[WFRP 2e] Mordrin-Interlude 2

Intro

Mordrin Skorkinson, Giant Slayer. He is still looking for a giant to slay, as he doesn't feel the last giant was quite giant enough. He has also slain some daemons, though none of note. He has now slain a wyvern, but decided it was too small to count as a dragon.

He is the bemoaner of the doom that got away.

His chosen weapon is a magical two handed war-hammer taken from a slain priest of Sigmar, its once faded runes now burn bright due to Mordrin's great deeds. So far, it's original name has been lost to time, but Mordrin has taken to calling it Drung Azgul, or Smashing Death.

The Patch


Mordrin followed the rest of the party around as they were led back through the woods to the human town of Holthusen. He occasionally perked up during mention of the battle with the wyvern but only to complain how wimpy the beast was. Talk of the star metal that fell from the sky on the town of Helmgart also caught his attention. 

In Holthusen, Mordrin returned to drinking, accompanied by the knight Tibalt and his fruity elven drinks. Mordrin heard of a dwarf smith who had begun working in the town and decided to track him down and share a new idea.

The smith's name was Moradil Skragromson. He worked for a coaching inn between Holthusen and Eilhart. Moradil had left his human apprentice at the inn, The Broken Cup, to shod and shoe (simple enough tasks that the inn keeper charges too much for anyway and shares only a fraction of the charge with Moradil anyway).  Moradil had loaded his kit (and an anvil) and pressed north to Holthulsen to catch the prospectors of star metal first. He was a armorer of fair talent as well.

Mordrin described a small metal plate which would be riveted over the (healing) hole in his left hand. Moradil was an instant comrade. He took Mordrin's commission and went a step further recommending not a riveted plate, but a half gauntlet.

"I've had too many hand injuries," He paused to show Mordrin a missing pinky and the first digit of each thumb missing, the stubs suggesting crushing loss under his maul, "to let you cover a healing wound with a plate young slayer. You don't want to die of Nurgle's touch! Nay, you need a gauntlet. A half gauntlet I think. Something you can remove. No? What of a gauntlet with a locking, no, a riveted clasp! Permanent, but flexible and you can still clean that wound. I can make this for you... say two crowns and 10? You won't be disappointed." 

Mordrin replied, "I think a gauntlet would be too thin and too much like armor. Remove the half gauntlet's wrist and thumb protection, make the rest of the metal at least...3 times as thick so no arrow, bolt, spear, or sword could penetrate it. You're working with a slayer here, smith!"

Moradil acquiesced, "It will only cover the top. It can be cleaned from below, though I doubt such a thing will be necessary."

The smith took a solid day to craft the gauntlet to Mordrin's specifications. It was a wonderful piece of black iron with new leather loops for his fingers and wrist.  Set on the knuckles were four short studs shaped to hard points, that when his hand was clinched, he could see the effectiveness of the gauntlet. Moradil had hammered four lines that mimic the muscularity of the hand into the face of the gauntlet extending from the sharp knuckles to decorative rivets at the wrist. He had also taken Mordrin's suggestion to hammer and etch a depiction of the covered wound into the gauntlet. Finally, the flat part of the gauntlet on the back of the hand had four small holes that set into the piece.

When asked about the holes Moradril handed Mordrin a ring and four screws. "It's a clan set of course. You set your clan's token..." the smith saw the slayer's ire rising, "or other rune here. you can set the screws only if you like of course."

Moradil was a goodly dwarf, and Mordrin found himself lamenting that he himself wasn't. In a previous life, the two could have been friends.

Before leaving, Mordrin allowed the smith to admire his warhammer.

Return to Helmgart


The road to Holthusen was a long march. Mordrin was miserable and kept mostly to himself, grumbling about how the elgi put up a pathetic fight, and summoned the most worthless daemons. Even their dragon was small and hardly worth the effort. Udrin had not the heart to tell his companion that it wasn't a dragon. He figured the dwarf probably knew that, but was looking to pick a fight with someone, even if it was his own memories. On the other end of the spectrum was Tibalt. He was as loud and boorish as ever, wanting wine and to mate with the elves around him. Udrin was fairly sure a few of them would have taken him up on the offer, but Tibalt would have not found it to his liking, as all were male. Fortunately, none of them spoke Bretonian.

This left the scribe Gustav. His questions were endless, and his curiosity deep. The two passed the long hours with Udrin explaining the events of the past, and how he believed they shaped the world today. Gustav was hungry for knowledge, for much of this history predated the Empire by thousands of years. Udrin passed what knowledge he could. He touched on the high points of that time in history, and of elven culture and architecture.

Their guides did not care for the talking, but had long given up on a silent walk. With a last farewell, they bid the party farewell within sight of Holthusen's walls. The group made their way into the gates, crowded with pilgrims and merchants. Tibalt andMordrin wasted little time in returning to Tibalt's favorite tavern to drown their sorrows in wine and ale.

Before they left, Udrin suggested that he find them a merchant caravan to hire on with. This would give them food and pay on the walk to Helmgart. Given recent events, there had to be some traveling that way. The markets were crowded with travelers of all sorts. The sight was far different than the one Udrin remembered. Everywhere he looked, temporary shops and stalls were set up, with traveling merchants doing a brisk business. It was a small matter to barter a trade of Udrin's fine elf longbow for a human bow, and a few quivers of arrows. This bow and a quiver of arrows Udrin gave to Gustav. In exchange he kept Ato's elfbow. This weapon was beautifully crafted, having been called forth from the heart the trees of Athel Loren by a Treesinger, whose name was unknown to Udrin. The hawk feathers, and rabbit fur wrap was a bit much, but Udrin kept them intact. These things meant something to the fallen Asrai, and he would not desecrate his fallen brother's memory by discarding them.

Udrin continued his shopping by stocking up on provisions, herbs, and various healing supplies. These were not as easy to acquire as he had presupposed. Supplies were limited, and the merchants were obviously gouging; even more so to an elf. These items, while valuable to travelers entering parts unknown, are priceless to adventurers, who are far more likely to encounter violence. Much of this he paid for by trading his most recent maps of the Hemlgart area. Elven drawn maps at least commanded a premium, for his artistic skill and memory were beyond the reach of most cartographers.

This led to the matter of his black cargo. he tired of carrying the shards of chaos armor retrieved from depths of Groz Zorn. To rid himself of the dire things, he sought a traveling blacksmith on the outskirts of the pilgrim camps. Such a blacksmith would have fewer ties to the Sigmarites, and more reason to want to deal in such an artifact. For the Hell Coins that could be made from it would command extreme prices from the surrounding pilgrims and travelers. It was quite difficult to sell the black armor shards. Udrin was slowly getting accustomed to the ways of the short lived, but their greed and conniving, as well as their suspicion of outsiders made finding a buyer difficult. With some fortune, however, he managed to unload his dread cargo on a traveling blacksmith with the help of Mordrin. The money was far less than he hoped, but his need was desperate. The money did not go far either, it was enough to pay for basic supplies and a few trappings for his fellows.

With supplies secured, it was time to find transport. Herein was a world that Udrin was far more comfortable with. Merchant caravans are notoriously insular, but it is a small enough community. His time among the Streichers gave him enough know how to find an allied trading house. With some tense negotiations, he managed to secure work for him and his fellows with a caravan belonging to a minor house. They had little security of their own and were eager to employ someone with experience. It helped as well that Udrin recognized the signs of the Brothers of Handrich. This eased negotiations significantly with the caravan master Erik Lofgren. Udrin's fellows had mixed reactions to the news. Gustav was elated to be returning to Helmgart. He mentioned something regarding a woman, and a need to gather information for his human cult. Udrin did not quite follow the details. Tibalt was boisterous, lost in his wine, and discussing trading his newly purchased amulet for some woman's favors. Udrin intervened with the last of his newly acquired cash, if only to save the amulet from adorning a "lady's" neck. Mordrin seemed to not care less. It was hard for Udrin to read him when Mordrin was not lost in the violence and fury of combat.

Erik was eager to depart, and so in a matter of a few days from leaving Cairnmere, the party was once again on the road. Tibalt DesRochers would not be going with them. His treasures and glory in hand, Tibalt DesRochers, the Paragon of Paravon,headed home to Paravon through a more southerly route. It was a two week journey to Osburg, though the small villages of Eilhart and Ussingen. The road was quiet if busy with pilgrims and merchants. This seemed to bode ill with Mordrin who craved death and glory in equal measure.

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