Boris and Summer struggle to deal any significant damage to the undead, but Horns's antlers prove to be the deciding factor, as they impale the monster and finish it off.
With the undead threat vanquished, you explore the area for additional dangers and find none ... but do discover a stone coffer under a loose stone under the ruins of a toppled-over altar inside the temple.
Potential Loot
bladed belt
ring of feather falling
Scroll - hold person
Scroll - resist energy (cold)
220gp
Serael puts on the belt and ring, making sure it is on a different hand than her "Summer-Winter Ring". She exhales, tired.
"Yet another menace in the middle of nowhere, Irrisen." she says to nobody in particular, but Winter chirps in approval. She goes back inside the abandoned Desna temple to rest for the night and continue the trip tomorrow.
A small river cuts across the path, heading south toward the cliffs that overlook Glacier Lake. A stone bridge crosses the river, seemingly constructed with horse, wagon, and caravan traffic in mind. The bridge is well maintained, and the snow has been cleared from its span. Four-foot-high stone railings run along both sides of the bridge, topped at either end by iron spikes upon which clean and meticulously polished skulls have been carefully impaled and turned as if to observe the traffic. A white-painted signpost greets travelers approaching from the east. "Approaching Whitethrone. Reminder: all business conducted within the city requires a license. If you do not have one, apply at the city gates."
Serael reads the signpost, mentally running through her options. She does not need to "conduct business", but it could be useful. There is also the pelt she just got.
She turns to Nadya "It says here 'approaching' Whitethrone. How much more time will it take us?"
Regardless of the answer, she presses on, crossing the bridge.
"A bit more than half a day, I expect," Nadya replies.
As you begin crossing the bridge, a trio of Large creatures climb up from underneath and block your way. "Papers, please."
You recognize these as merrow: troll-like creatures that are actually related to ogres.
Image
"I have none, I'm looking to apply for a license at the city gates!" Serael was aware this was not a subtle sidetrack of what the merrows actually asked for, but it was all she had.
The merrow who seems to be in charge scratches his head for a few seconds in apparent confusion before nodding. "No papers? Need pay tax. One horse -" he points at your giant elk "- or two bird."
Serael sighs. Of course.
"Can't have that, how about... Oh wait, I found my papers! What a coincidence! ."
As a last-ditch attempt, Serael grabs one of her scrolls, a comprehend languages one, and hands them to the merrows, but she looks nervously to her retinue, silently warning them to be ready for combat.
One merrow takes the scroll and examines it with a serious expression - not appearing to notice that it's upside-down. After a moment, he hands it back and shakes his head. "Not in order! You pay bridge tax!"
"What do you mean? It's an older form, but it is still legal! Radosek sent me here with these papers, and you don't want to deal with the consequences of not allowing me to pass, do you?"
A look of fear briefly crosses the merrow's faces when you mention Radosek's name, and they quickly hand back your scroll and climb back under the bridge, letting you pass.
Soon after, your journey takes you through a forest of leafless birch trees, and after a half-day of travel, the city of Whitethrone comes into sight. Instead of heading directly toward the city, Nadya points toward the shantytowns to the east. "We should go this way."
Serael remembered the words. Pale Tower, then Whitethrone. Retrieve the Dancing Hut. I'm almost there.
Serael nodded to Nadya and followed along, whispering to her. "Thanks. I feel more at home there" she pointed to the shantytown "than in a witch-controlled city"
As Nadya leads you toward the shantytown, she explains her reasoning. "There are guards at Whitethrone's main gate - real ones, who actually do proper questioning and inspections. With your menagerie, you're sure to draw attention. The Fishcamps, however, is much easier to enter. Even better, my late husband's uncle lives there. I haven't seen Ringeirr in ages, but the last I heard, he's a smuggler of sorts. I'm hoping that means he knows how to get into Whitethrone unnoticed."
"Ah, I see." Serael says mostly to fill the silence. Nadya's life has been full of hardships.
She leads her animals through the shantytown, following Nadya's lead.
Arctic gulls fill the overcast sky with their cries over this small shantytown. Ramshackle huts are erected on the cold ground, hard packed and barren from generations of foot traffic. Dories and other small fishing boats are moored to dilapidated piers nearby or pulled ashore on the gray pebbled beach of Glacier Lake. The pervasive smell of fish is everywhere, sometimes fresh, but often with the underlying stench of centuries of decay.
You can see the shantytown residents looking at you with a mixture of curiosity and fear. "Unfortunately, I don't know where Ringeirr lives," Nadya mentions quietly.
Serael asks Nadya how Ringeirr looks like and tries to look for him in the middle of the shantytown. Knowing this would be too inefficient, she decides to ask around.
Initially, the villagers either feign ignorance or refuse to speak with you, but you're eventually able to get someone to tell you that Ringeirr was recently arrested for "disturbing the peace" by the Fishcamp Guards. A few follow-up questions reveal that these are essentially a group of thugs who "protect" the village - for a price - and get quite upset if someone doesn't want (or can't afford) their "services."
"Nadya, let's go after these so called Guards. I'll try negotiating first, but if we need to fight, so be it, my patience is running thin."
Still mad, Serael kept asking for where the Fishcamp Guards could be found, some sort of base or camp and went looking for them.
It doesn't take long to find some of the Fishcamp Guards. Near the piers, a group of them have encircled a fisherman. "I told you that I can't afford the tax!" pleads the man before one of the Guards trips him with an ogre hook, and the rest begin kicking him with metal-tipped boots.
Serael decides to intervene, being fully sincere.
"Hey, excuse me, are you the Fishcamp Guards? I'd like some information and am willing to pay for it. I'll even pay for this guy's tax, how about that?" she says, trying to not show the compassion she was feeling for the poor fisherman.
The four thugs laugh in your face. "Bet it costs ya plenty of coin to keep all those animals fed. You some kinda noble or something? I figure about a thousand gold should be chump change for ya, so how about ya hand it over, and we'll call it all square."
Serael laughs with them "Nah, they fend for themselves, you know, eat the carcasses of whatever I kill. I'm just a traveler, a thousand gold is expensive, my friend! How about less? Five hundred gold, perhaps?"
The lead thug raises his ogre hook menacingly as his companions begin moving to encircle you. "Yeah, sure, we'll take 500 gold. I'm sure a fancypants like you has another 500 gold worth of stuff in yer pack. We'll take that, too."
Serael's smile disappears from her face in the blink of an eye and she brandishes her bow. "Summer, Boris, Horns, you know what to do. Winter, to me!"
All the animals charge, coordinately at the same target, unless the target dies, then they charge to the second closest thug.
Horns immediately tramples one of the thugs into the dirt as Boris and Summer severely injure another. Looking terrified, the two remaining 'Fishcamp Guards' immediately throw down their weapons. "We were just joking! Please don't kill us! We'll do anything!"
Serael does not let her guard down, but accepts the proposal for some negotiating. She whistles so her animals stop, but they remain ready to fight.
"...Fine. Luckily for you, what I want is really simple. There's this guy called Ringeirr who was arrested. I want to talk to him and for him to be freed. That is it. Then I'll go my merry way."
"The guardhouse! He's in the guardhouse!" The man points in the direction of the largest wooden shack in the Fishcamps. "Marcian's got him locked in there while he decides what to do with 'im."
"Thank you." Serael calls her companions and they all march in the direction of the wooden shack pointed by the thug. If no one is at the front, she knocks at the door.
The windows of this large, ugly, unpainted building are boarded shut. Its construction is rough and haphazard, as if it were once a smaller shack that had many additions tacked on later. The word "guardhouse," along with a crude symbol of a shield crossed by a hook, is painted on the building's only door. It takes almost half a minute for someone to answer the door when you knock, and when it's eventually opened by a grumpy ogre who clearly just woke up, the smell of body odor and fish that emanates from the building's interior is almost overwhelming. "Get lost!"
"I have come to negotiate the release of a prisoner. Surely, you don't want to pass up this opportunity to make some gold?"
Turning to look behind him, the ogre yells, "MARCIAN! Some lady wants ta pay us!" Shortly thereafter, a shady-looking human walks out of a back room and looks you over appraisingly. "Your clothes are too nice to be from this s##~hole, and you don't look like a Jadwiga. Why are you here?"
"I'm here for one of your prisoners, Ringeirr. I want him free. As you said, I've come a long way after him."
Serael tries to keep details to a minimum.
"I see, I see. I assume you know that he's a criminal, though. Disturbing the peace - that's quite a serious offense. I'm sure the Jadwiga wouldn't like it if I just handed him over to a stranger. Or perhaps you're an accomplice of his?" Marcian is clearly attempting to size you up in hopes of determining how best to deal with you.
"I've been trained by witches, you know, so mind your tone." Serael did her best to not exactly lie. "So, let's cut to the chase, you release him and I get out of your sight."
Amazingly, your brazenness seems to work, as Marcian quickly grows apprehensive. "Apologies, ma'am. I'll go fetch him." He rushes into the back room, and shortly thereafter, returns with an older man. His hands are bound. "Here he is, ma'am."
"Good." she nods to the older man, hoping it is Ringeiir and she is not being fooled by the Fishcamp Guards. "Let's go."
She turns her back and leads Ringeiir to Nadya, hoping she would recognize him and start dialogue in a more friendly manner.
Fortunately, Nadya recognizes the man and pulls him into a warm embrace. "It's good to see you again." Ringeirr leads you to his modest hut and offers you hot food and drink. After catching up with Nadya while you refresh yourself, he's ready to hear what you have to say.
"I need to enter Whitethrone and I need to do that unnoticed. I... have my own reasons for that, but let's just say the situation the Witches are creating is unsustainable."
"I see. That will be difficult, I'm afraid. Queen Elvanna has recently declared martial law and instituted a new military force that's solely loyal to her. Anyone entering or leaving the city is thoroughly searched. Even within the city, people are randomly stopped, and their papers are examined. I'm assuming you lack those.
"Fortunately, I may have a solution - but it's quite risky. I can try to get you into the Howlings district. That's where the winter wolves live. I don't know exactly how, but they're able to assume human form there, so they handle security themselves. In my experience, they're more lax then the Winter Guard.
"You'll still need papers, though, and the Howlings district holds the answer. A friend of mine lives on the border, and he's skilled at forgery. If he can get you documentation stating you're a 'stilyagi,' you should be able to move about the city freely."
Stilyagi are a group of young Irrisini nobles known for outlandish behavior and styles of dress. They often adopt the cultural and stylistic trappings of other lands and even pretend to be foreign adventurers on occasion. With their wealth and indolent lifestyle, stilyagi are also notorious for the recruitment of foreigners - even those of other races - to act as companions, teachers, and advisors ... at least until they grow tired of their company.
"Yeah, I have no papers. I also have no other recourse. I accept your help, thank you very much, Ringeirr."
Serael searches her bag of holding and takes her Rimepelt. "This should help me mingle in the district, as well, at least the scent will throw off any general suspicion. I'll just have to explain the animals but" Serael waves her hands "It can just be excentricity from a Stilyagi."
Ringeirr looks pleased to see the rimepelt. "Ah, excellent! Until we have your papers, I'd recommend leaving your elk and leopard here. You can pass as a winter wolf, but their presence often makes animals uncomfortable, so having exotic beasts around might arouse suspicion.
"I'll come with you - at least until we reach Mortin. I have a cart full of fish that I need to deliver anyway. If you have anything that you don't wish to be seen, I'm happy to hide it amongst the food, as the scent from the fish will likely help mask any unusual odors."
It was to be expected, but Serael felt sad about leaving Boris and Horns behind, even if for only a little while. She pets both of them "I'll see you soon. Let's go, Winter, Summer."
Serael wears her Rimepelt and thanks Ringeirr again. "Thanks for the help. Maybe I can hide Summer among the fish." Summer flaps his wings in disapproval "unless he can just fly high following us."
Serael nods to Nadya, silently thanking her once again for all the help and sets off with Ringeirr.
As you approach the Howlings district, you shift into the form of a winter wolf - and then into a white-haired blue-eyed human.
The walls of Whitethrone tower 30 feet high, and have the appearance of giant, sharpened femurs fused together, though closer inspection reveals only smooth stonework the color of bleached bone. Massive skulls of the same bone-white stone top the walls, staring with blank gazes outward from the city in all directions. A rough road of frozen mud, churned and trampled from the traffic of countless feet, leads through an opening in the wall, which appears to have been deliberately left unfinished rather than sundered. Guarding the opening is a muscular woman holding a massive axe. You can tell by her scent that she's a winter wolf. When Ringeirr moves to push his cart of fish through, she blocks his way. "State your name and business."
"He's Ringeirr, I'm Adren." Serael chooses her surname as an alias, not a perfect disguise, but easier to deal with. She knocks on the cart "We are here to deliver this, it's fish."
"Mm," the wolf responds disinterestedly. "I need to search the human and his cart, but you're free to enter."
"Are you doubting me? The human and the cart are with me." Serael isn't sure it would be any kind of trouble, but felt Winter Wolves might act territorial like this.
The wolf gives the cart a sniff. "Yeah, it's a load of fish. Carry on." She waves Ringeirr and his cart through. As you move to follow, she leans in close. "Would you be interested in joining me for a cup of tea or spiced wine later? I'd love to get to know you a bit better if you're interested."
Serael's eyes narrow, trying not to betray her surprise. Oh. Oh no. I don't have much time. She scratches her chin as if pondering the question "Sure, I like tea. Where would that be? I just need to take care of this" she gestures vaguely at the direction of the cart "before anything else."
She nods to the guard and goes on her way.
This is a chance to gather some information... But...
The wolf gives you the name of a tea shop and tells you her shift ends in two hours.
The streets of the Howlings wind back and forth crookedly, and are lined with wooden houses covered in intricate and detailed woodwork. Unlike in the Fishcamps, even the poorest homes are in good repair, pleasantly decorated, and painted a clean white or light pastel colors. The rooftops are steeply pitched to allow heavy snow to slide off. Covered alleyways run between some closely adjacent buildings, sheltering ground-floor entrances from the elements. In other places, open-air bridges or crosswalks join buildings together at their upper levels. Snowdrifts lie heaped between houses, but the streets are shoveled and brushed clean. There is little sign of domestic animals, but handcarts are parked outside some residences.
As Ringeirr leads you through the streets, a small explosion suddenly goes off a few feet in front of the cart. Looking around, you see a quartet of snow goblins standing on rooftops around you. Three have shortbows; the leader is holding some sort of explosive device. "Leave the fish cart, longshanks! Run! Get out of here!"
Serael glances to Ringeirr "Is that who you are supposed to deliver the fish?"
Independent from his answer, "Adren" whistles for Summer to show up nearby and makes her best growl "How about 'no' and you don't get hurt?"