Kelgar watches as the Halfhand collapses, too slow to realize what is happening until the wizard has dropped into the soft snow.
Absentmindedly, he responds to Bastagar, eyes focused on the Halfhand before he leans down to pick up the wizard.
"T' many winters fer meh likin'."
After finding little physical injury to determine the source of the collapse, with a grunt and newly found strength, he makes his way to the warmth of the campfire and sets him upon his bedroll, tucking him away for warmth with the practiced motions of a father.
"Best ye git a good night o' rest. This Pale Tower don't sound any sunnier than this spot."
Before drifting off to sleep of his own, Kelgar cleans and sharpens the edge of his axe and fondly remembers the brief time he shared with Olaf, making a promise to himself to avenge the young skald upon whatever evils lurk within the icy tower.
Your sleep is fitful and filled with dreams of antiquity blessed by the black rider's mantle settling in upon you. Nothing of them can be remembered when you awake, but in your gut there is a yearning to move through the portal... and onwards to what destiny might await.
Once camp is packed and the gear stowed, Kelgar does a full circuit about the "portal", sniffing the air like a pair of dogs circling one another.
Meeting the eyes of the others, he finally shrugs and grunts as he heaves his axe to his shoulder. Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath, clearly visible in the cold air before sighing and stepping into the breach.
The Halfhand awakes in a cold sweat, his memory of the previous day somewhat muddled. He hastily gathers his belongings, glancing about at the sleeping forms of the others before he begins his daily spell preparations.
He performs his usual rituals, renewing the energy stored in his shield runes.
As the sun rises proper, he timidly joins the others as they gather around the portal. He speaks nothing of the events of yesterday, but is clearly rattled.
"This is it, then." he says, scratching at his neck. His eyes continually dart back and forth, and he glances over his shoulder as if checking for some unseen pursuer.
Strangely, he doesn't seem to have any hesitations about the portal itself, following Kelgar into the whirling energies as if meandering down a quiet street.
Cearb rocks beside Hilde. He is sitting and biting on his knuckle...hard, to keep himself from waking the Princess to hurry her along. No calling out or poking her would be welcome...so he waits impatiently...for he knows the Hut awaits.
When it finally seems she might be close to awaking, he rises and prepares for the day, donning his ample Yeti Cloak, his newly red cap, and lacing his large boots.
He will be ready to pass through when Hilde is ready to go.
Approaching the swirling vortex that is spewing ice and snow forth you feel a strange sense of both finality and anticipation. With an intake of breath you step across the threshold... and find yourself elsewhere. The transition was swift, a brief absence of sound and light followed by a forceful tug upon your body before you phase back into reality. The portal is now at your back, and while you are within a forest... it is not the Grungir.
The air around you is even colder than where you left, and it gnaws away at any exposed flesh. Breath solidifies into plumes of steam and the wind and snow blows on and on. Looking around you find yourself alone on a forested hillside. In the distance you see faint lights that might betray civilization.
Cearbs small voice calls into the wind, "This will get worse before it gets better, the wind says much snow is on the way, it will bury us and freeze us, we need to find shelter before that happens."
Hilde awakens and finishes her preparations for the portal. She casts Lay on Hands on Cearb three times.
"Tainted ground this surely be,
I feel it deep within my bones.
Be careful what thee do or say,
fey magic's here, but not our own."
Before departing, Bastagar will creep toward what remains of Olaf's possessions, scavenging his coins, ioun torch, snowshoes, grappling hook, 100ft of silk rope and flint and steel. He picks up the mirror, letting out a fearful shout, dropping it clattering to the ground. "Bastagar does not steal from dead men. It leaves something behind, yes. We trade, like they does in Grungir-court." he stammers, producing a turnip from his rucksack and placing it at the skald's feet, spinning three times and tapping his wooden staff on the hard-packed ground. With one last warding gesture against his comrades angry spirit, he hastily follows the others through the portal.
Shivering as they make their way through the portal, Bastagar draws his furs tighter around his skinny frame. "Does it see the lights? What magic is that, lady Hilde?"
Hilde will use her Heal skill on all others in the party before resting at the camp with the trow. She cannot use it on herself and so has the 11 hit points in her profile.
Success: heal +2 HP from resting
Success: heal +2 HP from resting
Hilde will accept a fast healing from Bastagar if he has one available, leaving her at 22 hit points.
Kelgar tugs his furs closer and sniffs at the air, a worried look on his tired eyes as they gaze at the grey clouds above.
"Ach, what ill luck we 'ave. A blizzard be comin' soon. Best we find tha' tower, or somewhere else t'ole up. N' soon."
The old dwarf does a quick circuit of the forest, hunting for tracks that might indicate the presence of locals or animals that would be returning to some shelter to weather out the coming storm.
Cearb scurries about looking for a suitable den that might fit the group.
Given the severity of the weather coming in, you're not certain that a handmade temporary shelter would endure the magnitude of storm onrushing. Judging the perceived distance to the lights or what might be a town far off... you'd wager you should be able to make it to them assuming you get moving now.
Hilde has +8 Fort save and cold weather outfit. She also has 5 cold resistance.
"Even my magic won't hold for long in weather like this. I say we chance these lights." He points towards the dim glow in the distance. "Give the locals a warm northern greeting."
Setting off through the burgeoning storm the party finds it hard going. The lights of the town in the distance keep you on the right track, but heavy snowdrifts drag at your legs and make each step seemingly heavier than the last...
Fort Save 1 - DC 15: easy save
Fort Save 2 - DC 16: Cearb and Bastagar:
Fort Save 3 - DC 17: Cearb and Bastagar:
Fort Save 4 - DC 18: easy save
Fort Save 5 - DC 19: Cearb and Bastagar:
Fort Save 6 - DC 20: Cearb, Bastagar and Hilde:
...an hour after you begin and the chill is ravaging the short ones among you... seeping beyond the skin driving deep into your bones. Those not inured by fae blood or gifts of wintry high art begin to struggle slightly more to keep a pace... but still your spirits are kept reasonably high.
It is then that you see a shape forming out of the wintry haze ahead of you... human shaped... though it's head seems slightly large for it's size...
Dreams, portents... nightmares would be more apt. Long has your night been plagued with scenes macabre with black riders and chicken footed huts striding through the dark pursued by wintry witches and wolves of white. Very little do you remember upon waking... except a gut-wrenching truth that the black rider needs your help... and somehow that the Great Crone's safety is in jeopardy.
For seasons the crows of Crowtop had been your near companions... the superstition surrounding them serving to keep the jadwiga and peasantry both from your side. Thus you have been able to hone your craft in relative solitude within the Hoarwood. But the dreams have awakened a wanderlust and you head Eastwards - towards the fringes of the wood... near to a town you know as Waldsby.
Days you have travelled, cold and wary - but for some reason untroubled by wildlife... until today. The night bore a particularly vivid dream, which bore new characters... a princess whose hair was a halo of flame, a maimed man whose shadow was longer and wider than his form, a gnome whose cap dripped scarlet blood, a withered gnome whose eyes shone with the deadlight of the wisps and a dwarf... solid and stout at their sides. When you awoke, the sussurrant whispers of your mask confirmed find, ally, rider, black, the keys, THE KEYS.
So you set off in a rush... but now you find yourself being stalked by something... large and terrible you have caught but glimpses in the distance... and then out of the driving blizzard snow... come five silhouettes...
...an hour after you begin and the chill is ravaging the short ones among you... seeping beyond the skin driving deep into your bones. Those not inured by fae blood or gifts of wintry high art begin to struggle slightly more to keep a pace... but still your spirits are kept reasonably high.
Hilde stops after the first hour, not having realized how hard the two gnomes have had it. Removing her cold weather clothing, she passes it to Cearb. Additionally, she removes her snowshoes from her pack and gives those to Cearb as well.
She then hoists Bastagar onto her shoulders and sets off once again.
It is then that you see a shape forming out of the wintry haze ahead of you... human shaped... though it's head seems slightly large for it's size...
Shortly after stopping, she sees the giant-headed humanoid in the snow. Letting Bastagar down, she drops her pack and draws her bow , although she does not fire.
"What manner of man
do mine eyes now see?
If in peace thy comest,
then in peace we shall be.
The dangers of this land
my mother's blood shows to me,
explain yourself quickly now,
or I've an arrow to give to thee."
A tall, humanoid figure looms out of the whirling snow; dressed in warm clothes, with a fur-lined cloak of black and white feathers blowing behind it, it is clearly unarmored, but far from unarmed - a large axe rests easily in a harness across its back.
What at first seemed to be a an over-sized, horned head proves to be a large, horned wooden mask, constructed of ebony, and inlaid with paler woods, as well as bone, in patterns reminiscent of ritual scarification; there is something deeply unsettling about the mask, but almost impossibly, it is the wearer's eyes which truly draw attention - two pits of warm yellow light, like flickering flame.
At Hilde's words, the figure stops, cocks its head to one side, and then lets out a deep, throaty laugh, before speaking in a raspy voice, picking its words carefully, like one unused to speech.
"Be careful whom you threaten in this land, little one. The Jadwiga have many eyes, ears, hands, talons and claws at their command, and whilst they may engage in petty factionalism, outsiders that try to join in the great game tend to attract more attention than they would like.
As for this one, he means you no harm, provided you put down that bow, and threaten him no more. This one is following a call; he has been troubled by dreams of late - Grandmother is lost, and her children are fighting; the Gift is weeping, and the Riders are missing - the Keys must be found."
The figure turns to regard each member of the party in turn.
"He saw you; he was warned - the pale princess with the hair of flame; the half-man surrounded by hungry shadows, who's own shadow grows ever larger; the young one that chases his father's legacy, with boots of iron, and a cap dripping with color, oh so red; the old one, long in winters, who has succumbed to the final winter, and survived; and the bearded one, solid and staid, kin to the warm earth and stone... Yes, he knows that he needs to look for you... You are the first Key... and now you are found."
Throughout Snjorinn's introduction, Kelgar maintains a worried look at the lights in the distance.
"Tha's all fine n' dahn-dy, but we best be savin' our chit-chattin' til we git somewhere a wee bit warmer, eh?"
Shambling up closer to the lone figure.
"Now, tha' town out there? What d'ye know o' it?"
I believe. Retcon, Hilde should be nursing Bastigar. Cearb is a small snow-colored lump pushing through the snow-colored snow. [/ooc]
"He knows much of us, so aye, if he knows wheres we can get out of the snow, I will follow, but I remember the last cabin in the snow did not offer us comfort." Cearb keeps a hand on his knife all the same.
Hilde's eyes flash briefly before she slings her bow atop her shield across her back. Leaning down, she once again picks up Bastagar, trying to give the gnome some of her warmth.
"Thee can explain thyself
as we seek out yonder light.
My kinsman be freezing fast
and day gives ground to night."
"He knows that place - it is the town of Waldsby. Be warned, though, that obvious outsiders such as yourselves will undoubtedly attract attention - the wrong kind of attention... but you can follow him there, if you want to."
The figure then turns around, and begins trudging off, before pausing, and saying, almost as an afterthought:
"This one should warn you that there is something out here; something large and terrible; and it is hungry."
As if on cue, within the swirling snow you hear the screech of something large and insectoid. It echoes and has no visible form to accompany it... but something is definitely there.
The Halfhand's eyes widen at the sound, fruitlessly darting about in search of the source of the sound. It was a sound familiar to him, one he had heard many times, emenating from the shadowy multi-legged creatures of his nightmares.
"We must move." he says, quite insistently. "Quickly!"
Kelgar continues trudging forward toward the light, and turns back briefly.
"Aye, ah-greed. If'n Waldsby's so in'ospitable, they perhaps ye've got somewhere nearby to weather th' storm then, lad...? Err, what should we be callin' ye?"
Cearb plods along following Kelgar's wide path, his flint knife ready in his hand.
Hilde sets forward toward the lights, Bastagar riding on one shoulder.
The figure pauses thoughtfully when Kelgar poses his question.
"All things have a name, a sobriquet by which they are known. It has been a long time since he has needed one, but you can call him "Snjórinn". His home is far from here, but not as far as yours; when he needed to rest on his journey, he simply burrowed into the snow. Waldsby is probably your best option; you just need to be careful."
As Cearb has only heard it's screech and not laid eyes upon it... he cannot ken exactly what the creature is... yet...
You continue towards the lights and the storm deepens, snow falling thicker and wind biting. There may not be time enough to reach it before the blizzard heightens to fury. Ahead through the sleet you do spy the silhouettes of dog drawn sleds and what looks to be a stout shelter half constructed...
Hilde takes up the rear with Bastagar on her shoulder. She has her shield on her arm, her bow on her back and her sword scabbarded on her back beside it.
Seeing how quickly the weather is turning bad, she will try to push on faster, forcing a march or even jogging if necessary.
As you continue to slog through the snow towards the silhouettes of sleds and persons unknown, a insectoid monstrosity surges out of the snow behind you.
Hilde:
Caerb:
Bastagar:
Kelgar:
Halfhand:
Snjórinn:
Action Tracker (Round 1): Halfhand, Mantis, Cearb, Snjorinn, Bastagar, Kelgar, Hilde
"It's here!"
The Halfhand swings his crossbow up, taking aim at the creature. He breathes quick, shallow breaths - the creature little more than a blurry insectoid sillhouette to his eyes. For a moment he second-guesses himself, not entirely sure whether the creature is real or not.
He pulls the trigger.
Halfhand's uncanny reflexes with his crossbow serve him well yet again, as a bolt skitters off the hide of the beast, leaving a weeping crack behind.
The mantis screeches before surging forward through the snow to lash out at Hilde...
Pincer at Hilde:
...though it does not find her flesh.
Action Tracker (Round 1): Halfhand, Mantis, Cearb, Snjorinn, Bastagar, Kelgar, Hilde
Action Tracker (Round 2): Halfhand, Mantis
Snjórinn calmly points a finger at the giant vermin...
"Sleep."
Regardless of the outcome, he calmly slogs forward.
Assuming Bastagar jumps off her shoulder before her move, Hilde draws her sword, takes a 5' step south and swings at the giant insect, scoring a possible hit on the beast's left arm.
, AC 22.
Kelgar frowns as the mantis surges at the party.
"Always gotta be somethin', eh?"
Shambling forward in the snow, he unstraps his dwarven-made axe and begins closing the distance to the creature.
The masked man attempts to force his will unto the mantis... but his art finds no purchase and the insectoid creature rages on.
Kelgar knows the creature to be a giant preying mantis, but cannot recall specifics of any strengths or weaknesses it holds.
Action Tracker (Round 1): Halfhand, Mantis, Cearb, Snjorinn, Bastagar, Kelgar, Hilde
Action Tracker (Round 2): Halfhand, Mantis
Cearb plows through the snow following his Princess, drawing his second blade as he does so.
Bastagar will weave through the snow to H-9 as Hilde draws its attention, , curling his gnarled fingers into a claw and unleashing a wicked blast of white light at the creature's carapace.
As Cearb shambles through the snow, the mantis lunges with preternatural speed...
Claw: for
Grab:
...the pincer scything through ribs and mantis lifting the small framed fae-touched clean off the ground as it's claw closes around his torso.
Bastagar slips in close while the beast is distracted and his touch brings lancing pain.
Hilde's strike lacks conviction, but the focus of the beast upon it's newly won gnomish prize distracts it enough for the Summer fae to land a telling blow through chitin and carapace. Ichor leaks unto the snow as the mantis staggers... but does not yet fall.
Action Tracker (Round 1): Halfhand, Mantis, Cearb, Snjorinn, Bastagar, Kelgar, Hilde
Action Tracker (Round 2): Halfhand, Mantis
The Halfhand snarls as he jams another bolt into the crossbow, lining up the shot once more. He shows no hesitation now, the creature's blood giving lending him conviction.
He roars, launching an iron bolt that grazes past Caerb and sinks into the creature's chitinous flesh. "Foul beast!"
Yet another bolt loosed by the maimed one strikes exactly where it is aimed. Long days spent scrounging for scrawny hares in the tundra obviously having improved his aim. Despite the bolt sinking entire into the mantis' body - it still fights on.
Cearb is dropped unceremoniously into the snow as the beast rears up on hind legs. With full extension of it's form, it whips forward and a pincer makes a heavy swipe at he that wounded it so...
Lunge at Halfhand:
...chitin coated foreleg narrowly missing the mage, his habit of wearing armor having saved his skin in this instance.
Action Tracker (Round 2): Halfhand, Mantis, Cearb, Snjorinn, Bastagar, Kelgar, Hilde
Action Tracker (Round 3): Halfhand, Mantis
Bastagar, stumbling about in the snow trying not to be trodden on, grins as he sees his window of opportunity, brandishing his shillelagh and striking the creatures leg with a crack.