Feral's Shades of Ice (Inactive)

Game Master Feral

The man shrugs. "My ma would be proud."

Zirt's little mouth opens wide in shock as the man's response renders her speechless.

"Would your mother be as proud if I ran a blade across your throat?"

The prisoner narrows his gaze on the fiendish witch and spits. "If you're going to kill me, get it over with monster!"

Alexia draws her dagger and puts it to the man's throat. "I should kill you," she purrs, "But I will not. However, I would give you something to remember us by." So saying, she nicks the man's cheeks on either side; just deep enough to leave a scar.

As soon as Alexia draws her dagger, Zirt moves in front of her and holds up a hand. "Now just hold on, there's no need for violence here! Just hold on!"

Err... I'm going to strongly suggest that you don't do that. Even apart from being a Pathfinder and everything...

Once the ladies come to some kind of agreement we'll move on.

The prisoner looks at Alexia with wide eyed terror.

"Pah!" Alexia spits. "They would have as soon killed us. If you can't stomach this line of work girl, I suggest you take up knitting." She puts her blade away.

"Oh, do you knit too? I do so love knitting!" responds Zirt, happy that the conversation has turned to lighter matters. "My dear Aunt Elise taught me to knit! Of course, her name isn't actually Elise, but most people call her Elise because her actual name is quite difficult to pronounce. I still never can remember whether the final vowel is 'a' like in 'Aesterbakinverger', or an 'o' like in 'orange'. Anyway, I'm so glad to find a kindred spirit, and I wish you'd mentioned knitting earlier, like when we were on the ship! I bet they have lovely yarns up here in the North... would you want to go shopping for some with me?"

Smiling widely at the other woman, Zirt snaps her fingers. "I suppose we have to solve this mystery first, though," she says, a bit disappointedly. "Mister! Is there anything else you can tell us about the people who gave you this... 'job'?"

Baffled by the terrifying witch and the saccharin-sweet gnome, the merc only shakes his head. "I told you everything I know. Please turn us over to the watch - anything - just give us some space. You lot are mad!"

The little gnome giggles softly. "Me, mad? You must never have seen a real mad person. But we will turn you over to the watch, I think."

She pats the man on his hand consolingly.

Finding the watch proves easy enough and no more than ten minutes later, a trio of armored ulfen warriors clad in tabards bearing the insignia of dark ravens come marching down the street. They wield blackened iron pikes and have sturdy swords at their hips. Their leader, an imposing man that looks like an older more filled out Rhyno does all the talking.

"And you say these men attacked you?" he asks in very rough common after the situation is explained.

"Do these outsiders owe weregild?" he asks of the mercenary leader.

If the thugs were cowed before, they're downright meek in the presence of Trollheim's law enforcers. "None."

As the guards bind the thugs, their leader pauses to consider Rhyno, the only member of the party that doesn't scream Outsider. "Do I know you?"

Rhyno shakes his head while picking bits of gore from the head of his hammer, ”No, I don’t think so. I been told I have one of those faces that always looks familiar.” After the thugs are dragged away to begin hard labor, Rhyno turns to the others, ”That was a good fight! Where do we go now? They thought little Zirt was the leader, so where to leader?”

Zirt giggles softly. "Me, leader?! Well..." she begins, one hand reaching up to stroke her chin thoughtfully. "I think we ought to go find out who these Hjort and Runa people are! How'd you know what they were saying, by the way? And did they really say I was the leader, or are you making that up?"

She smiles and punches the big man's calf playfully.

The lanky ulfen feigns agonizing pain over the vicious calf strike he was just given. ”I speak Skald, and they said to kill the others but leave the leader alone. Everyone but you was the target of an attack. So either you were thought to be the leader or they just didn’t see you. Come to think of it, I wasn’t really attacked either, so the second thought may be the good one!”

The lead guard gives Rhyno one more glance before replying with a shrug and leading the prisoners away.

As the party begins mingling with the locals and getting to know Trollheim a little better, a few things become clear. Firstly, the locals don't seems to like outsiders and don't seem to take Zirt seriously at all. Second, they hate witches and anyone connected to the kingdom of Irrisen with a passion. In fact, they don't seem to like anything that doesn't fit within their rough and rugged way of life...

Roll a diplomacy or knowledge: local check. Non-ulfen take a big penalty. Witches take an even bigger penalty.

"Well, I guess we should have asked them before we let the guards take them away. Otherwise we're stuck with two leaders, and that reminds me of the story my mother tells about a town that had two leaders one time, and it didn't end well! So maybe we should take turns being leader, or only one of us should be leader. Otherwise we might end up with weasels strapped to our heads to keep away the mountain lions."

After a brief pause, she smiles up at Rhyno. "So what do you think of my plan?"

Edit: Diplomagnome: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (10) + 5 = 15

"As good a plan as any" he replies, "I am not a leader, so you can take that role if you want, though, it may go better if everyone this I am. Ulfen tend to be very... mean... to outsiders." He sets about trying to chat up the local blacksmith and armorer since they, even more than the tavern keeps, know the gossip in the north, because without strong steel, you're dead here.

Ulfen Diplomacy: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (18) + 1 = 19

Time: 1d6 ⇒ 1

After walking the frigid city for an hour, and with Zirt providing some advice, Rhyno learns about Arvida Bergthor, a failed Wind Sister turned skald that might know a thing or two about Hjort Fastaxe. The party finds the woman sleeping off the previous night's drunken stupor in a nearby barn.

Arvida stands at a height of nearly seven feet and is skinny as a spear. Her hair is dirty and tousled. "Who'r you?" she says in a drunken slur.

Motive-Sensin': 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (18) + 1 = 19

Zirt tilts her head slightly and watches, ready to tug on Rhyno's pants-leg if he doesn't seem to catch on to what she senses.

The young man had been quiet. He seemed shaken up after his brush with death.

Walking the frigid city improved his spirits. Seeing the rail thin Skald he tried to turn on the charm. Dressed in his fancy clothes, he seemed more personable and convincing.
"Just some out of towners trying to do some good."
Diplomacy: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (16) + 8 = 24

Sensing the motives: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (17) + 1 = 18

Rhyno, seeing Sydney take up the conversation, strides over to the bar to obtain a drink for both himself and the woman. Returning, he offers forth the beverage at an opportune time with the comment, "Best cure for ale brain is more ale!" Nodding, he takes a deep swig of his own draft.

Zirt smiles in satisfaction as the big Ulfen shows his wisdom, but decides it's best if she stays quiet for the time being. Instead she watches the woman curiously, making a mental game out of trying to determine as much about her as she can just from her appearance.

"I am a witch, and I desire information. You will tell us what you know about Hjort Fastaxe," Alexia says, leaning in close.

An audible slap of palm on face can be heard from Rhyno's direction when Alexia announces herself and her intensions.

Zirt joins Rhyno in his expression of frustration, but quickly recovers and interposes herself into the conversation. Really, is she trying to ruin everything?

With a sweet smile for the drunken woman, Zirt forces a laugh. "Ha, I think she's had a bit too much ale. Just can't hold it like you northerners can... a witch! Imagine! Haha, what an idea."

Bluff: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (19) + 9 = 28

I guess you lead Arvida from the barn you found her in to the nearest tavern?

Arvida looks at Sidney with suspicion but calms down a bit when Rhyno offers her an ale. She, and the majority of the other patrons, grow alarmed when Alexia starts talking about witchcraft but everyone returns to their drinks when Zirt skillfully spins it.

"I'm not going to complain", the tall and rail-thin woman says as she takes a long draw from her ale. "But what kinda good is gunna come from treating my thirst? What do ya need?"

Seeing as no one else has continued the conversation, Rhyno continues on, clearly out of his comfort zone, "We are looking for information on Hjort Fastaxe, as my drunken companion said. Either he tried to have us killed, or he may be the next target of the band that tried to kill us, I can't remember. Either way, we need to talk to him. Can you help?"

Heh, I know it’s outside Rhyno’s comfort zone but with the social modifiers as they are, he’s the face in Trollheim.

Arvida studies Rhyno appraisingly and takes another long draw of her ale.

”I met Hjort Fastaxe once, a while back after his entire village was slaughtered on the Arcadian coast. People say his rage toward the Pathfinder Society burns bright, as they were the ones who slaughtered his people—a people, I heard, that he was destined to be the jarl of. He’s the traditional sort and a serious brute—I wouldn’t want to be one of his targets.”

”I heard he was in town again with a dark-haired Chelish woman, family name of White. They’ve been seen about the market recently, hiring mercenaries and low-life thugs for Gorum-knows what. If you’re looking for her to right some wrong, I’d bring a dozen more of you—she was cornered in one of the market’s darkest corners by some of Trollheim’s biggest miscreants, and just when they thought they had gotten the drop on her, she called to her god and blasted them with holy fire. She’s tough, that one, and not someone I’d mess with.”

Knowledge (History): 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (7) + 8 = 15 (Does Zirt know anything about an Arcadian coast massacre?)

Not with a 15. =(

Alexia says nothing, realizing that she has overspoken her boundaries, but glares at the woman.

Content with the answer and not really liking all the attention, Rhyno nods and mumbles a quick "Thank You" before turning to the three girls in his group, "So, who's ready for some shopping?"

Zirt hops a foot clear into the air. "Shopping!" she cries excitedly. As the group exits the tavern, she smiles and chatters away about all the nice things she's sure they'll find in the market. Once they're outside, she stops and giggles softly. "Do you think I overdid it? We should probably hide the things that would give us away, and try to be a bit discreet. I mean, I assume we're trying to get 'hired' by these people? It's very exciting!"

More Knowledge: Local or Diplomacy checks please.

Diplomagnome: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (5) + 5 = 10
Diplomagnome: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (20) + 5 = 25
Diplomagnome: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (4) + 5 = 9

Sidney circulates a bit and begins to ask some of the local patrons about Hjort Fastaxe and a Cheliax dark haired woman named White. He buys a few drinks and snacks.

Diplomacy to Gather Info 1/2: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (5) + 7 = 121d20 + 7 ⇒ (2) + 7 = 9

At the mention of shopping:
"We need to stick together, so I'll tag along. I may find something in the market of use." the man says with a hopeful look.

Me Diplo-Matt: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (14) + 1 = 15
Me Diplo-Matt: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (12) + 1 = 13

"Hired or beating down, either way we go to the market, yes?" replies Rhyno simply. This sense of leadership is chaffing him like a hair shirt. It should be easy, he's near home, and thus should take the lead, but seeing how easily the other "man" in the group collapses under pressure, he doesn't want anyone dying under his command.

Time: 1d6 ⇒ 1

Zirt and Sidney have a bit of trouble getting folks to listen to them but after a short hour, Rhyno finds a lead. It seems a gnome by the name Thorngrin Brightbeard runs a stall in the markets near where Hjort and Rula were seen last.

Finding Thorngrin isn't difficult - he's the only merchant under three feet tall on the whole block. Within his short stall a number of brilliantly dyed scarves hang on display - the bright shades of pink, green, and yellow matching well with the gnome's fiery beard. Judging by the gnome's sickly palor and overly thin features, it seems scarves aren't selling well.

Despite appearing to be down on his luck, the tiny man greets the party warmly.

"Greetings friends! Can I interest you in a nice scarf? It'll keep the chill away!"

Sidney bows and speaks in a soft, but clear voice:
"Good day to you--we like to see merchants prosper. I'd like to buy some scarves, but first I need to know about some visitors. The more information you have, the more scarves I will need. Here is a start."
Sidney produces a gold coin.

Diplomacy to influence: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (18) + 7 = 25

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (5) + 1 = 6

Zirt's face lights up first at the stall's contents, then again when she sees the proprietor. Smiling at him excitedly, she launches into a tirade in her native language. "O iva bejjiegh, nixtiequ li! Tbigh hjut, wisq? Nixtieq imhabba biex tisma l-istorja tieghek! Kif wasaltu hawn? Huwa hekk tajjeb li tara iehor ta 'wiehed tip ta' nies ... mhux li hemm xi haga hazina ma 'tipi ohra, huwa biss kumdita, inti taf?"

The gnomish man grins ear to ear when Zirt appears.

"Istorja tiegħi inti ma tridx tisma istorja tiegħi -! huwa imdejjaq ħafna u ommi dejjem qal xejn gets aħjar mal frowns No, inti biss għandek pick yourself u jippruvaw diffiċli X'hemm istorja tiegħek"

"I jbiegħu ħjut. I love ħajt! Do you imħabba ħjut wisq?"

When Sidney talks about his scarves, Thorngrin hops up and grabs three in a flash. He begins pressing them against the aasimar's flesh to compare the colors. Unsatisfied, he shakes his head. "None of these will do. you need something brighter!"

At the sight of the gold coin the excitable gnome becomes mesmerized. "Visitors? What kind of visitors? You guys have been the richest and nicest people I've seen in months!"

Zirt squeals in excitement and moves farther into the shop, chatting away as if she's known Thorngrin all her life. "Ma jistax ikun hekk imdejjaq ħafna meta jkollok dawn xalpi sabiħ! Kif għalija, I m'għandhomx ħafna ta 'storja s'issa ... Jien xorta tagħlim u jikbru u jippruvaw biex tisma l-istejjer! Iva, igawdu ħjut ħafna! O ejja tara dan, nistgħu? Jien minn Magnimar, jew pjuttost I gew minn Magnimar qabel dan il-vjagg, imma verament jien biss jistudjaw hemmhekk... jew tfisser għandhom jigu jistudjaw hemmhekk, izda mbagħad I marru għall Absalom u mbagħad wara li ssieħbu fl-Pathfind—Żball..."

Her face suddenly pales a bit and she pauses, biting her lip worriedly.

"Inti Pathfinder! Hemm Guy medja kbir li ġejja mill hawn il-ħin kollu ranting dwar Pathfinders. Hu jippruvaw joqtlu lilhom I think. Nobody jipprova joqtlu lili jibqgħalu..."

The fiery-bearded gnome pauses to reminisce. "Wegħda inti ser ikunu attenti!"

Thorngrin pulls a pale pink scarf down and wraps it around Zirt's neck.

"Keep it. It'll keep you safe from the cold. You don't want to get sick!" he warns before following with a wet rattling cough.

Zirt practically sighs aloud in relief, and bubbles with gratitude and appreciation at the gnome's gift. "O nirringrazzjak tant!" she cries happily. "Huwa hekk sbieħ ħafna... tfakkarni ta 'l-ftit roża field-fjuri aħna użati li jkollhom fil Whistledown I meta kien jgħix hemm! wegħda se tkun attenta, iżda għandna bżonn l-għajnuna tiegħek... tara, aħna qed fil-fatt tfittex li l-bniedem! Aħna naħsbu li huwa seta maħtufa xi ħadd!"

Diplomagnomin': 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (14) + 5 = 19

The gnome suddenly gets quiet and speaks the common tongue again.

"Okay but you have to be careful - extra careful! Hjort Fastaxe and Runa White were here the last few days looking to hire some warriors. You know, the big hairy ones all over Trollheim. I heard some of them talking the other day. They said 'No way we are going to work for a washed-up fool and a foreign she-devil from the south'. They said Hjort’s eyes told all the story they needed to know: he wasn’t doing whatever he was doing for profit—he was doing it for revenge. They said that business had only one path, and it lead straight to Pharasma’s ample bosom!"

"I think they said they were staying at an inn around here."

Zirt gives Thorngrin a quick hug and nods soberly. "Thank you," she offers softly, smiling at him. "Here... a little something by way of thanks?"

She quickly produces two gold coins and slips them into his hand with another smile. "Your mother sounds nice, and wise, and interesting. We'll be careful, and when we're finished I do want to see your yarn collection, okay?"

Thorngrin nods and smiles weakly as he takes the coins. He was happy to have made a friend but sad that she was going. "Of course. I have so many colors!"

"Do you know what inn, or if not, what inns there are around here? We'll come back, don't you worry!"

Thorngrin strokes his beard in thought. "There's lots of great inns around here!"

He proceeds to rattle off a dozen different ones.