RoW: Let's Thaw the Frozen Stars! (Inactive)

Game Master Daxter

Total defense.

Avore waits, spear in hand.

The wounds of the winter fey unnaturally knit together in the biting cold. No longer quite as intimidated by his (relatively speaking) enormous foes, the quickling resumes it's taunts.

It cries out in Skald "What can you do against me, humans? Wound me, and I will heal. Use your might? I will run away and return to hunt you in your sleep."

Once again, the quickling leaps forward with unearthly grace and speed to stab at the hulking Ulfen man. This time, the creature's tiny blade finds a small gap in the leg armor of the warrior, and cold sears into the man's thighs. 4 physical, 5 cold

Sven's ready goes off, as does Kalt's (if he includes a 5' step)

Gripping his now cold iron loaded crossbow, Ankih will move up by Bugsby looking for a clearer shot. Unable to immediately find the target, he cast guidance on himself.
" It moves so fast. I don't know if I will be able to shoot fast enough."

Awaiting the outcome of Sven's grapple, but I'll ready an attack now.

"Come on, everyone! No point turning into turtles and hoping the little sh!t goes away." says Kalt, holding his blade before him and waiting for the quickling to come into reach again.

Ready attack on quickling if it comes into reach.

Cold Iron Longsword attack: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (11) + 8 = 19
Longsword damage: 1d8 + 4 ⇒ (6) + 4 = 10

Sven will smite as well.

Sven grunts in surprise when the little fey’s chilling blade pierces his skin but it doesn’t stop the big ulfen from lunging for it.

Smiting Grapple: 1d20 + 10 + 2 + 2 ⇒ (5) + 10 + 2 + 2 = 19

The ducks under Kalt's blade and nimbly dodges Sven's grasp...

...that is, almost dodges Sven grasp. At the last minute, the burly man just manages to nip the critters ear, apparently painfully for the fey. Snow melts into steam as the quickling flails it's legs and attempts to escape.

Seeing an opportunity, Bugsby breaks out of his languor and slings a blob of goo! But it goes astray and splatters in the snow

So if the grapple was Sven's readied action from last round, does Kalt's attack hit this round, from the quickling's reduced Dex, and thus reduced AC?

No, you still miss by one

"Hold still, creature!" exclaims Lana in Sylvan. "We do not wish your harm, though you obviously wish ours. Be still and you may yet live."

Intimidate (larger than target): 1d20 + 5 + 4 ⇒ (2) + 5 + 4 = 11

Ignoring Lana's stern warning, the silvery-grey fey swipes with two tiny claws at Sven. The wickedly sharp, ice covered claws slash inches from the Ulfen man's neck, and the creature howls in annoyance.

Seeing the nobility in their efforts, the young Garen moves forward from his hiding spot and cries out in Skald. "Bitter, wicked creature! You think you are so clever! So... funny. Well, you're not!"

The magically inclined among the party can tell the young fey attempted fey magic to disable the quickling, but in the creature's rage it seems to have shrugged off the spell. Bugsby tosses another ball of protoplasm, but misses in his effort to avoide Sven.

Sven tightens his grip, cinching the little fey's arms to her sides and holding her in place. "That's enough. It's over."

Smiting Pin: 1d20 + 10 + 2 + 5 ⇒ (17) + 10 + 2 + 5 = 34

Kalt hesitates a moment, giving the feyling a moment to yield. If he continues to struggle to escape, or voices any intent to keep fighting, Kalt says, "Careful, Sven, sharp end coming your way," and drives the tip of his black iron blade deep into the quickling's twitch form.

Cold Iron Longsword attack: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (20) + 8 = 28
Longsword damage, 2H: 1d8 + 6 ⇒ (6) + 6 = 12

Crit confirm: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (8) + 8 = 16
Crit damage, 2H: 1d8 + 6 ⇒ (1) + 6 = 7

Grasping his holy symbol, Ankih will move to be near Sven.
"Keep a hold of him Sven. I'll heal you when I get there."
Double move to get behind Sven.

It is quite plain to see that this tiny fey has no intention of surrendering as she bucks under the weight of the massive Ulfen man, and her claws scrabble in the snow looking for some way to regain a purchase on Sven. The quickling hisses and howls like an angry beast. Kalt's blade wounds the creature as it squirms angrily

Avora and Lana are up!

Intimidate: 1d20 + 5 + 4 ⇒ (3) + 5 + 4 = 12

"Cease!" orders Lana of the fey, trying to convince it that to continue to struggle will mean death. Her attention is diverted, however, and she doesn't sound very convincing.

Avora moves closer and stabs at the tiny fey with her spear.

Avora vs. Fey: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (14) + 6 = 20
Damage (spear): 1d8 + 3 ⇒ (6) + 3 = 9

Avora's thrust, although weakened by the magically tough fey skin, knocks the creature unconscious - but only for a brief second! The quickling gasps for a breath of air as the snow creeps up from the ground and covers his wounds.

Kalt sighs and mutters, "Damned thing, why would you ask to die?" He pulls his sword free of the little body, sets it at the quickling's neck, and drives it forward once again.

Cold Iron Longsword attack: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (9) + 8 = 17
Longsword damage: 1d8 + 4 ⇒ (5) + 4 = 9

Kalt knocks the creature unconscious again. Once unconscious, it is a trivial task for Sven to hold it aloft, whereupon the magical healing stops.

The faun drops the dagger and comes forward slowly, looking as though he has all the guilt in the world placed upon his shoulders.

He speaks in Skald. "I'm so sorry, so so sorry. I just wanted to find people like me, people who wouldn't hate me. Now Borvald's dead, my mother hates me, and it's all my fault." Tears gently flow down the boys face.

"Your mother doesn't hate you," replies Lana. "That's not how being a mother works, I think."

Do I know that? I... don't know. It just seems like the right thing to tell him... it's logical.

" I don't believe your mother hates you, Boy. But you should go home and make amends with her."
Ankih says over his shoulder as he cast a CLW on Sven...
CLW: 1d8 + 3 ⇒ (8) + 3 = 11

Avora knows little of being a mother, but she knows when someone is in need of comfort and she embraces the boy, hugging him tightly.

"Is it true... she doesn't hate me?" The faun start sobbing a bit in self-pity, and rests his head upon Avora's should. "She should; it's because of my blood that we live so far away from her kind. It's because of me that Faernip and Zzababa came to the house at all. She has no people, she has no man; she has only two little ones to care for and me: a burden, a useless little goat man"

The names he utters are definitely Sylvan, perhaps those of the quicklings.

'She doesn't hate you lad, she loves you," Kalt reassures the faun. "She begged us to come rescue you, couldn't stand to lose you. Didn't sound to me like she was talking about a burden, sounded like she was talking about family."

He does a quick search of the fallen quickling and twigjack, then says, "We should get you back to her. First, though, do you know anything about this place he was taking you? What's in this barn?"

Sven offers Ankih a nod of thanks for the healing before joining Avora for a big bearhug of affection.

"The Isson's right. Your mother loves you and there's plenty out there that'll feel the same way if you let them in. You don't want people in your life that just want you around for what you can give them."

He looks up, hopefully. "Really! She... she cares that much?" His clear blue eyes look up to his saviors. "They were telling me to hurt mother and my brother and sister. But now I know what I need to do... I need be like you! I have to protect her!" His youthful voice cracks slightly with nervousness and hope as he finds courage in his heart.

He pauses at Kalt's other question. "Uh... I didn't go in the barn. I don't know what's in there."

When Kalt looks inside he see's a small pile of loot, coinage from all lands (worth some 500 gold), likely from unfortunate travelers.

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Returning to Maret's cabin the party finds that Maret and Nadya have not been idle. The body of Borvald has been wrapped in a sheet, and woodsman's axe lays upon his chest. Nadya's two boys and Maret's children watch, sullen faced. The Irrisen people are a practical folk, even in the face of death.

Seeing her son with the group, Maret stumbles up and runs forward to embrace her son. She cries gladly and the two embrace, and then exchange tearful words for several minutes. Maret then runs back into her cabin and returns with a fine fur cap. She thrusts in into Avoras hand. "Take this! It was my mother's Ushanka, it ; it is the least I can pay you back with"

"I'm just glad we could help", Sven answers the grateful woman after sharing a smile with Avora. "This land's got enough problems already. A mother losing her son doesn't need to be another one of them."

"Remember what we talked about", the big man offers the faun while the party prepares to depart. "You're a good boy with a good heart. There's plenty of people out there that'll value you for who you are - your mother's just one of them. Give it time. You'll find more."

Avora accepts the gift gratefully, holding it in both hands as though it were a valued treasure. "Thank you," she manages to stammer.

A smile of contentment crosses Kalt's face as he sees the faun reunited with the mother who loves him. "It's as you said, lad, " offers Kalt, "you need to protect her, just as she protects you." Hearing Sven's comment, he adds, "My friend is right, you know. I was driven from my home as a lad for being different, and here I've got a fistful of friends who would do anything to save me - who have, in fact, brought me back from the dead - and I would do the same for them."

He nods in appreciation as Avora dons her new ear-flapped hat, commenting to Lana, "Cunning, don't ya think?"

Whaaaah! Now Avora's going to be a much better tracker than Kalt! But it's a nice hat.

Is Kalt jealous of the women's clothing?

looking on as the boy and his mother reunite, Ankih keeps quiet..
Thank you Sarenrae. Happy it makes me to see them together. May they have a long and happy life.
He pats Avora on the shoulder and nods in appreciation of her new head gear, then walks a bit to stare out into the frosty world.
It seems to me that these people have been oppressed for a long time. I realize that many of us now, albeit indirectly, serve this witch Baba Yaga, but a lot of this must be her doing. This newest witch is just one evil rebelling against another...Are we doing the right thing here....?

Kalt is mostly hoping someone catches the Firefly reference...

Janestown..... XD

Nadya interrupts gently. "While you were away, I discussed leaving Orm and Mjoli with Maret. Although I do not know if it is safe here... if anywhere is safe... it is safer then then Whitethrone. Besides, they are strong boys, they can help cut and sell wood. With Garen here, perhaps they will find a protector." She looks at the faun hopefully.

Bugsby has been quiet for some time, prestidigitating an a small animation of a quickling in the palm. He suddenly snaps out of his reverie and slaps his palm against his forehead (incidentally smashing the miniature illusory quickling). "Ofcourse! This could be so fun!" He looks at all of you as though you should know what he is talking about.

"Well... isn't it obvious? I'll stay here and help protect all the kids and the nice lady. Garen and I can be partners! Then he can teach Ulfen, and about being all fey-like, and music, and I can teach him how to... uh... creatively problem solve! Yesthat'sright!" Nadya looks dubious but translates Bugsby's intent for Garen and Maret's benefit.

The beginnings of a frown spread across Sven's rough features but he stops himself and simply nods in understanding. Irrisen was a dangerous place at the best of times and Nadya was leaving her own sons behind. They would need a protector, one that wouldn't attract too much attention. Little Bugsby fit the bill perfectly and fierce in his own way despite his stature.

"Don't get them into too much trouble", Sven warns with a laugh.

Kalt considers Bugsby's notion, shrugs, and says, "You always were an impulsive fellow, Bugs. I guess if you're in the mood to babysit, you'll be doing both families a favor."

Sven - when you've a moment, can you add the 500 gp from the barn to our loot sheet? Thanks.

Tears well in Avora's eyes as the gnome declares his intent, but she nods solemnly before grabbing the diminutive man and hugging him tightly.

Bugsby hugs Avora tightly back. "Hey I mean it's not like I'm goingveryfar from here, well, unlessthemoodreallytakes me. But these seem like neat people. I mean, you just have to go save Baba Yaga right? How long can it possibly take"

Lana watches the proceedings in silence, then gives Bugsby a fond smile. "Feicfidh mé chailleann tú, cara beag. B'fhéidir lá éigin is féidir leat turas a dhéanamh linn arís, agus inis dom níos mó de do chuid daoine beag."

Kneeling by his diminutive friend, Ankih hugs him and smiles...
" I will miss you my friend. You got me into this with your antics.... I hope to see you again. Watch over the children and may Sarenrae's Blessings follow you all of your days...."
He rises and turns away from the others, surreptitiously wiping his face.

Don't mind me--just dotting this.

Nadya hugs her two boys tightly, giving each a long dagger and bundles of clothes and food to ease Maret's burden. After tearful goodbyes, the travelers resume their journey to Ellsprin and from there Whitethrone.

Blessedly, the visit to Ellsprin is free of any complications, although the locals give the strangely dressed outsiders a wide berth. The party has a chance to resupply and rest for the night and the Laughing Troll, the town's only inn.

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Pressing on in the morning, Nadya declares she knows of a shortcut that winds through some low hills. She explains it is a relatively obscure and lightly patrolled path, but that it should shave off a full day of travel.

The party travels a few hours down the path without harassment. However, as they round a hill they come upon a rather incredible sight: a battlefield of sort, with a single corpse of a red-clad horseman surrounded by a field of human warriors, trolls, white wolf and the white-and-blue clad bodies of winter witches. There are also a fair number of shattered frozen wagons and peasant bodies in the mix, Ulfen-seeming on account of their fair features and blonde hair. It would appear that these folk were unfortunately caught in the middle of a particularly deadly magical battle. Besides the bodies, a number of unnatural pillars and ridges of ice litter the field, entombing creatures and clearly a product of the witches ice magic.

The area is quiet.

Kalt has attracted strange looks from people for his whole life, and pays no mind to the attention he gets from the people of Ellspring. He takes advantage of being in a town again to stock up on some well-made arrows with black iron points, in case they run across another quickling that refuses to stand still and be killed.

Buy 20 cold iron arrows.

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As they come upon the scene of carnage and ice magic, Kalt stops in stunned surprise. "This is a hard land, no doubt of that," he mutters, then moves forward to investigate. He takes a quick look at the bodies to determine whether anyone yet lives, then a closer look at one or two to gauge how long they've been dead. With that done, he then begins a careful exploration of the surrounding area, to try to determine what happened here and whether any survivors left the field of battle.

Heal: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (9) + 6 = 15
Survival: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (18) + 13 = 31

All of those who lie upon the ground appear to have been burned to death, and subsequently frozen stiff. Even the animals have avoided feasting upon the dead; perhaps the lingering magics at play frighten their heightened senses.

Kalt digs down into the snow as he explores the field; after a few inches he sees his own pale reflection staring back at him; black obsidian, magically melted and surrounding the corpse of the red rider for many yards.

Fire. Magical fire of immense heat was used here, in the last moments of the riders life. It is clear the intense flames are what blackened and charred the corpses and their gear.

Still, the devastation is not total. The icy pillars and wreckage of the caravan sleds have shielded a few bodies from the blast, at least enough to make for a decent burial.

The remaining upright pillars are particularly fascinating. Most have melted away, but a few seem to have survived the fire magic. Kalt's eye catches a particularly well preserved corpse: a young woman who seems to be in the midst of swinging a light mace, a wrathful look upon her face. Another sad, pointless death in the witches mad quest to freeze the world.

As Kalt stares at the corpse, it blinks.

Cold.

Cold.

Cold.

Shanya has no idea how long she's been frozen here. Days? Weeks? Months? It all started to blur together. Her caravan was gone--that much she knew.

Simple logic. If we were victorious, they would have freed me. Enchanted ice--can't break it on my own. Since I'm still frozen, we lost--

Her heart tightens. If she could, she would have cried, but the ice doesn't even let her do that. Daddy... no idea if he's alive, dead, or worse. No... no no no--

A blurry form passes in front of her. It stops, then seems to lean forward for a closer look.

She has no idea if it's another traveller, a bandit, an agent of the Witches, or a wild animal. At this point, anything was better than being stuck here.

She starts blinking, trying to send a message.

Bluff (Send Secret Message: Simple): 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (16) + 10 = 26 +2 if target is attracted to me = 28

The message is a simple one.

'H...E...L...P... H...E...L...P...'

It's kind of an exotic item but can Sven pick up a couple meditation crystals?

***

Sven growls unhappily and tightens the grip on his weapon as he makes his way across the site. Battle was something the brawny warrior was used to but witchcraft still made his skin crawl and the idea of dying, frozen, seemed like a tragedy to him. "Any clue who these people were Isson? Or what became of their attackers?"

Making their way to the ice-bound woman, the Sven stares in disbelief. "She's alive?!" he practically shouts. "I'm getting her out!"

Without a second thought about the potential danger, the big man begins hacking at the ice.

THUNK. THUNK. THUNK.

The ice around Shanya starts to fracture.

Yes! Yes! Almost--

CRASH.

With one final blow, the ice surrounding her shatters. The woman falls on all fours, gasping for breath. Her mace lands in the snow next to her. She blinks rapidly. Everything is so blurry to her eyes... all she can hope is that her saviours aren't agents of the Witches.

"When is summer?" She gasps, her hand blindly scrambling about for her mace. She keeps looking down at the snow.

Bluff (Send Complex Secret Message): 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (4) + 10 = 14 +2 if target is attracted to her = 16

To the untrained ear, it sounds like an odd question, and nothing more.

Seeing the ice-encased woman blink, Kalt is startled but waves over Sven, who wastes no time in beginning to break her free of the ice. Kalt joins in, the pommel of his greatsword hitting the ice with sharp cracks, causing it to fall off in thick chunks and jagged slivers.

In response to her odd question, the pale-skinned Ulfen says, "You're in Irrisen, I don't think you'll see summer for a good long time. Who are you? What happened here?"

Finally catching her breath, the woman rises to her knees, rubbing her eyes.

Kneeling before the party is an abnormally pale woman with black hair that falls to her shoulders. As she opens her eyes, you notice that her left eye is a soft blue, but her right eye is a sickly green. Her skin, eyes & hair combine to give her a definitely beautiful look, but even so, you can tell there's something... off.

She clutches her black furs to herself, starting to get back to her feet. "I'm aware of where I am. I know summer isn't here."

She straightens up. "At any rate, I am Shanya. And this..." Her face falls as she surveys the battlefield. "...this is what remains of my caravan. We were headed to Whitethrone."

"Why ask if you already knew?" asks a tanned, weathered northwoman wearing elbow-length gloves and a heavy fur coat.