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 are all in the picturesque town of Termalaine. This morning, a boy wrapped in heavy winter clothes shouts the news of the day as people pass by. When you approach, the boy cries, "The gemstone mine is closed because of monsters! Speaker Masthew is offering fifty gold to anyone who clears it out!"
"Hey Boy!?" A man of average build walks up, initially obscured by the snow and ice fog of the morning he is seen wearing battered chain mail and a sword at his hip. "This mine you mention, it far from the city? Where can I find this Speaker?" His eyes, a deep searching blue, as he waits for the newsboys response, brown hair blown chaotically by the wind, bends to one knee to level himself with the youngster in an attempt to not be threatening to the young lad.
After receiving the information requested he heads off. He is carrying a well worn sword. It's scabbard is embossed with an armies insignia and rank, sun worn and weather beaten almost beyond use, hangs at his left hip. On his right hip, along with a water skin and other traveling items, is a tattered piece of cloth. As he moves about it is apparent that the cloth was once a banner with markings similar to the scabbard. Across his back are quarterstaff and a warhammer, both are attached for easy access and comfort. The warhammer is dented and worn but well maintained. The quarter staff looks newer, as if purchased recently, though you get the feeling that this man can wield it as well as the warhammer. His eyes are hazel in colour but as you observe them they seem to shift from a steel gray to nearly green. What can be seen of his mail shirt and armour, is beat up and tattered, though mended with care. He walks as though it causes him no discomfort, as though the chainmail is simply a second skin.
Balasar wondered if he was chasing a wild goose by coming to this frozen land. He saw few faces like himself on his path here. And those he did see did not advertise their draconic nature to those around him.
So far, the hood of his robes drawn over his gold scaled head and his hands buried deep in his sleeves were enough to hide from those around him. Or at least, they were enough to not draw any more attention to himself. He had not been long in the world of men, only recently venturing from the monastery he had called home for nearly all of his life. In the short time he had been out in the world, he had discovered that some were not kind to Dragonborn, and some did not hold any prejudice. A lot found him a curiosity, and a shocking threat.
He had also learned that the world of man was very expensive.
He heard the boy cry out about the mine, and the monsters? Were those monsters of his kind? Or were they something far more sinister. Perhaps that is why his path brought him here, not to find his own kind, but to help these people in their time of need.
He slowed his approach to the boy as he saw the man in chain mail kneel by the child. The last thing Balasar wanted to do was alarm both the child and the man, especially one carrying a sword on his waist. He waited until the man moved on, gaining the information he was looking for before the Dragonborn approached. Balasar towered over the child.
"Youngling," Balasar spoke, his voice deep and booming, "Where is this Speaker Masthew you speak of?"
Thulmar Strode through the streets of Termalaine in a sour mood, the perpetual night and constant cold was affecting him more than usual this day. He pulled his fur coat tight around his shoulders and made his way towards a young boy who, Thulmar had heard, was offering gold in exchange for killing some monsters.
The few villagers who crossed his path gave him a wide berth, if not for the dark look in his eyes, then for his physical presence. At nearly six and a half feet tall with broad shoulders and a warriors build, he rarely went unnoticed. The cold wind blew his long, dark brown, mane into a mess of semi frozen knots and frost clung to the surface of his sleek black horns.
"I too would know the whereabouts of your Speaker Masthew" Thulmar said, having seen others approach and guessing at their intention. "Point me in his direction good lad. A nice fight might be just what I need."
Rhys curses the cold as he wraps himself up in his cloak. Termalaine is not at all how he remembered it. His mother, Martina, is not even in his old home anymore, and the new owner didn't seem to know where she went.
He hears the newsboy's cries, and, in need of coin to pay for a place to stay and food to eat, chases him down. He sees he is not the only one. "Where is this Speaker Masthew?" he asks. The others see a slim, tall, and fairly attractive half-elf man with long, blond hair, wearing a fine red cloak, with a longsword sheathed at his side.
Anya had been in Termalaine for a few weeks now, but she hates the cold just as much as she had the day she arrived. She is walking fast, thinking about going back inside and getting close to a fire, when the boy's mention of gold makes her stop. She stands there trying not to draw attention upon herself, her red hair in a braid and her hands buried deep inside the pockets of her cloak, as she watches others approach him. "Interesting," she murmurs to herself. She could really use the money and she has nothing better to do with her time, so she decides to follow in the same direction the others have gone to.
Sitting on barrel, his pointed ears could not help but over hear the conversation happening near by. Monster in the mines, of course a few brace seekers of adventure and glory with take on such a challenge. There was not much else to do here besides sit around for warmth, eat, maybe drink till you pass out.
Kaloruk listens in further to hear the details, curiosity getting the best of him. This could be a good source of inspiration for a new song and these poor souls could use a bit of fresh music. what better than the tale of a heroic battle?
The boy looks surprised that so many people are approaching him. "Oh...Uh...Speaker Masthew can be found at the Blue Clam. The mine's in a hill to the northeast." His speech turns animated. "You're big strong adventurers, right?! You're gonna wipe out all those monsters, aren'tcha?"
You know that the Blue Clam is a dockside tavern, and where it's located.
"Thank You Son" As he stands he pats the boy on his shoulder, "I'll do what I can.", and heads straight toward the Blue Clam with purposeful stride. It is apparent in his eyes that he wants to get this started quickly. The cold wind and snow in the area completely ignored now that he has a destination to travel to.
Upon Entering the Blue Clam, Hrothbert slows just long enough to allow his eyes to adjust to the lower light, survey the room, and brush the snow from his shoulders. He then walks up to the barkeep, " I am told that there is a Mr. Masthew here, I am told that he is looking for some assistance with a local nuisance. I would ask him a few questions."
"Blessings upon you, youngling," Balasar says. The boy stared at the robed Dragonborn for a moment, shaken by the brief glimpse of golden scales as part of Balasar's wrist snuck into view. Balasar quickly pushed his hands deeper into their sleeves as he moved on.
The Blue Clam was not all that hard to find. He had been in a couple of taverns before since he left the monastery, but none ever in a big city. Or, at least, as close to a big city that Termalaine could claim to be. He pushed open the door, entering the tavern. The people within looked up, less because of Balasar and more because he opened the door. In seconds, they returned to their drinks and meals, paying the monk no heed. Balasar approached the barkeep.
"Excuse me, where might I be able to find Speaker Masthew?" The barkeep grunted and gestured towards a back booth.
"Popular guy," the barkeep finally spoke. Balasar turned to see he was not the first person approaching Speaker Masthew about the mines.
Rhys, thinking this small adventure might also lead to solving some of his more... personal problems... decides to follow the others as they ask for Speaker Masthew. He orders a mug of ale for himself as well.
" Mr Masthew, I presume " Hrothbert bows his head in respect and says, gesturing to a chair. "The mines? Yes. I am curious about what may be hid in there and when this trouble started. Also I would like to know if these mines were abandoned prior to this trouble or not. And about being ready for trouble, I guess I am, but more as it seems to have followed me for to long and I feel the need to ready myself for it like a thief in the night."
(OOC I reset my ability stats as per the roll on the recruitment thread. Sorry I didn't see this initially.)
The dark purple tiefling followed the adventures into the bar so to hear more of these monsters in the mine. He was thankful for the break from the icy air. Hard to play the lute with frozen fingers. He trudges over to sit near by the conversation with Speaker Masthew and the adventures, listening in to gather information. After that, he hoped to convince the heroes to allow him to follow along so to sing of their adventures.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Long time roleplayer and artist, I enjoy the fantasy world of dragons and magic. It only makes sense I dive into Dungeons and Dragons!
Looking forward to learning the game and making new friends. :)
Balasar moves surprisingly quiet for a his size and kind to the table where Speaker Mastew and the others are. He paused for a moment, not removing hos hood or pulling his hands out of his sleeves.
"Exactly what kind of monsters are we talking about?" he said, hoping that he did not starlte anyone with his approach.
(OOC: sorry about overstepping. Balazar would not know who Masthew is, and I was not sure we wanted to have a couple of posts of him talking to the barkeep)
Anya moves closer to the conversation, trying to hear the details about the mine. She waits for the others to finish with their questions and quickly adds, "I would also like to know about the payment. The newsboy spoke of 50 gold, correct?"
"A group of kobolds snuck into the mine a few days ago, forcing the miners to abandon their jobs. A few days before that, one man went missing, but he could have fallen down the mineshaft." He turns to Anya. "Yes, any group that clears the Kobolds will be rewarded with 50 gold and the gratitude of myself and the miners."
"Kobolds? Ha! This will be the easiest gold I've ever made," Rhys says, almost sighing with relief as he does. "Does this gratitude come with any... special benefits?"
"Kobolds? Ha! This will be the easiest gold I've ever made," Rhys says, almost sighing with relief as he does. "Does this gratitude come with any... special benefits?"
"Not necessarily, but you never know, eh?" He laughs heartily.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
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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.
"Hey Boy!?" A man of average build walks up, initially obscured by the snow and ice fog of the morning he is seen wearing battered chain mail and a sword at his hip. "This mine you mention, it far from the city? Where can I find this Speaker?" His eyes, a deep searching blue, as he waits for the newsboys response, brown hair blown chaotically by the wind, bends to one knee to level himself with the youngster in an attempt to not be threatening to the young lad.
After receiving the information requested he heads off. He is carrying a well worn sword. It's scabbard is embossed with an armies insignia and rank, sun worn and weather beaten almost beyond use, hangs at his left hip. On his right hip, along with a water skin and other traveling items, is a tattered piece of cloth. As he moves about it is apparent that the cloth was once a banner with markings similar to the scabbard. Across his back are quarterstaff and a warhammer, both are attached for easy access and comfort. The warhammer is dented and worn but well maintained. The quarter staff looks newer, as if purchased recently, though you get the feeling that this man can wield it as well as the warhammer. His eyes are hazel in colour but as you observe them they seem to shift from a steel gray to nearly green. What can be seen of his mail shirt and armour, is beat up and tattered, though mended with care. He walks as though it causes him no discomfort, as though the chainmail is simply a second skin.
Loyalty Begets Honour
Balasar wondered if he was chasing a wild goose by coming to this frozen land. He saw few faces like himself on his path here. And those he did see did not advertise their draconic nature to those around him.
So far, the hood of his robes drawn over his gold scaled head and his hands buried deep in his sleeves were enough to hide from those around him. Or at least, they were enough to not draw any more attention to himself. He had not been long in the world of men, only recently venturing from the monastery he had called home for nearly all of his life. In the short time he had been out in the world, he had discovered that some were not kind to Dragonborn, and some did not hold any prejudice. A lot found him a curiosity, and a shocking threat.
He had also learned that the world of man was very expensive.
He heard the boy cry out about the mine, and the monsters? Were those monsters of his kind? Or were they something far more sinister. Perhaps that is why his path brought him here, not to find his own kind, but to help these people in their time of need.
He slowed his approach to the boy as he saw the man in chain mail kneel by the child. The last thing Balasar wanted to do was alarm both the child and the man, especially one carrying a sword on his waist. He waited until the man moved on, gaining the information he was looking for before the Dragonborn approached. Balasar towered over the child.
"Youngling," Balasar spoke, his voice deep and booming, "Where is this Speaker Masthew you speak of?"
Thulmar Strode through the streets of Termalaine in a sour mood, the perpetual night and constant cold was affecting him more than usual this day. He pulled his fur coat tight around his shoulders and made his way towards a young boy who, Thulmar had heard, was offering gold in exchange for killing some monsters.
The few villagers who crossed his path gave him a wide berth, if not for the dark look in his eyes, then for his physical presence. At nearly six and a half feet tall with broad shoulders and a warriors build, he rarely went unnoticed. The cold wind blew his long, dark brown, mane into a mess of semi frozen knots and frost clung to the surface of his sleek black horns.
"I too would know the whereabouts of your Speaker Masthew" Thulmar said, having seen others approach and guessing at their intention. "Point me in his direction good lad. A nice fight might be just what I need."
Rhys curses the cold as he wraps himself up in his cloak. Termalaine is not at all how he remembered it. His mother, Martina, is not even in his old home anymore, and the new owner didn't seem to know where she went.
He hears the newsboy's cries, and, in need of coin to pay for a place to stay and food to eat, chases him down. He sees he is not the only one. "Where is this Speaker Masthew?" he asks. The others see a slim, tall, and fairly attractive half-elf man with long, blond hair, wearing a fine red cloak, with a longsword sheathed at his side.
DM:
Reign of Winter I Curse of the Crimson Throne
Hell's Vengeance | Giantslayer
Varisian Hexalogy: Rise of the Runelords
Player:
Lucille Underfoot, lv. 1 Halfling Storm Sorcerer | Janna Farooq, lv. 1 Human Celestial Warlock
I strive to post at least once per day on all my PbPs. I ask my players to do the same.
More active on weekdays than weekends.
Assume all of my characters are gay.
Anya had been in Termalaine for a few weeks now, but she hates the cold just as much as she had the day she arrived. She is walking fast, thinking about going back inside and getting close to a fire, when the boy's mention of gold makes her stop. She stands there trying not to draw attention upon herself, her red hair in a braid and her hands buried deep inside the pockets of her cloak, as she watches others approach him. "Interesting," she murmurs to herself. She could really use the money and she has nothing better to do with her time, so she decides to follow in the same direction the others have gone to.
Sitting on barrel, his pointed ears could not help but over hear the conversation happening near by. Monster in the mines, of course a few brace seekers of adventure and glory with take on such a challenge. There was not much else to do here besides sit around for warmth, eat, maybe drink till you pass out.
Kaloruk listens in further to hear the details, curiosity getting the best of him. This could be a good source of inspiration for a new song and these poor souls could use a bit of fresh music. what better than the tale of a heroic battle?
Long time roleplayer and artist, I enjoy the fantasy world of dragons and magic. It only makes sense I dive into Dungeons and Dragons!
Looking forward to learning the game and making new friends. :)
The boy looks surprised that so many people are approaching him. "Oh...Uh...Speaker Masthew can be found at the Blue Clam. The mine's in a hill to the northeast." His speech turns animated. "You're big strong adventurers, right?! You're gonna wipe out all those monsters, aren'tcha?"
You know that the Blue Clam is a dockside tavern, and where it's located.
"Thank You Son" As he stands he pats the boy on his shoulder, "I'll do what I can.", and heads straight toward the Blue Clam with purposeful stride. It is apparent in his eyes that he wants to get this started quickly. The cold wind and snow in the area completely ignored now that he has a destination to travel to.
Upon Entering the Blue Clam, Hrothbert slows just long enough to allow his eyes to adjust to the lower light, survey the room, and brush the snow from his shoulders. He then walks up to the barkeep, " I am told that there is a Mr. Masthew here, I am told that he is looking for some assistance with a local nuisance. I would ask him a few questions."
Loyalty Begets Honour
"Blessings upon you, youngling," Balasar says. The boy stared at the robed Dragonborn for a moment, shaken by the brief glimpse of golden scales as part of Balasar's wrist snuck into view. Balasar quickly pushed his hands deeper into their sleeves as he moved on.
The Blue Clam was not all that hard to find. He had been in a couple of taverns before since he left the monastery, but none ever in a big city. Or, at least, as close to a big city that Termalaine could claim to be. He pushed open the door, entering the tavern. The people within looked up, less because of Balasar and more because he opened the door. In seconds, they returned to their drinks and meals, paying the monk no heed. Balasar approached the barkeep.
"Excuse me, where might I be able to find Speaker Masthew?" The barkeep grunted and gestured towards a back booth.
"Popular guy," the barkeep finally spoke. Balasar turned to see he was not the first person approaching Speaker Masthew about the mines.
Rhys, thinking this small adventure might also lead to solving some of his more... personal problems... decides to follow the others as they ask for Speaker Masthew. He orders a mug of ale for himself as well.
DM:
Reign of Winter I Curse of the Crimson Throne
Hell's Vengeance | Giantslayer
Varisian Hexalogy: Rise of the Runelords
Player:
Lucille Underfoot, lv. 1 Halfling Storm Sorcerer | Janna Farooq, lv. 1 Human Celestial Warlock
I strive to post at least once per day on all my PbPs. I ask my players to do the same.
More active on weekdays than weekends.
Assume all of my characters are gay.
Speaker Masthew looks up from his conversation as you approach. He is a half-orc man, and is wearing a fine blue fur-trimmed coat.
He says "You seem entirely too prepared for trouble. Are you here about the mine?"
(OOC Note, technically I'm supposed to describe NPC actions and the scenery, such as where the npcs are.)
" Mr Masthew, I presume " Hrothbert bows his head in respect and says, gesturing to a chair. "The mines? Yes. I am curious about what may be hid in there and when this trouble started. Also I would like to know if these mines were abandoned prior to this trouble or not. And about being ready for trouble, I guess I am, but more as it seems to have followed me for to long and I feel the need to ready myself for it like a thief in the night."
(OOC I reset my ability stats as per the roll on the recruitment thread. Sorry I didn't see this initially.)
Loyalty Begets Honour
The dark purple tiefling followed the adventures into the bar so to hear more of these monsters in the mine. He was thankful for the break from the icy air. Hard to play the lute with frozen fingers. He trudges over to sit near by the conversation with Speaker Masthew and the adventures, listening in to gather information. After that, he hoped to convince the heroes to allow him to follow along so to sing of their adventures.
Long time roleplayer and artist, I enjoy the fantasy world of dragons and magic. It only makes sense I dive into Dungeons and Dragons!
Looking forward to learning the game and making new friends. :)
Balasar moves surprisingly quiet for a his size and kind to the table where Speaker Mastew and the others are. He paused for a moment, not removing hos hood or pulling his hands out of his sleeves.
"Exactly what kind of monsters are we talking about?" he said, hoping that he did not starlte anyone with his approach.
(OOC: sorry about overstepping. Balazar would not know who Masthew is, and I was not sure we wanted to have a couple of posts of him talking to the barkeep)
Anya moves closer to the conversation, trying to hear the details about the mine. She waits for the others to finish with their questions and quickly adds, "I would also like to know about the payment. The newsboy spoke of 50 gold, correct?"
"A group of kobolds snuck into the mine a few days ago, forcing the miners to abandon their jobs. A few days before that, one man went missing, but he could have fallen down the mineshaft." He turns to Anya. "Yes, any group that clears the Kobolds will be rewarded with 50 gold and the gratitude of myself and the miners."
(OOC Note, set leveling to milestone.)
"Kobolds? Ha! This will be the easiest gold I've ever made," Rhys says, almost sighing with relief as he does. "Does this gratitude come with any... special benefits?"
DM:
Reign of Winter I Curse of the Crimson Throne
Hell's Vengeance | Giantslayer
Varisian Hexalogy: Rise of the Runelords
Player:
Lucille Underfoot, lv. 1 Halfling Storm Sorcerer | Janna Farooq, lv. 1 Human Celestial Warlock
I strive to post at least once per day on all my PbPs. I ask my players to do the same.
More active on weekdays than weekends.
Assume all of my characters are gay.
"Not necessarily, but you never know, eh?" He laughs heartily.