Zisel examines the little Lars, barely suppressing a fit of laughter at his predicament.
Zisel is aware that given time, probably within a minute or two, the spell will wear off and Lars will return to his normal size.
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"Yup, looks like it's permanent," she declares. "Though I think his ego is large enough that it will likely break the mutation within the next few minutes here just so it can fit back in his head."
Theora bites her lip to avoid a chuckle slipping out. The joke at Lars' expense tickles her too much, however, and her lips crack into a thin smile. "Well, I suppose we wait, then," she says in an attempt to hide her humour. "Though I hope anyone else we capture will be more amenable to talk. Seems a shame to be killing so indiscriminately."
Zisel's jest is enough to turn Grimkell's attention away from the grim event that just took place. The ulfen man lets out a loud laugh after she has spoken. It takes him a few moments to somewhat control it. Between small fits of laughter, he speaks:
"Watch out damsels! Lars the Small can now easily walk around and look under your dresses. Let's hope he grows back soon that we may spared his malicious tendencies!"
However, Grimkell grows stern again following Theora's comment. He then shakes his head in agreement with her.
"Yes. The passing away of fools is never glorious nor happy. At least he fought to the end. Anything less would have been a disgrace. And now, the Lord in Iron might consider him worthy." he finishes before starting to hum a dirge for the fallen.
Less than a minute passes before Lars starts to grow, along with his gear, back to his appropriate size.
Every hour spent in the wintry conditions
requires a Fortitude save (DC 15, +1 per previous check) to
avoid taking 1d6 points of nonlethal damage. Those who
have taken nonlethal damage from exposure suffer from
hypothermia (treat as fatigued), and if this condition is
not remedied, they also suffer from frostbite (Core Rulebook
442). If the PCs secure cold-weather outfits before leaving
Heldren, they receive a +5 bonus on Fortitude saves against
exposure to the weather while adventuring in the forest.
Resistance (Ex) A creature with this special quality ignores some damage of the indicated type each time it takes damage of that kind (commonly acid, cold, electricity, or fire). The entry indicates the amount and type of damage ignored.
It was funny to Lars how good news always made him ignore anything negative about it's delivery. Simply hearing that his situation wasn't permanent made the laughing at his expense no different from the joyous laughter at one of the many parties he held when he was rich...but then those people were probably laughing at his own expense as well.
[quoute=Grimkell]"Watch out damsels! Lars the Small can now easily walk around and look under your dresses. Let's hope he grows back soon that we may spared his malicious tendencies!"
"Among other things" The child sized pirate wiped his sword clean with an old piece of cloth and then sheathed the blade "Now if you don't mind I have darts to collect and a stag to skin" He gave the three a simple wave before he headed into the direction of where he threw his darts.
The tracks left behind by Lars in the snow grew larger as he walked, he noticed his increase in altitude, the things around him growing smaller, until he finally everything returned to what it has been before he was afflicted by that spell. The blond shrugged his shoulder, to ease an imagined ache and moved to the animal they killed and crouched next to its corpse. In a casual manner he had his dagger out and began the same process he went through on the body of the massive lizard they killed earlier.
"After we are done here I wouldn't be against resting a bit" Lars' voice seemed weaker than before, and was just loud enough to be heard. Those looking his way would also notice his breathing rate has increased.
The burly man looks for a second at the bloody mess in his hand. Without a second though, he tosses the atomie over his shoulder and reaches down to clean his hands on the snow.
He had seen friends die in his hands and some pint-sized villain wouldn't lose him any sleep.
As he scrubs off the caked gore on his hands, he begins to realize just how cold his hands were. The combination of the melted snow and the icy winds hit Jamarcus all at once.
He pulls his prized jacket around himself tighter and moves to Lars.
Ey, lets get dat thing cut up and roasted, I ain't never ate deer befo'
Turning to Grimkell,
Don't you know anythin' a little more upbeat? How bout' some disco? Funk?
With the fighting done and the atomie made a bloody mess Mirri looks around at the area briefly for more threats. She focuses on theora a moment and says, "Sadly it's the way of northern reaches, the environment is harsh and unforgiving and it tends to make those that live there take on a similar world view. Surrender is often death so most will gladly accept a quick death over a slow lingering one from the cold." She then finds herself laughing at Grimkell's comment, "Hmm, if he tries it I may have to squash him." She gives Lars a teasing grin, "Of course then again I might let him look too, depends on the mood I'm in." Once Lars goes to skin the deer Mirri goes with him to aid in the process.
As they stood there, Grimkell began to shiver. Unbeknownst to him, the cold had pierced his defenses. The sweat from the fighting only now made it apparent to him. Again... this trek through the woods is more demanding than I expected. Worst than the time in the mountain spent with Father. Truly, this cold must be unnatural." Joining in with Mirri, Jamarcus and Lars, Grimkell kneels next to them, takes out his own knife and starts working.
When Jamarcus asks for a more upbeat music, he turns to look a him, slightly confused by some of the words spoken by the man.
"I do know any music from Garund. Still, I will have something more inspiring once we light up a fire and warm up ourselves."
Once they are done, the ulfen starts gathering firewood and setting up some kind of resting area.
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Zisel looks about as her new found companions start to slowly succumb to the hard cold of winter. Not that it was winter, but with this weather there was really no difference. Her cloak was not particularly thick and warm, but she clearly needed it less than the others.
"Here," she said to Mirri as the arctic elf set to work helping the others keep warm. Zisel held forward her own cloak for the elf to take. "You seem to know what you are doing. Give it to who needs it most. The cold never bothered me anyways."
The discussion around her seems to fade to a low drone as Theora stands, shivering in the cold. Sootfeather gives a worried croak, shifting closer to his human's neck, but the old woman barely notices. Shuffling over to a nearby log, she sits heavily, pulling her mantle tight around her shoulders. "Yes, some rest and warmth sounds awfully nice right now," she sighs.
Why do I want music from Ga-roon-di? Wat'chu talkin' bout?
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Mirri takes the cloak and hands it to to Lars who seems to be doing the worst with the cold. She drapes it around him and says, "Here, I think you might need this more than anyone else right now."
Lars gladly accepted the cloak. His hands unconsciously wrapping around his torso in an attempt to keep the heat of his body from escaping "You know I am not a gambling man but if I wasn't all grown up I would have risked being squashed" He said to the sorceress his tone lower from the cold that accosted him but still with a hint of jest.
Acting tough was not something he subscribed to, neither was chivalry. In his mind it was best to show how your feeling if there is no outward benefit to feigning strength when you have little in your current situation. The altruism he did not expect though, and still had no idea how to deal with "Hope you don't regret giving this to me later" Was what came out when he tried for a simple "thank you" "For what its worth I won't forget that you've helped me out even if I do somehow become rich again" That sounded a little better to him than his previous attempt Could still use work though.
Gain a +2 bonus on all Fortitude saves against severe weather while moving up to half your overland speed, or gain a +4 bonus if you remain stationary. You may grant the same bonus to one other character for every 1 point by which your Survival check result exceeds 15.
With the group working together, quick work is made of the stag. A fire is built and camp is set. As you fill your stomachs with warm food and huddle around the fire, you slowly feel the warmth seeping back into your bodies.
Pym balks at Lars' brutal attack on the captured atomie, and fumes at Jamarcus' utter disregard for Fawfein's corpse. She loudly announces from Mirri's shoulder, "Sister! Look at how these brutish humans treat our brother! We should kill them for their insolence!" She flutters her way, barely, on her injured wings to Zisel's shoulder. "Sister, please, you know the ways of the North. My brother's were left lying in the snow and I did not question things because it was important that the sisters trust me but please, you know the ways of the North! Please, tend to Fawfein properly. He was a vile person, but a person still!"
Mirri balks at Pym's admonishment, realizing just how remiss she was. She moves to Fawfein's body and kneels beside the shattered remains. She says as she goes, "They don't need to die for their actions, they don't know any better, but I am sorry for failing to tend to your brothers' appropriately sister. I do know better and should never have failed in my duties, I fear I've been in the lands of summer for too long, the heat must have caused me some loss of courtesy."
Zisel is mildly impressed with the camp the group mage to set up. She keeps mostly to herself while they work, only stepping in to help when it is a simple task such as handing someone needed materials and what not. When they all settle down around the campfire she takes some time to observe the others, and starting polite small talk about things like the weather and materials used in their outfits. Nothing of real substance. She was still a wary traveler among strangers after all.
When Pym lands on her shoulder she pauses to consider the tiny fey. "You are right, Pym. shall we see to the appropriate customs? I must admit, my experience is only with Ulfen customs, but I will follow your lead and instructions."
With Pym's guidance, Mirri and Zisel are able to wrap Fawfein's remains in cloth and build him a small pyre. Pym works diligently to help clear the area for his pyre of snow, even though the snow towers over her small frame and should it fall on her she would likely be trapped without intervention. When the pyre is lit, and Fawfein's small body is aflame, Pym stands vigil until the flames recede and finally burn themselves out. Only then does she speak a barely audible, "Rest now, brother, your winter has ended."
Grimkell stops the his grisly work on the body of Fawfein when Jamarcus asks about Garundis. He turns toward the man, his brow furrowed and looking dead serious.
"Aren't you form the southern lands beyond the Inner see? From the land of Garundi? You have clothes, ways of speaking, and have skin that is rarely seen around these parts. If not from the continent of Garund, where are you from?" his traits become less hardened as he becomes more and more curious "so... why not tell us where you are from. No, before, why no humm us some duisco song?"
Interrupted by the atomie's complaint, Grimkell does not resume his work on the white deer. Insead, he turns his gaze toward Pym. As quickly as his expression had changed from serious to curious earlier, he is now looking stern again.
"Tell us fey, what do you find so very wrong with us using the meat of an animal? It was a majestic beast, but what else? A friend of yours? A sentient creature deserving a grave?"
Grimkell stands there silent. He had great respect for warriors and people, but animals were different. To him, they were simply instinctual creatures, trophies to be made or challenges for the strong, nothing more. Thus, he played no dirge for the animal. However, the respect that Pym had for it did inspire him, so he stood with Mirri and Zisel watching the body burn.
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An orange blotch of warmth could be seen in the snow conquered forest. The flame that the adventurers built ravenously ate the wood that was offered to it, it's dancing lights giving birth to wavering shadows to all things that were close to it. Among them was the figure of Lars propped against a fallen, covered in the cloak that was given to him. He leaned his head back as a clear exhale formed in front of his face.
This was far from an ideal situation for them, half of them were clearly affected by the cold, and needed time to recover. Now he wasn't afraid that the bandits would escape them, it's just that he wanted to minimize anytime he spent here They are probably suffering because of the cold too Lars looked towards his companions that were not gathered around their camp fire and noticed them near another blotch of flickering orange light Whatever they are doing isn't my business He said to himself but then his eyes remained on Zisel for a moment longer If I was going to betray someone now would be the perfect time...and yet she isn't doing anything suspicous...maybe she was telling the truth He pulled the cloak on tighter, but then halted in mid motion, looked at the cloak Ah...well maybe I was wrong about her, but a stranger appearing at the perfect time, I mean who could blame me for being paranoid The former pirate decided to think on the matter at a later time for now he decided to close his eyes and let sleep steal away his consciousness.
After stick-roasting some choice morsels of stag and settling down on a pile of spruce boughs, Jamarcus pulls out his keg again and pours out a drink for everyone interested.
Instead of pouring himself a cup, he lifts the barrel to his mouth and takes a deep swig, barely grimacing at the fiery liquor. A few swigs later, the cold loses its bite and everything starts to get a little..fuzzy.
With his tongue loosened by drink and his belly full, he turns to Grimkell.
Naw man, I'm from Harlem, New York.. Don' know what hood' you talkin' bout.
He pauses for a second, thinking.
Brow furrowed, he looks for the right words in Taldane to express his somewhat unique situation.
I startin' ta think I ain't even from yo world, homie... We ain't got none o' dis magic s%+@ or these giant snow snakes n' tiny people... Either that or I went back n' time somehow.
Where I come from, we got mo...technology. Self-propelled metal carriages, radio, boxes dat show you movin' pictures....toilets.. we got toilets homie, none o' dis hole-in-the-frozen ground b~#$%!!~..
He stops again for another drink, and stares dead-eyed into the fire, his words now accented by the hint of a slur.
I jus' wanna go home, man
Grimkell stood with Mirri, Zisel, and Pym as they watched Fawfein burning. Though not saddened, the skald knows that life is harsh, that no life should be taken lightly, and that every deeds must the honored. Their foe might not have shown great honor in battle, but it definitely had fought well for a creature of its size. As such it deserved for others to bow their heads in respect.
Once the fire of the pyre flickered and died, Grimkell took a step toward Pym, and looked straight into her eyes.
"I have heard you say you are saddened by how we left your friends. Tell me about their deeds and their names, and, if they are worth it, I shall think about ways of immortalizing them." he says, serious yet abrasive.
Grimkell happily takes a mug of Jamarcus' liquor. Lifting it in thanks, he nods at the New-Yorker, and then takes a long swig at the same time as Jamarcus' first.
When Jamarcus spoke again, Grimkell was all ears, listening intently to what the brawler was saying to him. As he speaks about this New-York, and coming from another world, Grimkell' eyes and expression, become less and less serious as curiosity wins over is stern facade. Throughout the discussion, the ulfen seems completely oblivious to the longing in the man's tone. Only when Jamarcus mentions wanting to go home does Grimkell realizes how the man is feeling.
"Right. Sounds like a good story to write. When we are done with our engagements here, I'll gladly help you find a way back." he says slapping Jamarcus in the back.
Pym crosses her arms over her chest, "We do not need our names sung in the songs of pretenders. I would not dishonor my brothers in such a way."
The night wears on and even around the fire you can tell that the temperature is steadily dropping. Somehow, you manage to find enough warmth to ease your aching bodies and drift off to sleep. All too soon, the sun begins to rise again, rousing the group from their restful state and demanding that they move on.
A large pile of spruce boughs close to the fire shifts slowly. As Jamarcus pokes his head out of his makeshift bed, a low groan escapes his lips.
The fierce sun combined with the brilliant white snow felt like daggers in his hung-over state.
He puts his arm over his eyes and collapses back into the bed.
Waking up to the same cold he felt before they built the fire. Lars sighed, leaving a small clear stream of air in front of his face for a few moments Makes you wonder how anyone gets used to this The scoundrel got up slowly, and looked around, keeping the cloak close to his body And here I thought my time in Kalsgard didn't spoil me. He looked down to see Jamarcus still lying down with an arm covering his eyes Could be still asleep, best leave him be Thought Lars as he walked a bit past where they camped, his mild expression unchanging as he surveyed where they killed the atmoie "If you're going to pull a trick like that at least think about it first..a talking stag..." He said in a hushed voice as he walked a little further, mostly to stretch his legs.
Bedding down Mirri makes sure that there is a warm spot for Pym to sleep in should the little pixie choose to use it. The following morning Mirri once again dawns her veil to protect against the sunlight that glares off of the snow and gathers her gear together. Offering her hand to Pym she helps the little one onto her shoulder if the sprite wishes the assistance and sits down to breakfast. "So, did everyone sleep well? I hope so because it will only get worse as we go."
As soon as she finishes eating Mirri starts looking for something to help deal with the steadily increasing cold. Unfortunately there is little that will be of use and she resigns herself to the frigid temperatures and the difficulties they will provide for her.
Just like the previous night, Grimkell took some care not to get too exposed to the cold (or other's eyes?) before going to bed. As soon as the sun rises on the horizon, he wakes up and get ready, dons his armor by himself, and starts packing his covers. Once all his belongings are carefully packed, he takes out his lyre and starts playing to wake up those who are still asleep song played and sung by Grimkell.
Partway through the song, Grimkell starts pacing in circles around the dead fire. As he passes next to Jamarcus he nudges him with his foot, trying to force to man to face the day. Finally, once the ulfen is done with his song, he exclaims loudly:
"Come now, time to wake and prepare to be on our way. Lady Argentea will not wait forever!"
When asked how he slept by Mirri, Grimkell nods.
"The night was good. I dreamt that Lars grew up to be a giant and found great sastisfaction simply in rescuing a lady!" he says, mockingly.
"What about you? What does an elf of the winter lands dream of at night? Not of giant Larses too I hope." he continues, winking at Mirri.
Pym accepts the accommodation made for her, though she sleeps little that night. Instead, she spends most of it watching over Mirri and Zisel as they sleep. In the morning, she snuggles in to Mirri's hair and clothing making a sort of sling and naps periodically throughout the day.
Grimkell's light kick only manages to elicit more groans from the severely hungover man.
After a few minutes of alternating between plugging his ears and covering his eyes, Jamarcus gives up and struggles to his feet.
He stumbles to the fire, tosses in a bit more wood and takes some bread from his pack to toast, all while shielding his eyes from the sun.
When most of the group has packed up, he kicks snow over the fire and shoulders his bag.
Les' go, jus' don' talk too loud..
"And let us hope it remains just a dream" Came Lars' somewhat mirthful voice from behind Grimkell "Giants can't stay at nice inns, now a flock of Ravens on the other hand" The locksmith took of the cloak and handed it to Zisel "Your cloak" He gave her a small smile "Should you ever need to borrow something of mine, I won't make much of a fuss about it, maybe just a question or two " The former pirate walked to his gear and began preparing for the continuation of their journey That wasn't too bad.
Zisel didn't much like waking up too early, but she wasn't a late sleeper. The shuffling about of others easily stirred her from her slumber and she sat up with a yawn and stretch. She busied herself with packing up her own things and tidying herself for the day.
"Oh, thank you," she said as Lars handed her back her own cloak. It came out more muffled than usual as she held a hair tie with her mouth as she finished pulling back parts of her hair in an effort to style it without a mirror. Her mirror had fogged up in the cold morning air, rendering it useless. She left Lars waiting a moment while she finished up before actually taking the cloak from him. "I'll keep that in mind should I ever find myself in dire need of whatever it is you may have."
Theora spends the night bundled awkwardly into her bedroll, still in her multitudinous layers of black clothing, her crow-feather mantle under her head as a pillow. Sootfeather finds himself a comfortable nook in a tree, watching over the camp with several soft caws before finding his own slumber.
In the morning, Theora rises stiffly, rolling out her broad shoulders and shivering in the cold air. "What I wouldn't give for some furs," she murmurs, attempting to tame her hair. Seeing Zisel struggling with a similar task, she chuckles. "Need some help, dearie?" she asks with her usual thin-lipped smile, strapping on her snowshoes.
Lars looked to the ground in an attempt to recapture the bandits trail, then he studied the area for any sight or sound of unnatural movement.
Noticing that Lars was searching for tracks, Jamarcus finds the tallest tree in the area, unhitches his bag, and begins to climb to the top.
Once he's perched on one of the higher branches, he surveys the land around him, taking note of any items of interest or tracks.
The party gathers there gear and heads out following the trail left by the bandits. It is slow going until making your way through the snow, and as the sun rises higher and higher the wraps that Mirri wears across her eyes begin to sound more and more appealing as the glare reflected off the snow begins to hurt your eyes.
For all your efforts, you have not managed to make it very far before the trees begin to break ahead of you. You see a frozen stream ahead; the local folk would know it as Wishbone Creek. In the middle of the path, just before the creek is a snowman; a crude wooden sign propped against it reads "Trespassers Turn Back."
Grimkell smiles at Lars, and nods, enjoying the camaraderie. Quite the amusing man... he would make for a good travel companion. Now, I just need to make him into a hero. Good challenge!
While walking, Grimkell returns to the back of the line with Zisel. At first in a good mood, he slowly becomes more and more stern. Every so often, he takes a step toward the side to peak at the head of the line. Clearly, he is bored and trying to find something to do. Finally, when he is about to let some of his guard down and speak with Zisel, the others stop. Realizing that something interesting must have come in the path, he comes out of the line to try and see what's going on.
Upon seeing the signe, the ulfen man chuckles.
"Pym, was this left by your friends?" he calls out.
Pym grumbles something barely audible about the pretender talking to her from her nest in Mirri's hair. Nevertheless, she peeks out and unable to see clearly from her vantage point flies forwards a little before stopping to flutter in Grimkell's face. "How should I know, pretender?" She says to him before returning to Mirri's shoulder. It seems her wings are healing quite nicely, and within another day or two she should be able to fly as good as ever.
A soft hum played itself on Lars lips as he stared at the "guardsman" that stood in their way. Their journey seemed to head from the peculiar to the absurd...and he trusted neither.
While he kept a safe distance from the snowman, Lars studied its make and carefully looked for telltale signs of anything out of the ordinary. A crack here, something poking out of the snow there, clues would always be there for the ones that searched for them.
Lars is unable to see anything that would look like a trap from this distance.
The humming stopped and the neutral look and Lars face showed a small frown "Can't make out anything from here" He murmured before taking several steps forward "Wait I'll step a little closer and look at it once more" He said to his companions. His hand reaching into his pocket, fishing out the veil Mirri had handed him, and then he put it on in a more awkward manner, but made sure that it was working as intended.
Now that the former pirate and the snowman were less far apart, the analyzing began anew. Lars took his time studying this peculiar sight in the middle of nowhere If these bandits built it...well I'll probably have less respect for them than that swindler. The frown on his face grew deeper as he remembered the atomie.