Baron of Hjaldorn

An arrow slams into the ground right in front of [NAME]! When you draw your weapons and look around, an uneasy voice calls out from a rock somewhere above your position: “Stay where you are or you’re all dead meat!”

• “Just try it!”
• “But why?”
• “Hey, we’re not doing anything.”

“Because I say so!”

“Is that certain?”

“So what?”

“Well, that’s a reason, I suppose.”

“Only, if you come out, too!”

“Oh, dear me.”

“Let’s see…”

“No, definitely not.”

“You bet it is!”

“All right, I’m coming out. But don’t get scared! I’m really nice unless I’m provoked… Heehee…”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“In that case… See, we’re not moving. Rooted to the spot!”

“I find that hard to imagine.”

“Get down from there, or we’re coming up to get you!”

“What do you think, you joker?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“Just a sign of our fear, honored lord or lady.”

A figure gets up from behind the rock, clothed entirely in untreated animal skins, a shortbow in one hand, a sword in the other. The fellow comes down the rock-strewn hillside with a rolling gait. While he does, you notice that the sword in the man’s right hand is not just any old sword but a two-hander he simply shortened to a more handy size by breaking off the upper three spans of the blade.

Tags: Rorkvell