Oh s&%$, sorry GM, I didn't see that other one.
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Welcome back Eirik.
Thanks, everybody, for being so understanding. It means a lot.
So I think I have to level with you guys. At the beginning of this game, right about a few days before recruitment was supposed to close some... unfortunate things crept into my life. I'm not going to exaggerate. They weren't irreparable catastrophes. They were bad things that happened to people I am close to, and that's about as far as I'm going to get into that. They were things I thought I'd be able to handle. Sure they soaked up my time, especially combined with a rather busy semester, but I knew at the time I could handle them physically and I really wanted to make this game happen in the way I wanted to. What I didn't account for, however, was the emotional drain. When I set out to GM a play by post, I knew it'd take a long time each night to write out each post. I found it fun and interesting at first, but I began to notice my posts becoming more difficult. I began to notice the change when something I set out to do for fun on the side became somewhat of a chore. I told myself I'd give it a week. If I still felt the same way, I'd level with you guys and quit it. That was about two and a half weeks ago. I put it off some more and hoped changing pace would spur things along, but I've lost almost all sense of inspiration, for this game and for most of my other writing. You guys are probably a lot smarter than I am, so I'm sure you can see where this is going. We've only been at this a month, I know. I feel miserable, partly because of the amount of time I've tried pumping into this game, short as its been, but mostly because of the amount of time and effort you guys have put into it. You sacrificed your free time with the assurance that I'd provide the playground with which you guys could use these highly complex, interesting and motivated characters, and now I'm jumping ship like some kind of childish cretin who's tired of playing on the jungle gym and is yelling at his mother to take him home. But I feel it'd be a worse crime to drag this game along through the mire of mediocrity knowing the problems I'm having won't be going away anytime soon. I'm afraid, guys, I'm going to have to end my involvement in this game. I've played too many games where a bored or busy GM cuts and runs when he or she can't find the impetus to continue a game further and that's why I refuse to do that here. It's rather s@@#ty that I've gone and wasted your time, but it'd be even s$&~tier if I didn't have the balls to tell you guys in person... well in text format. So it goes. This is not to say you guys don't have any choice in the matter. You guys are more than welcome to try and find another GM and I'll do whatever's in my limited, nigh nonexistent and totally misplaced power to help see that happen, but I don't think I can nor want to put the game on an impromptu hiatus when I know it's more than likely I won't make it return. I also don't think I'd like to see another game end as the GM slowly descends into apathy and malevolence. This might sound somewhere on the side of melodramatic, but I don't want to see myself become that. So again, I'm sorry, so sorry that it's come to this. You fellas are a really cool bunch of dedicated people. I chose a party based solely on what I saw was an attention to detail in character, creating living, breathing intelligent beings that didn't fit a stereotype or a cliche. They were cool, and I wish this had turned out differently because if there's one thing I was excited for it was integrating your awesome characters into the adventure path. That's why I started this thing in the first place, to truly change the rail-roady and creatively stale environment of an adventure path into something personal and interesting. My greatest regret, really, is not that it couldn't be done, but that, at least not here, I wont be able to see that happen.
The undead man, after striking Marina becomes beset upon by all sides. Ehren, babbling incoherently, but finally catching his wits, runs up behind him and channels a divine energy into the beast. It shakes violently at his touch and lets oat a foul gaseous moan out of its mouth smelling faintly of sulfur. Kaelifax, seizing the moment, runs up next to Marina and lashes out with his short blade, catching the zombie in the sternum. You feel tendons splitting and organs tearing open until the blade is stopped by a vertebrae. And, as the doctor finally reloads his gun, he aims and fires, but the bullet catches in the undead's vestigial and unnecessary guts and stops dead, rendering the shot ineffective. The zombie, however, doesn't seem as if it understands at all its dire straits. It shambles ahead wordlessly, the amateur script on its head clear as its milky blue corneas. It seems to growl then and leap forward to get Marina in an embrace.
Meanwhile, the final zombie turns and thrashes inside the cabin of the carriage, desperately trying in a feeble mindless way to break through the wood, peeling large chunks off and damaging the fine scroll-work in the paneling.
Kaelifax's sword nearly severs the undead creature's head. It seems ready to come in to make another attack when Marina enters the fray. Her claws don't so much take down the creature as they shred it apart, tearing cloth and sinew to shreds and leaving a pile of oozing remains where it once stood.
The flask of caustic acid launches into the creature's sternum, disintegrating its remaining rags of clothing and sizzling into the flesh beneath. The skin hemorrhages and bubbles away, filling the air with the sickly scent of melting tallow and burning flesh. The acid distracts the creature long enough for Kyrianna to run over and finish the job. Her longsword buries into the creature's sternum in a blow that comes close to bisecting it.
Meanwhile, the first undead to exit the carriage has fled past the last of the undead and into the carriage. Finally able to brush past its companion, the last of the undead dashes out of the carriage straight towards Marina.
Marina, hearing heavy boots sloshing through the thick snow, turns just in time to feel a fist drive down onto her shoulder blade. The blow feels like a wheeled sledgehammer as it crashes down on her. Looking up, Marina gets a good look at this last zombie. In the man's life, he had a balding plate, with wily hair shaped like a crescent around his head. Now half of the man's face seems missing, as if taken apart by the blow of a mace or large cudgel. It seems that somebody had decided to use this man's corpse as a plaything. The words, "flycatcher waz hare" are carved into the corpse's head and face in an almost boyish script.
Apart from how you continue to interact among the residents of Heldren, they may very well, but perhaps not exactly in the way you'll expect. Also, Neela brought up being allowed to see enemy dice rolls. I've mulled it over, and she's probably in the right. If the rolls don't conflict with party knowledge then I'll make them visible.
Kyrianna:
Most of these men you can surmise are mercenaries, or at least men you don't recognize from Steriel's personal guard. The captain is the only one left with any equipment that marks his allegiance, but you don't recognize him. You haven't seen all the bodies yet, but none of them have been Sir Willem Shenden. The crack of the musket is loud, deafeningly so. But the old man is accurate. His weapon blows a hole the size of a large coin right in the back of the black haired man's head and out through the middle of the mercenary's face. Dark red mist and gray pus spray outward, catching Kyrianna in the spray. The once-one stumbles a bit, but seems, impossibly to collect itself again, as if the power of the bullet was not enough to down it and, and trots forward again to try and get at Kyrianna. GM Screen:
That is until Ilya comes running forward from the other carriage. He only has to tap the zombie lightly on the forehead with the dark flame before the mindless creature seems to spasm. It lolls its head back and forth staring dead-eyed at the group that surrounds him, stepping backwards back into the carriage and into the path of another zombie, trapping that one inside. Two of the other undead have already made their way out of the carriage, however, and both move forwards to assault their nearest targets. The first undead, a squat, bull-faced man with a missing eye and whose head and neck are pierced all over with ice shards waddles over to quickly to assault Kaelifax, lunging with teeth bared and gloved fists raised. GM Screen:
Kaelfiax uses the undead's momentum against itself, moving out of the way to strike at the monster. The other zombie heads straight for Neela, who rushed over in a haste only to find the undead monstrosity bearing down on her. It's legs are twisted and bent at odd ankles, as if they were broken by being trampled by a horse. Twisting it's body around, the undead sqirms and writhes as it charges at her, swinging a meaty hand. GM Screen:
Neela, small and dexterous, however, ducks out of the way of the creature's paw.
A, yes, a good idea. Forgot about that. I'll post it in my next update. Alright, how does this sound: Passive perception checks shall be used for locating hidden enemies and traps. These shall be rolled in secret by the GM and announced if anything is seen. All these checks will be made at a -2 penalty. (The -5 is a bit much especially for some pretty good traps.) Active perception checks to locate hidden enemies and and traps might also be made. These will not have the -2 modifier and also use the rules for assisting, a +2 to the highest roll for each person searching. Sound good? Heh, also, as for characters hanging around while the player is away, it always reminds me of the one guy in The Gamers
Kyrianna:
Engraved at the base of the longsword where the blade meets the pommel is etched the archetypal Taldan heraldry, that of the lion and the crown.
However, searching downwards, a symbol catches your eye that sends spikes of confusion and crushing memories coursing through your mind. At the base of the pommel is attached a round surface, etched with the symbol of a feather quill fixed on top a sword hilt. You've seen the symbol before and can recognize it by heart. It is the personal heraldry of the Duchess Steriel.
The door to the carriage has no windows and no way of seeing into the cabin without opening the doors. All Marina can hear on the other side at first is the sounds of shuffling and a barely audible whimper as if from a dry, cracked throat. As everyone begins speaking outside, trying to get the attention of those inside, the scuffling draws closer to the door, scraping against the wood in long, slow draws against the frame. The weight starts to press down on Kyrianna, who manages to hold the doors shut until, with everybody else ready, she releases the pressure. The doors fall open with a violent clash, nearly knocking them off their hinges and shambling out, tripping over themselves to break free of the tight confines come four of the guardsmen. Their heads roll about, eyes unfocused and faces a mask of indifference. Their bodies have hardly begun the process of decomposition, their skin taughtly stretched over their cadaverous faces and creaking limbs, but all are clearly undead.
Kyrianna is thrown off-balance by the surging tide of bodies pressed against the door. When the pressure is released the first of the group comes pressing forward a large man with a straight, grey tinged hair, gurgling at the back of its throat, striking out at Kyrianna with a mottled fist. GM Screen:
Kyrianna, however, dodges out of the way of the man's powering fist that lunges at her neck.
That is a fair point. I've been thinking about it. Logically speaking, if you've got the ability to make passive perception checks on hidden enemies, there'd be no reason why you couldn't make passive perception checks on traps. Tell you waht, I'll let you guys decide. Traps will either work the way I described before or they'll work this way: Everyone gets a passive perception check on traps as you come across them. This means, however, nobody's going to get bonuses for aid-another and traps will be made to be far less obvious. Keep in mind, as with any passive perception rolls, I'll need you guys to keep player and character knowledge separate, but I'm sure that won't be a problem.
Ah, that's neat. I always had this conception of rigor mortis that it was a tendency for the body to lock up or something after death. It is actually good to know, especially for trying to describe gruesome scenery. Yes, that's right. The changes are fine with me. No, nothing of that sort. If somebody is stealthing against you, I'll ask for a perception check because that's your ability to passively notice things. I only ask for specifics because if you guys are rolling things and I don't know what you're rolling for, there's no way I can react to your investigations, dig? We do run into a problem, however, with traps. Nobody wants to sit around and roll perception on every doorway and box we find, and since we don't have a trapfinding rogue (though I never really expected to) these sort of things will come up. How it is, though, traps will only ever be found on suspicious things or in areas that give some kind of clue that there might be traps here. Realistic? No. Fair? I think so. They won't be obvious, but anybody on their toes won't have too much of a problem in finding them. Everybody will be allowed to take 20 in non-time sensitive situations and otherwise, anybody searching for traps at the same time will use the highest roll and add the +2 for aid another for each person searching.
Trust me, I don't think I'd be able to tell you the difference between an arm and a leg, so I have literally no idea what I'm talking about in terms of medicine. I'm currently working towards a degree in write-ology, and medicine rarely factors into my studies. However, a quick check on wikipedia (and we all know how accurate that is) has led me to this: "When conditions are warm, the onset and pace of rigor mortis are sped up by providing a conducive environment for the metabolic processes that cause decay. Low temperatures, however, slow them down. Therefore, for a person who dies outside in frozen conditions rigor mortis may last several days more than normal, so investigators may have to abandon it as a tool for determining time of death." So, I may yet be accidentally correct.
Alright, thanks for letting me know.
Ilya approaches the overturned carriage with trepidation. It seems to have been a rather lavish and expensive carriage. Ornate scollwork works it's way along the door-frame and around the front. The vehicle seems to have been hacked to bits now. Most of the expensive upholstery has been ripped away and the wood has splintered as it fell. Vanya can see the remains of a man half-buried in the snow, with only his head and arms sticking forth in a clawing gesture stuck that way through rigor mortis. His skin is shallow and pinched, pale and frozen. He must climb on top of the carriage and pry open the frozen shut doors, taking a bit of grunting effort but eventually coming free. Inside, Vanya can see the remains of two well dressed servants, probably the Duchess's handmaidens. They lay as they were felled, red stains marking their clothes and the interior of the carriage where their throats were slit. It seems whatever valuables that were left in the cabin have already been pilfered.
What had looked in the distance like an ice statue carved in the image of a man turns out to be something far more gruesome. The statue turns out to be a guardsman, frozen solid where he fought, his sword arm still outstretched as to deliver a blow to an unknown enemy. He seems not entirely intact either. Where his head once was now sits an empty place. His left arm has been hacked off at the shoulder. Searching around, you find his missing body parts buried in the snow, frozen solid, his face making the some look of morbid surprise as it did in its last few moments of life. He wears a resplendent uniform and a gilded breastplate. The sword he wields is of good make, emblazoned with Taldan heraldry. Around the man lay three other guardsmen. Their swords, armor and equipment have all been stolen, leaving the naked corpses to lay without rotting with the snow serving as their tomb.
Doctor Montgomery:
The doctor kneels down next to the first man he sees. Brushing snow away from the body he can see the body has long been sent into rigor mortis, frozen stiff by the cold. This man was not killed by blade, however. Tiny shards of glass-like ice and thin needle-like shards have perforated his head, neck and upper torso. He seems to have died from a needle or shard piercing his brain or other vital organ. Coming up to the other carriage, still intact, you can tell it is as ornate and decorated as the first. Arrows and ice shards have wedged themselves into the woodwork. AS you draw closer, you begin to hear muffled sounds of movement coming from inside, rocking the carriage gently. It sounds like scuffling and scraping but no voices emit from the carriage. A spear has been wedged into the door handles, preventing whoever or whatever is inside from escaping.
Oh yeah, forgot about gunsmithing. Yeah, you should be able to buy some cold-iron ingots from Xanthippe. I'll factor it this way. Crafting items requires a third of the item's price in silver and cold iron doubles the price of weapons made of it so it'll cost you 7sp per bullet you make. You'll be buying the cold iron from Xanthippe. And Kyrianna, it'll be double the weight of a cold-weather outfit.
I had another scene planned where Montgomery went to buy cold iron ammunition from the store or smith. Would he have been able to find any? Sorry about that. Firearm ammunition's not something that's usually sold this far into rural Taldor. However, being that a bullet's just a ball, I'm going to say that along Xanthippe being able to make some simple horseshoes, she should also be able to make bullets. Cold iron increases the cost of weapons by 2 and since she's working overtime, Xanthippe will increase the cost by 5 silver pieces, so the total cost per bullet will be 2gp and 5 silver pieces. She only has enough cold iron to make thirty bullets though.
Yuln hesitates only half a second before agreeing to the doctor's demands. "I'd consider it my duty to you to mind your house, so there is no problem. Yuln, although having been nearly unconcious of his journey to Heldren, reckons it must be along the road to the south. He had no conception of time due to his injuries, but he assumes it should take several hours by foot. Gangi þér vel reluctant warrior." Hallit:
Good luck
The few denizens of Heldren brave enough to enter into the coming storm assemble in the town square on a dark windswept morning. The hour is early, and though many knew of your leaving, few knew of the time of day and as such the place is quiet. Only the closest of friends and surrogate families stand by your sides as you prepare to head out. The clouds swirl overhead, brushing and squeezing past one another, mingling only for a second before moving on. Mist hangs in the air, floating lazily in hazes of grey. Ionnia Teppen stands next to the statue known as "the lady," clutching at her green coat and looking out at the road south. "Again," she says, "I'd like to thank all of you for being so brave. You risk much by doing this, but I'm sure our town will never forget. But you're all strong. I have not a single doubt that you will all come back to us soon to tell us of your discoveries." Ionnia turns and points down the road. "That's the way to the border wood. If what Yuln said is accurate, you'll be moving down the southern road for many miles. From what we've heard, it's colder down that way as you get closer to the wood. We need to get some idea of what is happening, so please, come back to us with some idea of what we can do to fix this." Giving your friends and family ample goodbyes and with a wave of sending-off the eight of you load your gear and equipment and begin your trek into the cold southern mists.
Travel of over the dirt roads in southern Taldor, a normally pleasant stroll in the height of summer, has become a hazard and a toil. The wind whips violently at your cloaks and gear and the snow here is a more than a couple feet deep, reducing your travel by half. It grows steadily colder as you approach closer to the border wood. By anyone's count, it seems to be around 5 hours of traveling on foot before you see ahead, barely visible in the distance, what looks to be debris littered about at the edge of the wood.
As you all near closer, you come to realize this must have been the Duchess's caravan. It is now a burnt out ruin. Slain horses and guardsmen litter the slaughter-ground, bured mostly save for a few limbs under the snow, their blood having long since been covered. A carriage stands in the roadway, it's team of horses dead or missing, while another carriage lies sprawled and broken next to the tree-line. To the south, near a trail that leads further into the Border Wood, a human-sized statue stands, half-buried by snow and centered among a ring of other slain bodies.
This is the link to the google drive account where I'll be uploading maps. If and when we start combat I'll announce it here and create moveable tiles anyone can edit. Not that I expect you guys to do so, but please don't cheat. Ever.
The blanket seems okay to me. As everyone's been comp'ed for their cold weather gear, I'll also allow it for Ibris free of charge. I'll say the wight, like armor is doubled in weight though. As for the horseshoes, nobody in town would sell such a unique item, however there is a way to get it crafted. Isker's far too buys mobilizing the militia to work the forges but his daughter, Xanthippe would be able to craft it for you. Horseshoes are a common item and the necessary modifications, while requiring a bit of ingenuity, should be completable in a day. She'll be working on short notice and through the night, though, so it'll be a relatively high asking price of 1 gold piece and 5 silver pieces. Getting the horse shod should be easily completed in the morning.
Councilor Teppen waits for the doctor to finish and seems about to speak to him, a worried expression on her face, when she catches the determined look in the doctor's eye and decides to let the man do as he wishes. She, however, nods appreciatively at each man and woman who volunteers, though seems surprised at Neela's willingness to join. Kyrianna's request is hardly thought over before Isker nods his approval. Ionnia can only relent after hearing her passionate voice. Once the eight volunteers are finished with their speeches, she asks for quiet and speaks to the entire room. "Now, I know with a search party being sent, there can be no question that word of your mission will get out. I must ask each and every one of you, however, to say nothing of the fey in the forest. The story goes that Yuln, the pale rider as he's being called, was serving as a bodyguard to a noblewoman whose caravan was ambushed by bandits in the forest. Your objective, you must tell them, is to find out what happened to the noblewoman. If the citizens find out about the fey, they may very well pack up and leave. What's left of our industries will suffer and Heldren may very well wither and die." She gives a long, hard stare at Isker, staring at her balefully. "No matter what, that can't happen. I thank the eight of you for volunteering. I will make sure that the town will provide you with cold weather gear from Vivialla's store at our own expense. Elsewise, Doctor, I think you should wait for tomorrow morning to begin your trek. Good luck to all of you." With that she ajourns the meeting.
...
As Ehren begins preparing for the mission, he is greeted by a knock on the door to his quarters in the Silver Stoat. As he opens the door, he first sees only a shock of electric-blue hair tipped with white, looking down to catch the rest of the town carpenter, a gnome by the name of Tengezil Frimbocket. He seems uncharacteristically nervous standing in your portal. In his hands he holds a small wooden box, covered in ornate trim in his trademark style called, "gingerbread." "Er, top o' the evening, ya flamin' chap. I just... heard recently about yer supposed mission to the Border Wood and I thought... well, chaps are gonna be goin' to some dangerous parts and, well, we all need to help out so..." Tengezil holds the box up to you. Inside sits a dull gray prism that seems to shed a continual light. Also inside are 3 oddly shaped nails.
"So... look. I know it's a bit unusual, but I had these things from back in... where I'm from. Last night, during the storm, I er... sort of dreamed somethin'. I saw a fire, small, sputtering and somehow, I knew it's name was 'Ehren.' That there is an ioun torch, burnt out but won't stop shedding light 'til it's destroyed. Those nails, their what are called hex nails. Put 'em in your shoe. They'll help against witches. I just felt I had to do somethin' to help you chaps. It just felt... right." When you're both done speaking, Tengezil bows gracefully and takes his leave.
As Ilya begins packing his things and preparing himself for the mission, Kale and Menander appear in your room. "Ilya," Kale starts, edging forward past her husband and into the cramped confines of your room. "We've, um... We've come to wish you luck. We're rather proud to see you volunteered for something this dangerous, and while you're an adult, and we've only known you for so long, me and Menander, we've come to think of you as... something of a son. You know we've... never been able to... what I mean is..." Tears begin to fill Kale's eyes and she takes a step back where Menander holds her from behind. Menander picks up the speech. "Like she said, Ilya, you mean a lot to us. The fact that you'd risk yourself for this town, it just puts the whole damned thing into perspective. We wanted to wish you a proper goodbye before the morn'. And so, here." Menander edges around his wife and hands Ilya a parcel wrapped in cloth. Inside is a small vial and an eagle feather which Menander identifies as frost ward gel and a feather token. "Now don't go throwing that stuff away. It was damn expensive and Vivialla likes discounts just as she likes just a wee bit of hair in her soup. Such unkindness to a man with hair troubles." Kale, becoming more frustrated than upset, elbows Menander in the small of his back. "Gah! Damnit woman... Anyway. Nobody knows how cold it may get as you get further into the forest. It's for when you might need it. The feather token's something more important. You ever get into a jam you don't think you'll get right out of, send us word with that. We'll mobilize the cavalry. There's no chance we're leaving you lot out there."
Kaelifax is indeed late to dinner and Vivialla is furious with the man until he explains what he had been late for. The table becomes quiet as you explain the council proceedings as the mission into the Border Wood. "Are you sure about this, dear?" Vivialla says. "You have such an important place in our community and in this household. I'd hate to see you risk so much to discover what happened to some other hapless noble." Dinner is conducted thus brusquely until you and Violetta retire upstairs to begin your lesson. Violetta seems distracted. When asked what might be bothering her, without a word, the young woman gets up and marches over to her bed. She removes from underneath a long stick with a bulb on the end, a pile of animal furs and a pair of what look like simple work gloves. "Kaelifax, you'd be surprised how fast word travels in a small town like this." She picks up the pile and wraps it in a pillowcase, handing it to you. "I'm good friends with Orillus Davigen. Being the caretaker of the clocktower, you'd also be surprised what that man hears. I know you're going out there into the cold, and what's more I know what kind of horrors you'll be fighting. I manage the store's stock-lists. Mother won't know any of this is gone. I got a sunrod, some animal furs and what I've found labeled as "assisting gloves." They're magical, but... I'm not quite sure what they do. I hope they'll help you, teacher. I don't want to lose you. Like mother said... you're very important... to the community."
As Kyrianna packs her horse's saddlebags and other equipment, Sophia Immiras stops by to give her farewells. "Kyrianna, I know you've got a good 'ead on your shoulders and a high and mighty attitude that'd make Old Deadeye himself quake in his sodden boots, so I won't even try and convice ya' you'll be safer here. Hell, it's probably not any safer here anyway. Girl, you just be careful. Try not to get yourself killed. I won't forgive ya' if you do." She pauses for a moment, thinking before reaching into her satchel and pulling out a pair of cleats, and a silvery cape. "This is for you. Cleats are some old things I found that I think belonged to my mum before she passed. They'll be good on icy surfaces. The cape's something special though. It's nice looking, but it's magical, a catching cape I heard it's called. It'll help you out in a pinch. I've also got a mind to give you some more animal feed. You don't know how long y'all will be out there. And don't even think about saying no. I won't even consider it."
Late at night, Marina finds a young man knocking on your door. He identifies himself as Guiles Jacer. He's a young man, comely and swaddled in thick furs. "Mrs. Tsetvanov? Glad to make your acquaintance, mam. Mr. Bower told me he spoke to you yesterday. He told me a whole bunch of other things too, things about responsibility, duty, family, things like that. Well, he spoke for a long time... and I mean a long time. It was difficult to get away from him, seeing as how we all got locked inside his barn after, well, he caught Jerry, his daughter and I... it's a long story." Guiles scratches his head. "He convinced me though, like you convinced him. You know, I never thought I'd be much for marriage. Never had much mama and me since my Pa left. But, I don't think that concerned him. As much as a blowhard that man is, he wants to see his daughter be happy. I'm glad to say now... we're engaged. I didn't have much in the way of a ring, but Mr. Bower says that it doesn't matter. He says that if we're gonna keep doing this all secret like, we might as well do it in sight of Erastil's graces. I thank you for that, mam. Hell, I think he might have strangled me that night if you hadn't talked to him beforehand." Under his arm he's carrying a satchel which he hands over to Marina. "I had a talk with Natharen Safander this morning and he says he'll be just about ready to perform the rights in a few days. He was even going to recommend you do them until he heard where you were about to go. He got hold of me and told me to give you these." "He told me that whereever you go, make sure you take Erastil's lessons with you. Well, that's all. Thanks, Mrs. Tsetvanov."
When the doctor returns back to his home, he finds Yuln sitting upright, looking unchanged from when you left, which, given the extent of his injuries, seems just about as well as you could have hoped. The Old Mother sits napping in the corner, undisturbed by your entrance. Yuln looks at you as you enter and beckons you over. "I can tell. You're an old warrior, and in that fate has seen to bring us here, face to face. We're different men. You fight to protect and I fight because it is what I do. But we can't escape it, no matter how one tries." Yuln's voice grows more sullen. "I might die dishonorable ways, bad ways. There's a sickness in me and more besides. However I go, I want it to be with a sword in my hand, not puking my guts out on floor. But you, I see it in eye, you're going out there to find out what's happening. I might be forced idle, but my sword, she is not. Her name is Hefnd. In the common tongue, this means Vengeance. I can feel her. She wants to fight and she is good and of all in this village I owe you most for saving my life. She is a mastercrafted sword and has been with me for years uncountable. She is made of cold-iron and thus may yet help you fight the damned fey. Please, do not dishonor me by refusing. My sword is what's left of me. Allow her to take her namesake. Get the bastards who brought me down. While you're at it, kill them all... like I couldn't." By the time the doctor has finished his conversation, it appears Old Mother Theodora has already left.
Neela walks back to Theodora’s cottage, the weight of her decision occupying all her thoughts. It is with this occupation she does not notice the old woman walking up behind her. ”Neela,” she says, walking up behind you in the entrance to the cottage. ”What troubles you my dear?” Listening to whatever you tell her, the old mother walks inside and begins rummaging around the piles of materials spread about the cabin, seemingly rearranging some things. She comes back to Neela holding under her arm five ribbon-bound scrolls. ”Neela, I know you’ve lived a life filled with hardship. You’ve always had a brilliant mind and the will to use it. It’s that will, not that mind of yours that has gotten you into trouble before. You have the passion and drive to do great things, Neela, and although you may regret the things you’ve done in the past, you are still that same girl that travelled all the way from a farm in Taldor to one of the most hostile places on this planet. I should know what kind of courage it takes. Here.” She hands the five scrolls to you. She kneelsdown slowly and methodically before giving you a great hug. ”Good luck to you, my dear.” [ooc]-Vanya- Hours after Vanya heads home to prepare himself for the following day’s mission, he hears a knock on his door. Outside, swallowed in her coat is Tessarea Willowbark. Her face, wrapped for the most part in a scarf, seems somber. After stepping inside and closing the door, she removes from inside her coat’s pockets, several items, three vials distinctly labeled and a pair of snowshoes. ”I hate the cold, you know,” she says. ”Don’t get me wrong. I used to love it. I once thought snows were nature’s way of starting everything anew… It was just my brother and I, years ago. We were travelling north, into crown of the world. It wasn’t too long ago, perhaps just 30 years or so, but I remember it so clearly, how we camped for a night under a large outcropping, how were beset upon by a pack of ice trolls, how we fought back. But there were too many, we both tried to flee, but my brother broke his ankle on a sharp rock hidden in the snow. I remember how they were going to catch up to us. I remember my brother’s cries that I should just run. I remember running and turning back as they caught him. They tore him apart and it seemed like time slowed down. The snowfall became saturated with blood. I can’t help but think one day… one day I’ll have to fight them again. I have stockpiles of alchemist’s fire now, all because I can’t stop seeing the trolls tearing into my brother…” Her violet eyes seem drawn back, unfocused as she tells the story in unfluctuating monotone. She remains standing throughout, staring into space. ”The snowshoes used to be my brothers. I had them in my pack with me. I brewed that potion of resist energy this evening when I heard… where you were going. The other three vials are alchemist’s fire. I hope they’ll help you. You’ve been a good friend to me, Vanya. I don’t want to lose you too.” With her speech finished, Tessarae takes her leave, back into the frozen night.
Yuln stares intently at Ilya, ignoring the debate rapidly brewing in the small confines. He seems just about ready to answer the slight when Vanya enters through the portal. Yuln acknowledges his greeting. "Another northman! Ah, good to see one of my kind hasn't lost manners. Yes, I am good, thanks to you people and your doctor. Add whatever drink that is to pile. Things seem to be, as they say, 'getting started.'" Yuln does not seem to want to step into the debate and relaxes back on the table. Councilor Teppen, for her part, has always been a cool and collected person. She is known throughout the town for her stony face. While nobody would ever tend to think of her as unkind, or at the very least unjust, the trials of the last few weeks seem to have started to wear on her. Her trademark collection and care seem to be melting off of her, like wax dripping from a candle. She meets Ehren's stare, acknowledging its truth. As Vanya enters and Neela begins to tell him all about the recent events, it seems as though she finally snaps. Enough! she roars, placing her hand down hard on the edge of the table, startling Yuln from his placid relaxation. She points an accusing finger at Neela. "Listen, you overgrown lizard..." However, she isn't able to finish her sentence when an old, weathered hand is placed on her shoulder. Ionnia turns to meet Theodora's gaze, and what passes between the two of them as they stare wordlessly into each other's eyes is anyone's guess. "This is not the place, and you know it, Councilor," the old mother says. "Do not insult the girl for speaking truly. It is okay Vanya knows. He is a northerner and trustworthy, and you know it. Go, make your arrangements and your plans. I can stay here. Let me watch the northerner." Ionnia is wordless for a moment before sighing submissively. She looks over to Neela, pain and guilt in her eyes. "I am... so sorry," she says before adressing the large group in front of her. We need to discuss this formally. I will... call a meeting of the council. I'd very much like if all of you came with me. Doctor, Marina, that includes you. I know you'd like to stay with your patient, but I trust your council too highly to leave you out of the deliberations. Kyrianna, please do us all a favor and bring Isker with you as well. HE'll need to know about this as well. With that, she sends her assistant out to gather the rest of the councilors while she leads whoever follows out the front door. Just about to knock on the front door of the doctor's house, just after Ionnia's outburst had been clearly heard, Kaelifax must jump out of the way of the front door as Ionnia quickly opens it. Seeing the man in front of her, clearly confused by the group piled up at the door, she makes a defeated gesture. "You might as well come along too, Kaelifax. You've met the northerner already. Blast and damnation. What's even the point of trying to keep these things secret?"
She leads whoever wishes to follow back to the town hall. She waits until the other councilors, Isker and everyone is present before bringing all present up to speed on what they had all learned from Yuln, and what these dangers present to Heldren. "Our town is not yet on the brink of annihilation," she says to the crowd, her steadfast demeanor having seemingly returned. "But it soon will be. We have gotten no message from the High Sentinels for weeks, and have gotten less than nothing from local lords. The High Sentinels, as Marina previously suggested, may still be alive, but we have no way of knowing. Now, with bandits in the Border Wood and winter fey aiding them, only time will tell if this early frost will spell doom for us all, whether our town will surely perish. The council as conferred and come to a conclusion. We cannot send the militia in after the men who captured this duchess, even if she is the only key to our discovering what has happened here." Isker stares sourly at the councilor but says nothing, glaring with hurt pride. "What we need now is a solution, and, frankly, I'm all ears."
Violetta gives a quick smirk at the notion of a non-"vociferous" debate. Oh, sure tutor. Much to the chagrin of my oh-so-fine fellow members of the blasted aristocracy, I would never mean to suggest our fine historical lineage could be marred by their succession. I only mean to say that us, great and powerful Taldor, would have done well to keep those childish chelish under our great stormy umbrella." She gives a playful laugh. "It could almost sound interesting, they way you describe. it." Vivialla waves away her child's playful banter and gives a great smile at Kaelifax's acceptance. "Yes, the small joys indeed. We will be supping at not a minute past four, so I do suggest you be on time tonight. I will have our maid prepare duck, imported mind you, and I have to say it is divine." With that, the two of them walk off to finish their daily errands. As they move away, Violetta glances back at Kaelifax, a wistful expression on her face. ...
Yuln's eyes light up as he sees Ilya bringing in the ale. "A drink... ages it's been. Never though I'd see good ale again. He sits up, but then seems to take in the Sylph's obviously northern features. "A northman? Ancestors... never thought I'd see one of our like down here. You're not from around here..." Yuln then seems to notice the slippage of his manners. "And, whoever this Kale is, they have my thanks."
Yuln grows stiff as he begrudgingly lets the doctor place his hand all over him, but guffaws at the doctor's mention of survival. "You have the eyes of an old warrior, doctor, but I do not fear death. It comes for us without warning, maybe, but it is the course of a warrior to follow battle until it takes him. What happened to me out there in the cold... I was not about to let death come for me that way, gagging on the red snow..."
Sense Motive; DC 10:
Yuln, in spite of his bravado, seems troubled by his brush with death. His pronouncement on the nature of being a warrior sounds forced, almost rehearsed. He continues answering the doctor's questions. "I didn't get a good look at the man. The coward came from the shadows. I was fighting several opponents and he came to give me the finishing blow. You say the blade was poisoned, and that makes sense. Magical? No, not that I could tell, though I've never had much patience with the magical. I couldn't tell. It burned like only real cold can burn as it entered me. I've been wounded many a time, but nothing's ever hurt quite like that." Yuln looks even more concerned as you mention glacier plague. "I've heard of it as it is called such in common. My people call it gamla plágan. We find it near the Irrisen border in old ruins. It's said to eat a man alive, but it can be cured, yes? And what of this poison? What has it done to me?" "So the goal of these fey was to capture your mysterious Duchess," Yuln considers for a moment. "It may be. The attack, it could just be banditry, but with the fey, nothing can be simple with them here." For a long time, councilor Teppen has stood silently in the back, her knuckles pressed against her chin in a deep thoughtful gesture. She's surprised as her name is mentioned and looks saddened at the rather cramped room. She sighs before speaking. "First, I must ask that every person present here remains sworn not to tell a soul what I say here in this room, not without due cause. These are dark tidings and our village will not survive a panic." She then walks forward to the front of everyone to address them. "Two weeks past, as the first reports arrived from travellers and merchants of the unseasonable cold, I sent word to the High Sentinels, the rangers that patrol the border wood, of these tidings. I am sure they got the message, for Jacke, my assistant delivered them himself. They said they would send word back with a rider a few days later. We haven't heard from or of them since. I can only imagine what happened, but with no other means of exploring the area without risking our lives, I decided to send word to the lords in Oppara, requesting aid. None came." Ionnnia starts pacing back and forth, as she is known to do in the town hall as she deliberates. "I suspect this 'duchess' either heard of or intercepted the message, but why she never sent word she would investigate, I can't be sure. See, Neela, I already tried. What little news I got from more local lords always said something along the lines of 'the need to protect their more immediate interests.' The doctor's right. None care for our town in the first place, and without a name to this mysterious duchess, who could we possibly contact? Yuln's arrival is the first piece of news we've heard for two weeks." She ruefully bristles at the Doctor's plea to organize the militia."Kyrianna, Doctor, I must make you both understand. The militia, small as it is, needs to stay here. Isker is a good man, but old and one of the few things keeping the town together these days. If the militia is sent out into the wilderness alone and ill-supplied, they are like to die out there. How many have fought in the cold? How many have any clue how to fight these fey. And if they leave, who will be here to defend the town? The duchess is a concern, yes, the cold even more so, but the town will always come first. Yes, Kyrianna, Isker needs to mobilize the militia, but only to defend the town. I know the council will agree with me. They need to defend Heldren."
Yuln seems to have grown more patient after his last episode and answers each of your questions in turn. "Welcome to Heldren, then. Saw to your horse, she's all safe and tucked up in Sophia's stable. She told me to tell you not to ride her like that without a little warning next time, eh?" "Aye. Is good news. She wasn't my horse, but she was fine one. My horse was cut down by the fordæmdur fey. The duchess treated her well enough, and horse saved my life, so I suppose I owe the girl something. Never heard 'er name though, which is shame. Please give this Sophia dýpsta þakklæti mitt." Hallit:
"Damned," "my deepest gratitude."
Yuln looks at the extent of his wounds. "You are right. ég afsökunar for the insults. You are strange folk, yes, but you save my life and I must be grateful." Yuln winces as the memories of the battle resurge. Nasty... yes. They are cruel, and more besides. My ancestors would ridicule my lack of valor for fleeing rather than fighting to the end. But I faced enemies that even the greatest warriors in the Linnorm Kingdoms have faltered against, though I think I slew at least one of them before they dragged the Duchess away. They are the winter-touched, and centuries on centuries before we have been taught of their cruelty. It was they and the white witches that conquered a part of our kingdoms with frost and hatred. They enslaved those poor souls in what they now call 'Irrisen.' He spits out that last word, as if he were speaking the name of his most hated enemy. "Mega kistur þeirra springa, hár þeirra ná tendrað og börn þeirra rotna fordæmdur hvíta nornir." They are tiny sprites no taller than the length of a man's forearm. But don't be fooled by their small stature. They may be harmed by regular steel and magic, but cold iron, that is their bane..." He glances over towards Ehren. "That and fire." Hallit:
"My apologies," "May their bosoms burst, their hair catch aflame and their children rot the damned white witches."
"What is this word, 'impossible?' The fey are here. It seems it so. Your wrong winter must be reason they are here. I have felt such winter, back in the North, but never this far South, not never. From all I know, it was why the Duchess was there in the first place." As you mention mother to him, Yuln's expression merges into an expression of shame and longing. He turns his head away to hide his face. "Out there, in the cold, when I felt the cold inside of me and all around me, I knew I could live for only a few more moments. I thought of my ancestors, my northern brethren, but then I opened my eyes and there in front of me was an enormous woman. She was bathed in a halo of bright light and I thought then she was my mother, coming to welcome me back to great my ancestors in the halls of the afterlife." He pauses for a few minutes, turned away from you all, before turning back around. "It was difficult to count the enemy's strength. They came streaming from the wood, swaddled in cloaks and brandishing their steel. They were piss-poor fighters, not fit to hold their swords. They were regular bandits, and I've slaughtered enough of them in my time to build a house with their bones and fill a dry lake with their blood. In large numbers, they can overwhelm you. Never let them press over you or flank you. That is when the battle turns. The real enemy, that is the Fey. Legends say they have taken a sliver of ice into their hearts, and their touch bears the harsh bite of winter." "Do you think there were any survivors?" she asks the northman. "You said you didn't see where they'd taken her-- what makes you sure they took her?" Yuln gives a hard, searching look at Marina before answering. "The svín skutpallur bleyður, the bandits, they swarmed over us. I knew the men little, but they were better than them, better fighters at least. Their numbers, though, they overwhelmed us. I do not know if any others but me survived, but I am sure they took the Duchess. If their goal was heildsölu slátrun they would have killed her first to demoralize. She was an easy target. I saw them take her and much of her treasure. They placed a bag on her head and placed her on a horse. What they've done to her, what they plan to do to her, I cannot say. They took her into the wood, and that was the last I saw of them. The only means to find her now is to track her." Hallit:
"pig s*%~ cowards," "a wholesale slaughter."
Tessaraea Willowbark places a hand on your shoulder. "Vaya," she says, "the day I want you gone because of a little snow is the day hell's also frozen over. The snow will melt. The garden can be replanted. But you are one of my dearest... friends. Yes, we'll import what we need while the unseasonable weather lasts. You'll help me in the shop and if you ever think you should need leave, well then I'll thank you for all your loyalty and hard work and send you on your way. But for now, you'll stay here. Sound good?" Tessaraea takes a moment to consider the northern stranger. "Strange tidings they may be, but that man must have some inkling as to this mess. He might very well be the key to ending all this."
I have to put in some extra time for work over the weekend. I'll be posting again Sunday at the earliest. Sorry guys. That's not a problem. Thanks for the heads-up.
Yuln stares, mouth agape at Ehren's entrance. "First a small dragon creature and now a man on fire? You say that this is a town in Taldor, but you strange people makes me believe that I passed out in a tavern in Kaer Maga." He laughs at this, but cringes and makes a mad grasp for his chest, feeling the icy wound there. His voice becomes more somber. "Fine, little one. I shall tell you my tale. I am Yuln Oerstag, son of Baldor. I was once called 'Yuln Icebane,' but that was some time ago. I spent my youth in the Lands of the Linnorm Kings in the settlement of Halgrim. I served in the service of my lord, a man named Gail for 20 years as a shield-warrior, but after my lord's death I decided to roam the lands to the south. I spent years working mercenary all over the Inner Sea. I had distant cousin who served your Taldan prince in the Ulfen guard and he recommended me to a job preotecting some other Taldan noble. She was a duchess of some kind but refused to reveal her name. She took with her only mercenaries and none of her household guard. It was a strange happening and I would not have taken the job had the pay been so good. We were to take the duchess south to the border wood. She was to meet with some contact of hers, but the whoever that was had either died or betrayed her for we met nobody. We were making to return home when we were attacked..." The big man stops and turns his head, staring at a newcomer who has entered into the portal. Ionnia Teppen stares with undisturbed expression at the mess of the room and at the man lying on the table. She makes a motion with her hands that seem to say, "go on," as she shuts the door. Yuln continues. "We were first beset upon by a group of bandits it seemed, wolves that hid in the forrest and waited 'til we were open to attack, but they were cubs and frightened cowards with swords of s%+#-steel and they were no match for us. But then, of all things, came the cold fey of the North. I grew up near the border of Irrisen listening to tales told by the hearth of such creatures. They were evil things, pixies that haunted the dreams of naughty children. I have seen many things in my day, horrible things, brutal things, but I am not afraid to admit that it was these beings, the hauntings of childhood fairy-tales that made my heart seize at the sight. They were small and so some of our band underestimated them. It was those who were the first to die. It became a slaughter. I was backed up against our wagon, fighting bandits and the small winter-touched fey when a man stepped out from the shadows and drew a dagger into my chest. I did not see where they had taken teh duchess, but they had not yet taken her horse. They thought I was dead, but I managed to crawl to the horse and ride hard whichever direction the road took me. I was half-gone, mad even. Those must have been hours, though they felt like days for I was hardly awake most of the time. That is the last thing I remember before I was awoken here, to find myself in the company of false-dragons, flaming men and," he stares bewildered at Marina, "beings that inspire in me all too familiar dread." When finished, he does his best to drink a whole flagon of water before any of you ask him any questions. Ionnia has, all this time, been completely silent. ...
It is hardly noticeable, but you believe you can see Vivialla's smile wax just a tiny bit. "Yes, well," she says. "It's good we've found you unharmed and in good spirits. It seems to me the snow is your home, even if you haven't yet had the... opportunity to participate, I'd vouch for the unique fun a snowball fight can bring to children." She claps her hands together. "Yet still, if we are to make Violetta into a proper adult, then we must continue on with her lessons. I would hope you might come to dine with us tonight. I'd not like to see you running off this time. We might continue with Violetta's lessons. She should be educated if she wants to have any chance of marrying. I've had many a passing nobleman remark on her beauty. To think, from a lowly town on the edge of a frozen wood to a seat at the right hand side of a fine noble in the capitol... it is every mother's dream." Violetta rolls her eyes and stares upwards at her mother, her grip, unnoticed by her mother, tightening on the miniature snowman.
You become engrossed in your work. While the snow may have destroyed your crops and ruined a good night's sleep, there is something nostalgic about working in the snow. You don't even notice the woman approaching behind you until she taps you on the shoulder. "Hello, Vanya," says Tessaraea Willowbark. "I'm so glad to see you well. I could only watch as the weather worsened, and I thought of you out there, holding together our shop with your bare hands against the icy winds... but it seems you're alright, and of better news, I have not heard in a long time."[b] She eyes you up and down, squinting against the sun, and gives you a wan smile. [b]"I hope you don't mind me saying, but the bundled-up style looks good on you, fitting. So tell me, how has our gardened fared through the weather. Please tell me we haven't lost everything. That might just put a damper on this most beauteous afternoon."
The large man looks confused by his surroundings. He glances about, picking up on the medical instruments scattered about, the table, the tub of water and finally his nakedness, though he looks hardly ashamed at it. He eyes you all with suspicion, but seeing as none of you decided to draw a weapon on him, he seems to decide better of making a run for it. His arm with the surgical saw drops to his side. He brings his other hand up to bear to point at Neela. That's when he notices the frostbite. Most of his left index finger could not be saved. It had to be removed, using the very same saw he held in his other hand. He realizes now he is also missing the entirety of the little finger on his right hand and half his left ring finger. He brings his hand to his face and feels the mark where half his nose was removed. "Forfeður..." he mumbles before collapsing to the floor. Hallit:
"Ancestors..." After helped back onto the table, the big man asks for water. He turns his head groggily and looks impressively at Neela. "Þú, litla, tala þú tungumál norðarlega. Hesturinn, gerði það að lifa?" Hallit:
"You, little one, you speak the language of far north. The horse, did it survive?" The Old Mother stands up and moves over to the man. "Be calm," she says. "What is your name? His head breaking into a sweat, he answers. "Mine name... my name is Yuln Oerstag. Where am I? Who are you all?"
...
Kaelifax, as you work on clearing out the area in front of the Stoat, you see, approaching you from the opposite side of the square, Vivialla Steranus and her daughter. If you don't try to get out of there right quick, Vivialla gives you a sly smile and a wave as she approaches you, squinting in the bright light. "Kaelifax, my dear. You left so suddenly last night. I had hardly the opportunity to wish you well. Still, I am oh so glad the storm has left you unharmed. Hrm, you even seem to be enjoying yourself." Violetta, shyly, turns her head and giggles aloud. It's good to see you, teacher," she says.
Thanks, Marina. Never noticed that but that should probably save my ass more often than not. I know my posts have gotten to be done rather late an infrequently over the past few days. I've had a bit of an improper schedule, but I'll be more free soon and will have more opportunity to post at least a bit earlier.
The town of Heldren awakened the next day to silence. The piercing shriek of the wind had ceased and the snow had stopped falling sometime near daybreak, as those of the town who elected to stay up through the night attested to. As the hail and sleet slipped behind a vast curtain of snowfall, the drifts of snow began piling up, reaching almost four feat by daybreak. The town, as you saw it before in the summer, with its green pastures and shining wood houses, looks almost unrecognizable dressed underneath an impenetrable blanket of snow. The mood of the town seemingly changed as well. Filled with trepidation at the coming storm, the town had grown sullen, tired and irritable. Since the storm passed beyond Heldren's reaches, and as the wakers exited outside to see their houses still intact (though damaged by the high winds), their distraught behavior too had vanished. Children played in the snow as parents set about clearing paths through the streets with shovels and fixing damaged windows, doors and other property. Their crops were dead, their livestock sheltered underneath hastily built barns and what the future might bring they had no clue, but they were alive; their children were alive and that was enough. With the threat of the storm gone, gossip quickly took a turn towards what townsfolk have been calling the "pale rider" who entered town in the middle of the storm. Who or where he came from, nobody knew for certain, and, as was the nature of small towns and gossip, rumors began flying. Someone came up with the idea he was a Quadiran agent, sent to summon a storm and freeze the southern reaches of Taldor before quickly subsuming the frozen resistance. Others, most principle among them Argus Goldtooth, said he was a mercenary, run afoul of the which he once guarded who desired to use the border wood as a new playground for her foul magics. Still, for the next day, nobody but those who had gotten close to the lone stranger dared get even close to the Doctor's house. For most of the next day, the man remained in the same condition, muttering only here and there as his beleaguered body fought fever, infection and blinding pain. After that horrid the sky cleared. The sun shines as brightly as any other summer day, and with it comes the blinding reflection off the waist-deep snow. Villagers stumble about squint-eyed and cursing at the cold. Among them, Councilor Ionnia Teppen, followed manically by her aid, Jacke, moves swiftly under her wool cloak, hurrying past groups of 'hallo-ing' townspeople towards the Doctor's house. She had just gotten word a commotion was occurring at Doctor Montgomery's house. ...
He mumbled in his sleep, the northerner. The work of the night before had taken the man out of the endless woods of his imminent demise, but he was by no means well. Throughout the day he had gone periodically from high fever to shivering cold. The Doctor, Marina, Old Mother Theodora and Neela did the best they could to settle his many afflictions, but it was primarily a waiting game. He would have to come out of this himself. It was at midday on the Oathday after the storm that the man awoke screaming. Eyes still closed, the man thrashes about on the table. It starts with a low babbling murmer, but quickly transforms into a roaring shout."Die þú fryst hunda. Þú getur ekki drepið mig. GAH! Ég get ekki deyja hér. Forfeður mínir ... Ég mun ekki deyja hér!" [spoiler=Hallit]"Die you frozen dogs. You can't kill me. Gah! I can't die here. My ancestors... I will not die here!" Shaking, the man's eyes violently latch open. All you can see of his eyes are a panicked expression. The man leaps for the sword that was once on his hip, but, grasping at air, he slides clumsily off the table with a loud smack, nearly upending several other tables nearby. He fumbles with his hands as he grabs the nearest weapon he can find, a surgical saw, and points it at the occupants of the doctor's kitchen. "Move, nobody," he says in broken common. "Gah! I gut you like a frozen cattle."
*Sigh, sorry guys. The post I was just working on on-and-off for the past 45 minutes just got swept away by a badly timed backspace and it's gone... all gone. My post will be a bit late tonight (though this is sadly not unusual.)
Alright. Today (IRL) we'll move on to two days from now (game-time). This is usually the way I GM games, though. If somebody has a problem, I listen to it and try to amend it. My immediate reaction has never been to go, "tough titties" and move on but to try and solve the problem. I thank you guys for being democratic and patient with my wider eccentricities.
It's my fault, really. I realized I was being neglectful to you and the other players that weren't assisting the northerner, yet wasn't able to post until late tonight. I was going to end the night there, but Marina convinced me you guys would want to get into it a bit more, if only for one more round at the stout. I'm not above retconning that you realized the people that went out came back in and decided to check out what happened. I'd hate to leave you out.
The Silver Stoat The storm seems to have hardly let up, taking a turn for even harder cold. The patrons at the stoat can feel it through the wood walls and most huddle around the fire. Mercifully, however, the hail and sleet mixture transforms into gusting flurries of snow, making outside sight now nigh impossible, but easing on the noise, allowing some to finally get some rest. Kale watches Ilya retire back to his quarters with a concerned expression. She hugs the sylph in a one-armed embrace before trying her best to console him. "Thanks, Ilya, for all the effort with the people here. If it's the snow that's upset you... well, I jus' want you to know, me and Menander, we're here for you if you'd like to talk." She then lets Ilya go and returns back to collecting the used soup bowls from the bar's patrons. Kyrianna is the first to arrive back at the Stoat, whipping in through the front door amidst a heavy downfall of the angry, swirling snowfall. Mounds of night-darkened white have already begun to pile up outside the door and snowdrifts threaten to enter along with those still coming in from outside. Sophia slaps Kyrianna on the back. "Hell, Kyrianna. Never knew you were a natural stable medic. I've gotta say I'm proud of ya'. Lets say I owe ya' a pint. I'll be sure to take a look at 'er once all this blows over." Some time after Kyrianna arives, Ehren storms in much more dramatic fashion, easily stepping through the drifts as if he were born in snow.
It is Argus Goldtooth who ends up being loudest among the group. "So what is it wit' the ruddy bloke? The way I hears it, man comes sidling all 'come as you may' like into town, but who knows where he come from." The balding Dwarf runs his hand along the length of his coarse, dark beard. "The way I hears it, man was wounded in some kind of battle, but who knows how far away. Man could be one of them bandits we been hearing about in the border wood. Now, see, the High Sentinels, they the ones who're supposed to curb the fighting out there, but we ain't hear nothing from them since the weather started acting up. So what is it? The man start talking yet?
A fair point. I'm sorry for perhaps neglecting some of you. Totally wasn't my intention.
Old Mother Theodora turns to Neela. "Yes, my dear," she says, sounding shaky as the determination that seemingly possessed her before slowly ekes out of her. "You are always free to do as you wish, Neela, as always. Just do be careful. I admire your bravery for seeking me out through the storm." She then addresses Ehren, Marina and Kaelifax. "Our dear cleric is correct. We must all wash thoroughly those areas of our bodies that touched or were touched by that man. I am glad the doctor keeps things here sterile. If not, we might have an epidemic on our hands."
Old Mother Theodora finally addresses the doctor. "It is a certainty that he was indeed attacked, but by who or what I doubt anyone but himself could say. Glacier plague can hardly be found around the likes of southern Taldor, unless some hapless northern adventurer brings it back here accidentally. I spent some years in my early youth around the Lands of the Linnorm Kings, studying their ancient histories. Glacier plague often erupted in small areas there, though apart from chillbane fever, which in a sense is far more deadly and easily spread, it did not nearly have so much a capacity for being a plague. Glacier plague causes the infected to slowly freeze from the inside out. Internal temperature drops and a sort of necrosis of internal tissue also arises, not unlike frostbite. It's usually contracted from ancient ruins long since buried by Irrisen's supernatural cold. He should be kept warm at all times. There are draughts and tinctures that should be able to cure him of the affliction, and a proper cleaning of the wound followed by bedrest should help him survive. However... There is a poison in him that entered through the narrow blade that pierced his chest. Notice now..." She opens up the bandage on his chest and shows the necrosis of that area has begun to creep back. "The poison has accelerated the disease and made it difficult to treat. I can't tell what poison it is, however, and without knowing what poison it is, there can be no way to fashion an antitoxin." The Old Mother looks weary at this point and moves to sit down on a nearby chair. "Now, if I might intrude further on your hospitality, Doctor, I'd very much like to rest before this storm ceases. I don't believe my old bones would very much like another venture outdoors in this weather."
Don't worry about the placement for now. I want to move the story forward a couple days after Old Mother Theodora's done answering any questions. As for the spell-like ability question, it would depend on which prestige class you were looking to take and which spell. Don't worry about character rearranging. It all doesn't matter before we hit our first combat. However, I'll allow the prehensile hair to use Int to hit. ... Here's a question for everyone. I'm looking for some idea of how you all think the pacing is going. It's difficult to get a sense of how fast you guys would like things to go, so if you think this is all a bit slow to begin with, I'll try and pick up the pace a bit. This has just been practically an intro and things will surely begin to pick up momentarily.
I see nothing wrong with that sentence. I, myself, regularly scour myself with soup after a long day working in the canning plant. You might be surprised, but new england clam chowder works the best.
The Town Hall The rest of the town hall's habitant's listen in surprised mystification. At your mention that Old Mother Theodora should try and accompany Neela into the storm, Orillus Davigen and another member of Heldren's council, Maeki Boltund both stand up and begin berating you. Maeki, a rotund man with a ruddy face and a handkerchief always close to his nose, asks, "Is it your intention to get Mother Theodora killed? She is our eldest, and a frail woman at that..." but he is interrupted as, wordless, the Old Mother stands up and begins, with a haste rarely seen of her these days, to gather her coat and things together. She takes Neela by the shoulder gently, leaning on you only a bit as she hobbles towards the front doors of the town hall. Ionnia, looking excited, sees the determination in the Mother Theodora's tired eyes and stifles a complaint she was just at the cusp of voicing. Instead, she gathers up her coat and gloves and begins making her way as well to the front door alongside Neela. "Orillus," she says, "please take care of everyone here until I return. Do not exit unil you know for sure the storm has passed." The three of you then make haste for the Doctor's house. ... The Doctor's House GM Screen:
; Second Save: Impossible... Through Marina's divine healing, Ehren's care, the Doctor's heal-craft and Kaelifax's assistance the northerner looks to have been pulled back from the edge of the shallow cold grave he was almost certainly destined for just an hour ago. You have treated the wound in his arm and, having had to amputate some parts of him unfortunately, have managed to spare him from the worst of the frostbite. The wound on his sternum, however, is another story. You've helped clean the wound and bandage it, but whatever disease afflicts him is petrifying him from within. Minutes after finishing, the door to the doctor's house is thrown open violently. In walks first councilor Ionnia Teppen, trailed by The Old Mother Theodora leaning now heavily on Neela's small shoulder. Theodora, seeing the patient on the table in the center of the room, quietly walks up to the rest of you and begins asking questions about how you found the man, what kind of wounds he had and how they were treated. She scowls as you tell her about the wound you were unable to diagnose in his sternum. She motions you all over and steps her small legs on top of a box next to the table to bring herself up to equal height. Mumbling to herself, the Old Mother runs her hands along the wound and casts a simple spell. Spellcraft DC 15 to determine spell being cast:
Old Mother Theodora casts Detect Poison.
[spoiler=GM Screen]
Old Mother Theodora turns back to the rest of you. Her voice is small and squeaky, but surprisingly determined. "Doctor, I have always admired your craft. If all of you were not here, this man would have died an hour ago. He is suffering from a rare disease I haven't seen since my days in the north. It is called Glacier plague. I'd advise us all to scour ourselves with water and soup as to prevent us from contracting the disease. It's curious. While it would have been normally within any of our ability to heal, it seems the blade which gave him the disease has also poisoned him, but with what I cannot say. We must hear his story first before we can jump to any kind of conclusion. I suppose we must wait until he is conscious again before we can discover such things." Ionnia looks cross at these announcements, but says nothing, looking deep in concentration.
Kyrianna manages to bind the wound and treat the wound so it does not get infected while Vanya dries and tries to get the poor girl warm. It doesn't look like she's in danger of dying. Luckily there were supplies in the stables for treating horses of injuries (healing kits). ... Neela, you burst in through the tavern's front door as the wind sweeps in with you, nearly knocking several patrons over. They manage to get the door shut behind you. Asking around, you get few answers from the men and women looking down on you, only mumblings of distracted unknowing. From among the crowd however, Sophia Immiras speaks up. "I know she was speaking with Councillor Teppen before. She might be holed up in the town hall with her there. What's happening, Neela? They find anybody out there? If you go out to brave the storm again, you find yourself running across the square at full sprint and making your way to the large front doors of the town hall. It takes a full minute of knocking, which feels much longer due to the biting cold and raging storm, but eventually a thin woman swings opens the portal and quickly brushes you inside. She has a stern face, well-groomed graying brown hair tied in a bun and is wearing common clothes. You know her as Ionnia Teppen, foremost of Heldren's councilors. In the foyer, crowding around a small fire at the fireplace is Orillus Davigen, the town hall's curator, the rest of the village's council and, sitting in the middle of the group, close to the fire, old, crotchety Mother Theodora. "What is it Neela?" Ionnia asks sternly but with compassion in her voice. "What are you thinking, wandering out in the storm like that?" ...
The doctor's confidence erodes as he sees the extent of the man's injuries. You are practiced in your craft enough, however, that you can tell the basics of his injuries: Frostbite on the outer extremeties (nose, fingers, toes, ears), a large laceration on his right arm hastily bandaged but still leaking blood and most likely infected, a bruised, swollen face that most likely took several hits from a blunt object. Ehren's preemptive healing magic may have helped save the man from succumbing too early. Some of the lesser scrapes and wounds have begun knitting themselves together. He still needs much further care, however. However, when you peel off the outer layers of his clothing and armor, you see a sucking wound in the center of his abdomen. The wound has not closed off and looks not like a scar, but it does not bleed. Around the wound you can see the flesh has started to blacken too, but you have no idea why this would be.
I'm going to be using Icelandic for Hallit. I'm basing it off what I see as Old Norse languages, and of those with Old Norse roots, Icelandic I feel has the most distinctive appearance.
The horse, initially whinying and shying away at the unknown man's touch, becomes soothed by Vanya's and Kyrianna's handling. The doctor, grabbing at the rider by his shoulders, can feel the chill radiating off the man. It seems it was taking the last few ounces of the man's energy to hold on to the saddle for with just one tug, the man comes crashing down on top of you. Up close and personal now, you see the man is obviously of Ulfen origin, tall and bulky with long, fair blonde hair and a plated beard that drops down to his waist. Speckles of blood are spotted throughout the tangles of hair. The man seems barely lucid, shaking violently and spouting a repeated mantra in a language most of you don't know. "Móðir, móðir, móðir..." Hallit:
"Mother, mother, mother..."
The hungry storm clouds do not so much cover the sun as they seem to devour it, ensaring and enshrouding it. From there the clouds continue rolling onwards picking up speed as air currents come in to meet it from the east, moving further and closer until they too have cast Heldren in its thick, grey soup. With the heavy grey curtain comes rolling with it dense fog, sweeping into town from the north. It's not long before the entire town finds itself trapped in the soup. Those of you sitting indoors begin to hear the precipitation rather than see it. It starts with a few knocks on the roof and the cobblestone paths outside. The pitter-patter crescendos, increasing in volume and soon becoming a humongous cacophony that drowns out all other conversation. Ice balls the size of a marble descend down from above, the larger ones sometimes striking with enough force to bruise and batter those unfortunate enough to be caught outside. With the hail comes periodic bursts of sleet, slickening up the cobblestone paths and making walking anywhere a dangerous ordeal. With the sleet and hail comes a wind that shrieks lie a madwoman. Up and down alleyways it winds and twists, wrenching loose boards from the wooden houses and sending animals to mad flights of panic to escape its rage. Thunder explodes from on high and echoes among the houses down below. Lightning strikes haphazardly, bursting from the clouds and illuminating the skies above for just a moment before the surroundings are immediately swallowed up by the fog. And among this torrent of maddening ferocity, a lone rider shambles into town. The horse limps forward, panting and wheezing like a creature from the grave. Its rider slumps in its saddle, listing back and farward, clutching desperately at the reins with frostbite-blackened hands. In spite of storm, the horse trots slowly forward towards the statue at the center of town.
Kale nods at Kyrianna and begins walking to the bar's counter but stops when the sound of the storm seemingly explode around the tavern. All conversation in the Silver Stoat begins to dwindle to a low murmur as the first taps begin sounding off the roof. It dies altogether as the sound grows deafeningly loud. One man, standing a little tipsy, looking to investigate, goes over to the door, shuddering in place. The second he opens it, the force of the wind pushing against him knocks him flat on his backside, sending other patrons scrambling. The hail, snow and sleet come wafting in with their bitter cold embrace. The wind is enough to blow out the fire in the hearth and it takes several other men a few seconds of grunting effort to push the door closed and bolt it shut. Menander puts a hand on Ilya's shoulder and quietly whispers into his ear. Ilya:
"Forget cleaning for tonight," he says. "I'll need you to help with the fire and getting some sheets and blankets out from storage. Nobody's getting out of here with that bastard of a storm out there. I'm not having anyone die on my watch." Kale, sensing her husbands concern, comes forward and addresses the rest of the tavern's patrons. Far from being the only light in the tavern, the loss of its light warmth seemingly makes the whole hall feel more claustrophobic. "Listen up everybody," she says. "Storms too bad out there for any of you fools to go wandering off. Until she passes, you'll be be staying here. Menander will be giving out soup..." She looks around at the many scared faces scattered about and cracks a smile. "But I don't want to see one of you asking about getting a crack at free spirits. The first one that does might just have to spend the night outside. Plenty of fun and adventure out there."
Perception; DC 12:
Against the nearly impenetrable sound of hail and the fog outside, you hear the sound of hooves against cobblestone. If you look out of the front, you see the silhouette of a man on horseback. ... Neela, you escape out of Tesserae's apothecary, noting with extreme trepidation the looming clouds above. You shamble hastily to Old Mother Theodora's cottage at the edge of town and reache the house just as the first few parcels of sleet begin making their way down. You make your way into the fower, calling out for the old woman, but hear no response. Becoming concerned, you search everywhere in the house, hoping to not find her sprawled out somewhere unconscious or worse, but you can't find a single trace of her. Beginning to panic, you start knocking on people's doors, asking hurriedly if they had seen Old Mother Theodora recently. The residents, noting the increasing frequency that the hails seems to be falling, give curt responses all along the lines of 'no.' Going down the line of houses, you find yourself in the town center, nervously glancing around. It feels as if the entire town were deserted. It looks as if not a single soul has deigned to step outside as the storm reached its newfound heights. The fog seems to envelop you, reaching almost up to your waist. AS you stand there, wondering what you should do, a shape begins to manifest out of the darkness. It's difficult to make out. Night has come early, but even with your ability to see in the dark the fog obscures almost everything in front of you. The shape begins to take a certain form, that of a pale rider swaying uneasily in the saddle, mumbling to itself as its dark horse trots unsteadily forward.
Neela Perception check DC 10:
From afar it looks like a monster clambering over to you, but in reality, it's a man dressed in blue. He has a deep gash leaking blood into a hastily wrapped bandage on his right arm, several fingers blackened by frostbite and face that looks bruised and swollen, almost covering over his left eye. The horse also looks injured, a sword wound that looks to have cut over its rear left leg.
I should have called this campaign I'm kidding. This is really great stuff thus far, people. I'll let a few conversations come to a point before things really start heating up... Not the most fitting pun, I know. Now that everyone's dotted, I'll disconnect the borked campaign from this discussion thread and make it inactive.
GM Screen:
Kaelifax does make it to the bar undisturbed. You do not think the mistress of the house has seen your hasty exit.
So... Mal. You ninja'd my post. Sorta. Yeah, hate it when that happens. Disregard that part of the post then. Neela: Ilya pretty much hit the nail on the head. For the most part, Skald is what's spoken in the majority of Irrisen. You speaking Hallit isn't an entirely unreasonable happenstance, however. Reading through your backstory, you mentioned your teacher as a hag and not one of the Jadwiga or any other winter witch. It could be said that the hag that was your teacher and terrorized the townsfolk there came from further north to that land.
However, if you want to change your language to Skald to reflect your time spent in Irrisen, that's also fine with me.
Menander Garimos shoots the doctor a beaming smile as he crosses over to his table. "Doctor, Kyrianna," he says by way of greeting. He nods appreciatively at Matthew's question.
He looks over at Ehren as he finishes his rather lousy performance. "Save for the Quadiran. I don't know if it's that Ifrit blood but I haven't seen that man once look even slightly disturbed by it all." Even against the din of the already filling bar the booming thunder of the oncoming storm breaches into the tavern. Menander runs his meaty hand through his balding plate. "May have to close early tonight. Windows are all boarded up, but we can't have too many drunk sods wandering the streets with that bastard of a storm on its way." He looks down at the doctor's empty hands and the half-filled flagon in Kyrianna's. "Want me to get Kale to top ya' off, Kyri? Drinks are on the house for the two of ya' tonight." ... Ilya, you'll have probably arrived at the Silver Stoat by now. You see many different patrons, sauntering past you, holding on to hats and coats as the wind begins picking up. Amongst the numerous tables spread about there's Kyrianna and Doctor Montgomery at the table in the center and Ehren over at the bar's counter. ...
Updated character sheet and also background. Somehow I missed that there was already a brewer in Heldren, so if its ok with you GM I'd like to say that Ilya was adopted into his family. I've made the small changes to his backstory to reflect this. No problem here. As for secrets, it's fine to keep yours for as long as you like. Matthew's a frank guy, so his background is common knowledge. Most can tell Ehren's from Quadira. It's kind of hard to miss, what with that fire and all. For the most part where your from will be readily evident to people, but what you've done won't be. I'm stil just waiting on Marina to dot the thread before I delete the old one.
You wouldn't be able to take the winter witch archetype as the Winter Witch archetype replaces your 4th level hex and the white-haired witch archetype removes hexes completely. Plus your familiar couldn't be a crab and would have to be a bat, cat, fox, hawk, owl, rat, raven, or weasel if that were the case.
The first gameplay post is up. Have at 'em boys and girls and sorry about the delay.
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