As you approach the square, you encounter the ceremonial site. Just to the side of the town square is what looks like a funeral pyre, though it has a sturdy post with ropes in the center, suggesting something would be tied to it. Next to it is a table with a tumbler device, the type used to randomly call the winner of a lottery. The table is run by a human man who has a winged snake lounging on his shoulder. He is flanked by two armored guards on either side, and is giving numbers to the downtrodden individuals who stand in a line leading to him. Based on who is in line and where they go after, it appears each local family is sending one person up; most of these people are husbands or elderly family members, but a handful of scared young women also stand in line. A set of burnt up pyres stand behind the originals, each with a frostbitten corpse still attached to it. It appears this is the sixth lottery of its kind.
Neither the man at the table nor his guards seem to be taking any pleasure in this. Their faces suggest it is simply another task they've resigned themselves to. Those who have their numbers either stand alone or huddled with their families for the time being.
A town crier calls out reminders of the system, "Thirty minutes until the lottery! One number per family! If you aren't willing to pay your due to the Frostmaiden, you'll be meeting her soon! One more sacrifice and we may see the end of this winter!"
Senushi looks dumbstruck "By the gods its miserable enough with the cold. Now senseless sacrifices." He walks around the line to the human man with the winged snake "What are you doing killing your own people. The Frostmaiden does not give a hoot about your welfare and throwing more lives away won't end this miserable winter. Please use some common sense and stop this lottery"
Morkeleb suspects that his comrades' arguments will fall on deaf ears, having lived in Ten Towns for some time now, but he observes the reaction. He's also wondering if perhaps a rescue could be done later, in which case they would need to be ready to skip town in the night.
The man turns to the two of you and tilts his head slightly. “How else do you appease a goddess? The other towns are making paltry sacrifices like warmth; we’re choosing something more meaningful to her. If the other towns followed our example then we might be through the winter by now, but since they won’t, we’ll make a sacrifice for each of Ten-Towns. Besides, we’re already a few lotteries deep. You wouldn’t dare call the sacrifices of those brave ones in vain.”
The snake on his shoulder coils and hisses. He strokes it to calm it down, then looks at the numbers he is giving out. “I won’t force it since you’re just passing through, but you’re welcome to participate if you want to put your best foot forward towards fixing this like you say.” He holds out a slip of paper as if he expects one of you to take a lottery number.
Morkeleb steps forward to respond. He shakes his head and says,
"Nay, I do not think we will participate in this grim affair. We seek our own path to fix this neverending winter. Mark my words, if the daylight breaks anew, it will be because of Morkeleb, Scion of the Vexashene dragons, and his brave comrades! And not because of this sad affair."
Barnabus sneers, motions for Senushi to open the bag.
"Aye, stop this madness. We've already sacrificed some of your frostmaidens minions. They told us the cause and the remedy. It lies not in further innocent death but in a place called Ythryn. So instead of giving innocence over to evil, stand and fight it by sending those you would slay out to find this place Ythryn." Barnabus squares up and slams the handle of Fife, his warpick, against his shield. Leaning in menacingly he growls, "Or mark my words, the next lottery wwinner will be yourself."
The guards at his sides step forward. “Speaker Maxildannar?”
He waves one hand for them to hold, folds his hands on the table, and stares at you all coldly, obviously studying your faces. “An old myth is the solution? Wonderful. When you find it, we’ll hail you as heroes and dance in the sun. Assuming we’re not all geriatric by the time you succeed on that fool’s errand. Until then, we’ll do something with a snowball’s chance in hell of success here, and if you think to interfere, I will have you four arrested. This is your only warning. Your disrespect likely angers the frostmaiden further.”
"Aye, Do so if you think you can. As dully sworn representative and sergeant of the (I don't think we fully stated the militia that gives Barnabus his rank and status) it is you who shall be under arrest should another innocent life be given over to this lunacy. Now speak what you know of this "myth" before my patience is spent."
“Well sergeant, it appears you’re in my jurisdiction. I am the elected town speaker, and I have final say within the boundaries of Targos.
If your militia spends its time chasing myths, then it’s an old one,” he muses, “Some wizarding civilization that supposedly once lived in this region. They made contact with the stars or some such nonsense, got too big for their britches, and vanished altogether. There’s scattered ruins in the mountains sure, but nothing that screams ‘advanced wizard architecture’ as far as I know. Entire cities don’t just up and vanish.
Now, if you’ll be on your way. Have a lovely stay at the inn. Or a nice hike to the next town over. I’m not picky.”
The four spearmen beside him make no move, but are watching intently for any signal.
"I suppose it may be best for all involved if we continue on to Bryn Shander, where hopefully madness has not taken thrall just yet."
He will say this in a loud unusually wooden tone that hopefully his comrades will understand to mean that he's not completely forthright in this statement.
"BAAhhh! If you're dumb enough to walk obediently to your death then maybe the worlds better off that way." Barnabus spits out the words vehemently. With a grumble he turns and stomps off back towards the inn.
The innkeeper barely acknowledges you as you come in, not looking up from his ledger. “Hope it went well; it’s be a first.”
While the central floor is in bad shape, the room itself is at least clean. There’s a loose floorboard here and there, but it has the bare minimum of 4 beds with clean sheets, a mirror on the door, and a small storage trunk at the foot of each bed.
"Aye, me too, but the journey ahead requires us fresh so let us rest and leave early"
Barnabus chooses a bunk far from the door and prepares for a good nights sleep. He removes his armor and changes into a fresh set of clothes. He hangs the original garment on his Shield to air out for the next day. Within minutes he is snoring peacefully.
Morkeleb wants to hang back in the crowd at the square, see who gets selected from the lottery, and ask the various townsfolk for more details about the sacrifice. Do the selected just get tied up and left to freeze in the night? Are they guarded?
Morkeleb: Most people are reluctant to talk about it, but a woman eventually relents and tells you: “They’re left to freeze to death in the night, then the pyre is burnt in their honor once we’re sure. There’s always a guard or two present, though it’s unnecessary. Nobody dares anger the Frostmaiden by taking back her sacrifices.”
This is confirmed when the Speaker announces it is time for the lottery. You can see him roll the tumbler machine for a solid 15 seconds before calling out, “Number 39!”
There’s a moment’s pause, then one man in the crowd raises his hand. He’s a half-orc of about 30, and makes his way to the pyre, slowly but willingly. Most of the crowd let out a relieved sigh and head home. What appears to be the man’s wife goes to speak with him, a toddler in tow. They’re allowed a few minutes to speak before he kisses both her and the kid and watches them leave. A pair of guards approach the man, who nods and strips himself to the waist, presumably to freeze faster. The guards salute him before tying him up.
You can see the speaker give the wife a small pouch as she leaves, presumably a meager compensation. He packs up with the help of his remaining guards, and soon after, all that remain are a few stragglers making their way home, the man on the pyre, and a pair of spearmen standing guard. Frostbite or Hypothermia will take him soon enough, but the guards carry torches to light the pyre up when it does
Everyone Else: You rest uneasily knowing what kind of place this is, but the surprisingly warm beds and the long march earlier ensure you conk out quickly.
I wanted to chat with them about a rescue mission, sorry to hold up the game, if the other PC's are uninterested then I don't think Morkeleb will act alone and we can move on.
Morkeleb will confidently approach the guards and try to chat them up.
"Gonna be a cold one tonight, eh? How long d'you think that guy up there will last? Looks kinda young and healthy, could be awhile."
As you approach the square, you encounter the ceremonial site. Just to the side of the town square is what looks like a funeral pyre, though it has a sturdy post with ropes in the center, suggesting something would be tied to it. Next to it is a table with a tumbler device, the type used to randomly call the winner of a lottery. The table is run by a human man who has a winged snake lounging on his shoulder. He is flanked by two armored guards on either side, and is giving numbers to the downtrodden individuals who stand in a line leading to him. Based on who is in line and where they go after, it appears each local family is sending one person up; most of these people are husbands or elderly family members, but a handful of scared young women also stand in line. A set of burnt up pyres stand behind the originals, each with a frostbitten corpse still attached to it. It appears this is the sixth lottery of its kind.
Neither the man at the table nor his guards seem to be taking any pleasure in this. Their faces suggest it is simply another task they've resigned themselves to. Those who have their numbers either stand alone or huddled with their families for the time being.
A town crier calls out reminders of the system, "Thirty minutes until the lottery! One number per family! If you aren't willing to pay your due to the Frostmaiden, you'll be meeting her soon! One more sacrifice and we may see the end of this winter!"
Senushi looks dumbstruck "By the gods its miserable enough with the cold. Now senseless sacrifices." He walks around the line to the human man with the winged snake "What are you doing killing your own people. The Frostmaiden does not give a hoot about your welfare and throwing more lives away won't end this miserable winter. Please use some common sense and stop this lottery"
Persuasion
14 - rolled in game log
"Aye, there is no need for this! We are on the trail of what is causing this. Do not spend innocent lives!" Barnabus growls out behind Senushi.
(Barnabus offers help to Senushi)
**This Space for Rent**
Morkeleb suspects that his comrades' arguments will fall on deaf ears, having lived in Ten Towns for some time now, but he observes the reaction. He's also wondering if perhaps a rescue could be done later, in which case they would need to be ready to skip town in the night.
The man turns to the two of you and tilts his head slightly. “How else do you appease a goddess? The other towns are making paltry sacrifices like warmth; we’re choosing something more meaningful to her. If the other towns followed our example then we might be through the winter by now, but since they won’t, we’ll make a sacrifice for each of Ten-Towns. Besides, we’re already a few lotteries deep. You wouldn’t dare call the sacrifices of those brave ones in vain.”
The snake on his shoulder coils and hisses. He strokes it to calm it down, then looks at the numbers he is giving out. “I won’t force it since you’re just passing through, but you’re welcome to participate if you want to put your best foot forward towards fixing this like you say.” He holds out a slip of paper as if he expects one of you to take a lottery number.
Morkeleb steps forward to respond. He shakes his head and says,
"Nay, I do not think we will participate in this grim affair. We seek our own path to fix this neverending winter. Mark my words, if the daylight breaks anew, it will be because of Morkeleb, Scion of the Vexashene dragons, and his brave comrades! And not because of this sad affair."
Barnabus sneers, motions for Senushi to open the bag.
"Aye, stop this madness. We've already sacrificed some of your frostmaidens minions. They told us the cause and the remedy. It lies not in further innocent death but in a place called Ythryn. So instead of giving innocence over to evil, stand and fight it by sending those you would slay out to find this place Ythryn." Barnabus squares up and slams the handle of Fife, his warpick, against his shield. Leaning in menacingly he growls, "Or mark my words, the next lottery wwinner will be yourself."
**This Space for Rent**
The guards at his sides step forward. “Speaker Maxildannar?”
He waves one hand for them to hold, folds his hands on the table, and stares at you all coldly, obviously studying your faces. “An old myth is the solution? Wonderful. When you find it, we’ll hail you as heroes and dance in the sun. Assuming we’re not all geriatric by the time you succeed on that fool’s errand. Until then, we’ll do something with a snowball’s chance in hell of success here, and if you think to interfere, I will have you four arrested. This is your only warning. Your disrespect likely angers the frostmaiden further.”
The snake on his shoulder coils.
"Aye, Do so if you think you can. As dully sworn representative and sergeant of the (I don't think we fully stated the militia that gives Barnabus his rank and status) it is you who shall be under arrest should another innocent life be given over to this lunacy. Now speak what you know of this "myth" before my patience is spent."
Barnabus stares at the man unflinchingly.
**This Space for Rent**
“Well sergeant, it appears you’re in my jurisdiction. I am the elected town speaker, and I have final say within the boundaries of Targos.
If your militia spends its time chasing myths, then it’s an old one,” he muses, “Some wizarding civilization that supposedly once lived in this region. They made contact with the stars or some such nonsense, got too big for their britches, and vanished altogether. There’s scattered ruins in the mountains sure, but nothing that screams ‘advanced wizard architecture’ as far as I know. Entire cities don’t just up and vanish.
Now, if you’ll be on your way. Have a lovely stay at the inn. Or a nice hike to the next town over. I’m not picky.”
The four spearmen beside him make no move, but are watching intently for any signal.
Morkeleb says loudly,
"I suppose it may be best for all involved if we continue on to Bryn Shander, where hopefully madness has not taken thrall just yet."
He will say this in a loud unusually wooden tone that hopefully his comrades will understand to mean that he's not completely forthright in this statement.
"BAAhhh! If you're dumb enough to walk obediently to your death then maybe the worlds better off that way." Barnabus spits out the words vehemently. With a grumble he turns and stomps off back towards the inn.
**This Space for Rent**
The innkeeper barely acknowledges you as you come in, not looking up from his ledger. “Hope it went well; it’s be a first.”
While the central floor is in bad shape, the room itself is at least clean. There’s a loose floorboard here and there, but it has the bare minimum of 4 beds with clean sheets, a mirror on the door, and a small storage trunk at the foot of each bed.
Senushi enters with a grimace "This town's leadership are fools. I am ready to leave this blighted place unless someone wishes to stay longer"
"Aye, me too, but the journey ahead requires us fresh so let us rest and leave early"
Barnabus chooses a bunk far from the door and prepares for a good nights sleep. He removes his armor and changes into a fresh set of clothes. He hangs the original garment on his Shield to air out for the next day. Within minutes he is snoring peacefully.
(Ready for the next day)
**This Space for Rent**
Jar says "We should rest before we shake the dirt off our shoes and leave this place."
D&D since 1984
Morkeleb wants to hang back in the crowd at the square, see who gets selected from the lottery, and ask the various townsfolk for more details about the sacrifice. Do the selected just get tied up and left to freeze in the night? Are they guarded?
Morkeleb: Most people are reluctant to talk about it, but a woman eventually relents and tells you: “They’re left to freeze to death in the night, then the pyre is burnt in their honor once we’re sure. There’s always a guard or two present, though it’s unnecessary. Nobody dares anger the Frostmaiden by taking back her sacrifices.”
This is confirmed when the Speaker announces it is time for the lottery. You can see him roll the tumbler machine for a solid 15 seconds before calling out, “Number 39!”
There’s a moment’s pause, then one man in the crowd raises his hand. He’s a half-orc of about 30, and makes his way to the pyre, slowly but willingly. Most of the crowd let out a relieved sigh and head home. What appears to be the man’s wife goes to speak with him, a toddler in tow. They’re allowed a few minutes to speak before he kisses both her and the kid and watches them leave. A pair of guards approach the man, who nods and strips himself to the waist, presumably to freeze faster. The guards salute him before tying him up.
You can see the speaker give the wife a small pouch as she leaves, presumably a meager compensation. He packs up with the help of his remaining guards, and soon after, all that remain are a few stragglers making their way home, the man on the pyre, and a pair of spearmen standing guard. Frostbite or Hypothermia will take him soon enough, but the guards carry torches to light the pyre up when it does
Everyone Else: You rest uneasily knowing what kind of place this is, but the surprisingly warm beds and the long march earlier ensure you conk out quickly.
Wait, they conk out already?
I wanted to chat with them about a rescue mission, sorry to hold up the game, if the other PC's are uninterested then I don't think Morkeleb will act alone and we can move on.
Morkeleb will confidently approach the guards and try to chat them up.
"Gonna be a cold one tonight, eh? How long d'you think that guy up there will last? Looks kinda young and healthy, could be awhile."
(That was my read on what was happening. If the party would rather help then by all means ignore that line)