Fimbulvinter

[Kindling]

[ic=Ragnvaldr]Ragged breath condensed in the cold, forming droplets of moisture in his beard. Huddling architectural forms in the fog ahead. The memory of the last raid...

... in another land. Golden, shifting light from the burning monastery. The sudden resistance as spear pierced flesh. The snivelling of the dying monk. The shrieks of the plump Southron woman. Laughter and mead on the walk back to the ships. The weight of gold on his back...

... is brief, the cold and hunger and quickening heartbeat far more acute. Aslaug, as ever, near at hand, her panting bulk low to the snowy ground. The others, strangers really, spread out to either side, wild things in the mist.

It wasn't long before the sentry's shout. It wasn't long before the first arrow flew. Then, rushing, stumbling, bellowing, Aslaug barking at his side then dashing ahead and the first man fell as she reached him and then onwards, spear in hand.

Thrust, feint, thrust, that familiar resistance as iron bit deep. Colour - abrupt, vivid red - wrenched from a ruined throat into the monochrome world. Another defender, half-clad, axe in hand, utterly unprepared and in instants a mewling, dying wreck.

On, feet now striding a path between buildings, up steps, forcing through the doorway, Aslaug back, jaws stained from her kill. The sudden warmth of the hall, another battle-shout, almost involuntary, more quick work with spear, and then...

No more killing, just a sordid little search. Smoked fish, oats. Victory.[/ic]

Sundays after about 6.45 gmt are fine for me.

[Xathan]

Sundays are pretty bad for me - Monday afternoon, wednesday all day, midday tuesday and thursday, and friday most of the day are typically wide open, however.

[Kindling]

Monday,Tuesday or Wednesday can all work for me, but I probably couldn't make every week.

[Xathan]

Monday,Tuesday or Wednesday can all work for me, but I probably couldn't make every week.

Same for any date I said would work - but then again, wasn't this game supposed to not have a regular schedule, or did that change? >.>

[Llum]

I'm good tuesdays/thursdays early (until 12:30pm) or late (after 6pm), late (after 6pm) for monday and wednesday, saturday/sunday any time.

[Steerpike]

Unless my CE players decide that they'd like a hiatus, I'm not planning on running this as a regular game (of course, some of me CE players are playing in this game, so depending on how they like Fimbulvinter, that might influence their decision...) - basically I don't have the time to run two regular games.  This is just to decide a good date for a starting session, not to fix a regular date.  No point in my just setting a date that no one can make.

[Steerpike]

Wednesday is looking like the best day so far, unless I missed something.  How late can you go on Wednesday, Europeans?

Again, this is only for session #1.  Unless CE goes on hiatus, this will be an irregular every-couple-of-weeks sort of game.

[Xathan]

[ic=Awakenings]

"Get up you beardless wurm!" If the volume hadn't been enough to awaken Sjack, the kick to his ribs would have been more than enough added incentive; he groaned, rising to his feat. The man who stood before him was lean and tall, his pale beard completely caked in dried blood. "You're pathetic enough as it is – and now you add womanly sloth to your failures." Sjack rose in silence. There was a chance that speaking would earn him a ringing blow to the ear. Silence was less likely to have the same consequence, though it was never sure. The sudden pain that exploded in his head indicated he would have been just as well-served speaking. "You think you can give me that sullen look? You are no true man, you have not the right!" Sjack did his best to look contrite, though he was careful to not look distraught – a fine line, and one that if he failed to walk would result in yet another blow.

"Forgive me, Father."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew he had made a mistake – an instant before a massive fist collided with his face. He reeled back, trying to blink through the pain, when another blow landed in his midsection, drawing the breath from him. "You" - a savage blow to the arm caused Sjack to nearly howl in pain - "are" - doubled over, what he thought was a knee rose to his jaw, drawing the taste of blood - "no" - this fist Sjack managed to turn slightly due to his stumbling, taking what would have likely cracked his skull instead of merely blackening his eye - "son" - two fits, back and forth, one to the shoulder and the other to the jaw, took Sjack to a realm of pain he'd never before met - "of" - at this point, the club wooden, stool? Did he grab the stool? that broke across his back was an almost gentle tap, the jagged lances of pain that shot along his back helping to distract from the pain in his head - "mine." - laying on the ground, another foot to the kidney – much harder than the one that awoke him – was the last straw, and the last sensation that was not pain before he blacked out was of his father's spittle running down his face.

Sleep, or something like it, claimed him for a time. He had thought that being beaten into unconsciousness would spare him the Dream, but that would have been a mercy, and Sjack had only the vaguest concept of the term. He was chained again, in a great feasting hall, vaster than he had ever believed possible. Horrific creatures dined on the flesh of men around him – trolls, Hel-Shades, the twisted and dark Aelfar, great serpents with arms like men. At the head of the table sat a figure – always the same person, though at times a beautiful woman, at times a wizened man, at times a sly warrior with a poisoned blade. They all ignored him, as they always did, but the plates grew emptier, and Sjack knew that when the food ran out he would be noticed. What would happen then only his imagination knew, but there was a small chance it would be anything but painful. A hand reached for him, scaled and clawed, and suddenly he was unchained, held by one of the great serpents. "Thisss one." Sjack nearly screamed. Never before had one of them touched him, never before had one spoken.

A skinless wolf with the shape of a man looked over at the speaker. "Verjartix, you're serious? Hes a disgrace to his clan, to his people, to our Pact! He was cursed to never grow a beard." The serpent nodded. "He iss perfect. What say you, beardlesssss? Would you be the vessel of Verjartix?"

"I, I, I"

"You see!" barked the wolf, and Sjack had to bite back hysterical laughter at the phrase, "He is too much of a coward to speak even!" The serpent – Verjartix – nodded. "Yesss. He isss. But there is so much rage in him...tell me, beardlessss, would you wish for a chance to prove you are truly a  Blóðbard?"

Sjack felt it then. Something stirred within him, and he did not see Verjartix as a monster, but as a creature with the deadly beauty of a falcon or a wolf, the beauty of a predator. "Yes." he whispered.

A blow to the back of the head – softer than he had expected, but still the last thing his throbbing head wanted – shattered the dream. He groaned and rose to get up...only to hear the rattle of chain. "You're awake then." The voice was not his Fathers. It was smooth, like honey, but sickening, as though it had been left to ferment but drunk before it was truly mead. A woman moved into view, pale and covered in strange tattoos – no clan markings, no family badges, no killscores or slavetakes (not that he expected to see those on a woman). Rings, outlining her arms and drawing the eyes to her breasts – which were bare save for the tattoos that covered her torso, Sjack realized with a start – were the only markings she bore. "Do you know where you are?"

Sjack started to shake his head and instantly regretted it, hit by a wave of nausea he could not contain, heaving all the nothing he had eaten in the last two days, for the first time grateful for his near-starvation. "No." he croaked instead.

"This is the Feasting Hall of King Ivar." The Hall of Screams. Oh gods, what happened? The woman laughed. "Isn't it obvious, beardless? Your father sold you, and the Ivar wishes to know the cause of your affliction, to be certain it spreads to no others."

She walked over to a tray and pulled out a wicked implement. "I intend to find out."

And once again, Sjack knew only pain.

------------

How long he was chained in that hall, he did not know. Hours, days, weeks, months – time lost all meaning, and the only reprieve he knew was the blessed peace of unconsciousness, until finally he awoke and there was no pain, only lingering soreness. He had been healed, and expertly so. His skin was scarred along his arms, coated in blood, and he was naked, but he was not in pain. He was, however, cold. Standing – noting the absence of chains to bond him – he realized he was outside. Trees surrounded him. The Ironwood. There was something on the tree, and it took his mind a moment to focus. The impaled head of a great wolf leered at him, and with a sickening jolt he realized it was the same blood on his arm. A message had been carved into the tree. RUN

And as soon as he heard the howling of the wolves, he did, like the beardless coward that he was. The wolves had his scent and the scent of their packmate's blood – they were furred and healthy, he was naked and starved – and this was their home. It wasn't even a contest. Soon they had him surrounded, snapping at him, taking their time before going for the kill. Oh please, help me! Spare me this! Anyone! Give me Strenght! You Æsir!" - and a bite on his calf made him realize they were growing bored of the game - "Great Trickster!" - a more aggressive male took his pinky finger, Sjack barely pulling his hand away, and in that flash of pain it was not the wolf, it was not the wolves, it was his father, beating him as he had before, and a name rose to Sjack's lips "Verjartix!"

And suddenly he was clothed in the skin of a great serpent, seven lengths from nose to tail. As fast as his new form would allow he lashed out, catching the next wolf mid-air. It barely managed a shocked yip before the bite crushed its neck. Sjack stood over his prey as he let out a screeching roar, sending the wolves fleeing in confusion and fear. We are now whole. And as Sjack feasted on the wolf in the infant form of Verjartix, he knew it to be true.[/ic]

[spoiler=Crunch][ooc=Beardless Sjack]

Human Summoner 2

Ability Scores:
Str 10
Dex 10
Con 10
Int 14
wis 14
Cha 16

Combat:
Attack: +1 Melee (Light Mace) 1d6, +1 Ranged (Short Bow) 1d6, +1 Spell (Acid Splash) 1d3
AC: 14, 10 touch, 14 flat footed
HP: 13
CMA: +1
CMD: 11

Saves:
Fort +0
Ref +0
Will +3

Skills:
Spellcraft 2 +7
Perception 5 +7
Intimidate 5 +9
Survival 5 +7
Bluff 5 +8
Sense Motive 5 +7
Stealth 3 +3

Feats
Extra Evolution, Weapon Finesse

Items:
Chain Shirt
Mace
Short Bow
50 arrows

Class Features:
Fused Eidolon
Simple Weapon Proficiency
Light Armor Proficiency
Light Armor Casting
Fused Link
Summon Monster 1 (6/day)
Cold Weather Gear

Spells
Level 0: (at will)
Acid Splash
Arcane Mark
Mage Hand
Detect Magic
Message

Level 1: (4/day)
Expeditious Retreat
Devil's Blood
Shield[/ooc]

[ooc=When Bonded With Ediolon]

Str 12
Dex 16
Con 13
Int 14
wis 14
Cha 16

Speed: 30ft, Climb 20ft

Combat:
Attack: Bite +5: 1d6+1 (10ft Reach), Sting +5: 1d4+1, Tail Slap +0: 1d6+1
AC: 21, 13 touch, 18 flat footed
HP: 15+18 Temporary
CMA: +3
CMD: 16

Saves:
Fort +1
Ref +3
Will +3

Skills:
Spellcraft 2 +7
Perception 5 +15
Intimidate 5 +9
Survival 5 +7
Bluff 5 +8
Sense Motive 5 +7
Stealth 3 +12

Feats
Extra Evolution, Weapon Finesse

Items:
Chain Shirt
Mace
Short Bow
50 arrows
Cold Weather Gear

Special Qualities/Class Features:
Resist Cold 5
Darkvision 60ft
Evasion
Fused Eidolon
Simple Weapon Proficiency
Light Armor Proficiency
Light Armor Casting
Fused Link
Summon Monster 1 (6/day)

Spells
Level 0: (at will)
Acid Splash
Arcane Mark
Mage Hand
Detect Magic
Message

Level 1: (4/day)
Expeditious Retreat
Devil's Blood
Shield
[/ooc]

[ooc=Eidolon (Synthesist)]
(Stats not listed are not relevant, Eidolon is only summonable as "skin")

5 evolution points

HP: 18

Str 12
Dex 16
Con 13

+4 Natural Armor
30ft land speed, Climb 20 ft
Evasion
Darkvision 60ft

Serpentine Base Form: (Bite, Climb, Reach (Bite), Tail, Tail Slap)
Evolutions: Sting, Skilled (Perception), Skilled (Stealth) Resistance (cold), Limbs (Legs)

Attacks:
Bite +5: 1d6+1 (10ft Reach)
Sting +5: 1d4+1
Tail Slap +0: 1d6+1[/ooc][/spoiler]

[Steerpike]

I'm looking at Wednesday next week as a likely game day. Llum, how's your early Wednesday?  Terrible?

Somewhere there's a great online schedule-comparison thingy, but I don't remember its name...

It could be that some people may have to miss the first session due to time problems - hopefully not many, but it's possible.  I'm planning on running each session as relatively self-contained, with modular pieces rather than extremely epic, complex, multi-part quests or an intricate tissue of overlapping and intertwining plots (see my CE campaign...).  Definitely a "one quest at a time" style of game.  Hope that's cool.  It should facilitate the jump in/jump out casual/episodic style I'd like to attempt.

[Xathan]

I'm a huge fan of episodic games, so I'm 100% behind it. One thing I've seen in episodic TV shows that I've liked is a "metaplot" - something that comes up ever so often, but you won't be too lost if you miss out, and gets wrapped up in the season finale. Kind of a best of both worlds scenario that I'm going to try to emulate when I finally get around to running an episodic game. :P

[Steerpike]

That's a really good idea.  With this I want to strike a balance between the freedom in a sprawling campaign where the players can essentially go anywhere, do anything, and make all of their decisions, and a highly self-contained game like Sixguns (for example) where each mission has fairly strict parameters.  So, for example, if the party ends one session by deciding to enter the Fens, the next session will pick up in the Fens somewhere, more or less where we left of.  I want player goals and desires to guide the plot to some extent, basically, without the campaign becoming too baroque, if that makes sense.

[Xathan]

Sounds like an excellent way to handle things! I look forward to this game quite a bit - and for a chance to unleash Sjack.

[Ghostman]

Could be tough for me to stay up very late on wednesdays, but I'll give it a try. I expect I can handle it next week at least.

[Steerpike]

I'm considering this optional rule from the 3.5 SRD; let me know what you think!

The approach I'm most intrigued by is the combined approach, in bold below.

Constitution-Based Threshold

A character's massive damage threshold is equal to his Constitution score. Whenever he takes damage from a single hit that equals or exceeds his current Constitution score, he must succeed on a DC 15 Fortitude save or suffer the effects of massive damage.

If an attack deals hit point damage and also changes the character's Constitution score (such as a strike with a poisoned weapon), apply all effects of the hit before determining whether the damage is enough to trigger the saving throw. For instance, a character with a 14 Constitution is hit by a greatsword coated with black adder venom. The attack deals 12 points of damage, but the character also fails his Fortitude save against the poison and takes 3 points of Constitution damage. This lowers his Constitution—and hence his massive damage threshold—to 11. Since the damage exceeds the threshold, the character must now make a Fortitude save to avoid the effect of massive damage.

HD-Based Threshold

A character's massive damage threshold is equal to 25, +2 per Hit Die. Whenever a character takes damage from a single hit that equals or exceeds this value, he must succeed on a DC 15 Fortitude save or suffer the effects of massive damage.

For example, a 5th-level human fighter has a massive damage threshold of 35 (25 + [2 × 5]). A fire giant has a massive damage threshold of 55 (25 + [2 × 15]).

Combined Variant

To combine the Constitution-based threshold variant with the HD-based system, simply use a character's Constitution score instead of 25 to determine a character's massive damage threshold. For example, a 3rd-level character with a Constitution of 14 has a massive damage threshold of 20 (14 + [3 × 2]). In most cases, this calculation results in a threshold lower than the HD-based threshold but still higher than the Constitution-based threshold—retaining the "grittiness" of the Constitution-based system for low-to mid-level characters, while allowing higher-level characters to become braver in combat.

[Xathan]

I love the combined variant. It adds an element of gritty realism to to the setting and makes every strike something potentially nerve-wracking - the increase in threat is perfect for this kind of setting, so I am 100% behind including this.