Wolves Upon the Coast - Session #5
Gather round, my friends, as I continue the tale of Brimuxi and her brave crew! We continue our journey in the world of Luke Gearing’s Wolves Upon the Coast! You can catch up on our previous session’s recap here. Our system of choice is T. Thomas Giant’s As Above, So Below, an OSR hack inspired primarily by Cairn and Into the Odd.
The Crew of the Brimuxi
Gripard the Near-Sighted - Hails from Faroe. He willingly signed on to Snori the Craven’s crew to avoid starvation. Understands some arcane secrets.
Gull the Wanderer - Hails from Ruislip, in the northwest. He is of humble stock, but his kin did not appreciate his talents. Their parting of ways was mutual, but it wasn’t long before he was captured by the Norse.
Haoelkbaeolker “Bulkor” the Foul - Hails from Littitie. Also called Bulkor, he was banished by his kin for being a general nuisance and ass. It is a wonder we haven’t killed him ourselves.
Lurg Who-Laughs-At-Death - Hails from Littitie, a faraway and distant land. A proud, barbarian warrior - he is slow to trust others, including members of the Brimuxi’s crew. He has earned a new title thanks to his courage in the face of a horde of reanimated skeleton warriors.
Pádraig the Skald - Hails from Mar, a coastal land to the east of the North Sea. He was betrayed by his mentor, who grew jealous of Pádraig's growing popularity amongst their kin, and sold to the Norse as a galley slave.
The Fifth Voyage
Our battle against the dead quickly game to a close as my companions and I fell upon them, cutting their foul flesh to ribbons. The fresh scent of the sea air embattled the fell rot of the dead as we butchered them before feeding them to the flames - never to rise again. As Lurg Who-Laughs-At-Death and I carried out our foul work Gripard the Near-Sighted and the rest ventured into the bowels of the wrecked vessel to recover our prize - the relics sought by the Witch Edicia. I cast my runestones to beseech the gods as to our next course of action. Their will was unclear, which caused no end of frustration as I cast and cast again. I pocketed the stones in disgust and rose to my feet just in time to hear a remark from Ermelandus of the Christian Court of King Roderik. I could not understand his words, but his tone and smirk were unmistakable - he was insulting my gods. Without a word I struck him in the mouth, expecting him to cower. He surprised me by striking back - a showing of spine from the little Southron!
Impressed, I clapped him on the shoulder and offered him a drink. The Christian took a swig of wine and walked off without further word. Perhaps he learned not to insult my gods in my presence. Without wasting any further time we loaded the crates into the Brimuxi and set sail for the witch’s camp. Under Gripard’s guidance we hugged the coast and sailed south back toward the witch’s camp. We arrived with great haste and pulled our vessel up to the shore, planning to remain with the witch for several days while our wounded recovered.
Each of us took a crate in hand and marched up the shore to Edicia’s tent to present her with with the relics she so desperately desired - Lurg brought up the idea of checking the contents of the crates, but we decided against it. If we didn’t know what was inside, we wouldn’t be responsible for whatever happened next… or so we told ourselves. The air inside hung thick with incense and smoke as we handed over the mysterious artifacts. The witch offered us a toothy grin and greeted us excitedly, like a child. It was then that I noticed she was much shorter than she had appeared during our previous visit.
The witch summoned some of her painted children and had them open the containers. We beheld five golden idols. Lurg and I were not impressed by their appearance. They were… round and held the vague countenance of a human figure… if you squinted very hard. That was all. The witch seemed very excited, so I suppose there was more to these statues than met the eye. Satisfied, Edicia had the crates shut and turned to address us. She let us know that she would honor our request for a “reasonable favor” (“Not a meaningless favor,” she said. “Simply a reasonable one. Do not ask me for something I cannot give you.”). We thanked her and let her know we would be resting up at her camp, but that we would share our supplies with her warriors and use the time to think on the nature of the favor owed to us.
Curious as to the powers of our newfound patron, Gripard and Lurg inquired as to her… studies. She called herself Edicia the Deathless and spoke of foul magicks to reshape the weave and weft of fates. It turned out she is also an alchemist of sorts, brewing potions and poisons and crafting poultices and unguents. We turned to leave for our own camp, at which point the witch expressed confusion, believing (hoping?) that one of us would stay. I offered to remain with the witch, hoping my time spent at Edicia’s side would hasten my recovery - and perhaps I could glean some knowledge by observing whatever rituals she conducted with the golden idols.
While I spent my days in Edicia’s tent my companions explored our immediate surroundings, finding a strange tree they called a “witch’s elm",” a dam made by some local creature, and a stone hut, among other, lesser things. For my part I spent days moving the crates hither and yon about her tent as she sought in vain to find the right place for each idol before she could conduct whatever ritual she hoped to begin. We did not share a language, which made providing assistance… difficult. After our first day of rest and exploration Gripard visited me in the tent to discuss his findings with Edicia. She seemed defensive about the hut and the woman who inhabited it and dismissive of the tree. I found these reactions to be curious indeed. Perhaps something worthy of exploration when I recovered.
The week would have many surprises in store for us, but that is a story for another day!
