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Near the northern pole of the continent of Avistan, in the small village of Aaminiut ('aah-mini-oot'), Erutaki tribal members live side-by side with Ulfen traders. The peaceful cooperation of these peoples has made the town a safe haven for many seeking shelter and trade before entering or exiting the deadly ice fields and glaciers of the Crown of the World. You have all either recently arrived at, or spent a small time in Aaminiut, and you have heard that the peace has recently been threatened.
One mid-morning, a small circle of intrigued citizens gather in the village square, surrounding two figures you know to be respected spokespeople for their tribes - Bjorn the Blade and Elder Seshu. Bjorn speaks in a low voice to the white-haired Erutaki as he finishes hammering a piece of hide into the community board. The two step back to allow the gathered village folk a gander at the notice, printed in Common, Ulfen, and Erutaki.
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A large 6'7" tall, 320 lb, Varisian with bushy brown hair under a floppy hat with a medium cropped beard heads toward the Notice Board while carrying a Scythe, smiling at people, nodding his head and waving as he passes with an occasional, "Howdy. How ya doin'." As he passes, a small, young Grizzly Bear follows in his wake not paying much attention to the crowd but sniffs the air occasionally. "Looks like yer folks mighta need sum help."
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"Oh! Look at yew! So earlay! I'd be just getting home now - been away for a bit - good to be back among the lands I know, and my pe-ople! I am Fjorn (of the Kolkind Clan). So nice to meet yew!" Contrasting the taller, broader, and browner-haired northerner with his shorter, slighter, and blonder-haired build, it looks as though it's only the shape and wear of their beards, and a general regional origin, that marks these two men as similar. It's not that Fjorn is "short" and "skinny" per se - it's just that, though he really comes close to a global "average" for human height and weight, among many of the men known to survive harsher winters out here, he is, in fact, somewhat of a "runt" - and most certainly so compared to the towering stature of this Varisian "Wild" Woodsman!
"Say - doncha think it's a purr-fect day for catching a Wuurm?" The goodly conversation flows out from the early-middle-aged Ulfen "Ég vona að veðrið haldist!" assuming this first companion is fluent in the tongue.
Fjorn fetches a bottle and shakes it with his left hand vigorously, thumb over cork, as the inky "cloud" tumbles around inside of a bubbly brown fluid as it hits the roof and floor of the bottle, stirring the ingredients inside. He takes a hearty swig, and offers some to his new friend "Til slökunar á maga!" making sure to achieve a healthy amount of eye contact and an honest smile like a sun dawning on morning frost.
"I wonder whoo else we'll meet today!"
"I wonder if the weather will hold" and "For stomach ease"
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A female halfling comes, attracted by the crowd, thinking what’s happening there. She’s trying to get a look but has trouble with all the tall people in front, and tries to avoid spilling her hot beverage. She’s got red hair, and striking blue eyes. Her clothing is mainly brown and green with a touch of blue, looking functional rather than fancy.
When seeing the bear, she starts looking around to see who is accompanying him.
A little red squirrel climbs along the halfling’s clothing and stop when on top of her head. He’s trying to get a better look from that point, but people are in the way so he says in common “Hey! We can’t see anything, what’s happening?”
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A small lizard-like creature, with scales of polished brass, stands next the halfling. While his feet are uncovered, the rest of his body is clad in fine clothing, obviously fit for a kobold. Just under the clothing, a suit of leather armor is visible.
The Kobold appears to be armed with a rapier on one hip and a small crossbow on the other.
To the fox he says, "They think maybe wyrm eating fish and breaking stuff. Emoubu has doubts, unless really stupid wyrm. Offer big reward for defeating whatever break their stuff."
The Kobold shrugs. "Emoubu going to try to help. If it is dragon in trouble, Emoubu show dragon better way to get food. If is evil dragon, Emoubu will prove that Emoubu is greater and send it away. If it not dragon, Emoubu defeat it and clear good dragon name."
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Standing just behind Emoubu, trying to peer around the hulking barbaric longshanks at the board, is another small draconian humanoid standing to their full bearing, silver scales glittering under the weak Winterland sun. The Kobold is wearing roughspun undyed robe and is carrying a Staff - one end carved to resemble a Dragon's maw - a Draconian Holy Symbol dangles from their neck.
"Yes-yes, bad Dragons need to be shown the error of their ways and false Wyverns need showing who are the true Scaled Powers of the realm!" they speak quickly, their voice full of reverent fervour. "I Vexacion Darkhome - I will use Apsu's powers to keep you from Pharasma's halls yes-yes. And the reward seems suitable to start building my horde"
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Fjorn's left eyebrow raises at the sight of two kobolds joining rank. He looks first at the larger one, then at the smaller one. Then he looks again at "Wild" Darel, and then down at his own stature. And shrugs.
"Greetings Emoubu and Vexacion. I am Fjorn and this is (I didn't catch your name friend!?). And oh!" He suddenly notices the halfling Fanya "Greetings as well! Everyone is so ear-lay! The best way to get a start on your day, no?"
With intentional eye contact, he offers the strange bottle to anyone willing to "risk" a drink, hovering just long enough to be nearly awkward "Doncha wor-ray! Just to take the edge off having not had breakfast quite yet!" he offers in the bottle's defense.
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"I am of the mind that thieves should reformed, than threatened." notes a young Varisian man. His clothes and scarf adorned in various bright, vibrant colors cover a series of intricate markings and a colorful birth tattoo. "Still, I also very much appreciate the detail and beauty of the carvings I have seen since my arrival here in the village over the past few days."
"My name is Athelsted Everwell." he says, bowing in way of greeting. "If my prayers and hands can help alleviate some suffering that has befallen those who dwell here, then I am more than pleased to offer them."
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The broad Ulfen form of Bjorn the Blade sidles up to the group, eyeing the kobolds and Fanya as he gestures with his thin, carved bone pipe.
"Whitefang Bay! A frozen trek across the ice. Not for the faint of heart - it'll take the better part of the day, and you don't want to be stuck out there at night. Fortunate for you that Bjorn the Blade," here, he taps his chest with the tip of his pipe, "has sleighs and dog teams for rent. Reasonable prices, and only the fleetest of fur-bags! What's your name, ma'am?" he asks Fanya.
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Vexacion beams at Emoubu and straigthens, trying to look knowledgeable and powerful. "Yes-Yes, Apsu has chosen this one for greatness - this one will make sure you don't fall in the fight ahead!"As bjorn sidles over they eye the Ulfen suspiciously, waiting to see how they treat them and their scaled brethren, making sure the Ulfen wasn't going to try and take out some prejudices upon them.
"Hmm - anyone given money for such from the Captains?" they ask the group whilst the Blade converses with Fanya.
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To Althelsted "Greetings! If you are referring to the Wurm - well I'll have to respectfelly disagree. But if you're referring to people, by contrary, I am in total agreement with yew! Sometimes all it takes is a second chance!" Fjorn reciprocates the bow with a graceful dip of his own stature.
To Bjorn "Oh wUnderful! I just love sledding through countryside! You never know what your going to see!" He turns to his party, and takes note of the kobolds' slight discomfort, then weaves in a "We Ulfen are a Direct people, and we face Conflict head on, and for the largest part, are very accustomed to living and working with all manner of different people, and shun Prejudice. Rest assured Everyone is welcome here!" then he whirls on the captain "Isn't that right, Venture Captain?" seeking Bjorn's affirmation of his declaration of welcomeness.
With that, he draws a second and third bottle from his bandolier - both half-full! - and mixing them together, there is a SnapCracklePop sound, as the combined fluids bubble up and over, spilling in chemical reaction over and onto the ground, leaving a remaining fluid about 75% full to the top. He winks at Vexacion, then downs the entire draught. This causes his pupils to dilate, and a slight stupefaction of smile crease over his face, and he says "Let's see what I can remember about Wurms!"...
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Bjorn looks around as Fjorn addresses him as 'Venture-Captain'. He then laughs uproariously.
"You should try to drink less during the day, friend! It seems to have clouded your mind. I'm no military officer, nor do I speak for all. I happen to have the ear of some of the locals, that's it. It's true that we try not to kill each other - the lands around us do that well enough!"
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Fjorn recalls that knowledge of dragons would be something that a scholar of the Arcane would know, and he does not have this expertise.
Bjorn shakes his head and chuckles. "We call it the Whitefang Wyrm, but Erastil save us all if it's a real dragon."
The white-haired Erutaki elder comes over and knuckles his forehead to the group. His lips twist to the side briefly as he notices the two kobolds amongst the group. He then speaks to Bjorn in a flat voice with a tinge of teasing, his eyes still on the group.
"Have you successfully sold these good people your whale oil yet, Gray-Hair?"
The Ulfen scoffs. "This is my friend and business partner," he glowers with emphasis at the flat-eyed Erutaki, "Elder Seshu." He turns back to the party.
"Ask him. One of his nephews saw the thing." Seshu gazes impassively at you all.
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Elder Seshu turns his head to regard the ranger.
"I have not seen this White Fang. I only have witnessed the destruction it has wrought. My nephew, Kliieko - he has seen it. He has a very fine eye, that young man."
Seshu continues. "He recalls seeing a silvery-white creature with a thin dorsal fin running the length of its body. He judges it to be not much larger than a fat seal at the start of winter."
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Listening to the bickering locals they listen intently to the description of the beast given to them, panicking slightly when they mention silver scales but relaxing when they describe the fin. "Any ideas where the beast has been seen last? Or any hunting grounds it might have?" they enquire after a moment, unfortunately not having studied much on Dragons, but having read several books.
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Bjorn the Blade cocks an eyebrow at Vexacion's question and points at the notice pinned on the notice board. He then gives an expression of epiphany.
"Oh! I see. Your kind doesn't read," he says, moving helpfully - and with no sarcasm - over to the notice board. "Ya see, we pinned a notice to this board for people to read, but I'm happy to read it for those of you who don't read."
He then proceeds to read the notice aloud.
"Hunters needed! Over the past weeks, a creature some of us have come to know as the “Whitefang Wyrm” has been spotted lurking near our settlement, stealing fish from our nets and baskets and leaving nothing but wreckage in its wake. We believe the creature’s lair is somewhere on or across the ice floes of Whitefang Bay. He says this bit with emphasis, nodding at Vexacion. He then turns back to continue.
"As this creature poses a threat to the survival of all of Aaminiut’s residents, we have prepared a sack of ivory and oosik carvings from the Erutaki and silver bracelets and armbands from the Ulfen, payable to whoever ends the creature’s attacks on our food supply. Proof of the creature’s defeat must be presented to claim this bounty. Signed, Elder Seshu and Bjorn the Blade. That's us," he gestures to himself and the white-haired Erutaki man.
"So, do you want...let's see - two sleds and crews of dogs to head out on the ice, or can I sell you some expertly-made snowshoes?"
Elder Seshu replies to the cleric. "It will be difficult to claim your bounty if you simply catch-and-release - the White Fang may simply return to its current lair after your interference."
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"Par-don me Bjorn? But, if I insist, you don't have to be so Rewd!" Fjorn rebukes with full "kill'em with kindness" tone "Now how would yew like it if someone insisted that yew were incapable of reading just because you had a beard!" trying to equate "beard" with "scales" to illustrate his point, he circles to a close with "Yew might consider having a kindlier tone with all these fine folk here, especially as a representative of Our People!"
In making his point, Fjorn stumbles a bit here, made clumsy by the mutagen he recently imbibed!
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"Not being rude at all, Master Fjorn," the bearded Bjorn the Blade says, hands outstretched diplomatically. "'Tis just that the scaled one didn't see what was written right on the notice that I just posted about where the Whitefang Wyrm had been seen. No offence meant," he says with a genuinely-apologetic tone.
"Now, is that two sled rentals complete with two dog trains and six purchases of winter wear for the lot?" he asks with an abrupt change in his voice from conciliatory to capitalistic.
"That will be 10 pieces of silver for the two rentals, and I'll do you a further 20 pieces of silver for six sets of my finest woollens and tundra shoes!"
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"Well, I suppose that's settled" Fjorn says out loud, perhaps giving unnecessary verbalization to his inner monologue "We'll bring yew the creature's head!" as that'd suffice as proof.
Noticing the change of tone, Fjorn shifts from reconciliatory to bargaining, looking around the party "I don't suppose we could fit three of us to a sled? That'd cut the cost down somewhat, ya?" it is a little unclear who the intended audience of this "question" is - his party mates, or Bjorn the Blade , or both? In any case, to those attenuated to nuance, it also seems to double as a commentary on what Fjorn feels are extortionary (!) rates for a day's sledding.
By this time, he seems to be "coming down" off the mutagen , as his inner ear reclaims it's grasp upon the three dimensional environment...
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The party follow Bjorn the Blade to his shop and kennel. They soon find themselves kitted out in new winter wear, and riding dog sleds out of town to the southwest. The day is clear, crisp, and bright, and the winter-bred canines are fleet of foot, with the wind whistling past you all in a most-enjoyable way.
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Athelsted pays for his share of the sled and for the share of any who do not contribute, asking no questions as to why they did not do so.
Seeing the sled, he wipes his brow. "I suppose I could take a hand at handling one of these." he suggests, eagerly trying it out. "Can't be too different than pulling on the right sandbags to move sets around on a stage, I figure."
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One hour into your journey on the dog sleds, you reach a point where your target has created a false trail. What's more, Darel can see that the false trail would lead you directly into a collapsing ice hazard. With the deception unveiled, you are able to safely adjust your travel trajectory to miss this trap and resume your pursuit.
Approximately two-and-a-half hours later, you come upon an icy cavern in the side of a large upthrust of ice in the middle of Whitefang Bay. The northern sun is still high in the sky and rays of light reflect throughout the cavern, making it brightly lit. Immediately within the cavern, you all easily spot a single white and blue serpent with clawed arms, roughly the size of a pony or large dog, standing defiant in the centre of his icy lair. It eyes you all contemptuously as you approach.
As the kobolds come into view, the tatzylwyrm hisses in a sibilant language.
"Лажни змајеви! Ссаларн вас не толерише! Умрети!"