Along the cold shore of the Frigid Depths, Palebank Village marks the first surviving Uthodurn outpost beyond the mountains. The settlement is situated against the low cliff boundary of the Crystalsands Tundra, just north of the Flotket Alps. The denizens of Palebank often take to ice fishing, trapping, or hunting, returning in small caravans to Uthodurn to sell their wares and restock their supplies. Territorial monsters wander close to the village, so rotating squads of Glassblades are assigned to protect the people. The small docks have been recently expanded to accommodate the increased interest in heading northwest toward Eiselcross. Palebank has become a launching point for northern expeditions, leading to growing trade and a pressing need for more inns.
Those that arrived in Palebank village will have heard of a funeral where most of the villagers are in attendance. Each of you can decide what draws you to the funeral and whether you knew Urgon Wenth or not. Urgon Wenth, a dwarf explorer.
Snow gently falls from the sky and wind bites your cheeks as you stand in the graveyard of Palebank Village, a fishing outpost of Uthodurn that is home to several hundred dwarves and elves. The sun is low in the sky, sinking behind the fresh grave of Urgon Wenth, an old dwarf who caught a curse or disease that turned him into an ice statue. The folk of the village have gathered to pay their final respects to Urgon’s frozen remains.
A gruff voice speaks softly from behind you. “Thank you for attending Urgon’s service.” You turn and meet the gaze of Elro Aldataur, a weathered elf, retired ranger, and the leader of the village. “I’m sorry to speak of dark tidings under such circumstances, but I believe that Palebank Village might be in danger, and I’m hoping you can help us.”
“Private Icewind, yer first detail is ta go to the village perimeter and escort a Goliath. Corporal Torkum says he’s been standing there in the middle of a squad of our Glass Blades. Scarin hell outta the villagers and prolly a couple of those Glass Blades. Only thing we can get outta him is he wants to meet Elro Aldatuar. Seein as Elro might be attendin the funeral of Urgon Wenth, a dwarven resident here in Palebank Village, ye may as well escort him there and then ye’ll present yerself ceremoniously n professionally tae honor Urgon n his untimely demise. If Aldatur does show up there, conduct yerself accordingly.”
Roxaria’s eyes widen both with bewilderment and a hesitant intimidation upon hearing that she is to escort a Goliath. ”Say again?”
Sergeant Belgrum gruffily snorts, “Just go, will ye?”
She heads to the village perimeter to see several Glass Blades surrounding a behemoth of a Goliath. ”What in Uthadorn’s name?” She exhales sharply and puts on her best “I’m not scared” look, though she does not hide it well. ”Goliath. My name is Roxaria Icewind. I am to escort you to the funeral grounds before you’re permitted to meet with Elro Aldatuar. You will remain by my side at all times and if you choose not to.” Roxia looks at the Goliath and chooses her words cautiously. ”Or I shall get upset. Very upset.” Roxaria winces sarcastically at herself, thinking *Good going, Rox. That’ll put the fear in him*
At the funeral, Roxaria stands at attention as a professional soldier should for the funeral silently scoffing her assignment in her head. Her nicely detailed leather armor, oiled and cared for like a new recruit sits neatly on her torso. Leather gloves that go up to the elbow that provide both protection and a little warmth. Her leather breeches, just as nicely oiled are fitted for function. Loose enough to provide mobility, but still fitted enough to accentuate her lithe legs. The boots rise mid-calf and are turned down at the top. A single chevron denotes her rank, placed conspicuously over her right breast.
Roxaria turns at the voice, recognizing Aldatur based on her NCO’s descriptions, ”I am ready to serve in any capacity, sir.” Roxaria’s voice is strong, pleasant and in the range of a mezzo-soprano were she to sing…which she does not. Roxaria sheathes her sword, previously drawn to salute Urgon. “What type of danger, sir?”
After Vauthok’s band of weakling warriors had been picked off by the giant avian creatures that nested with the mountains surrounding Uthodurn, the giant of man turned his sights toward Palebank village. There would be nothing but stares and mistrust in such a large trading hub as Uthodurn. Besides, Palebank was such a remote village that the citizens would surely have monsters that needed slaying. Plus mead. Yes, alcohol was always a added bonus.
Nearing the village’s perimeter, Vauthok found himself surrounded by a squad of Glassblades within a matter of hours. They had been tense, fingers itching for their weapon hilts. Why wouldn’t they be? A Goliath wasn’t exactly a every day sighting. The large warrior had expressed that he came in peace but the cold look in his eyes, accentuated by the black markings around them, promised nothing but violence should the situation escalate. The guards relented but demanded he speak with their leader, Elro Aldatuar, before conducting whatever business he had within Palebank village. So Vauthok Stormclimber entered the fishing village escorted by a pair of Glassblades that had detached from their squad.
They deposited the monstrous warrior just outside the graveyard while what could only be a funeral ceremony went on. “I will honor the fallen.” Vauthok stated blunting in his deep voice and simply pushed passed his escorts, their objections falling on deaf ears. He had only made it a few steps before being intercepted by yet another one the village’s soldiers. The elf introduced herself and did her best to hide her intimidation. A typical reaction. Her warning made the giant snort loudly. “A very upset lowlander? I may piss my trousers.” Vauthok chuckled to himself and dropped a massive hand on Roxaria’s shoulder, “Do not worry, little soldier, I come in peace. Now come on.” He explained before continuing forward.
The stares and whispers began as soon as he was noticed. Vauthok stood out like a sore thumb. Standing at eight feet tall, the Goliath towered over the others attending the ceremony. His leather breeches and cotton tunic stretched tight over bulging muscles, the leather overcoat that hung to just below his knees did nothing to conceal them. A fur-lined hood cast a shadow over the warrior’s face but the black markings stood out and his cold cerulean eyes almost seemed to glow. Partner all this with the massive great sword strapped to his back and Vauthok made a rather imposing figure.
The gruff voice at his side pulled the man’s attention away from the ceremony and he glanced down at the weathered elf, “Urgon. Strong name. A good death?” Vauthok asked as quietly as his baritone voice would allow. This grizzled warrior held himself like a leader should. It would seem Elro already found him. The elf’s obvious request for assistance brought a small smile to the barbarian’s lips and he pulled his hood back to reveal a pale head covered in tribal-like black markings and a stark absence of hair.
She hated the cold. Despite all her efforts to keep warm, she shivers at the chill in the air, and draws her cloak and fur overcoat tighter around her petite figure.
"Damn, but it's cold," she whispers to herself. Making her way to nearby Palebank Village. Eline Rygr picks up her pace, knowing that there will be fire and warmth there. Just a few more paces! She wanders down the main road, and finally passes into town. She isn't overtly surprised by what she sees, as she was told by her handler and teacher, Brock Mackenzie, that there was an important funeral going on in the village. Noting the gathering of folk not far off, she surmises that this is where the ceremony is taking place.
"Urgon Wenth..." she mutters under her breath as she approaches the gathering. She notes several soldiers about, and a very large Goliath, who stands out like a sore thumb. She was briefed on the old dwarven explorer and his untimely demise. By what though, she does not yet know. She was told by Master Mackenzie to seek out one Elro Aldataur, from which she would be able to gather more information.
Eline strives to conceal a jump, as the gruff-voiced elf speaks quietly from behind her.
Struggling to regain her composure, she turns about from viewing the funerary ceremony, and responding back to the elf, says, "Ah, you must be Elro Aldataur! You say there is danger? What can I do to be of assistance?"
Of course, being much closer to the goliath, and seeing his true size, Eline attempts to conceal a nervous gulp.
Elro Aldataur looks to those he has spoken to so far "I will explain more once I ask others I have seen nearby to join us" He then moves through crowd and notices 3 more people of interest. As he meets each person he will repeat his request.
Eline nods affirmatively to the elf, and working up the courage, she approaches the goliath, wanting to get a better look at him. Noting the tribal tattoo art scrawled across his face, and his overall bulk, she silently pulls out a book bound in leather, and producing a quill pen, begins sketching and writing. Her handwriting is not the finest in the world, but it is quick and flared--efficient enough to get her notes down fast.
She sketches the large goliath in a rough form, noting his arms, shoulders, and back. She also writes and sketches on the armor he's wearing. Eline was always envious of those who could wear armor. She always felt weak and tiny compared to big, beefy, armored folks. Little does she know that she has been sketching and writing, all the while standing right next to the goliath, looking him up and down intermittently as she does so, unaware, at the moment, that she is likely invading personal space...
Roxaria watches as the funeral gathering begins to break up, listening to what Elro has to say. She permits herself to not be so rigid and shifts her weight to her right leg. She crosses her arms and nudges the Goliath with an elbow to get subtly get his attention, “Thank you for behaving yourself. I needed that to go right. Do you have a name, Goliath?”
Roxaria quietly acknowledges the human woman with a slight, salutary nod as Eline moves in towards the group and responds to Elro’s comment regarding danger in the area. She watches as she pulls out a book and begins scribbling in it, eyeing the Goliath. Roxaria felt it timely to speak to her, “I assure you, he is…” Roxaria pauses a moment watching her intently focused on her book and whatever she is writing in it. “May I inquire? The whatever it is you’re writing.”
Reginald had always disliked funerals. A dour time among gnomes, it simply heralded the end of someone's story. He only attended this one because he was interested in the human custom of the "wake". Apparently the aggrieved would gather together afterwards and reminiscence about the departed. Deep in thought he nearly missed Elro Aldataur's comment. He wanders over to Elro and the others and waits patiently to find out why he was summoned.
Not quite noticing what she's doing, Eline looks up, seeing the female elven soldier nod her way and ask. Turning slightly red, the mage slaps the notebook shut, and nods back in reply. "Oh, n-nothing really. Just...taking notes, I guess! Also," she remarks, "I..like to draw people." Using her innate magical ability, an invisible hand takes the notebook, and places it back in her pack with the quill pen. Eline steals a look again at the goliath, wondering.
Vauthok nods solemnly to the grizzled elf’s words and watches him disappear in the crowd. The elder seemed wise and clearly had seen his fair share of battles. That was something the Goliath could respect and he couldn’t help but nod to himself as he watched Elro walk away. Coming to this village had been a good idea. The nudge in his ribs broke him from his musings and glanced down at his assigned guard as she asked his name. “I generally only misbehave after getting paid.” The giant of man gave the elven woman a wink and stuck out his giant hand, “Most called call me Vauthok Stormclimber.”
He couldn’t help but notice human woman examining him and going back to her book, clearly drawing something. Monstrous shoulders shrugged, there were had been worse reactions to his presence. “Mead.” Vauthok stated bluntly and immediately seemed perplexed. “Where exactly is the tavern in this village?” He glanced at both his guard and the woman set on drawing him. Then there was the gnome that had wandered up. This was clearly the perfect opportunity.
Eline looks the elven woman over again, and stealing one final glance at the goliath turns her full attention to the elf. "Sorry," she apologizes weakly, "was just...curious is all. Like I said: I like to draw people. And...non-people. And other things... Anway," she blurts out, "pleased to make your acquaintance! I'm Eline Rygr, and I hail from Cinderrest Sanctum." She extends a hand forward to the elven woman, and smiles as friendly-like as she can. She is certainly no good at small interactions.
“Your guess is as good as mine, Vauthok. I have barely been here long enough to know where anything is. I was recently reassigned to this village. Besides, Elro said he’d be right back to discuss the nature of the danger. You drink isn’t going anywhere. I promise we can drink when he’s done. We can look for a tavern together.”
Roxaria turns to the human. “Well, I suppose if you’re going to be drawing us all at some point, we may as well get acquainted, so it does not continue to get awkward. I am Roxaria Icewind. I am a Private in the Uthadorn Glass Blades. You…are an artist then?”
"I guess so," Eline replies. "I mean, not professionally, but as a hobby, you see. I'm actually a mage of sorts, and trained in the Sanctum for a time." Looking over at the incoming gnome, Eline perks up. She knew and had often seen some gnomes pass through the mountains near the Sanctum, and felt it right to introduce herself to him as well. "H-hi! Pleased to meet you! I'm Eline Rygr of Cinderrest Sanctum. What brings you out this way, sir?"
The gnome responds to Eline's greeting with a flourish and a bow. "Salutations and well met! My name is Reginald IronCrag and as to the reason I'm out here..." Reginald rubs his nose, "Well... At this moment I'm here for the funeral. As for why I'm here in Palebank, I tend to wander quite a bit in search of knowledge and just through fortuitous chance have ended up here." The gnome exclaims, "Have you heard about any lake monsters or about the town's legendary drink? I think it has a name like Filbin's Firewater or the Finicky Filly's Final Flagon..." The gnome gaze becomes unfocused, "or was that information about another place?"
Looking up at Eline suddenly, Reginald smiles broadly and says, "Sorry, I tend to be a chatter box and get lost in thought mid-conversation sometimes. Let us attend to this fine gentle-elf who has called us to his side."
Eline smiles back, some of the tension in her shoulders lightening at the jovial gname's attitude. "I agree!" With that, she makes her way over to the large goliath again, and this time, mustering up some courage, she stands before the big warrior, and extends her hand in greeting. "Hello sir! Eline Rygr, of Cinderrest Sanctum! Pleased to make your acquaintance. Oh, and uuuhhh..." she hesitates slightly, "sorry about earlier. I just find I like to draw all sorts of people. That's all I was doing."
By Kord's short-and-curlies! It's cold up here! Chainmail jingles, shield and spear rattle against one another from a pile of leather and furs. Surely those traitors wouldn't have fled up here...?
Kha adjusts his leather cloak tighter around his neck, trying to keep out the biting cold, as he watches the funeral proceedings. When he paid his respects to the deceased, he noticed that the dwarf's remains didn't bare any marks of being in any sort of fight - as the Gruumshites preferred, so unless his quarry has branched out to likes of poisoning, it would appear the cleric is on the wrong trail. Something he would need to report back to the temple in Boroftkrah.
The orc continues to watch through the end of the ceremony, trying his best to remain quiet and respectful on this solemn occasion. He turns to find the tavern once it has concluded , but the elder elf approaches him, alerting to a possible danger. Kha pauses, longing for the warmth of a fire and some ale, and reluctantly gives Elro a nod. "Okay... Sure."
By the gods! Trem hated the cold! And now he had to stand here, listening to this outdoor sermon. He had to be here of course, he had to keep up appearances. Luckily it seemed this thing was over. At that moment Trem hears the gruff voice of Elro. He does his best to give his a face a grieving expression (not difficult with this cold!). Upon hearing his request for help Trem gives the old Elf a sad smile.
Of course, of course. But maybe we should discuss this in a more appropriate location?
Trem gives a sad look over the mourning crowd. Really, he just wants to get out of this damn cold! The smile was genuine though, Trem tried to avoid danger but this sounded like the opportunity he was waiting for. And when Trem sees an opportunity he takes it!
Once all 6 are gathered together Elro Aldataur looks to the darkening sky and the drifting snow. He noticed some were shivering from the cold. "My apologies, I have grown used to the cold. Please follow me to the Jolly Dwarf Inn."
He leads the groups to a cozy 2 story inn known as the Jolly dwarf. Once inside the group is met by a wave of warmth from the large crackling fire in the hearth of the fireplace and the enticing smell of a stew cooking away in the kitchen. The walls are adorned with antlers and taxidermied fish. An elderly dwarf stands behind the bar, near the entrance. He nods towards an empty round table near the fireplace. There are people drinking by the bar and trappers boasting about what they caught and new techniques.
Elro Aldataur ushers the group to the round table. In a low voice he recounts what he knows so far. "Two months ago, Urgon Wenth returned home after exploring Eiselcross for a year. He had been back for only for a few days when he came down with a strange affliction, which made the dwarf move slowly and caused blue veins to appear all over his body. Priests of of Moradin and Corellon tried every healing spell, to no avail. A few weeks later Urgon's body turned into ice"
On the way to the Jolly Dwarf Trems takes a good look at his new companions. The Orc and the Goliath looked like proper meat shields and the Human was pretty enough. Yes, this could work out quite nicely!
Once inside Trem makes sure he sits next to Eline and tries to give her his most charming smile.
Hi, my name's Trem!
There's isn't much time for introductions as Elro speaks up when everone is gathered at the round table. Upon hearing Elro's words Trem leans in. His jovial demeanor turns into a serious attitude.
What else do we know so far? Had Urgon said something? Did he have any idea what might have caused this?
Roxaria enters the Jolly Dwarf and stows her sword and shield upon a rack, near the entrance, keeping her stiletto tucked on her waist. She heads to an open table with the rest of the party. An immediate familiar and comforting memory washes over her from her younger days waiting tables at her parent’s tavern. She has no impartiality and sits at the first available seat. She takes a mental note of the six of them and turns to Elro to listen more about this danger and what happened to Urgon. Roxaria nods approvingly of Trem’s questions and piggy backs on them, “You make a good point… Trem, is it? Surely Urgon had spoken to other people in the weeks before his untimely demise? Did he have family or friends that maybe he told his stories to?”
Roxaria looks to Vauthok, “Drinks? I’ll taken an Aiit, if they have any. It’s an elven mead made with honey and berries and fused with inner tree bark. Otherwise, I’ll take any mead they might have for now.”
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Along the cold shore of the Frigid Depths, Palebank Village marks the first surviving Uthodurn outpost beyond the mountains. The settlement is situated against the low cliff boundary of the Crystalsands Tundra, just north of the Flotket Alps. The denizens of Palebank often take to ice fishing, trapping, or hunting, returning in small caravans to Uthodurn to sell their wares and restock their supplies. Territorial monsters wander close to the village, so rotating squads of Glassblades are assigned to protect the people. The small docks have been recently expanded to accommodate the increased interest in heading northwest toward Eiselcross. Palebank has become a launching point for northern expeditions, leading to growing trade and a pressing need for more inns.
Those that arrived in Palebank village will have heard of a funeral where most of the villagers are in attendance. Each of you can decide what draws you to the funeral and whether you knew Urgon Wenth or not. Urgon Wenth, a dwarf explorer.
Snow gently falls from the sky and wind bites your cheeks as you stand in the graveyard of Palebank Village, a fishing outpost of Uthodurn that is home to several hundred dwarves and elves. The sun is low in the sky, sinking behind the fresh grave of Urgon Wenth, an old dwarf who caught a curse or disease that turned him into an ice statue. The folk of the village have gathered to pay their final respects to Urgon’s frozen remains.
A gruff voice speaks softly from behind you. “Thank you for attending Urgon’s service.” You turn and meet the gaze of Elro Aldataur, a weathered elf, retired ranger, and the leader of the village. “I’m sorry to speak of dark tidings under such circumstances, but I believe that Palebank Village might be in danger, and I’m hoping you can help us.”
Roxaria is summoned to Sergeant Belgrum’s office.
“Private Icewind, yer first detail is ta go to the village perimeter and escort a Goliath. Corporal Torkum says he’s been standing there in the middle of a squad of our Glass Blades. Scarin hell outta the villagers and prolly a couple of those Glass Blades. Only thing we can get outta him is he wants to meet Elro Aldatuar. Seein as Elro might be attendin the funeral of Urgon Wenth, a dwarven resident here in Palebank Village, ye may as well escort him there and then ye’ll present yerself ceremoniously n professionally tae honor Urgon n his untimely demise. If Aldatur does show up there, conduct yerself accordingly.”
Roxaria’s eyes widen both with bewilderment and a hesitant intimidation upon hearing that she is to escort a Goliath. ”Say again?”
Sergeant Belgrum gruffily snorts, “Just go, will ye?”
She heads to the village perimeter to see several Glass Blades surrounding a behemoth of a Goliath. ”What in Uthadorn’s name?” She exhales sharply and puts on her best “I’m not scared” look, though she does not hide it well. ”Goliath. My name is Roxaria Icewind. I am to escort you to the funeral grounds before you’re permitted to meet with Elro Aldatuar. You will remain by my side at all times and if you choose not to.” Roxia looks at the Goliath and chooses her words cautiously. ”Or I shall get upset. Very upset.” Roxaria winces sarcastically at herself, thinking *Good going, Rox. That’ll put the fear in him*
At the funeral, Roxaria stands at attention as a professional soldier should for the funeral silently scoffing her assignment in her head. Her nicely detailed leather armor, oiled and cared for like a new recruit sits neatly on her torso. Leather gloves that go up to the elbow that provide both protection and a little warmth. Her leather breeches, just as nicely oiled are fitted for function. Loose enough to provide mobility, but still fitted enough to accentuate her lithe legs. The boots rise mid-calf and are turned down at the top. A single chevron denotes her rank, placed conspicuously over her right breast.
Roxaria turns at the voice, recognizing Aldatur based on her NCO’s descriptions, ”I am ready to serve in any capacity, sir.” Roxaria’s voice is strong, pleasant and in the range of a mezzo-soprano were she to sing…which she does not. Roxaria sheathes her sword, previously drawn to salute Urgon. “What type of danger, sir?”
After Vauthok’s band of weakling warriors had been picked off by the giant avian creatures that nested with the mountains surrounding Uthodurn, the giant of man turned his sights toward Palebank village. There would be nothing but stares and mistrust in such a large trading hub as Uthodurn. Besides, Palebank was such a remote village that the citizens would surely have monsters that needed slaying. Plus mead. Yes, alcohol was always a added bonus.
Nearing the village’s perimeter, Vauthok found himself surrounded by a squad of Glassblades within a matter of hours. They had been tense, fingers itching for their weapon hilts. Why wouldn’t they be? A Goliath wasn’t exactly a every day sighting. The large warrior had expressed that he came in peace but the cold look in his eyes, accentuated by the black markings around them, promised nothing but violence should the situation escalate. The guards relented but demanded he speak with their leader, Elro Aldatuar, before conducting whatever business he had within Palebank village. So Vauthok Stormclimber entered the fishing village escorted by a pair of Glassblades that had detached from their squad.
They deposited the monstrous warrior just outside the graveyard while what could only be a funeral ceremony went on. “I will honor the fallen.” Vauthok stated blunting in his deep voice and simply pushed passed his escorts, their objections falling on deaf ears. He had only made it a few steps before being intercepted by yet another one the village’s soldiers. The elf introduced herself and did her best to hide her intimidation. A typical reaction. Her warning made the giant snort loudly. “A very upset lowlander? I may piss my trousers.” Vauthok chuckled to himself and dropped a massive hand on Roxaria’s shoulder, “Do not worry, little soldier, I come in peace. Now come on.” He explained before continuing forward.
The stares and whispers began as soon as he was noticed. Vauthok stood out like a sore thumb. Standing at eight feet tall, the Goliath towered over the others attending the ceremony. His leather breeches and cotton tunic stretched tight over bulging muscles, the leather overcoat that hung to just below his knees did nothing to conceal them. A fur-lined hood cast a shadow over the warrior’s face but the black markings stood out and his cold cerulean eyes almost seemed to glow. Partner all this with the massive great sword strapped to his back and Vauthok made a rather imposing figure.
The gruff voice at his side pulled the man’s attention away from the ceremony and he glanced down at the weathered elf, “Urgon. Strong name. A good death?” Vauthok asked as quietly as his baritone voice would allow. This grizzled warrior held himself like a leader should. It would seem Elro already found him. The elf’s obvious request for assistance brought a small smile to the barbarian’s lips and he pulled his hood back to reveal a pale head covered in tribal-like black markings and a stark absence of hair.
“Aye, elf, danger I can help with.”
She hated the cold. Despite all her efforts to keep warm, she shivers at the chill in the air, and draws her cloak and fur overcoat tighter around her petite figure.
"Damn, but it's cold," she whispers to herself. Making her way to nearby Palebank Village. Eline Rygr picks up her pace, knowing that there will be fire and warmth there. Just a few more paces! She wanders down the main road, and finally passes into town. She isn't overtly surprised by what she sees, as she was told by her handler and teacher, Brock Mackenzie, that there was an important funeral going on in the village. Noting the gathering of folk not far off, she surmises that this is where the ceremony is taking place.
"Urgon Wenth..." she mutters under her breath as she approaches the gathering. She notes several soldiers about, and a very large Goliath, who stands out like a sore thumb. She was briefed on the old dwarven explorer and his untimely demise. By what though, she does not yet know. She was told by Master Mackenzie to seek out one Elro Aldataur, from which she would be able to gather more information.
Eline strives to conceal a jump, as the gruff-voiced elf speaks quietly from behind her.
Struggling to regain her composure, she turns about from viewing the funerary ceremony, and responding back to the elf, says, "Ah, you must be Elro Aldataur! You say there is danger? What can I do to be of assistance?"
Of course, being much closer to the goliath, and seeing his true size, Eline attempts to conceal a nervous gulp.
Elro Aldataur looks to those he has spoken to so far "I will explain more once I ask others I have seen nearby to join us" He then moves through crowd and notices 3 more people of interest. As he meets each person he will repeat his request.
Eline nods affirmatively to the elf, and working up the courage, she approaches the goliath, wanting to get a better look at him. Noting the tribal tattoo art scrawled across his face, and his overall bulk, she silently pulls out a book bound in leather, and producing a quill pen, begins sketching and writing. Her handwriting is not the finest in the world, but it is quick and flared--efficient enough to get her notes down fast.
She sketches the large goliath in a rough form, noting his arms, shoulders, and back. She also writes and sketches on the armor he's wearing. Eline was always envious of those who could wear armor. She always felt weak and tiny compared to big, beefy, armored folks. Little does she know that she has been sketching and writing, all the while standing right next to the goliath, looking him up and down intermittently as she does so, unaware, at the moment, that she is likely invading personal space...
Roxaria watches as the funeral gathering begins to break up, listening to what Elro has to say. She permits herself to not be so rigid and shifts her weight to her right leg. She crosses her arms and nudges the Goliath with an elbow to get subtly get his attention, “Thank you for behaving yourself. I needed that to go right. Do you have a name, Goliath?”
Roxaria quietly acknowledges the human woman with a slight, salutary nod as Eline moves in towards the group and responds to Elro’s comment regarding danger in the area. She watches as she pulls out a book and begins scribbling in it, eyeing the Goliath. Roxaria felt it timely to speak to her, “I assure you, he is…” Roxaria pauses a moment watching her intently focused on her book and whatever she is writing in it. “May I inquire? The whatever it is you’re writing.”
Reginald had always disliked funerals. A dour time among gnomes, it simply heralded the end of someone's story. He only attended this one because he was interested in the human custom of the "wake". Apparently the aggrieved would gather together afterwards and reminiscence about the departed. Deep in thought he nearly missed Elro Aldataur's comment. He wanders over to Elro and the others and waits patiently to find out why he was summoned.
Cats go Moo!
Not quite noticing what she's doing, Eline looks up, seeing the female elven soldier nod her way and ask. Turning slightly red, the mage slaps the notebook shut, and nods back in reply. "Oh, n-nothing really. Just...taking notes, I guess! Also," she remarks, "I..like to draw people." Using her innate magical ability, an invisible hand takes the notebook, and places it back in her pack with the quill pen. Eline steals a look again at the goliath, wondering.
Vauthok nods solemnly to the grizzled elf’s words and watches him disappear in the crowd. The elder seemed wise and clearly had seen his fair share of battles. That was something the Goliath could respect and he couldn’t help but nod to himself as he watched Elro walk away. Coming to this village had been a good idea. The nudge in his ribs broke him from his musings and glanced down at his assigned guard as she asked his name. “I generally only misbehave after getting paid.” The giant of man gave the elven woman a wink and stuck out his giant hand, “Most called call me Vauthok Stormclimber.”
He couldn’t help but notice human woman examining him and going back to her book, clearly drawing something. Monstrous shoulders shrugged, there were had been worse reactions to his presence. “Mead.” Vauthok stated bluntly and immediately seemed perplexed. “Where exactly is the tavern in this village?” He glanced at both his guard and the woman set on drawing him. Then there was the gnome that had wandered up. This was clearly the perfect opportunity.
“Let’s get wasted.”
Eline looks the elven woman over again, and stealing one final glance at the goliath turns her full attention to the elf. "Sorry," she apologizes weakly, "was just...curious is all. Like I said: I like to draw people. And...non-people. And other things... Anway," she blurts out, "pleased to make your acquaintance! I'm Eline Rygr, and I hail from Cinderrest Sanctum." She extends a hand forward to the elven woman, and smiles as friendly-like as she can. She is certainly no good at small interactions.
“Your guess is as good as mine, Vauthok. I have barely been here long enough to know where anything is. I was recently reassigned to this village. Besides, Elro said he’d be right back to discuss the nature of the danger. You drink isn’t going anywhere. I promise we can drink when he’s done. We can look for a tavern together.”
Roxaria turns to the human. “Well, I suppose if you’re going to be drawing us all at some point, we may as well get acquainted, so it does not continue to get awkward. I am Roxaria Icewind. I am a Private in the Uthadorn Glass Blades. You…are an artist then?”
"I guess so," Eline replies. "I mean, not professionally, but as a hobby, you see. I'm actually a mage of sorts, and trained in the Sanctum for a time." Looking over at the incoming gnome, Eline perks up. She knew and had often seen some gnomes pass through the mountains near the Sanctum, and felt it right to introduce herself to him as well. "H-hi! Pleased to meet you! I'm Eline Rygr of Cinderrest Sanctum. What brings you out this way, sir?"
The gnome responds to Eline's greeting with a flourish and a bow. "Salutations and well met! My name is Reginald IronCrag and as to the reason I'm out here..." Reginald rubs his nose, "Well... At this moment I'm here for the funeral. As for why I'm here in Palebank, I tend to wander quite a bit in search of knowledge and just through fortuitous chance have ended up here." The gnome exclaims, "Have you heard about any lake monsters or about the town's legendary drink? I think it has a name like Filbin's Firewater or the Finicky Filly's Final Flagon..." The gnome gaze becomes unfocused, "or was that information about another place?"
Looking up at Eline suddenly, Reginald smiles broadly and says, "Sorry, I tend to be a chatter box and get lost in thought mid-conversation sometimes. Let us attend to this fine gentle-elf who has called us to his side."
Cats go Moo!
Eline smiles back, some of the tension in her shoulders lightening at the jovial gname's attitude. "I agree!" With that, she makes her way over to the large goliath again, and this time, mustering up some courage, she stands before the big warrior, and extends her hand in greeting. "Hello sir! Eline Rygr, of Cinderrest Sanctum! Pleased to make your acquaintance. Oh, and uuuhhh..." she hesitates slightly, "sorry about earlier. I just find I like to draw all sorts of people. That's all I was doing."
(OOC: Night folks!)
By Kord's short-and-curlies! It's cold up here! Chainmail jingles, shield and spear rattle against one another from a pile of leather and furs. Surely those traitors wouldn't have fled up here...?
Kha adjusts his leather cloak tighter around his neck, trying to keep out the biting cold, as he watches the funeral proceedings. When he paid his respects to the deceased, he noticed that the dwarf's remains didn't bare any marks of being in any sort of fight - as the Gruumshites preferred, so unless his quarry has branched out to likes of poisoning, it would appear the cleric is on the wrong trail. Something he would need to report back to the temple in Boroftkrah.
The orc continues to watch through the end of the ceremony, trying his best to remain quiet and respectful on this solemn occasion. He turns to find the tavern once it has concluded , but the elder elf approaches him, alerting to a possible danger. Kha pauses, longing for the warmth of a fire and some ale, and reluctantly gives Elro a nod. "Okay... Sure."
By the gods! Trem hated the cold! And now he had to stand here, listening to this outdoor sermon. He had to be here of course, he had to keep up appearances. Luckily it seemed this thing was over. At that moment Trem hears the gruff voice of Elro. He does his best to give his a face a grieving expression (not difficult with this cold!). Upon hearing his request for help Trem gives the old Elf a sad smile.
Of course, of course. But maybe we should discuss this in a more appropriate location?
Trem gives a sad look over the mourning crowd. Really, he just wants to get out of this damn cold! The smile was genuine though, Trem tried to avoid danger but this sounded like the opportunity he was waiting for. And when Trem sees an opportunity he takes it!
Player: Any Good Alignment // DM: Lawful Evil
Once all 6 are gathered together Elro Aldataur looks to the darkening sky and the drifting snow. He noticed some were shivering from the cold. "My apologies, I have grown used to the cold. Please follow me to the Jolly Dwarf Inn."
He leads the groups to a cozy 2 story inn known as the Jolly dwarf. Once inside the group is met by a wave of warmth from the large crackling fire in the hearth of the fireplace and the enticing smell of a stew cooking away in the kitchen. The walls are adorned with antlers and taxidermied fish. An elderly dwarf stands behind the bar, near the entrance. He nods towards an empty round table near the fireplace. There are people drinking by the bar and trappers boasting about what they caught and new techniques.
Elro Aldataur ushers the group to the round table. In a low voice he recounts what he knows so far. "Two months ago, Urgon Wenth returned home after exploring Eiselcross for a year. He had been back for only for a few days when he came down with a strange affliction, which made the dwarf move slowly and caused blue veins to appear all over his body. Priests of of Moradin and Corellon tried every healing spell, to no avail. A few weeks later Urgon's body turned into ice"
On the way to the Jolly Dwarf Trems takes a good look at his new companions. The Orc and the Goliath looked like proper meat shields and the Human was pretty enough. Yes, this could work out quite nicely!
Once inside Trem makes sure he sits next to Eline and tries to give her his most charming smile.
Hi, my name's Trem!
There's isn't much time for introductions as Elro speaks up when everone is gathered at the round table. Upon hearing Elro's words Trem leans in. His jovial demeanor turns into a serious attitude.
What else do we know so far? Had Urgon said something? Did he have any idea what might have caused this?
Player: Any Good Alignment // DM: Lawful Evil
Roxaria enters the Jolly Dwarf and stows her sword and shield upon a rack, near the entrance, keeping her stiletto tucked on her waist. She heads to an open table with the rest of the party. An immediate familiar and comforting memory washes over her from her younger days waiting tables at her parent’s tavern. She has no impartiality and sits at the first available seat. She takes a mental note of the six of them and turns to Elro to listen more about this danger and what happened to Urgon. Roxaria nods approvingly of Trem’s questions and piggy backs on them, “You make a good point… Trem, is it? Surely Urgon had spoken to other people in the weeks before his untimely demise? Did he have family or friends that maybe he told his stories to?”
Roxaria looks to Vauthok, “Drinks? I’ll taken an Aiit, if they have any. It’s an elven mead made with honey and berries and fused with inner tree bark. Otherwise, I’ll take any mead they might have for now.”