Warden casually stepped up next to Ragnar, testing his life signs.
To no one in particular, it explains: "Sorry, children, it seems it is not the time for him to join you, yet. He will recover."
Fang tears a Limb from the dead Quickling, holding the trophy in it's Jaws as it moves next to Warden, content with their victory, but scanning the perimeter for other hostile creatures with Amber Eyes.
|
Krystae spins towards the door as she hears to fly open, already putting an arrow to her bow and drawing back the string. She holds as the woman and Droviz rush into the barn and before she can shout a warning, Ragnar suddenly collapses to the ground. With a curse, she lowers her bow and rushes over to aid Warden in administering to his wounds as she draws out one of her healing potions and pours it into Ragnar's mouth.
Havelock blinks owlishly, which considering he is an avian, suits him very well.
"Well, there is a story there I'm sure..."
Turning towards Ragnar, he fingers a phial of restorative elixir.
"Does he require more mamzel Stormcrow?"
The potion healed some of his wounds, but Ragnar stayed still on the ground.
"Well, a doze of the professors tincture should cure what ails you..."
To Ragnar, he momentarily stood above his own body, hardly noticing anything had changed. Then he noticed that his friends were administering potions to... him. He blinked in confusion, trying to clear his head, and as he did so his perspective shifted oddly.
Ragnar's eyes snapped open and he raised up without an kind of groaning or protesting or pain. It was like a switch had been flipped. He'd been off, briefly. Now he was back on again. He picked up his spear and calmly pulled wooden spikes out of himself, ignoring the blood all over his armor and his furs.
"Thank you. I was... more wounded than I... saw." He looked around, getting his bearings again. "What did I miss?"
"Thank you! Thank you! Oh Garen, you're okay! My baby!" she said as she wrapped her arms around the faun.
"I'm sorry momma" the faun said as he climbed to his feet, rubbing his arms where the ropes had held him. He hugged the human woman back.
"I'm glad they didn't hurt you. Is Borvald..." He couldn't seem to finish the question.
The woman's eyes began to tear up and she struggled to find her breath at first. "Don't you fret now. It's not your fault. You, and Jory, and Katlina are all okay, all of my babies are okay. We'll be okay."
"I'm so sorry momma. I didn't know they would hurt people."
"Shh now, it's all over. You're safe now. We're all safe now" she said as she looked around. She looked up at Droviz.
"Thank you."
"I'mma say yer welcome, missus," Droviz says. "But I'm gonna haveta ask what's going on here. Not ta be rude, but I don' see any hooves on you. What were the evil little turnips here for?"
"Have anyone noticed that we seem to have something of a knack for saving children in danger, and also for walking into danger just in time to save people?"
"Like a story," Ragnar rumbled.
"All stories are one story. All doors are one door. All trees are one tree.", Warden shrugs, not questioning their timing. Certain aspects of life were pre-ordained. Wondering about them did not invalidate them.
Instead, Warden moved to the corpse on the ground that was supposedly Borvald. Supposedly, nobody had checked on the lifeless body. There was a chance he might have stabilised, after all. If not, it seemed sensible to move the body, and not expose the children to it overy long.
Such a pragmatic, if unromantic soul on that one.
"All great sagas have a common thread running through them. Perhaps we shall become the patron saints of children ere' we are done.
...
I can think of worse epithets on my gravestone than "He was a saviour of children"."
The woman looks back up at Droviz. "I don't know why they were here. They killed my husband while I ran into the house with the children and barred the door. They said they had my Garen." She turns to look at the faun and caresses his face.
"I suppose you're right to question me. Years ago, a satyr came along and bewitched me. This was before I met my husband. I ended up with child and was blessed with my wonderful Garen here. The town...it was just too hard to stay there anymore, so we moved out here. One day we woke up, like any other day, and Garen was gone."
Garen looked up at the woman. "I'm sorry momma. I didn't want you to suffer anymore because of me. One day I met other fey. They said they were like me. That they hated the humans for what they had done to us. I tried to fight back against them but they overpowered me. They came here to..." He couldn't finish the sentence, but the intent was obvious.
"Hush now baby. It's okay. Let's get you in the house." The woman turns her attention back to Droviz and the others.
"My name is Maret and you should come inside. We have some food if you're hungry."
Warden confirms that the man has passed.
Hidden in a corner of the barn is a small pile of jewelry and gems worth 500 gp
|
|
Krystae whispers a prayer of thanks to Desna for granting them to power to save the children this time. "I would say we have someone looking out for us and for your little ones. I am sorry, Maret, that we did not come quickly enough to save your husband. What is your custom for burial rites? I shall aid you in sending him to the afterlife should you request it."
"So this one is not for Ragnar?", Warden asks innocuously, still busy removing the corpse from the childrens view.
Ragnar looked around, scanning to see if there was a new spirit in his entourage that he hadn't noticed in all the chaos.
"Pass on this one, big man," Droviz advises Ragnar. "He got places ta be."
Turning back to Maret and Garen: "These things happen, sad to say. Kid, you're better off looking to deeds'n listening to words. Arright? Missus, I figure we'll be right grateful for your hospitality."
"Not sure I can." Ragnar said. "Don't want to. Sometimes just happens."
The man's spirit has passed on. The stalemate had been going on for a few hours.
"We will burn his body in the morning" Maret said to Krystae. As she spoke, Nadya comes wandering out of the fog with her children in tow and sword in hand.
"Everything alright?" she asks.
"You travel with children?" Maret asked. "Please, come in. Get out of the cold. I'll warm some stew."
Nadya smiled and nodded, ushering her boys to the house.
Once inside, Maret immediately goes to check on her own children. Seeing them still safe, she starts to set the stew over the fire. Lastly, she fetches a box from a high shelf and presents it Droviz.
"Here, take this, please. It's the least I can do. I hate that it just sits on my shelves when someone could use it."
Inside the box is a large, furry hat sewn from the thick pelt of an animal native to the frozen north with earflaps that can be pulled down to cover the ears or folded up, much like Nadya's.
When worn, an ushanka of the northlands grants its wearer a +2 resistance bonus on saving throws against cold effects and a +5 competence bonus on Survival checks. When the earflaps are pulled down, the wearer gains a +2 bonus on saving throws against sonic effects, but also takes a -2 penalty on Perception checks made to hear. Pulling the earflaps down is a move action.
Havelock takes a seat, glad to take some weight of his feet for a moment.
It does not take long for the Tengu to begin to brood, the air filling with the sound of his clawed fingertips rhythmically taping against the nearby table.
"This is a most...unwelcoming land is it not?" He mutters mostly to himself.
"Yes, it can be. That's why we moved out here. The queen, the white witches, Baba Yaga, and everyone that follows them...yes, yes it is" she said, still with a smile on her face.
"But don't you fret none, not everything here is bad. You just got to know where to look" she said as she stared at all of her children.
"You's sure came around at the right time, for our sake. What brings you out here? You folks don't look like you're from around these parts. I'm not complaining mind you, you're certainly welcome here. I can't speak for anywhere else though. I'd be careful if I was you's. You's stick out like blood in the snow."
"All land is welcoming. Just not equally welcoming to all kinds of life.", Warden interjected on Havelocks musing. The north was harsh to those not accustomed to it, certainly, but those species adapted to it thrived well enough.
"We shall not trouble you overly long, I would assume. Our journey brings us into conflict with the ice queen, and she seeks to stop us. And we would not want our troubles to become your trouble. It would seem you have enough sorrow without that."
"Conflict with the ice queen, oh dear. You must be true heroes indeed. I hope you know what you face. Tell me, where are you headed from here? No need to rush off mind you."
|
|
As Droviz looks over the hat, Krystae catches a strange odor in her nose briefly that makes her examine the hat a little more closely. She casts a spell to detect for any magical auras and notices that hat glowing. She examines the auras and smiles as she explains the functions of the hat to her companion.
"Say now," Droviz says after Krystae explains the function of the ushanka to him. "That's a mighty fine gift, missus! Much obliged. I'm sure it'll come in handy."
Hmmph, I refuse to get involved in what would quickly be reduced to a philosophical debate.
The very nature of a debate involving philosophy is that there can be no right or wrong, thus making the debate itself pointless!
Besides, when I think more on it, the fact is that the winter here is not natural.
That would thus make the concept even more pointless since the philosophy of all of nature being welcoming becomes moot.
Slightly smug in his own conclusions, Havelock leans back in the chair, lost to the world.
Ragnar tentatively layed a hand on his own chest, still not really used to being able to heal himself, or needing to.
As promises, Maret offers all of the comforts of an overcrowded inn. Used to living in such an environment, she provides plenty of blankets and a thick stew that feels to stick to your insides. Despite being cramped, especially with Ragnar, the shelter is comfortable and peaceful. Even the presence of the spirits that follow seem to remain outside and out of view. The rest the best you've had in quite some time, or so it feels.
In the morning, Garen sets about gathering wood for a pyre. It takes hours to find enough wood to burn the now-frozen body. Once the fire is set, Maret ushers everyone back inside. "No point in freezing outside to watch a fire burn."
It's obvious she's emotional about the event and her motherly habits are covering her sadness. "You best be on your way now. It's a 3-4 day hike to Whitethrown, if what Nadya says is true about your destination. I wish you good journey. If you travel back this way, please stop by and see me. And be careful, trust no one. They all have their own motives, even if they seem like friends."
Nadya exchanged hugs with the woman and her children, thanking them for their hospitality. She kissed her own boys and hugged them before standing and waving good bye. She looked at the group of heroes "Maret has agreed to keep them safe. What comes next is no place for children" she said, matter of factly.
The next three and a half days are a grueling march through the cold and wind-blown snow. At times the snow is two feet deep and with the wind child the temperature drops down into the negatives.
It's early afternoon on the 3rd day when you see a small river cuts across the path, heading south toward the cliffs that overlook Glacier Lake. A stone bridge crosses the river, seemingly constructed with horse, wagon, and caravan traffic in mind. The bridge is well maintained, and the snow has been cleared from its span. Four-foot-high stone railings run along both sides of the bridge, topped at either end by iron spikes upon which clean and meticulously polished skulls have been carefully impaled and turned as if to observe the traffic. A white-painted signpost greets travelers approaching from the east.
"Well, this feels like home. Wish it didn't," Droviz says matter-of-factly as he surveys the bridge.
Droviz doesn't detect any magical auras but at closer range he is able to read the signpost.
Foreign merchants headed to Whitethrown must have a license to conduct business. All travelers are subject to inspection.
"Now, this will be most interesting. We are an eccentric collection, and likely to be remembered.
We have already been warned, but let me stress it again, we are in hostile territory and cannot easily trust anyone we meet without good cause."
"Should we wait in ambush for merchanys to come by and knock 'em over for their license and stuff, give us some cover?"
"I would really prefer not to do something that could potentially backfire on us at this point, or at a point in the near future."
"Agreed, standing here only means we freeze our tail feathers off, and the rest of you do not even posses such.
I cannot even imagine how much colder your posteriors must be..."
"Yes, well, we didn't go commando just because we had our own eiderdown," Droviz says, grinning. "Dress in layers; it's the surest way to beat the cold."
Despite waiting for a while, there is no traffic across the bridge. The weather doesn't get any warmer and eventually Nadia prods you forward. Fording the river doesn't seem like a good idea as even from here you can see chunks of ice floating down river.
The bridge itself is well constructed and wide enough for loaded wagons to pass. As you approach the halfway point, large, clawed, green hands reach up from outside the bridge to grasp the side rails. Three sets of webbed hands haul giant, pale-green humanoids up and onto the bridge. With slotted gills on their necks and scaled skin covering their hides, these giants stand almost 12 feet tall.
"Well well well, what do we have here?" the lead one asks.
"They's don't look like fishermens to me's" another one adds.
"Stills gotta pay the toll alls the same" the last adds.
"Quiet yous. This one's mine turn ya here!" the first one replies, obvious frustration already clear in his voice.
Water ogres, or merrows, are ogrekin. Incredibly strong but none too bright, they can swim but have no special defenses or resistances. They also don't have any special attacks. They just tend to rip things into pieces.
Odd that ogres would be the tax collectors for such a grand city as Whitethrone...
"Alright then, lads," Droviz says, affecting an officious manner.
"Glad we caught you. Surprise inspection on behalf of her cold majesty's office of the exchequer, good to see you're keeping on your toes, definitely a commendation in it for you.
Just show us your official license and records of your tally of toll, and we can have this over lickety-split. Yes?
Mind you, I might have to make a remark about you being out of uniform. Still, you can probably offset that with a spiffy salute Ten-hut right now, you 'orrible little men! It's another beautiful day in the Queen's army, every meal's a banquet, every pallet a feather bed, so let's see you salute and smile!"
"...
...
..."
What?
Oh, this is not going to end well, these creatures do not look particularly intelligent, two very different approaches like this will likely confuse and anger them.
Havelocks hands surreptitiously begins to inch towards his weapons as he considers violence unavoidable at this point.
The three giants look at each other in confusion.
"Ex-what?" one asks.
"Who's army? another.
"Quiet you's louts. Beggin' your pardon sir..."
Before the third can finish his thought, Krystae's words interrupt him. The other two look at each other and take a few slow steps back toward the edge of the bridge and the water below.
"Now see here little snack..." He stares at Krystae hard for a moment, realization suddenly setting in.
"I'm sorry miss, didn't realize it was yous. Please don't skins us. We was just having a bunch of..." The sound of two large splashes spins the ogre's head around as he suddenly finds himself standing alone on the bridge.
"..fun." he finishes. There's an awkward moment of silence before he simply jumps into the river below, leaving a sack behind on the bridge.
The sack contains 6 masterwork arrows, a masterwork cold iron battleaxe, a leather pouch with two sapphires, 20 gold pieces, and a frost-forged chain shirt, all sized for humans.
Beyond the bridge is a forest of leafless birch trees and after several hours of walking, the city of Whitethrone can be seen. Nadya guides you down a different path away from the city, towards the shantytowns known as the Fishcamps.
"My husband's uncle lives down here. Ringeirr should be able to get us into the city. He's been working as a smuggler, but I don't think we can just walk around the Fishcamps as we are. People will talk and word will spread, but I know of no other way to enter the city without alerting the guards."
Arctic gulls fill the overcast sky with their cries over this small shantytown. Ramshackle huts are erected on the cold ground, hard packed and barren from generations of foot traffic. Dories and other small fishing boats are moored to dilapidated piers nearby or pulled ashore on the gray pebbled beach of Glacier Lake. The pervasive smell of fish is everywhere, sometimes fresh, but often with the underlying stench of centuries of decay.
The sapphires are valued at 50 gp each.
Three of the arrows are +1.
The other three arrows are +2.
...
What? We...won without fighting? That goes against ALL expectations!
It takes the rest of the walk for Havelock to get over the fact that they had not needed to resort to violence.
Instead he busies himself with looking through the bag.
"I cannot value the gems, I am missing my jewelers goggles...
But the arrows are all magical. Those three minimal, the other three slightly stronger."
"...", Warden left the interaction with the giant-like creatures to the others. They seemed to have an idea about what they were doing, and it seemed to work, too.
"If we wish to not be remembered easily, maybe we should do as Droviz suggested earlier? Wear many layers. It is cold enough is it not? A thick fur coat, gloves and a shawl covering the face should be enough to make most of us unremarkable. Ragnar and his servant might want to wait, and Fang will not be easy to hide as well. So maybe you others cover up and make contact with Nadyas husbands uncle, then pick us up again when we are ready to enter the city?"
|
|
Krystae watches carefully as the ogres disappear, worrying slightly at their reaction to her appearance. 'It would seem dear sister and I must share a striking resemblance.' At this point there was no fighting this, Krystae's blood was tied to the lands of Irrisen and the witches here. It was all quite overwhelming, the idea that she was part of some strange weaving of fate possibly brought upon by Desna herself perhaps? When Havelock mentions the magical arrows, Krystae perks up a bit. "Would you all mind if I claim this arrows?"
"You help yourself. Any chance there's merchant passes mixed in with this loot, or aren't we lucky enough for that?"
Havelock snorts loudly.
"Trusting to luck? We truly are desperate if we are to rely on THAT fickle thing."
Wordlessly he hands the arrows to Krystae as he stares at Droviz.
"I never trust luck. But I don't mind if I have it."
"There were underlings that came after us. I may be wrong, but I believe our enemies are aware of our party composition. If they suddenly met a group of merchants with exactly those exotic members, I would assume they will start stabbing and save the questions for later. No, I think attempting to blend in without using magics to do so will be pointless."