Thredash is grateful for Soren's visit...I am seeking serenity and peace within myself, and training my body and mind. I know I will be close to my goals if I start winning fights by raising an eyebrow...and then I can maybe teach the same to others of my kind...During the next meeting of the twins there will be a special rite of passage for me...Please come with the others and observe?
Soren nods. "We all must find our place and rites of passage hold a special place in the ways of nature as well as those of people. I do not know if I will be able to bring the others, but I will be there myself, Thredash."
(And Soren is there, with his owl Nettle, observing respectfully during Thredash's rite of passage, having asked the others to join him as well).
In the North, life is harder than south of the Nieder Straits. In the fjordlands, running out of firewood doesn’t mean a chill night, but exposure to bone‑wracking cold or a trip into the dark and dangerous forest for kindling. Everyone from king to lowly thrall must work hard daily to survive. A life of indolence is unheard of—and impossible without help from powerful magic. Work-shy characters aren’t just lazy; they’re ostracized as threats to the community. People of the North are practical and independent, energetic, and inured without complaint to the hardships of life. No central authority demands taxes or a cut of a party’s loot, but at the same time no one reins in the excesses of monsters and unscrupulous rulers. When bandits or trolls or a jarl’s bullying huskarls come prowling, it’s down to each family and their friends to choose fight or flight. Death comes to all sooner or later, for no matter how well prepared and defended, nothing lives one moment longer than it’s fated.
LAND OF DEADLY BEAUTY Nature is more dangerous than the most savage band of raiders. Deadly creatures lurk in dark pine forests, blizzards and snowdrifts can isolate farms and towns for months at a time, and the temperature plummets to a deadly chill during the winter months. Even daylight, the oldest defense against ghosts and skulking horrors, dims as the year ends and dooms people to huddle around their fires and stare nervously into the dark. For all its harshness and hazards, however, the North is indisputably, breathtakingly beautiful. Frost glitters in the morning sun, making the world shine as if coated with diamonds. Waterfalls thunder over cliffs, cascading down through an unearthly haze of mist and rainbows. The land’s beauty inspires countless poems and songs, but for those lost and starving in the wilderness, the allure can be deadly, dulling the mind to approaching danger.
LIFE IN THE NORTHLANDS Outside of family and clan, felag is the strongest bond in society. It means “fellowship” and “partnership” and is linked to the power of the Fé rune, which represents division of wealth. A felag oath-taker swears to loyally support one’s chieftain and fellow warriors in a sacred bond between companions. This oath defines the felag’s aims, its right to depose and elect leaders, and fair division of the spoils. Most Northlanders are karls, free farmers and artisans—and part time raiders and traders—who answer only to themselves. Unlike their counterparts in the feudal hierarchies of the south, homesteaders aren’t bound to a local lord by anything but their own choices and oaths. Karls who directly serve a lord are known as huskarls (“karls of the house”) and make up a lord’s chief allies, administrators, and personal bodyguard. A wise lord is free with gifts and opportunities for glory, else a few karls may look elsewhere for a patron. The blandishments of Loki, Boreas, giants, or the trollkin sometimes win over a karl far out on the cold margins of civilization. Above karls are chieftains, jarls, and kings—nobles defined not by bloodline or divine provenance but followers, ships, and estates. Sometimes the North has many kings and sometimes it has none, but rarely do they unify more than a relatively small area, and never for more than a generation or two. Royalty attracts more than enough rivals, invaders, and pretenders to stymie any ruler’s power, and successions are always disputed. Kingship is not regarded as especially sacred or special. Some rulers might claim descent from a hero or god (occasionally backed up by genuine divine favor), but success is the only real measure of nobility in the North. In the lowest social class are the thralls or slaves, prisoners of war or unfortunates kidnapped by raiders or bound servants unable to pay their debts. Most thralls lead hard lives, but some rise from such depths. Everyone respects triumph over adversity, and good slaves are considered part of the family, sharing its hardships and successes with everyone else. Karls often free their slaves, either in their wills or by treating them as freed villagers as the years go on. Social order is fluid and defined by one’s actions: Kingship and jarldom are forged through war and adventure, not guaranteed by bloodline.
Northlanders Sailing South It is not uncommon to see berserkers and reaver dwarves in mercenary companies and as wizards’ bodyguards in the more civilized and temperate lands to the south. Northlanders do not care how far they travel to go a-viking, as long as there is battle, plunder, and glory to be had. Mages know that Northlanders make loyal, oath-bound bodyguards, happy to leap into savage battle. The lords of Dornig also find that Northern barbarian warriors make excellent shock troops and loyal retainers if they are kept well supplied with battle, gold, and mead. The Khazzaki are contemptuous of warriors who prefer wooden longships over reliable horses, but Northern mercenaries find work in the Kingdom of Vidim and even as far south as the Ruby Despotate. Northland warriors even find a place in the mercenary companies of the Septime Cities and among the akinji and other troops of the Mharoti Empire.
Customs of the North The unyielding landscape hammered Northern life into its current shape. The surroundings define its people far more than race—the societies of humans, dwarves, giants, and others share much in common. They approach life with the same bullish mindset, worship in a similar fashion, and follow roughly the same customs. Humans can travel to a trollkin steading or a goblin hall with reasonable expectations of proper etiquette. Still, each species exhibits prejudices and preferences, muddying the waters of tradition and adding unexpected twists that can form the basis of adventures. Jotuns rarely think it unfair to challenge guests to giant-sized games of strength for example, while kobold Þings (see below) are notorious for backstabbing politics, and what’s on the table at a troll feast might not be palatable to other races . . . although it’s still rude not to eat. The most common shared customs involve honor and reputation, hospitality and feasting, the Þing, wergild and duels, and the infamous reaver raid. Once Northlanders sail south, however, these customs might be left in their wake as circumstance, company, and convenience dictate. Certainly those on the receiving end of a raid have no recourse to any protections offered by Northlands mores. This is not to say that those from the Northlands simply run wild when far from home. When engaged in trade, the Northlanders’ familiarity with foreign customs often catches southerners off guard, surprised by just how cosmopolitan these warlike people turn out to be.
A dulcimer and flute in quiet harmony, incense and a touch of myrrh wafting in the dawn's early light, stirred by the gentle fans being waved by younglings standing in the corners...Thredash sitting in lotus on the stage along the north wall illuminated by candle light. The music shifts to drums and cymbals as four humanoids emerge from the shadows clad in black and armed with katanas along with four others bearing two dragon costumes. Together they begin an intricate dance, passing between shadow and light moving faster and faster until two of the humanoids swing their katanas at Thredash's neck stopping at the last second, leaving behind shallow scars at the back and front. The music stops and Thredash stands up in one smooth motion. The two dragons bearing blades of their own leave four vertical scars on his torso, front and back. All move towards the north wall, making way for the Lady Sensei of the DoJo to step forth wrapping a new black belt around Thredash's waist. She turns Thredash to face the audience, a dragon brand on his breast sharp and vivid.
Behold Thredash, our latest Guardian, who has chosen the Way of the Dragon...
Soren stands as well, head bowed quietly and respectfully, attempting to suppress a smile at Garmuk's wild celebration.
He is happy for his friend and looks at Thredash with respect. And a small sliver of fear, remembering the ancient bones and marrow of the cave the kobolds had mined.
Honor and Reputation Reputation is everything. Warriors tell tales of old comrades and adventures, and skalds sing of deeds both valorous and vile. Passing news and gossip is a common pastime from thralls to kings. Desire for a good reputation compels men and women to acts of generosity, valor, and hospitality, while ill-repute is rightly feared and the taint of dishonor difficult to shed. Northlanders have a prickly sense of honor: A good name is all that remains after death, so most people don’t just want to do the right thing, they want to be seen doing it.
Honor isn’t the same as goodness, however. Wicked reavers are considered honorable, and some good Northlanders are known as níðingr (honorless) for abandoning the crueler Northern customs. Regardless of alignment, an honorable man or woman is generous in gifting and hospitality, fair-minded in judgments, and fearless in battle. The ability to uphold such values can keep even the truly malevolent in good favor with the gods, and the ability to subvert such customs to meet one’s goals draws the favor of the more devious among the deities. Cleverness and wit are also essential—Northlanders should be able to recite poetry, evade the tempers and tantrums of the gods, and be considered cunning by allies and enemies alike. Northlanders take life stoically, calm in even the worst of circumstances. They know no human or god escapes their fate, and complaining is pointless.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
After a long day of working the Forge for his employer, Garmuk heads to his favorite tavern for a bit of light brawling before he works on his axe. On the way he runs into Soren.
You join Garmuk? Garmuk's eyes go wide. This going to be so much fun! Once they arrive at the tavern the bar keep looks up. Your late they ate already out back.
Garmuk and Soren head into the back where there is 5 other fighters and a small crowd.
Looks like we are all here. Just a quick reminder there are only 2 rules. No weapons and the fight is not over till there is only 1 left standing. Pointing at Garmuk the MC says and if you knock out this crazy orc you will be the new KING OF THE RING.
With that the other 5 fighters charge Garmuk who yelps in delight giving in to the emotions of battle completely.
Beaten and bloodied Garmuk goes down with 2 left standing. Coming around a few minutes later he gives the winner a hug. Good fight you hit hard he says with a grin.
Later that night Garmuk channels his rage at losing his title into his work. Just before down he holds his new battle at up in the morning light, easily his best work yet. Knowing he is to excited to sleep he cleans up and preps for the day.
Upon his return to the village Brix concluded the task of securing a new distributor for his families liquor at the local bar. It would seem that the fiery drink was a becoming a favorite among some of the newer arrivals. In exchange for a discount he convinced the owner of the bar to allow him the use of the tool shed behind the establishment. Brix quickly converted it into a cozy little living working space. Though cramped to most others the space was perfect for Brixes smaller stature.
Brix quickly went to work building a still from the brewers supplies he had brought with him on his initial delivery run. In his short time here he had noticed something about the local water sources. The bitter cold chilled the water in a way that made it the purest he had ever tasted. He was certain that it would enhance the flavor of his families brew. Besides it gave him something to take his mind off "the cave".
"It had been good to see Soren." thought Brix as he tinkered away at the still, "Even if it had brought up the memory, or more accurately lack of memory, of the incident in the dragon cave."
It had been a long month and his thoughts had more often than not turned to trying to recall what had happened to him. Try as he might he had no recollection of the majority of what had happened. His only knowledge had come from Sorens recalling of the events. The gnome shivered and not from the cold, for the small shack he had rented was kept quite warm against the northern winds, but from the fear that whatever had taken hold of him was not gone.
"No point in dwelling on what you don't remember when there's so much to do with what you do." Brix says to the small patch work plush squirrel that he had created as his homoculus. "Wouldn't you say Dan?" With a tiny shake of his head , a half grin and snort he went back to what he had been working on.
OCC:
Remember "Philbin Firewater" keeps you warm even if she won't. Ask for it wherever fine beverages are sold!
Thom looks a little more tired today than normal, bag under his eyes, and his cloth, as tatered as they might be are normally a lot cleaner, straighter. His hair is a little long and has stubble showing. He is over and over again trying to fix these problems during the ceremony for Thredash.
His curiosity piqued by Brix's concoctions, Soren partakes in a bit of Philbin Firewater the night of Garmuk's bout. Being a lightweight nature guy, Soren is knocked on his figurative rear end by the drink worse than any of Garmuk's opponents had done to the half-orc. The druid has a tough time waking up the next day.
Thankfully the chill air and stiff wind of Stannasgard revive Soren's spirits quickly as he takes a brisk walk through a snowy path around town.
Thredash is grateful for Soren's visit...I am seeking serenity and peace within myself, and training my body and mind. I know I will be close to my goals if I start winning fights by raising an eyebrow...and then I can maybe teach the same to others of my kind...During the next meeting of the twins there will be a special rite of passage for me...Please come with the others and observe?
Soren nods. "We all must find our place and rites of passage hold a special place in the ways of nature as well as those of people. I do not know if I will be able to bring the others, but I will be there myself, Thredash."
(And Soren is there, with his owl Nettle, observing respectfully during Thredash's rite of passage, having asked the others to join him as well).
Tanis(Ranger1): Shiverquill's Tempest City | Xarian(Fighter2): NioNSwiper's Tyranny of Dragons
Dyson/Eleo(TwilightCleric4): Vos' Beyond the Veil | Soren(ShepherdDruid5): Bartjeebus' Ravenloft | Ophelia(WildMagicSorcerer4): Ashen_Age's Risen from the Sands
Joren(EchoKnightFighter6): NotDrizzt's Simple Request | Sabetha(MercyMonk3): Bedlymn's Murder Court | Seri(NatureCleric3/DivineSoulSorcerer1): Bartjeebus' Greyhawk
Northlands
In the North, life is harder than south of the Nieder Straits. In the fjordlands,
running out of firewood doesn’t mean a chill night, but exposure to
bone‑wracking cold or a trip into the dark and dangerous forest for kindling.
Everyone from king to lowly thrall must work hard daily to survive. A life of
indolence is unheard of—and impossible without help from powerful magic.
Work-shy characters aren’t just lazy; they’re ostracized as threats to the
community.
People of the North are practical and independent, energetic, and inured
without complaint to the hardships of life. No central authority demands taxes
or a cut of a party’s loot, but at the same time no one reins in the excesses of
monsters and unscrupulous rulers. When bandits or trolls or a jarl’s bullying
huskarls come prowling, it’s down to each family and their friends to choose
fight or flight. Death comes to all sooner or later, for no matter how well
prepared and defended, nothing lives one moment longer than it’s fated.
LAND OF DEADLY BEAUTY
Nature is more dangerous than the most savage band of raiders. Deadly creatures
lurk in dark pine forests, blizzards and snowdrifts can isolate farms and towns
for months at a time, and the temperature plummets to a deadly chill during the
winter months. Even daylight, the oldest defense against ghosts and skulking
horrors, dims as the year ends and dooms people to huddle around their fires and
stare nervously into the dark.
For all its harshness and hazards, however, the North is indisputably,
breathtakingly beautiful. Frost glitters in the morning sun, making the world
shine as if coated with diamonds. Waterfalls thunder over cliffs, cascading down
through an unearthly haze of mist and rainbows. The land’s beauty inspires
countless poems and songs, but for those lost and starving in the wilderness, the
allure can be deadly, dulling the mind to approaching danger.
LIFE IN THE NORTHLANDS
Outside of family and clan, felag is the strongest bond
in society. It means “fellowship” and “partnership” and
is linked to the power of the Fé rune, which represents
division of wealth. A felag oath-taker swears to loyally
support one’s chieftain and fellow warriors in a sacred
bond between companions. This oath defines the felag’s
aims, its right to depose and elect leaders, and fair division
of the spoils.
Most Northlanders are karls, free farmers and
artisans—and part time raiders and traders—who answer
only to themselves. Unlike their counterparts in the feudal
hierarchies of the south, homesteaders aren’t bound to
a local lord by anything but their own choices and oaths.
Karls who directly serve a lord are known as huskarls
(“karls of the house”) and make up a lord’s chief allies,
administrators, and personal bodyguard. A wise lord is
free with gifts and opportunities for glory, else a few karls
may look elsewhere for a patron. The blandishments of
Loki, Boreas, giants, or the trollkin sometimes win over a
karl far out on the cold margins of civilization.
Above karls are chieftains, jarls, and kings—nobles
defined not by bloodline or divine provenance but
followers, ships, and estates.
Sometimes the North has many kings and sometimes
it has none, but rarely do they unify more than a relatively
small area, and never for more than a generation or two.
Royalty attracts more than enough rivals, invaders, and
pretenders to stymie any ruler’s power, and successions
are always disputed. Kingship is not regarded as especially
sacred or special. Some rulers might claim descent from
a hero or god (occasionally backed up by genuine divine
favor), but success is the only real measure of nobility in
the North.
In the lowest social class are the thralls or slaves,
prisoners of war or unfortunates kidnapped by raiders
or bound servants unable to pay their debts. Most thralls
lead hard lives, but some rise from such depths. Everyone
respects triumph over adversity, and good slaves are
considered part of the family, sharing its hardships and
successes with everyone else. Karls often free their slaves,
either in their wills or by treating them as freed villagers as
the years go on. Social order is fluid and defined by one’s
actions: Kingship and jarldom are forged through war and
adventure, not guaranteed by bloodline.
Northlanders Sailing South
It is not uncommon to see berserkers and reaver
dwarves in mercenary companies and as wizards’
bodyguards in the more civilized and temperate
lands to the south. Northlanders do not care how far
they travel to go a-viking, as long as there is battle,
plunder, and glory to be had. Mages know that
Northlanders make loyal, oath-bound bodyguards,
happy to leap into savage battle. The lords of Dornig
also find that Northern barbarian warriors make
excellent shock troops and loyal retainers if they are
kept well supplied with battle, gold, and mead.
The Khazzaki are contemptuous of warriors who
prefer wooden longships over reliable horses, but
Northern mercenaries find work in the Kingdom of
Vidim and even as far south as the Ruby Despotate.
Northland warriors even find a place in the mercenary
companies of the Septime Cities and among the akinji
and other troops of the Mharoti Empire.
Customs of the North
The unyielding landscape hammered Northern life into its
current shape. The surroundings define its people far more
than race—the societies of humans, dwarves, giants, and
others share much in common. They approach life with
the same bullish mindset, worship in a similar fashion,
and follow roughly the same customs. Humans can travel
to a trollkin steading or a goblin hall with reasonable
expectations of proper etiquette.
Still, each species exhibits prejudices and preferences,
muddying the waters of tradition and adding unexpected
twists that can form the basis of adventures. Jotuns rarely
think it unfair to challenge guests to giant-sized games
of strength for example, while kobold Þings (see below)
are notorious for backstabbing politics, and what’s on the
table at a troll feast might not be palatable to other races
. . . although it’s still rude not to eat. The most common
shared customs involve honor and reputation, hospitality
and feasting, the Þing, wergild and duels, and the
infamous reaver raid.
Once Northlanders sail south, however, these customs
might be left in their wake as circumstance, company, and
convenience dictate. Certainly those on the receiving end
of a raid have no recourse to any protections offered by
Northlands mores.
This is not to say that those from the Northlands simply
run wild when far from home. When engaged in trade,
the Northlanders’ familiarity with foreign customs often
catches southerners off guard, surprised by just how
cosmopolitan these warlike people turn out to be.
OOC: Cool! I'm looking at the maps in the Midgard world book around pages 11-13:
https://acrobat.adobe.com/link/track?uri=urn:aaid:scds:US:9e1aaf25-3fa0-36d5-88d3-ef1aa7216746#pageNum=12
So the Northlands would be places like Trollheim and Wolfheim? And maybe Stannasgard on the earlier map? Do those maps connect east to west?
I do see a couple of the other places mentioned like Vidim and the Khazzaki.
Where is the party right now?
Tanis(Ranger1): Shiverquill's Tempest City | Xarian(Fighter2): NioNSwiper's Tyranny of Dragons
Dyson/Eleo(TwilightCleric4): Vos' Beyond the Veil | Soren(ShepherdDruid5): Bartjeebus' Ravenloft | Ophelia(WildMagicSorcerer4): Ashen_Age's Risen from the Sands
Joren(EchoKnightFighter6): NotDrizzt's Simple Request | Sabetha(MercyMonk3): Bedlymn's Murder Court | Seri(NatureCleric3/DivineSoulSorcerer1): Bartjeebus' Greyhawk
A dulcimer and flute in quiet harmony, incense and a touch of myrrh wafting in the dawn's early light, stirred by the gentle fans being waved by younglings standing in the corners...Thredash sitting in lotus on the stage along the north wall illuminated by candle light. The music shifts to drums and cymbals as four humanoids emerge from the shadows clad in black and armed with katanas along with four others bearing two dragon costumes. Together they begin an intricate dance, passing between shadow and light moving faster and faster until two of the humanoids swing their katanas at Thredash's neck stopping at the last second, leaving behind shallow scars at the back and front. The music stops and Thredash stands up in one smooth motion. The two dragons bearing blades of their own leave four vertical scars on his torso, front and back. All move towards the north wall, making way for the Lady Sensei of the DoJo to step forth wrapping a new black belt around Thredash's waist. She turns Thredash to face the audience, a dragon brand on his breast sharp and vivid.
Behold Thredash, our latest Guardian, who has chosen the Way of the Dragon...
Garmuk gives a joyful shout, jumping up and down clapping and hooting, unaware and uncaring if anyone joins him.
Thredash Thredash Thredash ... no you brother dragon brand now. Woot woot woot.
Soren stands as well, head bowed quietly and respectfully, attempting to suppress a smile at Garmuk's wild celebration.
He is happy for his friend and looks at Thredash with respect. And a small sliver of fear, remembering the ancient bones and marrow of the cave the kobolds had mined.
The Way of the Dragon...
Tanis(Ranger1): Shiverquill's Tempest City | Xarian(Fighter2): NioNSwiper's Tyranny of Dragons
Dyson/Eleo(TwilightCleric4): Vos' Beyond the Veil | Soren(ShepherdDruid5): Bartjeebus' Ravenloft | Ophelia(WildMagicSorcerer4): Ashen_Age's Risen from the Sands
Joren(EchoKnightFighter6): NotDrizzt's Simple Request | Sabetha(MercyMonk3): Bedlymn's Murder Court | Seri(NatureCleric3/DivineSoulSorcerer1): Bartjeebus' Greyhawk
The Party's location is Stannasgard.
Honor and Reputation
Reputation is everything. Warriors tell tales of old
comrades and adventures, and skalds sing of deeds both
valorous and vile. Passing news and gossip is a common
pastime from thralls to kings. Desire for a good reputation
compels men and women to acts of generosity, valor, and
hospitality, while ill-repute is rightly feared and the taint
of dishonor difficult to shed. Northlanders have a prickly
sense of honor: A good name is all that remains after
death, so most people don’t just want to do the right thing,
they want to be seen doing it.
Honor isn’t the same as goodness, however. Wicked
reavers are considered honorable, and some good
Northlanders are known as níðingr (honorless) for
abandoning the crueler Northern customs. Regardless
of alignment, an honorable man or woman is generous
in gifting and hospitality, fair-minded in judgments, and
fearless in battle. The ability to uphold such values can
keep even the truly malevolent in good favor with the gods,
and the ability to subvert such customs to meet one’s goals
draws the favor of the more devious among the deities.
Cleverness and wit are also essential—Northlanders
should be able to recite poetry, evade the tempers and
tantrums of the gods, and be considered cunning by allies
and enemies alike. Northlanders take life stoically, calm in
even the worst of circumstances. They know no human or
god escapes their fate, and complaining is pointless.
Cool! It's cool to see the entire world and thanks for the Northlands lore.
To the other players, if you want to see Stannasgard, it is at the top right of this map, north of the Grand Duchy of Dornig across the water and on the eastern end of the Uttermost Sea.
https://acrobat.adobe.com/link/track?uri=urn:aaid:scds:US:9e1aaf25-3fa0-36d5-88d3-ef1aa7216746#pageNum=11
Tanis(Ranger1): Shiverquill's Tempest City | Xarian(Fighter2): NioNSwiper's Tyranny of Dragons
Dyson/Eleo(TwilightCleric4): Vos' Beyond the Veil | Soren(ShepherdDruid5): Bartjeebus' Ravenloft | Ophelia(WildMagicSorcerer4): Ashen_Age's Risen from the Sands
Joren(EchoKnightFighter6): NotDrizzt's Simple Request | Sabetha(MercyMonk3): Bedlymn's Murder Court | Seri(NatureCleric3/DivineSoulSorcerer1): Bartjeebus' Greyhawk
After a long day of working the Forge for his employer, Garmuk heads to his favorite tavern for a bit of light brawling before he works on his axe. On the way he runs into Soren.
You join Garmuk? Garmuk's eyes go wide. This going to be so much fun! Once they arrive at the tavern the bar keep looks up. Your late they ate already out back.
Garmuk and Soren head into the back where there is 5 other fighters and a small crowd.
Looks like we are all here. Just a quick reminder there are only 2 rules. No weapons and the fight is not over till there is only 1 left standing. Pointing at Garmuk the MC says and if you knock out this crazy orc you will be the new KING OF THE RING.
With that the other 5 fighters charge Garmuk who yelps in delight giving in to the emotions of battle completely.
Athletics: 19 + 2
Beaten and bloodied Garmuk goes down with 2 left standing. Coming around a few minutes later he gives the winner a hug. Good fight you hit hard he says with a grin.
Later that night Garmuk channels his rage at losing his title into his work. Just before down he holds his new battle at up in the morning light, easily his best work yet. Knowing he is to excited to sleep he cleans up and preps for the day.
Thank you thank you...now, how about some ale?
Upon his return to the village Brix concluded the task of securing a new distributor for his families liquor at the local bar. It would seem that the fiery drink was a becoming a favorite among some of the newer arrivals. In exchange for a discount he convinced the owner of the bar to allow him the use of the tool shed behind the establishment. Brix quickly converted it into a cozy little living working space. Though cramped to most others the space was perfect for Brixes smaller stature.
Brix quickly went to work building a still from the brewers supplies he had brought with him on his initial delivery run. In his short time here he had noticed something about the local water sources. The bitter cold chilled the water in a way that made it the purest he had ever tasted. He was certain that it would enhance the flavor of his families brew. Besides it gave him something to take his mind off "the cave".
"It had been good to see Soren." thought Brix as he tinkered away at the still, "Even if it had brought up the memory, or more accurately lack of memory, of the incident in the dragon cave."
It had been a long month and his thoughts had more often than not turned to trying to recall what had happened to him. Try as he might he had no recollection of the majority of what had happened. His only knowledge had come from Sorens recalling of the events. The gnome shivered and not from the cold, for the small shack he had rented was kept quite warm against the northern winds, but from the fear that whatever had taken hold of him was not gone.
"No point in dwelling on what you don't remember when there's so much to do with what you do." Brix says to the small patch work plush squirrel that he had created as his homoculus. "Wouldn't you say Dan?" With a tiny shake of his head , a half grin and snort he went back to what he had been working on.
OCC:
Remember "Philbin Firewater" keeps you warm even if she won't. Ask for it wherever fine beverages are sold!
**This Space for Rent**
Thom looks a little more tired today than normal, bag under his eyes, and his cloth, as tatered as they might be are normally a lot cleaner, straighter. His hair is a little long and has stubble showing. He is over and over again trying to fix these problems during the ceremony for Thredash.
Thom Everyman- Midgard One Shots
DMing- The Voyage of the Fallen Star
(BTW, did Ursa find any spells or magic items to help a Wizard?)
D&D since 1984
His curiosity piqued by Brix's concoctions, Soren partakes in a bit of Philbin Firewater the night of Garmuk's bout. Being a lightweight nature guy, Soren is knocked on his figurative rear end by the drink worse than any of Garmuk's opponents had done to the half-orc. The druid has a tough time waking up the next day.
Thankfully the chill air and stiff wind of Stannasgard revive Soren's spirits quickly as he takes a brisk walk through a snowy path around town.
Tanis(Ranger1): Shiverquill's Tempest City | Xarian(Fighter2): NioNSwiper's Tyranny of Dragons
Dyson/Eleo(TwilightCleric4): Vos' Beyond the Veil | Soren(ShepherdDruid5): Bartjeebus' Ravenloft | Ophelia(WildMagicSorcerer4): Ashen_Age's Risen from the Sands
Joren(EchoKnightFighter6): NotDrizzt's Simple Request | Sabetha(MercyMonk3): Bedlymn's Murder Court | Seri(NatureCleric3/DivineSoulSorcerer1): Bartjeebus' Greyhawk