Gylwinth: You are just returning to your home in the border wood. You've been foraging to the north for the last week for a special root that is needed to make a stomach soothing elixir and a leaf that, when brewed into a tea, has the ability to calm the wildest hysterics. You've been traveling almost all day when you see a familiar tree line to the south. It's good to be home. Your comfort only lasts a moment though when you notice something strange, a chill is on the wind. Strange for this time of year..
.
As Gylwinth leaves the plains and approaches the Borderwood, the sun dips most of the way down over the horizon to her right. As she watches her shadows play along the ground to the east, she notices the glint of metal two miles off, just at the edge of the woods.
Ben and Rolly sit in a booth at the Silver Stoat. The wine stained oaken table is oversized for such a narrow seating area, but it’s popular with the local gamblers, so Menander and Kale have resisted replacing it with something more appropriate. Rolly is forced to sit all the way back to make room for his barrel chest, but that just means more leg room for Ben.
It’s sundown on Fireday and that means the day shift of the lumber mill just let out. The place is packed. Over the normal buzz of the crowd, Old farmer Dansby can be heard engaging in one of his usual rants to someone unfortunate enough to have made eye contact with him. Something about a few of his crops freezing.
Rolly’s wine and Ben’s ale are getting a little low but Mara seems to be making the rounds, so it’s not too much of a worry.
Mara has had quite the day. It’s Fireday which means pay day for the folks who work the lumbermill. This also means that Mara is forced to abandon her studies and her true joy, the arcane arts, for an evening of helping her adopted parents, Menander and Kale by waiting tables at the Stoat. Normally it’s not so bad since her parents do all of the prep work during the day, but today the first cask of summer blackberry wine has arrived from Oppara and the stuff is insanely popular. It also stains absolutely everything it touches.
To make matters worse, a local hunter named Dryden Kepp was in here all afternoon, deep in his cups, going on about some wild white weasel the size of a horse that he had spotted a day or two back. When he caught a few of the patrons chuckling, he downed the rest of his ale and stomped off vowing to catch the thing. Now, it’s only sun down and Old farmer Dansby is yelling to anyone who will listen about something destroying his crops. It’s going to be one of those nights it seems.
Gylwinth turns her back to the falling sun and squints her eyes to get a better look. The metal reflection seems to be coming from a humanoid that is sprawled out in the grass.
Findel has caught an exciting scent on the air. Blood! ..and something behind it, more faint. The smell of a man.
"Uuuuhhhg" a low groan followed by a few weak coughs comes from the heap of a man in the grass. As Gylwinth approaches, she sees that he looks as bad as he sounds.
In a pile before you is an ulfen man, he's got the armor and sword of a soldier but his long blonde hair and beard are streaked with red. He's got what seem to be hundreds of tiny cuts slashed through armor and flesh alike. The most disturbing aspect of him though, is that his nose, cheeks, and fingers have taken on a blacked hue. A telltale sign of frostbite.
Rolly takes a long pull of the wine in the ceramic goblet it was served in, thin streams of the dark crimson liquid escaping out the sides of his mouth and down his short beard. He curses as some of the wine spills onto his tunic. "Damnation! I just washed this thing a few days ago. An' this stuff stains worsen' orc blood! Well, mebbe not quite as bad, an' at least it don't stink nowhere's near as bad." He gives a good laugh at that.
"Mara!" he yells out, not content to wait his turn. "Why dontcha bring me some o' that blackberry wine? An' don't be stingy, lass!" Turning back to Ben, he comments, "Fine lass, she is, but slower'n molasses runnin' uphill in winter. Like she don't really want to be here, I'm guessin'.
"Not bad lookin' fer a human, though. Whattya think, Benny; you gonna try yer luck? We been here a few days an' you ain't made a move yet; that's not like ya!" Rolly beems a wide grin and then drains the cup, a few more rivulets of the wine dropping off his chin.
The man stirs a bit at the sound of your voice, but makes no other sound. His wounds continue to bleed and it looks like he may die soon if he doesn't receive some medical attention soon.
Rolly takes a long pull of the wine in the ceramic goblet it was served in, thin streams of the dark crimson liquid escaping out the sides of his mouth and down his short beard. He curses as some of the wine spills onto his tunic. "Damnation! I just washed this thing a few days ago. An' this stuff stains worsen' orc blood! Well, mebbe not quite as bad, an' at least it don't stink nowhere's near as bad." He gives a good laugh at that.
"Mara!" he yells out, not content to wait his turn. "Why dontcha bring me some o' that blackberry wine? An' don't be stingy, lass!" Turning back to Ben, he comments, "Fine lass, she is, but slower'n molasses runnin' uphill in winter. Like she don't really want to be here, I'm guessin'.
"Not bad lookin' fer a human, though. Whattya think, Benny; you gonna try yer luck? We been here a few days an' you ain't made a move yet; that's not like ya!" Rolly beems a wide grin and then drains the cup, a few more rivulets of the wine dropping off his chin.
Ben drains his mug neatly before running a hand through his shaggy hair.
"Aye, she's a fair one t'be sure but she's also the hospitality's daughter, ne? I like to keep it, ah, touch and go fer lack of a better term.""Besides",he whispers,"somethin' about her gives me a powerful chill... and I don't like what that farmer's sayin' bout his crops goin' frozen. Might be time to find the next caravan soon, ne?"
Ben drains his mug neatly before running a hand through his shaggy hair.
"Aye, she's a fair one t'be sure but she's also the hospitality's daughter, ne? I like to keep it, ah, touch and go fer lack of a better term.""Besides",he whispers,"somethin' about her gives me a powerful chill... and I don't like what that farmer's sayin' bout his crops goin' frozen. Might be time to find the next caravan soon, ne?"
"Yeah, I think yer right. Next job that comes through, we take. Or mebbe better yet, we can always begin the trek to a larger city, where we can hook up with someone headin' to Garund. Whattya think?"
"Yeah, I think yer right. Next job that comes through, we take. Or mebbe better yet, we can always begin the trek to a larger city, where we can hook up with someone headin' to Garund. Whattya think?"Ben drains his mug neatly before running a hand through his shaggy hair.
"Aye, she's a fair one t'be sure but she's also the hospitality's daughter, ne? I like to keep it, ah, touch and go fer lack of a better term.""Besides",he whispers,"somethin' about her gives me a powerful chill... and I don't like what that farmer's sayin' bout his crops goin' frozen. Might be time to find the next caravan soon, ne?"
"Ah, that's a right notion Rolly ol' boy. Garund... pretty hot in those parts, neh? I hear they got a huge temple in Osirian, right? Shaped like a giant beetle! That'd be a sight."
Looking left then right, Gylwinth finally stops hesitating and delivers Her gift as she softly hums over the man's wounds. None of them close really, though the bleeding almost stops and the man feels relieved of some of the pain: "Calm... She with us. Can you feel her? Calm..."
[dice=CLW]1d8+1
The bleeding slows to a stop and the man's breathing grows more steady, but he remains unresponsive.
Mara has had quite the day. It’s Fireday which means pay day for the folks who work the lumbermill. This also means that Mara is forced to abandon her studies and her true joy, the arcane arts, for an evening of helping her adopted parents, Menander and Kale by waiting tables at the Stoat. Normally it’s not so bad since her parents do all of the prep work during the day, but today the first cask of summer blackberry wine has arrived from Oppara and the stuff is insanely popular. It also stains absolutely everything it touches.
To make matters worse, a local hunter named Dryden Kepp was in here all afternoon, deep in his cups, going on about some wild white weasel the size of a horse that he had spotted a day or two back. When he caught a few of the patrons chuckling, he downed the rest of his ale and stomped off vowing to catch the thing. Now, it’s only sun down and Old farmer Dansby is yelling to anyone who will listen about something destroying his crops. It’s going to be one of those nights it seems.
"Mara!" he yells out, not content to wait his turn. "Why dontcha bring me some o' that blackberry wine? An' don't be stingy, lass!"
Mara huffs, blowing her raven-black hair out of her face to reveal the livid scar stretching across her right cheek as she picks up another tray of full wine goblets from the bar. "Just hold your horses, Rolly Skullsplitter! And if you think I'm being stingy with the wine, just wring some out of your shirt and into your cup!" she retorts. "Honestly! If you want to take some home with you, just buy a cask instead of pouring it all over your beard and clothes!"
The young woman delivers her drinks throughout the common room, trying to avoid old farmer Dansby as he launches yet again into a tirade about his destroyed crops. Finally she deposits two full goblets before Rolly and Ben Shrike. "A temple shaped like a giant beetle?" she asks, picking up on the end of their conversation. "Let me guess - a dung beetle, right? I could see why that would interest both of you."
Mara turns away and then suddenly staggers, hissing in a sharp breath as she clutches Ben's shoulder to keep her balance. "What is it Mother Theodora says? 'By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes'," she whispers to herself. Seeing that she still grips Ben's shoulder, she quickly releases him and straightens. "Sorry. Just got a sudden... chill... Like someone just walked over my grave," she explains, smiling apologetically despite the worry evident in her eyes.
"Anyone seen Gylwinth today?" Mara calls to her father as she makes her way back to the bar.
Rolly roars with laughter at Mara's retorts. "Wring out my shirt? Never! Even I have standards, lass!"
He slows to a chuckle when he sees her grab Ben's shoulder, and when she staggers, the smile dries up to a concerned look. "Ya OK, lass? Chills seem ta be goin' around a lot, all of a sudden."
"I'm fine," Mara replies, giving Rolly a half-hearted smile. "Just a strange... feeling... is all. Like something's not quite right... Or something's about to happen. Maybe it's Krepp's talk of giant white weasels or Farmer Dansby and his crops..."
"Or maybe it's that last cask of wine I opened and just served to you - it smelled a little off," she adds, her expression regaining her usual mischievous grin.
"A temple shaped like a giant beetle?" she asks, picking up on the end of their conversation. "Let me guess - a dung beetle, right? I could see why that would interest both of you."
"Why, love, I am simply shocked. Shocked! At your supposition. Not for myself or my companion, naturally- both of us have dodged far worse than a slight to our class and distinction, ne? No, rather for the good people of Osirion who must- in unison- have grimaced with such a careless slander to their beautiful country."
Mara turns away and then suddenly staggers, hissing in a sharp breath as she clutches Ben's shoulder to keep her balance. "What is it Mother Theodora says? 'By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes'," she whispers to herself. Seeing that she still grips Ben's shoulder, she quickly releases him and straightens. "Sorry. Just got a sudden... chill... Like someone just walked over my grave," she explains, smiling apologetically despite the worry evident in her eyes.
All mirth is gone from Ben's face.
"It's time teh scarper, 'fore any of us catch our 28 whether we deserve it or not. None of that talk's good for anythin', what the chatter's about is even worse and I don't need me lucky sausage teh say so."
Gylwinth makes her way to the village using the shortest path she knows. She feels the man groan on her shoulder: "Better this than the woods? Be strong! We're almost there."
She tries to hide her own pain as she struggles under the man's weight. On her heels, Findel calmly sniffs at the herbs, his nose enjoying the tinge of an early frost.
After about two hours travel, the sun has fully sunken below the horizon, but Heldren is in sight. Most of the buildings are dark, with the exception of a few homes, but to no surprise, the Silver Stoat is brightly lit and you can hear the sounds of merriment from here.
With a loud bang, the door to the Stoat swings open as dark haired woman and a blonde haired man tumble in.
"There's talking about leaving and then there's actually leaving... if people are getting hurt, may at least try to do something before we split...", Ben thinks to himself before getting to his feet and running to the duo stumbling in.
"You all right, love? Bit of a stumble but is that the worst of it?", he says, helping the dark haired woman to her feet.
"Why don't ye take a rest then, ne?", he says, patting the young woman's arm.
"Lucky for 'im ye keep fit, eh love?", he adds with a wink.
Gingerly, pretending that he knows what he's doing, Ben elevates the prone man's shoulders.
"Any o' you strappin' lads want to give me a hand? Swift feet, clever fingers and awe-inspiring handsomeness I have, but raw strength ain't my strongest suit."
As the woman bursts into the room, Rolly chokes on the blackberry wine, spilling a bit more down his front. He slams it down and rushes over to help Ben get the man more upright. "Hey, lad, you a'right?"
As the woman bursts into the room, Rolly chokes on the blackberry wine, spilling a bit more down his front.
Mara slaps Rolly on the back and gives the dwarf a look with one eyebrow raised, giving the latest wine-stain on his shirt a meaningful glance.
Gylwinth accepts the hand offered and gets back to her feet, then blushes somewhat as she takes in the sight of Ben. She caches herself, drops her gaze and says: "I found him dying. He needs help!" The words are blurted and she turns to Mara for support.
At Gylwinth's call Mara rushes over to tend to the injured man. "What happened, Gyl? Where did you find him?" the tavern girl asks without looking up from her patient.
As she inspects the man's wounds, a midnight-black raven glides down from the rafters and perches on the young woman's shoulder, studying the wounded man as well with its beady eyes.
Sister Mara finds small slashes through the mans armor and flesh. She also finds several puncture wounds similar to what a crossbow or arrow would leave. There are no bolts or arrows though, and no exit wounds.
The black patches on his nose, cheeks, and fingers though, are quite obviously frost bite.
"This man has frostbite," Mara announces incredulously. "Muninn, please fetch Mother Theodora. She has the healer's touch; I'm afraid there's not much more I can do for him."
The raven perched on Mara's shoulder bobs its head and then takes wing, flapping out the open window.
"So, uh, either o' you lovely ladies know if this sod's got kin in town? I might could rouse them 'fore Rolly and I hit the road."
"Frostbite? That's a bit strange, eh? Yeah, Ben, that's a good idea. Let's get his kin up 'ere."
Rolly
Rolly's eyes suddenly flash with recognition. "Yuln? That you, man? Ben, look closer ... it's Yuln Oerstag! From the last caravan!" Rolly shakes him a bit, trying to get him to respond.
"Yuln, what happened? C'mon, man, answer me!"
Slowly, Gylwinth recuperates. She sits up and offers: "Frostbite? It is odd, for it wasn't cold where I found him. Perhaps some wild creature using frost is hunting in the woods?"
"I haven't heard of such creatures around here before," Mara replies with a frown. "Maybe Mother Theodora will know better than me."
The door to the Stoat creaks open again and a woman with the posture of a troll walks through. Old Mother Theodora looks as though she may have been six feet tall at some time but those days passed long, long ago. She stands closer to five and half now, including the wild mass of curly white hair on her head. She is dressed in layers of ratty robes and has two tusks where her lower incisors would be that give away a heritage of something other than human. "Mara!" she croaks "Your damned bird is flapping about my head again! Don't you feed this damned.. oh." She cuts her rant off short when she sees the fallen Ulfen on the floor. "And who is this then?"
"Gyl found him by the forest, Mother Theodora," Mara explains as Muninn wings into the tavern to land on the young woman's shoulder. "Rolly here says the man's name is Yuln Oerstag - he was with the last caravan. There's a number of small slashes and puncture wounds through his armor and flesh, although no signs of bolts or arrows and no exit wounds. And he's suffering from frostbite..." she lets the oddity of that last statement hang in the air.
"How'n the world did he get frostbit? That's just not right, I tell ya."
"Hmmm.. strange, yes." Mother Theodora leans in to give the man a closer look. "Well, I can help with the open wounds now." The woman pulls a vial full of a cloudy orange liquid from somewhere deep in her robes and swishes it around while holding it up to torch light. "Mmm, yes, this is the one. Pour this down his throat" jabbing the potion into Rollys chest. "I'll have to concoct a salve for those burns. I'll need some of those berries from behind that gnomes house and a few robins eggs..her voice trails off into unintelligible muttering as she turns and exits the Stoat.
"Here now, Ben, hold 'im good while I take care o' this." Rolly does as the old woman says and pours the concoction down Yuln's throat.