Keolin's Reign of Winter Campaign, Table 1 (Inactive)

Game Master Nickadeamous

"I see, well, no matter, if there are any local people here, Mamzel Stormcrow will recognize them, failing that, the council will be able to provide us with insight when we return.
I would think the families, if any, would wish to know of their fate."

Glanzing at the wyrm, Havelock shakes his head in wonderment.

"If there was any doubt of these creatures being in league with the kidnappers, they are vastly reduced now.
Two of them, in a climate normally wrong for the species, such a thing is no coincidence, even if I were the type of person to believe in such."

Contrary to her usual response when dealing with suspicious individuals, Krystae sits back and allows her companions to continue their questioning of the masked man. Instead, she takes the time to watch him and his mannerisms to hopefully gauge how earnest his answers appear to be. She rolls her eyes slightly at the slender man's flirtations with Elen... she may not understand the words, but the inquisitor has been on the receiving end of many the same situations with would be suitors.

""My condolences on the loss of your group, stranger." He inclines his head to the matter and then gestures politely to the others. ”You’ve already met Elen and her companion, this is the good Professor Havelock, our resident man at arms Brynjar. This lovely vision is Krystae, a devotee of Desna and a local to the region. And the rather large framed fellow is Ragnar, the most interesting person I’ve met in my 60 years. Best for conversations with him if you speak in either Elvish or Skald.” Helios turns to the stranger and inclines his head once more. ”I’m Helios Sunstreaker, I’m not directly from this region but some leagues west of here. Might I ask your name, brave sir? Other than the current efforts of the day, what brings you to the region?”"

At Helios' comment, Krystae blushes and picks up a bit of snow to throw at the bard. "Helios!" She smiles and shakes her head at him before her attention is diverted to the bodies around them when Droviz is asked if any of them were locals.

The first two she did not recognize; however, when her eyes fell upon the young blonde her blood went cold. She did recognize her... as well as her own arrow which was sprouting from the girl's thigh. Her name had been Hyporia, one of the girls Krystae had grown up playing with as a child... She had been an odd girl, but friendly despite the stigmata that had followed her all her life.

Krystae knelt next to her, gently closed her eyes before placing a copper coin on each eye, and folding her scorched hands across her chest. "Her name was Hyporia, a girl I've known since childhood. She was misunderstood... much like me. Also much like me, she has no family." She stands with a sigh heavy with grief. "Feel free to take what you need from those two, but do not despoil Hyporia."

At Helios' comment, Krystae blushes and picks up a bit of snow to throw at the bard. "Helios!" She smiles and shakes her head at him

Brynjar snorted roughly at Krystae's 'attack' a half grin appearing on his face; he didn't expect to see such a side to the law-keeper and he found it somewhat amusing despite the circumstances they were finding themselves in, and he was about to make a comment about it but...

before her attention is diverted to the bodies around them when Droviz is asked if any of them were locals.

The first two she did not recognize; however, when her eyes fell upon the young blonde her blood went cold. She did recognize her... as well as her own arrow which was sprouting from the girl's thigh. Her name had been Hyporia, one of the girls Krystae had grown up playing with as a child... She had been an odd girl, but friendly despite the stigmata that had followed her all her life.

Krystae knelt next to her, gently closed her eyes before placing a copper coin on each eye, and folding her scorched hands across her chest. "Her name was Hyporia, a girl I've known since childhood. She was misunderstood... much like me. Also much like me, she has no family." She stands with a sigh heavy with grief. "Feel free to take what you need from those two, but do not despoil Hyporia."

Once he saw her sitting near the body of the person she claimed to have been a childhood friend of hers, he quickly buried the half-smile from his scarred face and returned to the serious mask he usually used around people. After a few moments passed he walked across the snow filled field in silence, when he was but a few feet from the woman in the black cloak, he stopped and simply stood there, the only sign that he was alive was the breath that appeared before his face thanks to the cold weather.

The warrior had no illusions about his ability to console Krystae, and doubted she wanted to hear anything from him of all people; besides he didn't think he could say that he understood what she was going through without lying; the only person he really cared about was lost to him that much was true but it wasn't to death, him leaving his surrogate mother behind was pretty much his choice Wonder how she's doing now? He allowed himself to wonder before going back to the scene that unfolded around him, while he couldn't offer her any kind words to the blond woman, he would be able to watch her back while she saw to the body of her friend.

Brynjar's eyes shifted from right to left, as he tried to keep everything that was happening around him in view, including the masked swordsman who was busy chatting up with his companions.

Elen moves next to Krystae and whispers to her as they look over the bodies.

She then speaks in Taldane: "I am very sorry for the loss of your friend, Krystae. Wouldn't you think, though, that she would want you to have anything she could give you that might help you stay alive?"

Havelock puts a hand on Krystates shoulder.
"In our world, friendship is perhaps the finest treasure, some would say love, but I say love is just another form of friendship.
Even in a harsh world, having friendship from someone like you is a fine treasure, and you were both richer for sharing it.
Where she is now, she will not be judged harshly I think, and when her life is weighed in Pharasmas court, your friendship will count in her favour."

"She was a good one," Droviz agrees, nodding. "If there's rewards to be had in the Great Beyond, she's due some, I think."

The bard brushes off the snow, grinning with mischief, but it dies on his face when he sees Krystae's focus change to one of the dead in the clearing.

Knowledge (local): 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (10) + 7 = 17

Hmm, Hyporia, I know the general rumors of her history. A family tragedy, parents killed in some sort of fire...an accident I think? But she was raised at the local temple. Gossamer wings of melancholy enfold Helios' heart. Such things like loss of family were far from him. His own father, now aged and taking his rest at their home in the east...his mother, still bearing the youthful face of an elf maiden but no less in love with the old human that is her husband. There would be a day, probably not far off that Helios would return home to find his father had passed on to the next world. There would be no regrets. He is out doing the work that his parents had spend their lives doing; helping those of Taldor to slip the yolk of those who thought them their betters. But at the very least, he could understand the sadness of losing a kindred spirit.

The others are offering Krystae their condolences, no need for him to add any words of his own other than to give her a grip on the shoulder as she sees to Hyporia's body.

For the time being, he eyes the surrounding woods in case the sprites try and make a return with whomever they went to go and tell.

Ragnar listened with half an ear, used to not really understanding what was being said by now. He caught most of what was said in the language Lady Elen spoke, so like his own, but some words still escaped him.

He found he was understanding more, though. The inflections and pronunciations were different, but the roots were the same. He was learning faster than he expected.

He pushed snow over the pile of viscera and ducked away the meat and skin and larger bones into another roll of leather. They would be eating well tonight.

Perhaps he could make something out of the skins. It was hardy and would shape well. When he was a small child he once saw a mercenary who wore hide that he claimed was from a dragon. It looked mighty indeed.

Perhaps he could fashion something like it. Like a child, his imagination churned up many ideas for what he could make from them. He smiled to himself and stood, finally taking a good look at the masked man.

These future-people were surely odd.

Are you waiting on the GM to give the answer to Elen's question, Ragnar? About the sex of the wyrms.

-Posted with Wayfinder

Yeah. I'm also not really sure Ragnar knows how to tell the difference. It's kinda hard with snakes. That sounds like a Knowledge Nature thing, and I only have 1 rank in it.

Knowledge nature, tell gender of tatzlewyrms: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (20) + 4 = 24

edit: I guess he does know…

Was just looking over the characters from the previous campaign, it looks like there should be a Raven familiar from the witch. Any chances it could be sitting in a tree or something and could be coaxed down? It should be still able to talk for 24 hours, and able to teach my familiar spells as well.

OK here's a list of the things each of the previous characters had, assuming we're searching their bodies. I'm not saying we should necessarily take these, but there's some things here that could shore up some of our weaknesses.

Ragnar can tell they were of different genders, so they could have been a mated pair.

You can see a raven in a nearby tree. It seems to be staring at the party, or the gore on the ground- you aren't quite sure.

Krystae turns to look up at Elen when she speaks... and the witch can see wetness trickling down the inquisitor's cheeks. She nods at Elen's words reference their masked 'friend' and then a bitter breeze blew on the tears and Krystae became aware of her very public grief. She looks down quickly, letting her hair fall down around her face to hide it from Elen. She then feels the two consoling hands upon her shoulders and she reflexively reaches up and grips them. "I..." her voice quivers and she stops speaking.

Helios and Havelock can feel the slight sobs as the strong woman quietly releases her anguish. After a moment Krystae clears her throat, releases the hands on her shoulders, and slowly stands. She looks at each of her companions closely, the sadness replaced by a cool, steeled resolve. "Thank you, all of you." She looks down over the mangled bodies. "They gave their lives fighting against a threat from the north, and so they will be honored in the ways of the north. We do not have time to gather enough wood for a proper pyre, but we can at least give them that much."

Krystae then reaches down and removes a knife from Hyporia's belt with a sad smile. "I gave this to her as a gift when she became of age... it was my father's." She attaches the tooled leather sheath to her belt. "You are right, Elen, but I ask we leave them some possessions to send with them to the Beyond. Let us quickly gather supplies and tend to honoring our fallen."

She turns to Brynjar. "My friend, gather some wood to assist with the pyre, please. Take Ragnar with you." She puts a hand on his arm and squeezes his bicep. "You two are the strongest."

Diving into his own memories was something Brynjar did on more than one occasion and he had given the matter more thought when he was confronted by Helios about it, these memories were hardly fond, if anything they only served to fuel his his hatred and rage, so he truly found it strange as he was walking into the forest to gather wood to be stuck in his sea of memories about something that fueled neither his anger or malice...

After finding a suitable tree he began hacking at it with his two handed sword, small chunks of wood splattering about him with every strike, but as his body worked his mind made him relive visions he had just experienced minutes ago.

'The golden hair of the law keeper fell about her face, and her voice shook as pain and sadness sapped whatever strength was usually found there'

Snow fell apart under the weight of the tree, the sound of it falling was slightly muffled by the white blanket beneath it. Brynjar moved to its top and started cutting away at its leafy branches.

'He could hear the sobs clearly from where he stood, but seeing that she was being consoled by more suitable individuals, he remained where he was, it was enough to simply guard her in her moment of weakness'

Brynjar's arms rose and fell as he worked on the body of the tree, the sound metal clashing with wood filled the forest, as his sword bit down into something it was unused to cut.

'Grief was soon gone from the eyes of Krystae as she turned to look at the group, with a strong more familiar look in them. She spoke but now her voice had recovered some of its strength. Seeing this he was about to walk away, but then she approached him and asked him to perform a task he hadn't done since he was but a boy who still in the care of the Shoanti'

Brynjar remembered his eyes widening in surprise when she was in front of him; as he did not understand what could she want from him or how he could help if she had asked for his help. He also recalled giving a silent nod upon hearing the request, before motioning to the spear wielding giant to follow after him, and now here he was on his way back with various and unevenly sized pieces of the tree he had just took apart carried in his arms.

Seeing the strong willed woman come under the cloud of depression for even a few moments was not something he had not expected, especially after watching her ignore the pain that must have racked her body when she fell victim to the trap the bandits had left for them. The warrior didn't know why he had such expectations of Krystae or why he found it...alarming to see her in such a state, was it because her desire was similar to his own? That she too desired revenge against these witches who had succeeded in hurting her once more? He didn't know...he just hoped the bard had listened to his advice.

'"Don't let him out of your sight"' He whispered to the half-elf before leaving with Ragnar.

Once some wood have been gathered, Havelock makes sure the bodies are piled together with wood placed in strategic locations.
He then places one of his clay vials on the very top of the improvised pyre before motioning everyone back a few steps.
Then he retrieves a second vial, weighs it carefully in his clawed hand before hurling it at the first, creating an explosion that turns into a cascade of burning liquid that sets the pyre alight.

For a moment he stares at the flames, a flicker of firelight reflected in his unblinking blue eyes.
If someone had had a chance to observe him then, they might have seen a twitch around his eyes that MIGHT reflect something not entirely healthy as he watches the flames.

Droviz wordlessly helps to pile up the wood and with the arrangement of the bodies.

When Havelock sets off the explosion, the masked warrior takes a single step back in alarm -- and then whistles with admiration. "Nice!" he says, shaking the tengu's hand if he'll allow it. "A fitting send-off for heroes; light and thunder to drive away the silent darkness."

Droviz tries to hide the fact that he's keeping an eye on the raven's reaction to all of this. Bluff 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (13) + 7 = 20, Perception 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (9) + 3 = 12. For all we know it's a witch's spying familiar, after all.

Elen notices the first time Krystae has called her by her name, rather than 'Witch', but only gives her a soft, sympathetic smile. "We should be practical but respectful. If there is something that will keep us alive, we should take it, but otherwise we shall send them to the Great Beyond. Their coins, we should take to their families if we know who they are. These are not trivial sums. Food, we should obviously take. I think this scale mail is intact enough, and large enough, for Ragnar to wear. "

Elen doesn't notice the raven, but when going through the fallen Witch's effects, she notices that this man is wearing no armor, has a spell component pouch with the common materials that a sorceror would not need, but has no spellbook either.

"This man was a Hexen as well, I think. Keep an eye out for his familiar -- it may still be alive."

Ragnar seemed a little confused during the funeral and startled enough to take up his spear when the explosion went off. He shook his head and muttered something about the strangeness of the Watchers in his native tongue.

For a while during the funeral, he seemed to be talking to himself.

When the Scale Armor was offered to him, Ragnar seemed dumbfounded. He spent a solid ten minutes inspecting and marveling at it. Finally he took off his old hides and put it on. Suddenly he looked less like a savage and more like an Ulfen warrior out of song.

Helios stands on the edge of the fire, making sure he's not close to enough to get caught in one of the stray sparks. He is even a bit conscious of the hooded lantern and oil he'd acquired from the mass of gear left behind by the fallen. It somehow felt wrong to pull them from the dead, but there is no denying the usefulness of the assorted items.

Across the fire, he lets his eyes drift from one person to the next but always ensuring the newest addition to the group was in his peripheral. Droviz is a mystery, a puzzle. Helios loves a good puzzle and often found his way into his father's old crates and chests to dig out one thing or the other to find linkages that sometimes (or sometimes didn't) existed. It was an activity his father had encouraged. "Skills like this are going to keep you alive on the road, son. Your wits are going to be more important than any sword or bow. Remember that." As he studies Droviz in the light of the funeral pyre, he feels confident that either parent or life taught the stranger the same lesson. The stranger, though crafty, still expresses a sense of loss at the demise of his comrades. Something alien to a person untrustworthy. But Helios thinks on the warning from Brynjar and maintains his peripheral watch over the newcomer.

To his right, Ragnar gathers up the armor and begins checking its fitting on his large frame. He offers a smile to the big man. "તમે તે મહાન કુહાડી, Ragnar મારા મિત્ર પસંદ હોય, તો તમે ઉત્તર ના Linnorm કિંગ્સ ના ચિત્ર જોવા મળશે."

The fire burns ever higher, the Professor's additions adding the 'light and thunder' as Droviz mentions. An appropriate description and such effects that would hopefully serve to drive back the fiends that are beginning to infect the area.

"Yes, a proper send off if there ever was one. Like the fires of Ragathiel calling forth his legions to stand the walls of his fortress at the foot of the mountains of Heaven." Helios raises a hand to his chest and then lets it swing outward as though bidding farewell to a ship putting out to sea. "They go ahead of us to defend the walls and put themselves before evil's slashing blades. Let us live up to their memory and cast ourselves to the task of saving Lady Argentea Malassene." He leans down briefly to gather some snow from at his feet. "If the fates are kind and the gods see us worthy, perhaps we'll learn what plague of cold evil assaults this land."

Ragnar's thick brows raise. "હું, વિશ્વ નોંધાયો જેથી ભવ્ય નથી. તે છતાં દંડ શસ્ત્ર છે."

He looks off towards the funeral pyre and says "I det okej? Kan jag använda det?"

A moment later he smiles and hefts the axe, adding it's baldric to his battle-harness and feeling the weight of it in his hands.

"Tack Ragnok. Jag kommer att använda det med heder."

Elen watches the flames, standing well back from the heat of the fire and feeling the comforting chill of the snow around her bare feet.

After Ragnar hefts the greataxe, Elen looks away, seeking the starlight, but notices the firelight reflecting off the eyes and feathers of the raven.

sense motive: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (13) + 8 = 21

She senses a purposefulness about the bird, and a sadness as well, as if it is watching the funeral for the same reason as the humanoids gathered around it.

"Raven?" Elen calls, "Raven? Were you the hexcrafter's partner? Can you speak, or understand me?" She carefully walks towards the tree where it perches.

Droviz gives Helios a surprised look.

"This weather is strange for here?" he asks. "Huh. I'd heard people complaining, of course, but... Well. It's been getting colder the further north I came, and folks always complain about the weather, right?"

The masked warrior scratches the back of his neck and shrugs.

"If y'all are after saving the high lady, mind if I tag along with you? I won't deny I'd still like to get my hands on that reward. Also, it doesn't seem right to leave her with folks who use zombies and whatnot... Who knows when a bastard like that'll take it into his head to make a hungry kind of undead, know what I mean?"

Blazing brightly before the adventurers, the pyre drenched the snowy white canvas and all that stood on it in a shifting orange hue. Brynjar's glaring blue eyes caught the light of the flame directly as he kept staring at it, the warmth it brought was a welcome change to the cold that had assaulted him since he left Heldren, but the armored warrior knew all too well that this comfort was fleeting and he would feel the merciless bite of this weather once more.

Besides the occasional shift of his head to catch glimpses of his companions, Brynjar was mostly motionless, his hand lying on unceremoniously over the pommel of his two-handed sword, that had its point and a small portion of it plunged into the ground, the flame playing upon its scratched and nicked surface.

After catching what he thought was a strange look in the professor's eyes, he went back to staring at the flame. In truth he did not feel anything towards those they found dead, he didn't know them, and he felt that acting sad when he really did not harbor such an emotion would be a greater disservice then his apparent callousness, he had helped with handling their bodies because even if he didn't care about who these people were, he didn't particularly relish in the idea of leaving their bodies defenseless to the carrion, but he would have if the group elected to move on, but Krystae asking him for help in that matter after showing them a side to her that he doubted anyone of them expected to see helped sway his opinion.

Would have worried about the fire alarming the bandits, but with the trail of bodies we are leaving behind they'd have to be dead not to have noticed us by now He turned his body towards the group, they had traveled for quite a distance and now they would have to decide whether they should continue onward or make camp and start fresh after some rest.

Brynjar checked the equipment he took of the bodies, before turning towards the group "Do we continue, or do we stop to rest?" Asked Brynjar, his voice brandishing its familiar rough and overly serious tone.

If it is okay with everyone Brynjar will be taking:
-Crossbow Bolts (20)
-Longsword
-Survival Kit
-Whetstone

Krystae stands still as stone when Havelock's vials explode, she watches the flames dance and consume wood and flesh. The warmth of the fire upon her face brings back memories of laying next to her father and step-mother, all three of them curled up next to their fireplace listening to the stories of her ancestral lands as the wood crackled and popped.

She is embarrassed by her display of grief earlier, but she had not even realized her tears until it was too late and by then... all the emotions she had been avoiding suddenly rushed forward in a torrent. She thought about her father and where he was now... the death of her loving step-mother (who Krystae had always considered to be her 'real' mother). She had always wondered about her illness and now with this threat from Irrisen and the kidnapping of her father. Krystae now knew, the illness had not been natural; she had been murdered by a witch.

She lets her thoughts drift and wander for a time until she is brought back to the present by the words of her companions. She listens to their words and watches each of them for a moment until her eyes come to a rest on Droviz. She seems to see him for the first time since they encountered the masked person. 'There's something off about him, he hides something behind that mask... but what?' Krystae's learned suspicions came to the surface and she wants to interview him, find out who he is, where is from, and why he hides behind the mask; however, she also realizes everyone has their own secrets... Krystae had her own, why shouldn't others be allowed theirs...

"Do we continue, or do we stop to rest?"

"Rest?" Krystae turns to him, that sly smile upon her lips he spotted back in Heldren. "Dear Brynjar, is the journey too taxing upon you? I will offer to carry you if I must, though I believe Ragnar might be better suited to such a task."

Brynjar Snorted at the comment "The only thing taxing here is the cold, and I doubt you or the giant lugging me around will solve that problem for me" The scarred man unsheathed his sword from the snowy ground and put it over his shoulder.

"If we are to move we'd best start now" He said with more energy than usual, he wouldn't admit it but he was glad to see a familiar smile appear on the blond woman's face.

"Should the need for fair Krystae to lug you around occur, brave Brynjar, rest assured that I'll be close to hand to chronicle said event for posterity." The bard says with a sweeping bow that would be at home in any king's court. "Such events belong to the ages and should it be required, I would be honored to captures the image in my best drawing hand." Helios smiles as he rises from his courtly bow and in the process shoulders his gear and unlimbers his bow. "In the meantime, moving out of this area - blighted by demon fey as it is - would be best. Even if we need to take some rest at a point, we should do it elsewhere."

Pausing to ensure there are no objections, he eyes the Inquisitor and gestures towards their original path in pursuit of the kidnappers. "Shall we?"

With that, he moves off to aid in scouting the road ahead.

In case we're moved forward by the GM...

Stealth: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (16) + 5 = 21
Perception: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (9) + 8 = 17

"Should the need for fair Krystae to lug you around occur, brave Brynjar, rest assured that I'll be close to hand to chronicle said event for posterity." The bard says with a sweeping bow that would be at home in any king's court. "Such events belong to the ages and should it be required, I would be honored to captures the image in my best drawing hand." Helios smiles as he rises from his courtly bow and in the process shoulders his gear and unlimbers his bow.

Surprisingly the usually dour Brynjar not only smiled at this but even let out a rough, but jovial chuckle "What will you name the tale?" He asked his voice sounding not as serious as before.

Helios gives it some thought and returns a rakish grin. "Why it would be called 'Rumps Over Sunrise' of course." He points to to Brynjar then Krystae with a director's eye. "The warrior's posterior shall play the part of 'Rump' and Krystae the Defender of Heldren will play the 'Sunrise'."

"Oh harken unto me,
Great Muse o Desna
lend my voice clarity to tell the tail!
For this tail rises over the hills
Carried aloft by Sunrise..."

He clears his throat and stands with fists on hips like a man upon the stage of the White Dove theater in Absalom. Then he brings his blue eyes down from dramatically lofty heights and looks Brynjar up and down. "Other than giving the Rumps a proper polish as to not be outdone by Krystae's trusses...I think it could be quite good!"

"If we stand around much longer, there may be a necessity to change the title to”Roasted Rumps over easy.
Naturally I shall in that case supply the role of hard to please theatre critic..."

"You're a fun bunch," Droviz remarks, chuckling. "Still, time's a-wasting and all, so... Shall we be off?"

Survival 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (5) + 5 = 10 to start tracking the kidnappers again, if we can find any tracks at all.

Ragnar looks up at the raven Elen was coaxing. He said nothing, simply gazing at it for a time. Then he spoke quietly, not breaking eye contact with the bird, but not really seeming to speak to it either.

"Kohr, vad kallade du din Watcher??"

He nodded and stepped forward.

"Tulo. Come."

Handle Animal: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (18) + 6 = 24

Elen blinks at Ragnar, and whispers in elven, "Their spirits are with you too now?"

Oh, clever!!

Krystae rolls her eyes and turns away at Helios' grandiose tale, though partly to hide the blush that rose to her cheeks at being referred to as the "Sunrise". Helios had quite the honeyed tongue... "I will, of course, be looking forward to my royalties when you are performing this play before the royal courts of Taldan. Being your muse and all..." She glances back over her shoulder at the group she found herself traveling with.

Brynjar, Havelock, Helios, Ragnar, the Witch, and now... the masked elf. They truly were quite the odd assortment, but Krystae's father always said she had been a unique woman. She allows herself a small smile. For the first time since her father's kidnapping, she finally felt... at home.

"You're a fun bunch," Droviz remarks, chuckling.

She turns to look at the mysterious fellow. "Indeed, Masked Man. Just wait until we start drinking the ale... I have a terrible feeling we may see some of Rumps' rumps if we let him drink too much." She turns to Havelock with a mock serious expression. "Remember that Professor. Don't let Rump drink all the ale!"

Krystae watches Ragnar and Elen as they try to converse with a nearby raven while she gathers up the gear she had selected.

I'll look over the gear list again, but Krystae will likely load up on arrows and take some of the trail rations as well. I'll post what she takes sometiem tomorrow.

Elen blinks at Ragnar, and whispers in elven, "Their spirits are with you too now?"

Ragnar nods.

In Elven. "Of course, Lady Elen. Where else would they be?"

"The Boneyard? With Pharasma?"

Still Elven. "Who is Pharasma? What is a boneyard?"

Ragnar isn't actually older than Pharasma, but he is older than her church.

"The Goddess of Death... I don't know too much about her, but I was always told that's where the souls of the departed were sent, to be judged and sent to their final destination, be it Hell, Heaven, or where-ever."

Ragnar snorts and starts to laugh, but then remembers his place and stops abruptly, clearing his throat.

Still Elven. "Ah… as you say, World Keeper. It is good that your people have such a benevolent patron to usher you on after death. Among my people, we are not so lucky. The dead, in my experience, do not go anywhere."

"That is strange... I was told she judged everyone, even the gods when they died."

"For some, it seems that judgement is reserved. I can't even count the number of times I've died, and never once did I meet this goddess."

Droviz wrote:

"You're a fun bunch," Droviz remarks, chuckling.

She turns to look at the mysterious fellow. "Indeed, Masked Man. Just wait until we start drinking the ale... I have a terrible feeling we may see some of Rumps' rumps if we let him drink too much."

"Nice!" Droviz says, his tone of voice appreciative. "I like a beer after working hard. Not that I've ever guzzled enough to show my naked rump to the ladies without an invitation, mind."

You can easily see Droviz wink.

Ragnar snorts and starts to laugh, but then remembers his place and stops abruptly, clearing his throat.

"Ah… as you say, World Keeper. It is good that your people have such a benevolent patron to usher you on after death. Among my people, we are not so lucky. The dead, in my experience, do not go anywhere."

"That is strange... I was told she judged everyone, even the gods when they died."

"Yeah, but whenever you see pictures of the Boneyard, there's always an allmighty queue," Droviz says. "That, and not a whippoorwill or scarab to be seen out here. Maybe my fallen comrades' number won't come up to enter the Boneyard 'till they're out of reach for spells of raising? Just a thought."

"For some, it seems that judgement is reserved. I can't even count the number of times I've died, and never once did I meet this goddess."

"Don't know what you mean about dying a lot," Droviz says, shrugging, "but if you keep coming back, maybe her paleness decided it weren't worth her time to call you in. Like I said, there's always a queue. If some fella kept popping in and out, it'd probably cause some irritation."

Elen scratches her head and shrugs.

Elen then translates what was being said in Elven for the benefit of the others who do not speak it.

"Pharasma is by all teachings not a goddess of emotions, but there is one thing she cannot stand by all reports.
Undeads, creatures that ARE dead but has evaded her judgment.
Prolonging life does not seem to bother her, but escaping the boneyard certainly does.
Still, I do not believe that she would easily let someone step out of line repeatedly, sooner or later, judgment comes to us all."

Ragnar shrugs. This goddess was not his goddess.

Elven "Then perhaps my people and I are somehow in her her blind spot. Or perhaps her judgement is not so ridged as you have been led to believe. There are spirits everywhere. There were at least six in the village where we left from. They did not seem to be waiting for judgement. Mostly, they just seemed sad."

"I have learned that the term 'undead' is a broad and fluid term. I do not believe is is always wrong, anymore than death itself is always wrong. I cannot. Until this past week, everyone I have ever known was undead. The children follow me still as ghosts. Now so do Drovitz's companions."

"The dead have needs too. Most are left unfulfilled and have no one to speak for them. I can, so I will."

"If this Pharasma would judge them for things which are not at all their fault, then I want no part of her. If her judgement comes to me, I will cast it back upon her."

Droviz shrugs. "I hear she judges people for the whole of their lives. Always thought that meant their choices and things."

The raven responds warmly to Ragnar's words, and comes and perches on his shoulder as if he had known him his whole life. The fire burns out and the party moves on.

You follow the obvious track through the snow further. You approach the small stream called Wishbone Creek, which has frozen over. A human-sized snowman stands in the middle of the trail before the frozen stream. A crude wooden sign leans against it and bears the words “Trespassers Turn Back.”

Elen's cat jumps up on Ragnar's shoulder (if he lets her) and engages in a wordless communication with the raven. Can Elen's familiar learn spells from the raven since it's been less than 24 hrs?

As they approach the creek, Elen asks Droviz, "Um... d-did y-you hear about th-the b-boy who f-fell through the ice here?"