The Town of Dremman, Capital of Marholm, in the lands of The Wyrmnal
To His Lordship, the Viscount Wilfrick of Verbobonc,
If I had been more studious in what little religion had been provided to me, I would have something much wittier to say than I'm standing within the gullet of the Leviathan.
We started along the western shore of the land, but quickly crossed over to the eastern, where trade opportunities were aplenty.
I'm a bit disappointed, and slightly ashamed that the bulk of the stereotypes we present to the average yeoman of Wyrmnal is a farce, a myth to propagate our military reserves. The towns were full of tradesmen and some learned men, albeit much hairier in visage and scarier in their speech than our own folk.
As Wyrmnal is a collection of clans and organized warlords, there are no such things as formal dominions like baronies, duchies, and viscounties. Families or portions of families rule and protect the masses. Even portions of their territories and easily given as wedding gifts or a means of apology (which the vikings rarely give, an apology is from another chief, or jarl, seems to rank with the legendary feats of their ancestors.
We ventured through a number of dominions early, Brandholm and the village of Kyskmoen. Henesdalir and it's port city of Helega. While the main caravan had its sights set on Norrvik, essentially a capital where the jarls meeting bi-annual to make rulings on each other, Herr Grassl wanted me to travel with Dar Hammersmith, his second in command, Hardox, and Harbash to the town of Dremman in the Jarldom of Marholm. There, it was rumored that deals on return supplies and other goods could be found far favorable than the nearly metropolitan Norrvik.
In Dremman, I discovered an attitude of welcomeness from its citizens that I did not get from the other towns. Yes, the other folk were oddly civilized, but very distrustful of us outside of business transaction. A simple handshake and a smile to complete a transaction in Helega was immediately changed to a sideways glance towards us and we turned away. The folk of Dremman craved information from the majestic lands of Ras-Prythax, and with a free grog in each of my hands, I felt honor-bound to oblige them of stories, but nothing of a strategic or tactical nature.
The ones who had traveled their country were also very accommodating to correct my misconceptions of it.
The southernmost portion of the "The Wyrmnal" that borders on Ras-Prythax is indeed civilized. Their citizens demand security and knowledge, and the jarls oblige to their own profit. Further north, from Norrvik to the northernmost tip of the land appears to be a fleet of merchants that rival anything the Krugraf holds sway over. They are more prone to violence, but are shrewd negotiators.
Further north, across the straits is the part of The Wyrmnal called Andrafjordan, "The Others" seems to be the shortest translation. There, the legends and fables of the Wyrmnal Warriors hold true. Wyrmnal longships full of warriors plot the eastern and western seas plundering, looting, and pillaging the neighboring countries. Hibernia, Albion, Nevskia, and Puhjola are all subject to the terror of these berserkers.
But not Ras-Prythax, unless one's ship runs to far north. This would explain why the merchant fleet of the Mer Botha has never fared well with trading towards Albion, yet Dremman had not one but two booksellers who regularly import written texts from one of the Five Kingdoms. The Wyrmnal sailors take a very southernly route and avoid their brother raiders.
While I struggle to fully comprehend their pantheon of the North Gods, I've also discovered that Akana is oddly allowed to be worshiped in selected pockets of the land, completely unmolested. A few missionaries ventured throughout The Wyrmnal and set up monasteries. For years, they battled against the very people they were trying to convert until an unsteady truce was agreed upon. The monks could live in their enclaves unmolested if they agreed upon coming into town no more than twice a year to recruit new members to their order. Oddly, there's always some oddball or a sixth son in the jarl's family that takes them up on the offer.
Of course, our journey was not without its problems. We quickly secured supplies and our trade goods for the trip home, and we usually split up to explore the town for the few days we had before Herr Grassl's Norrvik expedition returned to pick us up and return home.
On the return trip from my third trip to the booksellers, I encountered Hardox, Harbash, Dar, and two caravan teamsters in a full scuffle with what Wyrmnal considers constabulary. I tried to intervene and was quickly knocked out, by one of the town guard, no less.
I have woken up in a dirty jail cell with the other five men I've mentioned. Apparently, Harbash killed one of the constables the night before, and I fell upon the arrest taking place mere moments before all Hades broke loose.
I've granted this one letter to be sent home, with no guarantee to arrive on time, but I implore you, My Lord. Send help, send brave rescuers, send sneaky rogues to break us out, call for the Knights of Feraso themselves to get us, if you must. We have collectively been found guilty of murder and are scheduled to die very soon. We only have one formal step before we are drawn and quartered: essentially a grovelling session with the Jarl of Marholm.
Runholf "the Dandy"
Your faithful servant (for as long as I can remain breathing in heathen territory),
Elsderth Millbottom
DM Notes: As promised, I'm fleshing out Wyrmnal. I'm primarily filling in Denmark (including the infamous territories of Schelswig-Holstein) with domains of the Northern Reaches (Vestland, Ostland, and the Soderfjord Jarldoms of the Known World). The further north you travel on the mainland, the more unruly and barbaric the folk are (save the capital, Norrvik).
Our traveling merchants on a diversionary errand and certainly in a pickle, but Elsderth is quick to find out what type of Viking calls himself "The Dandy."
Next: #6 - Runholf the Dandy
To His Lordship, the Viscount Wilfrick of Verbobonc,
If I had been more studious in what little religion had been provided to me, I would have something much wittier to say than I'm standing within the gullet of the Leviathan.
We started along the western shore of the land, but quickly crossed over to the eastern, where trade opportunities were aplenty.
I'm a bit disappointed, and slightly ashamed that the bulk of the stereotypes we present to the average yeoman of Wyrmnal is a farce, a myth to propagate our military reserves. The towns were full of tradesmen and some learned men, albeit much hairier in visage and scarier in their speech than our own folk.
As Wyrmnal is a collection of clans and organized warlords, there are no such things as formal dominions like baronies, duchies, and viscounties. Families or portions of families rule and protect the masses. Even portions of their territories and easily given as wedding gifts or a means of apology (which the vikings rarely give, an apology is from another chief, or jarl, seems to rank with the legendary feats of their ancestors.
 |
| Herr Grassl, cleaning up in Norrvik |
In Dremman, I discovered an attitude of welcomeness from its citizens that I did not get from the other towns. Yes, the other folk were oddly civilized, but very distrustful of us outside of business transaction. A simple handshake and a smile to complete a transaction in Helega was immediately changed to a sideways glance towards us and we turned away. The folk of Dremman craved information from the majestic lands of Ras-Prythax, and with a free grog in each of my hands, I felt honor-bound to oblige them of stories, but nothing of a strategic or tactical nature.
The ones who had traveled their country were also very accommodating to correct my misconceptions of it.
The southernmost portion of the "The Wyrmnal" that borders on Ras-Prythax is indeed civilized. Their citizens demand security and knowledge, and the jarls oblige to their own profit. Further north, from Norrvik to the northernmost tip of the land appears to be a fleet of merchants that rival anything the Krugraf holds sway over. They are more prone to violence, but are shrewd negotiators.
Further north, across the straits is the part of The Wyrmnal called Andrafjordan, "The Others" seems to be the shortest translation. There, the legends and fables of the Wyrmnal Warriors hold true. Wyrmnal longships full of warriors plot the eastern and western seas plundering, looting, and pillaging the neighboring countries. Hibernia, Albion, Nevskia, and Puhjola are all subject to the terror of these berserkers.
But not Ras-Prythax, unless one's ship runs to far north. This would explain why the merchant fleet of the Mer Botha has never fared well with trading towards Albion, yet Dremman had not one but two booksellers who regularly import written texts from one of the Five Kingdoms. The Wyrmnal sailors take a very southernly route and avoid their brother raiders.
While I struggle to fully comprehend their pantheon of the North Gods, I've also discovered that Akana is oddly allowed to be worshiped in selected pockets of the land, completely unmolested. A few missionaries ventured throughout The Wyrmnal and set up monasteries. For years, they battled against the very people they were trying to convert until an unsteady truce was agreed upon. The monks could live in their enclaves unmolested if they agreed upon coming into town no more than twice a year to recruit new members to their order. Oddly, there's always some oddball or a sixth son in the jarl's family that takes them up on the offer.
Of course, our journey was not without its problems. We quickly secured supplies and our trade goods for the trip home, and we usually split up to explore the town for the few days we had before Herr Grassl's Norrvik expedition returned to pick us up and return home.
On the return trip from my third trip to the booksellers, I encountered Hardox, Harbash, Dar, and two caravan teamsters in a full scuffle with what Wyrmnal considers constabulary. I tried to intervene and was quickly knocked out, by one of the town guard, no less.
I have woken up in a dirty jail cell with the other five men I've mentioned. Apparently, Harbash killed one of the constables the night before, and I fell upon the arrest taking place mere moments before all Hades broke loose.
I've granted this one letter to be sent home, with no guarantee to arrive on time, but I implore you, My Lord. Send help, send brave rescuers, send sneaky rogues to break us out, call for the Knights of Feraso themselves to get us, if you must. We have collectively been found guilty of murder and are scheduled to die very soon. We only have one formal step before we are drawn and quartered: essentially a grovelling session with the Jarl of Marholm.
Runholf "the Dandy"
Your faithful servant (for as long as I can remain breathing in heathen territory),
Elsderth Millbottom
DM Notes: As promised, I'm fleshing out Wyrmnal. I'm primarily filling in Denmark (including the infamous territories of Schelswig-Holstein) with domains of the Northern Reaches (Vestland, Ostland, and the Soderfjord Jarldoms of the Known World). The further north you travel on the mainland, the more unruly and barbaric the folk are (save the capital, Norrvik).
Next: #6 - Runholf the Dandy
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