Icewind Dale has become trapped in a perpetual winter. Ferocious blizzards make the mountain pass through the Spine of the World exceedingly treacherous, and this land has not felt the warmth of the sun in over two years. In fact, the sun no longer appears above the mountains, not even in what should be the height of summer. In this frozen tundra, darkness and bitter cold reign as king and queen. Most dale residents blame Auril the Frostmaiden, the god of winter’s wrath. The shimmering aurora that weaves across the sky each night is said to be her doing—a potent spell that keeps the sun at bay.
Dalefolk live in a scattering of settlements known as Ten-Towns. The drop-off in caravans coming from the south and travel between settlements in this never-ending winter has left everyone feeling isolated. Although each town has resolved to appease the Frostmaiden with sacrifices of one kind or another, no respite from winter’s fury seems forthcoming. For adventurers such as yourselves, Ten-Towns is a place to test one’s mettle and, in the spirit of heroes who have come before, leave one’s mark on this frigid, blighted land.
You have all made your own way to the Ten-Towns with your own personal agendas, and something (fate?) has brought you all to the same town, Good Mead. Founded by immigrants from Chult and the Vilhon Reach, Good Mead is nestled between Redwaters and a nearby evergreen forest. The town’s squat dwellings, adorned with carvings of dinosaurs and serpents, are overshadowed by the two-story structure of the mead hall, its eaves carved and painted to resemble wyverns. As honey is the key ingredient in mead, the town literally buzzes with the droning of bees.
You all arrived recently, and the town is in a bit of turmoil. Making your way to the Mead Hall, you make some enquiries and discover a Verbeeg (type of giant) stole three casks of mead that were being loaded onto a dogsled for transport to Bryn Shander. Kendrick Rielsbarrow, the town speaker and a giant of a man in his own right, stood his ground against the verbeeg and didn’t fare well. After skewering Kendrick with its spear, the verbeeg grabbed the casks and disappeared whence he came. The other residents of Good Mead tried to save Kendrick, to no avail; his body lies in a local shrine. Five members of the militia went after the verbeeg but haven’t returned.
While making these enquiries, you notice that there are others around who, also making their own enquiries. Please introduce your character and what you are up to currently.
Spoiler below is for Neldak, containing knowledge of Good Mead from being a Ten-Towner.
Friendliness âť„âť„ Services âť„ Comfort âť„âť„ (see below)
Population. 100.
Leader. None. Speaker Kendrick Rielsbarrow was killed by a verbeeg, leaving the town leaderless.
Militia. Good Mead can muster up to 20 soldiers and 2 veterans.
Heraldry. A dark brown drinking mug made of a cut-off section of horn, with an antler handle added, upright and cantered on a white field, representing the town’s mead exports and its cold, snowy climate.
Sacrifice to Auril. Warmth (see below).
Rivals. Caer-Dineval, Caer-Konig.
Snowflake system explained: Friendliness. Residents in a three-snowflake town are friendly and helpful, by and large. Conversely, a one-snowflake town is full of unhelpful, unfriendly folk. A two-snowflake town has both. Services. A three-snowflake town is where characters are most likely to find the services they need. A two-snowflake town has a much narrower selection. Characters will have trouble getting any sort of service in a one-snowflake town. Comfort. Characters can find decent food and drink, as well as warm beds, in a three-snowflake town. A two-snowflake town might have a small tavern plus an inn with drafty rooms to rent. A one-snowflake town might have a cold shed or attic where characters can crash for the night, and that’s about it.
Sacrifice system explained: The desperate people of Ten-Towns, hoping to appease Auril so that summer can return to Icewind Dale, make sacrifices to the Frostmaiden on nights of the new moon. This is a new practice that started a little over a year ago, when it became clear that Auril was angry and summer would not be returning anytime soon. The town speakers (see the “Council of Speakers” sidebar) have unanimously agreed to honour these practices, which they consider necessary evils, but would end them in a heartbeat if Auril were to be appeased or dealt with in some other way. The nature of the sacrifices varies from town to town, but usually takes one of three forms:
Humanoid. Bryn Shander, Easthaven, and Targos hold lotteries the afternoon before the new moon. The unlucky person whose name is drawn is sacrificed at nightfall. The ill-fated soul is stripped bare and either tied to a post or sent into the tundra to die. Accusations of rigged lotteries are common but usually not acted upon. Food. Smaller towns that can’t afford to give up people give up their food instead. A day’s catch of knucklehead trout is strung up on wooden racks a mile outside town, to be claimed by yeti and other creatures that embody Auril’s wrath. Warmth. Towns that can’t bring themselves to give up their people or their food forsake warmth for a night. No fires are lit between dusk and dawn, forcing locals to share body heat for warmth. Anyone who dares to light a fire is savagely beaten.
Sitting in the corner of the local tavern in Good Mead, an elf with fiery red hair and clothing that appears lighter than that worn by anyone else in the room, sits with his hands wrapped around a mug of coffee. He's listening to the words around him, but trying hard to avoid stares or that he cares too much about…anything. But a subtle change in posture, a slight shift of the hips and a lean forward indicates otherwise. When there is any discussion of this “Verbeeg” business and mention of what happened to the prior speaker and those that hunted after him. Then he goes back to looking down in his coffee as if he's trying to read patterns in the swirls of steam, see images of the speaker and the face of this monster that killed him. He looks over as you walk in, he has a way of sizing up people as they enter, examining gait, weapons, strength and making assessments. He eyes you as you happen to walk over and sit down. You feel like you have been scrutinized, but then a cautious grin appears on his face as you sit nearby. He holds his hand up in a ritualistic manner, as if he is going through a Tai chi pose, but waves to you and says,
“Hello, my name is Danon. Nice to meet you, pull up a seat and warm yourself, they have the best mead here… Have you heard anything about this monster that killed the prior speaker and took the barrels of mead?” He seems to ask questions about this event, looking for anyone with knowledge, and in a straight to the point way, with little subtlety.
Other than his rather nondescript traveling clothing that appears warmer than it ought to be, you see a wiry elf with a spear leaned against the wall, daggers stuck in sheaths on his body and a basic looking pack at his feet. There are various symbols that you can see tattooed into the skin on his hands, over knuckles, fingers and his forearms.
Neldak is a tall, green dragonborn dressed in form fitted, soft leathers and a especially warm looking cloak. He is sitting in the middle table of the room muttering to himself as he writes notes in a book. He looks up at Danon approaches and introduces himself.
"Hello there Danon. My name is Neldak. It's always bad tidings when a town loses its speaker and even worse having the monster run off with the good stuff. The townsfolk enjoy a nice warm mead after a fireless night, I know that I do."He pauses to take another sip of his drink. "What brings you to Good Mead?"
The door to Mead Hall opens, letting in the cold air. Through the doorway enters and Orc female, her long hair pulled tight and braided, hanging halfway down her back. Beneath her cloak, her armor shines like it were polished right before she entered the tavern. She is staring at her finger, a small smile on her face. She bumps into a table, not paying attention and looks up. “Oh hello, sorry I wasn’t paying attention”, and looks back at her finger. On the end of her finger sits a bee. “This little fella, or perhaps little lady, stung me, but then just stayed on my finger. Interesting creatures’ bee’s, haven’t seen so many in one place before.”
As the bee flies off, she turns her full attention to the dragonborn and elf sitting there. Mind if I sit, could use a bit of food.
She looks at the elf and gives him a small smile and a knowing nod, as she too, seems to be wearing a cloak that is much too thin for the climate of this land.
“My name is Cirim, I am a Selunite, as I serve Our Lady of Silver. Terrible business this whole winter thing. Imagine not seeing the sun for two years. It makes my heart hurt.”
Before entering, Cirim had noticed, outside, the blonde elf, with a slender shape and long blonde straight hair that made her seem a little taller than her modest 5' (or a little more) of height. Dressed in clothes that were undoubtedly heavy but equally unmistakably of refined taste, she was equipped with a notable assortment of weapons (a majestic Longbow, plus numerous smaller, more maneuverable weapons such as shortswords, daggers, handaxes, light hammers, and more) in contrast to her serene and relaxed expression. She was examining the ground, while speaking in a calm tone to the citizens near her. Perhaps too much time had passed to locate the traces of the Verbeeg, but it should instead be possible, to a trained eye, to locate those of the militia that had not returned.
Now the elf makes her entrance into the Mead Hall, while a spectral, elegant elven floating hand opens the door for her, just enough for her to slip inside, almost without disturbing the environment, so much so that not everyone notices her immediately - even if many turn to look at her when they notice her. The floating hand closes the door as soon as the elf has entered, then follows her, floating beside her. The foreign traveler must have heard that the motley group at that table is talking about the bad deed, because she approaches calmly, almost giving the impression of floating rather than walking.
"Forgive me, noble lords and ladies, but I have overheard that your conversations seem to focus on the recent act of violence committed by the Verbeeg" her musical voice announces, while her green eyes have a benevolent light as they run over them all. "I find what has happened extremely unpleasant. People already tried by the unnatural indeterminate lengthening of the night and winter do not deserve to find themselves exposed to the abuses of creatures incapable of civil coexistence. I, Etriel Darastrix, do not intend to remain an indifferent witness to this injustice; I will set out on the trail of the monster".
"I have some hunting experience," Etriel continues, as the spectral hand begins to absentmindedly trace elegant arabesques on the table with its tapered fingers "and I am convinced that if the Lady of Dreams directed my steps here, it must have been so that I could put my humble talents at the service of these people and make life and travel in this already so tested settlement safer. Do you happen to know which direction the monster took? I think I can find its tracks, but having an initial indication might speed up the process".
It doesn't take long for a halfling girl barges into the establishment, trying way too hard to seem tough and awesome. She has heard of the endless winter that has afflicted this land, and she sees this as a perfect opportunity to prove that those losers back at the temple were completely wrong and that she is truly a great Paladin! The halfling is dressed in half-plate armor, and carrying a comically oversized glaive on her back.
She (with a bit of difficulty, due to her minute stature of about 2'2) clambers up onto nearest unoccupied barstool and waves over to the bartender.
"Hey! Could you get a hero a drink?" she asks loudly, giving the bartender a big smile. "After all, I, Idalie Emberdew, am here at last to free this land from the evil that has plagued it! You can thank me later."
She does her best to project a confidence in her boisterous persona, but there are subtle signs in her mannerisms... a slight tremble of her lip... a drooping ear... that betray her actual insecurity which she is desperately trying to hide behind her bravado.
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Unhappy that the market got rid of individual purchases for one-off subclasses, magic items, and monsters?
Usually attentive to what happens around her, Etriel immediately notices the unlikely 'heroine' who has made her entrance.
'Unlikely, perhaps...' the foreign traveler thinks 'But if she has enough courage to really want to try to help the people of this place... heroic she is despite everything. Why not avail myself of her help and enjoy her company? The right travel companions make every journey more pleasant'.
The ghostly hand that was messing around on the table then flies up and goes to tap Idalie on the shoulder, while a sweet voice similar to a breath of breeze whispers in her ear: "Come, brave heroine, follow me and you will have the opportunity to embrace your calling".
If Idlaie turns, she sees the slender, floating spectral hand, its elegant fingers gesturing for her to follow... and if she begins to follow, the hand leads her to Etriel (and to the table with the other interesting patrons).
"Welcome, the more the merrier. I'm Neldak" Neldak says in turn as each person enters and sits around the table. "There's certainly strength in numbers and I think we are all in the same mind that something needs to be done about this verbeeg. I haven't figured out what way it went but perhaps some of the remaining town guard can help point us in the right direction. It's always been a hard life up here in Icewind Dale, but this never-ending winter is making things all the more difficult. And I don't know what I would do if there's a mead shortage."
Cirim also notices the halfling at the bar and her proclamation of being a hero, of which the orc has no doubt. She then watches the ghostly hand interact with the halfling women.
"An impressive conjuration" she says to the elf named Eltriel. "A Verbeer huh? I've only seen them in books. Children books actually, used to scare children to behave. I believe they look something like this? But larger of course." Cirim will cast a quick spell and create a one foot tall image of a Verbeeg floating above the table.
Idalie's ears perk up at the strange voice in her ear... she glances over her shoulder to see a spectral hand beckoning to her... she doesn't hesitate a moment as she hops down from the barstool. She makes her way over to the elf who just summoned her and immediately takes her place at the table, as if she 100% belongs there.
"Hey, glad to see someone knows quality when they see it!" the halfling says with a smile. "Alright, so... kill a Verbeeg? Fantastic idea, let's do that! But I'll take my drink first, if it's not too much trouble..."
"Oh, esteemed lords and ladies," Etriel bows her head slightly, in a sign of respect, and then immediately raises it again, aiming her green eyes at those of the interlocutors "I thought you were just talking about the fact, not that you were all interested in doing something about it. Learning of your inclination to heroic deeds is a most pleasant surprise. It will be an honor to have you at my side on this hunt".
"I understand, Lord Neldak," the foreign traveler replies to the green dragonborn. "I agree that not being able to enjoy the light of the sun or the warmth of the warmer seasons must be truly deplorable for creatures whose vision is obstructed by the darkness and who, for the most part, are not endowed with magical powers that can help against adverse conditions. It would be truly cruel to allow violence and deprivation to be added to all this. No, I will not allow it. Or rather," she quickly corrects herself "we will not allow it, given what you have stated".
"Oh, so nice fo you to call 'impressive' my humble cantrip, Lady Cirim" Etriel smiles at the female orc with the braided hair. "Magic comes naturally to the ancient and fortunate race of elves. I see that you are not ignorant of The Art either..." she examines the image of the Verbeeg "...and that you have also been able to take advantage of your readings. The appearance of this creature suggests that it relies mostly on brute force to achieve its goals (as also the accounts of the crime lead one to believe). If we can face it from range we should have the upper hand".
"Of course, Lady Idalie!" the eladrin huntress agrees, with her musical voice "Better to go on a hunt with the energy to sustain it. If you allow me, I think I will keep you company; I have only recently arrived and have not yet been able to satisfy my curiosity about how good the mead of Good Mead is. It will please me, to fill in that gap before I go hunting". While Etriel Darastrix is ​​still talking to the halfling girl, the spectral hand takes some coins, reaches the counter, the innkeeper, as soon as he sees the hand holding the coins in its palm, hears a melodious voice that orders a mug of mead and so, shortly after, the hand brings back a mug of the much vaunted local specialty. Etriel closes her eyes and begins to slowly sip the sweet and warm drink.
Danon’s eyes go wide at the sight of the Dragonborn, not a common sight in these parts. He makes a motion to a chair, saying “Welcome, pleased to meet you Neldak. What brings me here? I have heard about what has happened here, isn’t it terrible? The Verbeeg? What have you heard?” Then he notes Cirim, he smiles at her, nodding when she mentions the everlasting winter. “I know, it has bothered me as well, it is part of the reason that I made my way here from Luskan, to investigate this perpetual winter, the .. imbalance.” He says the last like it is a dirty word.
When the elf with the spectral hand enters the tavern, Danon does a double take, his jaw dropping slightly. He clams up right away and watches her movement across the room, then he becomes self conscious and looks away. He finds her green eyes disarming and he makes all attempts to avoid them, with furtive glances from time to time toward her. “*ahem* Uh, nice to ah, meet you, Etriel. Danon Fingil, the pleasure is all mine.” He awkwardly points at another chair.
When Idalie enters, a huge grin appears on Danon’s face, he slaps the table lightly and says “Well alright then! That’s the spirit!” And he takes a big gulp of his drink. He looks at the picture of the Verbeeg generated over the table by Cirim, starting to examine it from all sides. “How big is it? Can you put up the image of a human or an elf beside it for frame of reference?” When Etriel starts to speak again, Danon sits on the edge of his seat, taking in every word. He offers in a manner as to be useful, “Perhaps we could get more information about where it was headed, then begin the hunt. I didn’t imagine that I would have such help with this task, but, as Neldak says, the more the merrier. I can hold my own and I’d like to lend my spear to the effort. M’lady.” He says the last and tips his head to Etriel.
Etriel returns the polite nod of the only other elf at the table with a pleased smile - a courtesy that was added to that of being the first to offer her a chair: "The course you advise seems to me wise and prudent, Lord Danon Fingil. Your advice and your courtesy both honor and flatter me and have been well received by my heart" (the elegant fingers of the ghostly hand simultaneously move to her heart, as if to underline the concept).
"Oh, were you also ready to launch yourself into this task even alone?" the foreign traveler's green eyes search his with a light of admiration and approval; then they become thoughtful "It must be the legacy of our race... A life so long that to other species it can seem eternal... the harmony with the environment... the magic that permeates every fiber of our being... can easily induce us to take on tasks ourselves. While races less gifted in these areas compensate by demonstrating the value of cooperation. A value that we too can learn to appreciate more. After all, this is perhaps the greatest of the many benefits of traveling - broadening one's horizons".
"I too am very pleased by the surprise of having found such ready, skilled and pleasant traveling companions" the eladrin huntress takes in the entire party with her gaze... before returning her eyes to Danon and holding them on him a little longer than she did on each of the others. "After all, life itself is a journey - and every journey is more pleasant, when one has good company".
After having finished tasting her mug of mead to the last [[ OOC: So plenty of time for more interactions at the table, if we like ]], Etriel Darastrix(*) embraces her new companions of adventure with her green eyes again and, if they also seem to have finished refreshing themselves, her musical voice invites: "Shall we begin our hunt? Let us ask in which direction the monstrous scoundrel has gone away and let us set out on his trail".
(*) By the way, I had written it in the application post, but I had not yet repeated it here, the meaning of that name (so that characters with the appropriate linguistic knowledge can know it - it obviously has no effect on the game, it is only so that it can be exploited during the role-play): 'Etriel' in elvish means 'lady' 'Darastrix' in Draconic means 'dragon' So Etriel Darastrix is ​​a nickname, rather than a real name, and it means 'Lady Dragon' - at least for those who know both those languages. (This is a nickname Etriel took for reasons explained in her backstory).
A few of the villagers overhear you and after some whispering, they come over to the table. "We heard you are interested in helping us out. We can't offer you much in return but we can offer free lodging and drink for a tenday if you can return the mead and avenge our speaker. We all pretty much saw which way the Verbeeg went so can give you a decent start."
"This one seems confident they can take care of the problem themselves, but the rest of us, less gifted ones, will follow to observe their prowess and show them how we like to cooperate. Perhaps they will learn how harsh these lands can be." Neldak says with a laugh and a smile. "But yes, I at least would love to help out and I think my new friends here would as well." Neldak looks to each individual around the table in turn for confirmation. "Which way did the Verbeeg go?
“I would not wish my words to be misunderstood, Lord Neldak” Etriel Darastrix approaches the dragonborn, punctuating her words with a courteous bow. "While it is true that my race can claim a heritage (such as longevity and an affinity for magic) that others cannot, this was only meant to be a statement of fact. I, too, could not contradict you, Lord Neldak, if you were to say that your race is much taller than mine - or that you were more dangerous than I was" she stretches her lips in a hint of a smile, hoping to play down a joke "if you were to catch a cold and sneeze out a dragon breath. Neither, in my intention, should sound like a disparagement of the other. My words, believe me, were sincere, when I declared the importance of travel, of opening oneself to other cultures, and of better appreciating otherness. It will be a pleasure and an honor to have your cooperation as well as that of all the others - and to learn all about these harsh lands that you are able to teach me".
"At least," the foreign traveler muses aloud "the climate here may be inhospitable... but I find it worse when the people are inhospitable, as I experienced in Mirabar. They're all so unreasonably obsessed with fear of Luskan spies down there..."
In response to the female orc with the braided hair, the eladrin huntress nods: "So it seems, Lady Cirim. The forest to the north-west is our starting point" and she begins to head in that direction, her trained green eyes already scanning around for footprints or other traces of the passage or of the outlaw Verbeeg or of the poor souls who chased him - and then sadly did not return. She is murmuring every now and then a musical prayer to Sehanine Moonbow, the elven Lunar Lady.
“After you, Lady Darastrix… I believe that you are onto something. Perhaps we can all learn from each other.. and.. broaden our horizons!” Danon does his best by force of will to keep his eyes focused where they should be. “Let’s be off!” Yes, physical activity, exertion, the hunt of this evil Verbeeg thing. Better to be off and fighting rather than putting my foot in my mouth…
Danon looks glad to be headed on their way, taking a few test swings and jabs of his spear as they get going, following and heading to the northwest.
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Icewind Dale has become trapped in a perpetual winter. Ferocious blizzards make the mountain pass through the Spine of the World exceedingly treacherous, and this land has not felt the warmth of the sun in over two years. In fact, the sun no longer appears above the mountains, not even in what should be the height of summer. In this frozen tundra, darkness and bitter cold reign as king and queen. Most dale residents blame Auril the Frostmaiden, the god of winter’s wrath. The shimmering aurora that weaves across the sky each night is said to be her doing—a potent spell that keeps the sun at bay.
Dalefolk live in a scattering of settlements known as Ten-Towns. The drop-off in caravans coming from the south and travel between settlements in this never-ending winter has left everyone feeling isolated. Although each town has resolved to appease the Frostmaiden with sacrifices of one kind or another, no respite from winter’s fury seems forthcoming. For adventurers such as yourselves, Ten-Towns is a place to test one’s mettle and, in the spirit of heroes who have come before, leave one’s mark on this frigid, blighted land.
You have all made your own way to the Ten-Towns with your own personal agendas, and something (fate?) has brought you all to the same town, Good Mead. Founded by immigrants from Chult and the Vilhon Reach, Good Mead is nestled between Redwaters and a nearby evergreen forest. The town’s squat dwellings, adorned with carvings of dinosaurs and serpents, are overshadowed by the two-story structure of the mead hall, its eaves carved and painted to resemble wyverns. As honey is the key ingredient in mead, the town literally buzzes with the droning of bees.
You all arrived recently, and the town is in a bit of turmoil. Making your way to the Mead Hall, you make some enquiries and discover a Verbeeg (type of giant) stole three casks of mead that were being loaded onto a dogsled for transport to Bryn Shander. Kendrick Rielsbarrow, the town speaker and a giant of a man in his own right, stood his ground against the verbeeg and didn’t fare well. After skewering Kendrick with its spear, the verbeeg grabbed the casks and disappeared whence he came. The other residents of Good Mead tried to save Kendrick, to no avail; his body lies in a local shrine. Five members of the militia went after the verbeeg but haven’t returned.
While making these enquiries, you notice that there are others around who, also making their own enquiries. Please introduce your character and what you are up to currently.
Spoiler below is for Neldak, containing knowledge of Good Mead from being a Ten-Towner.
Friendliness âť„âť„ Services âť„ Comfort âť„âť„ (see below)
Population. 100.
Leader. None. Speaker Kendrick Rielsbarrow was killed by a verbeeg, leaving the town leaderless.
Militia. Good Mead can muster up to 20 soldiers and 2 veterans.
Heraldry. A dark brown drinking mug made of a cut-off section of horn, with an antler handle added, upright and cantered on a white field, representing the town’s mead exports and its cold, snowy climate.
Sacrifice to Auril. Warmth (see below).
Rivals. Caer-Dineval, Caer-Konig.
Snowflake system explained:
Friendliness. Residents in a three-snowflake town are friendly and helpful, by and large. Conversely, a one-snowflake town is full of unhelpful, unfriendly folk. A two-snowflake town has both.
Services. A three-snowflake town is where characters are most likely to find the services they need. A two-snowflake town has a much narrower selection. Characters will have trouble getting any sort of service in a one-snowflake town.
Comfort. Characters can find decent food and drink, as well as warm beds, in a three-snowflake town. A two-snowflake town might have a small tavern plus an inn with drafty rooms to rent. A one-snowflake town might have a cold shed or attic where characters can crash for the night, and that’s about it.
Sacrifice system explained:
The desperate people of Ten-Towns, hoping to appease Auril so that summer can return to Icewind Dale, make sacrifices to the Frostmaiden on nights of the new moon. This is a new practice that started a little over a year ago, when it became clear that Auril was angry and summer would not be returning anytime soon. The town speakers (see the “Council of Speakers” sidebar) have unanimously agreed to honour these practices, which they consider necessary evils, but would end them in a heartbeat if Auril were to be appeased or dealt with in some other way. The nature of the sacrifices varies from town to town, but usually takes one of three forms:
Humanoid. Bryn Shander, Easthaven, and Targos hold lotteries the afternoon before the new moon. The unlucky person whose name is drawn is sacrificed at nightfall. The ill-fated soul is stripped bare and either tied to a post or sent into the tundra to die. Accusations of rigged lotteries are common but usually not acted upon.
Food. Smaller towns that can’t afford to give up people give up their food instead. A day’s catch of knucklehead trout is strung up on wooden racks a mile outside town, to be claimed by yeti and other creatures that embody Auril’s wrath.
Warmth. Towns that can’t bring themselves to give up their people or their food forsake warmth for a night. No fires are lit between dusk and dawn, forcing locals to share body heat for warmth. Anyone who dares to light a fire is savagely beaten.
After joining more my signature got out of hand so I am now a proud member of the extended signature club!! :)
Sitting in the corner of the local tavern in Good Mead, an elf with fiery red hair and clothing that appears lighter than that worn by anyone else in the room, sits with his hands wrapped around a mug of coffee. He's listening to the words around him, but trying hard to avoid stares or that he cares too much about…anything. But a subtle change in posture, a slight shift of the hips and a lean forward indicates otherwise. When there is any discussion of this “Verbeeg” business and mention of what happened to the prior speaker and those that hunted after him. Then he goes back to looking down in his coffee as if he's trying to read patterns in the swirls of steam, see images of the speaker and the face of this monster that killed him. He looks over as you walk in, he has a way of sizing up people as they enter, examining gait, weapons, strength and making assessments. He eyes you as you happen to walk over and sit down. You feel like you have been scrutinized, but then a cautious grin appears on his face as you sit nearby. He holds his hand up in a ritualistic manner, as if he is going through a Tai chi pose, but waves to you and says,
“Hello, my name is Danon. Nice to meet you, pull up a seat and warm yourself, they have the best mead here… Have you heard anything about this monster that killed the prior speaker and took the barrels of mead?” He seems to ask questions about this event, looking for anyone with knowledge, and in a straight to the point way, with little subtlety.
Other than his rather nondescript traveling clothing that appears warmer than it ought to be, you see a wiry elf with a spear leaned against the wall, daggers stuck in sheaths on his body and a basic looking pack at his feet. There are various symbols that you can see tattooed into the skin on his hands, over knuckles, fingers and his forearms.
Neldak is a tall, green dragonborn dressed in form fitted, soft leathers and a especially warm looking cloak. He is sitting in the middle table of the room muttering to himself as he writes notes in a book. He looks up at Danon approaches and introduces himself.
"Hello there Danon. My name is Neldak. It's always bad tidings when a town loses its speaker and even worse having the monster run off with the good stuff. The townsfolk enjoy a nice warm mead after a fireless night, I know that I do." He pauses to take another sip of his drink. "What brings you to Good Mead?"
The door to Mead Hall opens, letting in the cold air. Through the doorway enters and Orc female, her long hair pulled tight and braided, hanging halfway down her back. Beneath her cloak, her armor shines like it were polished right before she entered the tavern. She is staring at her finger, a small smile on her face. She bumps into a table, not paying attention and looks up. “Oh hello, sorry I wasn’t paying attention”, and looks back at her finger. On the end of her finger sits a bee. “This little fella, or perhaps little lady, stung me, but then just stayed on my finger. Interesting creatures’ bee’s, haven’t seen so many in one place before.”
As the bee flies off, she turns her full attention to the dragonborn and elf sitting there. Mind if I sit, could use a bit of food.
She looks at the elf and gives him a small smile and a knowing nod, as she too, seems to be wearing a cloak that is much too thin for the climate of this land.
“My name is Cirim, I am a Selunite, as I serve Our Lady of Silver. Terrible business this whole winter thing. Imagine not seeing the sun for two years. It makes my heart hurt.”
Before entering, Cirim had noticed, outside, the blonde elf, with a slender shape and long blonde straight hair that made her seem a little taller than her modest 5' (or a little more) of height. Dressed in clothes that were undoubtedly heavy but equally unmistakably of refined taste, she was equipped with a notable assortment of weapons (a majestic Longbow, plus numerous smaller, more maneuverable weapons such as shortswords, daggers, handaxes, light hammers, and more) in contrast to her serene and relaxed expression. She was examining the ground, while speaking in a calm tone to the citizens near her. Perhaps too much time had passed to locate the traces of the Verbeeg, but it should instead be possible, to a trained eye, to locate those of the militia that had not returned.
Now the elf makes her entrance into the Mead Hall, while a spectral, elegant elven floating hand opens the door for her, just enough for her to slip inside, almost without disturbing the environment, so much so that not everyone notices her immediately - even if many turn to look at her when they notice her. The floating hand closes the door as soon as the elf has entered, then follows her, floating beside her. The foreign traveler must have heard that the motley group at that table is talking about the bad deed, because she approaches calmly, almost giving the impression of floating rather than walking.
"Forgive me, noble lords and ladies, but I have overheard that your conversations seem to focus on the recent act of violence committed by the Verbeeg" her musical voice announces, while her green eyes have a benevolent light as they run over them all. "I find what has happened extremely unpleasant. People already tried by the unnatural indeterminate lengthening of the night and winter do not deserve to find themselves exposed to the abuses of creatures incapable of civil coexistence. I, Etriel Darastrix, do not intend to remain an indifferent witness to this injustice; I will set out on the trail of the monster".
"I have some hunting experience," Etriel continues, as the spectral hand begins to absentmindedly trace elegant arabesques on the table with its tapered fingers "and I am convinced that if the Lady of Dreams directed my steps here, it must have been so that I could put my humble talents at the service of these people and make life and travel in this already so tested settlement safer. Do you happen to know which direction the monster took? I think I can find its tracks, but having an initial indication might speed up the process".
It doesn't take long for a halfling girl barges into the establishment, trying way too hard to seem tough and awesome. She has heard of the endless winter that has afflicted this land, and she sees this as a perfect opportunity to prove that those losers back at the temple were completely wrong and that she is truly a great Paladin! The halfling is dressed in half-plate armor, and carrying a comically oversized glaive on her back.
She (with a bit of difficulty, due to her minute stature of about 2'2) clambers up onto nearest unoccupied barstool and waves over to the bartender.
"Hey! Could you get a hero a drink?" she asks loudly, giving the bartender a big smile. "After all, I, Idalie Emberdew, am here at last to free this land from the evil that has plagued it! You can thank me later."
She does her best to project a confidence in her boisterous persona, but there are subtle signs in her mannerisms... a slight tremble of her lip... a drooping ear... that betray her actual insecurity which she is desperately trying to hide behind her bravado.
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Usually attentive to what happens around her, Etriel immediately notices the unlikely 'heroine' who has made her entrance.
'Unlikely, perhaps...' the foreign traveler thinks 'But if she has enough courage to really want to try to help the people of this place... heroic she is despite everything. Why not avail myself of her help and enjoy her company? The right travel companions make every journey more pleasant'.
The ghostly hand that was messing around on the table then flies up and goes to tap Idalie on the shoulder, while a sweet voice similar to a breath of breeze whispers in her ear: "Come, brave heroine, follow me and you will have the opportunity to embrace your calling".
If Idlaie turns, she sees the slender, floating spectral hand, its elegant fingers gesturing for her to follow... and if she begins to follow, the hand leads her to Etriel (and to the table with the other interesting patrons).
"Welcome, the more the merrier. I'm Neldak" Neldak says in turn as each person enters and sits around the table. "There's certainly strength in numbers and I think we are all in the same mind that something needs to be done about this verbeeg. I haven't figured out what way it went but perhaps some of the remaining town guard can help point us in the right direction. It's always been a hard life up here in Icewind Dale, but this never-ending winter is making things all the more difficult. And I don't know what I would do if there's a mead shortage."
Cirim also notices the halfling at the bar and her proclamation of being a hero, of which the orc has no doubt. She then watches the ghostly hand interact with the halfling women.
"An impressive conjuration" she says to the elf named Eltriel. "A Verbeer huh? I've only seen them in books. Children books actually, used to scare children to behave. I believe they look something like this? But larger of course." Cirim will cast a quick spell and create a one foot tall image of a Verbeeg floating above the table.
Idalie's ears perk up at the strange voice in her ear... she glances over her shoulder to see a spectral hand beckoning to her... she doesn't hesitate a moment as she hops down from the barstool. She makes her way over to the elf who just summoned her and immediately takes her place at the table, as if she 100% belongs there.
"Hey, glad to see someone knows quality when they see it!" the halfling says with a smile. "Alright, so... kill a Verbeeg? Fantastic idea, let's do that! But I'll take my drink first, if it's not too much trouble..."
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"Oh, esteemed lords and ladies," Etriel bows her head slightly, in a sign of respect, and then immediately raises it again, aiming her green eyes at those of the interlocutors "I thought you were just talking about the fact, not that you were all interested in doing something about it. Learning of your inclination to heroic deeds is a most pleasant surprise. It will be an honor to have you at my side on this hunt".
"I understand, Lord Neldak," the foreign traveler replies to the green dragonborn. "I agree that not being able to enjoy the light of the sun or the warmth of the warmer seasons must be truly deplorable for creatures whose vision is obstructed by the darkness and who, for the most part, are not endowed with magical powers that can help against adverse conditions. It would be truly cruel to allow violence and deprivation to be added to all this. No, I will not allow it. Or rather," she quickly corrects herself "we will not allow it, given what you have stated".
"Oh, so nice fo you to call 'impressive' my humble cantrip, Lady Cirim" Etriel smiles at the female orc with the braided hair. "Magic comes naturally to the ancient and fortunate race of elves. I see that you are not ignorant of The Art either..." she examines the image of the Verbeeg "...and that you have also been able to take advantage of your readings. The appearance of this creature suggests that it relies mostly on brute force to achieve its goals (as also the accounts of the crime lead one to believe). If we can face it from range we should have the upper hand".
"Of course, Lady Idalie!" the eladrin huntress agrees, with her musical voice "Better to go on a hunt with the energy to sustain it. If you allow me, I think I will keep you company; I have only recently arrived and have not yet been able to satisfy my curiosity about how good the mead of Good Mead is. It will please me, to fill in that gap before I go hunting". While Etriel Darastrix is ​​still talking to the halfling girl, the spectral hand takes some coins, reaches the counter, the innkeeper, as soon as he sees the hand holding the coins in its palm, hears a melodious voice that orders a mug of mead and so, shortly after, the hand brings back a mug of the much vaunted local specialty. Etriel closes her eyes and begins to slowly sip the sweet and warm drink.
Danon’s eyes go wide at the sight of the Dragonborn, not a common sight in these parts. He makes a motion to a chair, saying “Welcome, pleased to meet you Neldak. What brings me here? I have heard about what has happened here, isn’t it terrible? The Verbeeg? What have you heard?” Then he notes Cirim, he smiles at her, nodding when she mentions the everlasting winter. “I know, it has bothered me as well, it is part of the reason that I made my way here from Luskan, to investigate this perpetual winter, the .. imbalance.” He says the last like it is a dirty word.
When the elf with the spectral hand enters the tavern, Danon does a double take, his jaw dropping slightly. He clams up right away and watches her movement across the room, then he becomes self conscious and looks away. He finds her green eyes disarming and he makes all attempts to avoid them, with furtive glances from time to time toward her. “*ahem* Uh, nice to ah, meet you, Etriel. Danon Fingil, the pleasure is all mine.” He awkwardly points at another chair.
When Idalie enters, a huge grin appears on Danon’s face, he slaps the table lightly and says “Well alright then! That’s the spirit!” And he takes a big gulp of his drink. He looks at the picture of the Verbeeg generated over the table by Cirim, starting to examine it from all sides. “How big is it? Can you put up the image of a human or an elf beside it for frame of reference?” When Etriel starts to speak again, Danon sits on the edge of his seat, taking in every word. He offers in a manner as to be useful, “Perhaps we could get more information about where it was headed, then begin the hunt. I didn’t imagine that I would have such help with this task, but, as Neldak says, the more the merrier. I can hold my own and I’d like to lend my spear to the effort. M’lady.” He says the last and tips his head to Etriel.
Etriel returns the polite nod of the only other elf at the table with a pleased smile - a courtesy that was added to that of being the first to offer her a chair: "The course you advise seems to me wise and prudent, Lord Danon Fingil. Your advice and your courtesy both honor and flatter me and have been well received by my heart" (the elegant fingers of the ghostly hand simultaneously move to her heart, as if to underline the concept).
"Oh, were you also ready to launch yourself into this task even alone?" the foreign traveler's green eyes search his with a light of admiration and approval; then they become thoughtful "It must be the legacy of our race... A life so long that to other species it can seem eternal... the harmony with the environment... the magic that permeates every fiber of our being... can easily induce us to take on tasks ourselves. While races less gifted in these areas compensate by demonstrating the value of cooperation. A value that we too can learn to appreciate more. After all, this is perhaps the greatest of the many benefits of traveling - broadening one's horizons".
"I too am very pleased by the surprise of having found such ready, skilled and pleasant traveling companions" the eladrin huntress takes in the entire party with her gaze... before returning her eyes to Danon and holding them on him a little longer than she did on each of the others. "After all, life itself is a journey - and every journey is more pleasant, when one has good company".
After having finished tasting her mug of mead to the last [[ OOC: So plenty of time for more interactions at the table, if we like ]], Etriel Darastrix(*) embraces her new companions of adventure with her green eyes again and, if they also seem to have finished refreshing themselves, her musical voice invites: "Shall we begin our hunt? Let us ask in which direction the monstrous scoundrel has gone away and let us set out on his trail".
(*) By the way, I had written it in the application post, but I had not yet repeated it here, the meaning of that name (so that characters with the appropriate linguistic knowledge can know it - it obviously has no effect on the game, it is only so that it can be exploited during the role-play):
'Etriel' in elvish means 'lady'
'Darastrix' in Draconic means 'dragon'
So Etriel Darastrix is ​​a nickname, rather than a real name, and it means 'Lady Dragon' - at least for those who know both those languages.
(This is a nickname Etriel took for reasons explained in her backstory).
A few of the villagers overhear you and after some whispering, they come over to the table. "We heard you are interested in helping us out. We can't offer you much in return but we can offer free lodging and drink for a tenday if you can return the mead and avenge our speaker. We all pretty much saw which way the Verbeeg went so can give you a decent start."
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"This one seems confident they can take care of the problem themselves, but the rest of us, less gifted ones, will follow to observe their prowess and show them how we like to cooperate. Perhaps they will learn how harsh these lands can be." Neldak says with a laugh and a smile. "But yes, I at least would love to help out and I think my new friends here would as well." Neldak looks to each individual around the table in turn for confirmation. "Which way did the Verbeeg go?
"It went back into the forest where it came from, just to the north-west."
After joining more my signature got out of hand so I am now a proud member of the extended signature club!! :)
"So, North West then?" she asks the group, "everyone all full and satiated and ready to go find this Verbeeg?"
“I would not wish my words to be misunderstood, Lord Neldak” Etriel Darastrix approaches the dragonborn, punctuating her words with a courteous bow. "While it is true that my race can claim a heritage (such as longevity and an affinity for magic) that others cannot, this was only meant to be a statement of fact. I, too, could not contradict you, Lord Neldak, if you were to say that your race is much taller than mine - or that you were more dangerous than I was" she stretches her lips in a hint of a smile, hoping to play down a joke "if you were to catch a cold and sneeze out a dragon breath. Neither, in my intention, should sound like a disparagement of the other. My words, believe me, were sincere, when I declared the importance of travel, of opening oneself to other cultures, and of better appreciating otherness. It will be a pleasure and an honor to have your cooperation as well as that of all the others - and to learn all about these harsh lands that you are able to teach me".
"At least," the foreign traveler muses aloud "the climate here may be inhospitable... but I find it worse when the people are inhospitable, as I experienced in Mirabar. They're all so unreasonably obsessed with fear of Luskan spies down there..."
In response to the female orc with the braided hair, the eladrin huntress nods: "So it seems, Lady Cirim. The forest to the north-west is our starting point" and she begins to head in that direction, her trained green eyes already scanning around for footprints or other traces of the passage or of the outlaw Verbeeg or of the poor souls who chased him - and then sadly did not return. She is murmuring every now and then a musical prayer to Sehanine Moonbow, the elven Lunar Lady.
Etriel's 'guided' Survival, if needed (to find/follow tracks): 22
“After you, Lady Darastrix… I believe that you are onto something. Perhaps we can all learn from each other.. and.. broaden our horizons!” Danon does his best by force of will to keep his eyes focused where they should be. “Let’s be off!” Yes, physical activity, exertion, the hunt of this evil Verbeeg thing. Better to be off and fighting rather than putting my foot in my mouth…
Danon looks glad to be headed on their way, taking a few test swings and jabs of his spear as they get going, following and heading to the northwest.