languages_of_midgard.doc |
Concerning languages, Thorsen is the most common language of the far northern reaches of Midgard. Odinsen is the more refined language of nobility, urban dwellers and Skalds. Skalds are bards or story-tellers. The letter W indicates the language has a written component. Barter is the common trade language which is a blend of common languages simplified for easy understanding. Lokispawn is the language of the monsters created by the god Loki. Pukje is the term for the various goblinoid races in Midgard. Orcs and Goblins are far more dangerous in Midgard because most know at least some magic. Dverge is dwarven, Alfar is elven. Trolls are a very different race in Midgard and will be discussed later. They have been at war with the Norse for about a century. Semblings are a fast speaking, nervous race of mostly thieves and assassins. They are know for their uncanny ability to blend into their surroundings. Welkin is a very old language and belongs to the humans living south of most Norse settlements.
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Thorsen is the language that is used in the village of Norgard. The Thorsen Money file contains standard currencies used in the region. The Uppsala piece is the standard coin but the welkin piece, although foreign is quite common because of trade and raiding with the southern people whom the Norse people call Welkins. Welkin is also a standard term for thrall.
I used Lucinda Blackletter as my preferred font throughout the Midgard campaign to add flavor to the game. I don't know why this font is not a standard option in Word because its pretty darn cool. I have included the font in the file with this link for those who would like it.
Ever feel like you caught the bottom of the lake? These guys are in for a surprise. This was always one of my favorite cartoons from Dragon Magazine.
This is a detailed map of the village of Norgard from my Midgard campaign using the AD&D Core Rules 2.0 mapbuilder. The village was far to the north of most other Norsemen villages. Really it was just a small collection of farmsteads, a longhouse, small harbor for Knarr and Longships and the lawrock in the northeastern corner of the village. This was the home for Magnus Thorsen, Aesa the Lucky, Isgerd the Godar, Olaf Barrowgard, Sigurd and Kara Thorsdottir. My next fiction, Saga will start out in this village.
Here is an example below: A cure for Lesions of the Skin: After the scab has fallen off, put on it Scribe’s excrement. Mix in fresh milk and apply as a poultice I've included the file from a docent class that someone nicely brought in to share. The Egyptians were actually pretty good at medicine, but next time you start to complain about your doctor, better take a look at the alternatives...
On Facebook you used to be able to post game bonuses directly to your wall just by clicking share. Now if you want to see it on your wall you have to write some text characters. Many people write...say something about this. So today I did!
What can I say about this. This has been around for a long time, surviving old English, Middle English and more or less surviving modern English, except in some country and rap lyrics where it has evolved into dis, not to be confused with the Roman god of the underworld Dis. This has been dating that for a very long time. I like this, but not as much as I like like. I mean like has an entire social network devoted to it. What does this have? One of the best map generators I've ever used for gaming was the old map program for 2nd edition Advanced Dungeons and Dragons Core Rules. Of course this was pre-Hasbro so they still cared about their customers. All this map program needed was just a little tweaking and it would have been perfect. As it was you could create a map like this in about 20 minutes and that was in 1999. I created a massive map of Midgard in black and white and for the areas that we were spending a lot of time in I printed them in color and laminated the map. Norgard was the home base of my Midgard campaign. All of the characters came from the village of Norgard and they were all kin. The white area on the map is permanent ice. The campaign started in year 1076. I have another map from year 1100 I will share later.
As we marched back to camp I learned that in addition to Col. Martins and Sargent Johnson, the others in the unit are Corporal Reynolds, Corporal Berry, Corporal Guelph, Corporal Pederson, Corporal Hatcher, Corporal Scott and two brothers Terry and Chuck McFarlen both Sargents. The first thing I notice as we get close to the camp is a series of long buildings with tall fences and barb wire. Gun towers dot the perimeter. The place looks like Auschwitz. I notice that the barb wire has been cut in several places. The place smells of death. Countless ghostly figures cycling around in torment indicate the incredible number of lives lost on the premises. Their screams are very agitating to hear.
I ask, "Sir, these prison camps look compromised. How many people were being kept here?" Col. Martins says in an agitated voice, " I don't give a rats ass if your memory is gone Miracle Man, that information is classified which means since you don't already know you don't need to know!" We arrive at the military camp to find a building that is partially destroyed. Rocket fire has breached the wall in several places. Some of the roof has been burned and a trail of military equipment and supplies strewn about indicate that the camp has been at least partially looted. Silently the men take positions. Assault rifles at the ready, the men storm the military camp. After several intense moments it is determined that the camp is clear. Corporal Guelph and Peterson are taking first watch guarding the entrance while the rest of the unit work to gather supplies. Corporal Hatcher and both McFarlen brothers are the casualties and I do what I can to make them comfortable and to find some basic medical supplies to fashion hard casts. At least the bones were set properly so I won't have to put these men through more pain. It looks like that will not be a problem as my wounded friends have discovered a bottle of Jack Daniels whiskey and are working on their own painkiller. I find the plaster and other supplies I need and work on each of the men until they are set. I find some crutches and pass them around but instruction may not be useful as the men are already fairly drunk by the time I finish up with them. After everyone has settled in, we meet up in the mess hall and have a meager meal composed of canned spam, mashed potatoes and either water or whiskey for beverage. Corporal Scott asks, "You ain't eatin Miracle Man?" "I'm not hungry." I say. Col. Martins walks in, "Uncle Sam's Spam ain't good enough for you? Better eat something son, we have a long march ahead of us. I can't raise HQ on the wire so we are going to have to find a working transport on our own if we are going to follow the turtle." There is an unpleasant silence which I finally break with a question. "Would you guys humor a guy who doesn't know who he is and tell me how you got into the military?" There are a few chuckles and then a few more moments of silence, finally Johnson speaks up, "I was drafted if you want to call it that. When things got bad and neighbors started fighting neighbors, you probably remember that the Governor issued a state of emergency and called in the national guard. The guard went door to door armed to the teeth and you either enlisted on the spot or they dragged you away in shackles. I chose to enlist. I'm not a political man, but when your country points a gun at you and says choose sides I figure they got the right to tell me to join just like they did my grandfather and great grandfather for Vietnam and WWII." Col. Martins says, "I'm one of the few career army guys around here I guess. I believe you either stand up for your country or you should leave. Too many damn liberals and homosexuals were running this country and that is why we are going through this clusterfuck today. I still believe the President will see us through this. When he does we've got to learn our lesson this time. Freedom aint about access to the internet or civil rights. Freedom is about doing what you have to do to keep your country true to the Founding Fathers. George Washington would have never put up with rebellions and nonsense. He would have mustered an army and crushed them! Ever hear of the Whiskey rebellion son? Look it up some time when things get straight. Washington would have been leading us the same way our President has done!" I nod my head as if convinced by Col. Martins words and say, "Permission to walk around the perimeter sir!?" Martins looks sternly at me, and says, "I guess you earned a little trust son, grab a rifle and keep your wits about you. Lansing is no longer secure." I do as ordered and head outside. If I could take a deep breath I would. Lansing has been kissed by too much violent death. I need to find a quiet place to compose my thoughts and plan my next actions. I move at a brisk pace through the rubble and burned out houses. About twelve miles from the camp I find an abandoned Jeep Cherokee. It is black in color, covered in graffiti, the window is shattered but oddly all the tires are still inflated. I look under the hood and everything looks intact. I step inside the Jeep and push the start button. Nothing happens! The engine doesn't even turn over. My grandfather, father and brother all worked for Ford Motor company. Michiganders are known as being great hunters, fisherman and auto mechanics. Other than changing a spark plug or checking the oil I am more or less at the mercy of luck when it comes to cars. I have only one guess concerning what might be wrong so I step over to the battery and drain some of my energy into it. Satisfied that I have charged the battery I step back inside the Jeep and hit the start button again. Wa-waa-waaa-vrooom! Success!! The Jeep even has fuel! I drive off until I am near a wooded area that looks like a county park and find a small lake. I turn off the Jeep and find a nice piece of wood, some wire and then I fashion a hook. I flip over a few logs and find some worms and toss the line on my hastily constructed fishing pole into the water. When I was a kid I used to fish almost every day. I fished in the canals, the swamp and Lake Erie. Fishing was one of the few activities I could do with my father where at least if he was roaring drunk he was generally in a decent mood, which meant that I was more or less safe from a severe verbal trashing as long as I was fishing. Even when the fish are not biting, it is pleasant to just stare at the water or the surrounding environment and be one with the world. My wife wasn't big into fishing so at some point I gave up on the activity. At this moment I realize how much I missed it. I whistle an old country song and my mood is greatly lifted. As I think about the old times before all the current strife and remember the simple times I find myself drifting through fond memories. On the edge of my perception I notice a flash of white in the woods and focus closely on it. Was that another of Lansing's all too numerous ghosts? Forgetting all about fishing I rush off in attempt to satisfy my curiosity. Through glen and hill I raced about the park. I probably searched for an hour, but I never found the source of the white flash I noticed in the woods. Frustrated I get back into the Jeep and head back to the base. When I arrive back at camp it is almost nightfall. The men are pleased that I found a vehicle and I bring the vehicle through a garage door on the far end of the compound. Corporal Berry is a mechanic and he makes it his mission to refuel the Jeep and to do what he can to add armor to it. He replaces the battery with a new one from the compound but says that for the most part it is in good shape. We take watches throughout the night and pass the evening without incident. With morning we have a quick breakfast and then Sargent Johnson, Corporal Berry, Corporal Scott and myself take the Jeep to scout around town. Sargent Johnson says, "Hey Miracle man, why are you so chipper today? You get laid last night? I notice I am whistling a happy Zippidy Doo Da and stop. I chuckle and then say, "No Johnson, nothing like that. I just think its more peaceful around town." "What the hell are you talking about Miracle Man?" says Corporal Scott. "In case you haven't noticed and even though the subject is off limits, the prison camp is empty, which means they either got far away from here or they are wandering around Lansing somewhere looking for trouble. In case you didn't know it, we are the ones that locked those rebels up in the first place. They get one look at our uniforms and its going to get hot." We all get quiet until we find a cache of weapons, ammo, some canned food and a working ham radio. We load the supplies into the Jeep and head back to base. As we pass the prison camp I can't help but smile. The camp is finally silent. Its ghosts have moved on. I am aware of an intense blinding light, billowing smoke, incredible heat and almost complete silence. "So this is Hell?!" I say to no one in particular. After the explosions, screams of the dying and gunfire of the last few days I expected Hell to be a cacophonous magnified echo of the sounds of war. I am only slightly disappointed. Slowly I raise myself out of the crater left where my plummeting jet fighter nose-dived into some Abrams tanks.
As my senses return, I survey the area. It is difficult to determine the death toll on the final day of the battle but there are signs of hastily made mass burials. Still many more corpses lie rotting in the sun. Thousands of spirits dance the mindless cycle of their last moments with me as their only audience. The Capitol building is a smoking rubble. In the distance, the portions of Lansing that still looked inhabited are fogged in smoke and haze. I can tell from the way the sun is blazing across the field that the temperature must be reaching an unbearable high today. My war allies and companions are long gone. I am alone. Leave no man behind is a marine slogan. Grimly I note that I am hardly a man anymore. I climb up upon the wreckage of a drone and take a moment to think. I have lost so much in the last few days. My wife and friend Joe are both gone. The people who accepted me, Fast Eddie and the Society...gone. Yet I remain. I am not alive and yet I think. I can never again enjoy the taste of a good wine nor hang myself from a tree branch to end my torment. Certainly there is a price to pay for immortality. That price is madness. I could feel it coming on even before my wife was killed. I am no longer human. My last human act was getting myself and that little girl in my hometown killed. But, I have grown powerful. Each life that I took, each malevolent specter that I drained into oblivion has pushed me further away from what I was and more firmly into the realm of who I am. Who am I? I can no more answer that question than a child of four. What am I? Surely I am wise as Socrates, for I can see that I do not know anything. So what have I accomplished? Is Michigan free from tyranny? Is my nation back on the path of freedom? I have no children to dream for. Everyone I know is dead and gone. I am thinking that the best thing to do with a mythological beast like myself is to hide away in a cave far away from humanity and let the ages pass until sweet madness takes me completely for her own. No! I have slept long enough. That was the one lesson my wife tried to pound through my thick skull. I may go mad, but no longer will I struggle with the slumber of inaction. Even if I act alone and fail completely I have to try to finish what I started. Revenge is only sweet if the victory is complete. But how do I, a single revenant, no more a man, tumble the dominoes that will achieve my purpose? I find that the enemies I have toppled no longer matter as long as there are enemies left who wish to continue sending my nation toward its doom. Somehow I must find a way to Washington D.C. If I can stop the President and his allies, states will find a way to do what we did here in Michigan. But how? I need new allies! I allow a few more moments to pass in thought and decide before seeking new allies to find out if perhaps the Society left some clue for me to meet up with them. I return to the place where we first swarmed out into Lansing from the tunnel complex. The tunnels are gone. Either the weapons of war destroyed them, or The Society imploded the tunnels to hide their secrets from mankind. Whatever has happened my time with the Society is clearly at an end. As I continue pondering and walking the field I hear the sounds of digging and scrapping. I see over by the mass graves a small group of people digging up the bodies and pulling metal scraps from the wreckage of the broken war machines. Looters! I can not blame them for doing what they can to survive. I decide to go talk to them. The hysterical screams of the retreating people reminds me that in my haste, driven by the desire for human company, I forgot entirely about my appearance. In anger I think very hard about my form and find to my astonishment that I can manipulate my appearance. Using a small broken mirror left on the battlefield, I use the force of my will to give myself the lifelike visage of my former mortal body. Satisfied that I can fool people unless they feel my skin, I decide to find some locals, hoping to learn about the current state of affairs and perhaps gain some allies. Walking for no more than ten minutes I hear the faint moaning of men in the distance. Curious, I head into the direction of the sounds. About two hundred feet away I see a cement bunker smashed in by the force of an ancient oak tree that has fallen on top of it, a victim of a pulse weapon. The tree trunk has completely blocked the entrance to the bunker and only a small shaft provides an escape for the pleas of help from within. I can tell from the bunker that it belongs to the enemy. As I approach I ask, "Friend, how many are trapped with you?" Through the air vent a voice says, "Ten men. Four severely wounded. We have run out of water and have had no food the three days since the battle ended. Please help us get out. Go back to Lansing and get my commander. He will bring equipment to break us out." I view the area and notice a broken troop transport near the downed oak tree. Two of its wheels are missing and the windshield is blown out. There are several dead men inside dressed in Michigan infantry uniforms. I tell the men in the bunker, "I am going to get you out. Get to the back of the bunker and find whatever you can to shield yourselves. " Walking away from the protests and pleas, I realize that I must make myself look like them. I don a uniform from one of the dead soldiers...Corporal Rodgers. I chuckle to myself as a I devise a plan to get the men free. I pull out a tow chain and attach it to the front bumper guard on the troop transport. I attach the other end of the chain to the oak tree and secure the chain with pitons I found in the transport hold. I push a dead soldier aside as I step inside the cabin of the troop transport and turn the key. With a terrible banging sound the transport surprised me as it starts up. I shift the beast into reverse as smoke and flames start to drift up from under the hood. The sound of the engine straining is alarming. I soon realize the engine is far too damaged to pull off the oak tree and will soon fail. Quickly I exit the transport, get behind the beast and pull with all of my phantasmal strength. At first nothing happens, then I hear the metal fatigue from the back bumper as I pull with all my might. Focusing all of my power on this one moment I give a mighty tug from the rear of the transport and hear an explosion as I am thrown to the ground. When I get up, the transport is an inferno with deep black smoke billowing out of it but I can see the oak has moved enough to allow people to get out of the entrance to the bunker. Before I can make it back to the bunker some of the men have pushed the door open and have emerged into the daylight. They look puzzled at the burning transport and then back at me. One of them says to me, "We need to make gurneys for the casualties. Two men have broken legs, a third has a broken ankle and Johnson, well Johnson is about to give up the ghost if we can't get him some help ASAP!" I say, "Let me attend to Johnson. I'm a medic." "Well then stop yapping and get in there corporal!" he says. Yes sir! I say. I come upon Sargent Johnson. I can see he has severe internal injuries. It looks like a house fell on top of him. I listen to his breathing and I can tell he has only minutes to live. "The rest of you get out of this bunker and let me work! I say. They carry off the other wounded men and give me space. I begin to wonder what I have gotten myself into as I find myself alone with this dying man. I must help him live! But how? I can see his spirit pulling away from his mortal form and sooth it back into his body with a gentle hand. Holding onto his spiritual hand I infuse it with energy and clear my head of all thoughts but the unselfish desire to help this man live. Moments seem to have passed before I notice that Sargent Johnson is trying to sit up. "Thanks corporal! I don't know how the fuck you did that but I was a dead man if you hadn't come along. Let's get the hell out of this coffin." Johnson and I head outside to the amazement of the men. "Corporal Rodgers, you are a fucking miracle man son!", their leader says. His insignia says Colonel Martins. "Johnson, I thought you were a fucking dead man! Death aint gonna get you out of KP duty son. If you had listened to me you wouldn't have been french kissing with the grim reaper just now." Martins orders two of the men to find water cans while the others finish the gurneys. After everyone has had a drink of water and a few pieces of beef jerky they load up the wounded and Martins orders a march back toward Lansing. As we march I notice several of the men whispering and looking back at me. I give them a sharp nod and they turn away from me and continue whispering. A few moments later and several of the men motion to each other in code. They set down the wounded men and suddenly six assault rifles are pointed at me. Col. Martins says, "Seems we got a fucking problem Corporal Miracle Man" You aint Rodgers. Tell me you ain't some sack o shit AWOL sandbagger Miracle Man! You got about ten seconds to clear yourself before you start sweatin bullets." Johnson says, "Jesus! Don't shoot this man, he just saved my life!" Johnson throws himself in front of me. Martins says, "You trying to piss on death twice today Johnson? Get the fuck out of the way and that is an order!!" Thinking quickly I push Johnson aside and I say, "Sir, I don't fuckin know who I am sir. I woke up in some wreckage. My uniform was gone. Some looter probably cleaned me out. I seen Rodgers was dead and didn't need that uniform no more so I borrowed it until I can get new clothes and get my head on straight." "Miracle man, you asking me to get down on my knees and jerk you off?" says Martins. "No sir, that's the truth as best as I know it. Soon as I can remember I will tell you who I am." I say Martins orders his men to stand down. "Miracle man if your story don't check out I will personally roast you on a spit and dump your carcass in Ann Arbor." "My story will check out sir!" I say. Martins seems satisfied for now but he orders his men not to let me have any weapons. We walk for a while longer and take a rest in a depression in the ground. While we are resting several men scout ahead and notice other depressions near. An image of Herb begins to form in my mind when one of them says. "Its the turtle! Sir it is heading southeast toward Lake Erie." Martins says, "Johnson mark our position. We need to get these wounded men to base ASAP, find some reinforcements and recapture the beast." I ask, "Col. Martins sir, how do you know the turtle is in enemy hands?" Martins says, "I saw a bunch of the enemy thick as thieves rappel up the side of the turtle like something out of a fucking Star Wars movie!" For some reason the hatches were open. The turtle don't need many men, so I am sure it was overrun. We got to get that machine back in the hands of the good guys and kill those rebels!" I nod silently and we continue our march back to Lansing without further incident. I have no idea what I am going to do now but I better come up with a plan quick! |
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