"We... have done it? Bastagar lives?" Bastagar stirs, blinking back the light with a bitter hiss. He touches his hand to his bandaged wounds, and blinks up at Hilde and Olaf in confusion. He glances sidelong to Caerb, and confident in Hilde's care cackles at the assembled bandits. "Have they hidden the lady with the pretty jewel box? Or say you offered her to the faerie, either way Bastagar gets his prize."
"Some thieves you be missing a find like that, yes. But Bastagar's eyes are sharp! Yes. Sharp as his wits, they are!"
Edit: Bastagar, wincing, starts upright, pulling a small, snow-white branch from under him, miraculously not snapped in twain. He begins frantically tapping the branch against the oak-wood table, cursing at it as it's magic seems to elude him, until at last the branch sprouts fruit.
He pries Caerb's mouth open roughly, and stuffs the five blood red berries down his throat.
Cearb first gags but then wakes and finishes chewing the sweet berries in his mouth, He sits up and with a grin, red juice running done his chin, That was tasty. Good, for I was working up a hunger....although my stomach hurts, as does my head, and I don't remember laying down here...but I do remember dreaming of being in the land of the dead."
Bastagar shoots Caerb a suspicious glance at his tastiness comment, stowing his wand back into his rucksack with a jealous glare.
"If they'll not tell us where they keep her, p'rhaps Bastagar finds her himself." he says, menacing any bandits that get in his way with his walking stick and searching every nook and cranny of the first floor, searching for the lady under the bearskin rug, on the mantelpiece and under every lid.
The Halfhand paces about the room, looking out each of the windows.
"It is foolish to rest until we've secured this place completely." The Halfhand says, turning towards the others. "Pixie spies could yet be lurking in the shadows, watching us with malicious eyes."
"Come," he says, gesturing at nobody in particular. "We'll see what stores this lodge holds."
Hilde ignores Halfhand, bringing in her gear from outside. Placing her packs in the room she's chosen, she then heads for the back room with the two sick bandits.
"Greetings mortals,
it is best we never fought,
Give thanks for this illness,
or drink Pharasma's draught.
Captured thou art, and
how fortunate it is for thee,
life well lived is treasured,
and the judge of yours is me.
Questions will I give thou,
and answers thou whilst return,
thy treatment after speaking,
rests on how those answers turn.
What sickness plagues thee?
and from whence did it come?
Was it caught from other mortals?
or did my kin have something done?
Where went the green-skin female?
and where now will she likely be?
Her parole, thou see, I did accept,
and she's not seen the last of me.
What master didst thou serve,
from whom did orders come?
Where is your noble captive?
your lives depend on no harm done.
When can we expect reinforcements,
for two faeries did escape alive.
Who will come? How many? For by sparing thee,
it is only with us thou shall survive."
Hilde sits on one of the chairs around the table, facing the two men, waiting for answers. Her face is calm, but fairly welcoming, although her flat eyes indicate she means business.
Kelgar taps his foot impatiently, waiting for the sickened bandits to provides some answers and additional insight into any remaining occupants or surprises that the wilderness cabin may hold.
Observing the heat emanating from the fireplace, he nods his agreement, Ah-greed we stay 'ere t'night, but first things first."
Going through the leader's possessions you find:
Three wax stoppered vials of viscous liquid - one green and two a dark amber oily colour; a light crossbow with ten bolts, a ring of three keys, a book bound in dark leather that bears symbols arcane within, and 75gp in loose coin.
His well made shortsword lies on the wood at his feet, and the studded leather he wears looks to be of fine make as well despite the fresh cuts from your blades.
However it is his cloak that draws most of your interest, thick and made of what looks to be yeti hair that has become dark and matted with filth from not being cleaned. Halfhand's arcane sight senses something of power within it. There is also a minor dwemor upon the blade, but that seems to be fading with time.
Looking through the rest of the lodge it's clear to see that the sick men were quarantined to the southern room in the lodge and the healthy ones slept in the great hall. The two remaining living bandits are returned to their beds with weapons taken... the exertion of the short battle even enough to render them incapable of arguing against it.
The bandit's arms add up to ten longbows, ten longswords, six sets of studded leather, four sets of leather - and a smattering of coin (180gp).
Sure enough in the front room you find a locked trapdoor beneath the bearskin rug.
Upstairs from whence came the icy dead is a second locked room. If asked the sick bandits have no idea what is inside. There is a map of the area on the wall, of which you pick out the word Teb Knotten with an arrow leading westwards.
Two of the lodge bedrooms have chests that bear locks - one in the best maintained room, while the second is in what looks to have been the room of the half-orc lass.
Outside in the stables you find three living horses and tack, though the number of saddles gives some idea of what the bandits have recently been eating...
The two bandits that remain alive prove little good at answering questions of detail, but some response is given to queries "..Lady in cellar.. under bearskin..."
"...Don't know fae... Rokhar spoke with them... we just saw the blue skinned devil..."
"...got sick just after it started snowing..."
"Ten-Penny? - not sure where she's gone... but the crazy little one swung at her after you spoke... maybe she thought ye were lying...""
...though they speak well enough to Hilde, Bastagar especially is treated with suspicion and eyes borne of hate.
The word Rokhar is matched with a gesture at the prostrate but living leader who was felled from within his wall of dead flesh.
The Halfhand is pleasantly surprised by Olaf's expertise when it comes to magic, and stands by as Olaf examines the objects, discussing the magical properties of the items and the lore surrounding them.
Bastagar is quick to strip "Rokhar" of his valuables as his first order of business, cackling with triumph as they gather their plunder by the fire, counting the coin with undisguised delight as the bandits spit bitter curses at him. He gives the necromancer a parting jab in the ribs with his shillelagh before rummaging through his rucksack for his thieves tools. A broken comb, an iron nail and a thin piece of wire. "Leave the locks to Bastagar, yes, we has a special talent, we does." he says, snarling and gnashing his teeth in frustration as he attempts to untangle the wire. "Bastagar only take one trinket at a time, lest he be discovered. But with filthy-bearded-tall-folk we can bash their heads in and takes what we pleases!"
He pauses, to consider this. "Bastagar likes human way better."
Going through the leader's possessions you find:
a ring of three keys
The vials of liquid prove to not be magical.
The cloak proves to be something special...
This heavy cloak is crafted from shaggy white yeti fur. When the cloak’s hood is pulled up over the wearer’s head, it takes on a semblance of its arctic namesake’s fearsome visage.
Northern warriors value its ability to ward against the chill of winter, as well as the protection it provides in combat. The cloak of the yeti provides a constant endure elements effect in cold weather (it has no effect in hot weather). In battle, the cloak wraps around the wearer, granting a +1 natural armor bonus. In addition, with the hood drawn over the wearer’s head, the cloak grants a +2 competence bonus on Intimidate skill checks.
Looking into the book Halfhand discovers it contains words arcane: contains alarm, chill touch, expeditious retreat, feather fall, identify, locate object, and ray of enfeeblement. It also contains a folded parchment that is yellowed with age and contains an ornately written script in the language of the fey.
Olaf whistles when he has finished with the cloak.
"Its previous bearer definitely did not treat this properly. 'Tis truly an excellent boon for any warrior!"
Olaf then casts Prestidigitation, and uses it to clean the cloak.
If the skill doesn't allow you to attempt the same task more than once, or if failure carries an inherent penalty (such as with the Climb skill), you can't take 20.
Try Again: You can retry checks made to open locks.
Bastagar will snatch up the keyring and greedily pry open the chests, stopping first to check for traps.
1d20 + 5 ⇒ (20) + 5 = 25
As he glimpses the sylvan script he'll snatch the note from the Halfhand and attempt to read it.
Bastagar finds the key fits the lock in the main bedroom he guesses was Rokhar's. The chest contains: a gold ingot engraved with the Taldan royal seal, a spyglass, a silver lady’s ring, three shards of tiger’s eye gemstones, a fine pair of leather riding boots of elven make, a silver dagger with a hidden compartment in the hilt (Perception DC 20 to find), and a leather portfolio containing several pieces of parchment, including a scroll of endure elements, two scrolls of magic weapon, and a scroll of unseen servant.
The second chest proves impervious to the keys from the keychain.
The writings on Halfhand's note (either slivers seen, or wholesale read if relinquished) appear to be shaded with the high art arcane.
Bastagar stares at the gold with wide eyed wonder. He casts a quick glance over his shoulder, but decides against trying to hide it. "Come! Come! Look what Bastagar finds!" he says, presenting the gold, silver and gemstones with a glint of pride in his eye.
"How strange." The Halfhand says, scratching his beard as he flicks through the pages of the spellbook. "This man channeled the powers of dark gods and yet he holds a tome of arcana. Surely there is something amiss... Never have I come across such a blend of magic."
"Have you heard of such a thing, in your many years, Kelgar?"
---
The Halfhand unfolds the parchment, taking a brief glance at it before walking over to Bastagar.
"You there. This is faerie script, is it not?" He hands him the parchment, pointing at the words. "What does it say?"
He seems to notice the open chest only as an afterthought, before casting his arcane gaze over the contents. "Oho, it seems our bandit leader was quite the avid arcanist..."
The Halfhand is perfectly fluent in both Sylvan and Aklo (particularly in written form) from his extensive studies, but he's going to pretend he's not for the purpose of eavesdropping.
Also, he reads the thing before handing it over.
Kelgar kneels and begins to roll up the bear rug, keeping his eyes warily on the sick bandits.
"Ye all best not be lyin'."
With the trapdoor exposed, he gives it a once-over after praying to Torag for guidance, to ensure it's not trapped and opens it up, peering into the room below.
Cearb looks over Bastagar's shoulder as he enjoys the chest's contents, "Yes, yes, very nice, but we need to find the Pretty Lady, gimme the keys and we will look under the floor for her."
He makes his way back to where Kelgar is on his knees at the trapdoor. "I brought the keys, try for a fit, hope for the Pretty Lady."
If it is dark in the cellar, Cearb will release a few of the fireflies he keeps in a jar and shoo then into the dark space.
Hilde nods to the sick men and demands their parole before allowing them to rest. Once given, she disarms them but leaves them unbound, in warm beds to hopefully recover.
Once done, she places Rockar in another of the beds, confident that he won't awake for at least another half hour. Walking back into the main hall, she says to Halfhand,
"Yon villain be wounded
but will recover no doubt,
how shall we deny his access
to magic, within or without?
"As the two most well versed
wilt thou, with Olaf, see
that no trouble he causes,
and no danger he be?
She will then join Kelgar, whether he has descended into the cellar or no.
The Halfhand rubs the side of his nose, peering over at Rokhar as Hilde adresses him. "As long as we've taken away his focus, binding his hands should be sufficient. Removing them would be better." he says, completely deadpan. "There may be some magic he can use with voice alone, though that is suitably rare. Take that as you wish."
"Thou wilt pick up this stone?
Why, I thank thee for your care,
stepping up to shoulder this burden,
work is nicer when burdens are shared."
Hilde then turns and follows Kelgar down into the hole.
The Halfhand stares at her blankly as she turns away, but he's content to let the others put themselves in harms way. He doesn't even bother looking for rope or string, instead grabbing the man roughly and hauling him up onto one of the tables before settling into a chair with his crossbow resting in the crook of his arm. He looks over at the fallen draugr with contempt. "Disgusting creatures..."
While the others head downstairs, faintly aware of stranger's usual reaction to him, Bastagar will dash upstairs and try to beat the others to all the good lootin'.
Downstairs:
Caerb sees the trapdoor beneath the bearskin unlocked by force of key and opens the cellar. Descending the 10ft ladder into it's bowels you see a half-dozen boxes and barrels taking up the majority of this underground cellar. A rough blanket lies spread on the floor in the southeast corner next to a bowl of half-eaten food. Next to it with bound hands and feet sits the object of your rescue - the lady Argentea Malassene. She squints and blinks against the light before sighing in relief.
"Thank Erastil... I-I assume you are not with Rokhar or his band of thieves and murderers?"
Upstairs:
Prying open the locked door, Bastagar finds a musty storeroom with dozens of small boxes, bottles, and papers filling it. A small iron cage sits on the top shelf, emanating a flickering light like that of a candle. Looking closer you see a tiny figure within the cage... lithe and diminutive it looks like a humanoid with wispy, mothlike wings and long, thin ears. Skin of blue and clothing white it narrows eyes at you as it recoils from the light "Who! Who comes... friends of Rokhar?" voice fearful like a dog that has come to fear the blows that follow a drunken master's rage.
You recognize the creature as a sprite of the winter fae, similar to those that you fought in the wood of crows.
The other chest:
The other chest downstairs has it's lock removed and proves to hold some women's clothing as well as a healer’s kit (5 uses remaining), a belt pouch with 25 sp, and a potion of lesser restoration.
Bastagar and Halfhand recognize the viscous oils as poisons - one dose of greenblood oil and two of oil of taggit.
Reading the script of the scroll you find that it is a spell of healing that channels the splendour of summer in the first world to soothe hurt and bolster spirits.
Bastagar rises one of the vials to his lips, taking a tentative sniff. "Oh. Ohohoho. Don't be drinking this, oh no, a few drops and your lights go out!" he says, stuffing one (or both) of the vials of oil of taggit into his rucksack.
Upstairs he greedily grabs the cage, lifting it from it's shelf, eyes wide with sinister glee. "What's this? What treasure has Bastagar found? It speaks! It's master is dead, he is. Perhaps Bastagar can let it out if he likes what he hears. Perhaps."
Cearb turns his head and spits on the cellar floor. "No Pretty Lady, we are with Princess Hilde, the Crone sent us to find you, and we found you, Rokhar is our prisoner......Kelgar, the Pretty Lady will need your help coming up the ladder."
Helping her get to her feet, Cearb will help push her up the ladder. He will then search the storeroom and collect the items of interest.
Kelgar raises a hand to ensure that Lady Malassene isn't concerned by appearance her rescuers.
"Aye lass, we're here to help. C'mon now, up th' stairs so we can take a good look 'atcha up in th' light."
Ensuring the woman is comfortable by the hearth, the old dwarf sits next to her and checks her for any lasting injuries.
"We'll likely spend a night here and set out t' return ye t' town on th' morrow. Best we look f' somethin' warm for ye' t' travel in."
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Hilde waves Kelgar to the other chair beside the fire, fetching one from the southern room for herself.
"Good Kelgar, so right and natural,
as always art thy thoughtful ways.
My gear may she wear, as my flesh
knows not the chill of winter days.
Gesturing to each of her companions in turn:
"Greetings, noble Lady, with pride
I speak the tale of companions mine,
Dwarf Kelgar the Quarrel, Steadfast, Icefoe,
Skald Olaf the Bear, Axebearer, Corpsebane,
The Halfhand, Master of Shadow, Truesight.
With me art two of my Nithveil kinsmen brave,
Thunderous Caerb, Quickblade. True inheritor
and son of Caullyn, Hero of Thundering River,
upstairs be Wight Bastagar, Trapspringer,
Skullreaver, and a puck of dark mirth.
I am Dame Hilde Alfborne the Hag-Cursed,
Sveinsdottir, Princess of the Never-Dark Court.
From Heldren and Teppin did the words of
Yuln the Unfallen reach our ears. At dawn,
not three days past did we set out. Tis fine
to see thee, living, free from winter's spawn."
Smiling welcomingly, Hilde nods to the fire and asks if the Lady would like food or drink.
Cearb reemerges with an armload of supplies. He struggles to doff his cap at his introduction. After he sets down the items for others to look over, he heads off to find the kitchen and their selection of cutlery...and food.
When the lady is brought up, Olaf uses Prestidigitation to make her feel more presentable, and then returns to helping to fortify the building.
The Lady Malessene looks as though she has had an especially rough week, but bears no injuries that look like they won't heal naturally given time and some bed rest. She accedes to your guidance towards hearth and chair, and listens as Olaf begins to board up the broken windows that are allowing the winter winds to chill the air within.
Hilde's formal address puts some colour into her cheeks at the mention of Yuln and she listens intent before responding "Your rescue of my person is worthy of gratitude and thanks beyond what I am capable of offering at present, but know that I offer what I can. I am gladdened that Yuln survives, even as I know that rest of my companions are likely dead?" eyes hopeful but face betraying that hope as fleeting "At any rate, your names I will commit to memory and spread to those that listen with praise."
Cearb's search for food finds a stew still idly bubbling upon a hearth in the NW corner of the lodge... the look of the nearby bones betray the contents as horse meat - but it still looks to be edible enough. As to the cellar though, he finds little of real note or value.
The eyes of the sprite show some hope at the statement of Rokhar's death "Thank the queen that the capturer has met his reward... pain he has given me, and suffering both. Strike the lock kinsman, let me fly I have no quarrel with you or yours... strike the lock..."
Bastagar presses his nose to the cage, eyes wide as he peers at his captive. "Is it truly kin of Bastagars, this creature of the cold winter?" he sneers, cackling excitedly. "Bastagar could do this thing, but first it must spill it's secrets, yes. It must share its magic and tell Bastagar why its Queen sends it here. That is Bastagar's price. ...Clever Bastagar, wily Bastagar. Win our way to Nithveil court and buy back youth and time forgot..." he hisses, more to himself than the pixie.
The sprite stands within the cage and moves conspiratorially closer to Bastagar as it speaks "The queen speaks not to me in person... but secrets it knows... it does. But first, prove that you are better than the master before... strike the lock... free me and secrets will be yours."
With one last conspiratorial look over his shoulder, Bastagar sets himself to work on the lock with a greedy look in his eye.
The Halfhand moves to Lady Malassene's side as the others go about their business, crouching down beside her as he begins a quiet conversation.
"My components, Argentea. It was you that were to bring them to me." he says, resting his gloved three-fingered hand on her forearm. "Tell me, what has become of them? It is of vital importance."
The Lady looks at Halfhand for a few moments before a flash of realization "Oh yes... if anywhere they would be within the cellar. Though I know not of exactly what was taken and by whom... it may be that they were traded with the fae..."
"Tch."
Swearing in Infernal, the Halfhand rises to seek out whoever bears the loot from the cellar and holler at them about tinctures, guano and troll-fat candles.
Upstairs:
About halfway through his tinker with the lock on the cage, Bastagar chances a glance at the captured fae's face, seeing it fixed with a rictus of almost manic expectation... and a tinge of cruelty... and the self-satisfied smugness of one that is smiling at another's stupidity...
Downstairs:
Picking through the remnants within the cellar Halfhand finds some but not all of his reagants present and accounted for... those that are missing tend towards the more specific and rare of that which was requested.
Bastagar's nose twitches in agitation as he spots the smug expression on the creature's face. He ceases his work on the lock and crouches down beside the cage, whiskers twisting into a sneer. "Oh ho ho... It thinks it can outfox Bastagar, it does." he says, expression turning dark."No friend of Rokhars am I, but I am neither am I friend of thine. It will answer Bastagar's questions now, or perhaps we holds it over the fire until it speaks." he says, brandishing his cold-iron pan menacingly.
"Why do the tall folk keep it here? Who do they serve? Why does the white warg of winter bite so harsh and cold?"
Kelgar continues to sit on the hearth, content to yet those younger than himself scour the lodge for important clues.
As the flush color returns to his face and the snow in his beard melts and evaporates, he stretches and rubs his leg muscles.
"Ah, t'be young again."
As he watches Olaf reinforce some of the windows, he looks to the draugr and sighs to himself as he rises and approaches the bodies of the now permanently dead.
"Best we make a pyre fer th' lot o' em. Guess ah' ken get th' started."
Giving the cold outside a long, weary glance, Kelgar is slow to move to begin dragging the bodies outside into a pile before returning to the hearth once again, taking an unusually long "break" and dragging some burning kindling out to incinerate the dead men.
Cearb comes from the kitchen with a tray precariously balanced on his head. Several steaming bowls gently slide back and forth as he cross the room. He comes to a stop at the chairs by the fire. The large kitchen knife he carried in his mouth drops to his feet as he makes to talk.
"I can't swear by the recipe, but the stew is fresh and warm, plenty for seconds, we should attack more bad people at dinner time, saves us the work of cooking for ourselves, spoons are here in my pocket <he wriggles a bit and risks a free hands to produce a clutched fist holding wooden and pewter spoons>, and I grabbed their knife in case the meat is a bit tough, didn't like the looks of the cook, hope her cooking ain't what did those sickly lot in, smells good enough in any case, dig in."
Despite the awkward balance, he keeps all the bowls on the the tray as each lifts their bowl of choice. He pulls off the tray when only his and Bastagar's remain. "Where's the Wight, ain't he hungry, I would be if I was him, because I am right now as me too, maybe he is getting to like things cold now, very unlike me..." His spoon in his mouth dispensing the savor of the stew is what finally shuts him up.
"I thank thee Caerb, for
the gift thy hast brought.
Thy be working hard, yet
here I sit, doing naught.
Please, Noble Lady,
eat and rest til morning.
I shall seek out Bastagar, lest
he find danger without warning."
Taking her bowl of stew with her, Hilde heads for the stairs to find Bastagar.
Upstairs:
Hilde comes upon Bastagar and his captive just as the facade is dropped and a stream of vitriol that seems overlarge for such as small form is spewed forth "Bleachling will get nothing from Vrixx... this one looks forward to watching as his masters flense the flesh from your bones slowly and prolong your pain." sneering with cruel leer "Hurt Vrixx if it makes you feel more than the pathetic soon-to-be corpse that you are."
The sprite then catches sight of Hilde and lunges at the bars "Bright hearted b1tch of summer... Not kill you will they... take you back to the witch land, Jadwiga will have plans for you milady... such plans." chuckling sadistically with a raspy tinkling sound.
Downstairs:
The Lady Argentea gladly accepts the food, eating with the hunger of one kept without for some time. She nods approval at Kelgar's treatment of the dead with pragmatic respect, putting hand to his shoulder approvingly during one of his rests "Men follow, but not all have choice."
Hilde's hand lowers the spoon from her lips at the sight of the small blue sprite. Eyes flashing, she says,
"I worried, kinsman,
twas danger you'd found,
was it thee that caged it,
or was my worry sound?"
Her eyes never having left the sprite, she addresses it directly,
"Sad little snowflake,
trapped in this cage,
thy knowest my Doom. No
fear have I for faerie rage.
Still, matching the gaze of the sprite, Hilde speaks to Bastagar before turning to the stairs,
"Tread wary my Puck,
want not what it would give,
thee can take it with us,
a moment more let it live.
Back in the main room, Hilde addresses the group, making certain to include the Lady Malassene.
"A sprite in a cage,
a strange messenger be,
it speaks words of hate,
yet names a new enemy.
What fate for Rhokar,
how long shall he live?
I relish not our return,
lest escape we should give.
Right now it is best,
to complete our last task,
to wake yonder death mage,
our many questions to ask.
Our witness and judge,
in these lands of noble blood,
I say let Justice be done,
as we do what we should.
Answers may be given,
or not, let fate decide,
I see no good purpose,
that he make tomorrow's ride.
Hilde looks to the group for their judgement.
Hilde detects no taint of evil upon the creature.