = null [Takes critical damage when receiving 2 or more wounds per round]

VS

Imi
>Combat = +90DC [Injured -5DC, Immense Strength +10DC, Giantsblood +15DC, Nordmann +10DC, Champion of the King +30DC, Oversized Helm of Oxhide +10DC, Massive Rattlechain Shirt +20DC]

Personal Combat DC65
>Three rolls of d100

^ that post was me

Rolled 3 (1d100)

>>3887602

Rolled 6 (1d100)

>>3887602

Rolled 81 (1d100)

>>3887602

Rolled 69 (1d100)

>>3887602
Shit, I missed the roll.
At least we have two successes again.

>2 Success

Oh, Nephilim of the North! Magnificence is your motion, vivacity your voice. Remnant from the mating of jotunn and ancestral man, inheritor of the primordial blood that once ruled the universe!

Fate has a perverse sense of humour. Here stands a childling, mere wisp of a boy, his veins pulsating with the golden stuff of the gods. Is this to be a repetition of the lamented Titanomachy, when your venerable ancestors fell beneath the sword- and spear-arms of those irreverent upstarts? Surely you would not allow it!

Grit your teeth, son of giant and man. Fight as you would a true warrior, not a child. Do not dishonour your hearth and heritage! You must break his back and see his father squirm in anguish.

Thus goaded Fortuna, Lady-Luck, for whom all sides are the same.

>An eye for an eye, a wound for a wound. You thrust the great-spear with speed and strength unthinkable from your small form. [2 Success]

>Caesar, the jotunn comes pre-wounded. Blood leaks like gruel from minute perforations dealt by kinsmen and tribesmen, now dead from their encounter with this unparalleled warrior. Would you not care to taste his life-essence? To end the battle and empower yourself in one fell stroke? [2 Successs, Test of Character roll]

>>3888692
>>Caesar, the jotunn comes pre-wounded. Blood leaks like gruel from minute perforations dealt by kinsmen and tribesmen, now dead from their encounter with this unparalleled warrior. Would you not care to taste his life-essence? To end the battle and empower yourself in one fell stroke? [2 Successs, Test of Character roll]

>>3888692
>>An eye for an eye, a wound for a wound. You thrust the great-spear with speed and strength unthinkable from your small form. [2 Success]

stop trying to temp us fell gods that consume souls, we are pals with the other gods

>>3888692
>An eye for an eye, a wound for a wound. You thrust the great-spear with speed and strength unthinkable from your small form. [2 Success]

>>3888692
>An eye for an eye, a wound for a wound. You thrust the great-spear with speed and strength unthinkable from your small form. [2 Success]

>>3888692

>An eye for an eye, a wound for a wound. You thrust the great-spear with speed and strength unthinkable from your small form. [2 Success]

>>3888695
I'm having Wae flashbacks, those guys are bad news

>>3888692
>An eye for an eye, a wound for a wound. You thrust the great-spear with speed and strength unthinkable from your small form. [2 Success]

>>3888692
>Caesar, the jotunn comes pre-wounded. Blood leaks like gruel from minute perforations dealt by kinsmen and tribesmen, now dead from their encounter with this unparalleled warrior. Would you not care to taste his life-essence? To end the battle and empower yourself in one fell stroke? [2 Successs, Test of Character roll]
This guy isn't even human. I see no issue.

>An eye for an eye, a wound for a wound. You thrust the great-spear with speed and strength unthinkable from your small form. [2 Success]

The chieftain of three tribes fights as if berserk with his single axe, its hilt gripped two-handed to hack large, unparried blows against the great warrior. The axe-blade blunts from its repeated landing against his scaled armour. He is too powerful, too well-armed - there is no wounding this man from a low blow.

And so, you leap - it is a wondrous thing to see you fly in the air, Caesar, a mimicry of the feline form that sees you latch onto the great beast of the field. The large spear is your teeth, your bare hands the claws to dig in and hold on to. Five palm-lengths of the spear enter his thick veined neck, entering at an angle downward to dissect into the spinal cord in between the body and the head.

A waste of prestigious blood, but death comes for even the mightiest of gods in the end. The part-giant falls onto the cold earthen ground as copious blood spurts from the neck wound, cruel twin to that gaping wound in your side. Grey disbelief flashes in his eyes, then slowly congeals to muted cloud-white.

Rest now, Imi, descendant of giants and men. Your fight is done. But for you, Vakur, your miseries are only beginning.

Haakon falls. His many injuries, internal and external, has belatedly caught up with him. On the other side of the duel-circle where the monstrous battle was fought, Touko, brother of Tuomi, lies broken, insensible. Nordmenn they may be, but mortals they remain. They cannot take the kind of punishments that your divinity graces you with. Not for long.

Two Wounds remain within you, Caesar.

>And Vakur, seeing the spectre of death hanging above both of his battle-fellows, lept to his feet, undressed the freshly killed champion in honour of the dead, and said: "Odin Allfather! Carrion-Lord of battle dead! I offer you the claimed soul of this giant among men, relinquish my claim from the death of this champion. In exchange I ask only for an insignificant boon - a rejuvenating sign of your acceptance of this gift, so that I may see my fellow swords alive through this fight."
And in doing so, he committed betrayals in three. Firstly by daring to assume the mantle of the gothi in begging for intercession with the gods, and secondly in participating the unmanly act of seiðr, which is also known as sorcery. Lastly . . . [Gain 2 Wounds, choose target(s) to heal]

>Caesar, knowing that there remained battles to be fought and enclaves of those brave holdouts to be rescued and led away, continued into the fire-lit inferno that was once his home. Loyalty to the friend and family is secondary to that of the State which you will form. And an emperor cannot rule over a land of ash.

>A single Wound he sacrificed, digging in from his gold-glowing side to remove a handful of the oozing semi-liquid that attested to your innate divinity. [Choose target, -1 Wound]

>>3888740
>And Vakur, seeing the spectre of death hanging above both of his battle-fellows, lept to his feet, undressed the freshly killed champion in honour of the dead, and said: "Odin Allfather! Carrion-Lord of battle dead! I offer you the claimed soul of this giant among men, relinquish my claim from the death of this champion. In exchange I ask only for an insignificant boon - a rejuvenating sign of your acceptance of this gift, so that I may see my fellow swords alive through this fight."
>And in doing so, he committed betrayals in three. Firstly by daring to assume the mantle of the gothi in begging for intercession with the gods, and secondly in participating the unmanly act of seiðr, which is also known as sorcery. Lastly . . . [Gain 2 Wounds, choose target(s) to heal]
Touko and Haakon.

>>3888740
>>Caesar, knowing that there remained battles to be fought and enclaves of those brave holdouts to be rescued and led away, continued into the fire-lit inferno that was once his home. Loyalty to the friend and family is secondary to that of the State which you will form. And an emperor cannot rule over a land of ash.

>>3888740
>>And Vakur, seeing the spectre of death hanging above both of his battle-fellows, lept to his feet, undressed the freshly killed champion in honour of the dead, and said: "Odin Allfather! Carrion-Lord of battle dead! I offer you the claimed soul of this giant among men, relinquish my claim from the death of this champion. In exchange I ask only for an insignificant boon - a rejuvenating sign of your acceptance of this gift, so that I may see my fellow swords alive through this fight."
>And in doing so, he committed betrayals in three. Firstly by daring to assume the mantle of the gothi in begging for intercession with the gods, and secondly in participating the unmanly act of seiðr, which is also known as sorcery. Lastly . . . [Gain 2 Wounds, choose target(s) to heal]

heal father

then we continue the fight

>>3888740

>And Vakur, seeing the spectre of death hanging above both of his battle-fellows, lept to his feet, undressed the freshly killed champion in honour of the dead, and said: "Odin Allfather! Carrion-Lord of battle dead! I offer you the claimed soul of this giant among men, relinquish my claim from the death of this champion. In exchange I ask only for an insignificant boon - a rejuvenating sign of your acceptance of this gift, so that I may see my fellow swords alive through this fight."

Hakon

>>3888740
>Caesar, knowing that there remained battles to be fought and enclaves of those brave holdouts to be rescued and led away, continued into the fire-lit inferno that was once his home. Loyalty to the friend and family is secondary to that of the State which you will form. And an emperor cannot rule over a land of ash.

>>3888757
>>3888740
Actually, no
>And Vakur, seeing the spectre of death hanging above both of his battle-fellows, lept to his feet, undressed the freshly killed champion in honour of the dead, and said: "Odin Allfather! Carrion-Lord of battle dead! I offer you the claimed soul of this giant among men, relinquish my claim from the death of this champion. In exchange I ask only for an insignificant boon - a rejuvenating sign of your acceptance of this gift, so that I may see my fellow swords alive through this fight."
Haakon one, Touko one.

Just dropping by to comment that heal is -1W each to stabilise, regardless of whether option 1 or 3 was chosen. And now I shall disappear back to the real world, where the daunting task of cooking awaits!

>>3888776
Well considering this I'd like to add Touko to be stabilized in my vote then >>3888751

Also
>Touko
>it is later revealed that the kid was an anime girl all along

>>3888740
>>>Caesar, knowing that there remained battles to be fought and enclaves of those brave holdouts to be rescued and led away, continued into the fire-lit inferno that was once his home. Loyalty to the friend and family is secondary to that of the State which you will form. And an emperor cannot rule over a land of ash.

>>3888740
>>Caesar, knowing that there remained battles to be fought and enclaves of those brave holdouts to be rescued and led away, continued into the fire-lit inferno that was once his home. Loyalty to the friend and family is secondary to that of the State which you will form. And an emperor cannot rule over a land of ash.
Family means a lot, but the empire always comes first.

>>3888905
I don't really want to let this dead half-giant go to waste tho

>>3888911
Neither do I, but the options are not really ideal. Either we harm ourselves even more than we are or we consume his blood which drags us down to the gods.

>>3888740

>And Vakur, seeing the spectre of death hanging above both of his battle-fellows, lept to his feet, undressed the freshly killed champion in honour of the dead, and said: "Odin Allfather! Carrion-Lord of battle dead! I offer you the claimed soul of this giant among men, relinquish my claim from the death of this champion. In exchange I ask only for an insignificant boon - a rejuvenating sign of your acceptance of this gift, so that I may see my fellow swords alive through this fight."
And in doing so, he committed betrayals in three. Firstly by daring to assume the mantle of the gothi in begging for intercession with the gods, and secondly in participating the unmanly act of seiðr, which is also known as sorcery. Lastly . . . [Gain 2 Wounds, choose target(s) to heal]

Heal Touko and Hakon, 1 each, and then we search for more people, maybe we can find that woman from before to get some politics going or other fighters

>>3888740
>And Vakur, seeing the spectre of death hanging above both of his battle-fellows, lept to his feet, undressed the freshly killed champion in honour of the dead, and said: "Odin Allfather! Carrion-Lord of battle dead! I offer you the claimed soul of this giant among men, relinquish my claim from the death of this champion. In exchange I ask only for an insignificant boon - a rejuvenating sign of your acceptance of this gift, so that I may see my fellow swords alive through this fight."
>And in doing so, he committed betrayals in three. Firstly by daring to assume the mantle of the gothi in begging for intercession with the gods, and secondly in participating the unmanly act of seiðr, which is also known as sorcery. Lastly . . . [Gain 2 Wounds, choose target(s) to heal]
Haakon and Touko

Caesar: the bleeding heart

>>3888953
New life, new priorities.
What use is there for a state? To be squandered by the humans and betrayed in the end? Those Romans had everything and threw it away by petty greed and power struggles.

>>3888982
We'll see if Touko will be overwhelmed by the spirit of camaraderie after his resuscitation.

>>3888994
I doubt it, he'll probably be horrified by the use of sorcery, that is, if he remembers anything

>>3888998
Now our blood flows through his. Welcome to the family!

>>3889007
I don't know if that's how it works but it would be a good way to reward people later on, make them kin, blood of our blood.

>>And Vakur, seeing the spectre of death hanging above both of his battle-fellows, lept to his feet, undressed the freshly killed champion in honour of the dead, and said: "Odin Allfather! Carrion-Lord of battle dead! I offer you the claimed soul of this giant among men, relinquish my claim from the death of this champion. In exchange I ask only for an insignificant boon - a rejuvenating sign of your acceptance of this gift, so that I may see my fellow swords alive through this fight."
>>And in doing so, he committed betrayals in three. Firstly by daring to assume the mantle of the gothi in begging for intercession with the gods, and secondly in participating the unmanly act of seiðr, which is also known as sorcery. Lastly . . .
>2 Wound gained
>2 Wound lost (+1 Touko, +1 Haakon)

. . . Caesar betrayed himself, relying on the gods.

Did Father Odin smile at the obeisance of the strange and foreign godling? The Muse does not tell, she does not know; she cannot see the heart of the One Eyed God whose bosom is so wrapped in travel robes grey, nor hear his always-muttering lips, obscured by protective incantations and charms against eaves-droppers and spies. A paranoid king of war-mad barbarians, One-Eyed Odin. He distrusts his civilised kin to the south.

The dead man is thus spent and gone, with nary a drop of his essence having touched your lips. You feel false vitality restore your body, the product of sorcery most unnatural, yet your spear-pierced side remains open, the wound leaking crucial lifeblood yet.

>STATUS: Grievous Bleed - result of a CRITICAL Wound, which can occur on critical failures or being wounded by two degrees or more while not wearing armour.

With a delicate touch you insert your hand into the gash against your side, biting your lip from the pain and eery sensation of touching your own insides, and extricate that liquid of sparkling gold to administer onto Haakon and Touko both in copious quantities. Soon, the sense of rejuvenation flags, as anemic exhausting returns in this taxing chirurgy. You have made a blood-bond with the two men, a part of your mind observes whimsically. Like a healing salve you apply them on and into their wounds, and the effect becomes immediately apparent. Sleep blankets the two as their bodies with bewilderment accept the strange new influx of healing material heretofore unknown and unseen. Then you tear what fabric you find around you untainted by battle gore and make bandages for them and you.

Alas, your own wound would not take to the constriction applied by battlefield bandages. The wound goes too deep, the spear was too large - but the wounded two breath easier now. Theirs is no longer the laboured gasp of the would-be dead, but the uneasy sleep-sighs of injured men.

From this distance of an arm's length you see how old your father has become. He was already greying when you were born, and now, you see hints of snow among his proud mane-like hair. How old he has become, and frail. There will come a time when he must make for the woods in the final pilgrimage of all aged Nordmenn so that they will cease being a drain in the coffers communal. Haakon Einarsson will, one day, be sent stumbling along into the dark, fae-touched woods, with nothing on his person but a small dagger and the clothes on his back and enough food for three days and water for one.

It is a cold and fruitless land you have chosen, Vakur. Be happy that the uselessness of old age will never touch your limbs.

>You incline his face down, rubbing nose-tip against nose-tip. A rare sign of affection from a man who has known little of paternal affection in his past life. "I'll be back, Father."

>The wounds are staunched, the injured asleep. You leave them behind, sufficiently covered beneath the debris of the battlefield, and begin the dangerous walk into the village centre.

>There is a time to fight, and a time to cut losses. Hefting the two on each of your shoulders, you make for the darkness beyond the gate. Gods willing, the gothi and his waifish assistant will have waited on you yet.

>>3889051

>You incline his face down, rubbing nose-tip against nose-tip. A rare sign of affection from a man who has known little of paternal affection in his past life. "I'll be back, Father."

Daaaw


This means we continue searching for survivors yes?
Can we check the previous encounter and see if she is captured or was cut down?
The time seems enough if they didn't get tired and just killed her

>>3889047
>You incline his face down, rubbing nose-tip against nose-tip. A rare sign of affection from a man who has known little of paternal affection in his past life. "I'll be back, Father."

>>3889051
>>You incline his face down, rubbing nose-tip against nose-tip. A rare sign of affection from a man who has known little of paternal affection in his past life. "I'll be back, Father."

>>3889062
Sure.

>>3889062
It means I roll to see whether this moment of softness in the middle of an active raid zone costs you or not after which you go on your way, direction to be specified in next post.

>>3889071
direction to be voted on*

>>3889051
>>You incline his face down, rubbing nose-tip against nose-tip. A rare sign of affection from a man who has known little of paternal affection in his past life. "I'll be back, Father."

It's strange but it's actually fitting
we chose father before politics when we chose to save him
we chose father before the state when we chose to take out time to heal him
we chose father before or own personal convictions when we made a deal with Odin

maybe Vakur just doesn't realize how much he loves the old man
ad the old man probably reciprocates since he lost 5 sons before him

Rolled 3 (1d3)

As the injured lion draws in eaters of carrion, so do raiders three sniff out your presence as if by some infernal guidance of wicked forest-imps whose mischiefs are endless, hatred for thinking beings without limit.

And with them, a ruined woman, battered in face and broken of arms.

Your breath stops. "Arni." The freshly-widowed young wife of Finngeir. She does not respond. Unconscious she dangles on the shoulder of the largest of the three, both of her arms twisted and bent in painfully unnatural angles. Grief truly does not come alone, but in doubles and trios. In a single night she has lost her handsome and influential captain and husband and became a bound captor for these raiders whose origins are in question.

You could run, Vakur. Leave these hyenas to loot your father's body - no doubt they will leave behind a corpse. You are alone, unarmoured, wounded, bleeding. What chance have you against grown men of three?

The spear trembles as if in sympathy for your dire strait.

>Run. Escape. Tonight is a night of deaths. Do you not hear the whispered cries of the wolves? The words of Tuomi returns: 'Three distinctive howls. The song of death.'

>It is not in the habit of Caesar to break his word, so soon after it was given. 'I will be back,' you had whispered to a man whose pulse you maintained with your own blood. You have no intention of reneging those words.

>>3889078
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pobwy_es2uc

>>3889105
>>It is not in the habit of Caesar to break his word, so soon after it was given. 'I will be back,' you had whispered to a man whose pulse you maintained with your own blood. You have no intention of reneging those words.

have they seen us? can we surprise one of them and impale him while he comes to check on us, thinking we are finished due to our wound?

>>3889122
That is a good question, and I should have addressed that in the post.

>IF second option is chosen:

>Fade into the flickering shadows made by the burning once-huts. Stealth - the domain of cowards and cravens, but survival comes first.

>"Be you kindar or drengir?" you challenge. "Fight one against one, knavish trucebreakers. Unless you find yourself daunted by the prospect of finding one so small as I."

>>3889105
>It is not in the habit of Caesar to break his word, so soon after it was given. 'I will be back,' you had whispered to a man whose pulse you maintained with your own blood. You have no intention of reneging those words.

>>3889126
>>"Be you kindar or drengir?" you challenge. "Fight one against one, knavish trucebreakers. Unless you find yourself daunted by the prospect of finding one so small as I."

even if they are not honorable, their pride will speak louder

>>3889105

>It is not in the habit of Caesar to break his word, so soon after it was given. 'I will be back,' you had whispered to a man whose pulse you maintained with your own blood. You have no intention of reneging those words.

>"Be you kindar or drengir?" you challenge. "Fight one against one, knavish trucebreakers. Unless you find yourself daunted by the prospect of finding one so small as I."

Man, if Sinae Caesar was an absolute imperial chad, Nord Caesar is going to be an absolute badass at this rate.

>>3889150
Not with him sucking off the gods at this rate

>>3889272
I mean in terms of being ded killy. A lost eye, a giant hole in his side, a billion Roman puncture wounds. And he still has come out on top.

>>3889126
>>It is not in the habit of Caesar to break his word, so soon after it was given. 'I will be back,' you had whispered to a man whose pulse you maintained with your own blood. You have no intention of reneging those words.

>>"Be you kindar or drengir?" you challenge. "Fight one against one, knavish trucebreakers. Unless you find yourself daunted by the prospect of finding one so small as I."

>>3889105
>It is not in the habit of Caesar to break his word, so soon after it was given. 'I will be back,' you had whispered to a man whose pulse you maintained with your own blood. You have no intention of reneging those words.
>"Be you kindar or drengir?" you challenge. "Fight one against one, knavish trucebreakers. Unless you find yourself daunted by the prospect of finding one so small as I."

>>3889105
>It is not in the habit of Caesar to break his word, so soon after it was given. 'I will be back,' you had whispered to a man whose pulse you maintained with your own blood. You have no intention of reneging those words.

>It is not in the habit of Caesar to break his word, so soon after it was given. 'I will be back,' you had whispered to a man whose pulse you maintained with your own blood. You have no intention of reneging those words.
>"Be you kindar or drengir?" you challenge. "Fight one against one, knavish trucebreakers. Unless you find yourself daunted by the prospect of finding one so small as I."

what happens if caesar dies?

>>3890048
At this rate I wouldn't be surprised. We've chosen pretty much the most difficult, and in some cases stupid, option in almost every single vote.

>>3890048
Just going to have to die and find out

>>3889105
>>Run. Escape. Tonight is a night of deaths. Do you not hear the whispered cries of the wolves? The words of Tuomi returns: 'Three distinctive howls. The song of death.'

>>3889105
>>It is not in the habit of Caesar to break his word, so soon after it was given. 'I will be back,' you had whispered to a man whose pulse you maintained with your own blood. You have no intention of reneging those words.

How many weapons are there around , maybe get a shield and try throwing spears?

There is said to be honour among even thieves of the night, those perfidious denizens of human ill. Here, too, exists something of the like - an apish impetus to brag and parade what miserable scraps of virtues one owns. The tall one with senseless Arna nods to one of his lessers.

He comes to you with little thought but the next second. To him, this is merely a diversion, a short side-trip to kill a mouthy child so they may move along. He does not even contemplate the possibility of loss.

You, on the other hand . . .

Three men. Three targets. Three not-so-metaphorical rolls of the dice.

>3 d100

Rolled 22 (1d100)

>>3890543

Rolled 7 (1d100)

>>3890543

Rolled 31 (1d100)

Glory to Caesar!

Rolled 27 (1d100)

>>3890543

Oh, wow.

Nice rolls everyone

we ded?

>>3892455
Fortuna is just too stunned by the rolls.

>>3892455
I cant recall if this is roll over or roll under

>>3892498
low is good

>>3892506
Thank heavens

>3 Success

The spear is an un-Roman weapon. More to your liking the javelin, the shortsword, and the great shield, but the decade life as a Nordmann you have learned in its use. Even so, the spear is ungainly, especially for you - your small stature as is prevents you from utilising fully this monstrous weapon for a man larger than men.

But you fight neither Imi nor Finngeir here, but nameless Nordmenn, who will die without songs to be sung of their deeds. Their parents will forget them in time, discounting them as unworthy of their lineage or simple runaways from war.

The first man charges, meets the edge of spear with head. The second, seeing the death of the first, makes for your neck without waiting for the approval of their little gang's boss, wholly unaware of the disparity in skill and strength. Another life cut short before Imi's spear before his time. Something clicks in the third and last brigand's mind. The reliable ancestral fear in all of you monkey-things scream for him to run, that this is an unnatural scenario. Fell hands did these deeds, and will, too, end his life if he is not quick.

The man makes three steps before he falls, clutching his protruding guts, tangled up over the exposed knifehead of the unthrowable spear.

Annihilation in the fullest sense of the word. It seems you have not completely forgotten how to fight, Caesar.

Three lives there are that are ended by your hands, and lives of three saved - after a fashion - likewise by you. The latest of your acquisitions lie shivering painfully, and as she does so the braids on her hair - jostled and disturbed by the motions of battle and carriage - now fall loose, spilling around her head in a halo of moon-gold tresses onto the ash-black earth. They have torn her wings, the poor thing. Her arms have been cruelly broken and displaced, dangling ever so like immobile pieces of a wooden marionette, depriving her of the use of the shield and sword and the myriad homely industries of womenkind. Arna the Bird will fly no longer.

Her eyes flutter open, surprising you. A Roman woman who has suffered as much would have fainted and remained unconscious for a while yet. "Whoresons," she swears, the ugly word seemingly enchanting as they flit from her bloodied lips. She takes in her position thoughtfully. "End my life, little one," she sighs. "I will not live a life of an invalid to burden my family."

Suffer not the weak and the useless, the North teaches her people. The land is not bountiful enough to do otherwise. You did not kill the brigands for her, One-Eye. It was for your own survival. Do not feel as though you have a moral stake in her continued livelihood.

>She is a liability. You make the sensible decision, the appropriate decision. Drawing a knife - truly ubiquitous among all men - from the belt of the leader of three, you approach her, favouring the small blade for the unwieldy spear in performing this merciful act. She closes her eyes.

>You are a strange one. Why would you save her? Your Roman chivalry is misplaced here, Caesar. The North is too cruel for a man such as you.

>>3892750
>She is a liability. You make the sensible decision, the appropriate decision. Drawing a knife - truly ubiquitous among all men - from the belt of the leader of three, you approach her, favouring the small blade for the unwieldy spear in performing this merciful act. She closes her eyes.
If you say so!

>>3892750

>You are a strange one. Why would you save her? Your Roman chivalry is misplaced here, Caesar. The North is too cruel for a man such as you.

We still have healing blood, and we must have set many bones in our life, we saved her and she will help us gain the loyalty of those from her line

>>3892750
>>You are a strange one. Why would you save her? Your Roman chivalry is misplaced here, Caesar. The North is too cruel for a man such as you.

no.

>>3892750

>You are a strange one. Why would you save her? Your Roman chivalry is misplaced here, Caesar. The North is too cruel for a man such as you.

She can throw herself from a clif if she wishes to die so much, we have others to save around the village.

I won't take her life, she can do it herself if ahe wants, the coward.

>>3892750
>You are a strange one. Why would you save her? Your Roman chivalry is misplaced here, Caesar. The North is too cruel for a man such as you.
We've done plenty of Sorcery this black night, why not some more? More importantly, women are a valuable resource and she may well buy us favor with the fully intact element of the tribe.

>>3892770
If she thinks she has no use she can scream her lungs out if someone gets close to our father so we can come back and save him kek

>>3892750
>You are a strange one. Why would you save her? Your Roman chivalry is misplaced here, Caesar. The North is too cruel for a man such as you.

If we can heal her, that could help us with any kinsman of Finngeir seeking revenge against us. He was a popular captain if i remember correctly right?

>>3892750
>You are a strange one. Why would you save her? Your Roman chivalry is misplaced here, Caesar. The North is too cruel for a man such as you.

>>3892750
>>She is a liability. You make the sensible decision, the appropriate decision. Drawing a knife - truly ubiquitous among all men - from the belt of the leader of three, you approach her, favouring the small blade for the unwieldy spear in performing this merciful act. She closes her eyes.
Two broken arms? Yeah, no way

>>3892750
>>She is a liability. You make the sensible decision, the appropriate decision. Drawing a knife - truly ubiquitous among all men - from the belt of the leader of three, you approach her, favouring the small blade for the unwieldy spear in performing this merciful act. She closes her eyes.

>>3892750
>>She is a liability. You make the sensible decision, the appropriate decision. Drawing a knife - truly ubiquitous among all men - from the belt of the leader of three, you approach her, favouring the small blade for the unwieldy spear in performing this merciful act. She closes her eyes.

Makes no sense to dispense our limited resource here when there are two worthy men who need it more.

>>3893993
Not to mention we're already seriously wounded

>>3892750
>You are a strange one. Why would you save her? Your Roman chivalry is misplaced here, Caesar. The North is too cruel for a man such as you.

>You are a strange one. Why would you save her? Your Roman chivalry is misplaced here, Caesar. The North is too cruel for a man such as you.

Please don't let the quest die

>>3895932
It is my internet that did the dying

>You are a strange one. Why would you save her? Your Roman chivalry is misplaced here, Caesar. The North is too cruel for a man such as you.

While there is life, there is hope. And such hopes you had in your past life, One-Eye. You think it possible to gather this quarrelsome race of men into a united polity. You were a gambler of fates, who played the deadly game of kings with legions and provinces at stake. Why is it, then, that you would risk much to save a barbarian's life?

We do not understand.

To die is easy, you tell her, and to live, difficult. Continued existence in the face of adversity is the true test of character be they warrior or thrall. Would she back down from the challenge posted by the gods? Skip away into the afterlife so easily, instead of facing the test of the old ones - the venerable custom of sending the weak and the useless into the forest?

"You are cruel, Vakur, husband-killer," she replies weakly. "First you kill my husband with the sharp knife, then you save my life with barbed words. What are you, truly? You act unlike any other child of ten that I have ever known."

>You passed their coming-of-age rite. The least they can do is admit your adulthood. "A man of ten." [DIGNITAS]

>"Perhaps there is some stock to those rumours on my bewitched origins," you say cheekily. [COMITAS]

>"A man who knows himself." Little else need be said. [AVCTORITAS]

>>3895988
>"A man who knows himself." Little else need be said. [AVCTORITAS]

>>3895988
>>"A man who knows himself." Little else need be said. [AVCTORITAS]

>>3895988
>>"Perhaps there is some stock to those rumours on my bewitched origins," you say cheekily. [COMITAS]

cheeky

>>3895988
>>"A man who knows himself." Little else need be said. [AVCTORITAS]

>>3895988

>"A man who knows himself." Little else need be said. [AVCTORITAS]

>>3895988
>"A man who knows himself." Little else need be said. [AVCTORITAS]

>"A man who knows himself." Little else need be said. [AVCTORITAS]

>>3895988
>>You passed their coming-of-age rite. The least they can do is admit your adulthood. "A man of ten." [DIGNITAS]
say it with gravely deep voice

>>3896207
But she's already acknowledging us as an adult by calling us "Vakur". That is our adult name.

>>3896207
that would be the funniest thing ever, a 10 year old trying to make a deep voice.

>>3895998
I change my vote too since this is reaaaaallly not the time for jokes since we killed her husband and all that, specially not to joke about being half monster

>>3895988
>>"A man who knows himself." Little else need be said. [AVCTORITAS]

>>3896210
yes but it reafirms our speciality we dont try to act like we are just another man or viking WE KNOW we are special

The killer of man and his wife; mother of one and the child who was once father. Comparisons, contrasts, connections - they are complicated enough between mundane humans. And Caesar, you are a trying individual indeed. Everywhere you enter, the song of the Fates tangle and warp in curious ways, no less for your inexplicable duality and freedom of mind. The Nordmann and the Roman - barbarity and civilisation - two faces of Janus Quirinus. How do they coexist? Why do they not tear each other apart?

A man who knows himself.

So you say, but we wonder. We wonder if you tell a lie or a truth. For Caesar was a consummate liar, even as he aspired to the greatest of Roman virtues.

The Liar Saint. An appropriate ephithet for a politician.

The woman whose name is the predator bird of the windswept plains closes her eyes, as exhaustion claims her waking consciousness. Battle and loss is taking its toll, draining her of strength, emotionally and physically. The twin dull thuds of pain that continue to announce her loss of fine motor control quiets down as drowsy sleep rolls in, aided in no small part by your blessed water, the healing blood of the divines. Her damaged arms will not twist themselves back into place, but for now, it will do as a soporific, and to soothe the frayed nerve-ends. She falls asleep, suckling on your bloody hand like the infant that awaits her back home.

Caesar the Merciful. An ironic look for the man who butchered millions in his conquest of the Gauls.

Even as you administer the healing salve in this quiet unlooked-for corner in the ruins, others elsewhere find embrace in the blood-warmed earth, convulsing from axe blows and arrowed holes of the better-equipped strangers from the east. Soon, the three tribes of Skane that boasted a warrior population of two thousand will be as leaves in fall, corpses and slaves and thralls.

File: 1570400697165.gif (1.87 MB, 352x283)

1.87 MB GIF

Holy smokes, i finally caught one live

Bless you QM

I do enjoy your writing as much as i enjoyed Horace, and you are marginally more coherent than Tacitus ;-)

-=-

The fighting is done and over with. This you see with your one-eye, beneath the looted helm of a maurauder far too large for your head.

Whatever small-scale combat breaks out in the edges of the settlement as night-tired patrols of the marauders is inconsequential and insignificant. How many survived the night? Half a thousand living bodies populated the hastily-raised pens, shivering in the pre-dawn cold. Adults who were caught asleep in their beds. Children too young to raise their knives against the attackers.

>Whatever counterattack you might have planned is no longer feasible. Even if you were a man, properly equipped and free of bodily blemishes, such odds would be impossible to overcome. You turn back from your spy's perch that was once the rooftop of the two-storied home of Hroki the Bard. First, you will collect the wounded that you saved. And hope to the gods and Other and whatever else might exist that the gothi and his assistant remained yet.
Kinsmen left behind in the hands of strangers as you depart to raise the banners of family friends and thegns.

>It was a sleepless night for the barbarian Nordmenn that attacked your father's village. Hours of combat and looting has dulled their reactions and made them tired. If the winds of fortune blew your way, you may very well cut down tens, if not hundreds of the raiders. If.
But they are a thousand, Vakur.

>Axes and swords had failed your kinsmen in this surprise attack that broke a great northern taboo, an invasion among their own barbaric selves in the season of raids. Thus do you fall back on the greatest of Nordmann anathema: sorcery.
At a great cost.

>>3896366
If you think Tacitus is not so coherent, you should read Herodotus. Christ on a cracker, so many bloody foreign names there.

>>3896368
>>Axes and swords had failed your kinsmen in this surprise attack that broke a great northern taboo, an invasion among their own barbaric selves in the season of raids. Thus do you fall back on the greatest of Nordmann anathema: sorcery.
>At a great cost.

they betrayed their own gods, we may remaind those gods to punish them since they seem to observe us

>>3896368
>>Axes and swords had failed your kinsmen in this surprise attack that broke a great northern taboo, an invasion among their own barbaric selves in the season of raids. Thus do you fall back on the greatest of Nordmann anathema: sorcery.

File: 1555038112099.jpg (82 KB, 488x654)

82 KB JPG

>>3896375

>Herodotus
>Filthy philobarbaros

Not touching that with a ten foot pole

>>3896412
get used to it, we gonna bring that traitorous ass rome empire down
>tfw ceasar is the barbarian at the gates

>>3896368
>Whatever counterattack you might have planned is no longer feasible. Even if you were a man, properly equipped and free of bodily blemishes, such odds would be impossible to overcome. You turn back from your spy's perch that was once the rooftop of the two-storied home of Hroki the Bard. First, you will collect the wounded that you saved. And hope to the gods and Other and whatever else might exist that the gothi and his assistant remained yet.

>>3896368

>Axes and swords had failed your kinsmen in this surprise attack that broke a great northern taboo, an invasion among their own barbaric selves in the season of raids. Thus do you fall back on the greatest of Nordmann anathema: sorcery.
We mage now

>>3896368
>It was a sleepless night for the barbarian Nordmenn that attacked your father's village. Hours of combat and looting has dulled their reactions and made them tired. If the winds of fortune blew your way, you may very well cut down tens, if not hundreds of the raiders. If.
Killing them would be hard, but i wonder about Breaking?
In the darkest hour of the night after a superstitious people just broke a great taboo in the eyes of all, and are tired from a day of battle, if they are suddenly attacked from seemingly everywhere, we might just break them.
Also, Fortuna, you have been throwing way too much stuff at us, we’ve had zero initiative since the beginning of the quest and have basically been endlessly reacting to shit happening to us.

>>3896368
>Whatever counterattack you might have planned is no longer feasible. Even if you were a man, properly equipped and free of bodily blemishes, such odds would be impossible to overcome. You turn back from your spy's perch that was once the rooftop of the two-storied home of Hroki the Bard. First, you will collect the wounded that you saved. And hope to the gods and Other and whatever else might exist that the gothi and his assistant remained yet.

>>3896368
>Axes and swords had failed your kinsmen in this surprise attack that broke a great northern taboo, an invasion among their own barbaric selves in the season of raids. Thus do you fall back on the greatest of Nordmann anathema: sorcery.

But lets not turn our kinsmen into space marines like in the Sinaen chronicle. And no blood drinking.

>>3896368

>Axes and swords had failed your kinsmen in this surprise attack that broke a great northern taboo, an invasion among their own barbaric selves in the season of raids. Thus do you fall back on the greatest of Nordmann anathema: sorcery.

>>3896368
>>Whatever counterattack you might have planned is no longer feasible. Even if you were a man, properly equipped and free of bodily blemishes, such odds would be impossible to overcome. You turn back from your spy's perch that was once the rooftop of the two-storied home of Hroki the Bard. First, you will collect the wounded that you saved. And hope to the gods and Other and whatever else might exist that the gothi and his assistant remained yet.

>>3896368
>>Whatever counterattack you might have planned is no longer feasible. Even if you were a man, properly equipped and free of bodily blemishes, such odds would be impossible to overcome. You turn back from your spy's perch that was once the rooftop of the two-storied home of Hroki the Bard. First, you will collect the wounded that you saved. And hope to the gods and Other and whatever else might exist that the gothi and his assistant remained yet.
You guys wanted to add wounds to save who we have now. We would be useless in a fight

>>3896368
>Axes and swords had failed your kinsmen in this surprise attack that broke a great northern taboo, an invasion among their own barbaric selves in the season of raids. Thus do you fall back on the greatest of Nordmann anathema: sorcery.
>At a great cost.
They broke a taboo first, so naturally we get to do what we like.

>>3896368
>>Whatever counterattack you might have planned is no longer feasible. Even if you were a man, properly equipped and free of bodily blemishes, such odds would be impossible to overcome. You turn back from your spy's perch that was once the rooftop of the two-storied home of Hroki the Bard. First, you will collect the wounded that you saved. And hope to the gods and Other and whatever else might exist that the gothi and his assistant remained yet.

>Axes and swords had failed your kinsmen in this surprise attack that broke a great northern taboo, an invasion among their own barbaric selves in the season of raids. Thus do you fall back on the greatest of Nordmann anathema: sorcery.

They say that with spells
in Samsey once
Like witches with charms didst thou work;
And in witch's guise
among men didst thou go;
Unmanly thy soul must seem.
— Lokasenna

At a great cost.

Social taboos are built to protect the in-group, an implicit agreement mutually made to prevent the total destruction of the select population of a species. Incest, fratricide, internal war during sacred times, the breaking of holmgang.

Sorcery.

No greater shame exists for a man of the north than to practice that unmanly art for which Odin was relentlessly mocked. To be known as a magus is to have the label of ergi, the Unmanly, until the end of your days. A dishonour that marrs the countenance of the warrior.

Even the desperation of a northman whose tribe has been assaulted during the sacred truce of midsummer would not compel him to seek inhuman forces in his vengeance, so deeply ingrained is the detestation for the Arts. They would rather see the seed of their forefathers come to ruin before taking part. For to die in battle is a fate prophesied upon all who live in the north. Sorcery taints the soul, unmans it. It is a dishonour that marrs the countenance of the warrior.

But you are not a Nordmann.

Reminder that high DC is easy, low DC difficult.

>The winds of fate whisper unreliable glimpses into the winding corridors of fate. Often the far future is indecipherable, too vague and noncommittal to make sense of the confused images they may represent, but the prescience of the near future is more readily accessible, and can be used to knit the tapestry of battle. A most subtle kind of magic - you may even escape detection of its use. [Low DC]
By your hands, Fate is set in stone. The path to the end of this warhost is clear. Rip and tear, Untiring One, until the deed is done.

>Chaos and confusion, dereliction of post and insubordination. Seeds of discontent sowed among the ranks of the raiders. Anger is now more easily roused. Contempt more readily inspired. How long until they destroy themselves? [Medium DC]
Watch, Vakur. They descend into a cannibalistic frenzy. The toxic mood that pervades them causes the deaths of many of your captured kin - an acceptable amount of collateral damage.

>Rob the souls of the dead from the grasps of the valkyrja. Sing the low dirge that mourns the death of those whose faces were familiar. Rouse them from their death-slumber, you who have been unmanned, that their ghostly arms may be raised, one last time, against those who betrayed the gods-given truce of Midsummer. [High DC]
Lord of Abomination. Thief of souls. Give vent to their fury so that they may rage at the dying of their light.

>>3896500
That's because we're in chargen

>>3897721
>The winds of fate whisper unreliable glimpses into the winding corridors of fate. Often the far future is indecipherable, too vague and noncommittal to make sense of the confused images they may represent, but the prescience of the near future is more readily accessible, and can be used to knit the tapestry of battle. A most subtle kind of magic - you may even escape detection of its use. [Low DC]

>>3897721
>>The winds of fate whisper unreliable glimpses into the winding corridors of fate. Often the far future is indecipherable, too vague and noncommittal to make sense of the confused images they may represent, but the prescience of the near future is more readily accessible, and can be used to knit the tapestry of battle. A most subtle kind of magic - you may even escape detection of its use. [Low DC]

I'd like the second but...

I love this new mage we are becoming, let them talk, we weild the power and denying it is just wasteful even if we suffer prejudice by it

>>3897721
>The winds of fate whisper unreliable glimpses into the winding corridors of fate. Often the far future is indecipherable, too vague and noncommittal to make sense of the confused images they may represent, but the prescience of the near future is more readily accessible, and can be used to knit the tapestry of battle. A most subtle kind of magic - you may even escape detection of its use. [Low DC]
>By your hands, Fate is set in stone. The path to the end of this warhost is clear. Rip and tear, Untiring One, until the deed is done.
Go for broke.

>>3897721
>for which Odin was relentlessly mocked
By whom? He would shove his spear so far up your ass you'd need his sorcery to get it out.
Well, Loki did it, but he and Odin mixed blood and it was retaliation for Odin talking about the time when he spent eight years as a woman and had kids.
We should go and kill this guy. Odin has been nothing but a bro so far

>>3897743
"you are unmanly!"
"oh, and you are burning, funny how things are ,right?"

>>3897743
>by whom
Yeah it was just Loki, people tend to not diss the god of magic and war and wisdom, with such a loaded domain.

So many typoes and word repeats on this update... why do they always escape the casual proofread before the post? Wish I could make edits.

>One eyed
>Profoundly skilled warrior
>Willing and able magic user
Guys...

>>3897756
Oh, forgot to add
>About to try and see the future

>>3897756
>got pierced in the side by a spear
>known as "watchful" or "all-seeing"
It took you this long?

>>3897756
we could take his place and not many people would notice kek, I mean, we could probably fool the norse gods, they are not known for their cleverness

>>3897752
Loki is such a little bitch.

>>3897721
>The winds of fate whisper unreliable glimpses into the winding corridors of fate. Often the far future is indecipherable, too vague and noncommittal to make sense of the confused images they may represent, but the prescience of the near future is more readily accessible, and can be used to knit the tapestry of battle. A most subtle kind of magic - you may even escape detection of its use. [Low DC]

>>3897761
I mean, I saw it coming but being given the option of trying for future sight has really set it in stone.

>>3897764
This sounds like a quick way to get struck by lightning

>>3897721
>>The winds of fate whisper unreliable glimpses into the winding corridors of fate. Often the far future is indecipherable, too vague and noncommittal to make sense of the confused images they may represent, but the prescience of the near future is more readily accessible, and can be used to knit the tapestry of battle. A most subtle kind of magic - you may even escape detection of its use. [Low DC]

>>3897721
>The winds of fate whisper unreliable glimpses into the winding corridors of fate. Often the far future is indecipherable, too vague and noncommittal to make sense of the confused images they may represent, but the prescience of the near future is more readily accessible, and can be used to knit the tapestry of battle. A most subtle kind of magic - you may even escape detection of its use. [Low DC]
By your hands, Fate is set in stone. The path to the end of this warhost is clear. Rip and tear, Untiring One, until the deed is done.

>>The winds of fate whisper unreliable glimpses into the winding corridors of fate. Often the far future is indecipherable, too vague and noncommittal to make sense of the confused images they may represent, but the prescience of the near future is more readily accessible, and can be used to knit the tapestry of battle. A most subtle kind of magic - you may even escape detection of its use. [Low DC]

>>3897721
>>The winds of fate whisper unreliable glimpses into the winding corridors of fate. Often the far future is indecipherable, too vague and noncommittal to make sense of the confused images they may represent, but the prescience of the near future is more readily accessible, and can be used to knit the tapestry of battle. A most subtle kind of magic - you may even escape detection of its use. [Low DC]

Hope you had an enjoyable halloween, anons! Couldn't make it early last night, so I have to apologise about that.

Three from the dwelling
down 'neath the tree;
Urth is one named,
Verthandi the next,--
On the wood they scored,--
and Skuld the third.
Laws they made there,
and life allotted
To the sons of men,
and set their fates.
— Völuspá

The Nordmann's fate is set in stone, engraved deep with cryptic runes to the immutable tablets of Time itself. For the sake of these stories untold do the nornir overwatch, keeping guard from the meddlesome hands of the gods in the fulfilment of prophecies and destinies. This they do most effectively, for prescience is a skill neither the Vanir nor the Aesir have learned to triumph against, so thoroughly are their plans and schemes laid bare to the all-seeing jotnar-sisters three: Urth who Was, Verthandi who is, and Skuld who will be.

But you. You are nothing to them. Invisible, intangible, your thread knits itself according to your will. Neither god nor man, a twilight creature who cannot be categorised . . . that has its advantages. Take care not to attract their attention, Fateweaver. they say the sisters do terrible things to perverters of Fate.

Vakur Haakonsson, Caesar Reborn: Adamant

Will: Adamant +5MDC — [The greatest of magi have fallen because of the cowardice of their hearts. Not even the wholesale slaughter of kin and kith have made an impression on your adamantine will.]
Expertise: None -20MDC — [In the way of the soul-realms, you know nothing, less than nothing.]
Nature: Divine +20MDC — [The golden ichor of the exalted high ones flow in your veins, not by measure of birth but by the collective belief of an empire.]
Worshipped: Roman Deity +25MDC] — [It is a testament to the scale of the Imperial Cult that you feel even in this periphery of the known world the resonance of power that mass worship grants.]
Caesar: Patres Conscriptus +10MDC — [Conscript Fathers of a once-Republic, renowned for their tempered deliberations and measured orations. They would have made great magi, were they not Roman.]
Vakur: One-Eyed +20MDC — [To see less in the real is to see more in the unreal, or so folk wisdom goes.]
Vakur: The Side-Wounded God +15MDC — [Symbols and signs affect greater changes in the dreamworld than they do in the material. This growing similarity with a certain figure cannot be mere coincidence.]
Caesar Undivided -50MDC — [You have refused to take part in the debauchery of the gods, the feast of mortal souls. You remain your own... for now.]

>Magecraft DC25
>Best of three d100

Rolled 65 (1d100)

>>3900680

Rolled 6 (1d100)

>>3900680

Rolled 39 (1d100)

>>3900680

File: 1570620936075.jpg (75 KB, 630x472)

75 KB JPG

>>3900715
>6

did we die?

Ingjald's royal soldiers rise from their afterbattle stupor as they hear the wounded cries of their brothers in battle, only to die by the very same spear that slew the criers, Imi's spear, bloodied and near broken by abuse from its new owner. Ship-captains shout in alarm to awaken their men, singing the same song sung earlier by your guards of the watch, the ancestral warning call universal of all ambushed officers - "Awaken! Fear! Fire! Foe!" - in vain. The men wake and die in the same breath against your rapid advance through the thronging sleep-tents of the assembled warhost.

All-seeing Vakur (how aptly were you named!), you are no longer recogniseable as human. Sorcery has taken its physical toll onto your broken form, barely held together, bleeding profusely with shining gold - but greater is the corruption of your immortal soul from the contact with the foul waters of the sea of souls, that universal after-life from whence all sorcery comes. It is the drinking aquifer of Yggdrasil, the mixed waters of Abzu and Tiamat, the well-spring of All, and to which All return. And you have drunk deep from it indeed. It is a terrible sight to behold for the sleep-lidded eyes of the looters and marauders who see nothing less than a nightmare-being in their sight. They whimper, unmanned, as their eyes land on your near-corpse form. But your movements . . . they do not move as a dying man.

Teeth-trembling actinic buzz accompanies each swing of Imi's spear, delivering blows that shatter and pummel men from their feet, every blow a titanic upheaval that throws high ragdolled bodies into the air only to crash against the unsympathetic earth. Blood and bodily fluids pool the ground as they spill freely from cracked skulls and dis-armed corpses, choking the ground and raising a fog of iron-rich petrichor. Veteran raiders pause to gag and empty their bowels. They have realised that this is no longer a battle-ground. Butchery happens here, one-sided, its outcome predetermined.

The mighty spear of the dead part-giant shatters in a shower of splintered, stressed wood. You pick up a fallen sword, throw it like a javelin deep into the skull of a screaming rager. Duck from the expected side-swipe, roll against the vomit-spilled ground, and then rise back up with a dagger in hand that you lose the very next moment as you leave it embedded in the guts of the longship captain. A split-second turn allows you to get the better of a quiet fighter - smarter than most, to refrain from shouting war-cries while attacking - with a punch of his throat, leaving him to choke to his death from his own blood to deal with his spearfellow, clawed, steely fingers gripping her face by the nasal cavities and rending her head apart.

Unnatural strength pushes you onward as you tax your mortal shell to its utmost limit, but you do not care, blood-drunk in the way only those fully attuned in the rhythm of war can be. The course of battle is made known to you by your temporary prescience, every push and lull of violence that marks massed combat. How can those fated to die before the break of dawn make dent against a spirit of war, cognizant of their every move, every blow?

The song of the last spear-blow rings in the chilly morning air with a mournful finality, before being cut short with a bloody gurgle. The sun rises over a battlefield of one.

-=-
End of Prologue

Traits gained:
>Valorous
>Honourable - removed, Ergi
>One-Eyed
>Spear-Pierced
>Faithful Son
>Merciful
>All-Seeing
>Ergi - Hidden

>>3902088
I... I haven't asked for this.

>>3902088
If that was the prologue....

>>3902092
I am sorry, but how the hell are we ergi exactly?
If we are Ergi, than everybody is even worse.

>>3902116
It doesn't matter how long your cock is or how dense the hair on your chest is, if you use magic you're ergi.

>>3902092
>>3902128
Our choice was literally between running away and leaving our people to slavery, dying, or using magic.
Doesn’t it mean there was literally no way we wouldn’t become an ergi if we Wanted to continue the quest?

>>3902147
It's unfair, but it is what it is. Unless Odin himself comes down and gives us a medal of manliness our choices are to be known as a faggot or as a changeling.

>>3902147
Well anons voted for hardest options along the way and so the end choice was what it was.

>>3902147
>Quest over
It wouldn't have ended if we ditched, it'd just be suboptimal. Frankly, I find this route far more metal and thusly more desirable.

>>3902147
Blame the anons for all of the choices before this

>>3902185
>Frankly, I find this route far more metal and thusly more desirable.
this anon's opinion is unbelievably correct

>>3902096
I'm sorry if that was not up to par, anon, and I mean that. My writing goes up and down. Mostly down.

>>3902116
Sorcery -> Ergi, as >>3902128 so eloquently puts it

>>3902147
Not at all! Retreating to gather aid before striking at the warhost was the safe (and not dishonourable) route. Another thing to keep in mind is that your body is mortal, but your soul isn't.

>>3902154
The Ergi is a hidden trait, and is not known publicly to all. The kind of sorcery you performed was the most subtle sort - disguised as some insane feat of berserker shenanigans combined with the soldiers' fatigue instead of outright causing unnatural clamour or literally raising spirits - so none of your tribesmen would know it, including the ones that witnessed the act (who didn't have a good front seat for the whole ordeal, and wouldn't believe you did it alone). There were scattered fighting still going on in the periphery, mostly desperate kinsmen trying to rescue their captured children. A significant number also simply fucked off to nearby ally-tribes.

As we are now, you are currently:

>One-eyed
Self-explanatory, also has some mystical associations
>Hobbled
due to a Grievous Wound in the side (cannot be healed by Divine Constitution and conventional means)
>HP cap reduced
by one grade, which means your meatHP will be one grade less than fully Healthy

As for the narrative choices, you -

>Saved Arna
Seeing as she's the mother of Finngeir's heir, this is a significant factor. Though you still have not discovered WHY she was lingering when her kinsmen had left.

>Saved Father
Somehow managing to kill Imi. Even with Touko helping, it wasn't supposed to be very easy.

>Saved Touko
One of the orphan Twins that the gothi found while gathering herbs in the forest, Touko is the more warlike of the two brothers. They bear the looks of the Saami, reindeer-herders even deeper north who dwell in the woods unlike the sane (relatively speaking) Nordmenn who live in clearings.

>Refused to take pillaged weapons and armour from Tuomi
Morally a bonus, but physically near-disastrous. But you survived in the end.

As it seems to happen again and again, the prologue went for a tad longer than I anticipated because the anons decided on the very bold options time and again. Which I didn't expect. But there you go. I wanted to sort of set the stage with the prologue before going with the more macro gameplay and I wanted to try out a narrator voice, which quickly proved EXHAUSTING. As one anon noted, this was almost entirely reactive, and I am sorry if you were put off by that.

This thread and the first are archived in: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?searchall=De+Vita

(Sorry for the late response, I'm prepping for PF2E campaign)

>>3902238
I think this was entirely up to par, and I really enjoyed the narrator voice.

>>3902238
>I'm sorry if that was not up to par, anon, and I mean that. My writing goes up and down. Mostly down.
Oh I was only meme'ing.

>>3902238
It has been terrific. Thank you for this journey you've taken us on.