Dezső can, with his darkvision, see two men, guards probably, stumbling about in the carriage, their clothes blood spattered. They have horrible wounds that no longer bleed. One looks up with a hiss, revealing filmy eyes, and immediately starts to tear at the ceiling of the carriage ineffectively. The other follows suit.
"Remarkable! I see two unbound and grievously wounded but un-bleeding men in blood-splattered clothing. They appear to have been guards, but they don't appear to be themselves anymore. They have filmy eyes and clearly have great desire to get at me with seeming hostile intent. I would guess they are either under some altered state or have been transformed into zombies. I have never seen an actual zombie, so I am a bit unsure which is the case. If they are indeed zombies, I suggest that we position ourselves carefully, open the carriage door, and put the miserable things to rest."
Dezső can't tell what they are. They could be drugged? Maybe they are golems with blood on them. :D They continue clawing at the hole in earnest--one sticks a finger up in a rather rude gesture, the tip just peeking out of the roof.
"Does someone else want to come have a look? I don't want to kill these things if they can be restored." In the meantime, Dezső wants to determine whether there might be clues in the carriage. Can he see if there are any papers, objects, or containers in the carriage? He will poke another hole or two if necessary.
Dezső cannot see anything of note inside the carriage--hard to say, but it just looks like a mess in there. The hole is big enough to drop an alchemist's fire vial in.
”Let me see. Here,” he says, sliding a glove on his hand before offering it up to the tiefling. ”Help me up.”
Once up top, he peers down.
Zombies they are.
Braegan jumps back at a particularly loud thump from the wood under his face.
"Zombies, I think." He looks around, then shrugs, "Unless you think there's something of value in there, we could just chain it shut and set the whole thing on fire."
Dezső thanks Braegan and nods grimly at the assessment. But he recoils from Braegan's suggestion: "I don't think we should do that. There might be clues inside to what happened, or something else of importance. I think we should make a big enough hole in the roof to fire bolts and arrows down at the zombies. It should not be too difficult to destroy them."
"Right, then," Braegan mutters as he laboriously climbs back down. "I'll leave you to it. Weapons aren't really my thing. If they somehow get out, I'll be ready to help."
He removes his one glove once more, standing ready to finally see the answer to that age-old question: how long does it take a tiefling and a kellid to dig through the roof of a frozen carriage?
As he awaits others to join him, Dezső ties a rope around his waist and then ties the other end around the driver's bench. He does not want to risk falling in with the zombies. And he keeps the slack pretty minimal, so that if he slips he won't fall far. In fact, if possible he will try to make a hole right at the corner of the roof closest to the driver's bench, so he can stand or kneel on the driver's bench and shoot into the carriage. Does that work?
When she is told the dead-that-walk are here, Chiquq's round face creases in alarm. "Spirits of cold, we knew. The dead forced to walk? This becomes worse as we go."
Shaking her head, Chiquq climbs up onto the carriage roof and begins stabbing down with her spear at the abominations within.
Braegan goes to stand next to his aunt, cowling his hands up into his sleeves. "I still say we should just blow it up," he mutters, giving her a grin.
After a few horrible minutes, Dezsö and Chiquq put the zombies down. The mutilated corpses stop moving. Their half coagulated blood sticks to sword and spear in a vile necromantic way.
Dezső smiles with satisfaction, but seeing Chiquq's (presumed) reproachful look, he says, "I am sorry, I meant no disrespect to the dead. It is tragic that the guard's bodies were abused in this way. I don't have much knowledge of these things, but I hope none of this interfered with their souls' journey to Pharasma's Boneyard and their ultimate reward for a life honorably spent."
With that, Dezső leaps down and, unless anyone stops him, removes the spear and opens the door to the carriage, intending to search the inside for clues.
The tiefling does not find anything of note in the carriage.
Dezső can't believe there isn't anything of interest in the carriage and he keeps searching. To make his job easier, he pushes the zombie corpses outside, being careful not to touch anything rotten.
Ok, now Dez finds something. :)
Our intrepid tiefling, inquisitive as ever, finds a small jewelry box under a seat, missed by the attackers. Inside is a signet ring with a large center A--clearly Lady Argentea's. There are some other valuables.
Pyewacket hops down and recites the prices of the goods: a pair of earrings worth 25 gp, a set of pearl-inlaid bracelets worth 90 gp, assorted gold and silver necklaces worth a total of 75 gp, and one sapphire pendant worth 50 gp. "Shiny!" He gives Mahb a curious eye, clearly wanting to keep something.
Dezső emerges from the carriage triumphant, holding the box aloft. He is a bit startled when the bird flies down close, but once he understands the bird's purpose, he waits patiently while Pyewacket examines the goods, but he makes sure to retain a firm grasp on each piece. "Clearly these all belong to the Lady Argentea. I'm inclined to think she would not be opposed to us selling items as necessary to fund this operation, but I am willing to defer to the rest of you on that score. As a great deal of value is reflected here, and as we are relatively new to make our acquaintances, should we split these up for safekeeping until we decide what to do with them?"
Dezső will hold on to the box and signet ring, and he is otherwise fine letting the other 4 hold the 4 other pieces, or willing to carry more in the box as others desire.
Chiquq collects her iron spike and hammer, returning them to her saddlebags, for carelessness with one's gear will kill you in the north. Then she wipes the chilly guts of the zombies off the head of her spear, glancing up only now and then to see the recovered baubles.
"That ring is the woman's, no? Perhaps it can be returned to her. Let us see about these maybe-tracks."
Chiquq starts in the direction of the trail she saw, but pauses by the poor soul that was frozen and then dismembered, it seems. She grimaces at the carnage, but looks for clues all the same.
Mahb locks an eye on the bird and a silent contest of wills ensues. Eventually the hag grunts, "Like as not these aren't ours yet- I'll get you a shiny later. Now, what's with the 'shiny' you spake before?"
The old woman and the bird haggle for a time, half in Skald and half in some intimate language of looks and odd gestures that beggars description. In the end, Mahb grunts again, this time with approval. "Seems all the bodies been stripped of metal, 'ceptin that hewn fella sealed in ice." Putting interest to action, Mahb cautiously approaches the statue and the hummocks around it - bird watching warily from her head.
The 'statue' is a man who appears to be a captain of the Taldan guard. He is completely encased in ice, but he is not whole. His head and both arms lay in blocks of ice on the ground. They are slowly melting, indicating that it isn't freezing here at the moment...but it's cold.
His breastplate is intact, albeit under some ice, and is nicely emblazoned with Taldan heraldry. His right hand still grasps a masterwork longsword, which pokes out of the ice.
He is surrounded by his men, all of them dead, pierced with tiny shards of ice and miniscule arrows, and some larger arrows besides. You count nine guards--seven dead around their captain, and two zombies. With Yuln, that would be everyone. Except for Lady Argentea.
You also find two dead handmaidens in the other carriage. They are dead dead, not zombified. There are three courtiers' outfits near them, worth 90 gp.
Chiquq gingerly pokes at the severed head-in-ice.
"...I would try and arrange his body as if at peace, but that is not possible with the ice," she says regretfully. "Hopefully, his gods will not mind his coming to them in this state." At least he died as a warrior.
The fancy southern clothing gets a brow arch from Chiquq-- so impractical, even in warm weather; how do the southerners ever survive?-- but she bundles it up to stuff into Ila's saddlebags. Impractical-- but colorful, and dyed fabric is expensive, she knows that much.
"Let us see if we can find the killers who did these things. These little ones, and also at least one the size of a man-- see, the arrows? Also, the little ones would have had difficulty severing a man's head, you would think."
Braegan gives a long, low whistle as he looks at the frozen man. "This is messed up," he mutters as he checks it for arcane auras.
"Did anyone bring torches?", he asks, looking at the frozen man's gear. "If we have the time, his gear could be useful as we move on."
As he works, he eyes the tiny arrow-marks, "You think those are the work of those tiny ice creatures the Ulfen spoke about?"
Mahb looks over the slivers of ice and digs into her vast memory of ice magic to see if she can identify what may have created the deadly frozen darts. She nods approvingly of Braegan's idea. "Good thinking, boy. His gear might be here because they didn't want to thaw him... or, for fey, they may have feared the metal he bore. Either way - it's worth gettin'."
Braegan detects no magic on the soldier or his gear. Also, they are not cold iron.
Mahb figures the tiny arrows are some small fey. The ice splinters...something else. No magic radiates from them (it has been too long), but Mahb reckons there's a second type of beastie about.
Chiquq gingerly touches the tiny ice shards after Mahb has seen them, and inspects the tiny arrows.
"I do have torch, and flint and steel," she agrees to the singer's question. "But it will still take a long time to melt this all. Still, I am willing."
"Yep," Braegan responds to his aunt, "waste not want not, right?" He looks over at Chiquq, "If we think we can get it done in an hour or so, I think it's worth it."
"Let me try something," Chiquq says. She lost the ice-pick she uses in a crevasse, once upon a time (and realizes now she squandered away some of the money meant to buy a new one in buying drinks for the singer, and herself), but no matter. The spike has many uses!
Looking like a bizarre imitation of a sculptor-with-marble for a bit, Chiquq sets her spike at what look like critical points, and lightly taps the end with the hammer to cleave off chunks of the ice.
"What is left should be easier to melt off."
Mahb licks the head of one of the tiny ice arrows, trying to detect if the tiny fey use poison.
Her irritation with her failure to glean anything useful from the evidence is quickly forgotten as she watches Chiquq work the ice expertly. She nudges her nephew with a sharp elbow, saying quietly, "That's not a melon on her shoulders."
Braegan smiles, "Indeed it's not." He nods to Chiquq's handiwork, "Let's ... uh ... let's not tell Yuln about this, eh?"
As she finishes, Braegan looks at the snows surrounding the quiet area. "So were you able to pick up a trail?"
Mahb does not taste any poison. Chiquq can see the trail clearly; an Ulfen infant could follow that trail. Chiquq, you reckon the arrows to be the work of sprites. Fast flyers, who can emit a spray of color daily and can daze a person whenever they wish and glow like a lantern if they so desire. Mainly, you know them to be fast, annoying flyers. Of the vetr-taka, you have heard only rumors and the bits Yuln told you.
As Chiquq works, she talks. "I think that the very small arrows might be the work of tiny winged creatures called spritta. They play tricks on the mind-- unleashing the colors of the aurora to blind someone, or stealing their will for a few seconds, or showing as lights far off in the snow. --there."
With the last of the ice chipped away, she puts her spike and hammer back carefully in Ila's saddlebags, and lets the others gather the gear from the morbidly-hacked-apart corpse.
"Yes, the trail is there. They made no signs to hide it. Let us hunt!"
Dezső finishes his search of the carriage and approaches the group just in time to hear their assessments of the situation. He nods gravely and examines the little arrows and ice spikes with interest, tucking several little arrows into a pocket. He does not have anything to add. At Chiquq's call, he loads his crossbow and stands ready to follow.
The trail is easy to follow. As it enters the full expanse of the Border Wood, you all notice that the temperature drops sharply and the snow is thick, hindering your movements.
You trudge through a small clearing, wanting for skis or snowshoes (Heldren has none), and see that the trail heads up through taller trees and out of sight. A large chest lies half-buried in the snow, apparently dropped by the attackers or someone else who hastily passed this way.
Dezső looks around and looks at his companions, silently indicating his intention to explore the chest. He gives the others a chance to look around and present any objections. If there are none, he cautiously approaches the chest.
()
Braegan stops about twenty feet from the chest, then shrugs to the rust-skinned man and gestures he should approach.
"Chmn!" Chiquq mutters as the cold gets noticeably sharper. "Cold enough to make ice, now. Night time will be even worse."
She tugs out some of her warmer gear from her saddlebags, and walks with one hand on Ila's neck. The little mammoth is loving this-- but the mammoth doesn't know how truly unnatural it is.
When the come on the chest, Chiquq frowns. "...hold a moment before you touch it," she mutters at the devil-man.
"Careful," she says grudgingly. "Poison. Perhaps poisoned lock, or some venom inside."
Chiquq shrugs. "I can tell nothing about it. Do as you will."
From his position, Braegan watches the chest using his gift, checking for magical auras.
Assuming there is no magic or poison, Dezső will approach the chest and examine the chest, the immediate area, and the lock, for traps or other things of interest.
As Dezső and Chiquq approach the chest, they trip a rope hidden beneath packed snow. The others watch in horror as a spiked log swings out from the trees towards the tiefling and Kellid.
Chiquq manages to throw herself to the ground at the last minute, but Dezső is not so fortunate. The log smacks into him, hurling him off the trail in a bloody heap. He is conscious, but only just.
Insultingly, the log swings pendulously above the trail, its momentum spent, the tiefling's blood dripping off of its spikes.
”Oh, sh!t!” Braegan spits as he rushes forward. ”You okay, Dez?”
He fights his way through the thick snow and drops to his knees, sinking deep into the drifts. He reaches out, searching to see how bad the wounds are. As his hands near the tiefling’s broken skin, there is the sound of crackling firewood. Braegan doesn’t seem to notice, but then, his gray eyes have once again warmed to an orangy-gray, with a distant expression.
Through his glove, the young man’s hand is hot to Dezsös’ skin. Like his gloves had been sitting over a fire for a few minutes. The heat builds momentarily into discomfort, then—in a sudden releasing of energy and the sound of embers popping in a fire—the energy of the moment is discharged. Heat flares through the tiefling’s body, searing the wounds closed.
Braegan staggers back, shaking his head and trying to clear it. And on Deszö’s body, where there should now be burned skin over the wounds, there is raw, pink flesh … like new skin over a healing burn.
The young man finally seems to collect himself and shoots an uncomfortable look between Dezsö and Mahb. Finally, he stammers out, ”Are you alright?”