"Still, a night approach would see us to the walls... Hopefully unmolested." He pauses for a moment. "Perhaps then we can draw them out and steal in when they open the gate."
Mayhap a mix of the two
is the entry that we gain.
In their colors we shall be
with wounded in a train?
Musing on a successful point made by the timber, Hatch answers "Colors friendly but foul intent may let you draw near without anguish."
"What do the chilly-nips wear, mistress? Bastagar knows not..."
"Drapes of blue over iron chain... the colors would need be liberated through action abrubt."
"Bastagar can do this thing, yesss. The eyes of men are easily tricked."
Kelgar grumbles a bit at the thought of dressing up, but upon seeing Bastagar's work, tugs his beard a few times and admits, "Well ah'll be damned, th' plan o' yers may just work."
Turning sideways a few times in the mirror, he wonders aloud, "ahn' jess who'll be doin' th' talkin' when we're stopped?"
"Not this one... in fact, it would be best if this one did as little as possible to attract attention..."
"Dearest Puck I see, I see!
a plan for you, and one for me!
Forward, upward, oh what will we see?
Quickly, stab it! Stab it - One! Two! Three!"
"My shadows can weave illusion as potent as any faerie glamour." The Halfhand says flatly. "Real to the eyes of all but demons. Those with the gift can borrow this magic too."
Kelgar gives Bastagar the look of a worried parent.
"Alright, now don't ye go flappin' yer big mouth t' much. Th' best lie be a short one. Less things t' get tripped up or caught on."
Kelgar tousles his beard a bit and then frowns.
"Perhaps ye ken make meh resemble some sort o' duergar? I dun think there be much by way o' fey dwarves."
Spending the day at work tinkering with cloth and fabric to fashion a rudimentary disguise you are left mostly to yourselves by the grieving Nadya. She emerges in the afternoon and after query is able to provide you with a decent mudmap of the Pale Tower surrounds and how best to approach without being seen. An offer is also made of one of her sleds and some heavy furs... in case it might be needed to aid the deception.
As the tower is some distance away you set out in the mid afternoon, aiming to take advantage of the late coming of twilight. It takes you four hours hard march through snow to come upon your goal.
Sharp winds whistle across this stark white plain, stinging the eyes along with the near-blinding rays of the reflected sun. A great eruption of frozen ice rises in the distance—an imposing pale tower crowned with icicles spearing into the sky. Seemingly born of the land itself, an unbroken circular wall of ice guards the tower’s base, with no means of entrance visible. High above, a large gash opens in the tower’s bowl-like crown, ringed in icy spikes and split by a massive plane of ice resembling an inverted crescent moon.
The path before you is ten feet wide and well cleared, with snowdrift to either side that would surely swallow your legs to the calfs within them. The gate looms in the far distance, offset from the main tower by means of a contiguous wall of twenty five feet in height that must hold within it some kind of courtyard or assembly area - and even at this far distance you can see that the gate is not borne of steel... but instead of solid ice.
Shadows descend and seem to crowd around you and flit in and out of view as you shuffle forth along the trail... not yet able to see any sign of man at the tower.
Hilde ducks her head into the thick coat providing shelter, exposing as little of Bastagar's disguise as possible. Leaning into the wind, she continues placing on foot in front of the other, trying to approximate an exhausted patrolman returning from a long patrol.
She will approach directly up to the gate, first trying to push it open but then banging on it if it's not.
"I've never seen a building such as this." The Halfhand says offhandedly. "... It is a testament to their vanity as much as their power."
He keeps his crossbow at the ready, dark eyes scanning dark shadows as they close the gap.
Kelgar nods and huffs for breath in the cold air and pauses for a moment to catch his breath.
He opens his mouth for a moment, but decides to practice keeping quiet and silently prays to Folgrit and Torag both that Bastagar's tongue and wit will get them through the gate and past any guards they encounter.
As you shuffle forwards in the dim light of dusk, the edifice that is the Pale Tower looms up before you. You manage to get within 60ft of the ice gateway before you spy a figure in the shadows of the crenellations adjacent the gate. Dressed in the garb of the Pale Tower's soldiers he calls down "Hail and who goes there!"
Kelgar also holds his tongue, but his gaze pierces into the backs of Bastagar and the Halfhalf, both of whom the dwarf knows have glib tongues.
Bastagar sits each of the party down in the kennels, gripping their faces in his gnarled hands, apparently deep in thought. After several lengths of uncharacteristic silence, he begins cackling gleefully and gets to work.
"No Duergar either." Bastagar says irritably to Kelgar. "... and too short to be a trow, either." he complains, as if this were the dwarf's fault. After much deliberation, and several tugs on the Dwarf's beard, he makes of him an ensorceled Ulfen raider, eyes glowing blue with a fairie glamer ()
For the Halfhand (), he drapes him in the colours of the tower guard, trimming at his beard and hair to match that of the Jadwiga and their Kellid subjects. He snatches at the man's wrist and encases his ruined hand in ice. He tightens his grip, and the ice forms into a crystalline hand.
For Snjórinn he eagerly snatches at his fetish mask, insisting that the witch remove it and reveal what lies beneath. "Faerie, man, or ox, or troll, Bastagar's hands shall hide it all."
For his mistress, Bastagar dares not lay a finger on her, gingerly placing a bundle at her feet.
The four of them garbed as a hunting party of the white tower, he makes of himself a Spriggan, like those in the employ of the tower. His ashen-white face and wrinkled features making the transformation a short one at best.
"Radosek sends us, we hunts a rider for the master for many weeks." he hisses at the man above. ( ). "This one asks for shelter and comes bearing news."
The man on the wall pauses before responding "Ain't heard of Radosek... but then again nobody tells me nothin... What news do you have?" not seeming to react with any alarm as of yet, but the ice gate has not yet shown any sign of retracting.
You draw closer still, and see another couple of men in atop the gate attentive, but relaxed.
"News of Queen of Queens, Old Crone, Old Knobbly Legs. Of Bright Morning, Red Sun, Black Midnight... news of Baba Yaga's return." he grins, clutching the keys to the hut that he filched several nights ago.
"Now let us in, before this one takes its eyes."
Bastagar's words see quick response from the man at the battlements, who's color blanches at the meaning of Bastagar's bluff. He barks "Get the gate open, Gothri - call for the master.. he'll want to hear this."
Moments later the icy gate melts away to air and the courtyard is opened to you. A massive ice sculpture of a dragon dominates the open space, standing with raised wings upon a dais of solid ice. Seven squat shacks sit along the inner wall, with several dogsleds stored outside. Between them, four ice chutes descend from the battlements of the outer wall. To the west, large double doors studded with icicles lead inside the Pale Tower itself, just beneath an overhang of sharp icicles dangling from above. Resting in a seated position on one side of the yard is a brutish looking giant that stands with height far above your own. Concerned right now with scratching an itch, but jutting tusks and a well notched battleax to her side indicating that the trow was trained to fight.
Hilde bows to Bastagar with a hidde grin. taking uo point, she enters the keep swaddled in borrowed clothes.
The Halfhand lets out a small breath.
"And just like that..." he says softly, eyes scanning the courtyard. His gaze settles on the troll.
The trow within the courtyard is not the same as Teb Knotten. An easy foot taller and of heavier frame, she falls from the genus Ice rather than Moss. Halfhand wagers she shares the same ability to regenerate her form, weakness to fire and tendency to use physical brutality to make whatever point she thinks need being made.
Snjorrin does his best to shuffle in with the others, keeping his face hidden by his cowl, and doing his best to not attract attention.
Kelgar huffs quietly to himself upon spotting the troll and resists the itch between his fingers that can only be satisfying by holding an axe and swinging it at a troll's skull.
He reminds himself of his family and their ruse and does his best to shuffle quietly and inconspicuously behind Snjorinn.
"Ah'm gittin' ta' old fer .."
Hilde moves into the courtyard with the others. Once I know how many are in the courtyard I'll decide my next step.
As you pass under the threshold of the gate, you begin to get a sense of worry and concern at the efficacy of Bastagar's disguises... from afar in shadow they held up... but at closer climes they may not be as concealing. A quick count within the walls has three guardsmen at the gate, one moving towards the doors leading into the tower (likely Gothri) at pace, and the troll at the side of the courtyard.
After you've all moved into the courtyard proper, one of the guardsmen on the wall turns to a rune carved stone to concentrate and the icy gate re-forms at your backs. The guard that spoke to you then begins to move towards one of the icy chutes - most likely to come near and speak with you.
"By your lead, little one." The Halfhand stoops by Bastagar, his voice barely a whisper. "Let us see the fabled faerie trickery at work."
Bastagar grins in answer, setting his sights on the icy troll. Knowing the game is almost up, Bastagar hobbles across the yard toward the trow, concealing his face with a sweeping bow. His voice drops to a near whisper so that the guardsman at the gate cannot hear. "Have you not heard the fairie summons, oh mighty trow? Nazhena is pleased with your work, sends us to relieve you, yesss. Her fairie thralls have prepared a feast. The offerings burn in the Sí iúir gheimhridh, six kid goats and manflesh also, yessss."
By the time that Bastagar hobbles over towards the trow, the guardsman has descended the chute from above and the other has gained entry into the tower proper through the double doors. The guard from the looks at the back of the departed Bastagar with frowning eyes "Oi, you ain't here to speak with Bordegga."
The trow looks up at the short one that has come to speak to him and with a sneer narrows her eyes to look...
Bastagar turns a blind eye to the guard's protests. He approaches the towering jötun like a coiled spring, not taking it's eyes off of it for a moment. His gnarled fingers fidget at the charms on his rucksack, closing around a small black pellet.
"Faeries, right?" The Halfhand says nonchalantly, casting a glance at the approaching guard. "Sometimes I wonder how they stay focused long enough to put on their own clothes. Give me a stout man with a strong arm over a faerie any day."
"But what can you do?" He heaves out a sigh, running a (half)hand through his greasy, matted locks. "If the powers that be say take the spriggan, then we take the spriggan."
He turns away from Bastagar completely, favoring the guardsman now."He'll tire of it soon enough. Or perhaps your trow friend will tire of him first. Not worth bothering with, either way."
"Say, did you catch a glimpse of the mantis out on the flats?"
Bundled up tight for warmth, Kelgar continues to keep his eyes focused on the guard, half expecting a dozen more enemy guards to leap out from the nearest shadow and complicate their plan.
Concentrating, he keeps his mouth shut and is somewhat surprised at the natural and convincing lies that the Halfhand and Bastagar both continue to weave.
At the side, you see Bastagar exchange words with the trow in a low voice and tone. The guardsman looks to consider Halfhand's words a few moments before tension fades slightly "Mantis? Nei, I've been holding the fort down while we've been looking for the bastard rider in black. Boring as batsh1t, but at least there's a hot meal every night." blowing warm air onto his hands as he rubs them together "Best we wait out here for 'is nibs to come down... then we can get ye in and fed." his eyes mainly keeping on Halfhand for the moment and not straying to the more interesting and less well disguised among your number.
Bastagar looks up with grin, not dropping his facade for a second.
"Oho, this one may fool the eyes of men, but as expected the eyes of trow are greater still. There are things this one must say, yes. Whispers for the ears of winter children." Bastagar's eyes flicker in the direction of the guards for a moment, as well as his companions. "But not here, no. These are not words for men to hear. Even now they watch. We must go to the fáinne sí, yes, where mortal eyes cannot see. It is hidden, but this one knows the secret way. We can be gone and back within the hour."
The trow slowly gets to her feet with one hand on her axe... then suddenly spits "Bullsh1t" at the disguised gnome creature before her.
Trow:
The trow reacts quicker after the outburst reaching out to try and grab Bastagar by the scruff of his neck...
Grapple:
...taking solid grip of him and holding him fast, squinting and leering at his face.
The guardsmen turn at the noise, but have not yet had time to more than open their mouths and stare...
Action Tracker ('Surprise' Round): Trow, Bastagar
Hilde:
Kelgar:
Halfhand:
Snorin:
Action Tracker (Round 1): Trow, Halfhand, Kelgar, Snorin, Hilde, Guards, Bastagar