You receive a summons to visit the Pathfinder Lodge in Iceferry, near the town of Kalsgard within the Land of the Linnorm Kings. Venture-Captain Bjersig Torrsen asks for you by name to join on an incredible mission.
A small gnome enters the waiting room. "Hi everyone, the name is Lirall. Venture-Captain is running a bit late, getting the adventure ready. He told me to bring you all some cocoa." As she talks, she hands you one of the many mugs she is carrying. The bitter scent of melted chocolate wafts into your nose. Once that's done, she plops the remainder on the table.
"Oh, and this is Mahki." A black and white furred dog runs to her side. "Do you have a team name yet? I heard there's a big race coming up soon, and you might want to figure that detail out. Otherwise the locals will think up a nickname for you. I don't think you want that."
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A large burly man dressed in furs sits impatiently in the waiting room. Beside him sits a somewhat messy pile of adventuring gear, including a backpack, a massive axe and bunches of missile weapons. He accepts the drink from the gnome, though his movements tell of an individual unused to sitting still for long periods of time.
Although his skin is mostly tanned from being in the outdoors, there is a slight tinge of green, an obvious sign of his orcish heritage. His short temper also belies his orcish nature. From the expression on his face, the wait did little to improve it...
"Urgh. Clarence is what I'm called. How much longer will the Venture-Captain take? I grow tired of waiting for you soft folk to get ready!"
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A crusty old Dwarf shuffles his way into the meeting room kicking snow off his boots and brushing spruce needles off his head and shoulders "Not late am I?" He looks around at the lack of a meal "Nope, too early I guess." He heads over to the cocoa and mugs, taking a deep sniff.
"Cocoa? We at some sorta runt birthday party or what?" Out comes a flask and the cocoa is quickly, and thoroughly enhanced for adult enjoyment. "Now we're cookin' with liquor." A mugful is poured and drained before another word escapes the man's tangled, ratty beard.
"Oh, names Scratch. Scratch Steeltoe." He pours and hands a bolstered mug to Clarence before kneeling down to introduce himself to the husky. "Mahki eh? You a trained gobby biter are ye? How many tiny tots you taught a lesson to so far eh?"
Besides his old dented helmet, Scratch certainly looks like he's been around. A well oiled crossbow is strapped across his back with a pair of sheaths on his belt, one likely for a dagger and the other a short sword. He likes to keep things light, choosing to protect himself with what looks like hand made leathers. "So it just gonna be the two of us? Er they send out more Pathfinders I gotta keep an eye on?"
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A tall, reasonably athletic Ulfen man enters. Dressed in studded leathers, hair a kind of dirty, reddish blond colour, he looks like a coastal raider. He puts his backpack, longsword and shield down to the side of the room. He looks appraisingly at the two Pathfinders already present.
'Joran Redaxe.' He says, nodding to them both. 'You both look like fine outdoorsmen and warriors. I think we'll need that. Are you the fourth member of the team?' he carries on, looking at the Gnome.
He approaches the table and picks up two mugs of chocolate. As he sits, a brightly coloured spider monkey scampers in and climbs to the seat next to him. Joran hands one of the chocolates to it.
'It appears we have arrived at an opportune time.'
'This has a nice kick.' The monkey replies in a voice deeper than you expected.
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Clarence jumps up, startled at the voice.
"What sorcery is this?!" he stares at the monkey, eyes wide with astonishment, as well as a little fear. He backs away from Joran. Like most of his kind, he is naturally distrustful of magic and magical creatures, trusting only his abilities to get things done.
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'Thor is my familiar and assistant as I travel. He helps me to ferret out more secrets as I journey. I hope we are not going to have a problem. I wield some arcane magic and my skills should complement yours.'
Joran speaks softly and confidently but without malice.
'There will be days when he does not speak as I will have focused his energies elsewhere, but please do not be alarmed.'
"Me? No, I'm not with you today." Lirall chuckles and hands the cocoa to Joran. "I'm hanging out with the venture captain."
Mahki walks up to Scratch, sniff his hand, and then accepts all of the pettings he offers. It's a sweet consolation prize in exchange for none of that warm liquid Lirall is offering.
"We're still waiting for the fourth member." She takes her own mug and dumps perhaps a handful of sugar into it. “You're participating in the Balgirdtrek. 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. The Venture-Captain said it would be huge this year. Of course he keeps the particular details to himself.” She shrugs. "It's a lot easier to keep secrets when you speak with your hands."
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"Heh, I've been livin' between the margins fer longer than you and yer daddies been alive... both of ya!" He points to include the newcomer in the statement. Its pretty evident that Scratch has seen centuries go by. Its kind of a wonder he's only level 2 with so much real world experience..
"Good ta meetcha Joran Redaxe, n Thor too." He gives the monkey a thumbs up and tosses it a thick sliver of dried pocket jerky. "Thinkin' first order of business after the brief we aughtta get us some warmer furs. Colder than the north side of an igloo up here."
Scratch hasn't heard much about the race, but it jogs a memory from Clarence. He sat down with some Ulfen hunters on the way to the lodge, and they spoke of one team, named Without Trace or Fail.
While lost in a storm, the team rescued a race official who had also been trapped in the storm and managed to navigate to the next checkpoint despite near total whiteout conditions and plummeting temperatures. Their rescue was quite famous, and they still managed to win.
Joran heard about this team, and their pride in sharpshooting prey at long distances. One of their members is a cleric who worships the moon. He claims his family is blessed with lycanthropy, but he wasn't as lucky.
Joran also remembers Faegrim Axebringer, leader of the Wyrding Wayfinders. She is a champion of Cayden Cailean and has two halfling squires. She had to cross the finish line on skis carrying Thosse under her arm and towing the skald and Rikkun in a sled behind her.
As you all contemplate the team name (and how to spice up this cocoa,) Mahki sits up and barks, his tail swinging back and forth. He runs out of the room before Lirall can stop him. "That must be Venture-Captain Torrsen, Mahki always knows first. Come on." Lirall leads you all to a calming fireplace.
The Half-Orc Venture Captain sits down in a large wooden chair and waits for everyone to sit by. >Venture Captain, Mahki and the surrounding area.<
Venture-Captain Bjersig Torrsen 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 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.”
“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.”
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"I'm sorry, did you say that there is going to be a race?" asks a man, a recent arrival with disheveled hair dressed. "That does sound exciting! I look forward to seeing it!"
The man's adventurer's clothing looks hastily adorned and is shivering the cold. Spotting an unattended mug, he absent-mindedly picks it up and begins to drink.
"Oh, why this is chocolate!" he declares, "what a pleasant surprise."
"Ah, but where are my manners?" he continues, as if suddenly realizing that the are additional Pathfinders in the room. "My name is Gnoeth--Doctor Edfrid Gnoeth, if you wish to be more precise. The Society has sent me, well, all of us really, I suppose."
The man shivers a bit more, then asks, "Is there someplace that oe could purchase winter clothing?"
"Oh yes, I've heard the victory feast will be quite tasty this year. A hunting group finally caught old Oxtusk off guard. They've marinated him in some oil and garlic for the last few days." The Venture Captain laughs. "For participating in the race you will get to eat him. But remember: the winner gets the finest cuts."
"You'll have a chance to purchase more equipment at the race site, I believe. Good luck to you all."
Once you finish pleasantries with the Venture Captain, you step out of the cavern back into the bone chilling cold. Your wait ends as the sleighs pull up beside the lodge.
Two bright, open-topped sleighs wait along the side of the street, adorned with ribbons and cedar boughs. The driver of the second sleigh hops down, waving you over. He instructs you to move to the rear of the cart and assists with boarding. Inside, two groups sit, anxious for the sleighs to get moving. The group closer to you has three humans and a half-orc wearing clothing no Ulfen would ever wear, but is clearly designed for the intense cold of this region.
At the far end of the cart, several Ulfen rangers and a cleric glower, sighing before mumbling to one another.
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Scratch nods in greeting to the Dr A real Doctor or one of them half doctors? Like a doc of feet or history or some such craziness he muses to himself, looking down sadly at his empty mug.
When the VC introduces himself with hand motions and gestures the old Dwarf gets a slightly confused and uncomfortable look on his face "Ahh, things are startin' ta click inta place now then, yer ears don't werk, gotcha." He smiles and gives a big thumbs up to the man, putting a bit more attention now to the translating gnome.
Besides a few chuckles at names and the 'icy' relationships between the Varki and Ulfen, Scratch doesn't have much in the way of questions. His eyes do linger though on the pouch of coins. "Always need more equipment I'd say, especially if we're gonna be trudgin' through the cold, snowy lands up here!" He snatches it up and waves the others along to do some shopping.
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"Sled rides already? Guess the shoppin' will hafta wait a bit." He stuffs the pouch away for safe keeping and climbs his old bones up to find a spot. "Steeltoe comin' through." He quips, dropping down on a bench near the human/orc team.
"How they hangin' today ladies n gents?" He chuckles then pulls out some trail snacks to share for the ride. "Jerky? Made it myself, don't remember which is which, all sorts mixed up there in the bag, help yerselfs." The bag's contents are pretty meager, a few spare nuts that look old and shriveled along with some jerky that obviously didn't get properly cured and has started to mold.
"Not hungry? Suit yerselfs. Name's Scratch, Scratch Steeltoe." He offers up a dirty, age spotted hand in greeting.
Forager: General Skill; Source Core Rulebook pg. 261 2.0; Prerequisites trained in Survival
While using Survival to Subsist, if you roll any result worse than a success, you get a success. On a success, you can provide subsistence living for yourself and four additional creatures, and on a critical success, you can take care of twice as many creatures as on a success. Each time your proficiency rank in Survival increases, double the number of additional creatures you can take care of on a success (to eight if you’re an expert, 16 if you’re a master, or 32 if you’re legendary). You can choose to care for half the number of additional creatures and provide a comfortable living instead of subsistence living. Multiple smaller creatures or creatures with significantly smaller appetites than a human are counted as a single creature for this feat, and larger creatures or those with significantly greater appetites each count as multiple creatures. The GM determines how much a non-human creature needs to eat.
One of the members looks into Scratch's food pouch. "Ah, those berries look spoiled. Or they can spice up your drink. Depends on how you look at it. Olin?"
The half-orc reaches for his pouch and pulls out a handful of fresh berries. "Yeah, the sweetest of these berries are at the tops of the trees- then they fall off and spoil pretty quickly. Gotta be fast about it."
After trading food, they trade handshakes with Scratch.
"I'm Runa, leader of the Fangs of the Rhemoraz."
"Olin Tuskrender."
"I'm Ylva and this is my brother, Marbin. I'm older by 3 minutes but wiser than 3 years!"
Marbin and Ylva laugh at their long running in-joke.
Runa speaks up. "It's good to see the other new team. King Nankou said we should try and compete to break the ice between the Ulfen. But I think we should also say hello to the Pathfinders. We've heard good things about you." They adjust their cloak to reinforce their shield against the bitter cold.
"What brings you out here, Scratch Steeltoe?"
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"How about "The Tenacious Trailblazers"?"
"Eh, yer prolly right, they do look fuzzier than they were when I picked 'em." He gives one a sniff then drops it back in just in case he gets desperate later.
"Pathfinder life brings me up this way fer sure. I grew up just south of 'That Lake' that got blown up by that undead a@!%+~*!" He shakes a fist towards the southeast. "Since everythin' went to shit I've been wanderin' and livin' whereever. Doin' work for the Society suits me just fine.. most the time anyhow."
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Joran will move down to his fellow Ulfen as Scratch is getting on well with the Varki.
He offers a traditional greeting in Skald and assuming they look like they speak it, Joran will continue with it.
The monkey sits with his pack and eats nuts.
Joran finds the Ulfen team understands Skald.
"Ah, so you have sided with the the tourists?" One of the Ulfen men grumbles. "We are Team Without Fail or Trace. That's my father Ostog, my sister Signe and my cousin Gruen. Don't worry, our names will be repeated in the winner's circle." Ostog nods, confident in his future.
"We've been here for years, training for each year's Balgridtrek. A simple diet of grasses, berries, dried fish and mead have kept our minds sharp and our trigger fingers ready. My throwing axe has felled many caribou, running at full speed through a snowstorm. This year's race will be child's play."
"For an outsider like them, or the Varki..." The team frowns at that word, pausing long enough to submerge the thought. "Think this is a joke, a tourist attraction. But for us Ulfen it means everything."
The younger man leans back, talking to Joran. Clearly proud but also full of contempt. Joran can already tell this team is quite Unfriendly towards the Pathfinders.
Runa lets Scratch's words fall and explains his reasons. "I see... you are fortunate to escape. King Nankou heard tales of Lastwall. They were terrifying. I only hope we can fight with such bravery in such a terrible situation."
Olin speaks up. "Hopefully this competition will be a lot nicer. Good luck, Pathfinders."
Scratch realizes the Fangs of the Rhemoraz are quite Friendly.
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Joran gives a nod and moves back to his own team.
to Make an Impression
"But maybe you'll be able to change our mind. I'll be watching you all, carefully..."
Joran realizes the Without Trace or Fail team has turned Indifferent towards the Pathfinders.
The sleigh comes to a stop and the driver motions for you to leave.
Before you have a chance to react, the Ulfen group at the end of the sled stand up and move right past you. The driver helps them out of the sled. "Last year they were last year's winners, and they've been training to secure the victory again. They never give up and they are Without Trace or Fail! Give them a round of applause!" The crowd livens up and you already hear sidebets forming over how many officials they will rescue this year.
"Let's give a warm Balgridtrek welcome to our racers from the Varki, hand selected by the newest Linnorm king! Say hello to the Fangs of the Remorhaz!" Three humans and a half-orc awkwardly climb out of the sled, blinded by the large crowd. The crowd falls back to polite applause and backs off, some wearing disgust.
The driver turns to you and urges you forward. "And now, newcomers from around the world. The Pathfinder Society explores, cooperates and reports. But no fancy books are going to save them this time. They've got to hoof it to win it. May I introduce... the... err..." The driver's voice comes to a whisper. "What's your team name again? Freezing Fools?"
"The Tenacious Trailblazers!" The driver shouts. Some of the Ulfen stop clapping and glare. Some laugh. There are enough who politely clap. The driver escorts you to the stage.
The other sleigh arrives and the other driver steps out.
”The two pairs of lovebirds are at it again! Meet Two Houses!” The bystanders cheer as two pairs of Ulfen hold hands and help each other out of the sled before giving each other a high five and getting into position.
"Next up is Bluetongue's Brawlers. Hopefully they won't freeze this year. With the new groups, maybe they won't be last!" Four burly Ulfen climb out of the other sled, laughing just as hard as the crowd.
Faegrim stands up. "Good luck to you all." The halflings follow her and the scribe begins scribbling. "Now give a round of applause for last year's winners! You know their leader, Faegrim Axebinder! Give a warm welcome to the Wyrding Wayfinders!" The crowd erupts with praise as Faegrim stands tall and quietly looks among the crowd, her squires dashing ahead to clear her path of obstructions.
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"We will be the new champions of this race! The rest of you might as well give up now!"
"Be careful with your words. They are likely to get upset with us. You are just going to antagonize them," cautions Dr. Gnoeth, a bit concerned now that he realizes that he is a participant in the race.
When an opportunity arises, he will try and approach the Wryding Wayfinders.
"Greetings to you. I am Doctor Edfrid Gnoeth from Absalom. My colleagues and I are Pathfinders and happen to be in this race as, it appears, you are as well. Is this your first time? Given your choice in names, I thought, perhaps, that you may be Pathfinders as well?"
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Scratch makes his way out of the sled and keeps himself out of the limelight, for good or for bad. His hermit tendencies really showing through. That orc block head might be gettin' us lynched.. or at the very least keepin' us from all the good beer at the end of this trip!
He slyly gives the good Dr a thumbs up as he calms down Clarence then looks around for a chance to find some warmer clothes and maybe a tent.
”Greetings, Pathfinders. I’m Dahlia, the host here.” The gray haired woman strides towards you. ”Every team racing in the Balgirdtrek gets a starter pack. Even if they don’t start the race.” She snaps her fingers as an elf runs up and offers you a bag.
You receive a race pack containing three minor healing potions, a single climbing kit, vouchers for lodging in Frostgarten, flint and steel, a signal whistle, and a list of supplies. She eyes each of you as you look through the bag and read the list.
”Here’s a list of equipment you might want to purchase. You should definitely make sure you have some of the winter clothes, tent and a hatchet. You’re going to be out there for 4 days. Every year one team gets buried in a snowstorm, or they wander from the checkpoints at night and need rescue, or they lose their supplies in the branches of a tree they can’t cut down. But I’m certain that won’t happen to newcomers like you, right?”
The list reads:
- winter clothes
- tent
- hatchet
- rations
- healer's kit
- 100 feet of hemp rope
- repair kit
”You have about 3 hours until the race begins. Feel free to buy supplies from the merchants here.” She pauses. ”Do you need a refresher on the rules, or can I deliver supplies to the other teams?”
Clarence declares his victory, earning him a wave of laughter from the crowd. Bluetongue's Brawlers do nod and seem to be sizing him up, and gauge his strength.
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"I see the good doctor has gone to speak to Faegrim Axebringer, leader of the Wyrding Wayfinders. Did you know that she is a champion of Cayden Cailean and the two halflings are her squires? Last time, she had to cross the finish line on skis carrying Thosse under her arm and towing the skald and Rikkun in a sled behind her. Without Trace or Fail, who I was speaking to, are the last winners and don't think particularly highly of her." Joran says to the others. "I think we should use the coin we were given to make sure we all have winter clothes and as a group we have at least two of each of the others. I already possess a repair kit."
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Scratch accepts the room vouchers with a grin A warm bed and a tavern I ain't been evicted from, sweet! He gives them a quick once over before folding them up and tucking them into a wax lined belt pouch.
"Hatchet ya say, not a bad plan there. Short sword can't cut much more than a few small limbs in a pinch." He shoots the shit with the vendors as he gets the tent, hatchet, clothes and some extra rations just in case.
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One of the merchants tells Joran about a former team of lycanthropes that almost won the Balgirdtrek many years ago. They miscalculated the phases of the moon though and had to be rescued after stumbling through the forest in the middle of the night without any torches.
Scratch talks to one of the hatchet merchants, an elderly dwarf with a finely trimmed beard. "Ah, good luck on the 'trek my friend. These young races, they never understand the value of patience. You'd be surprised how many of them walk right past my store, only to get tangled in their own rope halfway through the race. Do you like the hatchet with a long handle? Or the wide blade? Maybe you want a heavy blade so it's easy to throw? Take your time." He leans back in his seat and chomps into a pepper, blowing smoke against the stifling cold.
"From Kalsgard, there's a straightforward path to the first checkpoint, but it's also hazardous." The merchant leans forward and looks at Scratch. "Everyone's in a hurry so they run right into the snow traps and the underbrush. But if you spend maybe an hour going out of your way you'll avoid the worst of it." He moves his hands and draws a curve against the frost on his table. "Slow and Steady wins the race. That's how my dad did, that's how dwarves do it, and that's how you'll do it."
After your preparations complete, Dahila returns to you. "Alright, time to go over the rules."
"You're going to make an overland trek to each checkpoint. You won't see civilization again until the end of the race, so take it in now." She grins. "Each checkpoint has some kind of obstacle to overcome. I'll tell you what they are when you get there, so don't worry about that."
"The winning team not only gets there the fastest but also completes the tasks successfully. Bluetongue's Brawlers technically crossed the finish line first a few years ago, but Without Trace or Fail did really well on the river crossing, earning them the victory. So don't feel terrible if you fall behind."
You notice some of the officials are already sledding out of town, en route to the first checkpoint. Others are returning to the town square to officially begin the race.
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Scratch tilts back his helmet as the axe vendor lets him in on a little secret.
Shoot, ain't my gold! He grins and collects his weapon before heading back to the group for the rules update.
"River Crossing? Don't that sound like a hoot. I can feel my boys already lookin' fer cover." He adjusts himself uncomfortably.
After the race kicks off and the other teams and officials are out of earshot, Scratch fills the group in on his 'short cut'. "Don't run off up ahead, I got the low down on a path behind them there blow downs.." He head nods to a pair of leaning spruces just off the path ahead.
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Joran will check over the maps that the Venture Captain gave us (Cartography Lore +7) to see if he can plot a good route.
"Scratch, what do you think about this?"
"Well, I think makin' off with the VC's maps were a good plan kid! Let's see if they'll help eh?" He tries to spot the shortcut.. and that blasted river.