The sleepy village of Heldren has rarely seen so much excitement or concern. Hunters from the nearby Border Wood speak of unnaturally cold weather at the height of summer that descended on the forest just days ago. Heavy snow followed, and those who returned spoke of an uneasy presence in the woods, as well as new, dangerous predators. No one knows what this event means, but the town’s soothsayer, Old Mother Theodora, claims dark times lie ahead.
As if in proof of that dire prophecy, a badly wounded mercenary arrived in town yesterday, claiming to be a bodyguard of Lady Argentea Malassene. He told the village council that the noblewoman’s escort came under attack by bandits and strange, wintry creatures near the edge of the Border Wood. He alone escaped, and Lady Argentea was dragged away into the forest. Now the townsfolk cast fearful eyes toward the snowy forest, worried what else might emerge to threaten their peaceful village.
Everyone says the weather is unseasonably cold for midsummer — it even snowed in the Border Wood! Most suspect magic is involved, and some fear Qadiran agents played a role in it.
Old Man Dansby claims that someone keeps stealing from his fields. His farm lies closest to the Border Wood, where half his crops have died from an icy frost and the rest have been carried off.
A farmer’s son took ill a few days ago after falling through the ice over Wishbone Creek. The boy said he spotted a white stag in the forest—and heard it talking — then tried to follow it.
A group of rangers in the Border Wood called the High Sentinels usually keep bandit activity curbed. They’re doing a poor job if brigands could attack a well-armed caravan and abduct Lady Argentea.
Locals say a hunter named Dryden Kepp claimed he saw a giant white weasel on the High Ridge in the forest. No one believed him so he went back to trap it and prove them wrong.
Two weeks ago, Lady Argentea Malassene traveled past Heldren on her way from Oppara to Zimar to meet her betrothed. Rumor has it the two didn’t get along and Lady Argentea caused a scandal by calling off the engagement and returning home.
Hektir snorts derisively at the ''folk tale" told by the man.
"I've been all around these parts, and I ain't never heard if such things," Hektir says with a spit to anyone within earshot.
Know (local)
equals a 10
"I hate to say Hektir is right, so I won't. I've never heard of crops being harvested and carried away under a farmer's nose, that's strange enough within itself, but in all my travels Winter has never invaded the lands of Summer, something sinister unfolds in the woods I think."
Pemsworth looks askance at the tale, but doesn't contradict it.
Malavarius looks up as Zeno flies in through the window, the little Thrush babbling at a mile-a-minute.
"Eh? What's this? Take a breath why don't you?"
The thrush's tone is positively scandalous.
"You're full of poppycock and pinfeathers! This is southern Taldor, you ninny! We're about as far from snow as we can get."
Malavarius puffs indignantly at the little thrush's claim, stammering a few times before at last getting out a suitable retort.
"I am NOT! The man's just addled. Fell from his horse and hit his head. Snow in the Border Wood, indeed. Well? What are you waiting for, Zeno? Let's go and talk to the man. He might need some herbs. Could be swelling in the brain. Dangerous stuff. Come along now."
He turns to leave, then pauses for a moment and turns back to a large cast-iron pot hanging over a low fire. "And you'd best boiling by the time I get back if you know what's good for you, pot! I'm an old man after all. Can't wait around all day just for water to boil now can I?"
He turns then and trundles into town to see what all this hub-bub is about.
"Well, the old man is all action while the rest of us sit and blab, seems that Winter in place of Summer isn't the only backwards thing going on here." Quinn hops into stride along with Malavarius. "Maybe a spot of healing will soothe the guard's addled brain."
Hektir affixes a steely eye at Quinn, not wanting to be outdone.
"Of course, I'll need to hear the man's tale for myself. No telling what he'll say after you get finished administering your 'healing potions'...more alchy-hol than elixir, I'll tell you!" Hektir begins to lead the group to speak with the soldier directly. "Let's go talk to that guard and see what he has to say."
According to those gathered at The Silver Stoat, Heldren’s only tavern, the man was taken to Willowbark Apothecary.
A well-tended garden sits in front of this equally neat house, the home of Tessaraea Willowbark, Heldren’s resident apothecary. The elven woman is a relatively new transplant to Heldren, though her arrival in the village 25 years ago still predates most of you.
Tessaraea was supposedly an adventurer up north in the River Kingdoms. A quiet, somber woman, she supposedly suffered some great tragedy in her past, such as the loss of her one true love.
In fact, it was Tessaraea’s brother who died on an ill-fated adventure, slain by a group of trolls. Devastated by his death, she gave up adventuring and moved south, settling in Heldren and taking a human-sounding surname when she opened her apothecary shop. Tessaraea sells a variety of herbs and other alchemical items.
The leader of the village council, Ionia Teppen, as well as Heldren's resident priest of Erastil, Elder Natharen Safander, as also at the shop when you arrive.
Pemsworth drains his mug as the others go stalking off. Clearly they had need of a clear headed halfling in such an endeavor. Winter in summer? What manner of oddness was this, anyway?
He dropped from the too-tall barstool and joined the parade of men heading to the Apothecary. Seeing the various local celebrities gathered here, he puffs out his chest and puts on his airs as best he can.
"Councilman. Elder. It's good to see such esteemed men as yourselves, and myself as well, have come to deal with this nonsense. I say! Snow in summer! Abducted noblewoman! It's enough to make a respectable businessman such as myself shake his head in disbelief. But I daresay such eminent men as ourselves will make short work of this faderol. Faderol, I say!"
Tsin strains to hear the banter in the tavern. A nice change of pace. A little pulse to the place. She regrets her choice of table, but politeness begs keeping a distance from the patrons, as she's just finished her delivery.
She clears her plate quickly enough, cheeks still swollen from the food as she trails behind the little man. As the halfling approaches the titled, Tsin tries to find a comfortable distance to the conversation unfolding, downwind. She acknowledges the councilwoman and elder silently, hand raised as if to say "Please, don't mind me."
Let's see if stories lead to something more.
Know (Local)
Hektir nods as the little man addresses the sirs and ladies of the village.
Ah, there is Tessaraea, perhaps she will buy another few skins of stoat..what better way to keep warm?
* * *
Hektir nods as the butcher's apprentice enters as well, the scent of meat and offal hitting his nose. Hektir gives her a forced smile.
"I say, Zeno, have you the foggiest idea who any of these people who followed us over here are? Mindless ruffians and thugs, no doubt. Why, look at that one there- obviously a foreigner."
Zeno alights on the brim of Malavarius' hat and pecks him on the head three times.
"Teppen, you say? Hardly recognized her, fancy that. Now hush, Zeno, they might be talking about our addle-brained guard."
Councilwoman Teppen smiles as you approach, despite Malavarius' comments. "Thank goodness," she says. "I was hoping someone would be able to help."
She explains a rider from Zimar arrived in town the previous day bearing ominous tidings. The rider, an Ulfen mercenary named Yuln Oerstag, was part of the guard escorting Lady Argentea Malassene from Zimar to Oppara. As the caravan skirted the Border Wood, however, the noblewoman’s carriage came under attack by bandits and strange, wintry creatures. Lady Argentea was carried off, and Yuln was the only one to escape.
He is badly wounded, but he has been able to describe the horrific creatures that attacked the noblewoman’s party. A native of the far north, Yuln recognized some of the icy creatures that emerged from the forest, and the tales he shared with the council have everyone concerned.
"If you could investigate these events, we would greatly appreciate it!" she finishes.
"Investigate? Well, I daresay Councilwoman, that these fine folks would love to investigate such things! As for myself, I've always held (and still do hold, thank you!) that my talents as a locksmith are much higher in value when held in reserve, back at a safe place of refuge, don't you think? As my father used to say 'It's no use putting your finest silver out for everyday use, is it?' and I heartily agree with him! Well, not that I'm saying that these fine folks are anything less than fine silver, but blood will out, as my Gran used to say!" Pemsworth finishes his speech and looks quite pleased by it.
"An Ulfen! Zeno, did you hear that? An Ulfen of all things!"
"An Ulfen in Taldor? Winter in Summer? The whole world's been knocked out of sorts, you daft feathered... feather-head! I say, do you think these rough looking men, that rougher looking woman, and... that little boy are here to help to?"
"Good! Do you think they have... names?"
The little bird sighs audibly, then flits over to perch on Quinn's shoulder.
Grand stories, indeed. As Ionia elaborates, Tsin finds herself stepping closer, not risking a detail dropped.
"You have men for this, surely." Tsin looks at the halfling, and raises an eyebrow, expecting no objection. "The Guard? Their numbers need padding, eh? If you require an inspection of the site of attack, I would be interested. Following blood trails into the Wood may prove to be another matter."
Tsin hesitates to address the old codger. "My name is Tsin." She pats her chest to show the white-haired wrinkle that she is addressing herself. "I can not answer for the others' names. What is your name? When the rest of us come back from the search, I can ask for you at the tavern, and let you know what we found."
Malavarius huffs and puffs beneath his beard a few times, his mustache and beard dancing with each forceful breath. By the time he has an answer for Tsin, he's so flummoxed he's only responds to her suggestion. "Wait-puff wait-huff wait-puff at the tavern? Me? Perish the thought, girl! Why, it just so happens that I am a very old man, you know. I haven't got time to be sitting around taverns waiting for things to happen! Wait at the tavern indeed. We'll get to the woods and then you'll see - it's a terrible epidemic of people falling from their horses. Dangerous beasts they are, you'd do well to watch yourself. Always knocking the sense right out of people. Terrible business."
"You're always welcome, Zeno, anytime you need to escape for a few minutes."
Quinn leans towards the codger, introducing himself for what seems like the third time this very day. several times." Leaning back and looking about the group, he continues "It looks like someone stuck their winter in our summer and stole Lady Argentea as an added insult. We've a solid group here, and we also have Hektir, lets get to investigating this thing!"
Hektir seems to rise to Quinn's challenge.
"Of course I'll be along. You'll need me to navigate to and fro, as no one..." Hektir flicks his eyes at Quinn, "...and I mean no one knows these lands better. With me, you'll not get lost nor should you fear any normal predator...blah blah blah...great stoat hunting...blah blah blah...virginal forests...blah blah blah..." Hektir launches into one of his usual sales pitches that he uses to sell noblemen for guided hunting parties. "...and guaranteed nymph* for each one of you. Now, how much are we being paid for this?"
*=It's clear that this is not an actual guarantee, but more of a flavorful sales pitch
"If you don't wish to go, Master Pemsworth, I certainly can't force you. I'll hope the rest of you are more willing to help us? As you all know, we're a small village, so don't have any one else we can ask to look into this."
She looks anxious, the strange tidings from the woods clearly concerning her greatly.
"Pay? I suppose we could try to raise some sort of collection if we must. It might mean raising taxes, but I suppose people wouldn't complain about that. I'm sure if you rescue her, Lady Malassene would reward you too, of course."
"Reward you say? Well, of course I'll have to go along! You need men of certain skill and levity on a mission of this importance! I suppose, since you insist (and I know that you do, my dear!) that I shall simply have to go along! Say no more, gentlemen, ladies! I will lead this expedition, for certainly my skills will be needed in the field (as I always maintain!). It's like my father used to say 'What's the purpose of saving the good silver for a day that may never come? Best to put it to use everyday and get the best of it!'" Pemsworth smiles his best politician's smile and crosses his arms. "I need to fetch my gear; can't be going off half-cocked as it were."
Tsin looks over the pretty bird, as well as the thrush upon his shoulder. "Well met, Quinn. I've seen you about town, but our paths haven't crossed, until today." She extends her hand, looks down at it, wipes it on her pant leg, and extends it a second time.
"If we have use of horses, the halfling would be welcome. As for you, old man, I'll not have you slowing our retreat should the matter prove dire. If you fall from horse's back, there you'll lay. Promise me you're no burden, and you can come as well." Or you could take a nap.
"I should be ready to set out shortly. I'll gather my things." Tsin turns to Hektir. "Do you have enough information to get us there, guide?"
Quinn grips the warrior's hand in a warm, two fisted embrace, a bright white smile beaming back at her. "Yes, yes, well met indeed, brave warrior, it seems the gods have chosen this time for our paths to cross."
At the talk of preparing for the trip, Quinn concurs and departs, returning shortly in hardened leather armor, slinging a backpack of gear, and wearing a slender blade at his waist. "Ready and able, the road awaits!"
Hektir steps forward and up to Tessaraea.
"Before I guide us out there, I'd like to have a word with the near-fallen guard. Is he in speaking shape, Tessaraea? I might see if I can re-construct his trip here," Hektir asks with confidence.
"You can talk to him," the apothecary responds, as the councilwoman looks concerned.
"I've done what I can for him," Elder Natharen interrupts, "but he's still badly hurt. Please try not to strain him."
They lead you to a room where you see a badly injured Ulfen lying in bed.
Wrapped in bandages, the Ulfen mercenary’s nose, fingers, and toes have taken on a black hue from serious frostbite, and he is still heavily wounded. Despite his obvious pain, however, he waves you closer.
"You have the look of men setting out on a rescue mission," he says. [b]“Would that I could go with you. My ancestors would ridicule my lack of valor for f leeing rather than fighting to the end. But I faced enemies that even the greatest warriors in the Linnorm Kingdoms have faltered against, though I think I slew at least one of them before they dragged Lady Argentea away.”
Hektir stops in his tracks as he sees the injuries to the Ulfen.
Hating himself for even thinking it, he yells over his shoulder for Quinn.
"Can you see to his pain? Maybe one of your 'tonics'?"
Hektir examines the man's frostbitten extremities.
Heal check
"This hear is one of them Northern warriors, he'd sure recognize snow monsters, no doubt. Maybe I was wrong to think this was folk tale," Hektir whispers to those within earshot.
Hektir waits for the tender ministrations of Quinn before his interrogation of the man about the trip here and what attacked him.
Malavarius peers in over Hektir's shoulder and observes, "Hmmm. That must have been quite a large horse he fell off of to have sustained injuries like that. Hmm hmm hmm. Terribly dreadful business, riding elephant-sized horses."
Natharen stops Quinn.
"I've already done what I could for him with Erastil's help," the priest says. "Unfortunately, the cold injuries are extensive enough that he will need time to recover in addition to the gods' blessings."
Pemsworth returns wearing a set of leather armor that is clearly dusty and a bit tight about the middle, as well as a short sword that is more letter opener than threat. He has a small backpack, an oiled sack he carries over his shoulder and a sling that looks much more well-used. He jingles slightly when he walks, but soon sorts that out with a quick re-wrapping of the tools in his sack, which seem to be extensive and in some cases, expensive.
Seeing the frostbitten nature of the Ulfen man's injuries, Pemsworth clicks his tongue. "Gracious! If I weren't an educated sort of halfling (with a bit too much book learning, as my old Dad used to say!) I'd say that was wintry injury there! But it's summer and such things simply do not happen in Hedren! This is a respectable village and we don't cotton with unnaturalness!"
"In there? Right, thanks." Tsin enters the bedroom, newly equipped with an oiled, leather armor, wide blade at her hip. Two balanced carving knifes are sheathed and tucked across her back. The backpack rides high between her shoulder blades. Her boots are well-worn, and have obviously seen the slaughter floor.
"That looks bad."Tsin leans over to Hektir. "Don't injuries like that take time?" One man surviving the ambush. What? To tell the story, and lead more lambs to the slaughter? Come, Ulfen, tell your story. No holes now. "What did this to you, warrior? And how best to kill it?"
"“We thought they were just bandits at first -- outlaws who hide like wolves in the forest," Yuln replies. "They were no match for us. But then came the cold fey of the north. They appeared among us and the battle turned quickly. My people speak of the winter-touched all the time, but I never expected to meet them this far south.
"As for how to kill them, cold iron and burning flame. Both burn them,
and both are weapons they fear.”
"Cold Iron? Burning Flame? Have you any of that, Tsin?" Hektir whispers in return.
"And where did this happen? By what paths did you take? This is important if we are to pick up your trail?" Hektir asks, giving pointed landmarks as necessary to know where to begin the search.
"You never complain about my 'tonics' when a goblin's arrow is hanging in your backside" Quinn sullenly retorts to Hektir, then leans into the conversation about the ambush, a hand contemplatively holding his chin as he considers the landmarks. "Yes, Hektir, these are clear features in the landscape that should be easy for any traveler to follow, why I'm sure I know the exact location myself."
"Well, er, the general direction anyways, I mean, it can't be that hard to find the spot if we just head that way, right?"
Tsin draws her falchion partially. "I have naught by my family blade. Good steel, but it lacks what seems to be required." She lends an uncertain look to Hektir, as she resheathes her weapon.
"If the fey have numbers, there will be little use in blanching my blade in cold iron." Tsin looks down on Yuln, and frets.
"You have the sense of it, Quinn. With Hektir's help, we should be able to locate the site. I'd prefer to have the light with us."
Tsin thinks of the possible supplies they need, well, at least what she may be able to use.
"Follow the road to Zimar about six miles south of the village and you should find the site where we were attacked," he says.
"Burning fire? I say, what other kind of fire is there for us to have? I suspect we'll want warm coats too, if all this alleged winter is lurking about. Well, we could just have Zeno babble on, he's full of enough hot air to banish this frosty bluster. Ha! Did you hear that, Zeno?"
"...Zeno?"
"Confound it all, Zeno! You're never around when I need you!"
Zeno titters softly on Quinn's shoulder.
Know (Local) - CI weapons
"Yeah, yeah...I can follow that," Hektir nods. "No doubt."
Hektir, you believe you might be able to get cold iron weapons from Isker Euphram at the smithy.
"You never complain about my 'tonics' when a goblin's arrow is hanging in your backside"
Hektir straightens with a bit of embarrassment as Quinn jogs his memory, his left hand slowly traveling down to his right buttcheek to the scar that is still there.
The goblin wound, I remember it well. Quinn. QUINN!
Truthfully, neither he nor Quinn should have been out in those parts of the woods alone, but that's there little Tommy "Wets the Bed" Coddington had run off to. It was a crappy time to run off, let alone right into their territory. Hektir reminisces.
Of course, Quinn had come to help recover the boy, but not because he was asked. And it was his heavy footfalls that alerted the goblins to their presence, I think. I think. Or was it mine? No, it probably was Quinn's.
The goblin sniper took us unawares and the arrow doth pierce the buttcheek in a clean shot. Thankfully, Quinn was there to put down the goblin and remedy the situation, a debt that Hektir has not forgiven nor forgotten.
He's still a jerk.
* * *
Hektir rises from his place at the Ulfen's side, after getting a description of the route and ambush site.
Turning to address the group, Hektir speaks confidently.
"I can get us there...no problem, and from there we can hopefully track the attackers down. Of course, if there are truly strange snows, that *might* affect our ability to follow a trial, but I'm not too sure. Now then," Hekir looks around and nods at Tsin, seeing the big sword at her waist. "We may not be able to protect all of you, so you best be prepared with...fire?" Hektir asks in a questioning tone, "...fire or cold iron. I'm going to stop by the smithy on my way out to get myself a dagger, just in case. Let's meet at the Lady's statue in 30 minutes."
Hektir looks to the bird, Zeno, not feeling awkward at all about addressing a bird in conversation (something Hektir does usually on the nights alone while trapping).
"Zeno, you'll be bringing that man with us? Can you assure that he'll be safe? And can keep up? It's about 2 hours away on foot. I can't guarantee his safety."
* * *
When the party is ready to go, Hektir will go to smithy and purchase a cold iron dagger.
Pemsworth put his hand on his sword, and realizing that it may not be useful, heads to the smithy as well to exchange it for a cold iron dagger and a sap. Once this errand is done, he will join the others at the Lady, ready for his adventuring.
"I might have something that could help," Tessarea interjects.
She leads you to another room where there are a surprisingly large number of clay vials.
"When these shatter, it will spray liquid fire," she says, before hesitating. "I suppose I could sell them to you, should you wish."
She's clearly reluctant to sell the vials.
The smith shakes his head at your request.
"I'm afraid I don't have any daggers made of this. I do have nearly two dozen sling bullets, though. I suppose I could melt them down and turn them into a dagger, but it could take some time."
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"Ah ha! Zeno! There you are, you elusive avian sneak! I had a perfectly crafted insult at your expense... hold on a moment..."
Ignoring Malavarius though flitting over to alight on the head of his staff, Zeno continues to chat with Hektir.
"It's just on the tip of my tongue..."
"Oooo dash it all! It was a good one too!" He shakes his staff a bit, upsetting Zeno's perch enough that the little bird flits up to land on the brim of his hat instead. "I'll remember it eventually, you shrunken stork! Now then, where are we off to? Meeting at the statue in thirty minutes time? Good! Excellent! I should have time to set that pot straight before we go. I'll have you know it intentionally boils water more slowly for me. No justice in this world, these days. Dark times we're in. Dark times."
Malavarius trundles off muttering to himself and to Zeno as he goes. Zeno casts as plaintive a look back to the group as a thrush might, rolls his eyes, then flits back to perch on the head of Malavarius' staff once more.
Hektir will buy 10 cold iron bullets and 'buy' a sling.
Because he carries most of his stuff with him, he'll arrive early at the statue and wait.
Pemsworth smiles and purchases the other sling bullets, as well as a sap!
Tsin considers Tessarea's offer.
"How much would you sell them for? Consider that we're investigating something not more than 6 miles from the safety of Heldren."
Tsin turns back to address Yuln. "Your fallen comrades. Did any of them have this cold iron you suggest, among their weapons? I might have to borrow something." She hesitates, hearing her carrion words. "I will return it to you, of course."
---
Looking over the smith's wares, Tsin finds more with which to be frustrated. She watches the boys play with pebbles. They'll at least have a means for routing fey should they show.
She continues to look concerned, holding on to one of the flasks before replacing it on the shelf and turning toward you.
"It is for the town, I suppose. I could sell them to you for 15 gold. I know it's expensive, but it cost me about that much to make it. If I had more..."
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Hektir assesses the party as they approach the statue, trying to weigh how much of a contributor/anchor they will be on this little expedition.
Tsin: good with the cleaver, carries big sword, strong as a few oxen, eager and independent. Analysis: likely to be helpful.
Pems: short, says big words, has the rest of the cold iron bullets if I need them. Analysis: might be good diversion. Or appetizer for owlbear.
Zeno: smart, friendly, aware, flies. Analysis: likely to be very helpful.
The Old Man: why does the bird keep him around? Analysis: will be trouble to keep alive. The bird seems to accept this 'bird'-en willingly.
Hektir chuckles in his mind.
Quinn: $#%@^@# Quinn. Analysis: known unknown quantity. Avoid open flames near him.
Hektir nods to himself. They'll have to do, they will.
* * *
When the party is assembled, Hektir will set out. He will be on foot and trying to keep alert. He will make regular checks to find/follow the trail.
Take 10 Survival to track: 10+9= 19 Survival
Hektir doesn't see many tracks, but it's easy enough to follow the road and Yuln's instructions.
Near the forest, the temperature grows noticeably colder, the warmth of summer fading noticeably, especially as the sun sets lower, sitting a few scant hours from the horizon as your arrive.
The road ahead is littered with debris and the corpses of slain humans and horses. A carriage stands in the roadway, its team of horses missing or cut free, while another overturned carriage lies sprawled and broken next to the tree line. To the south, more bodies have fallen around what appears to be a statue of ice. A snowy trail leads deeper into the forest.