Droguk moves toward the one directly in his path, grabbing his greathammer in the process.
While the barbarian advances the sorcerers flames wash over one of the skeletons. The heat of the blast burns away ice and splinters bone. As the creatures remains crack a burst of cold sends shards flying into the area around it. Thankfully none of the party is close enough to feel the effects of the blast.
Turning it advances towards Cyrus.
But if I can't reach then that's fine too.
Cyrus moves forward of Nel as far as he can, taking the alchemist's fire from her as he goes, slogging through the snow and muttering silent curses on the weather as he does so, again reminding himself to purchase or make some snowshoes for himself at the earliest opportunity.
When he reaches the extent of his movement, he rears back with the flask and heaves it toward the skeleton closest to him (to Cyrus' NW) as hard as he can.
Cyrus hurls the flask at the foremost of the approaching undead. The fragile container bursts open bathing the creature in fire. It manages another step, wreathed in flames, and then bursts in a blast of bone shards, burning bits and unnatural cold.
Nelossë moves forward to stand next to the others, blessing Droguk with divine guidance.
The last of the skeletons continues its approach. It advances heedless of the fate of its fellows or it's own safety as only the mindless undead can.
Cyrus when the creatures nears you a cold more fierce than the chill wind washes over you. Exposed flesh begins to turn white and crack as the blood freezes within it.
Cyrus grits his teeth at the sudden pain that washes over him when the skeleton approaches, taking a quick step backward away from the skeleton and using the freedom of movement to quickly draw his falchion and wait for an opportunity to actually use it against the accursed undead.
Gritting teeth and forcing thick chain garbed legs through the snow, the grim ulfen with the scarred face surges forward where Cyrus seeks to retreat. With a primal cry of "Hacka på! he brings his warhammer around in a cross-swipe twin handed and with all his strength forcing weight into the brutish blow...
Warhammer Power Attack: for
Droguk moves to the only one that's left, raising his greathammer high as he does and then bringing it down in an attempt to turn the undead into dust.
Cyrus grits his teeth against the pain of the cold the skeleton in front of him radiates, shouting a loud battle cry as he brings his falchion's blade down on the skeleton, hoping it can be stopped quickly enough to prevent it from taking him down with its accursed cold.
The three warriors converge on the foul undead. Thrymrs swing goes wide but as luck would have it the skeletons evasion of his blow puts it right in the path of Droguks earthbreaker. Cyrus follows up with a slash from his falchion rending the staggered creature. Bones crack and shatter and just before the fell light leaves its eyes the remains burst outward showering all three in bone shards and life leeching cold.
With the third of the creatures dispatched the clearing falls silent beyond the sound of the parties heavy breathing and the wind in the trees.
As the last of them fall, Droguk sheathes his hammer and draws out the greatsword. Looking in the direction of the road ahead, "Let us move." He plods along in the snow, continuing their trek.
Reflex:
Thrymr endures the wash of cold with merely a grunt, before letting his hammer fall back to his side and stretching. With a spit in the snow he lets his eyes scan the horizon.
With the battle over the party catches their breath and then continues along the trail.
Onward through the wind and snow you push on. Mile after mile, hour after hour. Time passes and you can tell that you're slowly gaining altitude as you march up the ridge. The continual cold and effort are tiring and once again cause muscles to ache and half healed injuries to make their presence known anew but you grit your teeth, pull your cloaks tight and press on.
Fort vs Cold :
Droguk :
Nelosse :
Thrymr:
Cyrus:
Featherfoot :
Fort vs Cold :
Droguk :
Nelosse :
Thrymr:
Cyrus:
Featherfoot :
Fort vs Cold :
Droguk :
Nelosse :
Thrymr:
Cyrus:
Featherfoot :
Fort vs Cold :
Droguk :
Nelosse :
Thrymr:
Cyrus:
Featherfoot :
After traveling for more than half the day you come to a point on the trail where the rocks and snow are stained a reddish brown and many tracks, both animal and human, cross the area.
Thrymr is unperturbed by the sign of blood... but does take a moment to take his shield from his back to his arm.
Droguk bends to examine the area.
Droguk inspects the tracks trying to make some sense of the chaos. Most of the tracks are tracked over or obscured but you manage to find some clear boot prints which would indicate a humanoid of some sort. The other tracks appear to have been left by a large animal.
The tracks are those of a weasel but of immense proportions.
Eventually you catch sight of a line of tracks leading off towards a nearby corpse of trees. When you turn your glance in that direction you quickly note a larger patch of red-brown snow and what appears to be a ravaged body.
"I do not know what kind of creature made these tracks," Droguk says, turning his attention toward the trees. "But whatever it is, it is big." With his sword in hand, he moves toward the ravaged body, keeping an eye out for the large beast.
Spotting what Droguk goes to look at, Thrymr follows about ten feet behind him and stays standing as he turns through the body.
When you get close enough to get a better look at the corpse it becomes clear that it's the mauled body of a middle aged hunter. His midsection and thighs have been bitten and chewed upon leaving a rather grizzly scene.
You're saddened to realize that you recognize the man as Dryden Kepp, an esteemed and seasoned hunter from Heldren who made his living hunting the Border Woods.
You recall hearing that Dryden had been telling tales about a giant white weasel in the Border Woods and, when he met some disbelief and good natured ribbing about hitting his flask a too bit hard, vowed to make a trophy of the beast before setting out into the wood again.
Stopping to investigate the tracks along with the others, Cyrus puzzles over them for a moment. These...these look like weasel tracks. The pattern of the paw-print is common to those animals. But these are far too large for any ordinary weasel." he remarks.
His attention drawn to the patch of red-brown snow, Cyrus quickly follows Droguk to investigate further. As soon as he lays eyes on the man, he gasps aloud and rushes forward, pushing past anyone who happens to stand in his way.
"Dryden! No!!" he gasps, dropping to his knees in the blood-soaked snow. He takes a few moments to gather himself, then looks to the others. "This..this man is Dryden Kepp. Heldren knew him well...he and I hunted together on occasion. He was one of the best hunters living in this part of Taldor." he explained, then turned his attention back to the body at his feet. He was clearly having a difficult time with this.
"The white weasel...by Desna...that has to be it. In..in the Stoat he was telling everyone he'd seen a giant white weasel in the Border Wood, but...nobody believed him. Said he'd been hitting the flask too hard. Dryden, he...he got upset with everyone ribbing him and swore he was going to go catch the giant white weasel and bring back its skin to prove it to the town that he was telling the truth."
Nelossë will move forward to examine the body and its wounds, then to find the tracks that appear to be the most likely to lead toward whatever attacked him. "For your friend, perhaps we can bring this giant weasel to town and redeem his reputation. But it may be difficult, if he was as fine a hunter as you say."
Kobabd moves up being careful to avoid disturbing any evidence or tracks the more skilled people are examining.
Kobad takes notice of the victim Dryden he whispers.
looking to Nel he was a good hunter, but he was alone. perhaps we can succeed together we he failed alone.
Cyrus draws in a slow, deep breath, steadying himself. "Yes...yes, you're right. We MUST find this weasel and prove to Heldren that he was telling the truth. He deserves better than to have died out here with the townspeople believing him a fool. Dryden deserved better than this..."
Thrymr listens to the words and then turns to spit into the snow "So he was mouthy, a drunk and a fool... I'd say the muds' what he deserved. Butchering an animal ain't going to get him back from the mud... and in the mud I'm sure he doesn't have much to care what thoughts are made of him."
"Why in the feck should we skive off to kill an animal that for all you know might've just been defending itself against the dead bastard?" with pointed gesture to the bloodied corpse "I came this way to hunt game worth hunting... not put a dead fool on a pedestal."
Kobad looks over at the warrior.
Because its fur can clothe a freezing child, its meat can feed a starving family. This unnatural cold has slowed if not stopped the summer harvest. people will be needing food and furs. if for no other reason than to save our community, we should hunt this creature.
While the party discusses the fate of Dryden it's noted that he carries a broken shortbow and has a pair of fine looking arrows left in his quiver. A pair of snowshoes, clearly homemade, are lashed to his feet. Nearby, almost buried in the snow, is a bloodstained pack. Looking inside you find three days worth of rations, a half-full hip flask and a journal.
Flipping through the journal you find that the last few entries are in regards to Drydens efforts in tracking and killing the weasel. An elusive and dangerous creature, especially in the snow, it made for a difficult hunt. Dryden mentions setting a pair of bear traps near the head of the Somir Valley which he felt the beast frequented.
In addition to the information that he wrote about his hunt you read an odd entry about a hut with a strange doll inside that he came upon during his furthest foray towards the valley.
Looking at the tracks in the area it becomes clear over time that Dryden was heading down the same trail you've been following, though in the opposite direction. The weasel followed him up the trail and headed off into the wilderness afterwards.
"It looks like Dryden was coming back this way, headed down the trail we go up. The weasel followed him, then struck off into the woods that way," she gestures. Picking up the journal, she pages through it. "Seems he set a few traps for it in places he thought it would be."
What is this hut he mentions, and why the doll?
The vague description doesn't bring anything to mind.
Cyrus narrows his eyes and looks back to Thrymr. "Take the cotton out of your ears. I said he was accused of, not that he was. He was no drunk, I know that for a fact...and he wasn't a fool, either. You might take care to actually defer to someone who knew the deceased before hurling insults about them."
He stands, staring off in the direction Nelosse indicated, pulling his bow off of his back and nocking an arrow to the string. "Dryden deserves a better end than to have his corpse rot out here in the snow. A man such as he at least deserves a proper send-off and the restoring of his reputation. You do what you want. I'm going to track down this white weasel and settle Dryden's account for him. Anyone else wanna join me?"
Thrymr snorts in disgust, before spitting in the snow. Without wasting any more words, he shoulders his shield and starts tramping further down the path towards the source of the winter.
Glancing at Cyrus and the others, she holds a hand up to forestall any of them following here, then chases after Thrymr and begins walking with him.
I think you meant to have that talk with Cyrus. Right now he's heading for the weasel while Thrymr is walking off to continue to the source of the winter.
He stands, staring off in the direction Nelosse indicated, pulling his bow off of his back and nocking an arrow to the string. "Dryden deserves a better end than to have his corpse rot out here in the snow. A man such as he at least deserves a proper send-off and the restoring of his reputation. You do what you want. I'm going to track down this white weasel and settle Dryden's account for him. Anyone else wanna join me?"
"I will aid you, but we need to finish this quickly. Time is our enemy as winter's bite becomes deadlier with each passing moment." His sword in hand, he awaits the ranger to take up the hunt.
Getting no response from the Viking, Nelossë returns to the group. "I tried talking to him, but he felt it was time for our paths to split. Perhaps we should continue on our way. I agree with Droguk, though, that this false winter is our true foe. Cyrus, perhaps we can wait to hunt your friend's quarry until we save this land from starvation. If we come across the weasel on the way, I will aid you in stopping it, but our goal should be to protect those who will suffer from the cold. Dryden is beyond an ability to care for now."