The adventure begins in the village of Heldren, a small village in Taldor just north of the Border Wood near Qadira.
The sleepy village of Heldren has rarely seen so much excitement or concern. Hunters from the nearby Border Wood speak of unnaturally cold weather at the height of summer that descended on the forest just days ago. Heavy snow followed, and those who returned spoke of an uneasy presence in the woods, as well as new, dangerous predators. No one knows what this event means, but the town’s soothsayer, Old Mother Theodora, claims dark times lie ahead. As if in proof of that dire prophecy, a badly wounded mercenary arrived in town yesterday, claiming to be a bodyguard of Lady Argentea Malassene. He told the village council that the noblewoman’s escort came under attack by bandits and strange, wintry creatures near the edge of the Border Wood. He alone escaped, and Lady Argentea was dragged away into the forest. Now the townsfolk cast fearful eyes toward the snowy forest, worried what else might emerge to threaten their peaceful village.
It appeared that Damir had arrived at exactly the wrong time. He'd been wandering lately, as always, following whatever intuition sent him on his way. Word on the road had it that Heldren had a wise woman who knew many mysterious things, and so he had made for the small town in the hopes of gleaming some insight from her. Alas--with the kidnapping of Lady Argentea and the arrival of the wounded mercenary the day after he arrived in town, Damir realised that his personal problems may have to be put on hold until the whole thing died down.
He spent the evening in the local pub or tavern, chatting up the locals and trying to get a gist of the situation. With a friendly face, rogueish smile and a tendency to happily pick up the tab for round after round, Damir was quickly able to learn quite a lot about what's been going on lately.
A tall and muscular man with only the slightest hints of a non-human origin, Damir is an affable sort who makes it his mission to meet everyone in a village before he leaves. His eyes are hazel and his well-trimmed hair and beard are dark brown, while his skin is a blueish grey; one of those few signs of the orcish blood in him no doubt. His body is criss-crossed with various scars, and he walks with a limp, although this doesn't seem to bother him in the slightest.
News spread through town quickly of the wounded soldier arriving in town. She had overheard the news from a couple of children out playing she passed by, and now she made her way to the inn, curious about the news. She learned more as she passed people. A noblewoman attacked by bandits and wintry beasts, captured and dragged away. And this proceeded by the unnatural cold, a winter Hyporia hadn't experienced before.
Speaking to a few others, she hoped to help the wounded man with her skills, if needed. But that was only an excuse. A part of her didn't want anything to do with the strange occurrences, a sense of caution welling up inside her. But she did want to hear more about the events. She talks to a few other townsfolk as she makes her way, learning what more she could.
Hyporia is rather short, standing a mere 4'10" tall. Long blond hair and grey eyes, she dresses as a simple villager aside from a set of long gloves covering both her hands. A quiet person, when she does speak she is at ease with others, though she can give a sharp word when a village youth needs one.
Droviz had arrived a few days before the dire news of the Lady Argentea's misadventure. A man wearing a mask and gloves, slender but for his armour and furs, he had come in with a band of traders and settled down in the first tavern with rooms to let, warm food and cold ale to sell.
Honestly, except for the mask and gloves - which he claimed were there to spare people the sight of rather nasty burn scars - he seemed a fairly ordinary type for a mercenary. He diced with the locals, drank until he was merry but not until he was stupid, and had made a few passes at the serving women. And of course, he kept an eye and an ear out for a job.
When the news of the Lady Argentea's fate spreads through town, however, Droviz puts down his ale mug and puts away his dice and his cards. He oils and sharpens his blade, gives his gear a look-over and heads for the Village Council's hall.
If he is admitted to the Council, the outlander stands at attention and gives them a reasonably crisp salute.
"Be hearing you have a noblewomen in a spot of bother out in the woods," he says, his voice inappropriately cheerful. "Now in my trade, this is what we call an opportunity. You have a problem, I'm looking for work, and I've got steel. If you've got a decent tracker and a healer handy, I'll bring the muscle for a uh, rescue operation. Spot us some supplies for the mission, fill our pockets with jink - uh, money when we get back, and we bring back your missing noble lady or uh, whatever. Can't say fairer than that, right?"
The last three years in Heldren had been quiet, pleasant ones. The locals had long since grown accustomed to the the wiry Kellid, and had, on occasion, been greatful for his skills and powers as a healer. He made a modest living dealing with childhood ailments and accidental wounds. His slow, sonorous speech, almost always bemoaning some minor fate as a conspiracy of the gods or the whole universe, is usually, these days, greeted with a smile. "Kohr's only happy when he's miserable," is the comment that usually greets him when he predicts some dire doom...and he's been known to smile a bit himself when they say it.
But as spring rolled into summer, and the chills and the snows and the winter beasts began to appear, Kohr grew quiet and withdrawn, not even bothering to predict that Nash the carpenter would lose his arm when he drew a stubborn splinter out of his thumb...
When Chiressa, the butcher's youngest daughter, brethlessly ran into his shop yesterday evening, telling of the mercenary and the kidnapping, he thanked her quietly, closed his shop, and sat, staring into his fire, for hours.
His raven Tulo finally shook him out of his grim reverie, landing on his left shoulder and screaming a loud 'CAW' into his ear. As he fed the raven a handful of corn, shocked to see that pale morning light was filtering through the window, he finally came to a decision. He slung his healer's bag on his shoulder, patted his other shoulder to call Tulo to it, and left for the inn.
On his way, he paused with whoever would take a moment to talk, asking about the wounded mercenary's story.
Magnus was in the yard sparring with his father when his mother came to them to inform them of the arrival of a wounded mercenary, the bodyguard of some Taldan noblewoman who had been kidnapped. As the local apothecary she was going to help Father care for the man. His father looked at young Magnus and said "Come along boy. Something odd is happening and you wouldn't want to miss it, now would you" With a quick "No, sir." Magnus followed his father into the village square.
Magnus' life had been quiet here in Haldren ever since his family had settled here shortly after his birth. His father was a retired member of Prince Stavian's Ulfen guard who had taken his final payment and married his mother, a wise woman from Irrisen who for some reason had left her homeland never to return. When he was three years old his family left Oppara and settled here precisely because it was quiet. Hid father set up shop as the village blacksmith and his mother became the village apothecary and wise woman.
As they neared the village square, Magnus saw several of his friends milling about talking to one another. approaching this group, Magnus inquires of what they have heard.
Diplomacy:
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Ragnok is sitting in the bar area of an inn while unwrapping some bandages on his arm. The injuries look to be mostly healed. His blonde hair, blonde beard, and pale skin are obvious indicators of his Ulfen heritage, especially compared to the darker Taldan natives. He wears the clothes of an outdoors man and unfortunately wears the smell too.
About two weeks ago—before the cold set in on the Border Woods—Ragnok had checked all of his traps in the forest but wanted to bring some venison back to town. Perched awkwardly in a tree with his longbow (not the greatest weapon for an arboreal ambush), Ragnok not only missed his first shot at a stag but fell out of the tree and hit several boughs on the way down. He managed to limp back to Heldren and has nursed his injuries there. When asked what happened, Ragnok truthfully admitted to falling out of a tree but omitted the failed hunt, refusing to provide more detail other than thaat he intends to buy a shortbow.
All of the bandages removed, Ragnok nods in approval as he opens and closes his fist a few times. Still works, he thinks with a grin.
While at the inn over the past few days, Ragnok overheard a few concerning rumors about the Border Woods. The forest was vital to his livelihood and his funds dwindled with each day resting in town.
Feeling better, Ragnok decides it’s time to get back to work. He needs more information about the goings on in the Border Woods. He asks the friendlier looking townsfolk what they know about the situation.
Everyone says the weather is unseasonably cold for
midsummer—it even snowed in the Border Wood!
Most suspect magic is involved, and some fear
Qadiran agents played a role in it.
Old Man Dansby claims that someone keeps
stealing from his fields. His farm lies closest to the
Border Wood, where half his crops have died from
an icy frost and the rest have been carried off.
A farmer’s son took ill a few days ago after falling
through the ice over Wishbone Creek. The boy said
he spotted a white stag in the forest—and heard it
talking—then tried to follow it.
A group of rangers in the Border Wood called the
High Sentinels usually keep bandit activity curbed.
They’re doing a poor job if brigands could attack a
well-armed caravan and abduct Lady Argentea.
Locals say a hunter named Dryden Kepp claimed he
saw a giant white weasel on the High Ridge in the
forest. No one believed him so he went back to trap
it and prove them wrong.
Two weeks ago, Lady Argentea Malassene traveled
past Heldren on her way from Oppara to Zimar to
meet her betrothed. Rumor has it the two didn’t
get along and Lady Argentea caused a scandal by
calling off the engagement and returning home.
Droviz easily dominates the gambling scene of this small village. Unfortunately, the villagers pockets are not deep, but what little they have ends up in Droviz's pocket. He earns 4 gp at the gambling table.
The council seems a bit taken aback by Droviz's masked face. A woman named Ionnia Toppen leads the council, and responds:
"Your offer of assistance is noted. Unfortunately Heldren is barely large enough to sustain a militia for its own protection and we have no soldiers to spare. While we cannot commit any funds at present, I am sure that Lady Argentea's family would reward you in the coin you so desire should you rescue her. Perhaps some of the other outsiders passing through might aid you in this."
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Eager to return to work, Ragnar settles his tab at the Silver Stoat. Of everything he's heard, the only place he feels that he can investigate is Old Man Dansby's farm.
The cold air is strangely invigorating. Ragnar almost forgot how much he preferred the brisk temperatures. Why hadn't he moved North? Maybe he should? From his childhood he remembers the men telling tales of exciting adventures whereas Taldans are always worried about Qadirans. State politics...how boring.
Upon arriving to the farm, Ragnar glares at the Border Wood. What are you up to? He takes a long draw from his waterskin before getting to work. He is not in the mood for small talk with Old Man Dansby, what could the aged farmer tell him that he hadn't already heard in Heldren?
Ragnar examines the fields for tracks of potential looters and to see what direction they may have fled into the Border Wood. He also examines the fields for anything else the looters may have left behind.
After acquiring this information, Ragnar stands near the farmstead's entrance and contemplates his next action.
Damir genially participated in the conversation about the incline weather, nodding in fervent agreement at the awfulness of out-of-season snows. That being said, the half-orc has absolutely no idea what the cold feels like, and he makes an idle note to wear a coat the next day - just to avoid the weird looks from wandering around in wintery weather wearing a short-sleeved shirt and leggings.
Icy beasts, unnatural snowfall, and white-furred animals... banditry, jilted lovers, and incompetent rangers... The Border Woods is certainly a hub of activity, Damir muses idly to himself the next day, slowly limping through the town while he munches down on an apple. Curious indeed.
Tossing the apple core for a fenced-in pig to finish off, Damir continues at his slow yet regular pace to his destination: Old Man Dansby's farmstead. Where the winter calls... so too do I go. Investigating the closest farm to the Border Wood might answer a few of the questions he was having about what exactly was going on here.
When he arrives, he spots a tall and well-build blonde man looking thoughtfully out into the fields. Thinking he might be a farmhand of Dansby's, Damir approaches him with a friendly shout.
"Ho there!" He greets Ragnar with a friendly smile. "You a farmhand here? Mind if I have a look around the place?"
Kohr thanks the villagers to which he had spoken, then goes in search of Lady Argentea's wounded guard.
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Ragnok gives Damir a quizzical look at first. A tall man with blue-gray skin? He couldn’t be orc or some goblinoid without some visible fangs. A brutish dark-elf, perhaps? It doesn’t matter. He’s already dwelled on the matter too long.
”Nay, not a farmhand.” The question though makes Ragnok dwell on the possibility of owning his own farmstead one day. ”Name’s Ragnok. I make a living trapping game in the Border Wood but it sounds like my work is on hold for now. I’m not sure how the animals will take to this strange weather. I guess I’m here to check things out. Heard this farm was pillaged and frosted over.”
Ragnok gestures towards the Old Man Dansby’s farmstead and continues,”I’ve had a look around the fields but I haven’t spoken with Old Man Dansby or any farmhands. I’ll accompany you if you like. Who might you be, anyhow? I can't say I recognize you from Heldren. And I don't mean insult by this but you have a memorable look about you.”
Hyporia continues to make her way through town, seeking the wounded mercenary. The local rumors fresh in mind brings her concern. As she makes her way, she spots Kohr seeming to head in the same direction. She offers him greeting, "Good morning, Kohr. Out and about this morning as well, I see. Interested in our visitor as well?"
Damir nods along with Ragnok's briefing. He'd of course heard the same stories; folk in small towns were always happy to fill you in on the local drama. This man seemed a rather knowledgeable sort, and besides, Damir always found the outdoorsy types to be pleasant companions.
He offers Ragnok his hand to shake, chuckling with self-depreciating mirth at being described as 'memorable'. That's one way you could put it. "I get that a lot. You don't see many of my kind around here... never mind the scars." Damir grins toothily, showing his only somewhat pronounced lower fangs. "The name's Damir Maresk. I'm from Oppara myself, but I've been wandering lately. Got the bug; blame Desna, I suppose."
Should Ragnok shake Damir's hand, he is immediately struck by how cold the half-orc is. His body temperature is as chilly as the snows the ranger would've seen in the Border Woods as of late. That said, the handshake is otherwise firm and confident.
"I heard all about the troubles this place's been having lately. Thought I'd come and check out what's going on with this old farmer's crops. It's good to know someone else's as confused by that as I am. Snows of summer? Curious indeed." He casts his hazel eyes over Ragnok's shoulder into the fields beyond. "I was thinking that there's some kinda curse or somethin' coming from the woods. Seems like everything's going on in there lately. Did you notice anything odd when you checked the fields out?"
"Fair enough," Droviz says, still merry-sounding. "Fair enough, indeed. I got no problem going for a look, but I'd appreciate a bit of documentation, if you don't mind. A little something like 'the bearer of this document is an upright soul who went off to find and rescue the Lady Argentea, and not some blackguard who kidnapped her and is trying to pull a fast one. Signed: the Council of Heldren'. That spirit of thing, you know?"
Regardless what else happens at the Council, Droviz next goes off in search of the Lady Argentea's guard, by the simple expedient of asking the Council where this august gentleman might be found.
Kohr nods back to Hyporia. "Aye, I am. If we're going to have news of disaster and probably doom for us all, we might as well get it straight from the source."
Despite the almost moaning tone of the words, Kohr actually has a faint smile for the diminuitive woman.
" Are they putting him up in the inn, do you know?"
"I'm afraid I don't know for certain, but that would be my guess." Hyporia walks quietly a moment before continuing. "From the rumors, it sounds as though something bad is happening around the town right now. Unnatural cold, white stags, a giant white weasel, fields dying. The High Sentinels should have prevented an attack like this. One has to wonder what's happening. I hope your wrong and disaster isn't coming to town."
Magnus will head out to the farmstead to speak with the boy. Once he arrives he will speak with the boy;s father to see if he's all right before talking with him. "So you say this stag talked to you before disappearing further into the woods. What did it say?"
Ragnok finds a few rabbit and deer tracks in some of the fields, but nothing that would explain Dansby's claims. He doesn't find anything else there. The farmstead is deserted, the coals in the fire are cold. It seems no one has been there for at least several days.
The Council provides Droviz with a letter of introduction declaring him charged with locating Lady Argentea. Droviz, Kohr and Hyporia inquire as to the wounded mercenary's location and all meet up at the Willowbark Apothecary, where the wounded bodyguard is recovering. Wrapped in bandages, the Ulfen mercenary’s nose, fingers, and toes have taken on a black hue from serious frostbite, and he is still heavily wounded. Despite the best efforts of Elder Safander, Heldren’s village priest, it will take some time before Yuln is hale and hearty enough to travel again, much less wield a weapon. Despite his obvious pain, however, he waves the PCs closer to speak with them. One of the Council's deputies introduces Droviz as an adventurer seeking to rescue Lady Argentea.
After Droviz's introduction, Yuln softly begins to speak. "Would that I could go with you. I am Yuln Oerstag, lone survivor of my caravan. My ancestors would ridicule my lack of valor for fleeing rather than
fighting to the end. But I faced enemies that even the greatest warriors in the Linnorm Kingdoms have faltered against, though I think I slew at least one of them before they dragged Lady Argentea away.”
Magnus arrives at the farmstead and speaks with the boy's father. He seems pleased that someone is taking an interest in his boy's health.
"My son, Olen, has never been one to fib. He swears he saw a talking stag. While I'm sure he wouldn't lie to me, it's probably just a feverish dream. Surely such things cannot be real."
He allows Magnus to speak to Olen, thinking the boy might rest easier if he was able to tell his story.
Olen, still taken with fever, responds in fits and starts. "it told me... to stay out of the forest... that it was the guardian of the Border Wood... and that we should stay away... and then I fell... soooo coooold...." He seems taken with a chill despite his high fever and starts to shiver again.
Kohr looks quizzically at the masked Droviz, but introduces himself cordially enough.
With Yuln's permission, he lays a hand on the warrior's bandaged head, closing his eyes and letting the a warmth like sunrise flow to the mercenary's wounds.
"What do you recall of your foes?" he asks after a moment.
"Cor," Droviz says, sounding impressed. "Well, I definitely want to hear more about those enemies. And uh, just for the record? If you hadn't run, then you'd be dead from what you've said so far, and no one would be the wiser where the Lady Argentea fetched up. If yer ancestors try to have a laugh at your expense, you just tell 'em to shut their gob."
Before Yuln says anything more, Droviz has a quick aside with the apothecary. "Is he too bad off for a drink? 'Cause if he ain't, I'll spring for a beer for him. Beer's good for a wounded man, helps him feel his wounds less and fires the old heart up a bit."
Regardless the Apothecary's answer, Droviz pulls a chair right up to Yuln's bed and sits down, listening with rapt attention to the mercenary's next words.
"There is snow on the ground in the middle of summer, so who am I to say what can and can't be" Magnus responds to the father's question. Once in the boy's room Magnus will listen intently while he tells his tale. Before rising, Magnus will pat the boy's shoulder "Rest easy, Olen. Rest easy." Turning to the boys father he asks him to show him where his son first saw the stag. Once there he will look for tracks, if any, in the snowy ground.
Hyporia shares Kohr's look at the masked Droviz, but quickly turns her attention to the wounded mercenary. The others expressed the questions she has on her mind, she encourages him to speak, "Anything you might know may help."
Unable to find any signs of the mysterious stag, Magnus will return to town to talk with the wounded warrior.
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Ragnok replies to Damir: “Didn’t find much out there. Some game tracks but nothing noteworthy. There’s also not a soul at this farm. Probably not for the last few days. I’m guessing somebody is pulling our leg with this place. Feel free to double check the fields if you want. Couldn’t hurt to have a second set of eyes check it out.” Ragnok shrugs.
”I heard about a boy seeing a talking deer so I was probably going to head over there next. You hear of anything that might be more promising?”
Damir shakes his head. "Nah, I trust you. Bit weird that there's nobody around here though, don't you think?"
The half-orc gives the fields one last quizzical, frowning look-over before responding to Ragnok's question. "I heard about that stuff too. A white weasel and a white elk, eh? You folks have some interesting tales around here," he says with a sly grin.
"Only other interesting thing I heard was about that lady that's gone missing. Apparently she was off to see the chap she was supposed to marry, but hated him and broke it off. Wouldn't be shocked to hear that the ex-groom's gone off and kidnapped her or something. Maybe the guard who made it back here knows a bit more about it?"
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"I agree, it's a bit strange for a farm to be deserted, especially at the peak of the growing season. But maybe all of these rumors just scared everyone into town." Ragnok, in thought, strokes his beard.
"Well Damir, a missing lady sounds bit more promising than talking animals. Let's go find out what this guard knows."
While walking back, Ragnok explains to Damir about his recent escapades in the Border Woods and how Ragnok's injury has kept him from witnessing any of the events in the forest first hand. "Let's just say I have no interest in climbing trees for the foreseeable future."
After arriving at the gates, Ragnok turns to Damir and asks, "Say, do you know where this guard is?"
With a wry half-smile, Kohr continues his questions.
"Oh, and what do you remember about where the attack happened? If I'm going to march off to my doom, I'd hate to waste all that time wandering around looking for it..."
Damir likewise trades stories of his journey to Heldron, mostly rather mundane things--the state of the other towns in the local area, how the weather has been, and so forth. "Not nearly as exciting as your experience, that's for sure," he adds with a grin. He explains that he's spent most of his life in Oppara, and that while travel and the outdoors was quite appealing, his bunged leg made things difficult at times.
As for the wounded mercenary... "My best guess would be a local hospice or whatnot. Know somewhere like that?"
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Damir is rather surprised by the large gathering inside the small apothecary; on the other hand, the small-town mentality would probably wind up causing many of the locals to grow concerned for the merc's health. He nods politely as he enters, flanked by Ragnok.
"Hello," he says with a slightly arched brow. "Excuse me for interrupting - was just interested in speaking with the poor old chap that stumbled back into town the other night. ... I guess he's one popular fellow, eh?"
Yuln thanks Kohr for his healing; it seems to ease his pain but the severity of his wounds seem to be beyond your ability to heal.
The apothecary tells Droviz Yuln can have one drink but probably not more than that. At that moment Damir, Ragnok, and Magnus arrive at the apothecary.
Kohr asks, "What do you recall of your foes?"
Yuln replies: “We were attacked on the road six miles south of this town. We first thought they were just bandits at first—outlaws who hide like wolves in the forest. They were no match for us. But then came the cold fey of the north. They appeared among us and the battle turned quickly. My people speak of the winter-touched all the time, but I never expected to meet them this far south.”
Hearing Yuln describe the winter fey, Kohr struggles to keep the fear from his face.
Hyporia attempts to recall anything she may have heard on such creatures. "Do you have any idea why such creatures may have attacked, what they were after? Anything you can tell us about how to find or fight them?"
"More to the point, do you know how to kill things like that?" Droviz asks. "Cold iron? Or does it need to be hot, for ice faeries?"
Kohr searches his memory for ways of dealing with the fae.
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Fey of the north? Leaning against a door frame, Ragnok imagines himself in Yuln's battle. He buries his great axe into one brigand's shoulder and after a few tugs the axe comes free. Ragnok then deftly dodges another long sword and kicks the attacker in the stomach. Ragnok raises his axe, about to behead his imaginary foe, when an ice shard pierces his chest and leaves a large gaping hole.
Ragnok shakes his head, snapping out of his reverie. These cold fey must have something to do with this odd change if weather. If it continues, Heldren's growing season will be ruined and there might be a local famine. Not to mention that it will be hard to make a living trapping in the Border Wood with murderous fey about.
Ragnok makes a mental note to check the road six miles south of town for any tracks.
Damir seems a little deflated that his (admittedly awkward) entry seemed to go unnoticed. I suppose they're more interested in what the poor fellow has to say... yes, that must be it. His mild disappointment evaporates in an instant at the mention of ice-touched fey; the half-orc's eyes widen slightly.
Strange, cold weather and out-of-season snows... white-furred beasts and icy fey... he felt his heart flutter, perhaps in excitement, perhaps in nervousness. Perhaps his whim to travel to Heldren was not simply happenstance at all. Perhaps the cold was being called to this place.
"... By the way," Damir adds after everyone else's questions had been asked, "I heard that the fair lady had a bit of problems with her husband-to-be. Or should I say, ex-husband-to-be. You don't think these 'bandits' could actually be hired goons of the unlucky fellow, do you?"
"Must've paid a fair penny, then, to get ice fey to do his work," Droviz says. "I didn't even know their kind were for hire!"
"Do you have any idea why such creatures may have attacked, what they were after? Anything you can tell us about how to find or fight them?"
“The wintertouched are fey creatures who have sworn themselves to the White Witches of Irrisen, those who stole our lands from us during the Winter War. Tiny sprites no taller than the length of a man’s forearm. But don’t be fooled by their small stature. Legends say they have taken a sliver of ice into their hearts, and their touch bears the harsh bite of winter. I don’t know why they wanted her. But if one of the White Witches took Lady Argentea, no good shall come of it. The winter-touched do nothing without the leave of those who placed the ice in their hearts. If they’re here, it’s because a White Witch sent them. And much worse will follow.”
“They took Lady Argentea into the forest, back through the ice and snow. Beyond that, I don’t know. I followed as far as I could, but the winter-touched were too many and too hard to fend off in the snow alone. I barely escaped, and rode to seek help here.”
“You must fight the winter-touched with cold iron and burning flame. Both burn them, and both are weapons they fear.” He reaches under his bed, and strains to lift a longsword from the floor. "If you are going after Lady Argentea, please take this. It is made from cold iron and has been in my family for three generations. Bring it back to me after you find Lady Argentea."
Kohr remembers that fey fear cold iron, confirming Yuln's comments. Hyporia doesn't remember anything relevant.
Droviz reverently takes the longsword and -- after taking a few steps back so his practice will not harm anyone else in the room -- gives it a few tentative swings, testing its weight, its balance and -- with a careful thumb and forefinger -- its edge.
"Will do," he says. "If'n I live, I'll bring this beauty back to ya." He straps the longsword's sheath to his swordbelt.
The masked man gives the rest of the people in the room a curious look. "So. You lot all want to go looking for the Lady an' all?" He seems to mull the thought over for a bit, then shrugs and brings out the Council's letter of introduction and turns it over.
"Got summat to write with?" he asks one of the apothecaries. "Lovely. Right then, you lot. I got me a charge from the Council to find the Lady Argentea and bring her back safe and sound. If'n we're all going, might as well all sign up here and agree to share the reward fair shares. It's safer working in numbers, not knowing how many of the bleeders are between us and the lady."
"Rest well, Yuln."
Hyporia watches as Droviz tests the weapon, a smidgeon of respect forming for the masked warrior. She comes over to read the charge before signing herself. "If you can use that weapon, I can help to provide flame." She slowly signs her name, taking time to make it appear neat. "You may call me Hyporia. If the words are to be believed, we may want to procure equipment for the cold. The weather has already become uncharacteristic for the area, best to stay cautious. I also need to stop by the temple for a moment before leaving. Does anyone have any other errands they need to attend to?"
"Well," Droviz says after thinking it over. "I've got me gear for cold weather. Might be good to buy some oil. And a pair of bellows. If'n those faeries are teensy-like, like as not they'll come in swarms. We could fill up a bellows with oil, squirt them, then toss on a spark and..." Droviz spreads his gloved hands in a demonstrative manner. "Whoosh."
Next, Droviz extends one of those gloved hands to Hyporia. "Droviz is the name, for all me sins. Pleased ta meetcha. So, yer a fire-wizard or summat? Right useful, that! Glad ta have ye on board."
After you all procure whatever equipment you desired, you head six miles south along the road, to the area Yuln described.
Retracing his trail, you come across the remains of the noblewoman’s escort on the fringes of the Border Wood.
Near the forest, the temperature grows noticeably colder. The road ahead is littered with debris and the corpses of slain humans and horses. A carriage stands in the roadway, its team of horses missing or cut free, while another overturned carriage lies sprawled and broken next to the tree line. To the south, more bodies have fallen around what appears to be a statue of ice. A snowy trail leads deeper into the forest.
"Right then," Droviz says, clapping his hands together with a sharp 'Crack!' "Let's see where the blighters took the high lady, shall we? Oh - weapons ready, folks. No telling whether someone or something stayed behind to make more trouble or cover their chums' tracks."
Droviz unslings his shield and draws the cold iron longsword, resting it against his shoulder as he walks onto the scene of carnage, looking for tracks.
Hyporia follows along, keeping her eyes alert. "They slaughtered even the horses. It does seem they were after Lady Argenta."
Kohr is tight-lipped and tense as he scans the scene, unslinging his crossbow and loading it.
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On the six mile trip from town, Ragnok got to know the names of his companions and a bit about them. He's still not sure what to make of the Drow, not knowing much about his kind. Between them all, Ragnok only trusts only Damir for now.
Upon arriving at the gruesome scene, Ragnok ignores Droviz's advice...no, command...no, advice...to ready a weapon. Surely the ambush is gone. Taken what they wanted and withdrew back to the Wood.
The image of the bodies of the snow remind Ragnok of something deep within the recesses of himself: a memory forgotten in time but retrieved through this analogous wintery imagery. His father lying in the snow, his bloodied face staring up into the sky, his eyes frozen in place as if his final vision was of Pharasma herself. Ragnok's mother closed his father's eyes with her hand, as if to shut the opening from which the soul were leaking from his corpse, but she never said another word about the man.
But now on the trail with the carriages, Ragnok wants to give the bodies a proper burial but is afraid of the time already lost. Maybe he would come back? But the scavengers might come before that...and he hopes that if found dead on a trail, another man would bury him before a fox chews off his face.
These thoughts and moral questions are interrupted when Ragnok notices a statue...of ice?
What is that anyway?
There is an obvious trail going into the woods near A4. Some horses and some humanoids on foot passed through there. There are no other noteworthy tracks.
You hear hoofbeats approaching. A human rider has obviously been pushing his horse very hard. Damir recognizes him and approaches. The rider passes him a scroll, which he reads, looks very concerned, and then says, "Something extremely important has come up. I don't have time to explain, but I must go." He hops onto the horse behind the human and they ride back towards Heldren.
Hyporia hears a shuffling sound coming from the carriage at A2. The decorative chasings on this expensive carriage bear the marks of Taldan heraldry, as well as damage from the many arrows fired in the battle that took place here. A spear has been wedged between the handles of the carriage doors to hold them closed.
Ragnok approaches the statue. The remains of a soldier tasked with escorting Lady Argentea from Zimar back to Oppara stand here as a
gruesome statue, his slain body mostly encased in ice. It looks like someone made an example of him for others to find. The soldier looks to be an officer of some kind. Unfortunately, the man’s body is no longer intact, as someone carved away pieces of him that now lie in blocks of slowly melting ice at his feet. The frozen officer still wears his breastplate, emblazoned with Taldan heraldry, and one of the chunks of ice contains the soldier’s arm, still grasping his masterwork longsword.