Day Three of the Odinsleep - The Halls of Valhalla (part 3)
Day Three of the Odinsleep (6 pm – 10pm)
Korbin tells the two massive ravens that he will follow them. They both spread their wings and lift off, gliding away from the thick-beamed rafter and dropping smoothly toward one of the mead hall’s open windows. Korbin spreads his wings, preparing to follow when Arthur finally catches up, having activated the power of his flying shield to carry him aloft.
“Who are your friends?” the paladin asks. The crow shrugs in response, “I don’t know but they want to show me something” and with that, the talking bird from Aesopica drops from the rafter and angles toward the window in pursuit of the larger corvids. Arthur drops in behind him and together, they fly out of the window. The snow that was sprinkling down earlier is falling steadily now and the ground below is already blanketed in several inches of white accumulation.
It takes a little bit of effort to spot the larger ravens in the deepening gloom and the birds themselves offer no more hints as to their destination as the fly over field and forest. At least an hour passes before they begin to circle and descend, finally alighting on the ground between a still pool of dark water with two swans swimming in it and a rickety wooden shack.
“I think that those who live here will help you” the first raven says.
The second finishes, “I remember them helping one person once before.”
The door on the shack creaks open and three women emerge. The first is young and quite attractive, full of bust and round of hip with her long blond hair woven into a thick braid that reaches down her back. The second is an older woman, possibly her mother, late into her child-bearing years but with a mature dignity and quiet air of authority. The last is an elderly crone with a stooped back, long fingernails, and unkempt hair. Her teeth are completely black and she moves slowly, as if in pain.
The middle one speaks, “Hugin, Munin, wherefore doth thee bringeth these strangers to our door?”
The ravens’ heads bob up and down as they hop closer to the three women. “Our small black cousin – he is clever and nimble, both good traits but not prized here as they should be,” Hugin replies.
“We remember you granting strength to those who can endure your trial, “Munin adds, “We would ask this for him.”
“And, if’t be true we conduct our trial, and this one survives, then what wilt we gain?” the youngest woman responds.
“We had thought to allow him to negotiate for himself.” Hugin answers.
The crone narrows her eyes, and Korbin feels her gaze sweep over him, smiles, revealing teeth made of iron, “The sparketh of imm’rtality he carryeth wilt beest our price. Doth thee concur, Korbin of Aesopica?”
Meanwhile, back at the mead hall...
Niklas sees Raven lurking by the door to the hall, as if ready to bolt and make his escape. The woodsman rises and joins him, “You look how I feel. Want to get out of here?” Grotto, noting the absence of his two companions makes his way over to them, clutching four heavy steins of mead in his hands while balancing plates laden with food on his outstretched arms, “Never thought the skills I learned as a goblin’s slave would ever be useful,” he mutters to himself as he adroitly maneuvers through the press of the crowd. He reaches the Raven and Nik and before either can protest, he is pressing the big mugs into their hands, “You will drink and you WILL like it! Don’t join the crowd if you wish but join me in this fine mead and meat in our small celebration” the scarred dwarf proclaims.
Raven looks down at the huge mug, raises one eyebrow skeptically, “Grotto, my body is a temple, not a tent. I cannot drink that much. There will be more battles tomorrow and I will need a clear head.”
Grotto scoffs, “More for me then!”
Raven nods and carefully drinks the giant mug of mead he has been provided, nursing it long enough to keep it from impairing him. Grotto drinks and eats with gusto for a lengthy portion of the night but he eventually pulls away from the crowd and finds a relatively peaceful place to pray to Hanseath and replenish his spells for the coming day.
Most of the rest of the group passes the evening in the same way, sampling food, mixing with the crowd, listening to tales of valor fought earlier today and in the lives the Einherjar lived before they were killed. Some tales are wildly improbably but Morn commits the dead warriors’ words to memory, already forming new verses and tunes for the songs he will be writing later. Ra’ziir works the crowd, glad-handing warriors and finding things to compliment them whether it is their weapons, the cut of their armor, or some small detail like a ring or pendant.
Shadow calls out to the Valkyrie "I vow to do my best to live through the morrow so that I may earn the honor of knowing thy name, if but only half of it." Shadow then begins asking the einherjar within earshot who that enchanting creature was as he makes his rounds eating and drinking the night away.
As the hours pass, Shadow eventually finds his way back to Raven, who is still sipping carefully on the gigantic mug of mead Grotto gave him and asks "If the enemy is still out there, why are all these warriors in here? Should we not be on the line or at least closer to the fight? The Dark Elves rule the night where we come from. I doubt I will sleep well this night."
Raven shrugs in response, “There is too much about this realm that we do not know. Are these Asgardians good or evil? Are we even fighting on the side of justice? Why does this Loki want to destroy the city? What is the source of his grudge? Baldur seems to be a decent fellow and that hammer-wielder in the chariot certainly saved us during that last battle with the Jotuns but Ivaldi seems to think poorly of these ‘gods’. For now, we have few options other than defending this city and trying to learn what we can about the conflict we find ourselves caught up in.”
Shadow soon retires and spends some time and the remains of a bottle of wine looking over the new spell scrolls and thinking what to prepare for the upcoming battle. He knows that Iron Body is not one he wants to use again and will change it out for a powerful summoning spell tomorrow morning.
Drax circulates among the edges of the great hall and after nearly four hours has made it almost a quarter of the way around the building’s vast interior. Ever alert, the assassin listens carefully to the talk amongst these honored dead fighters, trying to overhear anything about weaknesses the Jotuns may possess and learns that they are nearly as invincible as they seem.
As Drax turns with the intent of making his way back toward the rest of the group, he spies the slim, muscular figure of “Shadow’s Valkyrie” carrying a tray of drinks to a scarred and battered table filled with these dead warriors. A smile is fixed upon her face but her eyes are filled with cold fury as she moves deftly to avoid as many pinches, gropes, and pats as possible but the crowded confines of the drinking hall make it impossible for her to avoid all of them. One warrior who is a bit luckier (or more unfortunate, depending on your point of view) than his fellows manages to grab a handful of the Valkyrie’s anatomy that she would prefer to not have touched and she throws the tray down, grabs him by the throat and slams him down onto a table. She curses something under her breath as she stalks away. Another Valkyrie gives chase and the two of them exchange heated words before Shadow’s takes a deep breath, gathers up a new tray of drinks and returns to her duties as a ... barmaid?
Cedron smiles, claps, and cheers as he overhears part of Morn’s recital and witnesses Ra'ziir's dance. He approaches the stunning deities with an expression of joyful gratitude. “Your realm is magnificent! I am truly thankful for the honor of sharing in combat with so many great warriors, and I know that Malazzarr would be pleased by the progress we have achieved today.” says the minstrel-priest. “But before I revel in the glory of today’s battles, and savor the spoils that abound around me. Will you suffer me the trouble of an answer and a request?” He pauses hoping what he is about to ask in not inappropriate. He takes a breath and continues, “How long does the All-Father generally sleep? And may I perform a song for you in honor of this day?”
Bragi, the bearded harpist, smiles, “Answering the questions of Odin’s foretold defenders is no trouble at all. The All-Father has slept for as little as four days and for as many as ten. As for you performing for me, my wife and I would consider it an honor to hear something of yours this evening.”
Korbin tells the two massive ravens that he will follow them. They both spread their wings and lift off, gliding away from the thick-beamed rafter and dropping smoothly toward one of the mead hall’s open windows. Korbin spreads his wings, preparing to follow when Arthur finally catches up, having activated the power of his flying shield to carry him aloft.
“Who are your friends?” the paladin asks. The crow shrugs in response, “I don’t know but they want to show me something” and with that, the talking bird from Aesopica drops from the rafter and angles toward the window in pursuit of the larger corvids. Arthur drops in behind him and together, they fly out of the window. The snow that was sprinkling down earlier is falling steadily now and the ground below is already blanketed in several inches of white accumulation.
It takes a little bit of effort to spot the larger ravens in the deepening gloom and the birds themselves offer no more hints as to their destination as the fly over field and forest. At least an hour passes before they begin to circle and descend, finally alighting on the ground between a still pool of dark water with two swans swimming in it and a rickety wooden shack.
“I think that those who live here will help you” the first raven says.
The second finishes, “I remember them helping one person once before.”
The door on the shack creaks open and three women emerge. The first is young and quite attractive, full of bust and round of hip with her long blond hair woven into a thick braid that reaches down her back. The second is an older woman, possibly her mother, late into her child-bearing years but with a mature dignity and quiet air of authority. The last is an elderly crone with a stooped back, long fingernails, and unkempt hair. Her teeth are completely black and she moves slowly, as if in pain.
The middle one speaks, “Hugin, Munin, wherefore doth thee bringeth these strangers to our door?”
The ravens’ heads bob up and down as they hop closer to the three women. “Our small black cousin – he is clever and nimble, both good traits but not prized here as they should be,” Hugin replies.
“We remember you granting strength to those who can endure your trial, “Munin adds, “We would ask this for him.”
“And, if’t be true we conduct our trial, and this one survives, then what wilt we gain?” the youngest woman responds.
“We had thought to allow him to negotiate for himself.” Hugin answers.
The crone narrows her eyes, and Korbin feels her gaze sweep over him, smiles, revealing teeth made of iron, “The sparketh of imm’rtality he carryeth wilt beest our price. Doth thee concur, Korbin of Aesopica?”
Meanwhile, back at the mead hall...
Niklas sees Raven lurking by the door to the hall, as if ready to bolt and make his escape. The woodsman rises and joins him, “You look how I feel. Want to get out of here?” Grotto, noting the absence of his two companions makes his way over to them, clutching four heavy steins of mead in his hands while balancing plates laden with food on his outstretched arms, “Never thought the skills I learned as a goblin’s slave would ever be useful,” he mutters to himself as he adroitly maneuvers through the press of the crowd. He reaches the Raven and Nik and before either can protest, he is pressing the big mugs into their hands, “You will drink and you WILL like it! Don’t join the crowd if you wish but join me in this fine mead and meat in our small celebration” the scarred dwarf proclaims.
Raven looks down at the huge mug, raises one eyebrow skeptically, “Grotto, my body is a temple, not a tent. I cannot drink that much. There will be more battles tomorrow and I will need a clear head.”
Grotto scoffs, “More for me then!”
Raven nods and carefully drinks the giant mug of mead he has been provided, nursing it long enough to keep it from impairing him. Grotto drinks and eats with gusto for a lengthy portion of the night but he eventually pulls away from the crowd and finds a relatively peaceful place to pray to Hanseath and replenish his spells for the coming day.
Most of the rest of the group passes the evening in the same way, sampling food, mixing with the crowd, listening to tales of valor fought earlier today and in the lives the Einherjar lived before they were killed. Some tales are wildly improbably but Morn commits the dead warriors’ words to memory, already forming new verses and tunes for the songs he will be writing later. Ra’ziir works the crowd, glad-handing warriors and finding things to compliment them whether it is their weapons, the cut of their armor, or some small detail like a ring or pendant.
Shadow calls out to the Valkyrie "I vow to do my best to live through the morrow so that I may earn the honor of knowing thy name, if but only half of it." Shadow then begins asking the einherjar within earshot who that enchanting creature was as he makes his rounds eating and drinking the night away.
As the hours pass, Shadow eventually finds his way back to Raven, who is still sipping carefully on the gigantic mug of mead Grotto gave him and asks "If the enemy is still out there, why are all these warriors in here? Should we not be on the line or at least closer to the fight? The Dark Elves rule the night where we come from. I doubt I will sleep well this night."
Raven shrugs in response, “There is too much about this realm that we do not know. Are these Asgardians good or evil? Are we even fighting on the side of justice? Why does this Loki want to destroy the city? What is the source of his grudge? Baldur seems to be a decent fellow and that hammer-wielder in the chariot certainly saved us during that last battle with the Jotuns but Ivaldi seems to think poorly of these ‘gods’. For now, we have few options other than defending this city and trying to learn what we can about the conflict we find ourselves caught up in.”
Shadow soon retires and spends some time and the remains of a bottle of wine looking over the new spell scrolls and thinking what to prepare for the upcoming battle. He knows that Iron Body is not one he wants to use again and will change it out for a powerful summoning spell tomorrow morning.
Drax circulates among the edges of the great hall and after nearly four hours has made it almost a quarter of the way around the building’s vast interior. Ever alert, the assassin listens carefully to the talk amongst these honored dead fighters, trying to overhear anything about weaknesses the Jotuns may possess and learns that they are nearly as invincible as they seem.
As Drax turns with the intent of making his way back toward the rest of the group, he spies the slim, muscular figure of “Shadow’s Valkyrie” carrying a tray of drinks to a scarred and battered table filled with these dead warriors. A smile is fixed upon her face but her eyes are filled with cold fury as she moves deftly to avoid as many pinches, gropes, and pats as possible but the crowded confines of the drinking hall make it impossible for her to avoid all of them. One warrior who is a bit luckier (or more unfortunate, depending on your point of view) than his fellows manages to grab a handful of the Valkyrie’s anatomy that she would prefer to not have touched and she throws the tray down, grabs him by the throat and slams him down onto a table. She curses something under her breath as she stalks away. Another Valkyrie gives chase and the two of them exchange heated words before Shadow’s takes a deep breath, gathers up a new tray of drinks and returns to her duties as a ... barmaid?
Cedron smiles, claps, and cheers as he overhears part of Morn’s recital and witnesses Ra'ziir's dance. He approaches the stunning deities with an expression of joyful gratitude. “Your realm is magnificent! I am truly thankful for the honor of sharing in combat with so many great warriors, and I know that Malazzarr would be pleased by the progress we have achieved today.” says the minstrel-priest. “But before I revel in the glory of today’s battles, and savor the spoils that abound around me. Will you suffer me the trouble of an answer and a request?” He pauses hoping what he is about to ask in not inappropriate. He takes a breath and continues, “How long does the All-Father generally sleep? And may I perform a song for you in honor of this day?”
Bragi, the bearded harpist, smiles, “Answering the questions of Odin’s foretold defenders is no trouble at all. The All-Father has slept for as little as four days and for as many as ten. As for you performing for me, my wife and I would consider it an honor to hear something of yours this evening.”
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