NorseQuest (A Norse Xianxia)

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As the troll lays impaled on a bed of iron spikes, an idea springs to mind. An idea so delightfully clever that you can't help but want to carry it out.

'This is a bad idea,' Blackhand mutters as you turn to the crew, who stand with weapons raised and at the ready. Not one of them is going to be pleased with this plan of yours, but you reckon that you can convince them.

"I've got an idea," you announce with a clever grin planting hands on hips. The others lean in to better hear the softly-spoken plan — whispers would only draw the troll's attention.

"Absolutely not," Sten's eyes darken as a glower forms on his face, your words failing to convince him. His lips twist down violently as he crosses his mail-covered arms. "Trolls are monsters and I've seen firsthand what is wrought from their work."

"And what we stand to gain is more than worth the risk!" You whisper-hiss through clenching teeth as your own brows carve a deep valley on your brow.

"The risk of losing you." Abjorn's tiny words catch you by surprise, but you rally and push ahead.

"Nothing's going to happen to me!" You sigh as their faces remain unchanging. You'll have to make some concessions if you want to convince them of your plan. "Fine, fine, we won't do the dinner thing. Happy?"

Sten's shoulders slump as a heavy, long-suffering sigh escapes his throat. "Not in the slightest, but I'll take it."

The rest of the crew reluctantly nods, not one of them happy with the plan, but they slowly concede. More out of a trust that you'll know when to get out of there than any argument that you make, but a win is a win.

With the plan made and settled upon, you nod to yourself as you make your way to where the hill overlooks the pitfall. The troll is thrashing violently as it struggles to free itself from its spiky predicament.

Clapping palms to cheeks, you put on the most hapless voice you can manage.
(Hugr (Silver-Tongue): 6x4, 5x10, 4x2, 3x5, 2x1, 1x6)28+1(First-Impressions)+1(Beautiful)=30 Successes
"By the Gods!" The troll stills and listens intently as you keep speaking in that overly-theatrical voice. "What a terrible noise!"

From your spot upon the hill, you watch as the troll twists around, the spikes leaving bleeding gashes and gaping wounds in its body as it turns its head your way. The monster is... another level entirely of ugliness. The disgusting, lumpy visage before you defies reason and refuses to allow any manner of description to be made.

Deep-set eyes beadily peer from layers-upon-folded-layers of wrinkled, gray skin. Its gaze lands upon your face and flicks down, tracing the outline of your clothes. It seems to drink in your appearance while lingering on certain bodily characteristics.

The feeling of it ogling your body feels like being dipped head-to-toe in grease. Stifling a full-body shiver, you steel your heart and remind yourself of the goals set before you; getting one over on Horra.

"Good heavens, Sir Troll!" It's doubtful that it even knows what 'Sir' truly means, but it seems to get the gist of it, judging by the pleased expression. Its lips curl back in what can only be described as an attempt at a hole-filled, yellow-stained smile. "What happened to you? Who could have done this?"

You're laying it on thick, too thick. But, as the troll's so-called smile spreads ever-further — its mouth is far wider than your shoulders, you realize with a slight shudder — that doesn't seem to matter.

It opens its mouth and a near-visible miasma of foul odors pour forth. A fly follows, buzzing confused around the hill as the troll begins to speak, its voice like a beached whale's last call. "Hello sweet thing."

You swallow the bile creeping up your throat. It burns as you force it back down, tears wetting the corners of your eyes. Breathing in through the nose and slowly exhaling through the mouth, you force your stammering heart back into a steady rhythm.

Its eyes gleam with bursts of lust as you have to repeat yourself, it seemingly having forgotten the words you spoke not one minute before. "I say again, what happened to you? Do you know who could have done this?"
(Hugr (Silver-Tongue): 6x6, 5x3, 4x9, 3x3, 2x3, 1x4)23+1(Beautiful)=24 Successes
The troll frowns, a needed respite from the greedy grin it had been sporting. "A sneaky sort..." it trails off as connections spark in the molasses-like mire of its mind. Its breathing hitches as anger begins growing yet again in its exposed chest. "Like the man who sold me the hill!"

Before you can ask any further questions, the troll yanks an arm away from a group of spikes. Bloody threads of gore link wounds to iron as the troll, in a fit of anger, rams its fist back into the forest of pointed iron. It fails to show any sign of pain as it impales itself once again.

Roaring, it flails hard enough to dislodge the spikes from the packed dirt. Flinging itself up and out of the hole, it stands there like some kind of demented hedgehog as it seethes and clenches its fists over and over again.

Seeing the chance before you, you pull back the proverbial rod and go fishing.

"The man who sold you the hill? Who could that be?"
(Hugr (Silver-Tongue): 6x5, 5x5, 4x1, 3x3, 2x1, 1x7)16+1(Beautiful)=17 Successes
The troll actually pauses in its anger to consider your words. The grindstones in its mind are hard at work processing your question. Its sharply jutting underbite works up and down as it attempts to 'think.' "Drysalt put me in contact with him."

"Drysalt?" You're starting to push your luck, that much is clear. Eventually, the troll will resume its anger and, hopefully, take it out on the hapless Horra.

"Strange yellow eyes. Very untroll-like behavior." And with that, the troll huffs and turns away. "Be back for you."

It then breaks into a sprint, crashing through trees and hills as it moves in a blindingly-fast line north — towards where Horra's farm sits nestled on the border between forest and mountain.

Your hair flutters in the wind it left in its wake. Swallowing down a shaky gulp, you retch as the horrific monster leaves your sight. Eyes screwing shut, the heavy thump of Abjorn landing at your side is a welcome presence in the cold of the night. He wraps you in his warm arms, saying that he's sorry he didn't try harder to stop you.

After who knows how long, you pull away from your bear of a husband. Turning to the rest of the crew, you're met with the sight of a horde of bristling, vengeful men — all of whom care deeply for you.

Sten's entire body near trembles from rage as his eyes gain a deeply unsettling steely hue. Stigmar looks like he's damn near ready to bite someone in half from how hard his teeth grind together. But of all the men who bristle with indignant wrath, two stand out to your eyes.

The first is Gabriel, who seems almost shell-shocked by the troll's manner and actions. There's a slowly growing ember of hate in the back of his eyes, but it's tempered by something unknowable.

The second is your own husband, whose anger you've seen on many occasions. When Abjorn is angry, it's not subtle. Abjorn in general simply isn't a subtle person — how could he be with his sheer size?

Here and now, though? The only feeling he has towards the troll is a cold, calm, matter-of-fact kernel of focused, ever-further-honed fury. When the troll returns, he will kill it. A simple matter, a bargain made and accepted. One moment it will exist, the next it won't.

In that moment, with the knowledge of the lengths he would go for you, you're almost saddened by the fact that you already bear his children.

In the meantime, as the crew all find ways to work off their anger, you cast your gaze to the bundle of rags following the troll in the dark of the night.

On silent wings your owl flies after the troll. Its eyes cut through the malevolent shadows with enviable ease, leaving the troll with no way to hide even if it wanted to as it tramples a path through trees and underbrush.

Not two minutes later, the troll arrives at a large clearing at the very limits of the Hading — where forest green meets mountain stone.

Over a dozen buildings lay sprinkled around the palisade-lined, field-filled land. Lights on torches burn bright as the troll crashes through the log-built gate with contemptuous ease and a snort of warm steam. It crushes a farmhand's chest with an off-hand stomp as it makes its way towards the biggest house in the clearing.

The door slams open and a man who could only be Horra Hasvisson steps out. He's a thin, willowy man of notable height. He seems to stoop everywhere he goes with sunken eyes peering out from a bulbous face.

Horra sneers as the troll skids to a halt, gore still coating the wart-covered, stump-like foot.

"You cheated me!" The troll roars, pointing a short, thick finger as it takes a step towards where Horra stands on his front step.

Horra's conniving eyes dart across the troll's form, taking in every iron spike that hadn't slipped free in the troll's mad charge. The sneer grows as he scoffs. "From the looks of things, you cheated yourself."

His words don't make much sense, but they don't need to. All they needed to do was drive the troll to an angry and foolish state — which they did to perfection.

The troll roars, rearing back a fist and as it throws itself into a whip-fast leap. It tears through the air as its roar tears through its throat. In response, Horra merely holds up a small iron dagger, his mien a calm veneer in the face of such monumental force .

With an arm like thunder, it swings with all its mi-

It stops dead in its tracks as it impales its fist on the little iron knife. Freezing like a naughty child, it stands as still as a statue as light pours from around the knife — sunlight.

It happens in an instant, quicker than the blink of an eye. One moment it's living, breathing flesh, the next it's cold, dead stone.

Horra sighs and waves a hand as he steps aside. "Hasvir, if you wouldn't mind."

Stepping from the shadows of the doorway is a man with a swimmer's build. He inherited his father's height, that much would be obvious to the slightest, most cursory glance from the most casual of observers. Where his frame came from, though, is a mystery.

Hasvir lightly places a palm against the smooth stone of the newly-made statue. Orthstirr flashes and the air turns dry as rushing water erodes the rock away. Bending over, he silently plucks the knife from the puddle and offers it to his father, who takes it with a pleased look on his face.

"You've done well, Hasvir," Horra smiles with honest pride in his eyes as he takes his son by the shoulders, "Just imagining the things you'll do one day... I can't wait to see it."

Hasvir nods, like he's heard it a dozen times over, and you find yourself frowning as your fylgja returns to the Dark Forest and your vision returns to your head.

The stars shine brightly in the night sky — the sun having firmly set over the course of the day's events. You've learned a lot tonight, but it'll be some time until you're ready to use that newly gained knowledge.

At the very least, you'll wait until your children are born. Hopefully, the Nornir find it in them to grant long lives to your children.

In the meantime, it's time to go back to Steinby, to check in on your father and your family.

(+11 Orthstirr)
(+2 to Incomplete Boon: Little Sister's Wisdom)
Pick one:
[ ] Feat: Calmed a troll and redirected it towards an enemy (+3 orthstirr)
[ ] Kenning: Trolltalker - Bonus dice towards social checks with trolls
[ ] Incomplete Boon: Speaking Out of Law - Unlocks certain events and gives bonuses towards socializing with beings outside the law. Unlock by successfully socializing with beings outside the law (1/9)

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AN: I had a little bit of fun with the narration today. I also tried a different writing technique that I think works well for me.

Lotta theory and planning fodder to be had in this one, that's for sure!

I know that it was supposed to be goofy funky fun, but it just did not end up that way lmao. My bad there.

No moratorium, but don't be expecting another update today as I, once again, have D&D plans with some friends.