The cave provides decent shelter from the winter storm, and you wake in the morning ready to get back on the road. The storm has moved on.
Your path slopes downward as you approach a series of high, rocky cliffs on the edge of the Tusk Mountains. Near midday, Skagni’s map directs you through a narrow ravine of ice and rock.
The shriek of a snowy owl dances off the high, rough walls of ice and rock inside this gorge, and the long shadows inside make it feel like evening rather than midday. Although the canyon provides a direct path through the rocky terrain of this area, the other side is almost invisible from the entrance. In the snow drenched plains leading to the gorge mouth, primeval aurochs paw at the new snow to unearth scrub grass.
From the mouth of the gorge, you can see tracks that are humanoid in nature and go only a few feet into the gorge before turning around.
From the mouth of the gorge, you can see what look like humanoids moving around some of the mammoths and aurochs in the surrounding area.
You unearth the remains, partly eaten by scavengers, of a large saber-toothed tiger. Make the next Heal check for more information.
Despite being a top predator in this region, it appears to have suffered extreme bludgeoning damage as if trampled to death. The fractures are numerous, suggesting multiple creatures were involved in the trampling.
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After having taking notes and sketch of the story paint on the wall, Titus goes to sleep waitin for the storm to pass.
From the mouth of the gorge, y
I can see tracks that are humanoid in nature and go only a few feet into the gorge before turning around, I also see some humanoid figures moving around some of the mammoths and aurochs... he says after observing the surrounding area.
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"that majestic beast was done in by a stampede. I hate to delay us, but I'd rather go around. Tales of elves running across the backs of animals are greatly exaggerated. "
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You work your way up the side of the gorge. It is rough, but you manage to help each other over.
A dozen Kellid warriors with painted faces stand vigilant in the center of the route. Although they are armed with axes and round, Ulfen-styled shields, their weapons are not drawn. At the head, a tall and powerfully-built figure with piercing eyes steps forward. As he approaches, his hands are held palm up until he is close enough for words. “I am Hiryla,” he says in broken Common, his words flowing with a strange cadence that suggests that he is speaking words that were given to him by another to say. “You come with me… We must talk.”
"Renegade? Perhaps... we will go back to my camp, where the elders will find out why you are here and see if you speak the truth. We have been watching you for some time."
After an hour of walking (in which you are able to continue to talk to him as you like), you spot plumes of smoke over a low rise.
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I hope your watch tell you that we are good people ? We've tried to avoid killing people of your tribe or trespassing without notice.
We are adventurers and member of a tribe of the South called "The Pathfinder Society", seekers of knowledge, history, stories and ancient artefacts.
In the last cave we sleeps, we have discovered some colorful paintings about the whitemask tribe. Or we think.
As you crest the hill, you see the Kellid camp at the base on the other side. Unlike the fur and hide tents common among the nomadic northerners, this village is composed of small, round houses and low, long buildings built of stone with thatched roofs. The rectangular, round-topped buildings number almost 20 in all, gathered around a central, circular building that is larger and grander than the rest. You are lead into this building.
Inside this grand hall, dozens of Kellid men, women, and children scurry to and fro, passing food and drink around an enormous central hearth. Long, low benches ring the fire, and a handful of elderly Kellids, decked out in ornate white furs sit on the other side of the flames from the building’s entrance. A young woman with one leg, walking with the aid of a crutch, greets Hiryla in Hallit, and then turns to the door and speaks in perfect Common. “Welcome to the North,” she says with a broad grin and a handshake. “My name is Teyma.”
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Thessaly breathes out in relief as the heat of the hall washes over them. She is tired of endless hiking through the snow with dozens of pounds of metal on her body.
"Aye, what he said," she says loudly, rolling her shoulders a little to get out the cramps. "I am Thess Eriksdottir. Our thanks for your hospitality. The fire feels good."
Teyma tells you that the Snowmask Clan has skirmished with a group of travelers out of Irrisen many times in the last few days as the intruders have come farther and farther into their lands. Initially, they attempted to talk with these outsiders, but they were attacked, and fought back.
"We want to know why two companies of foreigners have come into our land along the same route in such a short time."
"The elders want to hear your story. Tell us of your clan, and what brings you here. If the tale is good enough," she adds with a smile, "we will tell you ours."
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Thessaly grunts. "Well, I'm no skald to tell pretty tales... I speak straight and true, some folk say blunt. Here's the tale, then:
"Long ago, Ranulf, one of the Ulfen, he came to your people, eh? With his great big flaming axe. He won a name among you, even though he's of a different people with different customs. Fought a great dragon, ruled well and long and all that... buried under a mountain, if I read those drawings right. This is your people's story, so you don't need me to tell it."
Thessaly's words are her usual terse staccato, but her voice softens a bit as she continues. "I am half-Ulfen, on my father's side. The same people as your Ranulf. As he was an outsider among you who won his place, I sought a place of my own. I have found it among my clan... called Pathfinders." She jerks her chin at the others.
"We've got a feud with this other tribe, though. They used to be part of our tribe but they've betrayed us. Call themselves the Shadow. And they want Ranulf's axe for themselves, and don't care who they hurt, or where they go, or what tomb they desecrate, to get it. We aim to stop 'em solid."
Thessaly isn't given to grand gestures she talks. She speaks, as she said, plain and simply, but her words have some intensity to them.
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Kayanor begins a tale. He uses their native language as best he can. "Before sullying the land here I stood with these shield-mates. During our travels we encountered a fell goblin malformed by evil magic. He dwell within a twisted human's lair. When we came upon him battle was met! Arrow after arrow left my bow. The string sounding so fast that it was as a skald's instrument. About me these heroes stood brave. Perhaps the land itself spoke to their hearts as the cold air filled their lungs. Stand true we did though! When all was done our foes littered the ground, and their red life flowed like wine. It was a glorious battle! Indeed that very battle is what set us upon the path here. Who are we to combat Fate? We have come by our weird*, and we are here to undo the wicked. Fate will unwind as it must..."
*using the original meaning.
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After his two companions Titus tells his tale.
I come from the land of Cheliax, a nation rules by the Mighty Imperatrix Queen Abrogaïl III of the Thrice Damned House Thrune. Here, one god his above all, Asmodeus, ruler of the Nine Hells, Prince of Devils. I was born and raised in a small community near the Barrowood. A strange forest where fey and devils wanders in it. My power come from this land, blessed by Asmodeus and by the Fey. The Fey gave me power and an understanding of nature, as Asmodeus blessed me with Ydresus, my friend and companion.
But I was always interested in books and legends and came to the ancient capital of my land, Westcrown. There, I studies many books and stories and came to know about Delvehaven, an ancient lodge of the Pathfinder Society. Intrigued by its story, I began to search more about it.
That's how I learn about the Pathfinder Society and I decided to join it, to live my own stories, to seek knowledge, to seek history.
Now, I've quit my ancient tribe, and join a new one, one I could call home. Not because I was born in it, but because I choose it. From stranger to passenger to member, now I am here, in this frozen land of warriors and kings.
One of the elders, her face painted white like those of Hiryla and the other warriors, stands from the bench. With no other cue the room falls silent as she speaks. Her words have a strength and resonance belied by her withered frame.
“This is the story that the elders told me when I was a child. Once, a great warrior came to our lands from the South, though his blood and his beard were of the West, in the land where the first dragons hunt and kill. With gold and magic this warrior built a stone keep at the base of a mighty mountain. During this time he came to us, in peace, and invited us to his hearth with gifts of furs. Humbly he asked the elders of our clan if he could hunt with them and share in our ways. Quickly he proved himself a friend to all, sharing in our customs and sharing his with us.
“By the time the last stone was laid in his keep, he had hunted with the elders many times, and made many kills. His axe, sheathed in fire, had protected us from the white wolves and the yetis, just as we too had used our food and furs to keep him warm against the deepest colds. When his banner was raised, the elders were guests in his hall, and some of his own house had already merged their blood with our own. For years the king and our elders prospered, and we learned of crafts, weapons, and ways different from those that came before.
“Then the white wyrms came. For beneath the keep, in the iced caverns below, the dragons had bred. For years their eggs slept and waited. When they hatched, they plagued the king and his new house, but he fought them back with the strength of his arm and the fire of his axe, and the battle was nearly won. But when a matriarch of the white returned to tend her brood, she was furious at the king and threw herself on the keep in madness. In the season of the longest nights, still the sun set and rose again before the battle was decided. The King struck the wyrm down, even though his armor and his beard were white with the ice of her breath. Our elders made trophies and talismans from what remained of the beast, and helped rebuild the crumbled tower.
“The mammoths crossed the plains ten times, three times over before the great king passed, and still the dragons were kept at bay. When the hour of his dying came, the great and generous Huscarl King gave all within his castle to those that had served and befriended his house, save for his mighty axe. With this, the elders buried him, and as we raise a mound of stones over the dead when the earth is too cold to dig, so did the elders bring the mountain down atop our king. Ever since have we held vigil over his tomb and what lies within. We remember his lessons, his ways that bled into the ways of the elders to become our ways. And we remember his beard, first white with frost, then with age, as it symbolizes what he protected us from and what he stood watch against.”
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It's a great honor to follow the steps of the Huscarl King.
The traitors of our tribe or, as they call themselves, the shadow, want only to find the treasure buried under your ancestor's keep. Stopping at nothing and without respect for the Great Huscarl King last peace.
We hope that you will accept that we continue our journey towards the Keep and be able to stop these renegades.
The members of this tribe seem to really take a liking to you. You spend the evening swapping stories, and they say you can continue your journey in the morning.
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Thessaly just enjoys the chance to sleep in a warm building and eat hot food for the night. She is grateful for the hospitality of the tribe, and offers her steel dagger as a gift to Hiryla, knowing that good metal is scarce out here.
Come the next morning, she is ready to travel, bundled in her warm furs again.
Hiryla is impressed by you, and he offers to send 4 of his Snowmask warriors with you to battle your enemies.
The next morning, you all head out. After a bit of travelling, you see the bones of two ancient stone watchtowers rise from the ground like sentries set to guard the entrance to Ranulf’s Keep. Snow and ice still cover their base, making them inaccessible, but they mark the edge of the Huscarl’s Keep, just visible in the distance.
The Snowmask warriors scout ahead, and report back that the remaining shadow agents are headed back toward you, returning from the keep.
You have only seconds before they approach.
Melkorka, a dark-skinned figure swathed in the orange and blue of a desert sky at sunset, strides defiantly forward. Her outline shivers with the heat emanating from the flaming greataxe in her hands. As snow swirls on the wind around her, flakes hiss and shriek as they fall on the blade’s open flame. “Come Pathfinders,” she invites in a honeyed tone, as her companions draw their weapons. “Let Jedrek’s Shard warm you against the cold.”
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Thessaly swells up to impressive size, her glaive grown as well, enough that she can strike foes from twenty feet away. She answers the challenge of Melkorka with a snarl of her own.
She strides forward, whipping her large glaive around in the snowy air.
"Come on then. I'll warm up over your corpse, thief."
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Round 1:
"warriors of the North, may we prove to be worthy allies!" and with that Kaya or let's fly at the mouthy woman about 100' away:
for
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Kayanor's arrow flies straight and true, piercing the boasting clerics heart, killing her instantly.
The shadow lodge agents charge despite the sudden death of their leader. Not one seems to shed a tear.
The Snowmask warriors rush out to meet them, two of them charging their targets. Neither is able to connect, though.
Darathys also charges in, jumping on the grren one, hurting him significantly.