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After you foiled Hjort Fastaxe and Runa White's plan to destroy the Pathfinder's Society reputation in Trollheim you spent very little time inside the ulfen city.
The clues you found gave a very clear direction to your search for Rognvald Skagni, the kidnapped historian and ally of the Society you were tasked to track down. He was being held against his will in Whinterthrone the capital of Irrisen and home of Baba Yaga’s white witch daughters. Traveling across the border from the Lands of the Linnorm Kings into Irrisen is no small feat, but you managed it by joining a mixed caravan of hunters and merchants headed for Whitethrone on a diplomatic mission. The merchants warned you that Whitethrone has been up in arms against Pathfinders recently, and therefore you would likely need to sneak into the city. Things were going well until terrifying ice trolls and soldiers of Whitethrone’s Iron Guard who, it seems, were not interested in speaking to a diplomatic mission, ambushed the caravan. You barely escaped with your lives, though most of their caravan did not.
A biting wind blows from the north and snow blows in blinding drifts amid numbing fog. The bone-white walls of Whitethrone, capital of Irrisen and home of Baba Yaga’s white witch daughters, rises into the frigid northern night. Somewhere within is the Shadow Lodge headquarters hinted at in Trollheim where the poor historian Rognvald Skagni is being held. Reaching this point was a difficult challenge, but gaining entry into the city itself presents the greatest obstacle yet.
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Midge wraps her cloak tightly about her little body, pushing it up over her mouth and nose. She crosses her arms over her chest and rubs her hands briskly up and down her upper arms for warmth.
"Brrr! It's cold!" Midge announces through chattering teeth. Despite her complaints, her brown, wide-set eyes are bright and twinkling and you can tell from her cheeks she's smiling. "Nearly there, though! Look!" As she gestures ahead her cloak falls down from covering her mouth, revealing her wide, bright smile. "Whitethrone! I see it!"
She looks behind her to the others. "So this historian, Rognvald Skagni... Why are we after him again?"
"He was kidnapped, wasn't he?"
"And this Shadow Lodge... What do we know about them?"
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Dragall rubbs his hands to warm them. He tightens cloak to hold body heat in his hug.
At first glance it is obvious that Dragall is half-orc. On the back he is wearing a huge greataxe.
A watchful observer can notice that some of the objects near him move by themselves.
"Rognvald Skagni is an ally of Pathfinder, so it is of utmost importance for us to find him. I do not know exactly why. "
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The big half-orc rubbed his leather gloved hands together hoping the friction would warm up his frigid digits. He was happy to be out of the stinking city of Absalom and found the cold winter landscape of Irrisen similar in many ways to his beloved Brevoy.
It had been many weeks since Venture-Captain Drandle Dreng had called to join up with the Trollheim expedition and tasked them with infiltrating Winterthrone. The miserable weather and the ambush by the ice trolls had made it hard to get to know his new companions, so when the pretty halfling initiated a conversation he moved in closer to listen and participate.
For all the love of knowledge and information the Pathfinders supposedly value, they sure seem tight-lipped when it comes to sharing with their agents...
He grunts in general disgust, "Well it better be important... freezing to death in the middle of (explicitive) Irrisen...", the half-orc curses colorfully.
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"No need to know, hey," Midge replies to Dragall. "Mysterious! We'll have to find out ourselves, I suppose." She smiles widely at the thought.
Midge laughs at Zanes' brusque tone. "I feel ya', Zane!" she exclaims. "Or, more precisely, I can't feel ya'! I haven't been able to feel my fingers for the last mile!" she jokes.
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The young scholar who introduces himself colloquially to any he meets as 'Scuttlebutt', while normally adorned as a sea mariner, instead is thickly clothed in massive amounts of furs and other frigid temperature accents along with his grandfather's well-worn tricorn sailing hat. On occasion, a brightly colored macaw parrot fidgets and pokes its head from the inside of Scuttlebutt's bundled outfit only to quickly retreat right back into the thick interior. During the journey, he has been steadily practicing over and over phrases and common words of languages used in northern Avistan, Skald and Hallit. He takes note of his new teammates' inquiries about the recent events in Trollheim.
"Oh, but it is important, Zane, some threat to the Society is afoot that is just the tip of the, pardon me, 'iceberg'. Agents of this 'Shadow Lodge' manipulated locals into attacking us and trying their best to discredit the Society throughout this region and beyond. Rognvald Skagni has been inadvertently caught up in this situation and we owe it to him to extricate him from this mess."
Scuttlebutt reaches up to wipe his dripping nose for what feels like the millionth time today in the freezing clime. "Shivering scallywags," he mutters, "how much longer until we can get inside some shelter?!"
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Ahah! The plot thickens!" Midge exclaims, rubbing her hands together for warmth. "Sneaky, sneaky Shadow Lodge..." she mutters aloud through chattering teeth.
Scuttlebutt reaches up to wipe his dripping nose for what feels like the millionth time today in the freezing clime. "Shivering scallywags," he mutters, "how much longer until we can get inside some shelter?!"
"Sooner than never and later than now," she replies with a smile before burrowing her chin back into her cloak.
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A slight Varisian woman is wrapped in cold weather gear and furs mutters as she walks through the snow. She has been trudging along with a box on a sled behind her.
"We have to deliver the contents of this blasted box to Rognvald for is "research. Zane couldn't tell us what was in the box, and we can't open it. Only Rognvald can. At this pint I just want to rescue him and deliver a box so I can go home." Her teeth start to chatter as she walks.
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Zane eyes the box on the sled with suspicion, wondering what could be inside and says out loud, "So this Rognvald Skagni is a historian and researcher? Do we know what he specializes in?"
He continues to trudge along, wrapped up in a bearskin cloak. He smiles at the good-spirited halfling, At least one of us is having fun
"That's the spirit Midge. We need something to cheer us up... Anyone know a good song?", he peers at Scuttlebutt thinking, Shivering scallywags?!? Must be a bard!
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"I know a few songs," Midge exclaims, "But I'm no singer. You might soon wish for silence!" she jokes.
Midge starts to sing a jaunty little tune about freedom. The kind of thing you'd hear in an Andoran tavern.
Midge stomps through the snow in time with the music. Her song is short and when it's done she remarks. "I warned you!" and laughs.
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Calephe tries not to wince at the song finishes. "Nice one Midge. You might want to take lessons from Scuttlebut while we are traveling."
Calephe answers Zane, "He's writing a lengthy report on the state of government in the northern countries of Avistan or so Dreng said. He needed this stuff for his report."
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Scuttlebutt easily overlooks sometimes what is directly in front of him or he would heartily take advantage of the offer to improve the group's morale with a robust sailing song. Instead, he pulls his hood tighter about his head as he leans into the biting wind and resumes repeating common Hallit salutations, trying to focus on the proper inflection and accent.
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You find yourselves outside the city walls of Whitethrone, intent on finding a way in without getting caught or killed by the Iron Guard. Pathfinders are banned from Whitethrone and you know that you cannot expect mercy from the minions of Baba Yaga's daughters.
You know the first thing you need to do is infiltrating Winterthrone. The best options you can think of are:
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"Aye! That was fun... A good song keeps the chill away!", he chuckles at the dirty looks he got from some of his new companions as he sang.
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"I am no good at bullshytting my way out of trouble nor into cities. I can climb walls pretty well. Will it be possible for a couple of you to speak to the guards and I play a tough, mute bodyguard?"
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While at first glance, Scuttlebutt did appear lost in thought though he succinctly absorbed ever detail of his comrades' remarks. He snaps out of his deep calculating and glances at each of them while rubbing his chin that is still a bit too young for sporting hardly any whiskers or stubble. "I do believe we can collectively craft a very subtle yet very convincing story and be able to stroll right through the city gates." He nods at Midge, "While some of the others contribute to our feint as rough-and-tumble mercenary guards, let's you and me work out the lines of a cover idea I have."
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"I've got nothing that shows I'm a Pathfinder. I don't have any way of hiding the box in a bag or anything like that."
She thinks looking at the box, looking at Midge, and then back at the box. "Wait a minute. Midge take a seat on the box oh esteemed trader of the Halfing people. Maybe they won't notice it if it looks like part of your seat."
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Midge suddenly frowns. "My parents are going to be so ashamed," she mutters to herself.
She shakes her head and smiles regally. "Indeed, lowly servants!" she exclaims as she parks her little bum on top of the box. "I am prepared!"
Midge nods. "This'll do." She points her arm forward and commands: "Onward!"
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After a brief discussion among yourselves you decide your best option is to try bluffing your way inside Winterthrone. While less daunting than climbing the city's walls the task you chose is still risky as you know fully well the servants of the Ice Witches would not appreciate being made fun of.
As you study the gates from afar and speak with some travellers it quickly becomes apparent that you'll need to move before sunset, as the gates get closed after dark and stay that way until dawn. You don't fancy spending a whole night in the freezing cold of Irrisen's night.
Once that's clear you realize there's a few ways for you to try gaining entrance into the city.
You could try to bribe a merchant caravan and pass for guards or merchants yourselves.
You could also try to bribe the Iron Guard members themselves... after all, you reason, in a place like Irrisen corruption must be extremely high, so finding a guard susceptible to the lure of gold should not be THAT complicated... you hope.
You could also disguise as merchants yourselves... but it remains to be seen if you have the equipment you need to pull this stunt off.
Of course there might be some other way to gain entrance into Winterthrone, though you haven't thought of it... yet!
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"Does Whitethrone deal in slavery, or indentured servitude?" Midge asks. "I can pose as a halfling slave trader, bringing a few specimens into the city for sale. Zane can be my guard, Scuttlebutt my... salesman, and the rest are my finely trained slaves. It's a small sale, just a few highly trained ones I no longer need. The woman's specialty is... something Calephe's good at that she can demonstrate if need be, and the other half-orcs skill is.... something else demonstratable. We'd have to take their weapons and things though." Midge shrugs. "I grew up in Andoran, you see, and both my parents were slaves before that, so slavery and slavers is at least something I have enough knowledge to lie about..."
"I'm not sure we could pull off being merchants. We have nothing to sell. And I'd rather not resort to bribes. Greed is unreliable..."
"What if I'm a wealthy halfling looking to purchase something? Slaves or furniture or something special I can only get in Whitethrone... Does anyone know something special I can buy here? And another nearby place I could come from? Geography's not really my specialty... Oh! Or maybe we're here to pledge fealty to the Queen? I only just moved here and came to pay my respects and... stuff? Who's the Queen again?"
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"Wouldn't be surprised if a place like this did deal quite a bit in slavery; I heard tell that folks over in Land of the Linnorm Kings don't get along well with the folks here in Irrisen. Didn't really catch the name of the Queen though..."
After thinking upon it some more, the masked Wayang known as The "tiny" Thundercloud finally mutters to himself, "Skagni should've stuck to writing dirty smut stories instead of some dumb government guide; then he wouldn't have gotten himself kidnapped to all the way out here in the middle of icy witch territory!"
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"I think it may be easiest to try and attach ourselves as guards to an existing merchant caravan. It may cost us a favor or coin owed to the merchant who accepts us. They would after all be placing themselves at risk if our bluff were to fall through... hmmm..."
He looks at the frozen landscape and thinks about how a city of this size maintains its citizens fed...
"Does anyone know if there exist other ways into the city? Maybe tunnels for underground farming?"
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Midge nods at Calephe. "Fair enough. I'm not selling slaves, then."
To Zane she replies: "I worry about bribing someone to let us hide among them. Someone easily bought can be just as easily convinced to sell us out."
"Scuttlebutt? You're the best liar, yeah? What story do you think we can best peddle?"
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"Now, now, that's not the lesson taught to me by my grandfather: it's never a lie so long as you believe it,"Scuttlebutt says with a smirk. "But still there are two constants to a good story. First is keep it simple. Second is work with what you've got. So no one wants to come to a frozen slice of death like this unless they want something really, REALLY badly enough that they can't get elsewhere more easily. And if you are coming here because you can't go elsewhere, you're probably not here for the most innocent of reasons. So we don't fight that, we go with it. We're here to establish 'trade relations', make 'business contacts'; whatever they want, we can get or do. We have kneebreakers and spellslingers, and we' prefer trying to make some coin here because we can't elsewhere. Foreign mercenaries who have proven themselves at least enough that they've made it this far. And," he adds with a smirk, I have a few coins to use to help grease some palms at the gate."
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It takes you a couple of hours but in the end you find what you were searching for. A merchant caravan, probably from Varisia, heading towards the gates. You move to intercept it before it comes into view of the guard posts and ask for the merchant's leader. Despite the unusual request the caravan actually stops and a manwith long mustaches and wearing the colorful garb typical of the Varisian approaches you:"Well met travellers. Desna smiles upon us this day. "Ready for Challenges and Unexpected Friends" as we say... What remains to be seen is which one of those you are. Challenges or friends?" he says, quoting a well known desnan aphorism and waiting for you to explain yourselves.
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Dear Sir, we are friends. We have one suggestion for you. We would like to join your caravan so that we can enter the city with you. We are willing to pay you for this service just tell the price.
Dragall said that to merchant's leader with a sincere smile on his face.
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As he hears Dragall's words the man's composure shifts:"I see. Friends then. I don't see a reason for weary travellers not to help each other, though if you are to join us I must ask for a little compensation. The guards of Winterthrone are a suspicious lot and by taking you with us I'll subject the whole caravan to considerable risk. One we need a little compensation for taking. That said I have a good feeling about you, so it won't be anything outrageous. Let's say 5 gold pieces from each one of you"
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As his teammates start reaching for their money, Scuttlebutt waves them away and strides forward to the merchant to pay for everyone. As he hands over the money, he says to him in Varisian, "It is good fortune that we have met someone of proper homeland courtesy in this cold land so bereft of such. Should the blessed mother of travels deem our paths to cross again some day, know that we count you as friends and you will be treated as such again." Or another way of saying it, thanks for helping us, and if we meet again and need your help, we'll gladly pay and maybe some day you might need our help, in which case, we'll happily charge you, too. The usual Varisian business deal.