Clebsch's Reign of Winter

Game Master Clebsch RoW

"Well, it seem as though arrows to the chest and overwhelming martial and arcane superiority finally brought sense to you, foolish little warlord. Remain calm, and you may yet leave with your life. Trifle and lie, and you will certainly regret it."

Seeing the injured Ringeirr, Erland immediately lays his hand on the man's shoulder and heals him for 2d8 + 5 ⇒ (1, 2) + 5 = 8 HP.

"I am most glad we could rescue you, Ringeirr. Your niece speaks highly of you, and I would hate to see another petty warlord like this man succeed. Irrisen has enough trouble on its own, right?"

Upon seeing the mirror, Erland wraps the reflective surface in cloth and then sticks the wrapped item into a separate bag. He then offers healing to any of the party who were injured, before looking through the assorted loot and divvying it out.

"Can't be too careful, not with these things." he says as he stows the mirror. "Too close to the witches to give them that kind of advantage."

Looking at the elf archer who fought alongside them, he bows slightly and offers a handshake.

"Greetings. I am called Erland, and this is Fiske," the cat lazily glances over before resuming his cat-like activities. "It would appear you were no greater friend to this warlord than I. Can I offer you some healing magic, to patch your wounds at least?"

Assuming she allows it, Erland heals Anadrien of 2d8 + 5 ⇒ (3, 4) + 5 = 12 HP.

"Nice shot," says Domitian as Ingrit successfully hobbles Marcian.

Dom sheathes his sword and works to disarm Marcian. But his attention is on the woman they rescued, admiring her fine attire. "Who are you? Somehow, I don't think you are a fisherwoman. Which begs the question, what are you doing in this place?"

The way she talked about betrayal, Dom couldn't help but wonder if she was actually in league with the Jadwiga. His gaze betrays some suspicion of this new person.

Flashing a quick grin at Dom, as he comments on her shooting, and moving over to the barely conscious man, Ingrit forces him to kneel and ties his hands behind his back, removing any weapons he might have on him. Once done she turns her attention to Andarien. "It seems like this one is exceptional at making the wrong kind of enemies."

As Marcian falls the elf extends a hand as if grasping for him from across the room and cries out, "Wait, please don't kill him!"

For a moment she stands thus, and then relaxes when Ingrit makes it clear she has no intentions of slitting his throat. With obvious relief, she shoulders her bow and straightens from her crouch. An errant lock of hair falls free of the braids that are done up the side of her head, and she blows it aside with exasperation as she considers her saviors.

"I'm sorry. Should have added 'yet' to my request. I came here to ask him an important question." Her voice is cultured, her words touched by the faintest of accents.

Erland approaches, and Anadrien hesitates for but a moment before clasping his hand in both her own and shaking firmly in response. A brisk, no-nonsense handshake.

"You are too kind, Master Fiske. Before I benefit from your generosity any further, however, introductions are indeed in order."

She takes a step back and bows with all the grace and fluidity of her kind, a sweeping, courtly bow that for a moment imparts the dignity of an elven throne room to this ramshackle and bloodied home. "Thank you for your help. My name is Anadrien Elrynduil, a current if reluctant resident of White Throne. Marcian proved a baser foe than I'd imagined. If you hadn't arrived when you did..."

She shrugs. That possible future with all its grim implications is now immaterial.

"I'm here ostensibly to secure a fish for the prince of the stilyagi, but in truth because I fear my brother may have been sold by Marcian as a slave a decade ago. That's what I was hoping to learn definitively here, one way or the other."

There is no need to ask the new arrivals as to why they've come; in short order Ringeirr is saved, and Marcian's perfidy revealed to be all the greater.

"If I can have but a moment with this man," says Anadrien, moving up to crouch before the bound Marcian. "You've lost. Things will go poorly for you if you don't help us now. Did you meet my brother, many years past? Do you recall selling a snow elf into slavery?"

She doesn't put a knife to his throat or even try to intimidate him. The situation itself should speak volumes, and if it doesn't, then there is no getting through to him and his life is forfeit.

"I'm grateful fate has brought us here at the right time to save a noble lady such as yourself." . Seeing the noblewoman ask this question begins to put Dom at ease. If this was truly Andarien's mission, then she was no friend to the witches of Whitethrone.

While Andarien speaks to Marcian gently, Dom stands overhead and glares at Marcian menacingly. It was not the place of a proper lady to provide the threats of violence, but rather her guard. A role Dom almost instinctively assumes.
Intimidate: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (6) + 11 = 17

Marcian winces in pain as he is bound, but offers no resistance. Indeed, his wounds would likely intensify if he took any sudden actions. He indicates a pocket of his vest and explains there is a key which will open a strong box under his bed and disable a trap on the box. In the box, he says, is a ledger with all the transactions of note that have gone through the Fishcamps.

Anadrien looks through the ledger and eventually spots the name of her brother, sold to a caravan working for a pirate named Skel Grumach.

Since we've lost some time, I'll move things along soon, cutting out some of the encounters set in the AP.

"So what do we do with him? At some point, Whitethrone will realize something isn't quite the same her and look to send more thugs to look into it. It might be better for everyone living here to make it look like a mishap, burn the place dowm or something." Ingrit suggests, glaring down at Marcian.

"If hes been in contact with the Jadwiga, there's not much we can do about that. If not, we can probably play this off as a rival hit, debts owed, or something to that effect. His crew is dispersed, his ogres dead, and we can hand him over to the locals for justice. No need to busy ourselves any longer with the fool, right?"

Dom keeps a protective watch over the noblewoman now in their midst. "Lady Anadrien, have you found the information you are looking for? I know not what your plan is. If you mean to continue your mission to rescue your brother, I'd ordinarily lend you my sword. But we have another pressing concern." He abruptly stops speaking and looks over at his companions, as if realizing he may have already said too much to this stranger. I probably shouldn't have even mentioned that he thinks.

Dom changes the subject. "If you live in Whitethrone, we mean to travel there ourselves, and would be happy to escort you."

Anadrien rises lithely to her feet, ledger in hand, lips pursed as she stares off into the middle distance. Skel Grumach... Skel Grumach...

Using the Bardic Skill Lore Master to take 20 on a Knowledge Local check on Skel Grumach for a total of 28 and taking 10 on a Knowledge History check for a total of 19.

After reviewing her extensive memory on all things pertaining to Grumach, she snaps back to the present, snapping the ledger closed at the same time, and turns to Dom with a smile.

"I have indeed found useful information, good sir, though it but points me in a new direction." She sets the ledger down on a table and stares at where Marcian kneels, bound. "This man is a detriment to society and a poison to all he encounters. Seeing as there is no lawful entity to which we can entrust him, I say we execute him ourselves and burn down his house. Entrusting him to locals will only endanger them in the long run if this is investigated."

Her voice is cold, her expression distant, as she stares down at the man. "There is precious little justice to be found in Whitethrone, Marcian, but what little there is seems to have come for you today."

Turning away from the man, she inclines her head gratefully to Dom. "I appreciate the offer for an escort, in large part because I am curious about your group and would welcome the chance to learn more about you all. What brings you here? What is the nature of this pressing concern? If I can be of help so as to repay the debt I now owe you, I will gladly do so."

"I like her." Ingrit says with a grin to no one in particular.

Mr Ringeirr is the best one to decide surely ?

"Whatever we decide, we should secure this home and move on soon. There's no telling how many eyes and mouths are out there, working for Whitethrone. There's got to be somewhere else we can go to discuss future plans."

Dom nods at Erland's warning. "We're here to set Ringeirr," responds Dom to the elf, clearly giving only part of the story. "The fact that Marcian here won't be able to ply his trade any longer is a welcome bonus."

He refocuses on the fate of Marcian. "Yes, Ringeirr, what would you have us do with him? I'll gladly give him a quick and clean death." He draws his heavy sword once more, holding it with ready ease.

"Thank you all," Ringeirr says after he is healed some from the wounds suffered at the torture from Marcian the past few days. "It matters not what you do with this," he pauses and glares at Marcian, unwilling to name him. "The Jadwigga will assume the worst and blame us all, if not for killing 'im than for not defendin'im. No one'll complain 'bout the loss so no one'll investigate unless the fish supply is interrupted. Burning the house would just attract attention. Leave 'em 'ere an the fishermen will deal with the remains, weigh 'em down, an' sink 'em in the lake. We'll concoct a story as ta why 'e left."

Ringeirr invites all to his house to continue discussions of what to do next. Shack might be a better term for his dwelling, but it is large enough for everyone to huddle round a small stove as tea and soup are mixed together for a meal. The people of the Fishcamps keep their celebratory feelings in check, but they make way for the adventurers as if parting for royalty. Whispers of "Milani bless you" and "Perhaps now, ..." can be overheard.

Ringeirr is interested in hearing your story and Nadya assures all that he can be trusted. If need be, he'll share his own story first. Seeing a cleric of Milani and the weapon associated with the goddess, he seems willing to trust you, although he seems a touch wary of Anadrien. Still he goes ahead with his story, some elements of which are a surprise to Nadya.

Sometime after he came to terms with the loss of his wife and son, Ringeirr was contacted by the underground resistance group called the Heralds of Summer’s Return. These resistance fighters in Whitethrone are members of a clandestine cult of Milani who maintain a secret shrine to the goddess in the city. After meeting them, Ringeirr found a new purpose in helping the oppressed people of Whitethrone. Now an agent of the Heralds, he smuggles the desperate out of the city and brings in much needed supplies to the resistance.

Ringeirr makes it clear how difficult it has become recently to get in and out of the city. He affirms that Queen Elvanna has seized power from her mother, Baba Yaga, and intends to remain on the throne on Irrisen. He also adds that she has removed the Iron Guard from power and instituted a new military force in its place, the Winter Guard, loyal to her alone. Elvanna has also declared martial law in Whitethrone, making it extremely dangerous to go through the city’s primary gates. Traffic still passes through the city gates, but it has a slowed to a crawl, with large contingents of the Winter Guard performing thorough searches of anyone entering or leaving Whitethrone.

Entering the city isn’t the only problem, Ringeirr explains—citizens are routinely checked even within the city. The everyone needs papers authorizing their movement throughout Whitethrone, not just through its gates, but Ringeirr thinks they might be able to exploit a loophole. He nods toward Anadrien and explains about the Stilyagi, young nobles known for their outlandish behavior and styles of dress. Like-minded stilyagi form gangs that adopt the cultural and stylistic trappings of other lands and peoples—even pretending to be adventurers from other nations. With their wealth and indolent lifestyle, stilyagi are also notorious for the recruitment of foreigners (even those of other races) to Whitethrone to act as companions, teachers, and advisors—at least until they grow tired of them.

While some in the group might have the talents to forge such papers, Ringeirr knows of a man in Whitethrone who can manage not only the look and feel of official documents, but special arcane marks of Stilyagi households. Anadrien has a set of papers that can serve as an example, with the mark of the man who sent her on her errand to get a sturgeon.

The forger, a man named Mortin, lives on the borders of the district known as the Howlings, which is predominantly controlled by winter wolves, but it is the one district Ringeirr feels he might be able to get the PCs through and into the city. Thanks to an ancient pact with Baba Yaga, winter wolves can assume human form in the Howlings. The “Howlings Gate” is not a gate at all but rather a hole in the city wall that gives the wolves unrestricted access to their district. The wolves are responsible for security of the district, and Ringeirr knows they’re often lax about it and susceptible to bribery.

In exchange for his help in entering Whitethrone, Ringeirr does ask for the PCs’ assistance in a side mission. If he is going to get them into the city and take them to Mortin, he wants to do so while bringing food to desperate humans who are going hungry, and he’d like their help in making the delivery.

Once they’re safely inside the city, with the forged papers and Ringeirr’s food delivery made, Ringeirr will take them to meet his contact with the Heralds of Summer’s Return, a woman named Solveig Ayrdahl. Solveig is the leader of the cult of Milani in Whitethrone, and she can give the PCs shelter in the city and more information on the current conditions there.

Once the renegade has been dealt with, and the team is safely away from.prying eyes, Erland visibly relaxes. Setting his pack and spear against the wall, he breaks out his waterskin and takes a long drink.

"That's both fortunate, and terrifying to hear. I suppose we will fit into Whitethrone easier that we'd imagined. But being behind those walls will mean more danger than we've ever faced. Par for our course, I suppose."

Once everyone has taken what seats they can, and the stories of introduction and reconciliation have been exchanged, Erland pipes up again.

"What do you know of the Black Riders, and their connection to Grandmother Winter herself? Because there's a real problem going on outside Irrisen, and its connected to this Queen Elvanna and whatever tricks she has pulled already."

He fills in Anandrien and Ringeirr on what has happened already, and all the trials the team had already faced.

Realizing that Andarien was now integral to their plans to infiltrate the city, Domitian relents as Erland tells all about what has happened.

"As absurd as it sounds, our goal is to reach Baba Yaga's hut, and cause it to take us to another realm."

Much of what Ringeirr reveals is not news to Anadrien; still, to hear it so baldly discussed after months of dealing with whispers within whispers is startling.

That is, of course, nothing as compared to what this group intends to do.

Anadrien rises to her feet in alarm.

"You intend to what?"

Eyes wide, her shock evident, she simply stares at Domitian as if he'd revealed a secret desire to slit open his wrists.

Yet Anadrien is nothing if not quick witted; the obvious, redundant questions are quickly discarded, and she sits slowly back down, tentative, hesitant, but obviously fascinated.

"You are all rational, dangerous people. I assume you know what you are about. And yet. It is one thing to storm the hut of a villain like Marcian, ogres not withstanding, another to..." She shakes her head, the very scale of their endeavor defeating her attempt to encapsulate it. "How? And to what realm would the hut take you? And why?"

Following the explanation, the elven woman sits, stunned. Her brow furrows, her eyes dart from side to side as she digests this information, and then, with perhaps surprising speed, she sits up straight, both hands flat on the table before her, face pale.

"I believe you, absurd as it may seem. It is clear that Elvanna must be stopped, and - as hideous as the thought may be - Baba Yaga herself set free so as to end this onslaught. I am but one person, but if my skills and magic can be of any use, then I place them at your disposal."

Dom lets out a cheerful grin at her eagerness to join. It's an honor to have your help, Lady Andarian. What we propose is madness, so the fact that you'd agree means you are exceptionally brave. Or exceptionally foolish. Regardless, your familiar presence in Whitethrone will help give us some cover."

He thinks on their plan some more, and remembers their recent encounter with a winter wolf. "There was a powerful wolf and some mercenaries sent after us, Ringeirr. I worry even entering through the Howlings will not be entirely safe." Dom shrugs. "Not that I have a better plan, so we will just have to take our chances."

"The possible magic of the winter wolf hide may be a big help if we can manage it." Ingrit pipes up after some thought.

At the mention of the winter wolf hide, Nadya goes to her pack and pulls out the snow white pelt that she helped to fashion into a cloak. It still smelled a bit pungent. She showed it to Ringeirr, who whistled at the sight of it. "Have you worn it yet? Put it on and think about what it would be like to a wolf."

Nadya does as instructed. For a moment, she just looks like herself wrapped in a white fur. Then, her body distorted as if invisible hands were stretching the pelt out and enclosing Nadya. She turned into a winter wolf, identical to the one from which the pelt was crafted. Nadya turns about as if chasing her tail, trying to see herself.

Ringeirr speaks again, "Now imagine yourself as a human version of a winter wolf."

Nadya again paused and then seemed to change back to herself, except her features had changed. She had silvery blonde hair and blue eyes. Fisk and Zeph hiss and snarl and back off, their noses twitching. Fisk communicates to Erland that she smells like the winter wolf, not like her normal human self. Nadya looks at herself as well as she can, for Ringeirr's spare furnishings do not include a mirror. Shortly thereafter, Nadya turns back into her normal self and drops the pelt as if it were cursed. It is not cursed and Ringeirr notes that it is in fact a blessing, as it will improve everyone's chances of getting through the Howlings without harassment.

Before the adventurers even approach Whitethrone, Ringeirr addresses some preliminary issues. First, they can’t just walk around the city decked out in medium or heavy armor or shields, or openly display weapons larger than a dagger without documents authorizing them to do so. For this reason, Ringeirr explains, papers identifying them as stilyagi or part of a stilyagi retinue are preferable, as they’ll grant them more privileges with fewer questions.

For his part, Ringeirr intends to push a handcart full of snow-packed fish through the district as part of their cover. Unless they have magic or superior disguises, Ringeirr suggests they wrap their heavier gear in oiled cloth and bury it under the fish. Ringeirr says it is only essential until they clear the gate. Once they’re actually in the Howlings, they can reclaim their gear, but they’ll need to either avoid or deal with any encounters until they deliver Ringeirr’s load of fish and get to Mortin’s home to obtain their papers.

Anyone wearing the Rimepelt in human form may carry whatever weapons he or she chooses, however, and won't be challenged.

Ringeirr says he will arrange a load of fish, including Anadrien's sturgeon if she still wants to carry out that act. The safest time to approach the gate will be in a few hours, when the sun begins to set, when most of the day's catch is usually moved to the city. In the meantime, everyone may rest or attend to any other tasks.

When the Black Riders are discussed and the goal of the adventurers' quest is revealed to be Baba Yaga's hut, he again whistles and shakes his head in wonder. "We 'ear stories 'bout them Black Riders, but their magic an' their role is a mystery to folks such myself. Rumors have it that the hut is in Whitethrone but hedged in by a thick grove of trees that grew up overnight." He looks at Anadrien to see if she can add anything from her sources or experiences in the city.

If anyone wants to describe a disguise, do so. Ringeirr does not think any of the Winter Guard or the White Wolves will use Detect Magic so magical disguises and magic items will not likely call attention.

"Rurik and I mostly dont need weapons anyways, so stowing our gear in the cart seems wisest. Domitian, cant you fight almost as well with a knife as that sword of yours? I mean, it would do less damage but still cut and stab plenty bad. That leaves Uncle Ringeirr to push the cart, us three to be the poor huddled masses, Anandrien to work on her own means, and Ingrit wearing the wolf skin and riding her mount. Nadya, you can probably stick with us and help push the cart, I guess."

Erland looks at his heavy clothing and Irreseni heritage as a positive for almost the first time, confident he'd blend into most crowds in the city.

Erland's strategy is agreeable to Ringeirr. Ringeirr insists that Nadya not participate in the infiltration of the city, fearing it too dangerous if she is detected, as Elvanna knows her personally and may know of her involvement in the incident at her tower.

If anyone feels uneasy executing Marcian, Ringeirr assuages those feelings with stories of murder, extortion, and rape of the Fishcamps population by Marcian and his brute enforcers. Since the powers that be are not in the business of administering justice for such acts by those who serve the power of the rulers, it falls to the agents of good to do so.

A sturgeon is obtained from the day's catch for Anadrien, other fish are packed in ice and laid in a cart over the weapons and armor of any not able to wear them into the gate to the Howlings. As the sun sinks low in the west, the adventurers don their disguises, Ingrit activates the rimepelt, and the group sets off.

Map link of the Howlings is up.

It takes about an hour, with the slow moving cart, to make a circuit around the city walls of Whitethrone to the northeast. The walls are laid out in a hexagon and in the NE sextant, a break in the wall is evident even in the dim light of twilight. See the map of Whitethrone.

A few small houses and shacks stand near this gap and a conspicuous guard house leaves only about ten feet wide path to get through. An imposing figure stands guard. A female humanoid with silver hair and fair skin, a chain shirt and great axe, both likely masterwork quality, signals the little caravan to halt, fingering a signal whistle on a chain around her neck. She is tall, strong, and by human standards, quite attractive, if not very warm or friendly.

"Papers!", she demands with a strong Irresini accent.

Each PC should make a Diplomacy or Bluff check as she gives each person a look and expects some kind of papers or lacking papers, a good explanation as to why they think they should get in. PCs can wait for Ingrit and Anadrien to speak first, as the ones with the most prestige in the eyes of the guard. If one of them can change her attitude from unfriendly to indifferent, it will set the tone and give a bonus to the rolls that follow. Please role play your words and/or actions for maximum credit from your roll. If you are using any of the disguise magic found earlier, indicate which one and what you look like.

Domitian has no qualms about executing Marcian. Bringing the villain to his knees, he aims and delivers a swift stroke across the man's neck, beheading him. "A small measure of justice given this man's crimes."

Approaching Whitethrone, Domitian has no visible weapon at all, except for what appears to be a knife for cutting fish. He wears clothing over his chain shirt and helps push the hand cart along, trying to look as much as possible like a strong fisherman brought along to haul fish, rather than a warrior guard.

The sight of the attractive guard is momentarily pleasing, until he sees her heft a powerful axe--one that could cleave them in twain if their disguises failed.
Perception: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (14) + 8 = 22
His eyes meet hers, and before he looks away, he notes how her ice blue eyes were slightly mismatched in color.

Playing up his disguise, he speaks to Ringeirr, who is pushing the cart. "See, uncle? I told ya we weren't gonna get our fish into the city, without no papers. Can't bring goods to the market no more." Bluff: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (19) + 7 = 26

Erland stands next to the cart, bent over and shuffling his feet. He strives to avoid eye contact with the guard and keeps his shoulders rolled and head low.

Waiting for others to help, what with.my +2 diplomacy and all

Perception: 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (6) + 12 = 18

Anadrien takes the lead, marching up with a combination of deference and underlying confidence; she is stilyagi, has papers, and has dealt with the creatures of Irrisen for months on end. All of this she channels into her demeanor, so that she stops before the lady and gives a curt half bow.

"My name is Anadrien Elrynduil, a member of Prince Turosky's court, and I am on a mission for him. I was tasked with bringing back a fine sturgeon for a feast, and have hired these good people to bring it packed in ice to ensure freshness. Here are my papers. My thanks for your understanding."

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (12) + 10 = 22

Anadrien will cast Gallant Inspiration to give anyone who needs it +2d4 to a skill roll if they fail. Go ahead and claim it/roll it if you believe you'd benefit.

perception: 1d20 ⇒ 7
diplomacy: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (5) + 13 = 18
Damiano looks at Anadrien with respect
Do not fret my lady , your sturgeon is iced good. A simple spell insures it will stay fresh for hours

Rurik simply keeps his head down like any cowed laborer would in the presence of dangerous guards.

Ingrit sits atop Wapiti, her bow slung across her back in her transformed guise, her expression a blend of stern seriousness and the disinterest of one simply doing a job.

"Came across them headed here. She had papers but the others didn't. Seemed like keeping an eye on them to the gates was the best course of action." the tall white haired woman says coolly, her piercing blue eyes passing over the group.

Diplomacy/Gallant Inspiration: 1d20 + 2d4 ⇒ (10) + (3, 3) = 16

Erland has coin, but is concerned about taking an active voice here.

Erland nudges next to Ingrit, nodding to his pouch and keeping his eyes low.

"Mistress, if it might help, we have some coin saved up... he offers in a quiet, obsequious tone.

Bluff+Gallant Inspiration: 1d20 + 10 + 2d4 ⇒ (16) + 10 + (3, 4) = 33

Anadrien gives a pained smile. "I appreciate - and even applaud - your instinct, but surely you'd not want to get involved in such manner with the Prince's business? Not when he's personally vouchsafed this expedition and is going to interrogate me as to every particular? As loath as I am to being grilled for every detail, I'm even more reluctant to see him fly into a rage, touchy as he is about his pride, and start making demands in the Winter Palace, asking why he should be so insulted, and then set forth seeking redress?"

"Wouldn't it be best to let him take the full blame of any indiscretions, seeing as its his name they travel under, and keep both you and myself clear of any complications?"

Dom looks on with interest as Andarien asserts herself with impressive confidence.

"This one has a point, a few valid ones actually." Ingrit says in an impressed tone. "That being said, a couple hundred gold getting...lost....has been known to happen"

The guard walks around the group, double checking that no one has any unauthorized weapons or armor, perhaps hoping for someone to proffer some gold or platinum. She pokes at the ice but doesn't detect anything but fish.

She gestures for Ingrit to dismount. When she does, the guard strolls a little distance into the gap between the walls and speaks with Ingrit briefly.

Dom holds his breath for a moment as the guard inspects the fish cart, but is thankful as she does not try to dig into what's underneath. He's quite curious what she's conspiring with Ingrit about.

Ingrit dismounts as the woman gestures, parring Wapiti's shoulder reassuringly before following her into the gap. As her demeanor shifts, the ranger is momentarily caught off-guard.

The guard speaks with Ingrit a few moments. The smile on her face suggests there are no immediate threats being made. The guard then gestures everyone in the odd convoy through the gates, glaring once more at each as they pass by. Once through, she returns to her post, watching the group until they are hard to see in the shadows of night, which has now fully arrived.

The streets of the Howlings wind back and forth crookedly, and are lined with wooden houses covered in intricate and detailed woodwork. Unlike in the Fishcamps, even the poorest homes are in good repair, pleasantly decorated, and painted a clean white or light pastel colors. The rooftops are steeply pitched to allow heavy snow to slide off. Covered alleyways run between some closely adjacent buildings, sheltering ground-floor entrances from the elements. In other places, open-air bridges or crosswalks join buildings together at their upper levels. Snowdrifts lie heaped between houses, but the streets are shoveled and brushed clean. There is little sign of domestic animals, but handcarts are parked outside some residences.

Ringeirr indicates the fish are to be delivered to a house to the northeast and leads the cart through the main street heading west from the entrance into the Howlings.

I'm working on the next events. I'm planning on skipping over some of the dangerous encounters set by the AP where I believe the challenge would not result in any serious problems for the PCs. I'll describe some encounters as I expect they would likely evolve and keep things moving toward the next major challenge. There will be an opportunity to level up after reaching that point so be thinking about your next level choices, but do not change your profiles yet.

A note on the map directions: according to the compass rose (err... snowflake) at the bottom right of the map of the Howlings, North is to the bottom left. But to keep it simple, when giving directions during descriptions of movement or attacks, I'm using the standard up is north to keep it simple.

As the group travels west toward a northward turn, Anadrien's sharp elven eyes spot some snow goblins lying in ambush from behind a few unattended carts. She has enough time to take a defensive stance. Erland spots them too and sends a slumber hex at one, which puts him to sleep. The other two snow goblins send shortbow arrows at Ingrit and Anadrien. Despite Anadrien's defensive stance, one arrow pierces her leg, while the other hits Ingrit in the shoulder. As Domitian frees his falcata from the bladed belt, another goblin hiding across the road steps out and hurls something at Ingrit but it sails off to the north and explodes with a muffled roar of flames, singing one of his comrades. He yells, “Leave the fish cart, longshanks! Run! Get out of here!” Image of this goblin

The battle does not last long. Ringeirr draws a dagger and advances on one, while Anadrien shoots an arrow at the bomb thrower, but both miss. Damiano advances and sends a scorching ray at the leader, which nearly burns him to death, while Domitian cuts down one of the archers. The leader drinks a potion and scarpers off into the night, moving with almost comical speed for one so short.

A few more blows are exchanged between the others but the one still conscious goblin withdraws and flees into the night as well. Erland tried to slit the throat of the sleeping goblin but fails to do enough damage and he wakes up and begs for mercy.

The battle was brief enough and quiet enough that no one seems to have been roused from their secure houses or perhaps they all know better than to get involved in street skirmishes during the night.

Decide if you want to dispatch the last one. I'll set work on the next encounter, which happens soon after this.

Ingrit took 1 point of damage and Anadrien took 3.

Ringeirr urges moving on before anyone notices the blood in the snow. He directs the group to move west toward an alley tunnel between houses to the west that heads north.

As the remaining goblin begs for mercy, Dom transforms the bladed belt from a falcata into a dagger. One he continues to point toward the goblin's throat. "What are you doing, attacking a fish cart of all things? Is fish worth risking your life?" He's strongly tempted to finish the goblin for such brazenness, but gives him one chance to explain himself.

"Goblins trying to steal fish, how prosaic. Even here they have their scavengers and garbage scum."

"Not enough food in Whitethrone. Longshanks pay no goblins. Little gold. Must steal to survive," the goblin rasps out raggedly.

Ingrit looks down at the goblin, considering his words. As a rule they were generally vile little monsters bent on mayhem, but she definitely understood what it was like to be hungry. Without the skill to hunt or forage, what other option was left to the disadvantaged?

"Run. If you wish to continue living, be smarter in who you choose to rob." she says giving Dom a nod to let him go.

"The poor and disenfranchised everywhere face the same problem. I am not surprise Whitethrone is no different."

After the goblin ambush is over, Ringeirr leads the group west toward an alley tunnel, a roof between buildings to make it easier to deal with the regular snowfalls.

As the group heads toward the tunnel, they spot a lone figure beyond the tunnel. It is about 50 feet away, wears a robe with a hood, and is a slender humanoid. Damiano, Erland, and Ringeirr catch a glint of light from the face and recognize the figure. Ringeirr turns pale and says in hushed tones, "That’s one of them mirror men. They’re spies of the Queen. They have some magic way of speaking to the White Witches, who can see whatever the mirror men see. We have to hide, get it to ignore us somehow, or kill it. But if it becomes suspicious, don’t let it escape alive—or we’re done for, all of us!”

Domiano and Erland can read the General spoiler below.

Damiano gets 3 extra spoilers. Erland gets 4 extra spoilers.

The figure appears to be heading south toward the alley tunnel but it does not appear to have noticed anyone yet.

Each PC will have two rounds to prepare for the Mirror Man. Options include simply moving away as quickly and quietly as possible, (although that's not really an option for the fishcart), hide, or try to fool the mirror man into suspecting nothing. Movement should include a stealth check. If hiding, see the spoiler above with movement information for different parts off the main streets, getting up on roofs or the tunnels or elevated walkways. You could try to break into a house or get someone to let you in. If staying out in the open, bluff checks will be needed at a minimum once the mirror man is close.

I looked at immunities , weaknesses and resistances
Damiano whisper
It is a construct bur it is still vulnerable to mind attacks . Beware it has no eyes though . Our best course there is to bluff we are harmless

Same spoilers, but added spell casting. D'oh.

"I cant talk my way out of a satchel. But I could fly up to the rooftops and remain out of its sight. One other of us could fly as well."

Erland uses his flight hex on himself, then looks to the others to see if anyone wants to fly.

"Not really in my skillset either," whispers Rurik. "Anyone good at that sort of misdirection?"

Earlier

As Ingrit shows mercy to the hungry goblin, Dom gives one final warning. "There are other ways to survive. Don't try this again." He sends the goblin off with a stiff shove.

Now.

"I've played enough cards in my life to keep a straight face," suggests Dom. "Andarien and you well dressed folk continue acting as her Stilyagi retinue. The rest of us are pushing along the cart. Keep a close eye on him. If it seems like he's onto us, we'll have to act fast."

Entering the alley tunnel, Dom starts talking casually. "A lot better goin' under this here tunnel. My body's gettin' tired pushin' the cart through the snow."

Bluff: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (14) + 7 = 21
Sense Motive (does Mirror Man suspect anything?): 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (3) + 6 = 9