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

Game Master Daxter

”Well you’re working for the right side now. Are you willing to put those fingers and that mind to use one more time? My friends and I are in need of whatever papers or passes are necessary to let us move around the city, specifically to wherever the Witchqueen’s famous hut is being held. Can you do that for us?”

”We’ll also be needing supplies. And equipment. Is any of that within reach from here?”

Looking to do some much needed shopping.

Kalt waits quietly, trying not to show his concern about the fact that their fate may rest in the battered, oddly-repaired hands of this craven. I hope he's as good as he thinks he is. If our papers are no good in this place, we'll die a painful death when they find out who we really are.

On guidance, Ankih always has it prepared and will always cast it on somebody who asks, so DMPC that as needed. XD
Ankih will enter last and quietly close the door behind him. Sitting huddled in the corner he stays quiet and watches the goings on.
sense motive: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (4) + 9 = 13

I feel out of my depth here. Mortal danger on every side... Can we trust this man? I am not sure we should.

My apologies, but I am having a bit of a stressful week. A friend is being forced out of his house and I am helping him move and we have family visiting. Please GMPC as needed. If you are in one of my games, know that you are not forgotten and I will resume regular postings ASAP. Thank you.

Ringeirr, after his temper cools, explains to Mortin of the party's desire to masquerade as Stilyagi with Shanya at their lead. Mortin asks the group to take a seat and he begins to work.

Mortin's movements are excruciatingly precise despite his maimed hands. As the heroes occasionally peer over his shoulder, they can see the delicate calligraphy has numerous peculiarities off Irrisen; the writing is in a crystal blue ink on a fine, pinkish leather. It could not possibly be human skin, yet it looks chillingly like it.

He finishes the work by invoking an arcane mark on the document and stamping it with one of a dozen seals that line his wall, and treating the writings with heat and chemicals to artificially weather them.

An hour passes, and he hands the results to the five travellers. "There you are. A fine work if I do say so myself." Indeed, the travel documents seem well used and undeniably official.

Ringeirr turns to the group. "Thank you Mortin, and I apologize for losing my temper earlier. We can stay here and rest for tonight, or we can leave the Howlings today and make for the main city. What say you?"

You are welcome to make linguistic or K(nobility) checks to check the quality of Mortin's document. You can shop in the main district, although there is less magical gear here then in the main district. You can find (and sell) anything mundane in this area, however.

What was the word on shopping?

It's not a problem once you get to the central district. The Howlings are less well equipped, only mundane items. Winter Wolves make poor merchants.

So, right now you can head to the central district - there is one last checkpoint if you take a direct route.

There is also Greta, who will shortly be at the White Hunter.

Eventually, Ringeirr would like you to end up at the bath house, but now that you have papers it makes movement much more unconstrained.

You can also explore the rest of the Whitethrone, if hanging out with monsters is your thing.

Avora and Sven were supposed to have their heart to heart but with Whtknt busy it doesn’t seem reasonable to wait up for that. We’ll just have to retcon it.

”Stay the night here then. I’m going to visit the Hunter. Tomorrow, we’ll meet at the bathhouse.”

Noticing the still-bristling druid, Sven pulls Kalt aside before he leaves. ”Keep an eye on Avora for me Isson. She looks upset.”

"Sounds good. I have some scrolls to put in my book anyway." Shanya finds a quiet spot in Mortin's home and begins scribbling in her book.

Scribing alter self and detect thoughts into my formula book; taking 10 for Spellcraft on the both of 'em.

She glances over at the other party members during her work... she appears to be open for conversation.

Mortin sees Shanya writing and peers over her shoulder. In his whispering voice he speaks out. "I'm sorry; what you are doing looks like magic, but it is a far cry from any spellbook I have ever seen. What manner of art is this?" He seems truly curious at Shanya's alchemical notations.

Does anybody else wish to sample the local nightlife of the Howlings?

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Sven takes a little while to orient himself in the strange city, but travels unmolested. He quickly finds the White Hunter - and truly, it is a bar without like in all of Golarion. Tables filled with white haired humans (and the occasion red-headed worg of the southern lands) are scattered about the place, but there are also troughs of steaming meat and bowls of alcohol where worgs feast and converse among one another. A few Jadwiga, perhaps the strong or the mad, seem to pepper the ranks of the Worg. Still, they seem small and vulnerable compared to the muscled male and female man-shaped worgs. Raucous laughter and the scent of flayleaf fill the air.

"Sven, here!" comes a call from the corner, where the statuesque form of Greta lounges, drink in hand.

"Alchemy." Shanya says, looking up at Mortin and pausing in the scratching of her quill. "Courtesy of my father."

She looks back at the scroll she's almost finished transcribing. "This one's for changing the shape of a person into something else--might make any work I need to do easier." She says with a shrug.

Sven had been to some rough places in his time but the Hunter put a good number of them to shame. Despite the fact that he knew that most of these rugged men and women were beasts in human form, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he belonged here on some level. Hearing Greta’s voice, the big northman scans the crowd, picks her out, and approaches with a good deal of swagger.

”It’s good to see you didn’t waste time waiting for me”, he adds with a nod at Greta’s drink. ”Is this the vodka you were telling me about?”

"Yes, the humans make it out of rye and wheat; it loosens the tongue and warms the belly. Come, Sven sit and tell me a story, my handsome beast." She slides over, opening a cozy space for Sven to sit beside her. Her smile is both feral and inviting.

*******************************************************************

Back in the house

Mortin nods sagaciously. "Fascinating. I use some of the alchemical arts; certain rare inks are used in documents, you understand. I suppose you might be interested in my lore. You may look through my books, if you wish."

The forger walks over and pulls a book from a large stack; it is unclear how he locates it so easily in the clutter the covers the rest of his desk. He drops it in front of Shanya.

He returns to the corner and sits for a bit as the heroes rest and eat, clearly unused to the company. Finally, though, he seems to muster some courage and approaches Lana. He openly stares, transfixed by her hands.

He stammers as he unceremoniously broaches a question. "Who did that to you? Was... was... was it the iron guard?"

Lana looks up from her quiet reminiscing, a bit startled by the question. Her hands fly reflexively toward her gloves, but she pauses and conscientiously stills them in her lap. She shakes her head and responds quietly, "No... at least, I don't think so. I don't think I'd ever heard of them until recently." A frown crosses her face for a moment as she tries to remember. "I don't know who did it, to be honest. I... maybe they've always been like this? Sometimes I think I see... something, or someone, but then it fades just as I'm about to really see it."

Sven chuckles. It wasn’t the first time he’d been called that. He slides closer while gesturing for whoever was delivering drinks to bring one his way.

”I’ve been known to spin a tale or two. A woman like you goes where she pleases but I don’t know how often you get a chance to leave Whitethrone’s walls. Have you ever been south Greta?”

Earlier

”Keep an eye on Avora for me Isson. She looks upset.”

Kalt raises one icy-white eyebrow and quietly says, "Oh, you noticed that, did you?" He gives Sven a slug on the shoulder and says, "Off you go, have a little fun, but learn a bit for us too, eh? You were always good at doing that kind of double duty, brother. I'm quite happy to have a quiet night in, if that's what it turns out to be."

Now

As Mortin talks with the Shanya and Ankih about his books, Kalt sits back comfortably on an old chair and listens quietly. He finds he learns more about people when he hears them talking to each other than if he's talking to them. I never know the right questions to ask, nor which questions I shouldn't ask.

When Lana seems about to tell the tale of her hands, however, Kalt sits up, his attention focused closely, as he's wondered about this since he met her alone in the deep snows. When her recollection falters, he leans back again, saying, "If you ever recall the tale, Lana, I'm keen to hear it. I've wondered about your hands since we first crossed paths. But I know about drawing a blank, there's a whole stretch of my life - and a period when I was away from my life - that I feel the same way about."

" Be safe Sven. Blessed be Milady."
As Ankih bids Sven good night he also casts endure elements on him, from a scroll.
" To seem more like the wolfkin..."

He gets excited when Mortin shows them his spellbook, and pulls his out to share. Talking with the forger about the spells in his book, Ankih gains insight into the mans processes, and deciphers many of the spells in the book.
" Mortin, would it impose on you, if I transcribed some of these into my book? You may doo the same with mine as time permits for the night."

In the bar

Greta looks at Sven curiously. "I stay and work for the pack when in Whitethrone, but I am no pup-raising b---ch. I travel as I will and have been to the southern reaches of the Hoarwood and as far north as the glacier wall. But your hair and accent, you are from much farther south, aren't you? One of our southern kin, I think. Tell me where you hunt, and what brings you so far north." She smiles and drinks from her vodka. In the background there are sounds of a few scuffles breaking out between the wolves.

**********************************************

In the house.

Ringeirr listens with interest at the exchange between Kalt, Lana and Mortin.

"You are a strange group to be meddling in the affairs of witches and their mistress. A Kellid, a Keleshite, three Ulfen. You Kalt, I don't even know what blood is in your veins; you are like no man I have ever met. And you seek Baba Yaga's hut. What will you do when you find it? How will you control it?"

Sven nods. ”Further south, from warm lands where winter only comes a few months of the year. It’s a land of plenty where one can grow fat and happy with a little work.”

He pauses to take a draw from his vodka. It was strong and a far cry from the sweet mead he’d come to favor in Taldor but it warmed the belly and gave him a pleasant buzz.

”But my heart’s always belonged to the north. Where does your heart belong? Is this pack Greta's pack?”

She laughs gaily. "This is not my pack. How can this city hold me, when all of the North awaits? I am young, strong, and to stay in Whitethrone would be deadly boring - nothing but witches and trolls scrabbling over one another. Nor do I wish to be burdened with cubs yet."

She takes a drink. "No, I would much rather find a strong, skilled mate and run free for several years. I have yet to find someone who can fulfill my particular... needs." She leaves the sentence hanging in the air.

At the house

Kalt acknowledges Ringeirr's description of him with a nod, responding, "In truth, I don't know what blood is in my veins either, for I am a foundling, a son of the Icemark in more ways than one. I know not who my people are, but I was raised as an Ulfen and feel myself to be one, as much as I am any one thing."

He considers the questions about Baba Yaga's hut and says, "I'll tell you that we did not unite one day and decide to come here and upset the order of Irrisen, nor do we have a perfectly laid out plan to do so. We set out on a much simpler task, in a much warmer place, and found ourselves here. We have been puzzling out ever since how best to proceed, for we have stumbled onto a quest of real importance. But that does not mean I have a proper answer to your questions, friend."

"Indeed." Shanya briefly closes her book and stands up from her spot. "For my part, I do not yet know what we'll do with Baba Yaga's hut... if we find it." She stretches. "I'm keeping myself focused on more immediate concerns."

Kalt's description of himself catches Shanya's attention. Her hand wanders up to her sickly green right eye.

We have more in common than I thought...

Sven laughs and finishes his drink with a grunt.

"I've never been one to try peering into the future but let's get more of this vodka and find a place for me to show you how strong and skilled I am."

"If you believe you can keep up", he adds with a challenging smirk.

House

Avora sits in quiet contemplation before finding Kalt. "You know Sven like a brother; is he always so thick-headed? When I said... I didn't mean... ohhhhh!" Her words become a growl. "And now he's off making eyes at that... that... I know that it's for our good, but he doesn't have to enjoy it quite so much!"

Helpful DM reminder

Greta smiles. "Time to drop these human pretenses and have some fun. She moves close to Sven as if to kiss him; instead, at the last minute, her hot breath upon his neck she suggestively licks his ear.

Then she smoothly, swiftly rises out of her seat and playfully beckons towards the door. "Catch me if you can, hunter" She becks for Sven to follow, and then slips out the door into the night.

********************************************

Ringeirr snorts and Shanya and Kalt's explanations.

"Well, something must have set you on this quest. You cannot expect me to believe that whim and chance was all that led you into striving to save Baba Yaga."

He stops and ponders, stroking his bushy beard. "Of course, if it some sort of secret, I understand if you do not wish to share it with me. I trust you, since you seem to serve the side of light... although, a few of you aren't shy about serving your own pleasures."

We've already stated our next goal is getting to the hut. Is there something we're missing?

No, you are not missing anything. The specific task given to you by the black rider is to add the keys to the cauldron, not just go to the hut. Just making sure folks remember as it was 2200 posts ago.

Gotcha. Well we need to get to the hut first before we worry about any cauldrons.

Sven growls out a laugh and takes off after the wolf-woman.

"As you have guessed, it is not a simple story," Kalt responds. "We found one of Baba Yaga's Three Riders, dying after an attack by Elvanna's forces. He told us that by finding Baba Yaga, we could undo the winter that her daughter seeks to spread over our world. He even gave us some idea how we might proceed once we got to Whitethrone, before he died."

After a thoughtful pause he continues, "You may wonder why we would trust a servant of Baba Yaga, and I have wondered the same. But the rider died to make our task possible, by his own hand no less." Spreading his hands, he concludes, "And we have no other notion how we might stop the spread of Elvanna's winter, so we aim to try this one."

Thanks for the reminder, Rango! Though I'm sure everyone else remembered all the details of our quest, I had completely forgotten about the keys.

"Oddly fantastical, isn't it?" Shanya says, leaning against the wall. "Odds are, nobody would believe us if we told them."

She smirks.

...is he always so thick-headed? When I said... I didn't mean... ohhhhh!"[/b] Her words become a growl. "And now he's off making eyes at that... that... I know that it's for our good, but he doesn't have to enjoy it quite so much!"

"Ah, lass. Avora," Kalt responds haltingly, "I don't know what to say to most of that, as Sven'll have to answer for himself. But to the one question you asked, is he always so thick-headed? I can say no, he's not - sometimes he's even more thick-headed."

Sensing that humor, especially Kalt's rough, mercenary humor, is not what Avora seeks right now, the joking tone leaves his voice as he continues, "What I can tell you is that he's got a good heart, and means well. If he's hurt you, it's not because he means to, it's because he doesn't know he's doing it. Though I suspect he'll know soon enough. In the meantime, perhaps he'll get his throat torn open frolicking with Greta, and we'll not have to worry about it, right?"

Well, that didn't go as well as I might have hoped...

Shanya's smirk turns into a glare. "I hope not--we still need him. Or at least his rimepelt."

She turns to the druidess, noting how distraught she is. Hmm. She and Sven had something going on... from the looks of things, she's wondering if it's a one-sided affair.

"Would you like me to slap him when he returns?" She asks. From the tone of her voice, she's serious.

"Slap him?!" Avora blushes scarlet. "I could never..." Could I?

Kalt's eyes swing back and forth between Shanya and Avora at this unexpected exchange, reinforcing his conviction that there are some things he'll never understand, and women just might top that list. All the same, he can't help but chuckle quietly in anticipation of Sven's return. Maybe not altogether different from the wooing of the winter wolves, eh?

"You know what?" he offers, "Forget I said a word. I'll leave this to you all to sort out, it sounds like there's a plan forming - and one that even our thick-headed Sven will be able to understand."

"Why not?" Shanya asks, arching an eyebrow. "He's certainly done something to deserve it." She removes one of her gloves and holds up her hand.

For the most part, it looks normal... save for her fingers. They each end in sharp, dagger-like claws. "I can deliver a vicious slap, if I felt inclined to do so." She says, looking from her hand to the druidess. "But if you would rather talk it out with him, I won't stop you."

In the cabin

Mortin sniffles aloud. "I hardly consider myself an expert on matters of witches, but I have a small library regarding their lore. If these keys have some meaning, you are welcome to search the books for their meaning." He wanders over to large stack of books and pulls out a few from the middle; miraculously the stack stays standing. The books are a mixture of planar treatise and fairy tale books.

At the talk of keys and the dancing hut Ringeirr merely shakes his head. "Suddenly I feel like a very small person. This talk of keys to the dancing hut is far beyond any wild story I could have concocted. Well, if it will help bring down the witch Elvanna, I will try to help you in any way I can."

As the talk shifts to matters and love and women he moves away sits in a corner.

Outside the white hunter

Sven bursts out the warm tavern into the cold night. From down the block, Greta laughs playfully.

"Come on slowpoke. Show me how you hunt; see if you can follow me home."

She laughs and starts running. Mid-stride, her form begins to swell and grow white fur. When she hits the ground she is no longer human-shaped, but rather wears the form of a beautiful, white haired winter worg. She picks up speed, loping down the alley much faster then human feet.

Regretting wearing his heavy armor, Sven takes off after the wolf.

LOL. Definitely not what I signed up for.

Knowledge (Arcana) *Inspiration!*: 1d20 + 8 + 2 + 1d6 ⇒ (17) + 8 + 2 + (5) = 32
Knowledge (Local) *Inspiration!*: 1d20 + 9 + 2 + 1d6 ⇒ (12) + 9 + 2 + (3) = 26
After she takes a look through Mortin's library, Shanya's knowledge of matters arcane combined with a leap of inspirational thinking leave her with several answers regarding Baba Yaga's hut. She takes a quill and some ink and begins scribbling down notes...

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (18) + 8 = 26
Shanya looks up at Ringeirr as he moves to the corner of the room, catching his despondent expression. Judging from what she, Kalt and Avora were conversing about earlier, it wasn't difficult for her to understand what's bothering him.

She leaves her notes, the ink still fresh, for the rest of the party to peruse.

"My apologies, Ringeirr. I didn't mean for you to be uncomfortable... if I had known it was a sore subject for you, I'd have put an end to it earlier." Shanya says in a rare moment of tenderness.

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (20) + 3 = 23

Like Shanya, Kalt quickly picks up on Ringeirr's distress. He's as unused to tenderness as the woman he found frozen in ice not long ago, but he's struck by how gently she addresses the older man. "Indeed," Kalt says to Ringeirr, "Shanya is right. We have all suffered loss, and it appears yours pains you greatly. My apologies if we have brought up difficult memories."

Turning to Shanya, he says, "You've been scribbling away there for some time, have you learned anything that will help us?"

Great notes, Shanya, very funny!

Run, Sven, run! Avora won't slap you for that...unless you catch Greta, of course.

Shanya waves a hand in the direction of the writing desk where she left her notes. "Go ahead and have a look." She says to Kalt.

Thanks. It's obvious Shanya doesn't think very highly of a chicken's egg being the metaphorical 'keys to the car'. XD

Ankih sits quietly in the corner, scribbling in his spellbook, chewing on his quill and reading from Mortin's spellbook. Occasionally he gets up and makes inquiries to Mortin, asking questions of definition and clarity about his spells, then sits and scribbles some more.
Oblivious to the conversations around him he works for many hours, wearing down a few candles as he does so. Finally he raises his head and looks around.....
" Umm. Shouldn't Sven be back by now?"
he looks around curiously,
" Oh how interesting, you took notes from those books Shanya?"

Shanya waves a hand in the direction of the writing desk where she left her notes. "Go ahead and have a look." She says to Kalt.

Thanks. It's obvious Shanya doesn't think very highly of a chicken's egg being the metaphorical 'keys to the car'. XD

What if making an omelet is how you're supposed to use the egg?

Shanya nods at Ankih. "Indeed. All together, they're what I've been able to learn about Baba Yaga's Hut."

Then I'd worry how on Earth you'd go about replacing it.

The what happens when you destroy the egg is actually rather hilarious. I do recommend it when you have an idle moment.

In the streets of the Howlings.

Those who carelessly spout wisdom often say "To understand someone, walk a mile in their shoes." And this night Sven has donned shoes like no other. The bulging of muscles, the keen senses that cut through dark and smell every hidden scent of the world - truly, it is like nothing Sven has ever felt before. The cold - the cold is nothing now. Only a gentle, comfortable coolness that somehow soothes his muscles.

He picks up speed as he chases Greta, long strides that take him with inhuman speed throughout the night. The joy of the form could almost a great a prize as any hint of love-making.

Greta his some 50 feet in front of Sven, and turns right to quickly round a corner. Then, Sven hears a yelp followed a few seconds later by some distinctly throaty voices. He rounds the corner and sees that Greta seems to have barreled headfirst into trouble.

Two white haired, barrel chested humans - or rather, judging from their smell, man shaped worgs, are holding Greta in a pin. She struggles and but is being overpowered by the pair of them. They both reek of alcohol and bile, and move with exaggerated movements of their arms.

In the cabin

Ringeirr shakes his head at the apologies of Shanya and Kalt.

"No need to apologize. I lost my family to witches years ago; when others speak of love and love lost, it is like the taste of ashes in my mouth. But the joys and sorrows of the young need not pause for the sorrows of an old man."

"Besides, this is how I take my vengeance: smuggling families, Heralds and folks like you into and out of Whitethrone. It gives me comfort to know I can save others, and maybe even hurt the witches in some small way. Please, don't stop your discussion of Sven on my account. He sounds like rather a handful."

Alive in a way he's never been before, Sven exults in his animal form. So much strength. Senses so sharp. The tales his father has shared with him of the mighty skin-changers suddenly come to mind.

Hearing Greta's yelp and spotting her attackers, a rage wells up inside the big man/wolf's heart. He lopes forward gathering momentum at an incredible rate.

Barreling into the alley, Wolf-Sven charges into the melee.

"Hvis du ønsker å spille, må du gå gjennom meg først. Kanskje etter at jeg har brutt deg, vil jeg la henne få det som er igjen."