You are all members of the glorious Pathfinder Society, maybe even glorious members yourselves?
Having each, separately, received a beautiful invitation for a trip North, from wherever you were, you traveled to the Lands of the Linnorm Kings.
You were so very excited: a boat cruise to discover the fjords, with tall fair-haired Ulfen men and women to serve you, and maybe have nude moments in the bubbling hot springs under the midnight sun!
A great vacation!
But, your hopes are dashed to the ground, like a fine icicle come springtime.
For, upon arriving in the biggest city, Karlsgard, you are not sent off to the coast in a bundle of fine furs.
Instead, you are told to go the northern district of the city, across the Rimeflow River, to Iceferry.
Where you must--
--report to the local Venture-captain of all things?
This vacation does not seem like one at all.
So, maybe you are not in the best of spirits as you move slowly down the iced-over streets, careful not to slip, as scores of Gnomes move around town.
There it is, the lodge.
This is where you are to meet by Venture-captain Bjersig Torrsen.
And the door is opened by--
--a pale-blue skinned Goblin, with eyes as clear as ice water.
"Whaddya you be wanting?"
But he waves you inside, where it warm at least.
Sylvia quickly heads up, happy to be out of the cold. There Sylvia lets her long straight black hair down and adjusts her glasses.
"Hot coffee please?" she asks nervously, clearly afraid of getting something cold on accident.
After staring at Sylvia for a looooooooooooooooooong time... the Goblin rushes away.
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The door is thrown open a short time later as a short, noteably-less-blue-skinned goblin wades into the room, an impressive snow-flecked emerald scarf trailing behind them. It is immediately apparent that the scarf does not match the rest of their attire, as their armor and armaments appear to be made exclusively from scraps and trash. His teeth chatter loudly as he actively sits as far away from the fireplace as possible, crossing his arms as he waits impatiently.
Thank Gorum I here to fight. Vacation sound boring anyway.
The pale blue skinned Goblin pops its nose around the corner, and sniffs the air.
Having all arrived in Iceferry, to meet with Venture-captain Bjersig Torrsen, you have come off the cold street into the entrance-hall of a nice wooden home, built in the Ulfen style.
It is an urban variation of a long-hall, made of big sculpted beams.
You see the others you might have traveled with, and imagine they too could be Pathfinders answering their summons.
You also see a very pale-skinned Goblin interacting sniffing around the corner.
Suddenly, you hear: "SHOO!"
And the pale Goblin runs away.
A lady Gnome with a big head of ruby red hair comes strutting in.
"Hello hello! I am--"
Seeing Klatzu she calls out again: "I said: SHOO, I-- oh, sorry, I thought you were one of them.
Apologies!
So, I was saying: hello, I am Lirall!"
She taps the wayfinder dangling prominently around her neck, on a colorful bead chain.
"And I am a Pathfinder.
Like you all, I imagine?"
She makes sure you all enter the hall, and can warm up in front of the fire.
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The solid dwarf with a bastard sword emerging from behind his back and a beard as all dwarfs have or should have in any case is looking at the arriving gnome with circumspection.
Yes, I am a Pathfinder too. I was told to come here and present myself to the Venture-captain Bjersig Torrsen. I doubt you're the one.
His elocution is not the one which could be expected from a man of his stature at first sight. Perhaps the clothes don't make the monk in that case. Or maybe he can bring more than his strength.
"A wise Master Dwarf you are... or are you? Maybe I am Ms. Torrsen, and my nickname is Lirall.
I do have a wayfinder, which a Venture-captain would have.
But, no, I am simply here to assist our captain.
So, in the end, you might be wise still, Master Dwarf."
"Good day, Fin-thir, and welcome Pathinder.
The Venture-captain will greet and meet you in his study."
Looking back to Dran'Thil: "Well met Dran'Thil, of Dran'Thor family and clan Torgin."
She bows to you.
"I will wait till all have arrived before warning the Venture-captain of your presence. Too not have him stop his work."
She gives you a sly smile: "But, maybe you could call for him?"
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A humanoid figure walk in, shivering. You can tell he's a half-orc but his face is covered by a very realistic mask of a frog or a toad. A snake-like vine also wraps around his arm.
"Does anyone have something to warm us up? A hot glass of tea or something?"
He'll also stay far from the fire.
"We're here to meet with the Venture Captain as well."
"Welcome...
And we are?"
The Gnome smiles, and shakes the "hand".
"Welcome Frogger and Viney".
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A tall elf with a well-proportionate built looks around the scene. His fair face as white as the snow observes the group without expressing anything. The symbol of Iomedae is on the base of his cold iron longsword.
"Copitidel, Champion of Iomadae at your service."he says after noding.
"I must warn you that after this mission, I will not return with you to Absalom"
Lirall looks at the Elf: "Is he intending to remain here, at this lodge?"
"Greetings, Coptidel, and welcome!
Are you from the North, if I may ask?"
Lirall smiles... then frowns.
"I was going to say it is nice to visit family, but I hope they do not make you leave!
You can always come back here, I am sure."
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With a few efforts, you think that Coptidel was once part of those twilight speakers and now "corrupted" by Iomedae and the knights of Lastwall.
"Thanks for your concerns. I was indescive if I should go, but I have taken a vow to warn them of signs of potential future cataclysms that could threaten them and the release of the Whispering Tyrant enters this category.", he says whithout expression on his face.
Lirall looks around, and shudders, when she hears the name of the Tyrant pronounced.
But, as no one continues talking about such dark matters, Lirall just shrugs and turns to the wall beside the far end of the fire place, where you now notice several colored cords dangling.
She selects one of the cords, and you see it has a label, on which is written: “Office”.
"It is time to--"
--WAAUUUUUUH!
A loud howl--
--and three blue-skinned goblins dash out of a corridor, bounce around the lot of you, and disappear behinds your backs, peaking through your legs.
Lirall grumbles: "Not AGAIN!"
Before you can react--
--a large husky bursts into the entrance hall, and growls at the Goblins.
Followed, a moment later, by a tall half-orc who--
--lays a calming hand on the head of the she-dog.
The half-orc gestures for all of you to follow him, seemingly ignoring the Goblins.
Lirall sighs-- and lets go of the rope she was going to pull.
She moves off after the man and his dog.
Hey! What was that?! Did the Gnome just--
She just gave that Goblin a light kick in the hinder!
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Just from sound alone, Frogger could tell the howl was from a dog. Not only that, he could tell the species, the age (give or take a few months), the size, and the mood of the hound. When the hound walks in with the half-orc, Frogger's deductions are confirmed.
As he watched the gnome leave, Frogger barely notices a kick.
You follow the Half-Orc down the corridor and into his office.
There, he looks at each one of you in the eyes, and greets you, motioning to seats, offering you all a place by the fire… as he removes his thick gloves.
As the man sits down, Lirall sits beside him, as the dog turns happily through the group before settling in front of the hearth, ears still perked and tail wagging across the rug.
You look the Venture-Captain over.
He is a self-assured Half-Orc, dressed in a thick wool tunic, hide pants and furred boots.
You all find your seats around the fire…
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Sylvia politely follows and sits down near the fire and rubs are hands together to warm them.
The Half-Orc smiles, opening his arms, and says, very loudly: ”I am Venture-Captain Bjersig Torrsen.”
But then he starts moving his hands, and his face becomes very expressive.
You are mostly surprised, when, as he continues, he speaks only occasionally, but primarily signs.
He is using some sign language.
He punctuating some words with a particular expression in his face and emphasis with his hands.
Lirall, the Gnome, steps in to interpret the signs for you, explaining one with a word here and there.
You catch the dog’s name: Mahki.
But, amazingly, you rapidly understand most of what Bjersig is “saying”!
You understand that he has worked exhaustively to develop a variant of Pathfinder sign language that communicates more information than the basic commands of the existing system and has incorporated a number of new signs, as well as a distinct grammatical structure and syntax borrowed from a lingua franca spoken between - Lirall explains - some early Varki and Ulfen traders, creating a sort of pidgin.
Lirall explains that ”Bjersig prefers this method of communication and has helped some of his neighbors learn the particulars of it, but I remain on hand for those unfamiliar with it."
As you sit around the fire, you “listen” to - or watch - Venture-Captain Bjersig Torrsen as he sits upright in his chair, waiting until he is certain he has the attention of everyone in attendance.
“Thank you all for coming”, he signs, his words interpreted as necessary through Lirall, the fiery red haired Gnome sitting beside him. “I expect your travel to Iceferry was safe, if a bit cold. I am very excited to have you all here for the upcoming event. I expect that you will find it an excellent test of your capabilities, and not one many Pathfinders will be able to boast of.”
Bjersig draws a small bundle of scrolls and a journal from his bag and lays them on the table, allowing the contents to unfurl and spread across the tabletop.
“This handful of documents is all the information the Society has collected on the Balgirdtrek up to this point.
I doubt it’s something you’ve heard of unless you’re from the area.
It is an overland race some 200 miles long, from Frostgarten in Icemark to Kalsgard, just over the river.
It is performed each year, honoring the deeds of Balgird Bluetongue when he slew a tarn linnorm centuries ago, but this year’s race promises to be quite unique.
As you may know, the Varki have been the source of quite the commotion among the Ulfen lately, largely in positive ways.
Their ranger, Nankou, slew a linnorm some time ago and has been officially recognized as a linnorm king.
A new linnorm king is always newsworthy, but a Varki linnorm king is unprecedented.
In recognition of Nankou and his diplomatic efforts between the Ulfen and Varki peoples, the officials have decided that the Balgirdtrek will be held in reverse this year.
The Varki have always bristled a bit at some of the ideas inherent in the Balgirdtrek.
Ulfen have often discussed it as a race from the ‘savage wilderness’ back into the arms of civilization, not something that has promoted constructive relationships between the two.
It’s good that the officials seem to have broadened their horizons.”
He goes on “talking”. Not many words, but such a talker!
“What’s more, there are two new teams joining the race this year.
First, Nankou has hand-picked a group of Varki to compete.
This is the first time Varki have competed in the race and from what I’ve heard, the Ulfen participants are excited to see what they bring to the competition.
If you haven’t guessed by now, you all are the second new team.
I’ve managed to secure your entry with the approval of the race officials. You can thank me later.”
Bjersig smiles broadly.
He stands and places a sealed envelope and a small purse on the table.
“There you’ll find your entry letter accompanied by my letter of introduction for you.
The purse contains a few coins to help you purchase some gear.
Once the race is over, you’ll also be compensated by the Society for your efforts.
Expect a hefty bonus if you actually manage to win!
There is a sleigh carrying the other teams to the starting area.
It will stop here in Iceferry to pick you up in an hour, don’t be late.
To be allowed to compete is a great honor, so please remember that you represent the best qualities of the Pathfinder Society at all times.
Take notes, learn whatever you can from the other teams.
The Balgirdtrek is supposed to be a friendly competition after all.
If you have any questions, make them quick, otherwise good luck to you all. I don’t expect you to win, but I hope you’ll at least make a good show of it.”
Sylvia watches Bjersig carefully even while his assistant translates.
"Can you tell us more about the local weather? Should we expect it to get even colder?" Sylvia asks worriedly, nearly shivering just thinking about it.
With rapid motions of the hand, he indicates that "of course, yes, it will get colder. It will get very cold.
Actually, the weather will be the greatest foe you should face along the way
In winter, temperatures can change quickly, and storms are not infrequent occurrences."
Lirall answers Coptidel: "The Varki are a human ethnicity related to the Erutaki, who live - the Varki, not the Erutaki - along the mountains of northern Avistan. The, Varki, these relatives of the Erutaki, as I just said, originatied in the mountains of northern Avistan, and--"
--The Venture-Captain interrupts here.
"They are nomadic hunters and herders, and often looked down upon by the Ulfen as less civilized."
Lirall lets out a: |If civilization is warfare and raiding they sure are not civilized!"
Bjersig smiles at her, and pursues: "The race is important in these lands. It will make our Society known to all and seen as valorous if we compete. It can help in all our dealings locally.
The winner gains the honor of having competed and bested their opponents, a place at the head of the post-trek feast table, and a token from the officials.
The token is particularly special.
Most winners redeem their token with their king in place of land taxes for the year, but it entitles the winner to a number of things such as preferential rooms at inns across the Saga Lands and preferential treatment at Ulfen trading posts. It would be a nice thing for a Pathfinder agent to have, but our real goal here is to observe and document the Balgirdtrek.”
He sighs.
"Anyhow, you must not remain too long, so as to not miss the sleighs coming to transport you to the gathering area for the race.
Once there you can find out about all the other teams.
Let me just say that the Balgirdtrek is competitive, but this is a race, not a blood sport.
It isn’t unusual for some of the teams to rib one another and there is some history of minor brawls between rivals, but that is not activity befitting the Society’s first team and I expect you to remain above such behavior!
Evidently there are some that objected to our entrance into the race this year, though I’m not sure if there is any reason for it beyond misplaced pride.”
Turning to the elf: "Yes, winning would be a bonus!
The only advice I can offer from what I know is that the officials are open to creative solutions so long as they do not put anyone in undue danger.
The trials vary from year to year, but there are some favorites that return frequently.
You’ll have to cross the Whitegold River about halfway through the race.
That task in and of itself has long been used as one of the trials.
In general, the trials will test your strength, wits or will in some way related to the journey of Balgird."
Glancing at Frogger, the Venture-Captain points to some furs: "Take warm clothing!
The weather will be the greatest foe you should face along the way.
In winter, temperatures can change quickly, and storms are not infrequent occurrences.
Aside from that, the trail should be clear of any dangerous wildlife.
Be wary nonetheless. With the trail cut to accommodate the new route, there may be a few more animals on the trek than usual.”
He glances around: "And don't miss your appointment across town!"
Then Venture Captains nods his approval of Dran'Thil's deciveness.
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The near-frozen Goblin is somewhat slow to react due to the numbness in his face, but his excitement quickly becomes apparent as his urge to grin thaws the corners of his mouth first. After the address is wrapped up and he himself mostly thawed, he'll loudly proclaim, "This real vacation! Finally, Klatzu find divine conflict worthy his stature!" The conversation seems to have sparked something in Klatzu as he scans the room, obviously looking for something, before locking his eyes on the nearest refuse receptacle and hurrying over to it. After a few moments of hurried searching, he aggressively kicks the bin with a quick exclamation; "DRATS! No metal here. Klatzu need materials! How Klatzu make anything like this!"
The Venture Captain rubs his face, maybe he is tired, and then also shows his approval of Dran'Thil's decisiveness...
Meanwhile, Lirall, reading Klatzu's thoughts, smiles: "My cousin sells nice fur clothes and other adventuring gear. I am sure that he would be very courteous and see to your needs. Though it would cost a bit more than usual at this time of--"
The Venture-Captain frowns, and waves his hand: Stop that!
No, you shall be given good equipment and materials at the race site."
As you all think things over--
--except for Dran'Thil who is starting to feel the cold as he waits outside--
--you may try to remember things
Sylvia does her best to warm her hands up and get her gloves back on before standing and getting ready to head out.
Coptidel feels that he will not have time to go gather information before the departure to the meeting point, these Ulfen take time to open up.
Klatzu, however has been hearing a bit about the race.
He will explain that "one of the teams that ran last year are called Without Trace or Fail. I think its a group of three Ulfen rangers and their cleric companion. Like all from the same family. They come from a long line of Ulfen sharpshooters. And the cleric goes around boasting about having a large number of his family “blessed” with lycanthropy.
I remember they trained relentlessly, adopting a strict diet of mostly foraged hard grasses and berries, dried fish, and a lightly fermented mead.
And it must be a good diet, be"
While warming her hands, Sylvia speaks up: "I myself have heard of the team named the Bluetongue’s Brawlers. They are four burly Ulfen. They just move along with sheer brute force. They are not simpletons, simply, they love to see if their physiques can handle the punishment of the course."
Dubious Knowl.