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Post by fairies wear boots 👢 on Jun 4, 2023 16:33:40 GMT -5
This thread is intended to serve as an example on how this forum can use the RPG ruleset Chronica Feudalis in the form of the Old North, my conversion of Chronica Feudalis into an Anglo-Saxon theme. This small episode is set in Frisia during the early 5th century and is based upon two sources of Old English poetry - the Finnsburh Fragment and the Finnsburh Episode from Beowulf. J.R.R. Tolkien's interpretation is generally followed for understanding the episode. Old North Rules can be found here and Character Creation can be found here.
The artful scop was seated on a low bench close to the hearth of his brego (lord), the flames casting his shadow into a dramatic form against the walls of the meadhall. Closest to him, and most engaged, of his audience was the young æþeling - a gold-laden boy knelt below his father's seat, his mouth wide open in wonder and awe. The rhythm of the scop's harping transitioned from one familiar form to another - elder ears would recognize the tune for its accompanying tale, but the poet had a new flourish to give them this time, particularly aimed at his most fervent listener. "..and now hear the tale of your namesake, young prince, a mighty þegn present at the Fres-wæl..." (Frisian carnage)
GUTHLAFAn Anglic warrior with his axe pledged to Hengest and the Lord Hnæf son of Hoc.
Skills:d10 Strike d8 Brawl d6 Boat d8 Aim d6 Deceive Aspects:Quick to anger (d8) Foolishly brave (d8) Strong as an ox (d8) Tools:- A spear (d8), a round shield (d10) and a seax (d6); - A bow (d6) and quiver (d10) - A mail shirt (d6) - A battle axe (d8)
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Post by fairies wear boots 👢 on Jun 4, 2023 17:15:21 GMT -5
The scop thus recounted the familiar tale of Hnæf going to stay the winter in Finnsburh, where his sister lives as wife to Finn, a Frisian lord...
Hnæf and all his men sat and laid upon benches surrounding a hearth of their own, an evening spent drinking mead turning into the sleepish hours of the dark winter morning. Many of them now dozed, the Frisian mead sending them off to dreams surely full of bosoms and triumph. Hnæf himself, a man grown but too young to grow a beard, sat beside one of his þegns - an Angle named Guþlaf.
How much mead have you drunken this night, Guþlaf? And what have you been talking about with the Danish prince Hnæf?
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Post by Gandalf on Jun 5, 2023 12:42:24 GMT -5
"Threeeeee men." Guthlaf slurred, staring at his hand before holding up three fingers. In his other hand was a horn of mead, full to the brim. What was it, his twelfth? No. More. It had dripped into his beard, and his hair now reeked of it. "THREE! Franki do not fight so good... Not good at all."
He belched loudly, and his gut rumbled with laughter.
"Three against one. No match for Guthlaf, my lord. No match!" Guthlaf quaffed down another few gulps of mead. "SO anyway. Two tasted the axe. The other got close, I will give him that much."
The Angle lifted his shirt to show a scar on the right of his abdomen, which he then took a while to find himself with a trembling hand.
"Lost the axe. Had to use my hands."
With a grin, he imitated the strangling of a chicken, and the cracking of the neck.
It was a story Hnaef had heard before. A story everyone had heard before. How Guthlaf had led the charge against a Frankish war party and slain many foes single handed. The count changed with each telling, though no man could deny he had sent many souls onto the next world that day.
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Post by fairies wear boots 👢 on Jun 5, 2023 16:14:27 GMT -5
Sigeferþ sat opposite Guþlaf, nearly matching the Angle with an equal stupor.
"Last time it was five, ye ladda," the Segcen taunted.
Hnæf interjected before Guþlaf could respond to the taunt, encouraging the Angle to continue his story.
"And what happened, then?" the Danish prince feigned ignorance of the tale.
Hengest stood a little yonder, seemingly sober - the Eotisce battle-leader had been quiet the entire stay, ever since encountering an old acquaintance - another Eoten? - among their host's þegns.
You may roll Sense, if you wish, to see if Guþlaf knows any more about what Hengest is apparently unnerved about.
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Post by Gandalf on Jun 6, 2023 4:25:10 GMT -5
Guthlaf paid Hengest no mind; his warlord was always brooding, or so it seemed. (Failed sense roll)
”Then…I killed two more!” He grinned in the direction of Sigeferth. ”Using nothing but these…” He hefted his two hands, hairy and scarred, then imitated punching like a boxer.
”I can kill a horse with a punch, lord. A man is less trouble.” Guthlaf laughed wildly to himself as he drained the rest of his horn. ”When was your first kill, lord? I cannot tell all the stories this night.”
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Post by fairies wear boots 👢 on Jun 7, 2023 21:24:46 GMT -5
"Hussa the Myrging," Hnæf proudly declared, "it was my iron that brought him to the grave."
The Myrgingas were a powerful clan, ancient foemen of the Scyldingas.
"Aye," Sigeferþ chimed in, "the æþeling's first few were niðingas meeting their doom."
He smiled at the young princeling.
"They don't count. But Hussa was a great foe, worthy opponent of Hoc's heir."
Hnæf allowed a slight smile at the praise from one of his father's most loyal gesiþas, while Sigeferþ rambled on drunkenly, trying to outboast Guþlaf.
"Hwæt!"
Hnæf had stood suddenly, his eyes narrowed as his gaze solidified upon the windows and cracks between the wooden boards which made up the walls of the meduseld.
"This is no dawn, nor drake.."
Hengest stirred, striding towards one of the two main portals forming the entryway of the hall. He leaned in, pressing one of his eyes to the crack between the doors.
There was a breath of silence as all could now see the light of fires glowing outside the hall; the sound of hissing steel drew attention back to Hnæf, who'd drawn his kingly blade:
"Shake yourselves awake, at once! Yo, a foe is upon us!"
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Post by Gandalf on Jun 8, 2023 4:49:11 GMT -5
At the word of Hengest and the hiss of steel, alertness sprang back into the bleary eyed Angle. His boasting with Sigferth ceased abruptly as all eyes turned to the doors.
”Up! Up!”
Guthlaf roared like a great bear as he stumbled to his feet, spilling horns and flagons of mead and tipping his stool over in his swiftness. With frenzied eyes he searched wildly for his axe, finding it propped where he had left it by the drinking bench.
Then his gaze turned to the second door, and he leapt up swiftly to defend it with little regard for his own life.
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Post by fairies wear boots 👢 on Jun 14, 2023 0:16:23 GMT -5
Gold-adorned þegns rushed behind Guþlaf, pouring towards the doors and some pushing tables up against the walls so that they might reach the open windows above.
Hengest spoke, at last, his grinding voice a sharp cut in the din of scrambling men.
"Pull out of the trenchants, lest they light the whole hall aflame," he ordered, speaking of the wooden beams locking the doors in place.
Sigeferþ at the first door did as bade, and soon was being addressed by a confident voice, demanding to know his name.
"I am Sigeferþ of the Secgan, and I will give ye what ye seek if ye want it so badly!" the warrior roared back, drawing his spear and hoisting his shield.
The man who stands at your side, Guþlaf, is Ordlaf, and he's started pulling open the door. As soon as it's even a half-foot open, you are faced with the gaze of a thirsty foe.
"I am Sigeric," the man declared in a decidedly Eotisce accent, "and I demand to know who blocks my path.."
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Post by Gandalf on Jun 14, 2023 4:05:27 GMT -5
”He who would send you to feast in Woden’s hall. I am Guthlaf.”
Came the booming reply, the bleary eyed angle hefting his war-axe to strike at the man.
”My Lord’s hall is not fit for swine-humping cowards, Sigeric. Step once more and my axe shall break your skull.”
He growled through his mead stained beard, face beet-red and sweaty.
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Post by fairies wear boots 👢 on Jun 21, 2023 22:57:17 GMT -5
Sigeric stepped forward as beckoned, hefting a spear-tip and well-weathered shield in front of him.
Since Sigeric is using a spear, he will strike first. He will roll his Strike skill (d8) and his spear (d8). He rolls an 8 and a 6, so his result is an 8.
His steel-edged staff dives forward, overhand and overshield, plunging towards your neck and collar.
You must roll either Fend to deflect or parry the attack, or roll Dash to give ground and dodge out of the way.
However, I am compelling you to stand your ground as Guthlaf has the Aspect "Foolishly brave".
Here is how your dice pool works for Fend:
- Fend (d4) skill
- Mail shirt (d6) -- NB: Normally we'd want it to be established that he was wearing his mail armor but for this we'll assume it's on him already
- Round shield (d10) -- you can parry with this tool, so it gets one free "invocation" for parrying an attack (ie, add it to a Fend roll) per round
- Battle axe (d8) -- same as round shield above ^
Now, you only have 3 Vigor, so we remove the smallest die here - the d4 from your Fend skill.
Normally we would also apply a Penalty here for Guthlaf being absolutely wasted (probably a d6 or d8, which would then remove another die equal to that), but in this case we will ignore his inebriation.
So, you have a d6 from your Mail Shirt, and you may attempt to parry either with a d10 from your shield or a d8 from your battle axe.
Your Aspect "Strong as an ox" also seems applicable here, so if you wish, you may use one of your 3 Ardor points to add its d8 to your roll here.
If any of your dice rolled is higher than an 8, you successfully Fend off Sigeric's stab.
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Post by Gandalf on Jun 22, 2023 7:01:01 GMT -5
(Rolled a 10 with the shield)
Despite his bleary eyed inebriation, Guthlaf spots the overhand and raises his shield; stout oak stands in the path of steel, rolling the blow over the top of his shoulder and knocking the other man off balance.
”Now die, Sigeric.” The Angle frothed through bared teeth, whipping the axe around to plant in the other man’s skull.
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Post by fairies wear boots 👢 on Jun 22, 2023 7:10:34 GMT -5
okay, now roll to strike.
Once again, here is your dice pool:
- Strike skill (d10)
- battle axe (d8)
- you may also invoke your Strong As An Ox aspect with a point of Ardor to roll its d8
Sigeric has rolled a 4 for Fend, so you just have to beat a 4
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Post by Gandalf on Jun 22, 2023 8:31:12 GMT -5
Perhaps due to his inebriation or through the sheer savagery of the swing, Guthlaf’s axe sailed wide of his mark. Instead of in the skull it planted in Sigeric’s upper shoulder, biting through mail and leather to gnaw at flesh. Blood welled up in the wound as Guthlaf withdrew the axe, and he grinned through mud-stained teeth in exultation.
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Post by fairies wear boots 👢 on Jun 22, 2023 12:04:06 GMT -5
Sigeric yelped, slinking down onto one knee; his closest fellow pulled him backwards, away from the fray, and soon Sigeric was out of view as the whole warband surged forward, growling and barking in anger.
Two men now face you, Guþlaf, and Ordlaf stands at your side to take one of them - the hall's doorway is only 2 men-wide.
A sword is swung at you, overhead..
Your foe has rolled a 5 to Strike. Roll to Fend it off; you need a 6 or better.
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Post by Gandalf on Jun 22, 2023 15:50:01 GMT -5
Hnng. Guthlaf raised his shield a beat too late, and felt steel bite his forearm through the chainmail. Pain burned through him like liquid fire, and he could feel a slippery wetness along the skin. But his arm remained strong. The shield would hold. It had to hold.
"Sigeric! Craven!" He bellowed in pain, then whirled his axe overhead to answer the steel with his own. Whoever that was would die. "Touch me and you die!"
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