What Happened Last Session
Sacred Ground, Violated
Drakenfjell rose from windswept seas like a promise carved in stone, its ancient pines whispering with divine presence. Three faction longhouses surrounded a ceremonial fire that burned with unnatural blue-green flames, and Torbald the Bloodless stood in pristine white robes to consecrate the trial that would unite the Isles of Andrik under a single High King. His voice carried over the wind as he spoke of divine authority and sacred covenant, raising the ceremonial horn filled with blessed mead.
The moment he drank, everything changed. Torbald’s eyes widened in shock, the horn tumbling from his fingers as mead splashed red on sacred stone. “The sacred has been defiled,” he gasped, and collapsed. Divine wrath rumbled through the mountain, ravens shrieking as they massed in the pines above. In that chaos of divine fury and mortal confusion, Brugatha’s carefully maintained disguise shattered like rotted wood, revealing the sea hag beneath—green sunken flesh, seaweed hair, the stench of corruption made manifest.
When Monsters Reveal Themselves
The party didn’t hesitate. While faction leaders reeled from the double shock of murder and revelation, you engaged the threat that had been manipulating events from the shadows. Brugatha fought with the desperation of a cornered predator whose schemes had come undone, but her power couldn’t match your coordination. The sea hag fell, and with her death, Olaf’s corruption lifted like morning fog burned away by sunlight.
Rogden arrived as the hag’s corpse settled into stillness—Kilmin’s father, a werebear hermit who had broken years of isolation because he sensed the sacred site’s violation and his son’s mortal danger. His presence carried authority that even grief-struck faction leaders recognized. With Torbald murdered and divine law violated, Rogden stepped into the vacuum, restoring order and declaring the trial would continue under his neutral arbitration. The gods were watching, and they would have their judgment.
Blood for the Crown
The tournament proceeded with grim efficiency. Signe faced Karlsgald in the stone circle, and years of betrayal found their reckoning in brutal combat. Her victory was decisive and personal—when Karlsgald fell, she spat on his corpse. “This was for revenge. No Valhalla for you.” The old wound, literal and figurative, had finally been cauterized with blood.
Carmin fought Olaf next, the Axe of Nine Eyes singing in his hands. Olaf was free of corruption but remained hostile, and the fight was close enough that the outcome felt earned rather than inevitable. When Olaf fell, Carmin stood over him breathing hard, the weight of what he’d done settling like armor. “Couldn’t hit twice, couldn’t seal the deal,” someone murmured, but Carmin had sealed it where it mattered—Olaf wouldn’t rise again.
Shifting Allegiances
Something fundamental shifted during the chaos and bloodshed at Drakenfjell. The elaborate plans for theft and betrayal that had consumed your discussions on the road evaporated like morning mist. Faced with genuine evil in Brugatha’s sea hag form and legitimate divine judgment in the sacred trial, the path forward clarified. You fought for the right side when it mattered, and that choice changed everything.
Crixbin discovered that Loki demanded his own form of justice—chaos fulfilled through public humiliation involving a rubber handaxe that somehow gained magical properties through divine mockery. The penance was complete, the god satisfied, and the priest walked away with both dignity bruised and power enhanced.
Looking Ahead
One final combat remains: Carmin versus Signe, the Axe of Nine Eyes bearer against the warrior who just achieved her life’s revenge. The winner becomes High King of all the isles, but the political situation has grown more complex than simple succession. Your conversations have turned toward installing Kilmin as ruler—the arms merchant who might finally have the resources to pay for promised ships and the authority to unite what his weapons nearly tore apart.
Rogden’s approval will matter. The werebear father broke isolation to save his son and restore sacred order, and his judgment carries weight the gods themselves acknowledge. Whether he’ll support elevating Kilmin to a throne, whether Signe will accept anything less than the crown she’s fighting for, whether the divine watchers will bless a merchant-king—these questions hang over Drakenfjell like the ravens that witnessed Torbald’s murder. The gods are watching, and they expect the trial to mean something. What that meaning will be remains written in tomorrow’s blood.
True evil reveals itself in the light, and when it does, old grudges become kindling for the fire that burns it away.