After surviving the plot against them in Trollheim, by Runa White and Hjort bloodaxe, our group intends to travel on to Whitethrone, the capital of the icy nation of Irrisen. Their mission is to rescue Rognvald Skagni, a fellow Pathfinder and scholar of some renown. They are also tasked with investigating the up-start Shadow lodge and deflect or defeat any further plans or machinations this ill conceived group may have.
In order to gain entry to the country, they will join a mixed caravan of merchants and hunters on a diplomatic mission to Irrisen. The party will disguised themselves as simple merchant guards or warriors. With this ruse, they might managed to pass the notoriously well guarded Irrisen border, and avoid the wrath of its bizarre chicken-legged huts.
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As the party continues to get to know their newest member - and razz Craggark - at the Hunting Serpent, Jamir pulls a whetstone out of his pack and lays it on the table. With obviously false nonchalance, he draws his shiny new masterwork rapier from the sheath hanging from his belt, angling it so that his friends can all see the ornate scrollwork embellishing the guard. He begins sharpening the blade, taking care not to get steel shavings in his ale.
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"That is quite dangerous looking!" Analia says with a mixture of respect and curiosity.
She continues to sip her tea, but can't seem to take her eyes off the pretty new blade Jamir has before him.
That must be lovely in motion, catching the light with each slash, thrust and twirl! I must see that! Ohh...by firelight that would look even better... she sighs wistfully... and a dreamy smile crosses her lips as she looks at Jamir sharpening his blade...
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"Shiny indeed and quite pretty. Yet, for a cold land you need a cold blade."
Jawhar pulls out his new masterwork cold iron scimitar, pointing out it's superior balance and the fine supple leather that wraps the hilt.
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Such brilliance! Such cold beauty! I wonder...
With a flick of her finger and nothing more, a group of bobbing, glowing spheres appear, each of a different color but radiating light similar to a torch.
They dance around the table just above the heads of the seated members, illuminating the blades upon the table in red, blue and green light...
"They are simply beautiful. Each of them." Then looking to Craggark, she tilts her small head, and blinks her large silver eyes. "As are you."
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Craggark goes full violet and tries to maintain his composure.
"Nice blades, fellows. I didn't buy much with my take. I'm saving up for something nice and shiny of my own." He looks under the table at the tattered sheets of paper. "And maybe a part ownership in a caravan business. I thought it's about time that the rest of the Linnorm States get regular ice pepper exposure. Maybe even further south. Something to keep all the folks warm when they come to the icy north, eh, Jawhar?"
Craggark is still exceedingly violet as his eyes land again on Lia.
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"I did not know you had the ability to change your skin color so much Craggark! That must come in quite useful while hunting. Can you disguise your scent as well? Presently it seems very potent... " Analia says innocently...as she sniffs the air briefly before settling back to sip her tea.
She is an unusual creature for sure, with large silver eyes and long narrow ears that stick out to the side of her head. Her small pretty nose sits above pale delicate lips that can be quite expressive when she gets excited.
She gets straight to the point when she speaks, and she seems to lack tact when she does, but there has yet to be anger or malice in any of her words.
She has warmed to this group as they talk and laugh. This feels like home, for the first time in weeks. It feels like home, only warmer, and strangely... right.
Finished with her tea, she smiles and pushes the cup away, leaning back in her chair. She takes off the outer layer of her thick cold weather jacket, revealing a slender body clad in sturdy form fitting cloth of dark grey and reds.
"So, would you mind if I joined you on your next excursion? I promise to be of service and not be in the way." her smile is genuine, but her eyes seem to be pleading...
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"We'll have to clear it with Captain Benarry, but I don't see any problem with that if you've got your Wayfinder." Torvald frowns thoughtfully, then gives his crate on the table a pat. "Er, Lia, is there anything alchemical I could make that might assist you? Most of my crafting was done with general utility in mind, but I'd be happy to put something together for you. You too Jamir, if you want another Fireward gel I could hopefully whip one up!"
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"Yeah, Captain Benarry, right," Craggark stammers as he tries very hard not to look at Lia. "For me, I have no worries that you wouldn't be in the way. Yup...............I've got to pee."
The half-orc springs up suddenly, knocking his chair to the ground behind him. He marches out the front door of the inn.
.........
Five minutes later, the newly-blue Craggark comes back inside. "This isn't the Famous Original Knot Head at all, Jamir! This is the Hunting Serpent." He rights his toppled chair backwards, straddles it, and says with a rakish smile, "And speaking of serpents..." He suddenly remembers the company at the table, his eyes going wide.
"Um, they, um, aren't seen much in these parts?" he says in a manner that indicates that this was not the original thing that was going to come out of his once-again-purple face.
ARRRRRRRRRRRRGH.
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Looking to Torvald with an excited expression, Analia replies with great alacrity, "Reagent black powder, reagent saltpeter, and reagent urea, as well as alchemical grease, alchemist's fire, and liquid ice are all power components to spells that I can cast. By that I mean, they are not required as such, but they increase the power of certain spells. I have coin of my own to buy those things, but you have my thanks for any that you can make." Then she halts her speaking abruptly and stares at Torvald, almost vibrating as she waits for a response.
As Craggark comments about bodily needs and consequently springs up from the table, she barely seems to notice, as she continues to stare at the kind dwarven alchemist before her...
I had not dared to ask before, but since he offered...Oh to have saltpeter and black powder! The way the fire and ice would burn... delicious.
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Craggark takes a deep breath and looks pointedly into Lia's eyes, rising from his chair. The inevitable formal tone that ends his speech surprises even himself.
"Are you a Snowcaster? I've never met one of your people before, but I've heard all sorts of stories. If so, please know that I, Craggark Frostkin of the Miusunnit, will protect you, Lia, Twilight Speaker, and will be certain that your return to your people is unimpeded once your work with us is done. So I pledge, upon my body's warmth." Craggark bows to Lia, looks around the table, searching the others' faces, and sits down again.
Well, that was a thing I just did.
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Jumping down from her chair and walking over to Craggark, Analia lays a gentle hand upon his. He can't help but notice how surprisingly hot her touch is.
Before he can even think what that means, she softly replies, "I am a Snowcaster, and a Twilight Speaker. I am also not like any other member of my family. You seem quite well versed in the ways of my family, for an outsider, Craggark Frostkin of the Miusunnit." There is only amusement and curiosity in her words.
"It is my honor to know you and to travel with you, but we will protect each other, as is the way with my family and, to my sense at least, the way it should always be with friends." she finishes with a small but sincere smile as she looks up into his eyes, and she blinks normally for the few moments that her touch lingers.
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Craggark responds solemnly. "My mother is Speaker of my people, as I said. She made sure I was aware of your people."
Craggark looks around the table, taking in the motley crew of personalities and talents.
I have no clue what I bring to this group, but I am grateful for it.
"When do we get started? Jala, another pint, if you please."
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"So, it seems we have something in common with the new Pathfinder.
Surely this meeting is more than chance. Sarenrae's will has been made known and we have found an additional arrow for our quiver.
Convincing Benarry to allow Lia to join us will be no problem, I am sure. I wouldn't be surprised if she attempts to claim this divine intervention as her own idea.
So be it, gods do not require the acknowledgement of mortals. We know the difference, though, and this fortune surely bodes well for the success of our coming mission.
Keep your wits about you, Craggark. Surely, the Venture-Captain's summons should be walking through that door at any moment."
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"Of course Lia must join us!" Jamir slams his whetstone onto the table. He has finished sharpening his new rapier, and now is working on one of his daggers. "No question about it. We are like this with Captain Benarry" -- he holds up two crossed fingers -- "and I am certain that she will agree!"
He goes back to honing his dagger.
As your group banters back and forth, one or more of you notice, Plisk and another crew member from the Grinning Pixie, enter the Hunting Serpent carrying a familiar looking chest. Plisk is grumbling as usual, Dern, northern weather! Colder than a witches tit 8 months of the year...and when it warms up!...MUD! ..mud everywhere! The men let the chest flop heavily to the foyer floor and proceed to knock the mud off their boots by kicking their feet against the raised door jams.
A serving maid loudly clears her throat while looking down knowingly at a large mat placed it the center of the entrance way. Both men look at her abashed, drop their shoulders and obediently step on the mat, begining to wipe their feet. With a satisfied hmmph.. the serving girl walks away to tend to her customers. Plisk looks up and notices Craggark and Torvald. Well, don't just stand there! give a man a hand! he says irritated, while motioning at the chest. Don't suppose I be lugging that thing through the streets of Kalsgard for me and his health! Plisk says while gesturing to the other man by pointing his thumb over his shoulder. The other crew member vigorously finishes wiping his feet off, waves his hand nonchalantly toward your group, and heads off in the direction of the serving maid.
Tsk!! Plisk shakes his head in disappointment as he watches his fellow crew member wander off. This new breed of sailor..can't keep um focused on the task at hand. He grunts as he settles in to a spot, on the bench, at your table. Bar tender! A bottle of southern Rum! And none of that watered down stuff like they serve across the street! Plisk's eyes wander around the table and confirm that, everyone is there. He nods approvingly when he sees Lia.Glad you found um.. Plisk nods his head toward the rest of the group while addressing Lia. He stands up and reaches over the table and offers his hand to shake, We had no time for introductions aboard the Pixie, I be Plisk 1st mate of the Grinning Pixie, he says with un-disguised pride.
Plisk looks around before speaking. With his voice lowered to a whisper, he motions all of you forward. *whisper* I've brought orders from Benarry. Plisk slides a package tied with string and sealed with Captain Benarry's personal crest, across the table across the table. Plisk looks around again, The Pixie is being sent to Halgrim he says as he blows out breath in an exacerbated manor. *whisper* It seems someone has been raiding the Ironbound Isles in the guise of Pathfinders. Benarry, being the highest ranking Venture Captain in the area, has been summoned by the White Estrid herself to give an account! He whispers all this with his eyes wide and shuts up immediately as the serving maid approaches with his rum.
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Analia smiles and places her palm to her forehead in greeting, as she had learned from Craggark just early today.
Seeing Plisk's outstretched hand wavering before her and after an uncomfortable pause, she looks to Torvald and then back to Plisk, and realizes her error. She then slowly reaches out her own hand, similar to Plisk's, and eventually the two shake hands in greeting.
"I must learn many different styles of greeting here in the southern lands, it seems." Analia thinks to herself.
"From the way you said it, the White Estrid sounds to be the tribal leader, of sorts, in this Halgrim place that you mentioned." Analia blurts out her thoughts in a rush and then stares unblinking at Plisk, as if waiting for him to elucidate further upon the nature of both subjects.
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Craggark's expression reads as exasperation as he sees that blasted chest again.
It appears that we will need to make use of the Nag once more, and find a way to keep this bulky bit of delivery safe. At least you know that you can lug stuff around. About all your walnut-sized brain is good for.
Craggark thinks he's heard of Halgrim and the White Astrid before.
"Whoa," Craggark exhales with import at the news of being summoned by the White Estrid. "I've always wanted to see her. They say that her beauty is renowned." The half-orc inexplicably (or explicably) looks at Lia as he says this, turning only a slight shade of violet.
He fixes Plisk with a stare after clearing his throat. "I'm assuming that we're not going with the Pixie?"
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"The devil worshiper is dead. With inclusion of these documents, I assume you want us to follow her path back into witch country to find any evidence of these shadows.
Fair enough. A recon assignment into hostile territory. Not something I am particularly excited about, as we made some enemies there the last time that aren't about to forget Craggark's dirty tricks.
With luck we can avoid them and use this pass to get into the city. None of that requires that stupid chest that we lugged half way across the country. TWICE!
If you expect us to take it with us this time, we need to know what it contains.
As for the shadows, if any of them are still in this lodge, what are your expectations?"
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Craggark looks at the documents that Torvald holds, and a light bulb goes on inside his head.
"Oh!! Of course!" He turns to Lia. "So that's why you're joining us for this mission. That makes total sense!"
Craggark assumes everyone understands what he's on about, though in all likelihood, no one does.
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Jamir finishes sharpening his dagger as Plisk explains their mission, then spins it on its point before sheathing it in his bandolier. Dropping his whetstone in his pouch, he withdraws a small wooden club, flips it in the air and catches it, and hops down to the floor. Jamir walks over to the front of the chest and examines the lock, then hops onto the chest and sits on the lid, tapping the lock with his club. He looks up at the first mate from the Grinning Pixie.
”So what does Captain Bennary expect us to do with the chest this time, Mister Plisk?” Tap. “If we are being sent to Irrisen, I assume it is. I would hate for anything to happen to it due to our ignorance." not just to grab these artifacts but to find Skagni, is it not?”[/b] Tap. “But I cannot imagine the Society expects him to review these important research papers in the middle of a rescue.” Tap. Tap.
"We are, of course, ready and eager for our next mission, the more dangerous the better! I ask only so that we will have the best idea of how to handle the chest. I would hate for anything to happen to it due to our ignorance." Tap.
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Torvald passes the letter left to Craggark, and grins at Jamir's little performance. "Yes, the critical research documents. So critical that they must be dragged hither and yon across the frozen north on behalf of a man we know to be captured and in no position to review them." The dwarf chuckles, and starts fishing out vials and fitting them into his own bandolier. "I like Benarry just fine, but her cover stories need work and she's far too tightfisted with information."
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”So what does Captain Bennary expect us to do with the chest this time, Mister Plisk?” Tap. “If we are being sent to Irrisen, I assume it is not just to grab these artifacts but to find Skagni, is it not?” Tap. “But I cannot imagine the Society expects him to review these important research papers in the middle of a rescue.” Tap. Tap."We are, of course, ready and eager for our next mission, the more dangerous the better! I ask only so that we will have the best idea of how to handle the chest. I would hate for anything to happen to it due to our ignorance." Tap.
Plisk pours himslef another drink and shrugs his shoulders. Um,er...the way I figure it we's in a war lowering his voice*whisper* with them um, Shadow Lodgers....Plisk grins and slams back his drink. And when ye's warnin' ye must be a solider right? Well I don't rightly know much about armies or soldiering and such...but, I do know how to run a tight ship. Plisk pauses to make sure everyone is paying attention. Now running a tight ship means you gotta have good sailors. Good sailors obey orders and don't hum and haw about the why's and whens so much.. Plisk turns to spit on the floor but thinks better of it when he catches the eye of a disapproving serving maid.
Now as far as I recon...there aint be that much difference between a solider and a sailor....we both answer to the captain...ain't that the right of it? Plisk pause to see if, a couple heads nod in agreement. He pours himself another drink while reaching down the nape of his blouse, to grab at a thong tied around his neck. After taking another sip of his drink he produces a key tied to a leather cord and tosses it on the table. The way this old sea dog thinks is...asking why ain't fer soldiers and sailors. Plisk stands up stretches his arms over his head. Let's face it fellows...and er um lady? Plisk rest his hands on his hips and leans backward seemly stretching his lower lumbar area. What's inside the the chest will always be for captains and kings. Plisk grins as he moves towards the door motioning for the other crewman to follow. It be on the backs of us lesser men and woman that, bear the burdens of our betters..but, ain't that be the way it's always been?
The Pixie cast off in an hour. She can't sail herself. Plisk looks around irritated *tsk..* Barns! move er arse! that lass ain't got no interest in a scurvy southerner such as yerself anyhow! A few laughs can be heard around the Inn as the other crew member scrabbles toward the exit of the Hunting Serpent. Plisk looks around the bar one more time before reaching for the door. As he exits he ask to no one in particular, If ye don't like taking orders without question, why'd ye join a secretive Society to begin with? He doesn't wait for an answer as the door closes behind him.
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Craggark remembers some tenets of Abadarian wisdom and feels somewhat better about the chest, so long as they have the key.
No need to open that for which you made the lock, or something like that.
After Plisk departs, the half-orc mutters, "I guess we don't need to open the chest. I can carry the stupid thing."
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"I didn't realize we were a secretive society. It is interesting that we are as well known as we are." Analia says with a small tilt of her head, seemingly staring off to nowhere.
Then just as quick with an expression change as ever, she straightens and spins in place to face her group, her hair flying wildly with the movement. "Well we don't have much time with only an hour before cast off and I think I should pick up a few things before we leave so I will meet you all at the Pixie soon." she says all in one breath, waving goodbye and smiling as she practically dashes from the inn. She was even in such a hurry as to leave her cold weather jacket behind at the table.
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Calling out after Lia as she rushes off:
"Lia! It is the Fortune Seeker we will be leaving on, not the Pixie. You have time to seek for things, it won't leave before we are ready.
Please make it as speedy as possible, however, as we should embark with all haste."
Jawhar grabs the key and hangs it around his neck, while grumbling to himself. If nobody else grabs the pouch of coin, Jawhar will pocket that as well.
"Important Historic Documents, indeed. Obey orders and don't ask questions! I've heard better stories from the backside of a camel."
Louder then:
"Well, Craggark, will you help me to carry this offensive dead weight to the Fortune Seeker. I have no need to resupply at this point, so I can check on the ship and make sure we have enough supplies for the journey"
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"I'm feeling a bit superstitious, Jawhar. Can we go to get a copy of that key made? I think I remember an Abadarian friend here in town who might be able to handle that for us. Besides, I'd like to purchase one more flask of alchemist's fire as well."
Craggark heads off to his Abadarian contact in Kalsgard and gets a copy of the chest key made. He will lug the heavy thing along with him as well. After that, he goes to purchase a vial of alchemist's fire and runs into Lia doing the same thing.
"Oh, hey there," the half-orc says to the sorcerer. "This place has good saltpetre."
Good opening line, moron.
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"Hilo Craggark!" Analia says seeing the friendly frostkin.
He's thinking of saltpeter too! That's wonderful!
Firmly taking hold of his hand, Analia speaks happily, "I was just thinking how wonderful it is we both were thinking the same thing about saltpeter. We seem connected, do we not? That will certainly be useful in the future I would think. "
She then pulls him into the shop and continues to talk reagents and ocean travel and fire and frost and... lots of ands after that, all the while continuing to hold his hand.
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Craggark dares not pull away from the warm touch of the beguiling Snowcaster maiden. He attempts to add his thoughts about things, but most of these come out as "Yeah" and "Uh-hunh".
For some reason, Craggark purchases two reagents of saltpetre from the shop.
I'm sure I'll find some use for these, if not just to give to Lia at some point.
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Jamir stands on a stool holding a large carrot.
The Nag of Holding leans in and takes the entire carrot into her mouth at once, and chews it slowly. Jamir rubs her nose for a moment, then calls over to the youth who would have charge of the donkey’s care at the Hunting Serpent's stable until his return.
“You can mash up her oats in a bit of beer in the morning. It is what she is used to. She also needs roughage, so make sure to feed her raw vegetables and apples a couple of times a day. Believe me, you will regret it if you do not, especially if you are the one responsible for shoveling the manure around here. Also, she does not like Chelaxians, so try to keep the damn devils away from her if any of them are poking about. She cannot abide the stink of brimstone they all give off.”
”Also, you must replace her straw every day. If you do not, she will get a rash, which you will find when you try to brush her and she kicks your head in.”
”You need to brush her every day, too. Shouldn’t you be writing this down, my young friend?”
The young Ulfen boy looks down at Jamir, His face unreadable. He remains silent through all of Jamir's instructions. When Jamir finally grows impatient at the boy's seeming indifference and apparent muteness...he grabs the boys hand and forces it open to receive a couple coins advanced payment. The boy just stares at the coin mouth agape.
As Jamir turns to exit the stable he hears the boy faintly squeak, Did you really kill Hjort Fastaxe? The boy looks away as Jamir turns..awed and afraid..
The next day you set sail up River on the Fortune Seeker. Henrich and Gustav do most of the Sailing; however, Jamir takes a turn at the tiller once or twice a day. Within a few days your party manages to navigate most of the Rimeflow section and begins to navigate up the Thundering River. The banks of the River are more alive than your last journey. There are many farmers out working the fields and several shepherds bringing their stock to water.
The River is also deeper and swifter from spring melt. Making the journey slower but surprisingly safer because of fewer shallows and rapids. It takes a little over three weeks to make it to the docks of the Whiterook tribe. Henrich and Gustav immediately start unloading supplies for the people of Whiterook. A familiar guardsmen greats you at the docks. Ah! Do Greigor's eyes deceive him! Is it not our southern friends and their Frostkin companion come to visit the warriors of Whiterook? Griegor, raises his hands in a friendly greeting ushering your party off the docks. Come, come!! much has changed since you were last here! We now trade with the witches of Dalun and have made no small amount of coin! Griegor says this with genuine pride wile displaying several new gold rings and ivory bracelets.
Come to the Grand Hall, Halvor will want to see you right away!
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Jamir glares at the Nag's pack saddle, its contents spread out on the deck in front of him.
What to take into Whiterook, what to leave on board? These are our friends, and I should need only a warm cloak and my tankard, but this close to the Irriseni border, one must be ready for anything. If only donkeys could wear snowshoes! But if I overpack, I will sink into the drifts myself, snowshoes or no.
After seriously overthinking the problem, Jamir takes the follows items that are usually carried on the Nag:
cold iron sling bullets (10 additional), bedroll, cleats, grappling hook, hammer, mess kit[UE], piton (12), shovel, silk rope (50 ft.), snowshoes, soap, sunrod, torch, whetstone, winter blanket.
Arriving at Whiterook's shores, he slips into his snowshoes and marches down the gangplank, greeting Greigor warmly.
"Greigor, my friend, your mustache grows ever more luxurious! It must be a sign of your tribes success! We will proceed to the Hall with all haste, but first you must meet our new comrade, Lia!"
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Jawhar looks out over the site of his redemption with a smile in his eye.
"Ah! Whiterook! Last bastion of civilization. It is good to be back in a town where people say what they mean and mean what they say."
He strides up to Greigor, clasps arms with him, then pulls him in for a hug.
"Greigor, you are looking well! No more piracy, eh?", he says with a wink and a laugh.
"It will certainly be good to see Halvor again. We got separated in Dalun, and never got to see how the negotiations turned out, though it certainly appears Whitethrone has done well for itself."
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Craggark cracks a grin at the sight of Greigor.
"Well I'll be a milk-drinking fire giant," Craggark swears. "It's good to see a familiar face. The last we saw of you, Greigor, you were purchasing a round of drinks for some jadwigas-in-waiting in Dalun, right?"
Craggark remembers something hurriedly and abruptly changes tone.
"Oh. Our new companion. Yes, this is Lia. She is a Snowcaster elf." He lowers his voice just for the Whitethrone border guard. "She's the smallest elf I've ever MET, but she's as sweet as can be..." The half-orc catches himself.
"I mean, SURE, it would be great to see Halvor again. Lead on!"
Only slightly purple.
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Torvald doesn't say much as he exists the boat--he lacks the others social graces, even Craggark looks polished by comparison--but it warms the dwarf's heart to hear that trade and peace have come about thanks to this little group. "This is why I signed up, Plisk," the alchemist murmurs, glancing back up the river towards faraway Kalsgard. "And lo! Didn't take a bundle of secrets either!"
Smiling as he shoulders his pack, the dwarf follows behind the others.
Craggark cracks a grin at the sight of Greigor.
"Well I'll be a milk-drinking fire giant," Craggark swears. "It's good to see a familiar face. The last we saw of you, Greigor, you were purchasing a round of drinks for some jadwigas-in-waiting in Dalun, right?"
Craggark remembers something hurriedly and abruptly changes tone.
"Oh. Our new companion. Yes, this is Lia. She is a Snowcaster elf." He lowers his voice just for the Whitethrone border guard. "She's the smallest elf I've ever MET, but she's as sweet as can be..." The half-orc catches himself.
"I mean, SURE, it would be great to see Halvor again. Lead on!"
Only slightly purple.
Ye sure got a good memory ya do my blue skinned cousin! Greigor's warmth seems genuine. Myself I've not much memory of that first visit to Dalun...Other than, we thought to kill some of um and yer group talked us out of it!...Har! Greigor slaps Craggark on the back and follows him down the dock. Halvor is sure to have a feast in your companies honor. Greigor looks pleased at the prospect of an excuse for revelry.
Greigor and another man you recognize but can't recall his name, escort you the short distance back to the village. Whiterook has change since you last were here. No bodies of wolves or men adorn the trees or palisade that surround the small town. The vines that snake their way up the palisade and even through the birch trees are in full bloom with petite pink and white flowers. Little buds are forming near the leaves of each vine promising a fruitful harvest of the local delicacy of choice, elder berrys.
It seems every house and structure now has one or two trellises supporting more vines than those that are growing naturally. In addition to the new trellises, one or two new structures has sprung up since your last visit, while a few more seem to be under construction. Two of the structures are of particular interest. The first seems to be an overly long lodge with no windows and two over-sized doors in the front.
The other structure is perhaps more out of place in this former militarized camp. A large pavilion tent of Osirion origin is immediately recognized by Jawhar. Greigor notes the groups sudden stop and offers only this explanation. Ah the tent! *chuckle* Yes Halvor has made a new friend!... Greigor continues to march towards the Grand lodge, But, come! See for yourself! Halvor awaits! Greigor motions the party forward while, he and the other man spring up the steps of the Grand lodge. His smile is one of satisfaction and delight, clearly amused at your group's, surprised reactions.
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Analia struggles at first with her heavy back pack, but once on, she carries it without complaint. Seeing the friendly greeting her friends give and receive as they disembark the Fortune Seeker she tries to quickly push her way to the front. Finally coming in view of the man they call Greigor, she wriggles the last way to Craggark just as her name is announced. Stepping around the frostkin, she eagerly sticks her little hand toward Greigor, waggling it expectantly. It was this or slap my forehead...
"Hilo! I am Lia, as the others have already mentioned. I am happy to meet you. Everyone has told me much about you." Turning to Jamir she remarks, "That really is quite a mustache! He could be a sea king with one such as that!"
She hurriedly follows along as the group makes their way through the village and toward the Grand Lodge. She walks close to Craggark as often as she can, smiling up at him whenever she isn't staring in open wonder at all the beauty around her.
After a while the entire group can make out a small but pleasant tune that they eventually realize is Analia humming happily to herself.
"Hilo! I am Lia, as the others have already mentioned. I am happy to meet you. Everyone has told me much about you." Turning to Jamir she remarks, "That really is quite a mustache! He could be a sea king with one such as that!"
Greigor looks around startled to hear a voice at his feet, Well Hello there! Lia did ye say? Pleased to make your acquaintance, *har*! Greigor nudges Craggark in the ribs. Learned that word from hangin' out with them Jadwigga I did *guffaw*! Greigor shouts to no one in-particular. He grasp his chin and tilts his head slightly considering, Ya know, you could pass fer one of them with that pale skin and strange eyes of yours ...er...no offense my lady. Greigor spreads his arms wide palms up, *sputter* excepting you being um..er..smaller and all.. His face is red with embarrassment. Yum you, know what I mean right Jamir? Your a wee one too but, our clan be respecting you..sincerely miss no disrespect meant..um er..
Greigor looks first to his unnamed friend then, to Craggark to help him out. Finally, his shoulders slump in resignation of failed diplomacy.
As the party enters the great Hall of Halvor, they hear an unfamiliar greeting, All hail friends of Housecarl Halvor, Defender of Whiterook and Terror of the Thundering way! Greetings honored guest! says a large Ulfen man standing to the left of the Housecarl's seat. In the seat sits Halvor, adorned in white Polar bear fur wearing a thin gold crown. Next to him (on the right) stands an unusually sight; A foreign man with tan skin, wearing several layers of linnen clothing, and a traditional kufiya head scarf. He bows low, hands spread, in a traditional Qadira greeting.
Halvor leans forward, clearly pleased at the your group's arrival. Jamir, Jawhar, and friends to what do I owe this honor?