Storm Wolves Plot - Wolves at CP

Stories from the Storm Wolves Hall last updated 26 July, 2002
The stories shown here are being played out in real time and can be found on the Great Hall of the Stormwolves Site: link here at: http://clubs.yahoo.com/clubs/stormwolves
A STORMY NIGHT !! - commenced 28th Sept 2001 - Jump to last posting - click here
	It is a cold night, the rain is lashing down, and forming rivers, the great fire is roaring and there is much mead and feasting. Towards the end of the meal the large oak doors suddenly fly open, and the sound of the storm outside grabs everyones attention. Coming out of the darkness you see a figure walk through the doors. As the figure comes into the light you see a tall, elderly man dressed in red robes, you also notice he is completely dry. The years weigh heavy on him, he looks well travelled and tired.
	Selene looks up from her meal and instantly begins to walk towards the old man before stopping when she notices he is not wet and the vibrant colour of his robes.. "Can we help you sir?..."
	As you stop the old man looks up you see he is human and about 70-80 years of age, just as you open your mouth the East door flys open and another figure steps in from the rain.
	A stooped figure glides forward from the rain and into the dimly light hall. The figures shape is hidden beneath a dark grey cloak. The hood covers the figures head and the face is hidden in shadow. The cloak is dark grey and looks to be hundreds of years old. The figure raises his head and the hood slips back. The face looks to have seen many years and the eyes look that of a child. The eyes look around the room taking in all the figures that are by now staring at him.
	"Wrong place, Bingo is the next hall on the left" says Bjorne dismissively
	Selene throws Bjorne a nasty look then composes herself and says. "Gentlemen, it is a rather rough night isnt it. Please forgive our apparent rudeness, we werent expecting.....visitors. Can we be of assistance to you?"
	Watch your Tongue, Bjorne Champion of Hel, Don't judge me by my appearence The eyes of the old man turn red with rage and seem to almost glow, he stands now with great presence, and stares at Bjorne.
	Still staring intently at Bjorne he speaks to Selene "My name is Aron, I believe you Are expecting me". He voice sounds calm now but the eyes seem still slightley red. Bjorne, you get the feeling the eyes are penetrating you somehow, finding out about you, knowing you.
	Invar leans back and smiles. Two more old men, Westag will finally have someone to reminiss about the olden days when it was warmer, faction leaders were honest, and meed was stronger. Oh, and lay off the magic in this hall, you are guests. Now stip down or get out, but close the damn door, its getting cold, and I'm sure your arthritis is begining to feel it.
	The figure dressed in dark grey glides to take his place beside Aron. As he passes invarhel a small hand gesture and a slight sound of a whisper. <Invar you find yourself unable to speak>
	Aron Looks over to his companion and smiles "thank you old friend, these young ones are far to arrogant for there own good". Turning to Invar, "one day you may regret that attitude young man" Aron pulls a pipe from his robes and fills it and starts to puff away on his pipe. "Now where is your lorekeeper, Westag I believe".
	The old friend smiles and looks into the eyes of Selene as if searching for something.
	Taken rather aback by the sudden loss of speach, Invar mentally runs through a list of ways to dispose of this geriatric. Besides his statement was inaccurate. Invar's tongue had already got him into trouble many many times before this one.
	Rurisk in very high spirits due to the storm wanders over to Aron and Offers him his hand. "Hello there, yes we are expecting you, come in and share bread and Mead with us I'm sure with such a storm about you'll be wanting some food" With that he hands Aron's Friend a Horn of Mead.
	Magnus also greets the newcomers. "Apologies friends, Gunn is not here to greet you - he has been called away by the priests. He should return soon. Westag is just...taking a p...care of business. He'll be here in a moment. "In the meantime make yourselves at home in our hall. What brings you here on such a night?"
	Rurisk Grins even wider as a real storm starts outside... " I Like Storms..."
	"Thank you,"Aron grabs Rurisks hand in a warrior hand shake. "I thought that the Stormwolves reputation was unfounded but I find that you are not all fools" Aron sits down and reaches for the mead quaffs a horn and sits back. "As for my purpose here, I have come to discuss Scarlocks first born."
	Westag re-enters the hall from a rear partition, hitching up his robes a bit. Faced with two new and somewhat disturbing characters, he glances swiftly at Gunn's vacant seat, and then speaks quickly to Magnus, before addressing the visitors. His eye meets Aron's steadily and without blinking. 'We received your missive Aron. However, the Stormwolves have faced some troubles recently of a beguiling nature. Much as I sincerely wish to speak with you on a number of matters, especially - (swiftly glaring at Bjorne) - Scarlock's legacy, I am afraid I must insist that we Spirit Sight you and your friend before we commence with traditional Stormwolf hospitality.' 'Magnus, Selene - if you could do the honours.'
	The red fire starts once again to glow in Arons eyes, "And who are you" the words seem to grate your ears as they pass. Aron Looks straight into the eyes of Westag, you have the feeling that they are burning into you, revealing your mind. The glow dies away, "So you are Westag, then you may do what you have too, I have nothing to hide".
	The figure in dark grey leans towards Aron and says "Is this the one?" looking at westag as he shuffles towards them.
	Aron turns to his companion, "Yes Old friend he is Westag, whether or not he is the ONE is debatable.
	The old friend looks at his companion, "They are not as you described, I feel we may have wasted precious time old friend. Perhaps Scarlock was speaking of a group that has been lost into the sands of time" The old gentleman takes the pipe from Aron and puffs away merrily, waiting for his horn to be refilled.
	With the magical gifts implanted in him by his goddess, Invar takes a few minutes to slowly and carefully pick away at the strands of magic confining his throat. After an intensely difficult and draining operation that seemed to last an eternity for him in those few minutes the spell comes free. Invar sags in his seat, and for once in his life decides to remain silent, pouring himself another glass of wine. Observing the visitors through deeply suspicious eyes.
	Aron looks around the hall, taking in each face individually, "Perhaps you are right old friend, Scarlock spoke of a great force of religious warriors, powerful preists, and great mages, I see here the defeated and miserable" Aron Stands and addresses the hall "Well Mighty Stormwolves, You are not what I imagined, Prehaps Scarlocks perception of you is much greater than you deserve. Where now is your valour and strength, you panic over the entrence of two old men, who you could best easily. There is only two of us yet you cower in fear. Where are your Mighty warriors, Where is your powerful preists, Where are you almighty GODS. As the speach continues Arons voice rasies slowley untill it seems he is screaming, in defiance. Once again his eyes grow red with rage and this time you see samll flames flickering in the light. "I demand to speak with Gunn NOW"
	Westag gestures to a wench, who hastily and warily refills the two strangers' horns and then backs away. Not for one moment does his eye leave Aron's, and the air seems tense between the two, as Midgard before a World-Storm. The tempest outside rattles the shutters of the hall. Slowly Westag seats himself in the Master-Healer's chair, decorated with a chalice and war-mace. He winces as he does so, obvious arthritis cramping his knees. And waits for the results of the spiritsighting.
	The stranger that is still sitting there puffing on the pipe pays little attention to his friends outburst as if he has seen it many times. "Calm down old friend they are still very young and foolish." He passes the pipe reluctantly to his old friend and welcomes the fresh mead.
	Aron turns to his friend, "thank you" he takes the pipe and inhales deepley. Addressing all again "I am sorry, but matters out of my hand are concerning me, We have had a long journey to get here, and when we arrive all we receive is questions and suspicion. I must apoligise" He turns to westag and nods his head, "I have a cure for arthritus Westag, prehaps I can help you" Aron collapses back in his chair, not a groan to beheard, and smokes deepley of his pipe again and passes it back to his friend.
	After a brief moment of introspection Bjorne speaks...... "I thought I was the only arrogant one around here. Seems my position is being usurped." ...and then thinks... By Hel I hope these two are NOTHING like that old codger of a healer I have to contend with. Oh the headaches....
	Hagar looks at rurisk and rolls his eyes Handing rurisk a horn of fresh mead "you also volunteered to wear turncap...enough said!" "Only if Ristan dies, and even then I believe Bronwyn is in front of me in the queue!" Drains the horn. "So then We know you Aron but who is the other person with you?"
	Selene Turns to Aron, her eyes fixed on his. "Do not be fooled by our appearance my friend, we are powerful because the Gods make us powerful, we do not need constant show of our strength and magic to reassure us.." Selenes tone calms slightly as she can feel Westag looking over to her disapprovingly, she grins slightly then continues "If you know who I am then perhaps you could speak to me until Gunn is available but first let me cast spirit sight on you" Selene reaches into her ever present bag of herbs on her waist and sprinkles them over the two men, as the herbs fall through the air she mutters the incantation under her breath and they fall leaving a blue veil which she peers through at them...
	Aron still looking at Selene, answers" My friend will introduce himself when he is confident you can be trusted, until then he prefers to remain anonymous" Staring at Selene the eyes grow red for a moment and he turns to his friend "She is strong in the ways of magic and ritual" Turning back to Selene, "SO you lead the rituals here, I wondered who was the power focus, I have a gift for you. Aron waves his hands in an intricate pattern and mutters an incantation unknown to any that hear it. He then reaches and touches your forehead and you recoil at the sheer force of power that is infused into you, you realise that Aron is a powerful ritualist as well, considerably more powerful than any you have meet. As the power earths, a tingling sensation run through you, you know that in this place you couldn't use the power given anyway, but in a ritual it would seem he could make quite an improvement to an already impressive ritual group. We may be available to aid you, if we deem the cause worthy.
	The stranger moves forward to Selene and opens and outstretched hand palm facing towards her. The stranger holds his movement and his head sinks slowly to face to ground. Selene feels a warmth descend upon her and she feels true ritual magic in the stranger. A voice breaks through "My friend has given you a great trust. My name is Oric I feel we understand each other." Oric raises his eyes to meet hers. He whispers in a calming voice. "I hope that we can aid each other, I feel that there is much work to be done." Oric turns to the storm wolves that are staring at him as if ready to spring at a moments notice. "My name is Oric, I am here to assist my friend Aron in his duties." "BUT" and Oric turns to Selene. "I think that I may be here to assist in other matters"
	Sven lessens his grip on his axe...... Very slightly. leaning over to his brothers. Not liking the aforementioned slight on the Stormwolves prowess ... "we kill him, or not?" he thinks to Himself "where's gunn when Sven need him to tell Sven who to kill"
	With all the talk of ritual power, a quiet figure in a corner stirs slightly. Wrapping his black cloak tightly around him, Agna listens to the conversation, unnoticed as usual, as he squats behind a column. Quietly considering the benefits of a quick regeneration spell on himself, he has a feeling of foreboding as he listens to the other old men... and Selene, the arm of his balance in the circle.
	Selene looks around, momentarily dazzed... She whispers to the two men, "My friends, I have not felt such power since I held my first ritual under the guidance of Westag..for now I will not ask what you have bestowed upon me but later I hope we can talk." Selene speaks in a more normal tone, her eyes passing over all of the other stormwolves in the room, she then speaks that all present may hear "Know that whatever aid you offer us will be glad met and returned, until which time I think Gunn would wish us to give you what hospitality we have, please move closer to the fires and warm yourselves.." "Stormwolves, I know I hold no rank amongst you but believe me when I say that were these gentlemen to wish us any harm we would already be in Valhalla...(again!)"
	"Thank you Selene your wisdom is great, please speak with your beserkers and calm them, they look irrate" Aron walks over to the fire and sits sretching in front of the fire like an old cat warming itself from the cold outside. "Now, any who wish to ask questions of me may, come and I will answer the best I can, In exchange I ask only news and stories of your great deeds" Aron looks to have aged since his arrival, and looks weak and drained.
	Oric wonders over to his friend and joins him by the fire. The cold begins to drain from his body and as he sits the age in him begins to show. Oric feels the figure that is squatting quietly in the corner behind a column and looks at Aron his face changes for a second and they both nod and stare back into the fire.
	Oric looks at his friend and as he does. <Agna feels as if he is being watched. A warmth decends upon him as if moving through him then disapears> Oric passes the nearly finish pipe back to Aron and smiles.>
	Selene walks over to the two men and whilst passing Sven leans over, whispers a word in his ear and before he can even notice places a large chicken leg from the table in his clenched hand, Svens face lightens and his momentary anger is replaced by sheer joy at the prospect of more food. Selene sits infront of the fire, her face looking younger in the light from it. "Tell me.." she asks politely. "..exactly WHAT did you just do to me?...Oh and don't worry about Agna...." she motions to the pillar "..he's an expert at skulking in the shadows, our rituals wouldn't be complete without him.. he cares a lot for me, that's all whispers with a cheeky glint in her eye although I think I'm the only female in the Wolves he hasn't asked to marry.. he must have got talking to Westag
	Aron takes the pipe from his friend and draws deepley from it, he looks into his friends eyes for about 30 seconds, and nods. He then looks deep into the fire,and his eyes glaze over
	Oric turns to Selene. "My friend has used much power this evening." "He asks me to appologise for not explaining thing more clearly and has asked me to continue." <Oric turns to his friend and looks deeper moves his head towards the fire then looks back at Selene.> "We have changed you in no way. We speak truth to you from our hearts this is what you feel. It is better to be, then to run around words of politeness and of politics. "
	Oric lifts the pipe from his friends hand fills it from his pouch lights and sits smiling with himself. "I see a light within you burning brightly. You have a greater power then you yet believe."
	Agna sits muttering into his drinking horn "never mix rituals and pleasure is what I say... damn fine woman though... puh!! ... as though I bother what that pup Westag thinks... strange feeling of warmth just then.... what does that remind me of?? " His eyes remain fixed upon Selene and the newcomers from his position by the column.

	Bjorne breaks off the conversation he was having with Kiera and strides over to the fire. He sprawls in a large wooden chair and grins at Oric. "Perhaps a tale from your good self and then I shall tell you a tale about fate." His grin melts and Bjorne glares at Oric for a moment. In that moment an image of a twisted, totured landscape filled with the roaming figures of restless souls glides across Orics mind. Not an image easily forgotten. "Nothing quite like knowing exactly where your fate lies is their Westag?" A short laugh, and the grin returns. "Anyway, tell the tale of your journey here. I think were all curious"
	Westag remains in his chair, eyeing Aron and Oric, and utterly unsurprised to see Selene deep in conversation. Hearing Bjorne's comment, a flicker of a smile crosses his lips. Leaning back a little, he reaches into his pouch, and with practised ease flicks a smoke to Magnus and Tara before placing one in his mouth and lighting it. He seems quite relaxed to be waiting for Gunn.
	Aron eyes flinch and close, He shakes his head and opens his eyes again. "Ahh thats better, I must apologise for my sleepiness but we have travelled long and hard to get here and it is so tiring for an old man. Aron pulls a decanter from his robes and pours enough glasses for all around the fire and one extra, "Westag you wish to speak with me, come join us and drink, then we will discuss matters" Aron hands the drinks out and tastes his drink "There, I would not poison you, please drink, it is the finest port I have ever tried, I was saving it for a special occasion" Aron looks again into the eyes of his friend and nods.
	<Oric puffs on his pipe, the vision still fresh in his mind.> The reason for this journey is not mine to say. I will say that I am here because of a duty once sworn. I feel that I may have been drawn here for a purpose. But that remains to be seen. Our journey has been a long one over lands and seas. Throughout the darklands and the dry lands. I was the follower, my friend the guide. His duty drew him to this place and magic was his guide. We kept ourselves away from most of the races we came across, but sometimes this was not possible, we entered the communities for shelter and provisions as the journey was long. There was other meetings that we could not avoid. We met along our journey groups of creatures and undead. Unnatural creatures that called to be freed from their bindings to travel the journey to other realms. The dead walking as if alive, minds intact in many, and aware of there own predicament. Some attacked us from the forests not understanding their own actions. We had the chance to let some of them free but there was too many, and little time could be given to there turmoil. We traveled across the great cold ocean, being lifted at times into the sky. Mountains of water erupting in our path. Creatures flying in circles around the sails. They came at night attacking the men as they slept. The strength in them was unnatural. They were the size of birds yet on one night, as the storms had past us by, one of the boat men was lifted from his sleep into the sky. Aron projected fire into the sky so that we could see our enemies. They disappeared from the light as if in fear. They took the man as they went. As the glow of the flare dyed down the screams of the boatman could be heard until dawn. We finally arrived in these lands. Aron lead the boat for three days never sitting never speaking. He steered the boat to an inhabited island some distance from here. We took our leave from the craft that had kept us safe those many months. The island was devoid of life - no grass or trees. As my friend led me to the far shore I sensed a presence in him. The waters were like a great mirror and the wind was nowhere to be found. The mist the only movement, as it drifted around us. We stood on the shore as if waiting for someone or something. Nothing but silence. I knew better to question my friend of his actions as his mind was elsewhere. The time went by, spent mostly in meditation. And as my mind cleared I found my friend stood waiting for me. A boat was resting on the shore, small and powered by sail and oar. We left the island and entered the mist. The sail took us forward yet I could feel no wind. The boat moved as if the waters themselves were guiding us. As hours past high cliffs loomed up from the mist. The boat gently led us round the coast until we stopped at a natural harbour shaped by the cliffs. The boat gently stopped at the edge of low rocks at the base of the cliffs. We alighted the boat and my friend led me to steps carved into the stone. The steps turned to a path and the path to your hall. The rest you know. <Aron puffed on his pipe again and looked into the now empty drinking horn.>

	Selene motions for Kiera to fetch over more mead, which she eagerly does whilst also carefuly positioning her cleveage infront of Bjornes eye line. As she hands it to her mother Selene rolls her eyes and with a girlish grin on her face her eyes begin to wander over to where Westag is as if she is remembering happier times then she pulls her attention back to the guests.. She thinks to herself.. " perhaps this gift i have is what is keeping me from meeting someone special...perhaps my path is to always be on my own..." She turns to the two men.. "..can i fill your glasses?"
	<Oric smiles and offers his drinking horn forward for refreshment, as he does he looks into his pipe and passes it to Aron with a smile.>
	Aron takes the horn "want a refill then old man?" He looks to Selene "Thank you Selene" he offers his Horn for filling. He refills the pipe and inhales deepley again. "So Selene your thoughts lead toward, Westag hmm interesting there is more between you than first seems" Turning toward Bjorne " So Bjorne, you are a great warrior you must have many tales of valor and war, enlighten me. Where do the Wolves stand with the other factions? How strong are they?"
	Bjorne drags his eyes away from Kieras cleavage and addresses Oric. "The position of the Stormwolves as far as the other factions are concerned is very simple. We get on with the Fir Cruthen and we like the tribe. I would go so far as to say that every Stormwolf would risk his life in glorious battle alongside the Tribe. As for the other factions.... well lets just say that im carrying out the will of Hel." The Wolves as a faction are more liberal. Yet since the ascensiom of Valarkin to the position of Lord Wolf a pleasing turn towards a more warlike outlook has come about. As far as our strength is concerned the Stormwolves fear nobody. From these questions I sense that you have been away from the Wolves for some time. Much has happened in recent seasons.... The destruction of an undead army, a new Lord General, Hel's displeasure and her tasks, the death of Myst cough and of course the arrival of the stinking Greenskins. As far as my tale goes I bow down to a superior intellect and a more practiced tale telling tongue. Westag, why not explain our curious situation to our new arrivals?
	Selene smiles.. "Im not sure if your aware but Westag and I were once married..Kiera is our daughter. Even though were not together anymore Westag still means a lot to me and dispite recent "parental conflicts" we get on ok.. He taught me most of all i know about the runes, in a way its thanks to him that I am safe now and holding the runes..." Her voice trails off as she remembers a private conversation they had after the rune ritual.. " I wouldnt be who I was if it were not for Westag..and Uthgra of course, I have many tales I could tell you of Gingaren and Uthgra...did you know him?"
	As Selene is speaking, Tara's flat gaze doesn't leave Westag's face, as she draws on her smoke and takes a drought of mead. She seems lost in thought.
	<Oric smiles, and looks towards Selene.> "I have not travelled to this place or even this far north before." "I have heard of you people through the ramblings of my friend. These Gingaren and Uthgra are names I have not heard of. Please continue I have a great interest in the makings and history of such a people as the wolves. And a greater interest in the makings and your beginings."
	Selene leans back where she is sitting as if to make herself more comfortable then she begins.. "Gingaren is...was... an overflow village for the Isle of Myst, people were sent there by Myst to start a village, we were some of the first people to come from the Isle of Myst. When we arrived people neede a leader and so Uthgra was chosen for that role. Uthgra was wise beyond his years, he was only in his early twenties when people frist arrived but people had faith in him, we believed he coudl lead us through everything. Uthgra was a holy man, a true priest of the Gods and as such decided to never take a wife incase it diverted him from his path, to this end, the first council of Gingaren decided that as a tribute to Uthgra we would all use daughter/son of uthgra after our names. Our village grew from a few people into hundreds, each of them a trueblood, each a follower of the Gods, each with their own gifts. Each year There was held a festival of the time of choosing where out of all the children of the right age, a few were chosen to develop thier natural abilities, some became warriors such as my firends the beserkers..she motions towards Sven and in catching his eye flashes him a dazzling smile I however was deemed to possess a natural ability in rune casting. We were all trained in schools in classes run by those sent from the Isle of Myst and on the year i was chosen, Myst sent Westag to Gingaren to tutor the new pupils. I became the rune caster to the people of Gingaren which was both my honour and my burden, i saw things that could bring joy to the entire village and when i did, i helped create it but i also saw the downfall of the Village and...she pauses for a brief second her voice softening I aided in that too as i felt was my duty." Selene breathes out heavily " And now i am here..this is where the Gods have deemed i should be."
	Westag seems to be listening from his chair, his one eye clouded with memories. A small smile creeps onto his weathered lips. As tales of the past are expounded, and the strangers entertained, he soon closes his eye. Westag sleeps.
	as Selene mentions his name Sven looks up from eating and brandishes his chicken leg in a salute "UTHGRA" He then downs a horn of mead for good measure "BELCH"
	Aron passes the pipe to Oric and smiles, "Yes Bjorne, we have been out of touch with or Norse brothers for far to long. You say you are peaceful with the Tribe pray tell who are the tribe, are they a new nation? And are you truely at war with all other nations except the Tribe and Fir Cruthen, if is is so you must in great danger at the meetings of the nations. Even the mighty wolves can only kill so many.
	Having drained his glass of wine. Invar offers a response, the last strains of magic having been unwound from his throat. "War is ... a little strong a word. Open hosilities, while they would deliver many souls to my lady, as you say would end in our defeat by sheer weight of numbers. THe Wolves wait for the right time to strike. As for the plans that waid these stormwolves, Gunn only knows But that, I am guessing, is why you are here." <Invar pours himself another glass of red wine>
	"Ah I see you have regained your voice, so you are not at war, mereley disagreeing on a few things, hmmm. What is your name?" Aron drinks deepley from his glass and calls "More mead, if you please"
	Selene suddenly realises she is not drinking and huffs discontentedly....She picks up a jug of mead from the table and takes it back to the fire.. Selene motions for all present to be silent then lowers her head.. "Aegir, alebrewer of the Gods, bless this mead that we may share in friendship and laughter, fill us with mirth..." a stranger mist than normal billows from the top of the jug and Selene takes a large mouthful, shudders, smiles then passes it on to Bjorne.. "There you go, lets just say it has a bit more of a kick now....." She chuckles to herself knowing the alcohol level is now at least triple what it should be
	From behind the pillar, Agna rises silently to his feet and brushes down his black cloak. Quickly emptying his drinking horn down his throat he moves towards the main group. "To every thing under the skies there is a time and a place and task to meet ... the task is to sample some of Selenes' finest brew, the place is nearer to that mead .. and the time is now!!" He avoids waking Westag - they have never had calm words since Westag thought Agna was taking too much interest in young Keira.. and smiles at Selene while manouvering closer to where Bjorne holds the jug.
	<Invar sticks to his wine> "My name, is Invar, and you have already introduced yourselves, so that makes us on level ground there.... <sips his wine> "Been studying magic long?" Invar detects a ripple in the forces of magic and runs a finger through his shock of pure white hair. He notices, to his absolute horror, Bjorne lifting the jug of mead to his lips. Then again, a drunk Bjorne could prove amusing ... might want to train Westag.
	"Come one come all" Aron says with a smile, he produces a small pouch from his belt, A pungent smell eminates from the pouch. He takes the pipe from Oric who smiles with a grin from ear to ear. He takes a strange green substance from the pouch, the smell is stronger now, and places it in the pipe. Aron draws deeply from the pipe, and his eyes roll in his head. He smiles and offers the pipe to Selene. Seeing the disappointed look on Oric's face he says "all things come to he who waits"
	"Invar, You appear to be a duelist is that assumption correct? And yes I have studied magic for a while". Aron smiles. "So you are of the church of Hel as well, Hmmm there is rather a lot of you isn't there. I heard the church is a new thing, Hel was not best pleased it would seem. So which unrecognised god is next to make there demands, Jormungard maybe, do any worship him or does he not class as a god?"
	"Hel was hardly unimportant. She was undeservedly unrecognised, too many used their magic without reference to their patron. We are but a retinue to a powerful goddess" Invar snaps his fingers and his bottle drifts from the table, evades Svens graping fingers in a practiced maneuver and pours into the glass he holds, before returning to the table. "Magic is where you find it"
	Rurisk looks up at this. "The All father is also patron of Magic Invar... I wouldn't anger him if I were you"
	Olaf and Zogg burst through the doors 'Who these two old bastards?' Zogg shouts. 'Sven, come to our side, little brother!!' Olaf bellows. Sven drops his chicken, grabs his axe and ambles over to his kin. 'What his happenin 'ere, brother. We been away for two mins (chattin to Ristan, pet mage) and all nasty atmoss in the hall~??? Zogg is not happy. Were is Gunn? Were we kill - old men??
	sven looks forlonly at his chicken leg and snaps out of it "these two walk in say they friends not sure if sven should kill or not what brothers say? rest of storm wolves seem O.K. with them"
	Ristain the Bastard staggers in through the door sporting a nasty looking black eye... He glances around desperatly looking for Rurisk or Bronwyn "Oh for the love of Saga somebody keep those bloody beserkers away from me" he mutters to himself -at this point Ristain becomes aware of the gathering tension in the hall and slinks of to the relative saftey of the shadows... "Oh Odin what are those whoreson maniacs stiring up now?" he whispers, making sure those nasty fur models can't hear him.

Aron looks at Invar
"your mere tricks don't impress me, only a fool would waste his power with small party tricks, does this waste and laziness please your goddess hmmm I think not"
The look of disdain in Arons eyes seems almost painful

Aron cast an eye over to the doors and see's the beserkers enter he raises his eyebrows and takes another drink
"Ahh the beserkers, I have not had the pleasure brash but interesting, So these are the mighty warriors hmmm".
Turning to Selene "they seem a little less than intelligent but very strong are they too blessed by some god?"

Zogg is now angry.
'We are the chosen of MODI!'
*Stops and points a finger at the huddled git.*
'Dont make me say MODI!'
Olaf, (not happy).

*sven looks at the old man and walks forward*
"Hello I am Sven. You now have met Sven this is Zogg and Olaf you now met Berserkers. we hit things. What you do? why you call us UN---- In---Telligaant?"

*Olaf slaps hand on Zogg's chest, to stop him charging, looks around hall, winks at the Bastard - mouths the word, cash*
"Sven, you talk to old one, wot problem??"
"Zogg, NO, go an bash bastard - brother, cash."!

*Ristain looks around beseechingly for some way to get out of the hall and away from the beserker striding towards him...*
"It's not that I'm a coward...I just don't like the pain" he mutters to nobody in particular.
Ristain prepares for the worst...!

Aron mutters a incantation and completes a complex hand signal and a red arua can briefley be seen around him the it diappears.
"Hello Sven, Zogg, Olaf, So you are the mighty beserks I have heard so much about, why would you wish to kill me I'am just an old weak man, no contest for fighting skill there would be no honor in killing me you need to find a worthy opponent please sit and drink we mean no harm"

Selene takes the pipe and inhales deeply
"The brothers are blessed by Modi, and every now and again they seem to forget their manners..please accept my appologies"
With that she stands and faces the brothers grinning to herself....
"Zog, Olaf, Sven.....I call upon the powers of the rune Wyn, the rune of joy, may its happiness and light flow through you, may its powers run through your veins and illiminate all anger and malice"
As Selene finishes the spell a small pink orb forms between her hands and shoots out towards the brothers, splitting in three before it reaches them and then hitting each of them square on the temple. They feel no pain as it makes contac but instanly the Beserkers are surrounded with a faint pink aura, their faces all lighten and they trun to group hug each other....

"Now, where's my mead......Bjorne, surly you can drink more than that!"

*Sven not wanting to hurt the old men in the first place feels the love flowing through him he turns to the door and walks into the growing storm in search of some pretty flowers*

Aron turns to Selene with a look of respect on his face "I knew there was more power in you than first seems, you are truley a mystery.
I will have to learn about this rune reading it seems to bless you with great knowledge and power hmmm, I too have some clarvioynce abilities, but you seem stronger in that than me prehaps you will teach me?"

*Zogg, getting up to full speed towards the basterd suddenly stops.*
'Zogg...feel... ME WANT LOVE YOU RISTAN!!!!

Wrestles him down into bone-crushing bearhug.

Zogg is now amorous.

Olaf, feeling this strange warmth looks slowly around the hall. Finally his gaze falls on Selene, Striding over he plonks hiself on her lap, shoves a (drinking) horn in her hand and smiles his best smile.....

Selene laughs at Olaf sitting on her lap and gives him a cuddle to keep him happy..
"The runes hold a lot more power than people think, i discovered this myself over many years, because each is related to one of the gods then it is possible to ask the correct god to aid you through the power of the runes. It would be an honour to teach you what i know..."
She drinks from the horn that Olaf has given her and thinks maybe the outcome of the spell could be quite enjoyable.....

Bjorne laughs at the Beserker antics and proceeds to drain the flagon in his hand.... *belch*
"Hhhhhm, one of your finer brews Selene" *hic*
By the way, Invar, where in Hel's name did you find red wine? You get more like a Gryphon everyday!!! HA HA HA HA HA HA.
*punches him on the arm and sends him crashing to the floor*
"Ooops, hehe"
MORE MEAD !!!!!!! *hic*

Shortly after this a cunning look spreads across Bjorne's face.
"Oh Westaaaaaag, have you done any training today?" *hic*
"We wouldnt want you getting lax now would we?"
*Barely supressed laughter*
"Your trainig today is to engage our beserker friends in friendly conversation....he he"
"Selene.....do you have any more mead?" *hic*

Selene tops up Bjornes mead and laughs at his ideas for training..
"Bjorne, why dont you leave poor Westag alone, look hes sleeping...."
*she looks over at Westag and smiles, knowing he is probably awake but preying to be left alone...

"...I know.., why dont you go and chat with Kiera and let us old ones talk about old times..if we need you for anything we'll call you back"

Selene momentarily finds herself staring at Bjorne then remembers what happened the last time she "blessed" some mead, a quick poke in the ribs from Olaf draws her attention back to the loved up beserker on her lap and drinks somemore...

Olaf has conflict of interest...

Little Sven on right shoulder says..
"Youve got a pretty ripe ritualist supping on your horn here".

Little Zogg on left shoulder says..
"Wot u lookin at, Cleft face??

Olaf not know witch one to listen to. (Love spell not THAT strong).

Curvy babe or axing?? Difficult choice.

Meanwhile, Zogg tires of Ristan (who slumps on the floor in a gratefull heap!) and spots the Hel wench. Sickly, be-furred grins ensue, as Zogg goes all romantckk and declares undying rabbitdom on the lucky cultist.......

"It was sunny, and you fell asleep on that side, hur hur hur....etc.

*Suddenly, Olaf stands and stalks to the centre of the hall. Grasping his great axe, he shouts*.

Zogg, Sven, we have bin magicktd!
Modi has crowbarred my lids, I can see the lies as they cover us!!

Who did this?? Who is gonna pay???

*Sven runs back through the doors, left hand he has some battered pansies, right hand, a very large axe.*

*Zogg drops wench, stands, hefts his hammer and starts to twitch.*

Zogg is not 'appy.

Bronwyn walks in through the open doors of the long hall and into a scene of chaos. Spotting Ristan lying in a broken heap on the floor, she goes over to him, skirting around the beserkers and deftly intercepting the flagon of mead from Selene in the process.

"Wouldn't want this to get spilled!"

Taking a long draught of mead she passes it to Ristan and turns to the guests

"I'm Bronwyn, who are you?"

Tara, lured by the pipe and mead, joins the group.

"OK, so that's not something you see every day....a berserker with a bunch of flowers!"

Rurisk wanders over to ristan and drags him back behind a pillar.

Aron looks up into the eyes of Bronwyn, "Good evening young lady my name is Aron and this is Oric.
My Selene, these beserkers are great entertainment. Is this a typical evening in the Stormwolves great hall?"
"Can i get a refill here please someone, you wench over here" Aron tries desperatley to grab the attention of the serving maid, knowing with this many men in the hall his chances are slim.

Olaf stands there and notes two more targets enter the hall.

Looks at axe, looks at ritual wench.
Looks at axe, looks at ritual wench.
Looks at axe...

...Stalks up to Selene again, glowers into her face, wondering wot other spels she has in sleve.

He grins and takes a long draught from the nearest horn.
Belching long and loud he shoves the horn into Aron's wrinkled hand and turns to her again.
"Grab u'r book love, u've pulled!"

Olaf not know wot
beans. Confused.

Selene looks startled for a moment, then grins, picks up her book and drags olaf off to one of the side rooms...

*Zogg, having dropped the hell-wench and lofted his hammer with the full intention to crush at least one person, finds this sudden lull leaving him with nothing to do.*

*As he turns, he notices with a smile that in all the commotion, no-one is guarding the feast table and tucks in. After all, feeling genuine peace and love really took it out of Zogg.*

Aron leans over and whispers to Oric,"we have GOT to get one of them.
Beserkers are great fun"
He smiles and drinks from his horn.
Aron leans back and smiles, quite obviousley under the influence of the pipe and mead.
he starts to giggle like a crazy old man
Tehehheheheheheheh hahahahahahha ooooheeeheheehe

Oric seeing his friend giggling like a wench starts to smirk from the corner of his mouth. Then the same little smirk appears on the other corner and this slowly continues until the pair of them are giggling like a pair of wenches.

The on lookers unaware of the private joke look on in amazement.

Oric now with pain in his ribs splutters " They remind me of your last two wifes. " and then this is all to much for the pair of them.

The begin to howl in laughter.

HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHHEHEHEHHEHE
HAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHA
TEHEEHEEEHHEHHEHEHEHHE
AAHHHHHHH stop it hurts...
heheheheheheeheheeh hahahahahaahahahahahaahhah

Olaf returns after twenty mins looking tired and bruised, glancing around the room he sidles over to the empty chair next to Aron*

"No wonder you look so old if u always on pull wiv women like her!"

*Takes long pull of ale and has reflective moment of silence*

"Very old."

*Looking around he sees Zogg has not stopped eating since he left*

"Ever had a brother old one??
*sighing he stands up* better stop him before he bursts."

Olaf (ridden to buggery).

Tara leans forward and catches the horn of mead which is falling from Aron's hand - wouldn't want it to get spilled now. She waits with much amusement for him for be able to breath again, before handing it back - having taken a quick swig herself.

Selene walks out a few moments after Olaf looking no different than when she went in, she sits down next to the fire (trying not to laugh at the state on Olaf) and says..
"Right then gentlemen..where were we?"

Selene...(mildly satisfied)

Aron looks at the half naked beserker and remains straight faced enough to say "yes, I have six brothers"
He then bursts out giggling again stopping for a puff on his pipe and passing it to Oric.

Oric takes the pipe from his friend still giggling like a wench.

Ahoom. = Cough and splutter

Oric draws on the pipe. "Well Aron"
Oric turns the group around him.
"Thank you kindly young Storm Wolves you hospitality has been overwhelming"

A little smirk reappears in the corner of his mouth.

"But my friend and I have a long journey ahead of us. It has been most unfortunate not to find Gunn available for us to properly pay our respects. I hope that you can pass on a great thanks for the hospitality that has been bestowed upon us. A hospitality that I thank you all for."

Aron looks to his friend " True said, we still have a long way to go"
Turning to Selene, " Selene we shall return and talk more, We have much to learn from each other, good health"

"Thank you Stormwolves, May your Gods hold you safe till we meet again, Farewell"

Selene looks slightly bemused as the two men say their farewells..
"Gentlemen, couldn't you stay a while longer, I'm sure Gunn will be back soon. Or at least let some of our warriors escort you on your journey..."

As the visitors make ready for their journey, a small door at the back of the hall opens, Gunn enters, he is dressed in long pale robes, with an enormous white bear skin draped over the top.

(Muttering To self)
'Ahhh, damn priests of Odin with their bloody talking (Sorry dad), always on about the future and portents, will there be this, will there be that, what does the future hold... (feigned excitement) ohhh!, look at this prophecy, what could it mean? Ahhh I give up sometimes, bloody cryptic rubbish, 'ware ye the son' what the bloody hel (sorry Bjorne) is that supposed to be about. I give up sometimes, they can take their sodding candles and runes (sorry Seline) and bugger off.

right...

1: Wheres my Mead?

2: Who are these 2 travellers who appear to be leaving my Hall?

The elderly gentleman place there port and acondaments back into the old and tattered bags they were wearing, and the pipe was extinguished.

Aron turns on his heels just as he is about to leave the hall.
Looking straight at Gunn "Ahhh so this is Gunn leader of the Stormwolves, surely you are giant kin?
It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Scarlock held you in the highest regard, he claimed you were Alpha.
My name is Aron and this is Oric, I did come to discuss matters of the firstborn, but only Westag seemed to know about it, and he is know asleep.
We are busy men with many things to do and many leagues to travel, please forgive me I thought you were in communion with your god. We did intend to return and speak with you but if you wish to speak now, we can."

Oric stalls his movement as Gunn enters the room. On feeling his presence he turns slowly to look at the man his friend has spoken of on more then one occasion.
Oric looks into the steely eyes of the leader of the storm wolves.
Oric bends his head to face the ground closes his eyes and all can just see his lips moving as if reciting a prayer or chant.
Oric continues silently arms crossed like a monk in worship. lips moving in silent meditation.
All around can feel a presence in the old figure. A feeling of being watched fills the minds of all in the hall.
Slowly Orics head rises to face the leader and the lips stop moving.

"I am Oric, your hand of hospitality has been very generuse, I thank you. But..... The hour is late and the darkness is nearly upon us. If we are to continue our journey, the time would be now."

Aron stares at the back of Orics head intently, he then stands in silence and lets his friend talk

No emotion can be seen on the old mans face.

Zogg, being rudely dragged off his food by his brother looks in confusion at the situation unfolding, and decides he hasn't got the first clue what it's about.

As the spell begins to wear off the rage returns to the brothers. Olaf begins growling softly and walks over to Zogg, who having got a nasty bout of indigestion at the time, is not feeling exactly social himself.

The brothers talk and decide the only way to vent their anger before the old man leaves is to kill everything within a one mile radius of the camp. They walk to the door and as they open it a branch propelled by the storm smacks them both in the face with a crash. They walk out fuming with pent up anger.
Better make that two miles....

As the oak doors start to swing back, a mailed fist stops it. A drenched figure enters the room.

One in the fire illuminates the sodden black leather cowled-cloak. The figure raise an arm to reveal a 2nd person under its might folds - the golden light catches the shine from the raven black hair. The young elf is wearing a pair of glass disks on gold wires on her face, in her arms a small child kicks in protest at the cooler air of the room.

The man sweeps back his hood to reveal a terribly scarred face. The clear marks of the skilled hand of a master torturer are clear to see. The braided pony tail falls clear, revealing the small silver Ankh on his neck.

Surveying the room he turns around slowly - the sodden cloak falls of his shoulders to reveal the mottled silver tabard, Reserved for one StormWolf and one Stormwolf only - the final proof of the chest wide black wolf emblazoned for all see - RANDGRID.

Randgrid the Master Healer, Randgrid that travelled to Hel’s own lands to find the lost souls, Randgrid the traitor, Randgrid the Master of the unseen eyes of Myst, Randgrid that defied Myst and married a Gryphon traitor - and sired a half-breed son.

Randgrid the……dead.

Supposedly killed trying to avenge the deaths of those in his care during one of the might Fayers over six seasons ago. His body not found. The Sword of the Ancestors, the most Holy artifact of the Healers of the StormWolves presumed stolen by the Gryphons.

"Where is Myst?" The tone of the old Master Healer is dry and hard as nails, any that meet his eyes see only the black pits of a well practised killer.

Aron turns to Selene "Is this one of yours?"
Aron looks the stranger up and down.
He approaches "Good evening, what a grand entrance, Rangrid hmmmmm I have heard of you.

"Most have, Though not all were that keen on the meeting." Randgrid displays a dry smile - one that shows the very pointed canine teeth in his bearded face.

"I don't do grand entrances, But I do expect hospitality from my kin - especialy when I outrank the lot of them" The momentry grin vanishes.

"WHERE IS MYST" the bellow is loud enough to wake the dead.

Oric turns to face the stranger eyes staring into the forms that face him.

A hand lifts from his sleeve. His mouth starts to murmur. Orics eyes peering into the stranger. The stranger feels as if his mind is else were for a second then snaps back to reality.

Aron joins Oric's side to face the stranger, Aron’s cloak starts to glow a touch of deep red.

Oric’s mouth continues to recite an ancient sounding language and the light in the room begins to darken making Aron’s cloak now look more sinister.

Oric opens his eyes lowers his hand, the room remains darker making the faces of those in it glow from the light of the fire.

Aron Stood next to Oric, starts to talk in an ancient language, he starts to draw symbols in the air in front of him, slightley glowing red and then fading.
He continues to chant and places his hand on Oric shoulder the chanting gets louder and louder.

With a snap of his head, Randgrid focus down on the eyes of the man in front of him, his hand snaps out and the blaze of power brightens the room with a brief second of blue light.

"By the hand of Freya - Savage-Wounding" The verbals from Randgrids mouth are clearly spoken by a man reacting as a warrior - one that has been in the killing fields for far to long. Oric arches back as the violent energy of a potent (Level3) spell erupts through the his body.

The smell of burnt, acrid air assaults those close enough to the group - Randgrids other hand is already coming in with the Holy relic of the StormWolves pointed forward with deadly speed.

The point blurs in the space between the men and :-

It stops, dead. The raven haired elf has her hand flat in front of it, The weapon stopped dead as she interposes between the men.

"No, No more killing - not here and not of your own kinsman" the voice is soft and yet reaches every ear of every soul in the darkened room. Time seems to stand still and as you all watch a trickle of coppery blood runs from her hand down the blade and onto the Ashen face of the scarred Master Healer.

The spell hits aron and he reels backward, as the red glow around him gives way to the onslaught.
A black shadow passses over him.

Aron collapses backward and hits the floor. he lays there eyes closed.

As both men lay on the floor not moving the eyes in the room focused on the still figures.

The room remains dark and the figures still.

Arons Cloaks still shimmering a hint of red.

The strange sound of the chanting previously heard, previously spoken from the figures now laying still on the stone floor. The ancient tongue grows stringer in the ears of those in the hall.

For those that can see the faces of the men, are confused but the sound as the mouths of the men are not moving.

The hall grows darker.

In a flash of fire from Arons the eyes of the room are blinded. The chanting stops and silence falls onto the hall.

As the eyes of those in the room slowly return the figures have vanished.

All look around in wonder.

One by one all focus in on the figure of Randgrid. The figure frozen in time.

From the shadow of the door way the red glow of Arons cloak can be seen. As the eyes in the room see the figure standing behind Randgrin their eyes make out the shape of Orics stoop standing next to his friend.

(OOC Retribution, Regeneration, Flare, Paralyse)

Aron blinks, Stands up and stares at Rangrid, "so you are a powerful one aren't you"
Aron continues his symbols, and a small flame appears in each hand.
He moves his hands around and murmurs an incantation as he speaks the flames get bigger and take on more substance. Aron finishes his verbal and one flame launches out of his hand toward the motionless Rangrid. It hits him in the chest and explodes, then the other hand swings by and the other flies hitting him in the head Rangrid is momentarily engulfed.
Aron Laughs out loud.
he begins to start his symbols again following a similar figure as before.

Oric standing next to his friend is now clearly visible from the burning body of their foe.

His hands emerge from his sleeves and start to glow; he waves them before him chanting an ancient tong. His hands stop he reaches to his friend and for a second a greyish light covers them both.

Oric’s eyes now begin to glow as his stares at the burning figure.

Selene looks on angrily as Rangrid and the two visitors throw spells back and forth, she looks over to her daughter and sees the worried look on her face and decides on a course of action.

Selene opens the book of Odin and quickly fingers through its dusty pages the scans a passage before reaching into her bag of runes, Selene pulls out the rune of Isa and smashes it onto the floor muttering a quiet incantation as she does..

As the rune smashes everything begins to slow down until it is as if time is standing still, the fire flames dance slowly and the second ball of flame slows down and stops mid flight on its way to Rangrid. Selene pushes it out of the way and it dissipates into the air.
Selene speaks at the same speed as before but there is an anger in her voice that has never been heard before.

"STOP IT!!!!
There are people here that don't want to see this.. this place has been desecrated enough by the misuse of magic and I will NOT have you throwing spells around at each other like some week long dead squeekey...."
She turns to Rangrid
" We have not yet met formally but i have heard many tales of you. I am Selene, bearer of the book of Odin and Runecaster to the Stormwolves. Please, if you will just calm down and talk I'm sure we can bring you up to date on things.. a lot has changed since you were last here"
She faces the Old men
"...Leave it there, stop throwing your powers around ok before I get REALLY annoyed...."

Selene frowns and time begins to slowly return to normal...

The hall fills with light.

As time reforms to become itself the motion in the hall slows to become still. The fires flames stand motionless, the heat from its light no longer lingering on the faces of those closest.

Selene sees the change in the room and the slowing and halting of the smoke rising from Rangrid. She looks around her feeling the silence as if it held a presence of its own.

Oric moves and begins to slowly make his way towards Selene. She notices the movement and turns to face his arrival.

“Tonight I am here to discuss a joining. I came open handed and without malice. I looked into the very hearts of this group and the leadership that surrounds it. I feel the power within you and the confusion that binds you. My presence here is in response to your call.

You seek that which is inside you.
You study that which you know, yet disbelieve.
You call out to your gods for that which you already have.
Would you let leave that for which you seek?
Would you let harm fall upon it?
Would you mock that which has come to your aid?

Oric opens his hands out as if to beckon a child. As Selene looks into the old and frail hands, they begin to glow.

The light glows brighter until they join into one light, one form. The light engulfs the figure until the glow is all that can be seen of the frail old man.

As Selene looks into light she sees herself as she was as a young girl hair drifting in the wind. Her hand closing on the flowers she is walking upon. Breaking them free from the soil that gives them life, raising them to her face. (Selene smells the flowers in her nose as if she was taking in the air from their fine petals.)

The light crescendos and engulfs the room. As Selene blinks from glare. The figure is gone the room back to normal and the smoke continues its journey from the shoulders of Rangrid disrupted only by the draft from the open doorway.

All those near the fire feel a as the warm returns to their skin from the glow of the open fire.

All eyes are looking in her direction.

She turns to look at the two visitors standing near the doorway. The smell of flowers wafts past her nostrils.

However, Nobody in the room has seen the meeting Selene has just had with Oric. The sense of time did not alter. The only sign was the chill felt by those nearest the fire and the silence of Selene as she now stands before them.

From the darkness Agna quietly intones in words that reach only Selene
"For every part there is the opposite and there is the partner...
For Life there is Death...
For Day there is Light...
For Night there is Day..
For Male there is Female..
As trial and tribulation visits upon our being - so we must separate the self from the other - and see it as the antithesis of the self...
For Good there is Evil
for Heat there is Cold
for Fire there is Ice

For sweet there is sour
For young there is old
For ignorance there is wisdom
For liquid there is solid
For Fire there is Ice
For Fire there is Ice
There is always the balance

Remember the balance and know there is strength upon which you may call always close and by your side...

Male to Female
Ice to Fire
the balance is all..."

The raven-haired Elf turns to the one holding the Book of Odin.

“Forgive my Husband – he has had to learn to react quicker than thought to survive his abandonment to the Gryphons. Perhaps if your people had come to rescue, or least avenge, him as he did for his kin at the terrible Fayre six seasons back things would be different.”

The flash of anger behind the glasses on her face demonstrates just how little she cares for the StormWolves. Randgrid, returned now to normal – somewhat more quickly than expected – moves up behind her. The wounds, burns and anger melting away like snow. An unnatural glow, emanating from the Sword seems to stave off the effects of the magiks.

As he places a hand on her shoulder, he also looks to the holder of the Book of Odin and asks “Forgive me, I am not used to such inhospitality in my own home. Where is my Lord Myst”?

From the head of the hall, where he has been silently observing, Gunn speaks.

"Rangrid, join me here, It is I Gunn. I will speak with you of Lord Myst. Times have changed my friend, it is good to see you alive."

He beckons to Rangrid (and his pet elf) indicating a large table at the head of the hall filled with food and drink.
he then turns to the 2 old men, if your journey must continue then so be it, however consider yourselves welcome here at any time. I would happily speak with you at length regarding the firstborn.

Randgrid cocks his head at Gunn’s words - "Good to see me alive? Really? Well that’s nice Gunn!! Pity it is about a year overdue. Still I suppose you weren’t to know. Father Myst clearly did not bring you in on the matter. And my dear friend Tamalan didn’t live long enough to finish the plan." With that he gently takes the bleeding arm of his bride and cures it with a few words of supplication to Freya. There is no words between them for her actions - but the eye contact spoke a saga of the relationship.

From one of the tables a voice raises itself "Your lucky Randgrid that Tamalan does not still walk these halls, for you would be a dead man now you and your wife and child.

I see that with all you have been through you havn't learnt to hold you temper.
Now sit yourslef down next to Gunn, accept his hospitality and shut up. If you answer back I will cut your little finger off.

As for the two diddering old magicians and tricksters sit down shut up and smoke your pipes, and drink mead.
Gunn has some talking todo. If you come back with quick comment I will have no quarms in throwing you out of the hall,I am sure my Storm Wolf Brethren would enjoy the entertanment value.

Gunn I belive you wished to talk to Rangrid."

Master Wulf sits down once more at the table and drinks his mead.

As Rangrid works Master Wulfs voice carries across the room - That does get Rangrids attention

"Master Wulf, It will be a poor day when a StormWolf learns keep his temper like a domestic dog. My temper has served me well, as it did the Honoured Tamalan, who in point of fact I would expect to be welcoming me back after our labours bore so much fruit."

Oric steps forward into the light of the hall.

"The words spoken of the Storm Wolves seem to be inaccurate and unfounded. I feel that my friend and I, might have made an unnecessary diversion in our journey. I am sure that once upon a time you were a great race and lead by the Great Myst. I am very disappointed in your actions and tones tonight, (Oric shakes his head slowly as he speaks) very disappointed."

Oric turns to his friend, "Aron lets begin our journey to the next race your friend spoke of so fondly."

Oric and Aron turn and make there way to the open doors. Arons head shakes slowly as he walks showing signs of deep disappointment. Aron speaks to Oric as they walk "I feel my friend would have not wanted this to be the beginning."

Selene stands still for a moment, the scent of the flowers still lingering in the back of her nose, She reaches out a hand to touch Oric on the shoulder, her eyes glisten slightly with tears that are begining to form....

"...I'd, forgotten about that day, it was a beautiful day too, things were so much different then, I used to be happy, free.."
She lowers her head slights to disguise her tears..
"... I may not be as wise as Myst was, but then again I'm not as old as Myst was..I'm trying to do my best for my brothers and sisters here and sometimes it is so hard, so many people depend on me....."
Her voice trails off for a moment...

"I'm sorry I wasn't what you expected...I'm sorry I was a disappointment to you..."

Selene turns away and walks quickly out of the room, looking for somewhere quiet to be by herself for a while, the vision of her as a young girl walking through the field still in her mind...

The Paladin's voice booms out

"In Hel's name!!!!
Never have I been so disturbed as this night.
Is it rude to ask people to KNOCK before entering our hall?
How dare anyone enter OUR hall, and then dare to tell us that they are disappointed??
We do not stay on this world for the pleasure of anyone save other Stormwolves.
Every visitor in this hall WILL SIT DOWN and wait to be addressed by Gunn. Whilst doing so they WILL show respect to our leader by shutting up and NOT using magic.
If anybody has a problem with this I will be only too happy to explain the finer points of how the Stormwolves deal with people who piss us off.

Now, do I hear any objections?"

Oric and Aron turn as they here the young voice of the now angry Bjorne.

"Bjorne, I mean't no disrespect to you, your leader, or the others in this room.

My friend and I are just disappointed. We came here with great hope and optimism. We came in the name of friendship and of course. We came to honour the wishes of our friend that fell in battle amongst your people. It is just disheartening that our friends first choice is clearly not up to the task that was presumed.

I am sure that you will also forgive us for not liking the small matter of being attacked in your hall. We are willing to overlook this matter because of the obviously deranged nature of the individual involved, and the limited effect he could have coursed.”

Aron and Oric turn to continue walking towards the door.

"Well then tell us exactly why you are here. So far you have done no more than display your magics and drink our mead.

Quit the the 'stary eye' crap and talk. I was a friend of Scarlocks and spoke to him off his offspring. I requested that I may act as teacher and father figure should he part this world. As you knew him well I obviously wish to talk to you. You cannot arrive in our hall expecting us to display mighty prowess and extreme wisdom just to prevent your disappointment. Many of us are simply warriors whose devotion to the Gods leads them on many a strange path.
We have a want to speak plainly and to the point. Any man who who is honest and open will be respected. Those who try to impress us with their power or wit will mostly be scorned.
Now..... I ask you, in deference to a mighty warrior who has fallen, a warrior that you knew well... sit and tell us exactly what you want."

Apparently oblivious to the antics that have occurred, Westag snorts in his sleep, and then opens his one beady eye.

And looks straight at Randgrid.

One fist clenched under his chin, he leans forwards and addresses Randgrid.

'Hello Randgrid. I am Westag. I am afraid you will find that Myst is dead, passed on to Valhalla. Your former position is now mine. Many of the Stormwolves you knew are dead - we are, in a sense, a fresh generation. Address your business to Gunn.'

Westag then turns his attention to the Hall.

'Kiera, could you see to your mother please, she is upset and could probably use a hug.'

'Hagar, take 5 men and follow the beserkers. try to make sure they don't butcher anything but rabbits.'

'Bjorne, could you join Gunn at the top table. You will probably have a tale to tell Randgrid concerning Myst's demise.'

'Everyone else, keep it down. I'm old and I need 40 winks.'

Westag leans back, pulls his eyepatch over his good eye and, after a moment, begins to snore softly.

"Yeah, good idea everybody get sorted out and we'll discuss Myst's death.....ah....Say, isn't that a Loki cultist over there?"

Bjorne looks for somewhere to disappear, then reminds himself of the distinctly 'four walls and not much else' nature of the long hall, stops takes a deep breath and sits down next to Gunn.

As Bjorne voice stamps out the noise of the Hall, it is broken by Randgrids raucous laughter, As he passes up the hall to sit by Gunn he shows his left hand to the offended man - it is missing all but the thumb and forefinger - "You’ll have to ask the Gryphons for that young man."

Rangrid's smile dies instantly at Westag’s words. The news that Myst is dead comes as a palpable blow. Ashen Randgrid meets the reposed figure, leaning forward, mere fingers width from the face of the incumbent Master Healer, he hisses "You get to be the Master Healer, when I choose to pass on this life and step the Bifrost bridge, until then you are merely the heir apparent to the Sword. A fact you would be well aware of if you knew anything about your role." Randgrids face is still ashen as he pulls away and heads for Gunn, his step purposeful and the whole manner of bearing one of rage and loss.

Behind him, the Elf is looking almost on the point of panic - Something changed with the news of Mysts passing something very important.

Rurisk states "Not wanting to cause any offence to our guests but could I remind everyone here that the Gates of Hel are currently unguarded. Perhaps Rangrid should, like all visitors to this hall stormwolf and stranger, be spirit sighted to ensure he is as we remember him."

With that Rurisk sits back down.

As rangrid sits down and picks up mead, Gunn begins his story.

"It is with heavy heart that I inform you of Mysts passing, It occured during a ritual, and as the circle was closed we were powerless to intervene.

The ritual was to empower Bjorne as the Paladin of Hel, as Myst conducted the ceremony, Casboeth managed to enter the circle and interfere. The ritual went wrong, and Myst struggled with Casboeth, eventually killing him for ever.
Lady Hel then asked Bjorne what he would do to prove his loyalty, he said anything. She demanded he sacrifice Myst to her. Bjorne killed Myst. We returned to camp bearing Myst's body with us. he returned to Asgard and sits there with the rest of the Gods. We speak to him every now and then.
I assumed the leadership of the group. After your apparent death, the position of Master Healer was left vacant until the Fayre this year past when we elected Westag, until recently bearer of the Book Of Odin, but now Master Healer and devotee of Hel. As for the Stormwolves we have had an interesting time, A time of great fortune, we have blessed a group of our berzerkers to render them immune to mundane weapons, thorfn has defeated all-comers to win Thors hammer. But a great evil lurks before us, Garm the guardian of Nifleheim walks the earth, he seems to want the destruction of the Storm Wolves, and has opposed us, also he has taken the shattered remnants of the Crimson Wolves and taken them under his command. We discuss among other things how we may deal with this powerful foe.

Randgrid listens intently to his former subordinate - The years have been short but the man has grown into the role of leader well - As the horror of Mysts fall is related, and the huge changes that the Stormwolves underwent a warm glow suffuses his heart. Truly his kin could survive anything.

At the mention of Hel’s name however Randgrids face darkens, Any Stormwolf still alive that knew Randgrid was aware of the terrible events that befell him and young Krush. The work of Casboeth in taking him to Nifflehiem and the metal abuse that near broke Randgrid and definitely broke Krush.

"Gunn" Randgrid interjects before the huge man could carry on "I am alive - I am the Master Healer of the Stormwolves, what do you propose to do about this matter? I doubt the whelp that lays claim to my station will take kindly to becoming a simple battle commander again."

Randgrid swirls his mead some more, then looks up

"The fact is of course that I was never entirely what I appeared to be anyway - a matter I am sure you are well aware of." Randgrid carries on without letting the Stormwolf leader react to the reference to an older role he filled. "No Gunn I am tired of the deceptions of my place in the Stormwolves, I have brought my wife, yes wife not pet, to be at my side. I plan to use what I have learned to give the younger warriors an edge."

Randgrid lets the mead settle, then downs it in one.
"Let us talk of red-wolves and silver ankhs, let us prepare a trap for the poor fools that once answered to Casboeth - and see if they are still as foolish as they were when I joined their ranks."

With that Randgrid places a silver ankh on the table between them……

Selene sits quietly in the corner of the room, still shaken by the vision bestowed on her by the old man, she runs her fingers through her hair and upon hearing a suggestion of spirit sight, stands up and begins to regain her composure..
"Come on Selene.." she mutters to herself
"..your not a disappointment, Myst passed on the book of Odin..he knew you could do it....what do two old farts know anyhow...."

She walks over to the table and begins to flash one of her infectious grins....

"Someone order a spirit sight?"

Aron Looks around the hall, he mutters to himself and a fire builds up around he screams at the top of his voice,
"So you insult me as well,YOU Bjorne claim to be Scarlocks friend he, hated you more than he loved Freya, you were no friend of his.
I have decided you are not worthy of the firstborn"
The fire rages around Aron, he turns and walks out.

Oric looks to his friend never seeing such angry so publicly displayed.

Oric turns to look in Selenes direction.

Selene once more smells the sent of flowers waft past her nose. She sees the kind smile on Oric's face and now knows that she was being asked, and not rejected.

Oric turns with a sad expression on his face. The Old Men have left the hall.

"RIGHT. THATS IT!!!!!!!"

Bjorne eyes narrow and a feral snarl escapes from his lips. All those who knew Bjorne before his change to Paladin would recognise the expression worn so frequently by by the vicious young Trueblood he used to be.

"You're SO DEAD!!!!!"

He grabs the nearest weapon, in fact Westags mace, and charges towards the hall doors. After his encounter with Grimlar Redbeard, Hel blessed him with a buring desire to hunt down Redbeard and take his revenge. Unfortunately for many friends and enemies alike, this desire more often than not sparked off the fits of rage so common amongst his Trueblood kin.

Many of the Stormwolves shout at Bjorne to stop, yet their pleas fall on deaf ears.......

Getting outside just after the old men Bjorne sees nothing in the stormy night. It would be impossible for two old men to travel so quickly, but you see know sign of them.

(Sven walks through the door with a small scowl on his face hair in his eyes and water dripping from everything, including the small bunch of flowers still clenched in his off hand, obviously forgotten. He takes no real notice as he passes the old men. He passes the meat and grabs a hunk sits down and starts to eat. Shivering a bit as he does so

"anyone seen svens brothers? Sven found zoggs Hammer but not find brothers")

With all the uproar in the great hall, nobody notices the storm wolf sentry enter the hall and talk to Master Wulf.

Wulf listens, his grip tightens on his horn, his fingers going white. He nods to the sentry, who then leaves the hall.

Downing the rest of his Meade, Wulf stands and then steps up onto one of the feasting table, draws his sword and slams it into the table.

The sound causes everyone in the hall to stop talking and face Wulf.

"Forgive me Gunn, I have grave news to tell.

One of our patrol ships has returned from the Northern isles, it found 2 fishing villages burnt many dead, mostly the old and men, would appear the rest have been taken as slaves. The watchers have also reported they believe the next village to be struck will be to the north west, village of 'Hella'.

So who will come with me then, if you do here drink from the horn, and declare yourself.

With that Wulf takes a huge gulp "I Master Wulf, warrior of the Storm Wolves, Battle Master. Swear to Odin to go hunt these Slavers to the last. Odin Be Praised"

Hearing the news, Bronwyn stands and goes over to Master Wulf. She takes a lage mouthful of mead from the horn....
"I, Bronwyn, warrior of the Storm Wolves, swear to Freyja to hunt down these Slaver scum. Odin be Praised."

Gunn says; "Master Wulf, take as many as you can, these scum must be punished. Take Bjorne with you, I fear he needs to vent his rage, I will remain here within Rangrid and we will talk of the things to come.

Tara takes a good swig of the mead too, raising it to Master Wulf.

I too am with you. I fear you may need my healing abilities. Let's teach these scum a lesson.

Mawdrigen I'll come too... I feel the need to practise magicks upon the enemy..

Selene turns to Gunn,

"what do you wish me to do Gunn, is there any need of me here? Or am I free to go with the others?"

"Stay here with me, we will speak to Rangrid," (to seline only,) "and mediate between him and Westag"

Selene nods in agreement, and speaks softly to Gunn
"You never know, a womans touch may come in handy..they seem as hotheaded as each other..."

Invar gazes sadly at the glass, now empty, and the bottle in a similar state.
"Nothing left to do here, Bjorne, I am ever at your service and the service of our lady"

*Invar stands and buttons up his jacket*

"Well I guess that you will need some healing power somewhere along the road...." Agna looks dejectedly at his drinking horn. "It was empty anyway!!"

He wraps his black cloak tighter around his shoulders and makes for the door with a sigh.

	Selene watches the other Wolves leave the Hall one by one, she wanders over to Westags side and places a friendly hand on his shoulder. "Look..." she says, leaning to speak in his ear "I know what being Master Healer ,means to you, believe me, I think you deserve it more than anyone, especially someone who hasn't been around for so long.. but, you have to discuss this ok? Please don't go loosing it and saying something you may regret...." Selene looks at Westag and smiles gently, her concern over the current situation showing slightly on her face but there is a strange air about her since the two old men have left and for a brief moment she resembles the girl Westag met all those years ago in Gingaren...
	Sven stands and joins the group heading for the doors
	At Selene's words, Westag awakens and appears to panic a little. Then he calms, and moves his eyepatch back over his dead eye. Slowly levering himself from his chair, he moves across the hall, picking up his mace, regarding it quizzically for a moment, and then hefts a small shield from the wall. Then he approaches the table hosting Gunn, Selene, Randgrid and the subhumans, and settles himself down on Gunn's lefthand side. 'Now, if you and your ... charges would care to hold still a moment, Randgrid, perhaps Selene could perform that Spirit Sight now.' The mace and shield lie next to Westag. He takes out a smoke from his belt-pouch and lights it. He then offers on to Randgrid.
	Leaving the hall, Wulf strides off towards the armoury "those of you who are ready as you stand get provisions, then down to the docks. We sail on the tide, upon the Spear of Odin. Entering the Armoury, Wulf heads for his plate mail standing to the rear, placing the Black and white plate on, Wulf picks up a round shield, and axe. His longsword already by his side. Leaving the armoury Wulf heads towards the Barracks of the Swords of Odin. smashing the door open "Right then I want 50 men with me, want you kitted ready to go in 10 mins on board the spear of Odin." Wulf strides out of the barracks down towards the Docks
	Selene stands and walks towards Rangrid... "Im sure you will understand why i have to cast spirit sight on you..with the gates of Nifelheim being unguarded at the moment we must make sure that people are who they say they are... its a precaution we have to take at the moment.." Selene lowers her head slightly and concentrates, focusing her thoughts. She reaches into her bag of herbs and takes a handful casting them over Rangrid as she slowly apeaks the incantation. As the herbs fall about him they turn into a pale blue mist which wraps itself around him alowing her to peer through it and see the true nature of his spirit
	Randgrid looks very tired, he accepts the smoke and draws hard, “Kill you these will, but then so much will – So you’re my replacement then?” Randgrid glances at the approach of the spell weaver and nods as she enquires about casting – With that the spell takes hold. And the spirit is a mess, clear taints of Nifflehiem and of Casboeth – through it all the heart of a Stormwolf, but one probably about ready to fail. All in all a rather shoddy specimen as for as it goes. Randgrid looks to Gunn, well great leader – shall I let you of the hook with our young pretender to the sword here? Gunn who knows Randgrid well sees the faintest glimmer of a smile – a faint reminder of a past time. Selene gazes at rangrid through the blue haze, her face saddens slightly and with a motion of her arm the haze dissapears. Selene sits back down and speaks to him.. "Youve been though a lot my friend, your spirit shows your travels have been long and hard, those you have encountered have left their marks on you but i believe your strong enough to fight it.." Selene smiles at Rangrid and almost winks cheekily as she says the last comment, she is obviously trying to put everyone at ease... "Everything seems ok here Gunn.."
	Meanwhile... Wulf stride down to the Ship, where he greets the Captain, they have a discussion for several mintues, Captain nods and signals for the ship to be made ready. Wulf strides up onto the main deck of the ship, He leans against the side and looks out towards the city, seeing the mighty temples light up in the thunder Storm. If you where to look at him, it was as if he was saying good bye to an old friend. The calm of the storm is broken by the arrival of the 50 swords of Odin, Warriors from Wulf's own order. "Write then lads get ya selves settled ands join me in drinking hall, we shall drink to odin this night." Wulf's faces breaks out into a huge grin, then turning he heads to the drinking hall onboard, to await the other heros to join him.
	The disappearance of his quarry does little to stem the rage within Bjorne. After a few minutes venting his fury on nearby plant and animal wildlife ... and the single young Wolf who foolishly tried to calm him down, Bjorne sees a stedy stream of warriors heading toward the dock, lead by Master Wulf. "NOW THIS LOOKS LIKE A FIGHT!!!!" "...and if Master Wulf has anything to do with it there will probably be a healthy portion of mead to boot." Bjorne rage subsides a little and he allows himself a sheepish grin. Just recently these rages have become worse. Perhaps some slaying with Master Wulf will vent some of this anger. With a cruel grin on his monochrome face Bjorne hefts his large shield onto his shoulder, picks up his 'pigsticker' and marches off after the group. "....damn good taste that Master Wulf....black and white, I LIKE IT!!!" " C'mon ponce! Im sure there are some enemies you can blow up... hehehe..."



	Randgrid tilts his head at the words of Selene, Turning to face her the look on his face is etched with the pain of thousand betrayals - death and long lonely months. It may be simply the after effects of the spell but the feeling of barely controlled rage projected from him is like a physical wall. "A lot, yes I been through a lot. Let me see, ah yes a few death or glory battles - the odd betrayal. A touch of subterfuge - oh and the utter destruction of my faith at the hands of our most holy father to make me suitable to lead the mission to the northern wastes and beyond." He takes out the sword of ancestors, and the short dagger that is the other part of the holy relic. Its silver finish is dulled and nicked - the dried blood of the fallen Stormwolves of nearly a millennia lie on it. Randgrid lies it reverentially on the worn wooden table. The two parts nearly touching. "Westag, is it not? Well I have watched you since you took on the role of the Master Healer, I saw your labours and I saw you when you could not save those that fell. So I ask you, here and now - are you ready to become the cursed one. The taker of life and giver of Honour the one who holds the line even as the last falls?" Randgrid leans very close - the blaze in his eyes more fanatical then any trueblood ever managed "ARE YOU GOOD ENOUGH FOR THE OTHERS TO DIE FOR YOU?" The raw edge of the question is backed up by the notable addition of the razor sharp point of the holy relic, firmly jammed up under Westags ribcage - the flood of blood torrents down the blade and on down Randgrids arm. Inside his chest the torn Heart pumps the life of the young made at a fantastic rate, Randgrid has placed if other hand round the back of the mans neck, in a horrible parody of a brothers grasp, the foreheads are touching. "Answer me Boy - or I will tear your cowardly heart from your worthless hide" Unseen by all except Selene is the glow of a massive spell upon Randgrids hand, the one behind Westags head, In shock of recognition she sees the power of a stored healing spell. One of terrific power. Life and Death, one in each hand - each applied to the Young Master Healer. The final test before the passing of the Sword.

	Westag jerks once, as the shocking attack by Randgrid begins, pain wracks his face and then shock registers. Balanced between agony and salvation, Westag's one eye locks onto Randgrid's and holds. With obvious difficulty, one arm rises and snaps onto the back of Randgrid's head, mimicking the previous Master-Healer's grip on Westag. The other wavers and then grasps the broken sword jutting into his ribs. Blood streams from his mouth, and his first attempt at words brings forht bubbles and gore and little else. A mighty effort trembles in his old chest, before it bursts forth, the words clipped and broken but the strength that forced them out. 'THEY HAVE ALREADY DIED FOR ME! I KNOW THIS CURSE!' With a shuddering wrack, Westag spears the partial blade fully into his body, the broken part, piercing out of his back, his cloak quickly soddening with blood. With the incredible agony, a measure of sanity appears to return to Westag's eye, and for a moment he looks at Selene with infinite tenderness and sorrow, before returning his gaze to Randgrid. In a voice barely above a whisper, spitting crimson from his lips, he finishes his answer. 'The master healer...is never worthy....koff...of his charges or responsibilities...he is just the one willing to make the sacrifices..... ackkoff......and time will tell on the rest......' With one last tremble, the old frame loses it's rigidity, and slumps forward onto Randgrid.
	As the words break between the froth and gasps of pain – the look is mirrored by the look on the overly aged face of Randgrid – with a huge effort he yanks the sword free – it is followed by another torrent of blood – it is so thick on the table that all signs of its surface have gone. “Then by the word of Freya and the grace of Eira I recognise your true worth as the Master of the Healers.” The words are as broken as Westags. The flare of the spell stored behind Westags head is like the storm lighting that lights the night sky in the heart of the wilderness. The room is flared to darkness. As everybody eyes adjust to the gloom Westag has been thrown back in his chair – the ragged wound sealed and the blood staunched. His face is incredibly pale, even this most powerful spell was only just enough to save his life. Westags eyes roll in the sockets and he moans from the pain. Randgrid hauls himself up to face Gunn. “He stands in the middle of the Bifrost Bridge, You must command him to return or he will be lost to you. I, Randgrid of the Mist woods am no longer the Master Healer, I pledge my sword and skills to the new Master Healer. May he judge wisely and fair in good health.” Then slowly he slumps back to the stool, his head drops to the bloody table. As he shudders with the exerstion of the spell - the Sword is bathed in light it lifts and momentary rejoins - then drifts to Westags hand and waits for its new owner.
	Westag's one eye flickers with pain, his lined face contorting with every moment. To everyone's great surprise, he then jerks upright, the Broken Sword gripped in his hand, and sways unsteadily on his feet. With a mighty kick the table is upended, cooling blood spreads over the flagstones, and Randgrid is sent sprawling. Westag then seems to fly 10 feet forwards, as if propelled, and slams into a pillar. All looking know there is something terribly wrong. Gunn and Selene are reminded of when Westag lost his eye and began to rave, and to Randgrid it looks as if something terribly awry is happening to Westag's soul on the Bifrost Bridge. There is a terrible cracking sound and Westag's knee appears to bend backwards. With a guttural moan, the old man slashes out with the Broken Sword, and the ghostly sound of metal armour being hit can be faintly heard...

More to come....

These postings can be seen in real time at http://clubs.yahoo.com/clubs/stormwolves in the Great Hall of the Storm Wolves

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e-mail agnes@pigsmayfly.co.uk
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Stories from the Storm Wolves Hall last updated 26 July, 2002

A STORMY NIGHT !! - commenced 28th Sept 2001 - Jump to last posting - click here

e-mail agnes@pigsmayfly.co.uk
Visit Agnes the Alchemist at http://www.simplesolutions.fsnet.co.uk
for Costumes | Drinking Horns | The Agnes Travelling Bed | Full picture Galleries | links to other LARP sites

Last updated - 26 July, 2002

Stories from the Storm Wolves Hall last updated 26 July, 2002

A STORMY NIGHT !! - commenced 28th Sept 2001 - Jump to last posting - click here

e-mail agnes@pigsmayfly.co.uk Visit Agnes the Alchemist at http://www.simplesolutions.fsnet.co.uk for Costumes | Drinking Horns | The Agnes Travelling Bed | Full picture Galleries | links to other LARP sites

Last updated - 26 July, 2002

e-mail agnes@pigsmayfly.co.uk
Visit Agnes the Alchemist at http://www.simplesolutions.fsnet.co.uk
for Costumes | Drinking Horns | The Agnes Travelling Bed | Full picture Galleries | links to other LARP sites