"Hey, do you guys want to stay over for the night? We've got plenty of room." Sylgja calls out as the party turns to leave.
"It is. It packs the punch of a kicking mule though. Up for it?"She gives Einar a challenging grin.
Sylgja goes to the kitchen to prepare food for the party after she has put her husband to bed to sleep off his misadventure.
She serves the party two steamed soon hocks, a large plate of Venison with spring onion and ginger, a large plate of Spinach in 3 assorted eggs, a whole braised duck, a large plate of sesame ginger chicken,a pot of lotus root soup with pork ribs and red dates and gives the party each a plate of rice. For desert, the party each gets a bowl of black jelly.
Nadya gives a hearty laugh at Einar's statement.
Sylgja rolls out a keg of ale and pours Einar a large stein. "Now, please help me keep then eye on him. Some people act really funny afterwards. Can't take the heat, you know."
Einar takes a large stein of the ale. It's very sweet and tastes strongly of ginger with smoky undertones and burns all the way down his throat. He feels hot all over after that.
You gain rage for , cold resistance 5 for an hour, and take
Crummock grins at Einar.
"Strong enuf for ye?"
Sounds like we only hit a small patch....I hope there isn't more!
"So this mold we encountered, is there likely to be more of it around?" Mr. Whiskers asks. He nervously adds "We only saw the one patch, but it sounds like something that would spread if not destroyed."
Something is not right here. She recognized the mold, but thought her husband was carried off by a moss troll. A moss troll would have been much larger. Yet she knew exactly where he was...
At mention of strong ale, Mr. Whiskers asks "Would you have something a bit less powerful as well? I fear that my tolerance for alcohol is quite a bit less than my friend's" gesturing to Einar as he says friend. If it is as strong as she says, the two boys may want something weaker as well.
When she goes into the kitchen, Mr. Whiskers quickly whispers something to Crummock.
When Slygja comes back out rolling a cask, Mr. Whiskers says "Might want to be careful of how much you drink, Einar! We will want to continue our journey in the morning."
"I don't know. I should hope not. If you do see any, please help stomp it out. Nasty things." She shudders.
"Right, for you...Mmph."She takes in Mr Whisker's small size."Some Snow Pear ale. You're over 18 right? I don't know much about ages of ratfolk." She pointedly looks at Orm and Morjoli. And no, I don't serve alcoholic beverages to people under 18." Then she pours them apple juice, to their disappointment.
Sylgja comes back rolling a cask and pours Mr Whiskers his drink. His drink tastes of pears and is mildly sweet, but very clear and refreshing, and gives him a warm feeling in his belly.
"Yeah, Einar shouldn't be drinking more then a stein of my housebrew in a single day." She concurs with Mr Whiskers."And he shouldn't be drinking more then 3 steins a week, either."
Mr. Whiskers wrinkles his nose a moment, then says "My people tend to come to maturity a little sooner and don't live nearly as long as humans. I am sixteen, which would be an adult for my people."
He waits politely to see if she decides to switch his cup.
"Oh if you say you're an adult, then you're fine." Sylgja does not switch Mr Whiskers's cup.
Mr. Whiskers takes a sip and nods. "Thank you, warms the belly!"
"Einar! Don't be so greedy!" Mr. Whiskers exclaims. He is probably depending on us not being able to keep him away from the cask. I really don't need a drunk and melancholy warrior.
Looking to Sylgja, he apologetically says "You have already been a gracious hostess. I thank you for the hospitality you freely offered."
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Sylgja pours out some of the snow pear ale. Compared to the earlier brew, its almost...mellow. It's still clear and refreshing, though. "Hey, drinks in the house are free, but if you're taking away the barrel, you'll have to pay. Some of the ingredients don't come cheap!" She protests.
Nadya gives Einar a pointed look. "We have a message to deliver in White Throne, you know. And we don't want to be late. We are most definitely not staying till you finish the barrel."
"Oh, be my guest."Sylgja pours Einar another flagon of snow pear ale. "Its quite mild compared to "Volcano."
After another flagon or so, Einar is feeling light and floaty and slightly buzzed. The room is beginning to look rather blurry to him.
"Sorry,"Nadya apologises to Sylgja. "The last time he got into the tavern he was drinking some yucky,horrible brew that was adulterated. I think if you applied alcohol on a brick, he'd eat it." She gives Einar a hard stare. "Are you sure you can get out of bed tomorrow?"
Eina finishes his last flagon then makes his way to bed without wobbling too much. The party turns in for the night and the next morning, Nadya wakes everyone up. Sylgja makes the party a breakfast of wonton noodle soup and passes the party enough meat pies for the day.
As the party is passing through the woods, as Einar is passing near a bush, something rustles through the bush and he is bitten by a gray, emaciated child, with cobwebs and dust for clothes and a fox skull for a head. The child then gives off a series of unnerving childlike whimpers and sobs.
Mr Whiskers recognizes that that is no kid, its an attic whisperer. It is an undead creature spawned as the result of a lonely or neglected child’s death and rises from an amalgam of old toys, clothing, dust, and other objects associated with the departed—icons of the child’s neglect. It has the following abilities:
Steal Breath:
A creature bit by an attic whisperer must make a DC 16 Will save or become fatigued for 1 hour. A fatigued creature that is bitten is instead exhausted for 1 hour, and an exhausted creature falls asleep for 1 hour if bitten. The sleeper can only be roused by killing the attic whisperer or by using dispel magic, remove curse, or similar effects. The save DC is Charisma-based.
Steal Voice:
Any creature hit by an attic whisperer’s touch must make a DC 16 Will save or lose its ability to speak for 1 hour. During that time, the creature cannot talk, cast spells with verbal components, use auditory bardic performances, or use any other ability that requires speech. Once an attic whisperer has stolen a creature’s voice, it can perfectly mimic that voice at any time, even after its victim’s voice has returned, and while using that voice can speak any languages the victim knew. Those familiar with an individual’s voice can make a Sense Motive check opposed by the attic whisperer’s Bluff check to realize a mimicked voice is inauthentic. The save DC is Charisma-based.
Ziva and Vernai both move up to the creepy undead looking kid, and strike out with both of their standard weapons in the hope of quickly obliterating the threat.
Crummock raises an eyebrow when Einar wants to drink more of the 'special' brew, but refrains from commenting.
If he be wantin' to drink more, that is his choice; I just won't be cleaning up after him.
The following morning, he gives the woman a formal bow.
"Thank-you for your hospitality. It has been a high point in a journey that has been filled o'er much with greed, anger, and pure evil."
Later on, when the unquiet spirit makes its presence known, and Mr Whiskers identifies what it is, Crummock grimaces.
"This be e'en more evidence o' the horrors that have been allowed to take place..."
Nadya then steps to the side, and fires two arrows at the creature...
Crummock strides forward, and attempts to skewer it.
"Ymosodiad!"
Geist then pounces forward, and attempts to bite it...
Sylgja thanks the party for their appreciation of her hospitality and encourages them to stop over, anytime they like.
Nadya's second shot makes a slight dent on the attic whisperer, and Crummock manages to get a good stab in. Ziva's greatsword cleaves a great gnash on it, nearly chopping it into two. Vernai flies around it and tries to ckaw it, but it ducks under Vernai's claw. Geist aims too high and bites only empty air.
It tries to bite Einar's ankle, but doesn't manage to get through his boot.
Mr. Whiskers thanks Sylgja for her hospitality and wishes her well. He expresses hope that Fingrath recovers quickly.
Mr. Whiskers moves to where he has an unobstructed view of the horror and then unleashes with a flight of magic missiles.
The missiles strike it squarely and blast it into pieces.
The skies are clear ahead and the air grows warmer still. Sunlight shines down on fresh grass that has sprouted. As far as the eye can see, fir trees have shed any sign of white, and birch trees show signs of fresh new leaves. The sound of rivulets of water can be heard everywhere. There is a faint smell of rot coming from the coffin that the dogs are carrying.
The party sees a massive and majestic elk in the distance, its antlers stretching 10 feet across.
Mr Whiskers recognizes the elk as a Megaloceros. They are skittish and wary of predators and become fiercely territorial and aggressive if approached.
Einar, Crummock and Ziva spot 2 black wolves in the bushes of which they point to Mr Whiskers. The wolves appear to be stalking the Elk.
Mr Whiskers recognizes the two wolves as worgs.
"Worgs are often used by goblins. How about we kill the worgs and leave the elk?"
Mr. Whiskers takes a moment to cast Mage Armor on himself as the others prepare for battle.
"Any good fey around might object to killing the elk. I don't plan to eat worg -- they are intelligent creatures. I do agree that they would probably also taste bad." Mr. Whiskers replies.
Crummock does his best to calm the elk, so that the party can pass.
The elk allows the party to pass unmolested. Suprisingly the worgs remain in the bush and make no attempt to attack the party. The party soon leaves the pocket of summer behind. They make camp in the snow, having Sylgja's delicious meat pies for dinner. The party sets up watch and the night passes uneventfully.
The next day, the party moves across the the snowy plains.
The party is travelling across the snow when they see a stern woman in blue and gray robes in the distance, Frost clings to her skin and clothes, though she doesn’t appear to notice."What brings you to the land of Irrisen?" She asks the party evenly.
Mr Whiskers recognizes this woman as a winter witch baroness. Their magical powers generally have to do with ice and snow. They don't usually wantonly go killing people unless they've been given offence. That being said, it doesn't take much to give then offence.
Crummock bows formally to the woman.
"We were hoping to reach Whitethrone, your Grace. The daughter of a friend of ours met with an untimely end, and we were hoping to find the necessary magic there to bring her back."
He pauses for a moment, before continuing.
"By the way, were you aware that there was a large pocket of summer weather back that way?", he says, gesturing back along the trail. "It seemed highly out of place."
She takes note of Crummock's bow and smiles approvingly. "I see. Yes, there is such magic in White Throne. But it is pricey. You must be pretty rich to afford it. Don't forget to tithe generously to Queen Elvana while you're there!"
When she hears about the pocket of summer, "Oh no! Thats a disaster!" She exclaims as she runs her hand through her white hair. "I need to see to it immediately!" She drops her airs and scurries along the trail like a flustered bureaucrat.
The party continues on and as late afternoon approaches, comes to a ruined village. The sunlight seems particularly weak this afternoon.
This place was once a small town or village prior to the Winter War. Most of the buildings are little more than piles of snow-covered stones, with crumbled sections of their walls rising from the ruins. The only structure that might offer temporary shelter appears to be an old temple inside a walled circular churchyard with an arch at the entrance. The front door of the temple has rotted away, but a smooth stone circle engraved with the outline of a butterfly is mounted above the doorway.
The party sees two humanoid figures in cleric robes at the temple. "Please, come and join us for dinner. The children have all left, and we rarely get visitors." One of them calls out to the party.
Mr Whiskers recognizes the two humanoids as Huecuevas. The risen corpses of heretical clerics who blasphemed and renounced their deities before meeting death.
They have the following abilities(incomplete list):
False humanity:
During the day, a huecuva is cloaked in an illusion that makes it look, sound, and feel like the living creature it once was. This effect functions similarly to disguise self—if a creature interacts directly with a huecuva, it can attempt a DC 12 Will save to see through the illusion. Regardless, the huecuva's scent never changes—it always exudes a faint stench of grave dust and decay. Creatures with the scent ability receive a +4 bonus on any Will saving throw made to see through this illusion. At night (regardless of whether the huecuva itself knows night has fallen) this illusion fades and reveals the creature for what it truly is. The save DC is Charisma-based.
Mr. Whiskers asks Crummock "Are you sure it was a good idea to tell her of the forest? I would have rather left the area as it was."
"If we join you, to whom would you dedicate the meal?" Mr. Whiskers asks the monsters. Be nice to find out what caused them to become this way. It might suggest a way to help them find their final rest.
"We can't remember. Once we had someone to dedicate it to..." The old man answers.
"Oh! There's a butterfly on the temple." The elderly woman points at the butterfly."Maybe we were supposed to dedicate it to the butterfly?" The woman replies.
Mr. Whiskers hesitates a few minutes, thinking.
I don't know if reminding them of the god they forsook will anger them, or give them a chance at redemption. Let us hope it is redemption!
"I believe that butterflies are associated with Desna -- goddess of dreams, luck, stars and travelers. We are travelers. Would you pray to her?" he asks with great interest and some trepidation.
"We've tried praying, but no one answered..."
Crummock frowns.
This be a temple to Desna, and they are heretical former priests, cursed to undeath!?
He then clears his throat, and points meaningfully to the silver, butterfly-shaped pendant at his neck.
"Perhaps ye have simply nae known the correct words. If ye be willin' I'd be happy to lead ye through the particulars. Ye would also need to be truly repentant o' whate'er led to yer current predicament."
As the party approaches the ruined temple to lead them in prayer, the wind grows supernaturally cold. There is a faint smell of death and decay in the air. ”You left us to the monsters! You left us to die!”They hear the accusing voices of children on the wind. They see small ghostly figures of children playing happily in the temple courtyard. Then the next moment, a ghostly army of trolls and wolves come and methodically club down all the playing children. The air fills with the pained cries of the dying children, and the ground is saturated with their blood, filling the party with despair.
”I’m sorry…but we waited for your parents to return, but they never came. The supplies were running low and…there wasn’t enough to last the winter.” The elderly woman answers, as she comes out of the temple, carrying a pot of spaghetti.
”We couldn’t help anyone – we thought we could save ourselves if we offered all of you to Baba Yaga…since all of you would have died from cold and starvation anyway…”The old man answers bitterly.”The armies of Baba Yaga slew us all in the end…”
The last rays of the setting sun touch the elderly couple and the food they are carrying and both the hosts undergo a terrifying transformation. The 'spaghetti' shimmers, then melts away to become a plate of maggots, mealworms and flesh eating beatles. The skin of the elderly couple begin to sag and their flesh withers. The hands crook and elongate into claws, revealing undead monstrosities under their cleric robes, their mouth open in silent screams.
”And night falls…and so it begins…”The one who was once the old man grits his rotted teeth and begins to pray to Desna. His wife follows his example. ”Finish it quickly…we cannot hold back for long!”