Bodil's Gap Playbooks: The Hersir

Peering across the water from the shore, a grizzled veteran examines the warriors upon the walls of the fort that stands above the waves on salt-caked pilings. Singling out his targets, he speaks to his companions as they prepare for their assault, formulating the plan that will see them through to victory...

Locked in combat with a rival duellist, a young shieldmaiden turns aside blow after blow with her targe. Her sword sings in her grip as she brings her skill to bear, lashing out with an unexpected blow that severs her opponent's hamstring, laming him. Blood dripping from her blade, she retreats, forcing him to follow on his newly-wounded leg...

In the thick mud of a rain-soaked village in the path of a marching army, a mercenary demonstrates the use of the spear to a dozen frightened farmers. Lashing out with his spear's butt, he sends a villager crashing brutally to the earth with battered ribs and his breath stolen. Two more days of such treatment, and the farmers will be ready to fight for their homes...

Under a withering hail of arrows, a seasoned captain orders her men to lock shields and stand shoulder to shoulder, weathering the storm in a tight shield wall. When the archers break, she charges at the head of her companions, and they follow behind her in a wedge of iron bristling with weapons, prepared to crash into the enemy like a wild boar...

The Hersir

Where most warriors wield swords and axes, the Hersir is a commander who wields other warriors. Focusing on tactics, leadership, and skillful technique rather than wild rage, a Hersir is a powerful ally on the battlefield—and one whose insight and expertise are as valuable as their sword arm.

This playbook was a late addition to the Bodil's Gap project, intended to cover an archetype I felt was missing. While the Dýrsark and Fighter playbooks offer effective warriors skilled at dispatching their foes, the Hersir is more focused on supporting the other members of the party, giving up the sheer damage potential of other warrior playbooks in exchange for greater control over the battlefield.

Leadership and a Tactical Mind

Endowed with a keen eye and a keener mind, the Hersir is adept at taking the measure of the opposition and formulating a plan of attack. With a glance the Hersir can judge how dangerous a person is, and by exchanging a few words they can glean information about a person's past experience of battle, good and ill; what drives them to fight; and to whom their loyalty is owed. And when laying out an opening gambit before battle, the Hersir can give their allies greater chance of success and victory—as long as their plan is being followed.

Fighting alongside others, the Hersir is a master of formations, able to arrange allied warriors into lines of defense or attack that protect those within or add greater force to every charge and sword-swing. And at a companion's side, the Hersir's assistance can turn a fumbled swing into a glancing blow that draws the enemy's blood. The Hersir can take advantage even of the battlefield itself, using every quirk of terrain and positioning to thwart their foe. And at the height of their powers, the Hersir can turn the tide of battle by revealing the extent of their foresight, bringing out hidden preparations to counter their enemy's strength and mercilessly exploit their weakness.

But a leader is nothing without followers, and even leaving aside the other members of their party, no Hersir fights alone. Every Hersir has the support of a loyal huskarl as their right hand, a sort of superior hireling whose loyalty is above question—and as the Hersir grows in skill, so too does their huskarl. And under the command of a Hersir, even normal hirelings fight with greater vigour and loyalty—particularly those trained up from nothing by the Hersir themself.

The Way of the Shield and Sword

Though the Hersir is a commander, they are one who leads from the front. Embroiled in the thick of the fighting, a Hersir must be able to fend for themselves in battle. Though without the savage strength of a berserker, a Hersir is still an adept combatant able to employ a variety of tricks and techniques to aid themselves and their allies. No two Hersir have the same knacks, but a Hersir might parry their opponent's blows, distract or daze them, maneuver them about, hamstring them, or aggress against a whole swarm of lesser foes.

The Hersir is also a master of shield combat, skilled at defending themselves and others. In their hands, a shield can be a deadly weapon, or it can be sacrificed to turn aside even a blow that would tear through armour like cloth.

Using the Hersir

This playbook is intended for those who want a more tactical warrior than the Dýrsark and a more leadership-oriented role than the Fighter. Use it to play someone who organizes raids, captains a ship, or commands other warriors in battle.

Bodil's Gap is currently in playtesting, and the playtesting version of the Hersir playbook can be found here. If you have any insight or feedback, leave a comment or send an email to brazenhead@zoho.com.

Art Note

Like the others I showed off earlier, this fantastic playbook illustration was done by Anton Vitus. Check his other work out here.

Revenge for the Laxbrynjungs! Part 19 - Paying the Price, Playing Nice, and the Pale Ice.

The ongoing playtest of Bodil’s Gap continues! In the previous installment, the party finally faced Kettil Sea-Strider, the slayer of their fallen kinsmen, and won their vengeance by laying him low—only for the roof to cave in on them as the ancient, glowing stones of Alfheimr supporting it vanished into snow and ash.

The Cast

Ingvild Scoreslayer, Dýrsark - Ingvild is an old and bitter warrior, cunning but prone to the rage of a berserker. Having fallen in combat with the ancient ghost of a long-dead giant, Ingvild now lives only by the grace of his bargain with that giant's spectral kin, and his soul bears the giant's mark as evidence of the deal they struck.

Mundr Ivaldisson, Óttimaðr - Mundr is a promising but untested young man endowed with the strength of giants by a mysterious incident during his travels abroad. A Laxbrynjung by birth, Mundr is the only child of the late Ivaldi, the youngest of Arnolf's brothers.

Ylva Blood-Cup, Seiðkona - Ylva is a sorceress endowed with the power to see and speak with spirits, and uses her magic to curse her enemies with great misfortune. Though dwelling apart from the clan in the woods, Ylva is an ally of the Laxbrynjungs, having been a close friend and confidant of Arnolf's murderd heir, Steinar.

Hrafn, Skald - Hrafn is a travelling merchant blessed by a drop of the Mead of Poetry. Left with neither trade goods nor coin by an accident on the road that destroyed his cart and belongings, Hrafn has joined the Laxbrynjung raiders to avenge their Þejn and enrich himself.

The Game

Though Hrafn takes shelter under the strong arms of the statue he animated to aid himself, the other members of the party are not so lucky. Falling debris batters them, and Ingvild has the particular misfortune of taking a beam studded with protruding nails across his shoulders, gouging his flesh.

Injured but still alive, the party digs their way out of the rubble and begins patching their wounds and sorting out Kettil's treasures from the mass of fallen timber. Very quickly they realize that they have become wealthy indeed even accounting for the shares of plunder they owe to their crew and mercenaries, for Kettil's hoard boasts an extravagant array of glittering treasures in silver and gold alongside sacks weighty with gleaming coins. The bigger challenge will actually be getting their plunder down off the cliff, for the tower they ascended on the way up has vanished just as the temple did.

Sifting through their prizes, Hrafn discovers an intact wagon of ornately carved wood buried under a mound of fallen beams and heaped up treasures, and the party immediately begins loading it up. As they heap up their spoils, other wonderous items come to light. Ylva uncovers a spear with a steel blade of trollish craftsmanship, the slightly oversized weapon heavy in her hands. Nearby, Ingvild discovers a large kirtle cut for a troll's frame, which seems to be woven from vividly green moss instead of flax or wool, while Mundr finds an iron-banded chest filled with apothecary's tools—everything necessary to produce medicines, unguents, or poisons.

With their new wagon loaded up, all that remains is to get it down the cliff. Hrafn whispers words of galdr to the stream that plunges over the cliff to fall into the pool below, and the party are able to ride the current down held safe in the water's grip.

Exiting back out from behind the greater waterfall of Kettil's hidden lair, the party reconnects with what remains of their crew waiting outside aboard the ship to see what—if anything—emerges. The crew are understandably concerned following the berserk fit in which the party slaughtered seven of them while the rest fled, but the treasure goes a long way toward satisfying the survivors. When Harun al-Azraq returns from his circuit of the island and reports that none of Kettil's men escaped from the far side, he too is well-pleased with his crew's share of the loot. Arvid the Younger, however—many of whose men were also slain by the berserking PCs—is nowhere to be found.

Believing that the fallout of this incident should be dealt with as soon as possible, the party decides to sail back to Songheim instead of returning directly home. The trip back is uneventful, and after a few days' sailing they arrive once more in the city. There on the docks, Harun al-Azraq bids the party farewell, having decided that the time is right for he and his men to return to their homeland. Parting in friendship, he wishes the party good luck and goes to prepare for the long voyage back across the sea.

The PCs, meanwhile, elect Hrafn to go and speak to Jarl Arvid the Elder. As the only one among them who managed to resist Bolgmót's curse and the berserk fury brought on by it, his hands are clean of the blood of Arvid's men. Ascending up to the Jarl's hall at the city's peak, Hrafn is greeted at the doors by several armed huskarls who escort him in with no little amount of tension visible in their frames. Entering into the Jarl's presence, Hrafn can see that Arvid the Younger has indeed made it back ahead of them, for he is seated now at his father's side.

Arvid the Elder begins by asking about the fate of the ten men from his son's crew slain by the other PCs, and Hrafn willingly explains what happened, speaking of the War Goddess' curse and the sudden violence everyone in the chamber descended into. He describes Arvid's men succumbing to the curse just as his allies did, and says that although it's true the ten men died, so did seven of the Laxbrynjung clansmen, and that it is difficult to say who slew whom.

Arvid the Younger looks as though he wishes to interject, but his position is a difficult one—Hrafn recognizes that Arvid would appear in some measure a coward if he spoke about his own survival, for he won his life by fleeing from the orgy of violence. That same knowledge now holds Arvid back from insisting that it was Ingvild and Mundr who did the bulk of the killing, both of his men and their own.

Arvid the Elder also seems to recognize this, and with Hrafn's persuasive influence makes clear his willingness to put the whole affair behind them. As Arvid says, though a warrior may be held materially accountable for the things done while berserk, it is wrong to hold them morally culpable, for the berserkergang steals all wit and volition when it descends. Though ten warriors were slain, he asks weregild only for five to call matters even between his clan and the Laxbrynjungs, and Hrafn readily agrees—even the weregild for five men is a major sum, and far better than paying the full ten.

Arvid has one other request, however. Though he and Hrafn have judged it fair to assign weregild for five slain warriors in light of the difficulty in determining whether any of Arvid's men were responsible for the deaths among the Laxbrynjungs, there are still ten of his retainers' households that find themselves without a family member. To alleviate their burden, and to bind their two clans more closely together, Arvid asks that the Laxbrynjungs take in a child from each of five households for fosterage.

Hrafn also agrees to this request, recognizing the opportunity presented by greater closeness with the powerful Jarl of the preeminent city in their region. Hrafn, in fact, goes even farther. With Kettil Sea-Strider dead, the party have done a great favour for Jarl Arvid and his city, ridding them of a ruthless and prolific bandit who preyed almost exclusively in their waters. This is cause for celebration, and what better celebration could there be than a wedding—and who should be a young and unwed Laxbrynjung kinsman of impeccable character but Mundr, Hrafn's dear friend? Does the Jarl by any chance have an unwed daughter of a similar age?

As it transpires, he does. Arvid glances over to the corner of the hall, where a girl of no more than eighteen has been coolly watching the proceedings from amongst his other courtiers. Though pretty and with some resemblance to Arvid the Elder, she does not resemble the Younger, and Hrafn intuits that she is an illegitimate child—someone the Jarl is likely quite eager to see married off, to prevent strife in his own household.

Jarl Arvid is willing to entertain the idea, but he wishes to meet Mundr again and speak with him before he agrees to the match—and to have Mundr meet Gudrun, his daughter.

Before that, however, he wishes to see the proof of Kettil's death. Accompanying Hrafn down through the city, he and a procession of his retainers make their way to the docks, where the other PCs bring forth Kettil's head in a box. Hauling it out, Arvid lifts it for all to behold, the crowds of people gathered on the docks and having followed the procession down gasping to see it. Proclaiming the threat of Kettil Sea-Strider ended, he spits on the head and casts it into the water. The party's star is on the rise in Songheim, it seems.

That night, a feast is held in the Jarl's hall. While the others draw lots to determine their seating partners—and to a man find themselves paired with people they can't stand—Mundr is deliberately placed with Gudrun to see how they get along.

Mundr, barely older than Gudrun herself, is left very much flatfooted by the suggestion that he be married, and doesn't quite know how to react to the flirtations of a pretty girl—nor to her quiet questions about the shimmer of heat she claims to see about him, as of iron fresh from the forge. Deflecting, he asks about her life, and she speaks of her isolation as an illegitimate child, of being starved for news as she seldom leaves her father's hall, and of the solace she takes in her dear Auntie, who is her tutor and the source of what news she does receive.

Over the course of the feast Gudrun appears to be quite taken with Mundr, but she persists in asking provocative questions about his past and the strangeness about him. Finally, to put him at ease she puts her finger to her horn of mead, freezing its surface solid and intimating that like him, she has an unusual knack or two. She even suggests they should meet privately to speak about it, and that she will sneak out in the night, once the revelers at the feast have all fallen asleep. Mundr agrees.

As the feast winds down, Arvid the Elder comes to speak to Mundr and Gudrun. Gudrun states that she has no objection to the match if Arvid thinks it a good one, while Mundr is beginning to warm to it as well. Settling down has always been his long-term objective, and having someone who understands his giant-touched condition is greatly appealing to him—though he does not voice that consideration to Arvid.

Arvid questions Mundr briefly about his plans, and then proposes that the wedding be held before the Alþing, where the union can be formally announced. The party is returning home to name Rurik Þejn and collect him for the Alþing—on their return they will stop in Songheim instead of carrying on directly to the assembly ground at Logberg, in the north—the wedding can take place then.

Things are moving very quickly, and Mundr is swept up. He agrees to Arvid's proposal, and departs from Gudrun at the feast's end already looking forward to seeing her privately in a few hours.

Later that night, he arrives at the meeting place Gudrun proposed, a barren spit of rock behind the Jarl's hall, overlooking the ocean on the sea-facing side of the city. There they sit together, and Gudrun is even more forward than at the feast, curling into Mundr's side as they admire the moonlight on the water. When Gudrun moves to kiss him, he allows himself to be seduced, and they pass some time practicing for their wedding night.

When the deed is done, Gudrun sighs from her patch of rock beside him and says that she supposes now is the time to introduce Mundr to her Auntie. Waving her hand, the stone of the cliff—damp from sea-spray—freezes into a shimmering mirror of ice, which fogs with condensation and then clears to reveal the great, pale face of a gigantic woman peering up at them from the frozen surface, her ice-white eyes pinning Mundr like spears. As Mundr looks on, transfixed, Gudrun smiles and introduces her tutor and confidante, Hvít-Rán—a frost giantess, denizen of the Primordial Realm of Ice and ancient enemy of the gods.

Sitting there, it dawns on Mundr that perhaps Gudrun is not like him after all—he gained his powers of óttimáttr through direct exposure to the Realm of Fire, and wields it despite the attentions of that realm's denizens. Gudrun, it seems, has been taught her tricks, and is still directly under the influence of her giantish instructor.

And Mundr has agreed to marry her.

Behind the Scenes

When Hrafn asked if Jarl Arvid had a daughter, I had him roll to Lean on his Luck, a custom move for the setting of Bodil's Gap. He roll a 6-, of course. Instead of there being no conveniently unwed daughter at all we I thought it would be far more interesting for there to be one, and for her to be dangerous—so we have Gudrun, the cunning and ambitious student of giants. Hopefully Mundr can deal with her entanglements without dooming the world or—more importantly—spoiling his marriage.

This was a fairly Mundr-focused episode, and it's mainly Hrafn's fault—he's always pushing Mundr to the forefront of events, and I find that relationship really interesting. Hopefully the poor lad isn't in over his head this time!

Revenge for the Laxbrynjungs! Part 18 - Facing the Sea-Strider

The ongoing playtest of Bodil’s Gap continues! In the previous installment, the party launched their assault on the island lair of Kettil Sea-Strider, the notorious raider responsible for the deaths of their Þejn, Arnolf, and his son Steinar. Climbing through the ruined elven tower, they suffered the curse of the war goddess and slaughtered their own men and allies in a berserk fit. Now they stand before the door of Kettil's temple to the goddess, prepared to enter and face him once and for all.

The Cast

Ingvild Scoreslayer, Dýrsark - Ingvild is an old and bitter warrior, cunning but prone to the rage of a berserker. Having fallen in combat with the ancient ghost of a long-dead giant, Ingvild now lives only by the grace of his bargain with that giant's spectral kin, and his soul bears the giant's mark as evidence of the deal they struck.

Mundr Ivaldisson, Óttimaðr - Mundr is a promising but untested young man endowed with the strength of giants by a mysterious incident during his travels abroad. A Laxbrynjung by birth, Mundr is the only child of the late Ivaldi, the youngest of Arnolf's brothers.

Ylva Blood-Cup, Seiðkona - Ylva is a sorceress endowed with the power to see and speak with spirits, and uses her magic to curse her enemies with great misfortune. Though dwelling apart from the clan in the woods, Ylva is an ally of the Laxbrynjungs, having been a close friend and confidant of Arnolf's murderd heir, Steinar.

Hrafn, Skald - Hrafn is a travelling merchant blessed by a drop of the Mead of Poetry. Left with neither trade goods nor coin by an accident on the road that destroyed his cart and belongings, Hrafn has joined the Laxbrynjung raiders to avenge their Þejn and enrich himself.

The Game

Kettil's temple is a squat, square structure built of the same glowing white stone as the ruined tower, its shingled wooden roof a clear addition by a later—and human—hand. Within, a painted statue of the Bolgmót stands at the back of the chamber, sword and shield in hand, her arms and neck draped in gold and silver arm rings, torcs, and pendants. Below, a small box bound with silver wire rests at the statue's base—and the party recognizes it as a vessel for the ashes of one of Kettil's honoured dead. The floor is likewise heaped with a mound of glittering treasure, atop which Kettil stands, sword and shield held in mirror of the goddess' statue. He gazes down at the party before inviting them to enter—although he agreed to a duel, he has no objection to fighting them all at once.

Ingvild hurls himself forward, working himself into a berserk rage, and grows to the size of a troll as his body swells with the uncontained force of his fury. Reaching up the gleaming slope of the hoard—which remains firm under Kettil's feet even as it shifts and slides beneath Ingvild's single step—he brings his massive steel sword down on the Sea-Strider's shield, shattering it and hurling the man backwards into the wall.

Shaking his battered arm, Kettil tears a silver ring from the arm of Bolgmót's statue and hurls it like a discus at Ingvild. Though not intended as a weapon, the ring whistles through the air, and Mundr steps in front of Ingvild to take it on his shield—only to be gouged across the cheek as it deflects off and past his face.

Ylva, meanwhile, invokes her seiðr to conjure a waking dream to plague Kettil, calling up an illusion of the Sea-Strider's dead wife rising from the box of ashes to distract him. Kettil reels back a moment in surprise, but then his empty hand goes to his opposite shoulder, and he shakes his head, declaring that such illusions will not fool him—for that is not his wife. Peering at him with her spirit sight, Ylva spots on his shoulder the same pale hand that drew away the spirit of the crone who cursed the party—the hand of a valkyrie. Before her eyes, the valkyrie's shape is revealed as a shimmering figure cut from the cold flames of the aurora, and the mere sight of it seers her with those agonizing flames.

As Ylva drops shuddering to her knees for a moment, Kettil surges forward to slide down the slope of his hoard, slipping under Ingvild's long reach to press the attack. While the warriors of the party are engaged with the Sea-Strider, Hrafn slips around the chamber's edge to reach the statue, concealed by his seiðr-wrought cloak and taking care lest his steps disturb the hoard and draw attention to himself. Attaining the statue's base, he speaks softly to it while invoking the magic of his galdr, and with a groan of straining wood it rips itself from its base and steps forward to carry out his command: kill Kettil Sea-Strider. The statue's wooden sword comes down across Kettil's back, but fails to penetrate his chainmail shirt. Nevertheless, it distracts him sufficiently to buy Mundr and Ingvild a moment to breathe.

Regaining her own breath, Ylva conjures her illusions once more, seeking to distract the valkyrie from aiding Kettil. The power of the valkyrie is great, however, and she must close to bring her own strength to bear. Even as the spirit's senses are assailed by a waking dream of furious dead warriors abandoned on the battlefield by a valkyrie that did not come, Kettil wheels about to strike at Ylva. His sword lances down to strike at her head, cleaving a flap of scalp and nearly chipping her skull. Blood runs down her brow and into her eyes, momentarily blinding her.

To save Ylva, Ingvild and Mundr renew their assault on Kettil, and deal serious wounds to him even as his retaliation draws their own blood with deep slices and wounds. Ingvild's grip grows slick with his own blood, and his sword nearly slips from his hands as it is jerked about. Hrafn, meanwhile, commands his statue to continue its assault, and it continues to attack Kettil with its sword even as it tears itself apart with every motion.

At Kettil's grunt of pain from his wounding at Ingvild and Mundr's hands, the valkyrie breaks free of Ylva's distraction and begins shouldering her way through the illusory phantoms to reach him. Eager to prevent the spirit from aiding the Sea-Strider, Ylva slips free of her body to confront it in her own spirit form. Wielding her claw-tipped staff she strikes out at the valkyrie, and the aurora surrounding its form parts under her blow to reveal glimmering chainmail. Though the valkyrie is barely harmed by Ylva's blow, the claw of her staff seizes the spirit, and the two begin to struggle against one another.

While the valkyrie is seized, Ingvild gathers his strength for another titanic blow. Bringing his massive sword down on Kettil, the steel blade parts the rings of the Sea-Strider's mail shirt and cleaves his arm from his shoulder. Kettil's sword drops to the ground followed by his arm, the sleeve of his shirt hanging from a few intact rings.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Kettil draws from his belt a short steel blade that reveals itself to be all that remains of a longer sword whose point has snapped off—the self-same sword that slew Arnolf, the point of which forms Mundr's cursed compass. The jagged tip of the shortened weapon slashes across Ingvild's flesh, and the omen of doom that is Kettil's weapon saps his luck even as it badly wounds him. Mundr brings his fiery axe to bear, and his blow lays Kettil out despite the wound Kettil's ill-omened blade deals him in turn. As the valkyrie struggles in the grip of Ylva's staff, Hrafn's statue places the point of its wooden sword against Kettil's neck and leans in, killing him.

The valkyrie casts a venomous glance at Ylva, and the seiðkona releases her, not wanting to test herself further against one of the choosers of the slain. The spirit lunges for Kettil's corpse, her hands dipping into his chest to draw his phantom forth, and then mounts a black horse that forms out her shimmering aurora cloak and rides up through the roof of the temple, Kettil's ghost thrown over the back of her saddle.

And as she goes, the sound of a terrible wind rises all around, and the glowing stones of the temple and tower erupt into a cloud of snow and ash shot with the coppery tang of blood—for the stones of the tower, taken from Alfheim, are not the base matter of giant's flesh, but snow and ash granted form and vitality by the shed blood of the gods. With the valkyrie departing and the temple to Bolgmót defiled, that divine power is being withdrawn. And with it, the wooden roof of the temple comes crashing on the PCs, scattering Kettil's massed treasures across the cliffside.

Behind the Scenes

The fight with Kettil was a lot of fun to run. Even though no one came as close to death's door as during the battle with the phantom giant, it was still a pretty tense affair at the table, and it was only through some canny tactics that many of Kettil's advantages were negated—the valkyrie's aid, and his use of the hoard to impair his enemies' footing. This could easily have gone much more poorly for the party!

With Kettil dead, all that remains is for the party to figure out who is Þejn of the Laxbrynjungs—and deal their erstwhile allies, who fled from the curse-induced slaughter in the tower. Although the party is theoretically wealthy now that Kettil's hoard is free for the taking, it may take quite a bit of weregild to settle affairs with Arvid the Younger, and with their own men.

Revenge for the Laxbrynjugs! Part 17 - The War Goddess' Curse

The ongoing playtest of Bodil’s Gap continues! In part sixteen, the party did a favour for the mercenary captain Harun al-Azraq in order to secure his company's services. With their business in Songheim now concluded, they are finally prepared to set out once more to track Kettil Sea-Strider to his lair and deliver justice for the deaths of their kinsmen.

The Cast

Ingvild Scoreslayer, Dýrsark - Ingvild is an old and bitter warrior, cunning but prone to the rage of a berserker. Having fallen in combat with the ancient ghost of a long-dead giant, Ingvild now lives only by the grace of his bargain with that giant's spectral kin, and his soul bears the giant's mark as evidence of the deal they struck.

Mundr Ivaldisson, Óttimaðr - Mundr is a promising but untested young man endowed with the strength of giants by a mysterious incident during his travels abroad. A Laxbrynjung by birth, Mundr is the only child of the late Ivaldi, the youngest of Arnolf's brothers.

Ylva Blood-Cup, Seiðkona - Ylva is a sorceress endowed with the power to see and speak with spirits, and uses her magic to curse her enemies with great misfortune. Though dwelling apart from the clan in the woods, Ylva is an ally of the Laxbrynjungs, having been a close friend and confidant of Arnolf's murderd heir, Steinar.

Hrafn, Skald - Hrafn is a travelling merchant blessed by a drop of the Mead of Poetry. Left with neither trade goods nor coin by an accident on the road that destroyed his cart and belongings, Hrafn has joined the Laxbrynjung raiders to avenge their Þejn and enrich himself.

The Game

With Harun al-Azraq's corsairs and Arvid the Younger's vikings ready to sail alongside the party's own ship, all that remains is to load up their supplies and cast off. Mundr takes command, manning the steering oar and guiding their convoy in accordance with the directions of his sword-point compass—a glittering shard of steel stained brown with dried blood, broken from the sword of Kettil Sea-Strider when he slew Arnolf, and ensorcelled by Ylva to point back to the sword's other half.

The compass points north, so north the party sails. As they approach the northern shore of the Salt-Cap Sea and enter Kettil's home waters, in the distance they spy what appears to be a small skiff manned by three men, one of whom is leaning out of the bow to apparently speak to a walrus.

From his ship, Arvid calls across to the PCs, warning them that he has heard and believes that Kettil has spies about in these waters who inform him when prey is nearby and ripe for the taking. He expresses his confidence that these men are just such spies, and demands that they be stopped from warning Kettil of the raid's approach. Hearing Arvid's warning, Ingvild takes a harpoon and hurls it in an incredible shot—just as Ylva pipes up that the walrus is an animal sacred to the sea god, Hvalarkyn, and that the man speaking to it probably a priest.

Ingvild's harpoon takes the walrus in the neck. Blood sprays the men in the boat, who fall back into their craft in shock and dismay. As Arvid's ship surges forward under the efforts of his rowers, the man in charge of the skiff angrily raises his own harpoon, and in a clear display of divine power the waves stir against the party's convoy at his command—marking the man as a goði of the sea god indeed. Under the waves' buffeting, Arvid's bow is pushed off-course, while the party's is only saved from a similar mishap by Hrafn's saga of storms, which draws down a wind to drive their ship against the waves that threaten to confound them. Even so, the steering oar groans in Mundr's hands, bending against the side of the hull in the water's grip until its blade snaps.

A battle of storms threatens to break out between Hrafn's wind and the goði's waves. Acting quickly, Ylva conjures a waking dream to assail the man, filling his senses with visions of mermaids calling for his attention. The waves slack, and the party is able to reach the smaller ship before Arvid does.

Hauling the delirious goði aboard along with his two men, Ylva dismisses her spell so the man can be questioned. His ship catching up to theirs, Arvid insists that the goði is loyal to Kettil even though he professes that his only allegiance is to his temple in the city of Egil's Landing. According to Arvid, Kettil is a hero of the people in the city, for his raiding is restricted to party's own southern waters, and Egil's Landing is where he spends his plundered wealth. A sailor of renowned skill, Kettil is certainly a devotee of the sea god, and has likely filled the coffers of his goði's temple on more than one occasion.

Examining the man, the party judges it unlikely that he will run off to warn Kettil of their approach at the first opportunity—the goði claims his only desire is to return to his temple, and in that much the party believes him. If Kettil were to visit the temple, however, the man would almost certainly warn him rather than holding his tongue.

There is some debate as to what to do—Arvid strongly counsels killing all three captured men, while the others are less willing to harm a priest. Hoping to convince Arvid, Mundr draws on the power of the Primordial Realm of Fire to infuse his words with vigour and conviction—but in so doing, he also draws the attention of the dread masters of that plane. The hot gaze of the Jotnar of Fire and Ash falls on him from across the border of the Mortal World, and even as he fills with their blazing power the metal of his bronze shield because to turn molten under their scrutiny. It grows hot in his hand, and its face runs and deforms—though still able to deflect arrows, it is now useless for warding off the blows of swords or axes. In a fit of pique he throws his shield across the deck of the ship, and Arvid falls silent more out of concern than for having been convinced.

Nevertheless, the party settles on releasing the priest—they are not delaying in their pursuit of Kettil, and with the guidance of their compass, they judge that it is far more likely they will come across the Sea-Strider themselves long before he visits the temple again. With their steering oar repaired by Ylva's seiðr, they take the goði's skiff in tow and set off once more.

With the goði dropped off when their convoy passes by Egil's Landing on their way north, the party follows their compass around the point of the Gap and out of the Salt-Cap Sea, into the wider ocean beyond. Hugging the coast, they sail north until they come to an island—circling it, it becomes clear that this is where the compass leads.

Conferring with their mercenaries, the party dispatches Harun al-Azraq and his corsairs to circle the island again, ready to fall on any of Kettil's men who attempt to flee when the attack begins. Then they and Arvid guide their ships inland up the island's deepest fjord, following where the compass points. When they reach the back of the fjord, however, all they are confronted by is a waterfall framed by high cliffs all around—no dock is in evidence, nor any beach on which ships might be pulled out of the water and carried away.

Taking a few of his sailors, Mundr gets into a rowboat to investigate the falls, seeking a hidden way up the cliff face or some passage behind the water—and when he draws near, he does indeed find something. The falls appear to obscure the entrance to a cavern, large enough for a ship to be rowed through. The way is blocked, however, by what seems to be a thick iron chain stretched across the opening, obscured by the falling water—any ship that tried to pass through without removing it would be stopped and badly damage. As Mundr identifies it by touch, however, a too-hard yank on it causes the sound of iron plates clanging together to echo out from the waterfall—quickly followed by cries of alarm from within. The party has lost the element of surprise.

Without surprise on their side, their only hope is to act fast, but the ways is still blocked. Mundr seizes the chain in his grip and brings the strength of giants to bear, parting one great link with his bare hands—only to be forced to duck under a hail of javelins launched through the falls from the other side. Though the rowers are unharmed, Mundr is not quite quick enough, and a javelin wounds him as they race back to their ship.

Clambering back aboard, Mundr advises the crew to take down the sail so their ship can fit through the gap behind the waterfall, and then urges the rowers forward. Bursting through the falls, they emerge through the curtain of falling water into a massive, half-flooded cavern lit to a strange twilight by the apparently-glowing stones of a half-ruined tower that stands on the far shore. Of more concern, however is the longship that lies directly ahead on the surface of a deep pool, its broadside presented as the sailors on board hurl another volley of javelins and arrows into the party's ship.

Wasting no time, the party urges their rowers forward, seeking to slip under the missiles' arc and ram their enemy's ship. There is a terrific crunch as they do so, and both their own men and their enemies are nearly shaken of their feet by the collision of the two ships.

The scope of the conflict is growing, however, for beyond the ship with which they're currently engaged they can see two more ships pulled up on the barely-submerged sandbar which stretches across the back of the pool, while hordes of Kettil's warriors rush out of their nearby longhouse to man them. Arvid's ship, meanwhile, is attempting to maneuver into the cavern to join the fray, but is hemmed in by the stone wall of the cavern and the proximity of the party's own vessel.

As Ingvild leaps to the bow of their ship to lay into the enemies already attempting to board, cleaving three and badly wounding a fourth in a single stroke, Hrafn strikes his harp in the saga of storms once more, conjuring a wind to drive their ship even further up the side of their enemies' and out of the way of Arvid's progress. With a perilous crunch of wood, the enemy's ship begins to tip over precariously while those on board leap for the party's deck to save themselves and join the fight.

While Ingvild holds the bow, Mundr leaps from his ship to Arvid's as it slips past to disgorge its warriors onto the shore. Seeking to stop Kettil's men from launching their other two vessels, Arvid's men split, one party boarding the closer ship to battle its crew on the deck while the other races for the longhouse from which yet more warriors are still emerging. Running alongside, Mundr shelters Arvid from the arrows launched from one the beached ships, turning them aside with his half-melted shield.

Seeing this, Ylva turns her magic to cursing the mast of the ship where Arvid's men are fighting, shouting to them to bring it down, disabling the ship and crushing their foes. The fighting is chaotic, however, and when the mast tumbles, some of Arvid's men are crushed alongside Kettil's.

While Arvid's men are taking the ship, Hrafn recites a saga of war, describing Mundr's battle with Kettil's son, Olaf Mangler. Reaching the longhouse, Mundr breathes deep and then exhales a great plume of suffocating smoke upon the enemy, who begin hacking and coughing as they stumble through the cloud. Falling on them with the other half of Arvid's men, he plunges into the smoke and cuts down warriors with a great sword of conjured flame, his blows bolstered by Hrafn's song.

Back on their ship, Hrafn urges the wind to propel them yet further onto their enemy's ship, which begins to sink beneath their weight with a horrible groaning of wood. Those left alive on board are cut down by Ingvild and his sailors as they try to escape, while Hrafn's renewed saga of storms draws lightning down to smite them—lancing not from the sky, hidden as it is by a stone roof, but from the stones of the strange tower.

With their enemy's ship sinking, Ylva orders the men to head for the shore and join the fighting there. Ingvild, meanwhile, leaps off and races across the sandbar to clamber onto the shore at the far side of the bridge, where a commander can be heard shouting orders. Archers attempt to pepper him with arrows, but Hrafn's wind blows their missiles off course while thunder deafens them to further commands. Lightning strikes out again, but it glances off the commander's armour to harmlessly char the bridge.

With the battle turning, a retreat is called, and Kettil's men surge for the bridge and the safety of the tower—but Ingvild has reached the shore, and plants himself on the bridge to cut them off. Drawing on his fearsome reputation and appearance to cow them, he threatens that any who attempts to cross will be slain even as Mundr and his men pile into them from behind, cutting them down as they retreat. Many hurl themselves from the bridge to swim for their escape, while others throw down their weapons in surrender.

With those forces outside the tower either dead or captured, Mundr calls up to where the commander—almost certainly Kettil himself—can now be seen at the tower's shattered parapet. He demands that Kettil answer for his murders, and that the matter be resolved by a duel without need of further bloodshed—a request his captured men eagerly agree with. Kettil responds that he knows who Mundr is, and about the slaying of his own son, Olaf. He agrees to fight, and invites them up to the tower's peak for their battle.

As the PCs and their men enter, Arvid and his own warriors following, Kettil's remaining men can be seen exiting the tower by the side entrance. Passing through the lower floor, which has been converted into Kettil's residence, they ascend a set of wooden stairs clearly constructed by a later craftsman—the tower's masonry is fit together without mortar using pure-white stones that glow with an inner light and which cause the PCs' feet to tingle when they tread upon them, while the steps up are mere oak planks that creak under their tread.

Reflecting on the matter, Ylva recognizes that the tower is the work of elves, for the matter of which it is constructed is the stuff of their hidden realm, Alfheimr. Though the Mortal World was made from flesh of giants, Alfheim predated the war in which those giants were slain, and was made from the snow and ash of the Primordial Realms of Ice and Fire given life by the gods' own blood—the party is now entering a fragment of another world sustained by lingering divinity, and Kettil is apparently the master of this place. As they reach the second floor, however, they see that he is not its only keeper.

The second floor is nearly empty, its floor bare, while the walls are covered in detailed carvings of nine women with skin covered in fish scales offering down swords, spears, and bows to a crowd of elves beneath them—the children of the Goddess of War and the God of the Sea, the progenitors of one third of the elven race, granting their blessings to their descendants.

In the center of this chamber stands a tall, narrow chair whose back and sides form an almost coffin-like enclosure, into which is wedged an ancient and crone-like woman in the garb of a goði of Bolgmót, the Goddess of War. By her empty sleeve and the one bare foot visible beneath her skirt, it is clear that her right arm is missing below the elbow while her right leg ends at the knee. Across her lap lies a naked bronze sword, its hilt firmly in the grip of her left hand. Most concerning, however, is the clear family resembles she shares with Olaf, Kettil's fallen son.

When the party enters, she gestures with her sword and tells them to halt. Though Kettil has agreed to fight them and has asked that she not interfere, she does not believe it is in his best interests to do so and refuses to permit it. She demands that they turn back, rather than face her son-in-law, and threatens doom on any who attempt to pass her.

Scoffing at the priestess, Ylva says that if the crone wishes to match wills and test power against power, Ylva will happily accommodate her—but that she strongly doubts the priestess' victory. The goði replies that Ylva's petty bargaining with spirits will not avail her against the patronage of a goddess, and she raises her sword again.

There is a surge of divine power as the goði calls down the war goddess' curse upon the room, and madness descends. Hrafn is momentarily stunned by a surge of unthinking bloodlust that overcomes him, but it quickly passes—and he is forced to watch as Ylva transforms into a raven and careens around the room in an animalistic fit of pecking and scratching, while Ingvild and Mundr froth at the mouth and hurl themselves upon any living thing within reach, their eyes glazed by the savage fury of a berserk fit. Unable to distinguish friend from foe, they cleave their own men with frenzied abandon, and those who are not slain flee down the stairs in terror.

When their rage is spent, Ingvild and Mundr find themselves drenched in gore and panting, their limbs trembling with exertion, standing over the brutalized bodies of seventeen of their own allies. Ylva, meanwhile, returns to her senses to find herself perched in crow form on the back of the goði's chair, her feathers wet with the fresh carrion of the slaughter and her beak streaked with the goði's ruined eye, her meal. The goði herself is cloven from breast to hip, one of the first victims of her own malediction, and a terrible omen of the gods' wrath. Incensed, Ylva transforms back into a woman and attempts to bind the goði's spirit, only to hastily give up when her spirit-sight reveals the pale hand of a valkyrie on the crone's shoulder, lifting her spirit away.

With their allies dead or fled and their own cursed deeds sure to haunt them, all the party can do is continue their way up the tower to face Kettil Sea-Strider, there to settle things once and for all.

Behind the Scenes

The war goddess' curse was something I was really looking forward to using, and I'm pleased it got a chance to shine in this session. The party is generally pretty good in a combat situation, and as they go up in levels it becomes harder to threaten them physically—threatening them spiritually and socially is at once a good way to challenge them and to explore the setting itself.

At the outset, I was a little worried that the loss of agency involved in the move would be too overbearing, but we were all really pleased by how things turned out in play, and with the scene that resulted.

It was especially interesting that the effects were so polarized; Hrafn got his 10+, but everyone else failed utterly and then proceed to roll 4 or 5 on their 2d3 RAGE rolls for an especially long and unlucky episode of berserking. When Ingvild and Mundr elected to go for violence instead of animalism, I had them roll their damage without actually narrating what was happening, and then hard cut to the results when everyone came out of their fit—I think it worked really well to have the toll of their slaughter come as a surprise to the players as well as to their characters, and their dismay both in and out of character was really gratifying.

It will be really interesting to see where things go from here, and how the party will handle their relationship with the survivors from both their own crew and their ally's. Ultimately, though, I don't think this is a trick I'll use more than once. I don't think we can possibly get a better result for the evolving story than we did this time, and if you did this kind of thing more often I think it really would become too much of an attack on the characters' agency very quickly.