Pressed against the northeastern coast of Wynandir is a desert of ice and snow, separated from the Dwendalian Empire by the jagged Dunrock Mountains and the Quannah Breach. This landscape of dense, desiccated forests, rolling mountains, and icy tundra is known as the Greying Wildlands, the southern part of the Biting North that encompasses this region as well as the islands of Eiselcross. The empire has struggled to expand into the region, leaving its denizens to focus on their own survival in the harsh territory, where wandering outlanders and barbarous hunters stalk the unchecked wilderness. Tucked beyond the edge of the empire's reach, past the shadowed dangers of the dense, frozen foliage, lies the dwarven citadel of Uthodurn, which has become the home of many elves who survived the destruction of Molaesmyr.
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.
“N dat is how ole Urgon come to be called Three-Legged-Wenth…” The gruff dwarf standing by the grave sniffs, wiping a tear from his eye. Several dwarven lasses in the assembly sob or blow their noses in their handkerchiefs.
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.
“Ah… thank you, Efren. That was a most, ah, enlightening story.” Elro Aldataur, a weathered elf, retired ranger, and the leader of the village, ushers Efren away, quite clearly regretting the choice of speakers. Almost reluctantly, he addresses the gathered crowd. “Ahem. Well, would anyone.... Else… like to say a few, a very few words?”
(Take this opportunity to describe your appearance and introduce yourself. You don't have to speak, but might decide to do so).
Katia - tall, though slender for her heritage hal-orc girl - stood up and cleared her throat. Even she understood the hint, but in her case it was not necessary - she was not sure what to say anyway and just "Thank you everyone for coming. I am sure uncle, I mean, Urgon, would appreciate your presence here today." She sat back blashing.
Of course, Urgon was not her uncle by blood, just a close friend of her foster parents, but she used to call him that. His sudden death left Katia devastated and not only for an obvious grief from loosing someone close, but she simply did not know what to do now. Urgon brought her here to the frozen wastes to "teach to be a true adventurer" - whatever is was supposed to mean. (She believed it - the idea that the main reason was to keep her home-town safe from her "gift" was not as pleasant) What was she supposed to do now - miles from home and not all that ready to do anything.
Katia was watching the crowd, contemplating who to ask for advice.
Harley stands at the back of the crowd, wrapped in a warm jacket, trying to be inconspicuous despite her large - well, goliath - frame. She has no interest in speaking to the assembly. Her white eyes face the ground, both to show respect and to keep the biting wind and snow off her face. Harley hadn't heard the story of Urgon's nickname before, but it only emphasised the rich life the dwarf had lived. The life that was now over, despite her best efforts to look out for travellers in the region. True, she couldn't be everywhere at once, but she would now have to take extra care to keep track of the growing number of parties heading out on northern expeditions.
Waiting a moment as the half-orc returns to her seat, Daelnar stands up and begins in a slightly awkward voice, "Urgon was always a friend to my da' and my family, we all liked the old fool well enough, who didn't. Never a dull moment when he visited, and always a new story or two to share over a drink..." the lad takes a moment before raising a fist to his chest, "Urgon, we'll still tell your tales and raise you a tankard when we do!".
The man has a young-face on him, partially hidden underneath a thick beard and long brown hair loosely tied into a tail with leather thongs, and a few tribal tatoos further cover the left side of his face. He is outfitted in practical gear, looking to be broad shouldered and with lean muscle, underneath roughly cut leathers with myriad animal pelts stiched on for added warmth.
Standing toward the back of the crowd, Shagar easily stands out. at over 7 ft tall she was easily one of the tallest people there. Wrapped in a heavy traveling cloak her face was in a slight shadow, which only accentuated her deep yellow eyes. A closer look would see past her stern face a steady stream of tears running from both eyes.
She should have been there, she knows she could have prevented whatever befell Urgon. She also knows this is folly. While her skills in the wild are many, healing or preventing disease is not her strong suit.
At her turn she makes her way to the front, the crowd parting to let the orc pass. "It is a cruel fate for someone so full of life to meet his end in such a way. Urgon was one of the first in the village to welcome my clan when we came to this place. Because of him you all accepted us when most just saw savage monsters. He will be remembered as long as a single orc of my clan still draws breath." Turning to face the grave she speaks in slightly broken dwarvish "Jeg swear jeg monmur bevinja euj vaem happened ilv tho oz avenge joth verold mot nurn"
(for those that speak dwarvish it translates I swear I will find out what happened to you and avenge your death my friend)
She then returns to the back of the crowd taking a moment to put her hand on the goliaths shoulder.
Strolling silently from behind Eldo toward the grave, a lithe tabaxi begins playing a mournful dirge on her viol. It's as if the tune flows out of the instrument, across the strings, to spill onto the ground, swelling into a somber cloud that envelopes her and spreads to those she dances past, bobbing and spinning. The cold doesn't seem to affect her fingers as they glide from note to note, weaving a solemn spell of fond remembrance for all that hear the song.
And then she begins to sing:
"And soft, we lay our friend to rest His mem'ry tight within our chest Another adventure seen to its end Another brother has flown the nest..."
She continues with drawn out interludes between verses. Some sad, some garnering tearful chuckles from those congregated, referencing memories shared there that day. After a particularly invigorating cadenza, the gathering takes a collective deep breath as she brings her song to a close.
"His body of work, the breadth and len'th And on and on, by verse the tenth The lives he touched, do together sing The storied song of Three-Legged-Wenth"
She concludes with a sly smile as her languid dance carries her back beyond the elder elf and out of immediate line of sight as everyone focuses on Urgon's final resting place.
Some of you may have interacted with Red Chanter prior to the funeral. But for those seeing her for the first time, she's about 5'9", thin, and graceful (like you'd expect from a cat who dances and performs for a living) with green eyes. Her coat resembles that of a snow leopard: light tans and greys with black spots and rings interspersed. She wears well-polished traveling leathers and no hat but a feather sticks out from behind her left ear.
...and this is probably as good as the lyrics will get. Prepare yourselves for corny couplets and quatrains!
The first unkind words spoken at the funeral, following was the solid click. clack. kink. click. clack. kink. of an old man hobbling to the front towards the frozen remains. Tettering from side to side, using finely crafted cane, with an obsidian pommel-in stark contrast to his old fettered clothing, or the worn down replacement leg he dragged with every step. A glass eye, apparent as it was facing off to the left, and covered in condensation from the cold. Coming up to the remains, in a voice a bit louder than approriate-but at least not a shout this time. "I can't remember ye... and I'm sorry for that. I can't remember much from 'afore the dragon's maw. but, the letter and me journal tells me I owe ye a debit I 'annot repay now. I wasn't there to help you with your sickness. And for that I apologize."
Removing a raggid old journal, and placing it with the remains, "But lookie here. You musta had a grand life. Look at these folks, crying and wailing after ye. Done good yer have. Rest well." briskly turning and waving off anyone blocking his way before flopping down in thet corner, drinking from a flask.
Of course it was Malik! Katia sighed. The Old Man was not evil, but during that year she spent in the village (and all alone(!), by the way, if only her parents knew ...) she had a few run ins with him and learned to keep a respectful distance. Uncle said if she wants to control her magic she has to learn to control her emotions - a hard thing to do when you have to listen about "greener grass, wetter water and more respectful youth".
She could not pretend not to notice the loud man, but could look lost in the songs of Red Chanter - she always hesitated to ask why "red"? And now shook that question off as a particularly inappropriate. She Looked toward the casket. Just two months ago Urgon returned from his year long expedition, full life, hopes and stories - not about that particular adventure but many others. Sickness begun just a few days later, making the dwarf move slowly and caused blue veins to appear all over his body. And he constantly felt cold untill two months later despite all the treatment, his ever-slowing body eventually froze solid.
As a sort of a hostess of the tragic event Katia could not contemplate for long. People said their parting words, it was time for the actual burial and traditional drinks with the stories about uncle's life.
There are polite and sympathetic acknowledgments of Katia's speech. Many exclaim a "Here, here!" at Daelnar's remarks. The crowd murmurs in fascination at Shagar's tribute. Many applaud Red's performance.
At Malik's interjection, a lone baby cries. Elro sighs, patting the old man on the back encouragingly.
With the final remarks given by those who knew Urgon best, the crowd slowly thins as villagers make their way back to their warm homes and hot suppers. Yet, as the sun dips beneath the horizon and darkness takes hold, a feeling bids you linger. A handful of others remain as well, gazing down upon the grave of an uncle, of a mentor, or of a friend.
Elro’s gruff voice speaks softly from behind you. “Thank you for attending Urgon’s service.” You turn and meet the gaze of the 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.”
“You…” His gaze surveys the group. “...have ties with Urgon. It’s my hope that you’re the sort of people not afraid to step up to help folks in need. To not let his death be in vain. Are you willing to help discover the cause of Urgon’s fate?”
"Yes!" Katia heard her own voice before she even realised her mouth was moving. She looked at the others not certain how they would react to her eagerness and in case they did not see the benefits of her presence (she was honest with herself - they probably did not) rushed with explanations: "You know me, I've lived here for a year - all by myself! Even uncle said I am ready now. And he was my uncle, he died on my hands. I need to know what happened to him! Please?"Still not sure those hunters and fighters (not to mention Malik) were convinced she added: "I know where he was all that year. Well, in general."
"It'd be a sorry thing for me t' turn down aiding Urgon twice... If this lass be so eager to be findin' what done the dwarf in, Daelnar, kin to Wulgar of the Tribe of the Elk offers his aid in the doing." Looking around at the others and secretly hoping that they had more of an idea where to start than he did, he adds, "I'm sure we all would honour the dead so."
Snapping his fingers-or attempting to, the wrinkled skin and scars prevent such a noise, Malik pipes up "Aha! A chance post mortem to repay a debt! Any clue what foul creature gave him a perminant cold shoulder?." Scratching his noggin with the obsidian orb'd cane and pondering what might've done it. "Were it just the Urgon lad?"
Elro smiles at the enthusiasm, though there is a sadness behind it, an acceptance of fate.
“Yes, my dear Katia. As you know, and as the rest of you may also be aware, two months ago, Urgon Wenth returned home after exploring Eiselcross for a year. He had been back for only a few days when he came down with a strange affliction, which made him move slowly and caused blue veins to appear all over his body.”
“Naturally we sought healers, and the priests used every spell they could muster to attempt to heal Urgon, but nothing they tried could stop the sickness. Urgon battled the affliction for weeks, until his ever-slowing body eventually froze solid.”
“But there’s also something you don’t know...” Elro pauses, reluctant to continue, but having gone too far to stop. “Until yesterday, we believed that Urgon’s sad fate was an isolated incident, most likely caused by something he came into contact with while exploring Eiselcross. Then I noticed one of our trappers, a female dwarf named Tulgi Lutan, showing signs of the same illness. I might have passed it off as a mild case of the cold, but there is no mistaking those peculiar blue veins.”
“Alarmed, I tried to talk to Tulgi about it, but she pushed me away, asking that I ‘let her die in peace.’”
“Well, clearly we can’t just let that happen. I want you to find out what caused Urgon and Tulgi’s affliction. I’m worried that it could spread, but Tulgi refuses to talk to me, and the Glassblades in the village are better known for their combat skills than their ability to glean the truth in a complicated situation. Moreover, Tulgi is extremely distrustful of the authorities.”
“And so I turn to you, even now in your time of mourning.” He pats Katia’s shoulder. “It is a great burden, I know, to ask you to be involved. And a great risk. But I think you lot might have better luck convincing Tulgi to talk. We can pay, of course. The fishing has been good this season, and the village coffer can spare 100 gold coins if you help us learn the cause. I suggest carefully searching your (Urgon’s) home, Katia. Try to find anything in Urgon’s belongings or records. You should also try talking to Tulgi at her cabin.”
"I am going to do whatever it takes to honor Urgon. Protecting this village will go along way to making sure that happens" The orc stand to her full height locking eyes with each person here. "It will be my honor to hunt along side of you all. Katia, take us to your home."
"Katia is it?" the young man say, clapping a large hand on her shoulder, "If you be knowing the ways around this village, perhaps you could do us a showin' t' where we needs goin'. An maybe you or Elro can be tellin' us why this Tulgi lass ain't be bein' so friendly with the lawbringers round here?"
"Of course!"Katia's eyes brightened (it seemed not only others were going to help, but they did not object her presence) and made a few steps toward - now, sadly, all hers - house. She gusped at the news of Tulgi's sickness - rumors were there, but to hear it for sure was scary nevertheless. But to Daelnar's question she could answer only with a sigh: "Nobody is. Strange, I know, had to get used to it myself, but it seems some people came here... hiding something? Have some bad past? People do not usually ask many personal questions around here. I do not know what Tulgi can be hiding, but we are no authorities - I mean, not some officials - and only want to help." She made another step "But we can also check the house firs. And if you have no place to stay - you can stay there, there is enough room now." Katia brushed away a tear, smiled sadly to Elro one last time, nodding to all suggestions, and walked toward the home.
Red Chanter, standing with hip cocked and arms crossed, chirps melodiously (as anyone with cats can describe to you if you're unfamiliar).
In a soft but resonant voice, barely above a whisper yet audible to all, she says, "I've heard rumblings of something insidious moving through the region. Can't imagine this threat and that are one and the same but there's no way of knowing without more information."
With that she turns and follows Katia, pausing briefly by the large human. Turning her head, she smiles coyly. "Daelnar, right? Nice rhyme. You have the makings of a bard if the your current exploits don't pan out," she says with a wink before continuing.
Without breaking stride or turning to look, she quietly purrs, "You'll do just fine," and runs the tip of her tail across Malik's face as she passes.
“Tulgi’s Tulgi”, Elro explains. “She moved here from Shadycreek Run some years ago. While she’s not run afoul of the law, she doesn’t quite fit in, either. She seems something of a loner. She didn’t come to the service. That’s probably for the best, considering. But, she deserves help as much as any other citizen of Palebank.”
(Urgon’s Cabin)
Urgon’s Katia’s residence is a one-story, quaint log cabin at the edge of town. Nothing ostentatious, but comfortable, and suitable for the life of an explorer and his ward. Yet the familiar dwelling that Katia has called home for over a year is amiss--the door is slightly ajar.
Once inside, it is clear that something is very wrong.
The humble, dark cabin is usually an inviting and hospitable place. Two beds stand near the fireplace, its mantle hung with the head of some snarling white beast with gray horns. On the other side of the room, a small table strewn with dishes and set with two dwarf-sized chairs stands before two empty shelves whose contents are scattered across the floor: kitchen utensils, dried foodstuffs, adventuring gear, and a few books.
In the time since Katia left to attend Urgon’s funeral, the cabin has been ransacked.
The adventuring equipment, Urgon’s favored possessions, consists of a silvered maul, a suit of splint armor sized for a dwarf, bulky, fur-lined dwarf clothing, a grappling hook, and a hooded lantern.
(Nature DC 15):
You recognize the head mounted above the mantle to be that of a yeti, a monstrosity found to the northwest, in the tundra frontier known as Eiselcross.
(Investigation #1 DC 10):
Searching through the books, you find a folded receipt used as a bookmark. It is dated two months previous, and indicates that Urgon sold several Aeorian artifacts found in Eiselcross to a local antique shop, Pelc’s Curiosities, for 1,000 gp. The items are listed as a dagger, a scroll case, a jade statuette, a quiver of twenty arrows, a silver ring set with a jasper, and two blue glass vials.
(Investigation #2 DC 12):
You notice footprints--not Katia’s--leading outside and into the snow.
(If Investigation #1 is made, History DC 15):
Centuries ago, the flying city-state of Aeor, a place of inventors, magic, and progress, was hurled into Eiselcross by gods both good and evil.
Looking around at the chaos, for a brief moment, Shagar remembers the trip into the wild where the mounted head was attained and smiles before coming back to the current scene. Distracted by the memory she doesn't seem to be able to focus right now.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Being such a well-built character for investigating mysteries...Red Chanter will stroll carefully through the mess to look over the rest of the cabin, making certain they are quite alone.
Perception: 15
If satisfied with the security of the area, she'll stoop and begin rifling through the belongings to see if there may be any indication of what the thieves were searching for. As she searches, she absently says, "I suppose it isn't too likely, but hope is never a bad thing; do you have any idea who might've done this or what they were after, Katia?"
Pressed against the northeastern coast of Wynandir is a desert of ice and snow, separated from the Dwendalian Empire by the jagged Dunrock Mountains and the Quannah Breach. This landscape of dense, desiccated forests, rolling mountains, and icy tundra is known as the Greying Wildlands, the southern part of the Biting North that encompasses this region as well as the islands of Eiselcross. The empire has struggled to expand into the region, leaving its denizens to focus on their own survival in the harsh territory, where wandering outlanders and barbarous hunters stalk the unchecked wilderness. Tucked beyond the edge of the empire's reach, past the shadowed dangers of the dense, frozen foliage, lies the dwarven citadel of Uthodurn, which has become the home of many elves who survived the destruction of Molaesmyr.
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.
“N dat is how ole Urgon come to be called Three-Legged-Wenth…” The gruff dwarf standing by the grave sniffs, wiping a tear from his eye. Several dwarven lasses in the assembly sob or blow their noses in their handkerchiefs.
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.
“Ah… thank you, Efren. That was a most, ah, enlightening story.” Elro Aldataur, a weathered elf, retired ranger, and the leader of the village, ushers Efren away, quite clearly regretting the choice of speakers. Almost reluctantly, he addresses the gathered crowd. “Ahem. Well, would anyone.... Else… like to say a few, a very few words?”
(Take this opportunity to describe your appearance and introduce yourself. You don't have to speak, but might decide to do so).
Katia - tall, though slender for her heritage hal-orc girl - stood up and cleared her throat. Even she understood the hint, but in her case it was not necessary - she was not sure what to say anyway and just "Thank you everyone for coming. I am sure uncle, I mean, Urgon, would appreciate your presence here today." She sat back blashing.
Of course, Urgon was not her uncle by blood, just a close friend of her foster parents, but she used to call him that. His sudden death left Katia devastated and not only for an obvious grief from loosing someone close, but she simply did not know what to do now. Urgon brought her here to the frozen wastes to "teach to be a true adventurer" - whatever is was supposed to mean. (She believed it - the idea that the main reason was to keep her home-town safe from her "gift" was not as pleasant) What was she supposed to do now - miles from home and not all that ready to do anything.
Katia was watching the crowd, contemplating who to ask for advice.
Meili Liang Lvl 5 Monk
Dice
Harley stands at the back of the crowd, wrapped in a warm jacket, trying to be inconspicuous despite her large - well, goliath - frame. She has no interest in speaking to the assembly. Her white eyes face the ground, both to show respect and to keep the biting wind and snow off her face. Harley hadn't heard the story of Urgon's nickname before, but it only emphasised the rich life the dwarf had lived. The life that was now over, despite her best efforts to look out for travellers in the region. True, she couldn't be everywhere at once, but she would now have to take extra care to keep track of the growing number of parties heading out on northern expeditions.
A completed pbp forum game:
Harley Atheonaikie in Frozen Sick
-
Current pbp forum games:
Delilah Rose in Rivulestice
Tragedy Whispers (Previously: A Deep & Creeping Darkness & Waterdeep: Dragon Heist)
Waiting a moment as the half-orc returns to her seat, Daelnar stands up and begins in a slightly awkward voice, "Urgon was always a friend to my da' and my family, we all liked the old fool well enough, who didn't. Never a dull moment when he visited, and always a new story or two to share over a drink..." the lad takes a moment before raising a fist to his chest, "Urgon, we'll still tell your tales and raise you a tankard when we do!".
The man has a young-face on him, partially hidden underneath a thick beard and long brown hair loosely tied into a tail with leather thongs, and a few tribal tatoos further cover the left side of his face. He is outfitted in practical gear, looking to be broad shouldered and with lean muscle, underneath roughly cut leathers with myriad animal pelts stiched on for added warmth.
Bring out your inner chatacter class...
Standing toward the back of the crowd, Shagar easily stands out. at over 7 ft tall she was easily one of the tallest people there. Wrapped in a heavy traveling cloak her face was in a slight shadow, which only accentuated her deep yellow eyes. A closer look would see past her stern face a steady stream of tears running from both eyes.
She should have been there, she knows she could have prevented whatever befell Urgon. She also knows this is folly. While her skills in the wild are many, healing or preventing disease is not her strong suit.
At her turn she makes her way to the front, the crowd parting to let the orc pass. "It is a cruel fate for someone so full of life to meet his end in such a way. Urgon was one of the first in the village to welcome my clan when we came to this place. Because of him you all accepted us when most just saw savage monsters. He will be remembered as long as a single orc of my clan still draws breath." Turning to face the grave she speaks in slightly broken dwarvish "Jeg swear jeg monmur bevinja euj vaem happened ilv tho oz avenge joth verold mot nurn"
(for those that speak dwarvish it translates I swear I will find out what happened to you and avenge your death my friend)
She then returns to the back of the crowd taking a moment to put her hand on the goliaths shoulder.
Strolling silently from behind Eldo toward the grave, a lithe tabaxi begins playing a mournful dirge on her viol. It's as if the tune flows out of the instrument, across the strings, to spill onto the ground, swelling into a somber cloud that envelopes her and spreads to those she dances past, bobbing and spinning. The cold doesn't seem to affect her fingers as they glide from note to note, weaving a solemn spell of fond remembrance for all that hear the song.
And then she begins to sing:
"And soft, we lay our friend to rest
His mem'ry tight within our chest
Another adventure seen to its end
Another brother has flown the nest..."
She continues with drawn out interludes between verses. Some sad, some garnering tearful chuckles from those congregated, referencing memories shared there that day. After a particularly invigorating cadenza, the gathering takes a collective deep breath as she brings her song to a close.
"His body of work, the breadth and len'th
And on and on, by verse the tenth
The lives he touched, do together sing
The storied song of Three-Legged-Wenth"
She concludes with a sly smile as her languid dance carries her back beyond the elder elf and out of immediate line of sight as everyone focuses on Urgon's final resting place.
Some of you may have interacted with Red Chanter prior to the funeral. But for those seeing her for the first time, she's about 5'9", thin, and graceful (like you'd expect from a cat who dances and performs for a living) with green eyes. Her coat resembles that of a snow leopard: light tans and greys with black spots and rings interspersed. She wears well-polished traveling leathers and no hat but a feather sticks out from behind her left ear.
...and this is probably as good as the lyrics will get. Prepare yourselves for corny couplets and quatrains!
Characters currently being ruined on this forum:
Mis'tuv (Halfling Fathomless Warlock) - The Voyage of the Fallen Star
Meresaa (Vedalken Artillerist Artificer) - Destination Unknown
Hutton Crowcreek (Human Fighter) - Curse of the Crimson Throne
"Yer Dumbass!"
The first unkind words spoken at the funeral, following was the solid click. clack. kink. click. clack. kink. of an old man hobbling to the front towards the frozen remains. Tettering from side to side, using finely crafted cane, with an obsidian pommel-in stark contrast to his old fettered clothing, or the worn down replacement leg he dragged with every step. A glass eye, apparent as it was facing off to the left, and covered in condensation from the cold.
Coming up to the remains, in a voice a bit louder than approriate-but at least not a shout this time. "I can't remember ye... and I'm sorry for that. I can't remember much from 'afore the dragon's maw. but, the letter and me journal tells me I owe ye a debit I 'annot repay now. I wasn't there to help you with your sickness. And for that I apologize."
Removing a raggid old journal, and placing it with the remains, "But lookie here. You musta had a grand life. Look at these folks, crying and wailing after ye. Done good yer have. Rest well." briskly turning and waving off anyone blocking his way before flopping down in thet corner, drinking from a flask.
Of course it was Malik! Katia sighed. The Old Man was not evil, but during that year she spent in the village (and all alone(!), by the way, if only her parents knew ...) she had a few run ins with him and learned to keep a respectful distance. Uncle said if she wants to control her magic she has to learn to control her emotions - a hard thing to do when you have to listen about "greener grass, wetter water and more respectful youth".
She could not pretend not to notice the loud man, but could look lost in the songs of Red Chanter - she always hesitated to ask why "red"? And now shook that question off as a particularly inappropriate. She Looked toward the casket. Just two months ago Urgon returned from his year long expedition, full life, hopes and stories - not about that particular adventure but many others. Sickness begun just a few days later, making the dwarf move slowly and caused blue veins to appear all over his body. And he constantly felt cold untill two months later despite all the treatment, his ever-slowing body eventually froze solid.
As a sort of a hostess of the tragic event Katia could not contemplate for long. People said their parting words, it was time for the actual burial and traditional drinks with the stories about uncle's life.
Meili Liang Lvl 5 Monk
Dice
There are polite and sympathetic acknowledgments of Katia's speech. Many exclaim a "Here, here!" at Daelnar's remarks. The crowd murmurs in fascination at Shagar's tribute. Many applaud Red's performance.
At Malik's interjection, a lone baby cries. Elro sighs, patting the old man on the back encouragingly.
With the final remarks given by those who knew Urgon best, the crowd slowly thins as villagers make their way back to their warm homes and hot suppers. Yet, as the sun dips beneath the horizon and darkness takes hold, a feeling bids you linger. A handful of others remain as well, gazing down upon the grave of an uncle, of a mentor, or of a friend.
Elro’s gruff voice speaks softly from behind you. “Thank you for attending Urgon’s service.” You turn and meet the gaze of the 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.”
“You…” His gaze surveys the group. “...have ties with Urgon. It’s my hope that you’re the sort of people not afraid to step up to help folks in need. To not let his death be in vain. Are you willing to help discover the cause of Urgon’s fate?”
"Yes!" Katia heard her own voice before she even realised her mouth was moving. She looked at the others not certain how they would react to her eagerness and in case they did not see the benefits of her presence (she was honest with herself - they probably did not) rushed with explanations: "You know me, I've lived here for a year - all by myself! Even uncle said I am ready now. And he was my uncle, he died on my hands. I need to know what happened to him! Please?" Still not sure those hunters and fighters (not to mention Malik) were convinced she added: "I know where he was all that year. Well, in general."
Meili Liang Lvl 5 Monk
Dice
"It'd be a sorry thing for me t' turn down aiding Urgon twice... If this lass be so eager to be findin' what done the dwarf in, Daelnar, kin to Wulgar of the Tribe of the Elk offers his aid in the doing." Looking around at the others and secretly hoping that they had more of an idea where to start than he did, he adds, "I'm sure we all would honour the dead so."
Bring out your inner chatacter class...
Snapping his fingers-or attempting to, the wrinkled skin and scars prevent such a noise, Malik pipes up "Aha! A chance post mortem to repay a debt! Any clue what foul creature gave him a perminant cold shoulder?." Scratching his noggin with the obsidian orb'd cane and pondering what might've done it. "Were it just the Urgon lad?"
Elro smiles at the enthusiasm, though there is a sadness behind it, an acceptance of fate.
“Yes, my dear Katia. As you know, and as the rest of you may also be aware, two months ago, Urgon Wenth returned home after exploring Eiselcross for a year. He had been back for only a few days when he came down with a strange affliction, which made him move slowly and caused blue veins to appear all over his body.”
“Naturally we sought healers, and the priests used every spell they could muster to attempt to heal Urgon, but nothing they tried could stop the sickness. Urgon battled the affliction for weeks, until his ever-slowing body eventually froze solid.”
“But there’s also something you don’t know...” Elro pauses, reluctant to continue, but having gone too far to stop. “Until yesterday, we believed that Urgon’s sad fate was an isolated incident, most likely caused by something he came into contact with while exploring Eiselcross. Then I noticed one of our trappers, a female dwarf named Tulgi Lutan, showing signs of the same illness. I might have passed it off as a mild case of the cold, but there is no mistaking those peculiar blue veins.”
“Alarmed, I tried to talk to Tulgi about it, but she pushed me away, asking that I ‘let her die in peace.’”
“Well, clearly we can’t just let that happen. I want you to find out what caused Urgon and Tulgi’s affliction. I’m worried that it could spread, but Tulgi refuses to talk to me, and the Glassblades in the village are better known for their combat skills than their ability to glean the truth in a complicated situation. Moreover, Tulgi is extremely distrustful of the authorities.”
“And so I turn to you, even now in your time of mourning.” He pats Katia’s shoulder. “It is a great burden, I know, to ask you to be involved. And a great risk. But I think you lot might have better luck convincing Tulgi to talk. We can pay, of course. The fishing has been good this season, and the village coffer can spare 100 gold coins if you help us learn the cause. I suggest carefully searching your (Urgon’s) home, Katia. Try to find anything in Urgon’s belongings or records. You should also try talking to Tulgi at her cabin.”
"I am going to do whatever it takes to honor Urgon. Protecting this village will go along way to making sure that happens" The orc stand to her full height locking eyes with each person here. "It will be my honor to hunt along side of you all. Katia, take us to your home."
"Katia is it?" the young man say, clapping a large hand on her shoulder, "If you be knowing the ways around this village, perhaps you could do us a showin' t' where we needs goin'. An maybe you or Elro can be tellin' us why this Tulgi lass ain't be bein' so friendly with the lawbringers round here?"
Bring out your inner chatacter class...
"Of course!" Katia's eyes brightened (it seemed not only others were going to help, but they did not object her presence) and made a few steps toward - now, sadly, all hers - house. She gusped at the news of Tulgi's sickness - rumors were there, but to hear it for sure was scary nevertheless. But to Daelnar's question she could answer only with a sigh: "Nobody is. Strange, I know, had to get used to it myself, but it seems some people came here... hiding something? Have some bad past? People do not usually ask many personal questions around here. I do not know what Tulgi can be hiding, but we are no authorities - I mean, not some officials - and only want to help." She made another step "But we can also check the house firs. And if you have no place to stay - you can stay there, there is enough room now." Katia brushed away a tear, smiled sadly to Elro one last time, nodding to all suggestions, and walked toward the home.
Meili Liang Lvl 5 Monk
Dice
Red Chanter, standing with hip cocked and arms crossed, chirps melodiously (as anyone with cats can describe to you if you're unfamiliar).
In a soft but resonant voice, barely above a whisper yet audible to all, she says, "I've heard rumblings of something insidious moving through the region. Can't imagine this threat and that are one and the same but there's no way of knowing without more information."
With that she turns and follows Katia, pausing briefly by the large human. Turning her head, she smiles coyly. "Daelnar, right? Nice rhyme. You have the makings of a bard if the your current exploits don't pan out," she says with a wink before continuing.
Without breaking stride or turning to look, she quietly purrs, "You'll do just fine," and runs the tip of her tail across Malik's face as she passes.
Characters currently being ruined on this forum:
Mis'tuv (Halfling Fathomless Warlock) - The Voyage of the Fallen Star
Meresaa (Vedalken Artillerist Artificer) - Destination Unknown
Hutton Crowcreek (Human Fighter) - Curse of the Crimson Throne
(With Elro)
“Tulgi’s Tulgi”, Elro explains. “She moved here from Shadycreek Run some years ago. While she’s not run afoul of the law, she doesn’t quite fit in, either. She seems something of a loner. She didn’t come to the service. That’s probably for the best, considering. But, she deserves help as much as any other citizen of Palebank.”
(Urgon’s Cabin)
Urgon’sKatia’s residence is a one-story, quaint log cabin at the edge of town. Nothing ostentatious, but comfortable, and suitable for the life of an explorer and his ward. Yet the familiar dwelling that Katia has called home for over a year is amiss--the door is slightly ajar.Once inside, it is clear that something is very wrong.
The humble, dark cabin is usually an inviting and hospitable place. Two beds stand near the fireplace, its mantle hung with the head of some snarling white beast with gray horns. On the other side of the room, a small table strewn with dishes and set with two dwarf-sized chairs stands before two empty shelves whose contents are scattered across the floor: kitchen utensils, dried foodstuffs, adventuring gear, and a few books.
In the time since Katia left to attend Urgon’s funeral, the cabin has been ransacked.
The adventuring equipment, Urgon’s favored possessions, consists of a silvered maul, a suit of splint armor sized for a dwarf, bulky, fur-lined dwarf clothing, a grappling hook, and a hooded lantern.
(Nature DC 15):
You recognize the head mounted above the mantle to be that of a yeti, a monstrosity found to the northwest, in the tundra frontier known as Eiselcross.
(Investigation #1 DC 10):
Searching through the books, you find a folded receipt used as a bookmark. It is dated two months previous, and indicates that Urgon sold several Aeorian artifacts found in Eiselcross to a local antique shop, Pelc’s Curiosities, for 1,000 gp. The items are listed as a dagger, a scroll case, a jade statuette, a quiver of twenty arrows, a silver ring set with a jasper, and two blue glass vials.
(Investigation #2 DC 12):
You notice footprints--not Katia’s--leading outside and into the snow.
(If Investigation #1 is made, History DC 15):
Centuries ago, the flying city-state of Aeor, a place of inventors, magic, and progress, was hurled into Eiselcross by gods both good and evil.
Nature: 4
Investigation: 10
Looking around at the chaos, for a brief moment, Shagar remembers the trip into the wild where the mounted head was attained and smiles before coming back to the current scene. Distracted by the memory she doesn't seem to be able to focus right now.
Being such a well-built character for investigating mysteries...Red Chanter will stroll carefully through the mess to look over the rest of the cabin, making certain they are quite alone.
Perception: 15
If satisfied with the security of the area, she'll stoop and begin rifling through the belongings to see if there may be any indication of what the thieves were searching for. As she searches, she absently says, "I suppose it isn't too likely, but hope is never a bad thing; do you have any idea who might've done this or what they were after, Katia?"
Nature: 2
Investigation: 15
EDIT:
History: 10
Characters currently being ruined on this forum:
Mis'tuv (Halfling Fathomless Warlock) - The Voyage of the Fallen Star
Meresaa (Vedalken Artillerist Artificer) - Destination Unknown
Hutton Crowcreek (Human Fighter) - Curse of the Crimson Throne