Pathfinder Society GM. 203 posts (207 including aliases). 2 reviews. 9 lists. No wishlists. 8 Organized Play characters. 
|
| 3 people marked this as a favorite. |
Decided to go with a Red Rider instead of the Black Rider. We've been coronavirus-ing the campaign, google hangout every other week, supplemented by blogging. It's been fun. This is what happened at the Winter Portal (aka the Siege Frigia). The Rider is already laying on the ground with an ice spear sticking out of his side and blue/green veins of ugly energy writhing on him.
A preternatural silence envelops the party, the roar of the Winter Portal’s snowy fountain dropping to a gentle, continuous murmur. The Rider looks each of you in the eye, measuring your resolve. Upon closer examination, he appears to have a faint trace of elfin blood in the fine features behind the substantial beard. Then he nods firmly. Shifting slightly, the Rider pulls the rucksack on which he is lying around to his lap.
Reaching inside the sack, he pulls out a package wrapped in festive paper and festooned with colorful ribbons, a riot of reds, orange, and yellow. The package is roughly a three foot square, and about six inches deep. He hands the package to Camerata. “Sister Camerata, of the family Stokes! Forget not your Lady. Though your travels take you far, if you keep your Faith, she will be ever with you.”
Reaching in the rucksack a second time, he pulls out a decorated package and hands it to Siggie. The theme of the décor appears to be faeries and fairy tale creatures. The package is long and narrow, roughly four feet long and about six inches square. He hands the package to Siggie. “Siggie Floid! Forget not your roots in the First World! Whatever power you might need will surround all of you, if you are willing to use it. But always consider the costs. You most of all, young magus.”
Reaching in the sack once more, he pulls out another colorful package and hands it to Cael. The theme of the wrapping is icy blues and varying shades of purple. The small package is easily held in both hands. “Cael Fiondearg! There is already some small piece of Winter in your heart, as in all of us. Be sure that if you continue to embrace it, you do so knowing that once given a seat, the cold beast is loath to give up territory.”
Finally, he pulls a fourth package wrapped in festive paper and festooned with colorful ribbons from his sack, decorated in the silver and gold of Iomedae. The package is roughly four feet long, and narrow. He hands the package to the young paladin. “Gareth Ulix! Faerie steel is my Gift to you. Use it in good health, and your Lady’s honor, and you just might survive this. If you get a chance, put it between the ribs of Logrivich! That worm is, in the end, the death of me.”
Gesturing impatiently to Gareth and Cael, the Rider takes a hand from each and struggles to his feet. He grunts. “Last things.” The big man takes a pouch from his belt and extends it before him in his right hand. Then reaching across his abdomen with his left hand, he grasps the ice spear still jutting from his side. A faint sizzle can be heard from where he grasps the ice. With a mighty bellow, he jerks the spear from his wound, which starts to flow freely with his life’s blood. Grunting, he draws the spear across the pouch. An intense blue light pulses strong from the pouch for a few seconds, then fades away. He flips the pouch to Cael. “Keys to the Hut. Don’t lose them; I don’t have a spare set.”
Giving a single sharp barking laugh that ends in a groan, the Rider turns to face the crashing noises that have increased in intensity from the Border Wood. Holding the now-smoking ice spear in one hand, he reaches over his shoulder with his free hand, draws the great battle axe, and appears to grow a foot taller, regaining his lost bulk even as a torrent of Winter creatures begins to pour forth from the Woods. A dozen flitting pixies are first to appear, quickly followed by a white weasel the size of a large dog, then a couple of frosty looking, indigo-skinned elf lords. A few towering blue trolls walk out from the woods as well. Finally, a shaggy snow-white creature that looks like a cross between an ogre and an albino bear ambles into view.
The Red Rider sneers. “You traitorous toad lickers! Come to get some, did you?” Bellowing, he hefts his weapons high, now seemingly unaffected by his mortal wounds, then shrugs his shoulders a couple times as if to loosen them up. ”Yeti! You scum. Even on your worst day you’d not have rebelled from Baba Yaga on your own!” He looks at each minion of winter present in turn. “Some would offer you each a chance to come home. Screw that.” The Rider spits blood on the ground. “You’re all going to die here. You are each going to be an example to all the nations of Winter. It will be a thousand years before any of the Cold Blood even think of disobeying Baba Yaga without shuddering and looking for a place to puke.” The Rider takes a single step forward, and all the gathered fae take a half step back in response. The Red Rider grins wickedly, then beckons. The Yeti howls in challenge and starts to stride forward. The rest follow suit, though not as fast.
Red nods, suddenly solemn. “Mother,” he says softly. “Know your Son was faithful to the end.” He looks at the party as if suddenly realizing they were still there. “Oi! You folks have places to be. Go!” he barks sharply, gesturing toward the Winter Portal. Turning his attention back to the advancing denizens of Winter, he spoke his last. “And be sure that when, not if, you free Baba Yaga, you tell her that the Kringle was ever loyal.”
As the party passed into the whirling blue pillar of snow, one by one, the last thing they saw was the Red Rider, striding down the snow-covered slope, singing a merry tune that had something to do with making a list and checking it twice.