Digger considers this a bit. "You're right, Doc. Just felt bad to me. Course, now maybe they're looking at us. Always loved wolves, but seein em ain't so great."
The wolves move toward you, their heads lowered, menacing but not overtly threatening, perhaps. You might be surprised, but perhaps not, that one of the wolves speaks to you in a growling voice, "Strangers, you are. Not peasants of Irrisen. Not afraid. Not cowering. Who are you, strangers?"
William is evidently not surprised that the wolves are talking. He wipes snow from the clothes he's wearing, the rough and unfamiliar ones he salvaged from Radosek's tower.
"Strangers we are, indeed. We are not cowering prey, if that is what you wonder, nor are we looking to hunt you. We have no quarry with you, mighty wolves, unless you have it with us."
Digger is frozen in a haplessly large, mouth agape, smile. He had forgotten about the dreams, the daydreams, too. But his very core was gleeful and overwhelmed by the talking wolves. For once he could say nothing.
The wolves almost seem to smile, "No, two legs. Two legs are not good eats, and you lot look trouble. We go now." At that, they bound away, giving the lot of you and perhaps especially the tiger a backward glance.
After camp, and two more days of cross country walking, you finally come to a road. You turn to the West and begin to see glimpses of a huge lake in the distance to the South.
A small river cuts across the path, heading south toward the cliffs that overlook Glacier Lake. A stone bridge crosses the river, seemingly constructed with horse, wagon, and caravan traffic in mind. The bridge is well maintained, and the snow has been cleared from its span. Four-foot-high stone railings run along both sides of the bridge, topped at either end by iron spikes upon which clean and meticulously polished skulls have been carefully impaled and turned as if to observe the traffic. A white-painted signpost greets travelers approaching from the east. "Foreign Merchants Require Licensure to conduct business in Whitethrone. All may be stopped for inspection."
"Holy s$$! talking wolves!" he says, way too late.
Sorry for my going quiet.
My power has been out since Monday (and is still out). Will catch up when I can. Please bot me until then
"Inspection, eh?"
William rummages in the bag-turned-library, looking for something on the cultures and customs of Golarion.
"I assume we'd have to come out with some kind of cover story, since they'll likely be looking for us. We could possibly pass as members of the Pathfinder Society, but they carry a token we don't possess. And Sir Walter doesn't speak any of the common languages of this world. Any suggestions? Tallak?"
"Perhaps we should try and sneak in? We're pretty obviously STRANGE here and I find it doubtful that we'll come up with any story that they'll buy"
"We passed as agriculture inspectors, and I don't think this nation even has such a role. We should just look as if we belong." says William, straightening his stolen wizardly robes.
"Yeah, boys. Leave that to me. Comes down to it, the other Brit we say is a mute, or under vows of silence or some sort. Getting where I don't belong is a specialty of mine." Digger grins.
As you watch the bridge, something you took to be a large flat rock in the stream shifts and then rises up, water flowing down a set of long ears, a broad flat nose, and a shaggy beard. An oversized man shaped figure rises from the water on the other side of the bridge and takes its place drippingly on the other side. It takes notice of you in the distance and calls out. "INSPESION! Come to for INSPESION! Show us yer wares!"
"Fellas, I won't lie. Stock is low. We're traveling to replenish. Love to help you out and make a profit but pickins is low."
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The strange creature looks you over, glancing at your clothes, provisions, and general lack of goods, and says, "Nothing you seem to have. Inspesion passed for you. Go on. Go on. Safe travels. You pay toll when come back."
Once they have crossed the troll bridge, you soon enter a forest of leafless birch trees, and after half a day of travel, the city of Whitethrone comes into sight. You have a choice here. There are shantytowns east of the city known as the Fishcamps, but there is also the road straight into the city.
The city of Whitethrone is built high atop cliffs overlooking Glacier Lake. The cliffs make fishing in the city impractical, so Whitethrone’s fishing industry is carried out in small shantytowns a few miles east of the city. Life is hard and desperate in these small communities, but there is less direct oppression from the Winter Guard (and the Iron Guard before it).
"Finally, some civilization. It looks positively medieval, but we will finally have access to some facilities."
William goes behind a tree to change his clothes into something that can look like he's part of the peasantry, or at least doesn't look stolen from a wizard in a tower.
"Off we go, then. I'd like to bypass the slums, if you don't mind, and go straight to the high town."
I'm sorry that I haven't posted for awhile. Life got really, really crazy and I just didn't have time and/or net access. I should be able to catch up on all my games tomorrow
"I bet you would, Doc. Them fancy folk tend to not like strangers."
The walls of Whitethrone tower 30 feet high, and have the appearance of giant, sharpened femurs fused together, though closer inspection reveals only smooth stonework the color of bleached bone. Massive skulls of the same bone-white stone top the walls, staring with blank gazes outward from the city in all directions. A rough road of frozen mud, churned and trampled from the traffic of countless feet, leads through an opening in the wall, which appears to have been deliberately left unfinished rather than sundered.
Dressed in the plainest garb he could assemble from what was scrounged from the tower, William moves towards the opening. The giant skulls intimidate him more than he tries to show, but he has long learned not to fear the dead.
Of course, it is not a given that they will remain dead.
"Lets just proceed as before, wandering in as if we belong here. Its worked so far! Maybe the fact that we're obviously strangers will work in our favour."
Naajy puts a few ribbons on Haamid, hopefully making him a little less dangerous looking (a reminder, Haamid is still fairly young and, for a tiger, "small")
He makes sure his gun is available but NOT in hand
"If it comes down to it, just let me do the talkin, fellas. No offense."
As you approach the gate, you see a statuesque woman blocking your path. She is tall, with pale skin, silver hair, and piercing blue eyes. She wears a shirt of tight knit chain mail, and holds a double headed axe in one hand. A long wool cloak with fur at the shoulders hangs from her shoulders, but she seems unaffected by the cold. As you approach, she takes a single long step toward you.
"Hold, strangers. You approach the Howling Gate of Whitethrone. State your business within the city if you wish to pass."
Holy s$@*, look at the gams on her!
"Hark and hello! You are a welcome sight in multiple ways: long have we traveled to get here; it has been some time since we've seen anyone other than each other; and you are a vision of strength and beauty that gives me hope for not just my business here, but for life in general. Alas, our story is perhaps not a very interesting one; common and plain as snow. We are traveling merchants without merchandise and more coin than needed to live for now. Thus, we venture forth to this magnificent city in hopes to purchase goods we will later sell to people not fortunate enough to see this place, or, for that matter, see you."
"And what is your name, strange traveller. You have about you a look that I find appealing. I can allow you to pass for a small toll of 10 gold coins each. This is the price that is commanded by the Queen, so do not think to bargain with me. But if you would like to discuss business of a more personal nature, perhaps you would like to have a cup of tea or spiced wine when I am finished serving my post."
Digger grins broadly. "They call me Digger. And you continue to make my day better and better. I hope I can do the same for your night."
William blushes furiously at the shameless flirting of the junoesque woman and the tiny New Yorker. Without a word, he fishes in the backpack in search of gold coins.
"Well, Digger, I suggest you meet me an hour before dusk at the Three Bells Teahouse. I will allow you to make my night better there."
Whatever the Black Rider placed inside you stirs, drawing you through the gate and into the city. Here, you must find the Hut of Baba Yaga, shackled somewhere within the city.
The streets of the Howlings wind back and forth crookedly, and are lined with wooden houses covered in intricate and detailed woodwork. Unlike in the Fishcamps, even the poorest homes are in good repair, pleasantly decorated, and painted a clean white or light pastel colors. The rooftops are steeply pitched to allow heavy snow to slide off. Covered alleyways run between some closely adjacent buildings, sheltering groundfloor entrances from the elements. In other places, open-air bridges or crosswalks join buildings together at their upper levels. Snowdrifts lie heaped between houses, but the streets are shoveled and brushed clean. There is little sign of domestic animals, but handcarts are parked outside some residences.
"So, we are in the city, we have a destination and Digger has a date. I think that we should first approach the trade quarter, get rid of some of our goods and identify the rest."
William looks around at the apparent residential quarter before approaching the nearest person who appears to be a resident. "Pardon me, would you happen to know where the merchants' shops may be?"
William stops a man who stands nearly 7 feet tall. As he turns his attention to your band, you see that he has one bright blue eye and one brown. He wears deerskin breeches and a thick white wolf fur cloak, but no shirt despite the cold.
"You will want to head to the east, this way," he points,Make your way through the tangle of roofs and alleys, about 1000 feet by crow's wing. You will come to one of the great roads. Follow it. It will end in the merchant's quarter and Market Square. If you have need of commerce, you will find it there."
"You have my thanks, dear sir, and I bid you a good day."
"The merchants' quarter is that way." he addresses his companions. "Let us be underway, I feel that I'm losing vital clues by not knowing the proper customs."
Am I right in assuming that this campaign has officially died?
Bump.