Pat stepped cautiously through the tree line, the rustling of leaves under his boots swallowed by the crackle of a large campfire up ahead. He paused just shy of the clearing, peering out through the underbrush. A dozen or more people were gathered around the fire, some lounging on felled logs, others sprawled across fur-lined bedrolls or engaged in lighthearted games that looked like something out of a Viking saga.

The central fire was massive, its orange glow licking the darkening sky. Surrounding it, rough-hewn logs had been arranged into makeshift benches. The flames danced in the eyes of those seated around it, their silhouettes framed by the firelight. Each person was dressed in leather, fur, and linen, with intricate braids in their hair - men and women alike. Their weapons were never far - axes, swords, and spears leaned casually against logs or rested within easy reach. Shields were scattered throughout the campsite, some painted with runes, others adorned with intricate knotwork.

Despite the air of camaraderie and relaxation, Pat couldn't help but notice the constant, subtle tension. Every movement seemed deliberate, every hand naturally falling near a blade hilt or spear shaft. They moved as though battle was a second skin - one they wore easily.

Off to the side, a smaller fire crackled steadily, where a thin but well-muscled woman tended a pot of bubbling stew. Her hair was a fiery red, the tight braids along her scalp losing the battle against the sheer volume of curls, her blue eyes gleaming with intensity as she stirred. The stew's rich aroma mingled with the earthy scent of burning wood and Pat's stomach growled. What could only be potatoes or apples wrapped in foil surrounded the fire, nestled into the embers. She didn't seem to notice Pat, or if she did, she didn't care. A young girl on the brink of her teens half hid behind the woman, her torn, dirty clothing standing out almost as much as the bruises on her face and neck.

The group's banter was low and relaxed, mixing with the sounds of metal clinking against metal as a few of the men played a Viking-style game involving a wooden board and smooth, carved stones. Laughter erupted when someone lost, but it was good-natured, hearty, filling the clearing with a sense of easy comfort. Yet, the edge of readiness remained - this wasn't just a group of reenactors. Pat could feel it. The atmosphere hummed with something primal, as if at a moment's notice, these people could rise, shields clattering and axes swinging.

One of the men, a towering figure with wild brown hair and a beard braided with silver rings, noticed Pat. He rose and gave a slight nod of acknowledgement, his hand moving casually to the head of the heavy war hammer that rested in a sling at his hip.

"Welcome!" His voice boomed with good-natured cheer. "If you're here to sit and share our fire, food, and stories, you are welcome! I'm Mikael."

Pat could hear the hard 'k' and wondered if he was Scandinavian or had changed his name after The System arrived. He'd seen a lot of weird groups and this wouldn't be the first he'd seen that had changed their identities to match the skills they took on. He tensed and moved his hands to the police batons at his waist as casually as he could. The way Mikael's eyes flicked to them showed that the motion was not missed.

"Uh, thanks. I appreciate that but I'm not here on a social call, I'm here to retrieve something I lost." His eyes flicked to the girl hiding behind the cooking pot.

Mikael looked back over his shoulder and regarded the girl, then turned to face Pat again. His smile hadn't changed but the look in his eyes grew flinty. "If it's the girl you're after, I'd say she is no longer lost."

"Irregardless, she needs to come back with me. Thank you for keeping her safe, I'll just take her and be on my way now."

The small whimper could be heard across the campsite and all other activity ceased. Pops, cracks, and the sound of a metal spoon constantly stirring the cast iron pot sounded loud in the sudden silence.

"Irregardless…" Mikael chuckled and shook his head. "Anyway, stranger, we only have three rules here. The first is 'if it harms no one, do as you will.' The second is that, with the exception of the Warlord in times of battle, all men and women are equal here and can make their own decisions. The third is that we all work towards the betterment of the Clan, and each are judged by their actions. You've been given guest rights and we will treat you with all the hospitality we can afford, provided you give us no reason not to. But this girl," he waved his hand back at her, "has made her decision. She's requested to stay here with us, and her request has been granted."

The bloom of red that started in Pat's face spread to his neck and to the top of his bald head. He subconsciously adjusted the kevlar vest he wore under his loose plaid shirt.

"Well see now, boy, that's just not going to work for me." He took a menacing step forward, pushing his chest out. If there had been any doubt that he'd been a police officer before The System there was none now, everyone here recognizing the posturing and tone change immediately. Despite being a head shorter than Mikael he thumped a finger into his chest. "You've stolen my property and I aim to get it back."

Rustling sounded across the clearing and Pat swiveled his head in a practiced motion, surveying the local threats. No one moved to stand but everyone's hand was now resting on a weapon.

Step one, establish authority. Step two, good cop time. Pat stepped back, raising both hands in the air before hooking them onto his tactical belt. He put on a disarming smile that had been used in hundreds of domestic violence and crowd control situations. "Listen man, there's no need for trouble. I've just come to collect what we lost and then I'll be on my way. There's no reason for this to go sideways. Wouldn't it be nice if you friendly folk could go back to the delicious dinner that I smell cooking over there? What is that, some sort of beef stew? That smells mighty good, if I wasn't in such a rush I'd ask to sit with you and play some of your games. You seem like good folk - not the type that want to get involved in a situation that they could have avoided." His smile beamed with all the friendliness of an oiled-up ferret.

Mikael paused before responding. "We?"

Fuck! Pat realized his error. Suddenly the friendliness was gone from his tone. "Look, no more fucking around. Hand over the girl and I'll be on my way. You don't want the trouble we'll bring."

There was rustling from around them then and the Clan jumped to their feet, immediately moving back-to-back in small groups as a dozen men in police gear stepped out of the woods around them. Pat whistled and there was a scuffling behind him, another officer with a bushy mustache dragging a young man into the clearing.

"Sig!" Mikael stepped forward but was halted by a baton poking into his chest.

"We found this kid wandering around out there and decided we'd honor his request to be a guest at our camp."

Mikael ignored Pat's smug grin, he only had eyes for the teenage boy and the bruises and abrasions that covered most of his exposed skin. His hands were bound in front of him with thick police-issue zip ties. "Sig, is this true?"

Sig lifted his head, his one good eye blazing in defiance. He spat a bloody wad of phlegm on the ground at Pat's feet and shook his head.

"Well, the choice was more of a 'tell us where the girl is or we'll kill you' kind of request, but even that took some doing. The kid is tough, but we have a lot of experience getting information from lowlife punks."

Mikael's smile was gone and he radiated danger in waves. Pat flinched involuntarily when he met the man's eyes. "You've made a grave mistake." Mikael's voice was the sound of ancient boulders grinding against each other. "But not one that can't be undone. We will be taking Sig back and we can even forgive the damage done to him, but you won't be getting the girl. That is my dictate. What is yours?"

"You give us the girl, we give you the boy, we all go our separate ways without anyone getting hurt."

"And what would you do with her?" Everyone knew the answer, but the question needed to be asked. The Clan judged people by their actions.

"None of your fucking business, that's what."

Mikael sighed. "Well then we are at an impasse. We can fight, many of us will die, and you may still not get what you want. Is that where you see this going, friend?"

Pat was at a loss for words. He was no hostage negotiator - his methods were more 'kick the door down, bust a bunch of jaws, let the interrogation room figure out the rest later.' The man holding Sig stepped forward and whispered something into Pat's ear. He listened without taking his eyes off Mikael, then nodded.

"Do your people follow all the Viking traditions?"

"Some," Mikael's response was wary.

"What about single combat? Winner take all?"

Mikael's eyebrow rose in surprise. "You want to challenge us for the girl?"

Pat nodded. "You win, you get the boy here and keep the girl. I win and I take them both."

"What do you want with the boy?"

Pat's sheepish expression disappeared an instant after it passed across his face. "Let's just say that not all of our group are as interested in the girl as they are in the boy."

For the first time Mikael's stoic expression cracked, but only slightly. He nodded. "Understand this, then. You will face the Warlord in single combat. If you lose, you and your… group," he spat that word, "will leave peacefully. If you win we will not stop you from leaving the circle of this camp. Is that understood? Do you agree?"

Pat's smile was wicked. "I understand and agree." He raised a baton and pointed it at Mikael. "I challenge you to single combat!"

Laughter echoed around the camp, the police force surrounding them tensing at the sound. Mikael threw his head back in a booming laugh. "Why would you challenge me? I'm not the Warlord."

The Clan cherished the look of confusion on Pat's face.

"You're not? Then who?"

Mikael stepped to the side, sweeping his hand backwards with a huge smile. At the cook fire the red headed woman stood up with a sigh, brushing off her knees before pulling the apron off. She was unhurried as she tasted a spoonful of the stew, then lifted the massive pot easily and set it on the ground next to the fire. "Soup's done everyone. I'll try get this over with quick so it doesn't get cold."

More laughter.

Mikael stepped back to the fire and reached for the spoon sitting in the pot, only to be hit on the side of the head with a flying stick. "Hey!" the woman said, "wait for everyone else!"

He smiled and had the decency to look chagrined.

She turned back to Pat and stepped to within a few feet of him. "I'm Kiona, the Warlord of this camp. I'm giving you one last opportunity. Irregardless of what has happened up to this point, you have a chance to back out. It's more than you deserve, but it's what I'm offering." A few small titters broke out from her use of the word, but most were silent. The excited anticipation was miasmic and everyone had turned to watch the scene in the middle of camp.

"You?!" Pat's voice was incredulous. "A fucking woman? Girl, I'm a fucking 20-year veteran of the police department and was busting heads long before The System beefed me up. No way I'm fucking up a slip of a girl."

Her calm demeanor slipped. "Fucking cops, man. You guys all suck." She wasted no more words, stepping backwards into a ready stance, a light ax just slightly larger than a hatchet in one hand and a small, round wooden shield on the other.

Pat looked around helplessly. "This has to be a fucking joke!" He pointed at Mikael. "You come out here! I'll fight you!"

Mikael looked at him, slurping loudly from the ladle. Kiona rolled her eyes.

Pat sighed. "Fuck it. C'mon bitch, it's your funeral."

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She sprinted at him, fast as hell and hitting harder than any girl her size had a right to. He grunted with an appreciative nod to her strength. Not enough to best him, he realized - he was holding her ax back with his baton with relative ease. Her shield flashed into view in a sideways arc but he deflected it with the other baton, ducking under the blow. He kicked into her exposed gut and smiled at the grunt of pain and the way she stumbled back. Maybe I'll take this one too. She'll take some breaking, but Joe loves a little struggle.

Kiona was forward again in an instant, not letting herself get locked up. She struck like a wild animal, blows coming fast and furious and from every angle. She spun, dropped to her knees, leapt into the air, harrying him with a non-stop deluge of blows. He was thrown off balance at the unpredictability of her attacks at first, barely able to keep his limbs out of reach of the weapons.

Fuck me she's fast! Thank fuck all that her reach is so short. He had been in enough brawls with meth heads and sneaky minorities to know how to handle her. He was getting the feel for her attacks and just had to wait for her to wear herself out. No way the bitch can keep this up forever. I just need to conserve my energy.

The fight had only been going for a few minutes, but the hollow sounds of shield and ax hitting the reinforced batons were like the clamoring of a dozen blacksmiths. Kiona was a feral animal, giving no chance for her prey to rest. Pat had no choice but to stay defensive, blocking everything that came his way. Any attempt to take advantage of an opening was halted or punished by another lightning-quick strike.

He could see the end, though, and so could his men. He risked a glance around and saw that his men were smiling. They were veterans of the streets as well and they could see what he did - she was slowing. Her moves were becoming more sloppy, more desperate. It wouldn't be long before she made a mistake she couldn't back out from.

So why didn't her people look nervous?

There! She tripped as she was sliding backwards, arms going wide to balance herself. He was on her in a second, another kick to her stomach. Right in the babymaker! He laughed when he kicked her again, Right in the cunt! Then again in the face when she bent forward in pain. This bitch was going to learn her lesson today. Her head thumped with a satisfying hollow-gourd sound when she hit the ground, her eyes rolling back in her head. He was on her in an instant, ignoring the batons for the satisfaction of using his fists to pummel the shit out of her uppity face.

"THAT'LL. FUCKING. TEACH. YOU!" Each breathless word was punctuated by a knuckled fist to the face as he straddled her. He stood up, wiping the blood off his hands onto his pants. He walked back to the clearing and hooked his thumbs in his belt before addressing the crowd. "IS THAT IT? IS THIS YOUR GREATEST WARRIOR?"

There was silence, then a few chuckles, then laughs. He grew furious at his moment of victory being stolen by these assholes who seemed to laugh at every fucking thing. "What? What's wrong with all of you?"

By now the laughter had reached a crescendo, some were doubled over, holding their stomachs. More than a few wiped tears from their eyes.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ALL OF YOU??"

"We never said she was our greatest warrior."

Pat whipped his head around to Mikael. He was smiling, then pointed with the ladle. "We said she's our Warlord."

Pat looked to where the man was pointing and saw Kiona getting to her feet. She spat blood onto the ground, then wiped her arm with her sleeve. Behind her Mikael began tapping the cooking pot with the spoon in an even rhythm. Around the camp a humming started, growing in intensity. A few voices broke from the humming to sing a low dirge, things that sounded almost like words flowing through the air like living things - unidentifiable but full of portent.

"Stop that!" His shout barely carried over the haunting song. "I said fucking stop!" He waved his batons ominously, stomping in one direction, then another - not able to focus on any one person long enough to crack their stupid skulls.

Then the beat sped up, Mikael's tapping taking on more and more complicated rhythms. Before long it was a staccato drumbeat that changed pace so frequently it addled Pat's thoughts, always unpredictable but always a part of a greater rhythm. It was both discordant and harmonious. Red was bleeding into his vision and his rage began to grow. As it reached heights he had always known was in him - but had never let anyone outside of his victims to see - he realized something was wrong. He spun to face Kiona.

"Make them stop or I'll fucking beat you into pieces you fucking cunt!"

Kiona regarded him with an almost bored expression as she turned to Mikael, who tossed her a wooden staff with something mounted to the top. She snatched it out of the air with practiced ease.

"Is that a… a fucking microphone?" He knew it wasn't powered, it was attached to a piece of wood for fuck's sake - but he'd been around enough since The System to know that sometimes people had wands and shit. Every hair on his body stood up as the innate danger sense he'd honed over decades in the police force screamed at him that his life was in danger. He took off at a sprint, steel-toed boots pounding the earth with every step.

Then she began to sing. It started as something soft, sounding for all the world like a cello made with human vocal cords and brushed by the soul. He was only a step away when the sound hit him and he stopped, body frozen. His arm was raised, baton ready to crash down on the skull that was within reach now, his entire body quivering with the momentum that had been stalled instantly. She turned her eyes around the camp and the song amplified, passing through her people and arresting the charges of the police officers that had started rushing the unaware Clan.

The clan took up her song and mirrored it perfectly, some adding bass, others soprano, others harmonizing, but all of it an amplification of the song their Warlord had begun. She nodded in approval and dropped her voice to a low hum, the Clan keeping the attackers held in place with their song. She brushed the microphone gently, shimmering iridescent colors mixing with a deep black, metallic smoke wound around the talisman from her former life. The colors swam and moved, flowing from her voice and into the head of the mic.

Her gaze flashed upwards and suddenly Pat had her full attention.

Mikael's drumming reached a speed that no human should have been able to match. Kiona took in a deep breath, the blue in her eyes looking suddenly like shattered glass.

Then she screamed.

Not a scream of terror or rage or anger, but a song that embodied all of that - and every other destructive human emotion. Every rage, every pain, every fear, every lost hope, every depression, every great loss - all of it was blended together like the colors and smoke he'd seen flow into that microphone. The song erupted out of her in a scream that was simultaneously controlled and out of control, a definition of controlled chaos that hadn't existed before now. It billowed from her and across the microphone in a solid beam made of nightmares.

Pat's face melted first, then the rest of him followed.

Character Sheet:

Kiona, Level: 14

Class: Skald of Fury

Core Stats

STR: 14 AGI: 14 END: 21 INT: 18 LUC: 10 CHA: 24 (22)

Combat Skills

Melee Combat: Basic 1 Ranged Combat: Basic 1 Defense: Basic 1 Tactics: Basic 5 Attack: 2 Defense: 3

Magic and Technology

Magic Affinity: Basic 2 Tech Savvy: Basic 1 Spellcraft: Basic 2 Enchantments: Intermediate 3

Ancillary Skills

Leadership: Intermediate 2 Survival: Intermediate 1 Crafting: Basic 3 Stealth: Basic 1

Special Attributes

Battle Singer's Voice: Your voice can channel destructive sonic magic, creating both emotional manipulation and physical damage.

 

Achievements:

Duel for Leadership (Recognized) Title of Warlord must be held for 24 hours after winning the duel for leadership for effects to take effect. While you are the leader of the Forsung Clan your magical abilities all get a +25% to their effectiveness while conducting actions that are beneficial to the Clan. In addition, some of your magical abilities may be shared to the Clan for limited times provided that at least 75% of the Clan supports you. All shared effects are voluntary and no member of the Clan may be forced to use the ability. Any attempts to force a member of the Clan to use the shared ability will result in the spell failing and be unable to be used for 24 hours. Protector of the Clan (Recognized) Title of Warlord amplifies all skills and abilities used while in defense of your Clan.

 

Skills and Abilities:

Voice of Command 2

War Song of the Fallen 2

Sonic Devastation 3

Skill Name: Voice of Command Type: Crowd Control / Sonic Manipulation Level: 2 Description: Your commanding presence is amplified through the power of your voice, allowing you to momentarily halt the momentum of enemies. Whether through the low, resonant hum of your voice or a sharp command, those who hear you are stopped in their tracks, overwhelmed by the force of your sonic control. This skill channels the raw authority of a battle-hardened leader, freezing those who hear your voice into submission for a brief moment. The power of your voice bypasses physical defenses, locking your targets in place with a blend of intimidation, resonance, and the magic infused into your words.

This skill can be shared with the Clan and will continue as long as the endurance of all members of the clan lasts or until any member makes a physical attack on any target.

Effects:

Halt

: All targets who hear your command must make a resistance check. Those who fail are temporarily paralyzed until the song ends or they are able to overpower the effect.

Sonic Resonance

: The power of your voice disrupts the energy flow of targets. Magic casters and those with mana-based abilities are temporarily silenced for 5 seconds.

Unshakable Focus

: While using the skill, your allies who hear the command also receive a focus boost, negating all fear effects for 10 seconds and increasing their coordination by 10%.

Limitations:

Targets Enemies:

This spell cannot be cast on any targets who are not actively engaged in an attack. It cannot be used preemptively.

Cooldown

: The skill can only be used once per day.

Physical Toll

: The spell is broken by any physical attack made on the target.

Sound-Dependent

: Targets must be able to hear your voice for the skill to affect them. Soundproof environments or deaf targets are unaffected.

Skill Name: War Song of the Fallen Type: Support/Utility Skill Level: 2 Description: Your voice can inspire your allies, making them resistant to fear and giving them a temporary strength boost. The song lasts for as long as you continue to sing, though prolonged use drains your endurance. This skill can be shared with the Clan and will continue as long as the endurance of all members of the clan lasts.

Effects:

Courageous Anthem:

Allies within a 50-foot radius receive +20% to their Endurance and resistance to fear-based effects.

Frenzied Chorus:

When this song is used during battle, allies' attack speed is increased by 10% for the song's duration.

Skills and Abilities

Skill Name: Sonic Devastation Type: Combat/Magic Skill Level: 3 Description: Using your voice, you can emit destructive sound waves that vary in intensity, from emotional manipulation to physical damage. The intensity and effect of the sound depend on your Charisma stat and proximity to the target.

Effects:

Sonic Shatter:

When at full strength, your voice can crack physical objects like glass, stone, and even steel.

Emotional Wave

: Emit sound frequencies that induce fear, rage, or despair in listeners.

Amplified Shockwave:

By funneling your voice into the microphone talisman, you can release a focused, beam-like shockwave that deals damage on a focused target. This beam can melt or burn through objects.

Special Items:

Item Name: Voicebreaker Type: Magic Tool Rarity: Rare Description: This enchanted microphone channels and amplifies the raw sonic power of the user's voice, boosting both its destructive and supportive capacities. The talisman glows with an ethereal black and iridescent shimmer when in use. It functions as both a focus for spells and a devastating weapon in your hands.

Effects:

Voice Amplification:

Increases the damage of all sonic-based attacks by 25% when using the talisman.

Wave Focus:

You can concentrate your sound into a beam for targeted attacks, making your sonic damage more precise and potent.

Emotion Infusion:

Enhances your emotional manipulation abilities, allowing you to sway larger groups of people or amplify negative emotions in a single target.

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