Snows of Summer, session 1
A curious pair of travelers arrived at Heldren. Aldan Kaliqu-Seeker, a male gnome, and Freya Winterbreeze, a female human. They declared themselves Pathfinders, on the hunt for stories of interest. Little did they know that this remote, sleepy village, this Podunk town they looked down upon, would be the start of the greatest adventure of their lives.
It started simply enough. A kidnapped noble and a reward for her return. This was barely interesting; nobles went missing day in and day out all over the world. Yet with word of the kidnapping came stories of unnatural winter weather. Odd, considering it was midsummer. Curious, the pair agreed to help, not expecting the village elder to saddle them with the town drunk, Nikolai, and the out-of-place worshipper of Sarenrae, Aisling. The cleric, at least, would probably be useful. Nikolai, however, was fat, smelled bad, and complained endlessly when he didn’t have a bottle of vodka in his hands.
There was a survivor from Lady Argentea’s kidnapping, an Ulfen bodyguard by the name of Yuln Orestag. He told a harrowing tale of a bandit attack that included strange fey creatures touched by winter itself. The frostbitten man related his experience with such creatures – he’d seen their type before, far to the north, where winter ruled year round and the dread Winter Witches reigned with frozen fists.
What were such creatures doing in Taldor?
Worried by Yuln’s story, Nikolai, Aldan, and Aisling purchased winter outfits from the general store. Curiously, Freya scorned the additional protection, stating she had no such need. The group of misfits headed south, following the directions Yuln had given them. After a few hours of travel, they arrived at the ambush site to find one of the wagons wrecked, the other turned on its side. When they inspected the latter, they heard sounds coming from inside, as if somebody were still alive!
How wrong they were. When the door was opened, two corpses tumbled out of the wagon and stood up, animated into a horrible mockery of life. The zombies were clumsy, but they slammed their arms into their victims with the force of unlife. It was a harrowing battle, but the dark energy powering the zombies eventually collapsed.
Also at the ambush site stood a statue made of ice. Only with closer inspection did they discover it was no statue, but a man completely encased in ice. A cold, gruesome death, no doubt. With heavy heart, they broke through the ice and removed the dead captain’s breastplate – emblazoned with Taldan heraldry, and his finely crafted longsword, intending to return them to Lady Argentea when they found her.
A path to the south was obviously the direction the kidnappers took, and so they followed. All too soon they encountered a curious phenomenon. The height of summer turned to cold winter rather abruptly, as the temperature dropped precipitously, and snow lay deep on the ground, with more falling every minute. Glad now they purchased the furs and heavy clothes, the group continued on.
It didn’t take too long for things to get odder. An arctic tatzlwyrm burst from the snow and tore into Freya, looking to pull her into its den and feast. The creature turned out to be no match for the fury of Aisling’s fire bursts and Nikolai’s flashing blades, however, and Freya was saved.
They slogged through the snow, keeping their clothes tight about them. Except Freya. She walked easily on top of the snow in little more than a light dress, seemingly perfectly at ease in the environment. Who was this woman? Even Aldan, who had travelled with her to some degree and knew she had magic at her command, was surprised at how easily she adapted to the harsh cold.
Their travels took several days, and they were dogged by several fey creatures, their skin white as the snow and their words cold as the air. Turn back, they said, or face the eternal cold of death. The diminutive creatures were little threat, however, and so resorted to tricks more than overt attacks – a talking stag, a snowman rigged with a trap. Nothing deterred the group, however, and soon the fey disappeared.
Eventually, the intrepid group arrived at a man-made shelter, the High Sentinel Lodge. Once the local base for a group of rangers that protected the nearby area, it had since been overrun by the bandits that kidnapped Lady Argentea, as her would-be rescuers soon found out. They went in the front door and were attacked by several bandits.
A vicious battle unfolded, one that drew the attention of the cook, who had little interest in joining, and the bandit’s leader, who reinforced the bandits with creatures of his own making – two human skeletons infused with cold deeper than anything they’d ever felt. These awful undead creatures attacked without mercy, freezing everything nearby. But the bandit leader wasn’t done. Invisible to their eyes, he read from a scroll and touched two of the recently-slain corpses of his allies, and they rose as zombies. After a hectic fight, Freya and Aldan retreated, exhausted and depleted.
Nikolai attempted to follow, and almost got away, but on the porch he was unable to avoid an attack, and crashed through the porch and onto the ground beneath.
Aisling, offended by the blasphemous skeletons, refused to retreat, expending every last ounce of magic she had. With fire blazing from her fingertips and a song to Sarenrae on her lips, she fought the skeletons, burning away their cold with holy fire. The last of the undead fell before her, and she followed her companions. She was shocked to see that Nikolai was still alive under the porch, albeit barely.
Taking the wounded man with her, Aisling found Freya and Aldan, and the group set up a camp, resting for several days attempting to recover and drawing up plans. They had yet to even glimpse the person who had created the undead, and so had little to work from. When they felt themselves ready, they returned to the lodge.
Instead of piling into the confines of the building, they climbed atop the building and filled the chimneys with snow. Before long, smoke filled the lodge, and the doors opened. Out came seven figures. Four bandits, clearly sick, two more zombies – easily recognized as fallen bandits – and another man, dressed in a heavy fur coat. It was he, the necromancer, that ordered the attack.
Another furious battle erupted. The zombies and the leader seemed the true threat, as the sick bandits struggled to hold their crossbows straight with shaky hands. Nikolai and Aisling focused their efforts on the zombies, while Freya and Aldan attempted to deal with the bandit leader. He was no easy mark, however, as he cast a spell that paralyzed Nikolai before turning to deal with the two confronting him.
The zombies mindlessly attacked Nikolai and grievously wounded him just as he broke through the spell. It was a harrowing battle, with the heavyset man flirting with death every few seconds. Only the healing of Aisling kept him alive.
Rokhar Cindren, the leader of the bandits, struggled with the prowess of Freya and Aldan. Freya revealed much of her power here, infusing her magic attacks with a cold similar to that of the destroyed skeletons. Rokhar, however, was not without defenses, and could create a duplicate of himself to confuse his enemies seemingly whenever he wanted. His spells were devastating, as well, and Aldan noticed something odd. While spells normally involve hand movement, Rokhar seemed to be hiding a furtive movement with each spell. It took another casting for him to realize what it was – a holy symbol of Norgorber. This was no necromancer, but a cleric!
The sick bandits, their aim steadily getting worse away from the warmth of the building, and terrified of dying only to be raised as zombies, eventually threw down their crossbows and fled, cursing Rokhar as they went. It proved to be the turning point in the battle, as the zombies finally fell to Nikolai and Aisling, and the combined might of the group brought Rokhar to heel. The villain surrendered.
It took little prompting to get Rokhar talking. There were more fey creatures, and even some kind of troll, deeper in the Border Woods. He made a deal with them rather than succumbing to their might. But he did not trust them, and had captured one of the fey, although he was unable to pry any information from the sprite. The cleric confided that Lady Argentea was in the basement of the lodge.
Freya noticed that Rokhar’s fine fur cloak had magical properties to protect against the cold, and Nikolai claimed the valuable item. To his delight, he found that if he drew it closed, he took on the vague appearance of a yeti. Unknown to him, several of his companions preferred the look.
Investigation of Rokhar’s room found a map that showed the location the fey were using as a base camp, as well as the best route to get there. In a side room, they found the sprite Rokhar had captured, a foul-tempered creature by the name of Vrixx. The fey did not respond to their attempts to gather information, preferring instead to hurl insults and promises of their death. Annoyed with the creature, they abandoned it, leaving it to starve in the cage.
When they entered the basement, they were greeted by Lady Argentea. Perhaps greeted is the wrong word. “About time!” she stormed. “I’ve been waiting entirely too long for rescue. What do you mean by leaving me in the hands of these villains for so long?”
The trip back to Heldren was unpleasant, to say the least. Lady Argentea kept up a steady stream of complaints about their ineptitude, and it was all the group could do to keep Nikolai from ending her misery for good. He satisfied himself another way. With his new cloak, he had no need for the heavy furs he’d worn on the way. Lady Argentea, on the other hand, needed protection from the cold. He took great pleasure in giving her the oversized, sweat and vodka-stained furs.
Upon their return to Heldren, they freed themselves of Lady Argentea and turned Rokhar over to the local authorities. They received the promised reward and provided witness against Rokhar, who was hanged for his crimes.
A few days passed, as they attempted to relax and recover from the harrowing adventure. But true relaxation was difficult to find. Freya, born of winter herself and with all together too much knowledge of the fey they encountered and their masters, worried why they were in Taldor. Aldan, tinkering with the gun he’d finally figured out how to get working, knew there was a story here to be found, one that would make him famous. Aisling saw the unnatural winter blotting out the glory of the sun, a blasphemy she could not let pass. As for Nikolai…well, the Silver Stoat was fast running out of vodka.
Something had to be done.