The young gnome sighs, mumbles a soft apology to anyone who listens, and steps up as he reloads his crossbow.
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Not wanting to risk hitting one of his allies, and not wanting to make a bad situation worse, Fizzlewhisk lowers his crossbow.
Fizzlewhisk reloads, firing at the man Machaera just feathered. "Um... do ya understan' us?" the gnome inquires in the Common tongue, hoping there isn't just a language barrier.
Fizzlewhisk looses a bolt, hoping that the men blocking the path are foes.
With fire and coneys, the young gnome finally chases away the chatter of his teeth. He awakes wish a fresh start and a positive outlook. "If they've any un-fey with them, then they'll 'ave stopped too, at least for the Lady's sake if'n she's to be hostaged. We can catch 'em."
"W-we w-will need m-more wood, b-but we sh-should start a fire n-now. We need its heat, an' creatures of ice sh-shouldn't want to come n-near."
"G-go away!" Fizzlewhisk tries to fire another bolt into the chaos.
Leaning around Machaera, Fizzlewhisk takes another shot at the closest creature of ice.
Fizzlewhisk attempts to fire another bolt into the fray, careful not to hit his friends wrestling the elementals.
Stepping behind Annalísa, Fizzlewhisk fires a bolt towards the farthest creature of ice.
The young hunter grins. "I'm a gn-gnome. Curiosity is our un-d-doing."
"B-be careful." Fizzlehwhisk says as watches his friend and the talking snow sculpture.
Whether through the numbing cold or agreement, Fizzlewhisk just quietly nods along to the talking stag's assessment.
Fizzlewhisk stares dumbly for a moment, "I c-can usually s-speak wif animals erryday b-but th-they d-don't talk first..." The young gnome shakes his head, worried that the cold has frazzled his wits, and by instinct the hunter levels his crossbow at the game. "We are t-trying to f-find a lady th-that was taken."
"A st-stag went by here... m-many t-times. Like it circled its t-territory..." Fizzlewhisk sneezes and wraps himself up tighter.
The young hunter stops to examine the tracks.
"Sp-sprites is tricksy. Th-they g-glow b-but they can t-turn it d-down. The same t-trick m-might work on them though, if you c-catch them off-guard." Fizzlewhisk smiles as he draws his hood closer.
The gnome shakes his head as his senses finally return, "We can go a bit further, but a fire is soundin' awful nice right now. They know we are out here, so there's no sense in hidin'. If they come back, they come back."
The gnome slowly stirs, shaking from lying unconscious in the snow. "Di-di-did w-we wi-win?"
The little gnome starts to say something else, before his pupils go wide, then his eyes droop as he collapses into a stupor.
The scintillating colors capture Fizzlewhisk in a moment of reverence, but he shakes his head and clears his mind. "N-not t-today, lil cousin! No t-tricksy piskies!"
Steeling himself, Fizzlewhisk levels his crossbow, lines up a shot, and aims at the little cousin not illuminated.
The small gnome loses his teeth chatter in his excitement, "Three little piskies! There, there, and there!" Fizzlewhisk points, unaware that the rest of the group might not see where he is pointing. "They have little wings and bows."
Cautiously, Fizzlewhisk slowly approaches the dead birds. "N-no hunter w-would do th-this. It's wasteful."
"Th-thanks everyone. I've never seen a n-nasty br-brute like th-that before." The young gnome shivers, but tries to keep smiling.
With the hound in trouble, Fizzlewhisk swings his scythe low in hopes of hurting the beast to get it to release its grip on Hundur, but cannot land a blow on the creature's coiling scales.
The gnome calls to the others, "It's a tatzlwyrm b-but I've never heard of a white one. If you c-can talk to dragons you c-can t-talk to it t-too. H-hard to p-put t-to sleep. Watch out f-for its p-p-poi-poison b-breath!"
Though chilled to the bone, the young hunter's survival instinct overrides his frigid lack of comfort. With a flick, the gnome's walking staff snaps open with a curved scythe blade locking into place as Fizzlewhisk slashes at the beast. "Big and mean!"
While he slashes at the ivory creature, the gnome wracks his brain to try to remember what his parents taught him, and if this beastie belongs in the natural world.
"It is r-really h-hard t-t-to see, b-but hopefully we c-can f-find a place to t-take shelter soon."
"W-we sh-should go a b-bit further. They'll th-think that this trap slowed us d-down." He manages a smile as he resumes scouting with Mervyn, having only taken the bolts from the cache.
Looking over the goods, "I c-can always use m-more b-bolts." Fizzlewhisk says between chattering.
Shivering uncontrollably, Fizzlewhisk points his gloved hand just barely over the snow that surrounds most of his body. "T-t-there's a ch-ch-chest b-b-buried here."
Fizzlewhisk stretches and takes a new look at the trail, speaking aloud to Mervyn as he does so, "If I can fin' you a path to follow, that could work. Keep to the shadows and watch for snares."
"We should move on while we have the sun. If Winter is comin' the days will grow shorter, an' the longer we wait the worse it ends for our Lady. I've torches an' oil for when sunset comes, but as a hunter I can tell ya that a light in the dark makes a fine target."
"The tracks are all jumbled, an' if I am gonna take a better look I will need a little time. We shouldn' just leave them all here to rot. I'd hate to see what would happen to the local game if they were eatin' on any of this..."
The gnome makes sure the furred beast is breathing, but unsure of how else to assist. He takes a few steps back and acknowledges Mervyn. "Aye. Trackin' game is the trickiest part of the hunt." The young ranger kneels down to take a look at the tracks in the snow.
Fizzlewhisk speaks softly as he investigates the prints, "I know we don' know each other very well, but we have to stick together, an' we have to watch out for each other. Some of us are doin' this for gold an' glory, but we can't let it tear us apart. If any of us fall, the others need to help. A pack hunts better together. That lil animal might not be important to anybody else, but it is to him. What if those dead people had taken me down, or Annalísa? This isn't just a random winter... this cold creeps into the heart. When you stop caring, your heart grows icy just like the winter-touched."
Ignoring the greed of the others, the small gnome walks over to the large man in furs. "Is your lil friend okay?"
Wide-eyed, the gnome steps beside Annalísa and levels his crossbow. "That... that's not nat'ral!" His last word ends in almost a shriek as he tries to steady his shaking hands to fire a bolt at the shambling corpse.
"Oh this ne'er ends well..." Fizzlewhisk readies his small crossbow, aiming towards the carriage to cover Mervyn. He calls out to Machaera, "I can follow the trail after we see who is trapped in the carriage." As an after thought he shouts, "Hey! In the carriage, are you okay? We are here to help!"
Fizzlewhisk prods his staff ahead of him as they reach the snow, keeping a weather out for gnome or halfling sized holes. He stays behind his Ulfen friend for the moment.
"Yes, actually, now that you mention it..."
The gnome's demeanor splits into a grin. "It's a good story. Nobody really knows who she is, Da says the statue has been here a long time." He looks to Annalísa as she approaches. "Yeah we're ready. To Frimbockets?"
Fizzlewhisk clasps his hands behind his back in a scholarly fashion as he begins his tale,
"Ah yes, that be Miss Abigail Halvard- our Lady in Stone. Her statue has been here longer than anyone can 'member... some say she was a witch, messin' with dark creatures an' some strange magics. They say a holy man came an' turned her to stone, turnin' her own magic 'against her. Folk say her curse is broken one night a year an' if she can find a man to love her for all her days her curse will be broken..." the gnome solemnly bows his head but then casts a sideways peek at Mervyn.
"Mum and Da set up outside this town 'bout ten years ago, an' this is one of the longest places we've stayed, but we never put down for long. I think the only reason they kept their feet on the ground this decade was so I could do a little growin' up. Always off huntin' the next big thing- literally, I hail from a line of giant hunters. My folks go 'round wipin' out evil jotuns. Never got to go with em, but they tell me stories. So while they are gone I tend the house and hunt much smaller game nearby, sellin' pelts to travelers or exchangin' a couple harts for new tools."
The young hunter approaches the halfling, "So, Master Tumblelock, where are you from?"
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