Welcome to Part 3 of this series! Please dot in, so I can see everyone is ready.
Keep of the Huscarl King is the third and final chapter of the Shades of Ice adventure arc, set in Avistan’s frigid northern reaches. All three parts are designed for Tier 1–5, and are intended to be played in order. As such, this scenario assumes the PCs played through the first part, Written in Blood, as well as its sequel, Exiles of Winter.
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Petrok stared blankly at the frozen landscape. They were still close to the Irrisen boarder so winter held on in this part of the Mammoth Lord Realms. Petrok looked over his shoulder to wait for his companions to catch up. He kicked the snow trying to muster more patience. Be still, this is your land, you know it well..they do not. He had volunteered to scout. Though his companions were a welcome addition, he found himself wanting to be alone with his thoughts more often as not lately.
He could hear their feet break through the icy snow as they approached from behind. A herd of aurochs stirred up a storm cloud of snow in the distance. A couple of his approaching companions expressed concern about the massive herd. They shouldn't bother us if we don't bother them. Petrok replied his breathe crystallizing in the frigid wind. He paused for a momentary glance at the arc of the sun and plowed forward through the tundra. The aurochs don't generally attack unprovoked......unlike most in these lands....
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Solstice is a northerner, with a moderate Shoanti accent. She bears the earmarks of an ifrit outsider. Her skin is brass in color and her hair is white, but iridescent, almost gnomishly. Rather than the jewelry typical for most of her kind, she sports elaborate and very colorful tattoos more in line with her Shoanti ancestry, though the two small nubbins that poke from her brow are pierced and anchor the two ends of a thin gold strand with small tasteful but glittering dangling jewels.
Note: The jewelry changes from time to time. A girl's got to accessorize.
"It's been a while for me."
*sigh* I wonder if I'll get an opportunity visit mom and dad. Do I even want to? They were not too happy when I left; then all those questions about what I've been up to, thinly disguised attempts to see if I'm living up to my potential. Well, no need to worry. It's a big land and its VERY doubtful I'll run into anyone I know unless I go out of my way.
Wolfie leans into Spackle with sheer joy at being petted. He almost knocks the gnome off his feat.
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"Well now, what kind o' friend would I be ifin I didn't bring Cayden's blessin' with me. ACH! Hey now Wolfie, don't go knockin' me down. I'd be lost til the spring melt fer certain. Ahh, yer a good pup. Okay...that's planty of lickin'! Anytime now, ye kin stop. No? Okay, jest keep goin', I'm suren the frostbite from yer freezin' slobber won't be too bad."
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"Hello..." says a tall man with the set of features that scream "Tien".
He is large, very large, and made even more so by the huge number of furs and warm clothing that he is bundled up in.
"I am being Yoshi!" he announces. Peering within his furs you can make out a face that only a mother can love, a nose that has been pounded flat from far too many fights, and presumably ears of a similar nature. In a well gloved hand there is a spear.
"I am being assistance if there is defending or attacking that needs doing." he shares.
Dark eyes peer out, looking appreciatively at the wolf. "Nice Doggy."
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The bard turns to greet the owner of the booming voice, accidentally slamming his head into the man's thigh. "Oof! Ow! Whatcha hidin' in them furs lad? Feels like stone." Turning back to Feybella, he lifts up his nose a bit,"Feels like it's bleedin'. Is it bleedin' lass? Oh no, stop lickin'. Ah dung! Fey, ain't ya gots a command ta stop yer dog here? Bleck, PPHHTT. Okay, now e's puutin' 'is tongue in me mouth. No. Bad dog. Stop. Heel. Sit, oh wait, ye'are sittin' already. Cayden's Keg yer a big beastie." Suddenly remembering the giant looming behind him, Spackle turns back around. "Well met Yoshi. Me name's Spackle. That there is Feybella, an this overly friendly poodle here is 'er best friend, Wolfie. Gots ta say boyo, yer common is far better than me tienese...tienan...tienican. Let's jest say that yer talkin' is mighty impressive!"
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"Looks like we got ourselves a fine group here. I don't know whether to thank you all or hate you all for allowing me to accompany you on your journey. I may die from the weather, but couldn't pass up the chance to blow the limbs off those Shadow Lodge a-holes. I'm Damiel, by the way, I'm not sure if I mentioned that before." Says the tall, slender elf as he chuckled at the gnome having a rough time with the canine. Assessing his new traveling companions and being unable to hide his excitement toward the thought of explosions, body parts, and adventure. Even through the piling snow on his clothes and frozen snot on his face.
The Ulfen have a saying: “No blade is as sharp, no demon as cruel as the winds that walk their way down the Icestair.” At the border of Irrisen and the untamed wilds of the Realm of the Mammoth Lords, the meaning of those words becomes clear as the barren, snow-covered plains stretch to the horizon. Four days’ travel now lies between the eastern edge of Irrisen and the shattered remains of the Huscarl King’s keep. To the east, sinuous snow drifts give way to rocky foothills from which pines and scrub brushes claw for life. In the distance, the massive creatures that give this land its name shuffle along at a ponderous speed, still impossibly huge even from far away. Skagni’s map marks a clear and straightforward path, but the snow makes for slow travel. The Shadow Lodge agents have a head start, but persistence through the harsh environment and adherence to the strict map may yet make it possible to catch them before they reach the Keep of the Huscarl King and gain access to the mighty weapon held within.
Knowledge (local)
In addition to gaining this knowledge, PCs who make a DC 25 check also receive the option of buying a scroll that provides translations to some of the more commonly used symbols and motifs among the Snowmask Clan. Scrawled onto the inner side of a long strip of mammoth pelt, this translation device costs 5 gp. While it may help in translating Kellid pictograms, it does not help a character speak or understand Hallit, the language of the Kellids.
Knowledge (history)
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Solstice waits demurely for someone to take leadership and will humbly and obediently follow directions. She is a quiet thing, shapeless inside her bundles and leading a small but sure-footed and healthy mule.
"I could never tell if the men were just boasting or spinning tall tales, but around the hearthfire they used to tell stories of a warrior, a leader of other Kellid warriors, that forged a small kingdom out there. Of course they all boasted that some day they too would forge their own kingdom. Such is their way, particularly if the night is cold and the need for entertainment great."
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"I could never tell if the men were just boasting or spinning tall tales, but around the hearthfire they used to tell stories of a warrior, a leader of other Kellid warriors, that forged a small kingdom out there. Of course they all boasted that some day they too would forge their own kingdom. Such is their way, particularly if the night is cold and the need for entertainment great."
I don't know anything about Kellid Kings and their ilk... Petrok turns to spit but, thinks better of it. All I was told was to meet up with you and guide you where you ask to go. I was told one of you had a map of our destination. Now that we're away from the witches border, I think it's time you show'd me where we're going. This time Petrok does turn to spit. The phlegm freezes before it hits the ground.
Petrok waits as whoever has the map; scrabbles to unpack it. Petrok has a pensive look on his face, while he taps his foot, in impatience. Suddenly he *starts* as something seems to bother him
Petrok seems to regain his composure and pats his belt pouch knowingly. Petrok spits again and sneers sarcastically, No, no , take your time...no need to hurry...we're only on the open tundra no shelter for miles and night approaching quickly...it's not like our lives depend upon your vigilance or anything...
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Yoshi steps away from the dog, a smile cracking his series and well hidden face.
"Dogs are being very good. And I am thanking you. I am learning your language better every day."
He peers over the groups shoulders at the man.
"I am hearing these lands are being claimed by the Snowmask tribe. They are very being ferocious and are ambushing travellers - as they are knowing the land better than us. Many Khellid are moving, but Snowmask always live here. This is not being normal for Khellid."
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Fey half looks at Spackle since she's used to his antics. You aren't bleeding Spackle. Your hat cushioned your noggin when you ran into the big fella. You might bruise a bit, but that will make you more attractive to the ladies." she pats Wolfie. "Leave him be Wolfie. I know you like him, but you'll freeze him to death with all the slobber."
She smiles up at Yoshi. "Nice to meet you. He's actually a wolf, but he'll answer to whatever you want to call him."
Fey rides Wolfie over to the woman dressed in furs. "Hello I'm Fey, and this is Wolfie." She pets Wolfie. She indicates each man in turn, "That's Spackle, Yoshi, Damiel, and er." she looks to the half-orc. "I don't think I caught your name."
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Oblivious to the conversation, Spackle hands the map over to the half orc. "Well, aintin' you just a ray o' sunshine? What the?? Uh..er...laddy, you ain't got one o' them 'tumors' hidin' in yer belly do ya? Please tell me it ain't nuthin' like that. Last trip I had I nearly lost me lunch every time that thin' made an appearance. Last thing we all need is me leavin' a trail o' peas an carrots all the way to the Keep. Or do ye have sum other surprise in yer pants yer tryin' ta keep warm in all this freeze an' frost we find ourselves in?"
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Fey rides Wolfie over to the woman dressed in furs. "Hello I'm Fey, and this is Wolfie." She pets Wolfie. She indicates each man in turn, "That's Spackle, Yoshi, Damiel, and er." she looks to the half-orc. "I don't think I caught your name."
I'm Petrok, Petrok Kaznikh is my given name but, I hold no particular affection for that name or any other. Petrok sighs as if exhausted. His manor is that of a person who must speak a tale that's, been told already. I was assigned to this mission by one of our agents. Red Zarroka gave me this mission, when we crossed paths in Hillcross. He didn't tell me much. Just that, a group of fellow Pathfinders would be coming from the west and would need help. Petrok lets his shoulders slump a little. Seemly defeated in the test of his patience for, someone to speedily produce the map. Petrok blows out another strong breathe, And I'll do that as soon as I know where we're going..
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Oblivious to the conversation, Spackle hands the map over to the half orc.
Petrok greedily grabs the map *pfft..*. Unfurling the map he nudges Feybella, gesturing for her to hold one end of the map. Shyly..*er..* Do you mind? Petrok squeaks, whilst presenting one end of the map, for Bella to hold.
A low whistle escapes Petrok's lips as he examines the map. His finger slides along the map and stops. Whoa!... Petrok stands up and begins to roll the map up. He speaks while pulling his pack off and stowing the map inside a scroll tube located in the pack. I hope you all brought warm clothes and plenty of provisions! Petrok states almost amused. Because, where we're going you'll not be needing your swim suits! *smirk* He pauses for a moment to make sure he's got everyone's attention. We head north, near the Ice Stair, and into the upper ranges of the Tusk Mountains; few outsiders have traveled there. Fewer still have lived to tell the tale.
Petrok seems grimly satisfied with his foreboding announcement. I'm ready when you are ladies....and er, gents.. Petrok slings his pack over his shoulder and turns to watch the herd of Mammoths that dot the horizon. Keep acting like you know what your doing. It will give them confidence in your ability. Then maybe...just maybe ..a few of us will survive this madness...
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The lava gnome pull out a wand. "Enough's enough. Ain't no reason fer a wee gnome ta be a hero. Don't wanna loose me toes." The bard taps the wand to himself, but nothing seems to happen. "Ach, come on now ye stupid stick, do yer magic." He hits it a few times with his fist and shakes the implement, repeating the process until he finally seems satisfied with the results of his efforts.
"Ay me, that is more like it."
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Handing over the wand, "O' course lass, I ain't some self absorbed Aspis flunkie."
Hearing Solstice's description, "Volcanos ye say? Well now, maybe there be sum hope fer this white wasteland o' beauty." Looking toward Petrok, "Alright Sunshine, looks as if we're being as ready as we're ever gonna be. Let's get goin'."
Petrok looks out over, the open expanse of the Tundra. It's a familiar place and familiar feelings, start to flood him. His gaze turns to those behind him, his companions. The two small ones, had both managed to squeeze onto the back of the wolf. The big man from the other side of The Crown of the World, was keeping pace reasonable well; as was the other-world sorceress. It was the tall Elf Alchemist that, worried him the most. His bottles sometimes clinked as he walked, and Petrok worried that eventual all those vials, trinkets, and bobbles, would slow the elf's pace down. But, thus far, the Elf had managed to keep up.
Petrok took his waterskin from underneath the folds of his clothes. He needed not keep it so close to his body with the protective magics that surrounded him . However, habit had a way of defining man or orc..and Petrok was no exception. After taking a long drought, Petrok looked at the passage of the Sun; three four hours they'd been trekking? Five or six miles then..not far..not far at all. He poked at his belt pouch and ember stirred. His little companion nudged his head outside the to flap of the tiny compartment. You thirsty my little one? the fiercely scared half orc said more gently than anyone could guess.
He lowered the end of the skin to the tiny mammal's snout. Ember immediately begin nuzzling the skin, as if nursing. Whoa! I guess you were thirsty! Petrok shaded his eyes with the brim of his hand and tried to gauge how far they would travel today, relative to the breadth of the Horizon, he could now see.*squeek* Ember finished his drink and tucked himself back in the pouch resting on his master's hip. Petrok absently pat the pouch while murmuring to himself, Don't worry buddy, only a few more hours till we make camp. Then I'll let you out to go find some field mice.
You make your way across foothills and open swaths of tundra for the early part of the first day’s journey. The megafauna that give this land its name—giant sloths, massive elk, and woolly mammoths—are often visible, but do not approach your trail closely enough to force any encounter.
Just after noon, the trail leads through a patch of dense evergreens that end atop a low hill. On the ground below, the evidence of battle is immediately apparent.
The thick cluster of pine trees ends abruptly at the top of a low hill. At the bottom, the snow is littered with the aftermath of battle. Broken shields and spears jut from the snow like fractured bones, and blood colors the ground around a sprawl of bodies, many still seemingly locked in combat.
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Petrok throws his fist up in the air immediately when, he comes upon signs of battle. After he is satisfied no arrows are whistling in his direction, he motions the others to stay low and come forward slowly. In the mean time, he scans the area carefully for any remaining hostiles and/or signs of survivors.
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Damiel, being much more interested in the spoils of war scans the ground looking for leftover equipment and anything that was salvageable from the battle while Petrok kept and eye out for hostile and survivors. "Looks like we missed the fun. He says while flipping over bodies and searching them with no remorse.
The corpses number 10 in all, and are of two distinct groups. Five are native Kellids who carried axes and wooden shields. The lower half of each Kellid warrior’s face is painted white in a haphazard sprawl of color from the upper lip to just above the larynx.
The other combatants wear more “civilized” clothes, including heavy winter coats. These non-Kellid dead have been stripped of their weapons and any other valuables, leaving them in only their clothes and padded armor.
Each of the five "civilized" agents has a set of padded armor and a cold-weather outfit. Each of the Kellid warriors has a battleaxe, 3 javelins, leather armor, a heavy wooden shield.
Suddenly, a wild animal comes charging at you! Damiel sees it just in time to react first.
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Petrok looks over his shoulder as Damiel approaches..
"Looks like we missed the fun
*Mm-hmm* Petrok grunts. The half Orc draws his Falchion and motions for
Yoshi to follow while whispering to Damiel, are you coming? Petrok begins to inch down the hill and inspects the first civilized body he comes upon.|
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Petrok grits his teeth as he sees the bomb fly...I could have calmed that animal with spirit magic if this skittish southern elf, hadn't tossed explosives around willy-nilly! Now everyone within miles will know we're here! GRRR Petrok snaps his head around and lowly growls at the fleeing Damiel, You imbecile! now everyone within' miles will know we're here!
The bomb is close enough to singe the creatures fur, but it also puts it in a sheer fury! As it flies into a rage, it charges right at Damiel. Unfornately for Petrok, he is in the way and takes the brunt of the attack. Luckily, the attack is clumsy, and Petrok is unscathed. He swings his fachion, making a minor slice, and runs to the back of the group. As he does so, the creature swipes a clawed paw at him.