NorseQuest (A Norse Xianxia)

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Information Gathering
Nodding to yourself, you grin as you know just the questions to ask. With the information gleaned from the Estonians fresh on the mind, you know a few things about Wolin, such as that it's covered in dense forests and hills. One of the other things you know is that Wolin is a densely populated island with a village every four miles or thereabouts. That's a lot of people and, more importantly, a lot of places that the Sea-Snake could have ended up. Thanks to the tracker Johannes lent you, you know the general location of the ship and thrall you're after.

Reaching into your bag and retrieving a corked sleeve of shiny leather, you pop the lid and unfurl the magic map across your lap. A glowing red 'X' hovers over your general location in the Baltic and, with the help of the tracking stick, you know the rough location on the island of Wolin where the Sea-Snake lies.

Pointing towards Wolin, you turn to your once-thralls with a question fresh on your lips, "How many villages are on Wolin?"

Mscislaw blinks and frowns as he casts his mind back to his lessons, "I think there's, uh, seventy gords?"

You whistle as Haggar translates, shaking your head in disbelief. Seventy villages...? You knew it was crowded, but seventy?! That's just ridiculous!

Coughing, you pull yourself back on track, "What are the Wolinians like as a people? How strong are their warriors?"

Mscislaw shrugs and scratches at his arm, where a wound sits scabbed over. "The Jomsvikingar demand heavy tribute from the Wolinians, too heavy for them to pay by themselves. So they turn to piracy and raiding to make the difference. They are strong and fierce."

You frown as you hear that damnable name. The Jomsvikingar? What are they doing here?

It's as that thought crosses your mind that your eyes fly wide open and you suddenly feel very foolish. Of course the Jomsvikingar are here! Their fortress of Jomsburg is only a few miles east of the town of Wolin, it'd be madness if they didn't exact a toll upon the Wolinians!

Hiding your internal struggles, you sigh and rub the bridge of your nose. Tapping the map again, you prod the spot the Sea-Snake is known to be, "What villages lie in this spot?"

Mscislaw rubs at his hairless chin as he considers the map, "I think that three rest there, but only Grodno's name is known to me," a flicker of fierce hate crosses his eyes as he says that name. "They rode in on a snake-prow warship full of eighty men. We slew twenty of them and drove them back, but it was hard fighting."

"Snake prow?" Haggar mutters as he connects the dots at the same time as you, "Looks like we know where the Sea-Snake is."

"That's right," you nod as a grin splits your face in two. Turning back to Mscislaw, you continue, "This Grodno, what is it like there? How many call it home?"

"Two-hundred, I think," Mscislaw shrugs as you quickly break down the numbers. If there is two-hundred people living in Grodno, about a quarter will be men of fighting age, so about fifty foes. Given that Mscislaw says that his people killed twenty of eighty, that sounds about right to your ears.

"Where would goods or captives be stowed?"

Mscislaw shrugs once again, "I suppose that they'd be divided amongst the people living there. Any thralls would go to the man who captured them."

Nodding at that, you turn to the rest of the Slavs with a new question on your lips, "What are your plans, now that you are free? Would you want us to drop you off back home or...?"

Vesna, the mother of the two children, answers for most of the group as the princess and Mscislaw talk quietly amongst themselves, "There is nothing for us in Kashubia, not anymore. We go where you go, now."

After some consideration, Mscislaw turns to you with his own answer, "Sobieslawa and I will go with you to Wolin and I will help you fight the Grodnovites, but we will stay in Kashubia."

Of course, whether or not the Slavs actually stay with you is up to you. Would you like to house any of the Slavs? Select all you wish to have:
[ ] Kazimir, the quiet Scholar
[ ] Lada, the nervous girl
[ ] Vesna and her two children
[ ] None

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AN: Feeling better now that I had a small break. I intend to finish up the rest of this turn today, but we'll see. I'll probably take it slow for a bit.

No moratorium.

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Talking to Roar Shiningspear and Torgny Shocker (Silver-Tongue: 3+1(Friendly)+1(First Impressions)+1(Beautiful)) 6 Successes, a Decent Success
Roar Shiningspear is, like many in your crew, a young man in search of treasure and glory. Unlike many others, however, Roar is more than capable of grasping those opportunities that present themselves.

Most folk will tell you that orthstirr is out there, all you have to do is find it. They're not wrong, far from it, but the truth of the matter is that while glory is out there, not everyone is able to go out and seek it. Not everyone is capable of grabbing tight with both hands and never letting go. Not everyone makes it back, either, after climbing aboard that bucking ride.

Roar Shiningspear's spear is—as his kenning supplies—made of a shining, shimmery material. The shaft is wooden with plenty of spring, but the blade is where things get interesting. The metal edge is clear and see-through, like sea-glass lacking its greeny-hue. It darts from side to side as the light catches and plays across the spear's surface. Rainbow spirals leak from where the light hits it, the true power of the blade lurking ready to strike beneath the surface.

As Torgny Shocker's own spear zaps forward with a coating of lightning, Roar calmly steps into the line of fire, extends his weapon, and space twists into a swirling vortex of invisible force. His spear-blade crosses the barriers between worlds and emerges directly before Torgny's chest, ending his advance—and the spar—then and there.

Torgny stumbles back as red seeps through his sweat-drenched tunic, shaking his head and laughing all the while. "You're good, Roar, you're real good." Torgny chuckles as he fingers the gash in his shirt, the wound a gaping abyss of bleeding meat.

"Thank you for the spar," Roar answers with a bow as his spear's head slips back through warping space to reappear upon the shaft. "It was well fought."

Torgny, a slightly older man, waves Roar off with a scoff, "You had me on the ropes the whole time, don't downplay yourself now."

Roar can only shrug as a light flush dances across his face as his chest puffs up with pride. While Torgny's body bears a number of wounds—though none quite as severe as the one upon his chest—Roar is as fresh and pristine as any man can hope to be.

"You did very well, Roar," you announce your presence with a polite clap as both men flinch, having forgotten that they had an audience—not just yourself, either. A fair few people had stopped setting up camp to watch them fight, as, with a lack of friendly landowners nearby, there wasn't much to do but sit around and wait for nightfall.

"Oh," he swallows, eyes lingering on certain parts of your anatomy for just a moment too long. Sucking down a sharp breath, he averts his eyes and mutters a mumbled, "Thank you."

"I was coming by to ask you two a question," you brush past his slip-up as the rest of the camp slowly turns back to their work, "but you were in the middle of a spar and I didn't want to interrupt you."

Torgny chuckles as he leans on his spear, sweat dripping down his brow, "Not a problem when I'm getting my ass handed to me."

You snort and roll your eyes, "Anyways, I was wondering what your plans were for the future?"

Both men go to answer, only to stop as they notice the other. After a bit of back-and-forth—which consisted of them each offering the other the opportunity to go first—you eventually sigh, massage your temples, and point a finger at Roar, "Roar, you won the spar, you go first."

"Alright," Roar nods as he does just that, "I'm planning on reclaiming my ancestral birthright, the Jarldom of Ostkona, from the predations of Jarl Erling the Whaler, who cast my family out of Ostkona many generations ago."

You and Torgny blink at the same time as a slight frown crosses your lips. You'd been hoping to recruit Roar into your household, but if he's got an ambition like that... Well, he's definitely not going to settle for you if there's a Jarldom waiting for him.

"That's, uh," Torgny stares at the younger man for a long while before setting his jaw, finding his spine, and laying a hand on Roar's shoulder, "That's a fine dream, Roar, and I'd be happy to help you see it done." Torgny smiles, "I wasn't planning on doing much other than father children, so I might as well do it in the land of my friend."

You blink again, finding yet another of your potential recruits slipping through your fingers as Blackhand chortles in the back of your head.

'*Sometimes,*' he snorts as Roar and Torgny lock wrists, '*you just can't win.*'

You're just about to retort when a clumsy shout draws your attention to the beach, where Audman Audsson stands pointing out towards the sea. Following his pointing finger, your eyes snap wide as your gaze finds the hulking shape of a whale washing up further down the shore.

The whale is clearly dead—or at least it will be soon—with a massive bite taken out of a barnacle-encrusted flank. Even dead, it towers over the landscape as the gentle motions of its death spasms dig deep trenches in the beach. It must stretch on for a hundred yards as its tail makes ship-sized waves in the rising tide!

Silence falls across the campsite as all the watching minds land upon the same thought at once: prosperity.

Whales, after all, are enough to feed a village for months on end. The successful slaying of a whale is more than enough to guarantee you, your family, and your entire region a well-fed winter.

While you can't butcher it now, on account of the task at hand, you can still swing by to collect it once you've retrieved the Latin-speaking thrall. Smiling to yourself, you lay a spell of concealment across the expansive surface as you think warm, well-fed thoughts.

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Setting to shore a fair ways away from Grodno, you sit down with your men to think and plan.

What is the first thing you do?
[ ] Strike hard, strike fast, leave no time for them to ready themselves nor call for help
-Note: In order to pull this off, you won't have time to, meaning that you won't know what you're walking into
[ ] Scout first, though that does come with the risks of being spotted...
-Note: You can assume that, if you pick this option, something is going to give you away—though it might not give all of it away, or even all that much.
[ ] Write in

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AN: Finding my mojo again, feeling pretty damn good

No moratorium.