World: Weskeilia Continent: Aelira Kingdom: Bowen Empire Location: The Last Hearth, Bowen Empire (AKA the edge of northern civilization) Date: A’ssari 17th, 1419 U4
My Posting Key
OOC -> (OOC:) This should always be at the bottom of my posts, though sometimes there will be one at the top. Character names -> Thrynn NPC chatter -> "My name is Abishai, what's yours?" NPC thoughts -> "It sure is cold out here." My NPCs won't have inner thoughts often (typically my NPC inner thoughts is used for telepathy). I do however wish for your characters to have inner thoughts, so that I can better appeal to you and write a better story as we go. If there is a spoiler with a player character's name above it, that spoiler is information specifically for said character. If you read it and it's not your character's name, you're only ruining the fun for yourself. When there is a spoiler with a skill and number above it (typically only applies to passive perception) if your skill reaches or succeeds it, that spoiler contains information for you. Information in spoilers, you are free to share with the group. Either OOC tell them they may open your spoiler and read it, or share the information organically through roleplaying.
Abishai
Abishai...it's been a long couple weeks. You really messed up; you've been sent out about as far away from Nouburg City as possible. Noubourg City was covered in snow, it's to be expected this time of year this far north, but The Last Hearth looks like it still has snow from last winter below this winter's snow. Matter of fact, as a Bowen Empire guard, you know The Last Hearth sees snowfall nearly year round. You arrived in The Last Hearth about four days ago. The guard's barracks here is a small two room building. The main room, and the backroom where there is a small kitchen and three cots. That's right, you're one of three guards currently stationed here. The other two, Trevor and Wallace, have been here for months now.
Peering through the barrack's window, you see a small grouping of people huddling up around Grizelda, the outpost's main trade coordinator. You decide to step out and see what is going on.
Thyrnn
This is it. This is the winter you've decided to venture into the Permafrost Tundra, brave its wrath and survive. On your trek north you came across The Last Hearth, which was a natural stop as it is the last outpost of any kind before entering the Permafrost Tundra itself. While taking a moment to warm up in the common area of the tavern, you find yourself overhearing conversation from a dwarven merchant woman outside who is looking for those brave enough to venture into the Permafrost Tundra in search of her shipment. You exit the tavern and make your way toward her.
Grelk
You've been heading north for the better part of a month now. You know you're no longer in the Whiteridge Kingdom, which means you're now in the Bowen Empire. Which is good because your destiny begins in a small outpost known as The Last Hearth. As you crest over a hill following a poorly maintained road, you see a small grouping of structures in the distance against a large rocky outcropping. All that stands between you and this outpost is a field of snow. As you get closer, that feeling of being closer to your destination sinks in until you spot a barely legible sign that reads 'Last Hearth'. As you step through the threshold of the outpost, you see a small gathering of folks around a small dwarvern woman.
Iden
Iden, you're standing in the middle of The Last Hearth and damn it is cold. You've spent the last fifteen years indoors, learning about the world and studying magic. Now you're in the world and not just that, you're in, possibly, the coldest part of the world; at least the coldest part of Aelira. Giant culture is one of your top fascinations, so when you learned that there were frequent expeditions out into the unknown Permafrost Tundra, some of which had lead to new discoveries about frost giants, you packed your stuff and huffed it northeast. Now, you're here in the freezing cold, learning about a paid opportunity to venture out into the Permafrost Tundra.
Skalma
You set out for The Last Hearth a few weeks ago. And today, you've finally arrived. Now that you're here, you're one step closer to getting your feet out into the Permafrost Tundra and completing your final task before becoming a true survivalist. You're from the tundra, at least that's what you believe. It's what you've been told, rather. You were found wandering seemingly lost in a whiteout at a young age. You were brought into civilization, but that desire for the wilderness was never smothered. You're perhaps glad your final test involves returning to the Permafrost. You have so many questions; where are you from? Who were your parents? Will the Permafrost hold the answers you desire? As you're standing near the entrance to this small outpost, you hear a small commotion that pulls you out of thought. You see a small gathering around a dwarven woman who appears to be looking for folks to travel into the Permafrost for her.
Viletta
You arrived at the small outpost of The Last Hearth late last night. You know this means you have roughly another 5 weeks of travel until you reach the end of the rough northern borders. Arriving here comes with some benefits. It's the last bit of humanity available until you return again on your trip back. You typically spend a day or two trying to warm up before moving on. Today, as you refresh your supplies and exit the small trading shed you notice a small group gathering in the middle of the outpost. A small group has begun gathering around a short dwarven woman that you happen to know as Grizelda. She's the merchant coordinator that runs logistics through the outpost. Without her the outpost likely wouldn't exist. You decide to approach and see what is going on.
"500 gold!" She yells as you all stand around this short dwarven woman standing on a crate. A few of you know her as Grizelda, a few of you are fresh faces who just arrived in town yesterday or possibly even today and have never seen her before. The gruff woman holds a piece of parchment in her bare hand, revealing a missing finger at the knuckle. "I need a group of brave individuals who are willing to locate my convoy!" She continues speaking as the small crowd gets slightly larger. "You," she says, pointing at Skalma. "You're big and look like you can handle yourself. What say you? 500 gold to share between you and anyone else who joins." The woman pushes the parchment into your hands Skalma then immediately pulls another out of a pouch. The parchment reads "Lost convoy between The Last Heath and Frostfall Hold. 500 gold rewards and salvage rights for information. For more information seek out Grizelda Stonehand". "Whose brave enough to venture into the Permafrost Tundra?" She continues calling out. With mention of the Permafrost, the group surrounding seems to mostly dissipate into only a few souls standing around held to the call of 500 gold. Though eventually the only folks remaining are the six of you. "You in?" She asks, "you're in, I can see it on your face," she continues.
(OOC: Everyone please take this time to introduce your characters to us and describe what they look like. Feel free to interact with each other and/or with Grizz, your benefactor. Welcome to Tomb of the Cold Moon!)
A bundle of fabric, oversized clothes and countless items needed for travel stands before you. What seems like a feathered white cap can quickly be determined to be an owl. Upon close inspection under the snow white creature pokes out a pair of goggles that seem partially fogged over. Standing at a modest 3’6’’ Iden angles himself to try to face everyone. A hesitant voice murmurs from within the clothing.
“Yyee … yes, I am in as you say … Oomm … Greetings and salutations my new friends! … Aahh … The names Iden and … my little friend above me is Nilme.”
An almost impressive amount of items cover the body of what could possibly be a halfling, gnome or maybe a child. All of which start to move as an arm slowly adjusts his coat, removing it from over his face.
“Wow … that's better … You can count on me to provide useful information and magical utilities. ”
Towering behind the gnome stands a tall green orc. Her grey streaked hair lightly blowing in the breeze. While she has furs, and armor, she is not nearly as bundled as some of the others you've seen here. She seems to be contemplating the dwarf.
Is this why I was supposed to come here? It seems too coincidental to be meaningless, but how would this dwarf's troubles warrant the attention of a god?
She speaks up.
You must tell us more about this convoy. What was it carrying, where was it traveling to/from? What is it's importance? What are the dangers?
A short man stands off to the side beside a small pile of snow. It’s difficult to tell amongst the thick winter clothes but the long white beard and stout stature would indicate that he is a dwarf. After the others left, not willing to risk the permafrost, he looks around at the remaining company. With a short whistle, the snow mound stirs revealing a perfectly concealed white snow fox, which now shakes the loose snow from its fur.
“I am Thrynn and this (indicating the fox) is Shiver. We accept this task and will help discover the fate of the convoy. We are accustomed to the wilds and have spent many a year traversing through the cold.”
He holds an ungloved hand out and you can see a single seed rests in his palm. With a quick word, Thrynn casts Druidcraft and the seed sprouts and then blooms into a beautiful red rose. The bright red flower a stark contrast to the blank white backdrop of the land. He hands the rose to Grizelda with a wink.
Abishai grumbles to himself as he dons his armor, "Grrr... why's it so cold ere?" The chainmail feels like ice on his skin, even through the burly man's winter clothes. His mood has been sour ever since being stationed here in The Last Hearth. Just as the bearded warrior belts his longsword on, he looks out the window of his barracks...
'What's this then?' He thinks to himself, 'Looks like trouble if you ask me. Time to get to work.'Stromborne takes out a parchment and ink and scrawls a quick note to the others: "Back in a bit. Out on patrol."
Abishai finishes getting ready and walks out the door, a wintry blast of cold buffeting his face as he does. 'I gotta get outa here.' He continues his internal monologue. 'This is no place for civilized folk.' As Abishai arrives on the scene, he begins sizing up the group. Not the ones who quickly dispersed-- no. The ones who remained loitering while considering Grizelda's quest offer. 'Why didn't she go to the guard to ask for help?' He thinks, but answers his own question when he remembers the other two guards. Trevor and Wallace couldn't handle a task like this. Heck, Abishai wasn't even sure he could, but someone out there was missing and might need help. That is something the 28-year-old guard could get behind, and perhaps, if he were successful, his superiors would station him somewhere warmer.
Abishai continues to look at each of the others as they interact with Grizelda, ready to spring into action if any nefarious activity presents itself. 'What an odd group, but fate works in mysterious ways... wait, is that a child? No, probably a gnome err somthin.'
The warrior pulls his red cloak around him a bit tighter, partially blocking the Bowen Empire Tabard underneath, as he thinks about the pain his next words will cause him. "Grizelda, if a caravan is in trouble, it's my duty to investigate and offer aid if possible. I will go." Stromborne shifts his shield to his back as he grabs the parchment and looks it over. Turning his attention back to the group assembled, Abishai says, "The Bowen Empire is ready to accept recruits as deputized guards to any who wish to join this expedition." He knows he doesn't have that authority, but says it anyway to them as an additional enticement to any who may be on the fence. The warrior knows he'll need help to accomplish this mission and live long enough to see warmer pastures.
Big. To describe Skalma Hiemstall as such was something of an understatement.
All her life, she'd stood out as something of a freak - an infant who'd needed a cradle built out of a barrel, a child who'd dwarfed grown men by her tenth winter, and now a woman who could only comfortably mount a draught-horse as a steed. For much of her youth, she'd loathed her size - the gawking and gasping, the quiet laughter at her expense. Over time, she'd learned to shrink out of sight when she needed respite. Folk rarely thought to look for faces above their own level, and a frost-complected titan who'd mastered the arts of shadow and stillness could pass unseen surprisingly often in these northerly climes.
That discipline, and many others suited to a ranger's life, had come under the tutelage of her adoptive father, Magnus Hiemstall, a steward of the Survivalists' Guild. At first her duties had been menial - delivering letters and parcels across the outpost. But the work forced her out of her shell, and over time she came to like, and be liked by, the people of the Last Hearth. Yet something had always been missing.
Skalma wasn't built for civilisation. She carried in her cold veins the blood of giants, and had grown restless as she heard the call of the wild. When she learned of her final test, she had felt both dread and exhilaration. Three Thelens passed as she sought a task worthy of the challenge, and now it seemed to have arrived - carried on the words of this dwarf.
"You've a keen eye, my lady."Skalma grins at Grizelda as she points out the obvious.
The goliath woman towers above the crowd, bedecked in a patchwork of leathers, skulls and furs. Two blades peek over her shoulders - one curved, one not. Her hair is shorn on the sides, a dark mane running wild down the centre and whipping freely in the cool wind. Her eyes are solid pools of glacier blue, her face marked with peculiar tattoos inked in some jagged runic script. All in all, she is a forbidding sight to behold, even if the wry smile takes some of the edge off it.
Skalma reads the parchment aloud, her pulse racing, her mind whirring with the possibilities. "I'm in, Grizelda."She confirms, eager to stand on the permafrost, to test herself at last, to bask in all the terrible glory of the Lady Denrena.
An appraising glance is cast over the others gathered - a nod of respect for the orc, while amusement quirks her lips at the tiny thing being smothered by an owl, and surprise at the dwarven romantic. "Thrynn, is it? I don't wanna get in the way if you've amorous intentions with Miss Grizelda, but I suppose I'd best introduce meself. The name's Skalma. Skalma Hiemstall, ranger and 'opeful of the Survivalists' Guild."
She offers her hand in greeting to each person gathered, a big meaty fist larger than most folk's skulls.
In what could only be described as a waddle, Iden moves over to Thrynn at the sight of the rose.
“What a gorgeous follower and an incredible act. If I may …”
For several seconds Iden stands frozen other than a slight look of irritation creeping onto his face. ‘I know it's cold but it is important to make a good impression!’
Suddenly: “Oh come on! Just do it.”
With that Nilme will reach out her beak and if allowed will touch the rose casting Light and adding a soft golden halo to the rose.
“I can remove the light at any time if you wish.”
…
As Skalma presumably kneels down to shake Iden’s hand he will have a smile on his face.
“I look forward to journeying into the wilderness with you!”
Returning to the cradle of civilization, of a warm hearth, no matter how sparse and remote, is always something of a profound experience. The rugged solitude of riding the northern patrol draws one deep inside oneself, where there is none to please, none to answer, none to interrupt the silence of the vast ocean of ice and snow. No sound but the soft crunch of snow under her shaggy white North-bred horse's wide hooves. No sight but the bright glare of the sun repelled by the goggles over her eyes and the ruff of her fur-lined hood. To unwrap her face from its layers of scarves and crack a smile at another person, to take off the layers of wadmal fullcloth, shed all the furs, and spend just an hour in the little, thick walled steam house of the Last Hearth, the large stones heated to scalding in a fire, and snow dumped on top of them in a basket--warms her blood once again to feel almost human. But to Viletta, this is home. She grew up out here, and while she might make her home in the South now, something deep within her, always taught and coiled, unwinds and relaxes in the frozen solitude of the desolate landscape of the northern reaches of the Empire.
Now Viletta straps her horse's feed bag over his head, the steam of his breath freezing on her gloves before his nose disappears into his rations, the three sided wooden lean-to in the byre the only stable, and she tightens the straps of his pack and saddle as she gazes across the snow-packed courtyard to where a crowd gathers around Grizelda. If Grizelda is involved, it might be important news. There could be trouble. Viletta checks the straps one more time before leading leading her humble steed, still munching, over to the group to find out what's wrong. A lost convoy? A soft sigh freezes out of Viletta's scarved mouth. It could be nothing, or it could be a serious problem. It is my duty to find out which.
As the crowd drifts away, leaving only a handful of individuals remaining clustered around Grizelda, Viletta stands out as somewhere middling of the size extremeties of the group. Though she is nearly as indistinguishable a lump of furs and woolen wraps as Iden, she is taller than him nearly in the same proportion that Skalma is taller than she. Goggles, a fur-lined hood and mantle, scarves wrapped around her face and neck, leather armor belted over a wadmal dress and fur-lined leather boots... though her true appearance is somewhat hidden by the cold weather clothing, she is obviously one who is very at ease in the environment she is in. The horse at her side is white, thick-furred, and of smaller stature than horses in the South. He too looks as though he has seen it all, and cares very much about nothing at all except the meal he is consuming out of the canvas feed bag over his nose. Saddled and packed with supplies, the animal's only other distinguishing feature is the embroidered banner, of heavy felted wool, thrown over his body and strapped down under the saddle so that it falls across his rump and flanks. The banner is blue, with a white edge at the bottom embroidered with three black crowns, one for each of the eras of the Bowen Empire, and on the blue field is a white depiction of a lamp with a long flame. This is the banner and arms of the Order of the Argent Vigil, one of the oldest knightly orders in the Bowen Empire, tasked with watching for and protecting the people from hostile supernatural invaders from other planes.
Viletta does a double take as Abishai steps up, immediately seeing the tabard peeking out from under his cloak. She nods to him, and though her steed bears her insignia rather than her own person, she believes the recognition will be mutual nonetheless. "The Order of the Argent Vigil stands with the Empire in this matter. I will help find your missing convoy, Grizelda. This is exactly the kind of incident that the Order watches for. It could be a mere accident, or it could be an effect of a much bigger problem. That is what we must find out."
Viletta takes a moment to watch the smaller individuals of the array, the gnome and the dwarf, producing a golden glowing rose for Grizelda, and she smiles broadly, which, although hardly visible under scarf and goggles, can be guessed by the endeared tilt of her head and her shift in posture. She chuckles lightly. "Dear Grizelda. It's about time you got the recognition you deserve for all your work here at the Last Hearth."
Abishai looks at the flowery exchange with one raised eyebrow. 'So... at least two of these individuals have unique talents. Let's hope it comes in handy in the days to come.'He doesn't interrupt the exchange. Merely watches with a curious intensity when Skalma shoves her giant hand into the fighters face. "Oh, hello. Name's Abishai, Abishai Stromborne. Protector of The Last Hearth and Warden of the North. A pleasure to make your acquaintance."Abishai chances a glance at Grizelda, cheeks turning red as much because of the embellishment as the cold as he introduces himself, knowing she could out him if she overheard and desired to do so.
In truth, Abishai was just a guard. Not a very good one at that, otherwise the empire would have assigned him a better posting. He had run afoul of powerful people too many times with his love for mead and had been sent here as punishment.
As Viletta joins the group, Abishi returns the nod, recognizing the air of authority the woman carries and appreciates the small token of respect directed his way. "Yes, Knights of the Order are always a welcome addition to any endeavor, welcome."
Grizelda looks over the six of you, as you're the last still standing around---or still approaching in the case of Viletta. Thrynn, you could swear her already red, from the cold, cheeks get ever so slightly redder as you grow this rose that matches her cheeks and hand it to her. Grizelda bears a brief smile as the rose begins to glow thanks to Iden'slight spell. Before returning her attention to Grelk"the convoy was carrying the final load of supplies for Frostfall Hold." She begins, "without the supplies they won't make it the rest of the winter." Not many know what or where Frostfall Hold is, but Abishai, you being a guard know that it a small mining encampment deep in the Permafrost Tundra. It brings out vital resources for the Empire. Viletta, you know of the name, but you're not privy to where its located nor what it's used for. "I'm working on getting a new convoy prepared. I just need the lot of you to figure out what happened to the last one, find out if they got lost and if any of them are still alive."
Grizelda looks your way, Abishai, as you speak. "I wasn't aware you had the authority to deputize citizens Abishai," she says. "Though it sure feels good knowing a Bowen guard will be taking up the helm." She looks you up and down briefly, as her eye line almost matches yours while she still stands atop the crate. "Well, I couldn't be in better hands," Grizelda says, looking toward Viletta as she also pledges herself as the Argent Vigil to look for the convoy. "Between the Empire's guard, an Argent Vigil scout, the wee magic lad," she gestures to Iden. "Two giantess, and the romantic," she gives Thyrnn a quick winking glimpse, "I think that lost convoy of mine will be found real fast."
There is a brief pause in conversation from Grizelda, as it begins to lightly snow overhead. She looks up before taking a few flakes to the face. "I do fear they got lost Lady Viletta. This is a new company I'm hiring through. They've never taken this trip before." She says, sighing, "500 gold to be shared between you and salvage rights, even for you Abishai. So long as your parole captain doesn't veto your payment." It's still very early day out, the sky has finally given in to the heavy clouds and began letting light snow fall. Thankfully, there is no breeze currently, so its a comfortable 3°F out.
Chargrined at the mention of his parole captain, Abishai says, "Yes, well I'll need to go collect my backpack and supplies for this journey back at the barracks. I'll be back shortly." With that, the fighter excuses himself from further embarrassment and heads off to prepare for the adventure. 'Stupid... why did you say that? Could you be anymore foolish Abishai? I need a drink.'
Back at the barracks, Abishai adds to his previous note: "Caravan is in trouble. Heading out to render aid. Lost somewhere between Last Hearth and Frostfall Hold. Send a search party if not back in a ten day."
After gathering his supplies, Abishai heads back to the group, "Ready to set out? Let's go."
Thrynn double checks his belongings and food supplies. "Yes, Shiver and I are ready. Let's first see what today's weather will bring so we are fully prepared." With that Thyrnn casts Druidcraft yet again, but this time nothing apparent immediately happens, but then a miniature sensory effect can be seen, indicating the day's weather. "If everyone is prepared, let us head off. Villeta, we way not be able to keep pace with your steed, but as I always say, 'it is better to move slowly with friends than to race through the world alone'."
(OOC: DM to tell us what kind of weather and sensory effect is seen)
Iden walks over to Grizelda as he polls out a quill and paper.
“If I may be so bold om … as to make a few inquiries about this area would you be able to enlighten me? … Hmmm … First, what would you say would be the most dangerous large creature in the area? … Om … Does The Last Hearth have a place where I can buy the supplies needed to craft potions of healing? … And lastly … I'm sorry if I missed this information … but … om … how many days travel is it to the place the caravan was going? … I only wish to know so that I can estimate the amount of rations needed!”
After getting a response Iden will either grab the last few things and be ready to go.
(OOC: can I roll nature for what Iden knows about the dangerous creatures in this area. Also get a general understanding of the local flora and fauna.)
As Thrynn casts druidcraft a small dark cloud forms in front of him. It slowly begins releasing much smaller snowflakes than the ones currently falling for a few seconds before dissipating into nothing. It's clear to you, Thrynn, that snow is in the forecast for today.
"Frostfall Hold is about a 5 day trek through the Permafrost." Grizelda says, in response to your inquiry, Iden. "I cannot help with supplies for potions of any sort. We don't have any herbal crafters here in the hearth, but," she takes a moment to think to herself. "I may have a few things I can spare."
(OOC: Go ahead and give me that nature check Iden)
"Pleasure to meet ye all." Skalma says as introductions and pleasantries are cordially exchanged, shaking Grelk's hand last of all. Her easy grin twists into a brief scoff at Abishai's offer.
She raises her hands to forestall any offence, a crooked smile splitting her face. "Don't really fancy being pressed into service as some guard's deputy. Thanks for the offer, but I ain't doin' this for no flag. Not an empire nor a knight's order. I'm just simple folk. Happy to help Grizelda 'ere with her missing convoy, but good as I am - just a survivalist, who'll be pleased to help steer you across the Permafrost."
Her solid azure eyes shine with reverence as she speaks aloud their destination. The Permafrost. I was always meant to return. Magnus has been like a father to me, but I need to know. Need to uncover the truth of who I am, where I came from... I was always meant to return.
The frost goliath folds her large arms across her chest as she meditates on Iden's astute questions. "Did the leader of the convoy have a name? What's she look like? Were they travellin' on foot, sleds, or with pack animals?" She spares a glance for Viletta and her horse, quietly wondering how well the mount would fare, traversing the bitter cold where a slipped hoof could be fatal.
(OOC: What does Skalma know about Frostfall Hold? Is any one route said to be superior to another?) Survival (or History) : 20 (or 16)
"Single sledge with four dogs." Grizelda says, in response to you Skalma. "The convoy head is Mister Blackforge. I don't know his two helpers names, but one was a tall orcish man and the other was an average sized white dragonborn man."
Iden
With an 11, you know for sure there are wolves and winter wolves up here. You've heard rumors of a small white dragon that has been seen, but they've never been confirmed.
Skalma
You would know there's really only one route to Frostfall Hold for about 80% of the journey. Toward the end, depending on the snowfall at the time, some trips go low early and climb up the mountain at the end and some climb early up the mountain then coast down to the hold.
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Simple Background
World: Weskeilia
Continent: Aelira
Kingdom: Bowen Empire
Location: The Last Hearth, Bowen Empire (AKA the edge of northern civilization)
Date: A’ssari 17th, 1419 U4
My Posting Key
OOC -> (OOC:) This should always be at the bottom of my posts, though sometimes there will be one at the top.
Character names -> Thrynn
NPC chatter -> "My name is Abishai, what's yours?"
NPC thoughts -> "It sure is cold out here."
My NPCs won't have inner thoughts often (typically my NPC inner thoughts is used for telepathy). I do however wish for your characters to have inner thoughts, so that I can better appeal to you and write a better story as we go.
If there is a spoiler with a player character's name above it, that spoiler is information specifically for said character. If you read it and it's not your character's name, you're only ruining the fun for yourself.
When there is a spoiler with a skill and number above it (typically only applies to passive perception) if your skill reaches or succeeds it, that spoiler contains information for you.
Information in spoilers, you are free to share with the group. Either OOC tell them they may open your spoiler and read it, or share the information organically through roleplaying.
Abishai
Abishai...it's been a long couple weeks. You really messed up; you've been sent out about as far away from Nouburg City as possible. Noubourg City was covered in snow, it's to be expected this time of year this far north, but The Last Hearth looks like it still has snow from last winter below this winter's snow. Matter of fact, as a Bowen Empire guard, you know The Last Hearth sees snowfall nearly year round. You arrived in The Last Hearth about four days ago. The guard's barracks here is a small two room building. The main room, and the backroom where there is a small kitchen and three cots. That's right, you're one of three guards currently stationed here. The other two, Trevor and Wallace, have been here for months now.
Peering through the barrack's window, you see a small grouping of people huddling up around Grizelda, the outpost's main trade coordinator. You decide to step out and see what is going on.
Thyrnn
This is it. This is the winter you've decided to venture into the Permafrost Tundra, brave its wrath and survive. On your trek north you came across The Last Hearth, which was a natural stop as it is the last outpost of any kind before entering the Permafrost Tundra itself. While taking a moment to warm up in the common area of the tavern, you find yourself overhearing conversation from a dwarven merchant woman outside who is looking for those brave enough to venture into the Permafrost Tundra in search of her shipment. You exit the tavern and make your way toward her.
Grelk
You've been heading north for the better part of a month now. You know you're no longer in the Whiteridge Kingdom, which means you're now in the Bowen Empire. Which is good because your destiny begins in a small outpost known as The Last Hearth. As you crest over a hill following a poorly maintained road, you see a small grouping of structures in the distance against a large rocky outcropping. All that stands between you and this outpost is a field of snow. As you get closer, that feeling of being closer to your destination sinks in until you spot a barely legible sign that reads 'Last Hearth'. As you step through the threshold of the outpost, you see a small gathering of folks around a small dwarvern woman.
Iden
Iden, you're standing in the middle of The Last Hearth and damn it is cold. You've spent the last fifteen years indoors, learning about the world and studying magic. Now you're in the world and not just that, you're in, possibly, the coldest part of the world; at least the coldest part of Aelira. Giant culture is one of your top fascinations, so when you learned that there were frequent expeditions out into the unknown Permafrost Tundra, some of which had lead to new discoveries about frost giants, you packed your stuff and huffed it northeast. Now, you're here in the freezing cold, learning about a paid opportunity to venture out into the Permafrost Tundra.
Skalma
You set out for The Last Hearth a few weeks ago. And today, you've finally arrived. Now that you're here, you're one step closer to getting your feet out into the Permafrost Tundra and completing your final task before becoming a true survivalist. You're from the tundra, at least that's what you believe. It's what you've been told, rather. You were found wandering seemingly lost in a whiteout at a young age. You were brought into civilization, but that desire for the wilderness was never smothered. You're perhaps glad your final test involves returning to the Permafrost. You have so many questions; where are you from? Who were your parents? Will the Permafrost hold the answers you desire? As you're standing near the entrance to this small outpost, you hear a small commotion that pulls you out of thought. You see a small gathering around a dwarven woman who appears to be looking for folks to travel into the Permafrost for her.
Viletta
You arrived at the small outpost of The Last Hearth late last night. You know this means you have roughly another 5 weeks of travel until you reach the end of the rough northern borders. Arriving here comes with some benefits. It's the last bit of humanity available until you return again on your trip back. You typically spend a day or two trying to warm up before moving on. Today, as you refresh your supplies and exit the small trading shed you notice a small group gathering in the middle of the outpost. A small group has begun gathering around a short dwarven woman that you happen to know as Grizelda. She's the merchant coordinator that runs logistics through the outpost. Without her the outpost likely wouldn't exist. You decide to approach and see what is going on.
"500 gold!" She yells as you all stand around this short dwarven woman standing on a crate. A few of you know her as Grizelda, a few of you are fresh faces who just arrived in town yesterday or possibly even today and have never seen her before. The gruff woman holds a piece of parchment in her bare hand, revealing a missing finger at the knuckle. "I need a group of brave individuals who are willing to locate my convoy!" She continues speaking as the small crowd gets slightly larger. "You," she says, pointing at Skalma. "You're big and look like you can handle yourself. What say you? 500 gold to share between you and anyone else who joins." The woman pushes the parchment into your hands Skalma then immediately pulls another out of a pouch. The parchment reads "Lost convoy between The Last Heath and Frostfall Hold. 500 gold rewards and salvage rights for information. For more information seek out Grizelda Stonehand". "Whose brave enough to venture into the Permafrost Tundra?" She continues calling out. With mention of the Permafrost, the group surrounding seems to mostly dissipate into only a few souls standing around held to the call of 500 gold. Though eventually the only folks remaining are the six of you. "You in?" She asks, "you're in, I can see it on your face," she continues.
(OOC: Everyone please take this time to introduce your characters to us and describe what they look like. Feel free to interact with each other and/or with Grizz, your benefactor. Welcome to Tomb of the Cold Moon!)
A bundle of fabric, oversized clothes and countless items needed for travel stands before you. What seems like a feathered white cap can quickly be determined to be an owl. Upon close inspection under the snow white creature pokes out a pair of goggles that seem partially fogged over. Standing at a modest 3’6’’ Iden angles himself to try to face everyone. A hesitant voice murmurs from within the clothing.
“Yyee … yes, I am in as you say … Oomm … Greetings and salutations my new friends! … Aahh … The names Iden and … my little friend above me is Nilme.”
An almost impressive amount of items cover the body of what could possibly be a halfling, gnome or maybe a child. All of which start to move as an arm slowly adjusts his coat, removing it from over his face.
“Wow … that's better … You can count on me to provide useful information and magical utilities. ”
Towering behind the gnome stands a tall green orc. Her grey streaked hair lightly blowing in the breeze. While she has furs, and armor, she is not nearly as bundled as some of the others you've seen here. She seems to be contemplating the dwarf.
Is this why I was supposed to come here? It seems too coincidental to be meaningless, but how would this dwarf's troubles warrant the attention of a god?
She speaks up.
You must tell us more about this convoy. What was it carrying, where was it traveling to/from? What is it's importance? What are the dangers?
A short man stands off to the side beside a small pile of snow. It’s difficult to tell amongst the thick winter clothes but the long white beard and stout stature would indicate that he is a dwarf. After the others left, not willing to risk the permafrost, he looks around at the remaining company. With a short whistle, the snow mound stirs revealing a perfectly concealed white snow fox, which now shakes the loose snow from its fur.
“I am Thrynn and this (indicating the fox) is Shiver. We accept this task and will help discover the fate of the convoy. We are accustomed to the wilds and have spent many a year traversing through the cold.”
He holds an ungloved hand out and you can see a single seed rests in his palm. With a quick word, Thrynn casts Druidcraft and the seed sprouts and then blooms into a beautiful red rose. The bright red flower a stark contrast to the blank white backdrop of the land. He hands the rose to Grizelda with a wink.
Abishai grumbles to himself as he dons his armor, "Grrr... why's it so cold ere?" The chainmail feels like ice on his skin, even through the burly man's winter clothes. His mood has been sour ever since being stationed here in The Last Hearth. Just as the bearded warrior belts his longsword on, he looks out the window of his barracks...
'What's this then?' He thinks to himself, 'Looks like trouble if you ask me. Time to get to work.' Stromborne takes out a parchment and ink and scrawls a quick note to the others: "Back in a bit. Out on patrol."
Abishai finishes getting ready and walks out the door, a wintry blast of cold buffeting his face as he does. 'I gotta get outa here.' He continues his internal monologue. 'This is no place for civilized folk.' As Abishai arrives on the scene, he begins sizing up the group. Not the ones who quickly dispersed-- no. The ones who remained loitering while considering Grizelda's quest offer. 'Why didn't she go to the guard to ask for help?' He thinks, but answers his own question when he remembers the other two guards. Trevor and Wallace couldn't handle a task like this. Heck, Abishai wasn't even sure he could, but someone out there was missing and might need help. That is something the 28-year-old guard could get behind, and perhaps, if he were successful, his superiors would station him somewhere warmer.
Abishai continues to look at each of the others as they interact with Grizelda, ready to spring into action if any nefarious activity presents itself. 'What an odd group, but fate works in mysterious ways... wait, is that a child? No, probably a gnome err somthin.'
The warrior pulls his red cloak around him a bit tighter, partially blocking the Bowen Empire Tabard underneath, as he thinks about the pain his next words will cause him. "Grizelda, if a caravan is in trouble, it's my duty to investigate and offer aid if possible. I will go." Stromborne shifts his shield to his back as he grabs the parchment and looks it over. Turning his attention back to the group assembled, Abishai says, "The Bowen Empire is ready to accept recruits as deputized guards to any who wish to join this expedition." He knows he doesn't have that authority, but says it anyway to them as an additional enticement to any who may be on the fence. The warrior knows he'll need help to accomplish this mission and live long enough to see warmer pastures.
DM for Tyranny of Dragons and Phandelver and Below, two in-person campaigns that meet weekly on Friday and Saturday nights. DM for Dragons of Icespire Peak Pbp
Big. To describe Skalma Hiemstall as such was something of an understatement.
All her life, she'd stood out as something of a freak - an infant who'd needed a cradle built out of a barrel, a child who'd dwarfed grown men by her tenth winter, and now a woman who could only comfortably mount a draught-horse as a steed. For much of her youth, she'd loathed her size - the gawking and gasping, the quiet laughter at her expense. Over time, she'd learned to shrink out of sight when she needed respite. Folk rarely thought to look for faces above their own level, and a frost-complected titan who'd mastered the arts of shadow and stillness could pass unseen surprisingly often in these northerly climes.
That discipline, and many others suited to a ranger's life, had come under the tutelage of her adoptive father, Magnus Hiemstall, a steward of the Survivalists' Guild. At first her duties had been menial - delivering letters and parcels across the outpost. But the work forced her out of her shell, and over time she came to like, and be liked by, the people of the Last Hearth. Yet something had always been missing.
Skalma wasn't built for civilisation. She carried in her cold veins the blood of giants, and had grown restless as she heard the call of the wild. When she learned of her final test, she had felt both dread and exhilaration. Three Thelens passed as she sought a task worthy of the challenge, and now it seemed to have arrived - carried on the words of this dwarf.
"You've a keen eye, my lady." Skalma grins at Grizelda as she points out the obvious.
The goliath woman towers above the crowd, bedecked in a patchwork of leathers, skulls and furs. Two blades peek over her shoulders - one curved, one not. Her hair is shorn on the sides, a dark mane running wild down the centre and whipping freely in the cool wind. Her eyes are solid pools of glacier blue, her face marked with peculiar tattoos inked in some jagged runic script. All in all, she is a forbidding sight to behold, even if the wry smile takes some of the edge off it.
Skalma reads the parchment aloud, her pulse racing, her mind whirring with the possibilities. "I'm in, Grizelda." She confirms, eager to stand on the permafrost, to test herself at last, to bask in all the terrible glory of the Lady Denrena.
An appraising glance is cast over the others gathered - a nod of respect for the orc, while amusement quirks her lips at the tiny thing being smothered by an owl, and surprise at the dwarven romantic. "Thrynn, is it? I don't wanna get in the way if you've amorous intentions with Miss Grizelda, but I suppose I'd best introduce meself. The name's Skalma. Skalma Hiemstall, ranger and 'opeful of the Survivalists' Guild."
She offers her hand in greeting to each person gathered, a big meaty fist larger than most folk's skulls.
In what could only be described as a waddle, Iden moves over to Thrynn at the sight of the rose.
“What a gorgeous follower and an incredible act. If I may …”
For several seconds Iden stands frozen other than a slight look of irritation creeping onto his face. ‘I know it's cold but it is important to make a good impression!’
Suddenly: “Oh come on! Just do it.”
With that Nilme will reach out her beak and if allowed will touch the rose casting Light and adding a soft golden halo to the rose.
“I can remove the light at any time if you wish.”
…
As Skalma presumably kneels down to shake Iden’s hand he will have a smile on his face.
“I look forward to journeying into the wilderness with you!”
“That is a beautiful addition to an already beautiful flower. Let us hope the radiance will bless our travels and shine light on the path ahead.”
Returning to the cradle of civilization, of a warm hearth, no matter how sparse and remote, is always something of a profound experience. The rugged solitude of riding the northern patrol draws one deep inside oneself, where there is none to please, none to answer, none to interrupt the silence of the vast ocean of ice and snow. No sound but the soft crunch of snow under her shaggy white North-bred horse's wide hooves. No sight but the bright glare of the sun repelled by the goggles over her eyes and the ruff of her fur-lined hood. To unwrap her face from its layers of scarves and crack a smile at another person, to take off the layers of wadmal fullcloth, shed all the furs, and spend just an hour in the little, thick walled steam house of the Last Hearth, the large stones heated to scalding in a fire, and snow dumped on top of them in a basket--warms her blood once again to feel almost human. But to Viletta, this is home. She grew up out here, and while she might make her home in the South now, something deep within her, always taught and coiled, unwinds and relaxes in the frozen solitude of the desolate landscape of the northern reaches of the Empire.
Now Viletta straps her horse's feed bag over his head, the steam of his breath freezing on her gloves before his nose disappears into his rations, the three sided wooden lean-to in the byre the only stable, and she tightens the straps of his pack and saddle as she gazes across the snow-packed courtyard to where a crowd gathers around Grizelda. If Grizelda is involved, it might be important news. There could be trouble. Viletta checks the straps one more time before leading leading her humble steed, still munching, over to the group to find out what's wrong. A lost convoy? A soft sigh freezes out of Viletta's scarved mouth. It could be nothing, or it could be a serious problem. It is my duty to find out which.
As the crowd drifts away, leaving only a handful of individuals remaining clustered around Grizelda, Viletta stands out as somewhere middling of the size extremeties of the group. Though she is nearly as indistinguishable a lump of furs and woolen wraps as Iden, she is taller than him nearly in the same proportion that Skalma is taller than she. Goggles, a fur-lined hood and mantle, scarves wrapped around her face and neck, leather armor belted over a wadmal dress and fur-lined leather boots... though her true appearance is somewhat hidden by the cold weather clothing, she is obviously one who is very at ease in the environment she is in. The horse at her side is white, thick-furred, and of smaller stature than horses in the South. He too looks as though he has seen it all, and cares very much about nothing at all except the meal he is consuming out of the canvas feed bag over his nose. Saddled and packed with supplies, the animal's only other distinguishing feature is the embroidered banner, of heavy felted wool, thrown over his body and strapped down under the saddle so that it falls across his rump and flanks. The banner is blue, with a white edge at the bottom embroidered with three black crowns, one for each of the eras of the Bowen Empire, and on the blue field is a white depiction of a lamp with a long flame. This is the banner and arms of the Order of the Argent Vigil, one of the oldest knightly orders in the Bowen Empire, tasked with watching for and protecting the people from hostile supernatural invaders from other planes.
Viletta does a double take as Abishai steps up, immediately seeing the tabard peeking out from under his cloak. She nods to him, and though her steed bears her insignia rather than her own person, she believes the recognition will be mutual nonetheless. "The Order of the Argent Vigil stands with the Empire in this matter. I will help find your missing convoy, Grizelda. This is exactly the kind of incident that the Order watches for. It could be a mere accident, or it could be an effect of a much bigger problem. That is what we must find out."
Viletta takes a moment to watch the smaller individuals of the array, the gnome and the dwarf, producing a golden glowing rose for Grizelda, and she smiles broadly, which, although hardly visible under scarf and goggles, can be guessed by the endeared tilt of her head and her shift in posture. She chuckles lightly. "Dear Grizelda. It's about time you got the recognition you deserve for all your work here at the Last Hearth."
Abishai looks at the flowery exchange with one raised eyebrow. 'So... at least two of these individuals have unique talents. Let's hope it comes in handy in the days to come.' He doesn't interrupt the exchange. Merely watches with a curious intensity when Skalma shoves her giant hand into the fighters face. "Oh, hello. Name's Abishai, Abishai Stromborne. Protector of The Last Hearth and Warden of the North. A pleasure to make your acquaintance." Abishai chances a glance at Grizelda, cheeks turning red as much because of the embellishment as the cold as he introduces himself, knowing she could out him if she overheard and desired to do so.
In truth, Abishai was just a guard. Not a very good one at that, otherwise the empire would have assigned him a better posting. He had run afoul of powerful people too many times with his love for mead and had been sent here as punishment.
As Viletta joins the group, Abishi returns the nod, recognizing the air of authority the woman carries and appreciates the small token of respect directed his way. "Yes, Knights of the Order are always a welcome addition to any endeavor, welcome."
DM for Tyranny of Dragons and Phandelver and Below, two in-person campaigns that meet weekly on Friday and Saturday nights. DM for Dragons of Icespire Peak Pbp
Grizelda looks over the six of you, as you're the last still standing around---or still approaching in the case of Viletta. Thrynn, you could swear her already red, from the cold, cheeks get ever so slightly redder as you grow this rose that matches her cheeks and hand it to her. Grizelda bears a brief smile as the rose begins to glow thanks to Iden's light spell. Before returning her attention to Grelk "the convoy was carrying the final load of supplies for Frostfall Hold." She begins, "without the supplies they won't make it the rest of the winter." Not many know what or where Frostfall Hold is, but Abishai, you being a guard know that it a small mining encampment deep in the Permafrost Tundra. It brings out vital resources for the Empire. Viletta, you know of the name, but you're not privy to where its located nor what it's used for. "I'm working on getting a new convoy prepared. I just need the lot of you to figure out what happened to the last one, find out if they got lost and if any of them are still alive."
Grizelda looks your way, Abishai, as you speak. "I wasn't aware you had the authority to deputize citizens Abishai," she says. "Though it sure feels good knowing a Bowen guard will be taking up the helm." She looks you up and down briefly, as her eye line almost matches yours while she still stands atop the crate. "Well, I couldn't be in better hands," Grizelda says, looking toward Viletta as she also pledges herself as the Argent Vigil to look for the convoy. "Between the Empire's guard, an Argent Vigil scout, the wee magic lad," she gestures to Iden. "Two giantess, and the romantic," she gives Thyrnn a quick winking glimpse, "I think that lost convoy of mine will be found real fast."
There is a brief pause in conversation from Grizelda, as it begins to lightly snow overhead. She looks up before taking a few flakes to the face. "I do fear they got lost Lady Viletta. This is a new company I'm hiring through. They've never taken this trip before." She says, sighing, "500 gold to be shared between you and salvage rights, even for you Abishai. So long as your parole captain doesn't veto your payment." It's still very early day out, the sky has finally given in to the heavy clouds and began letting light snow fall. Thankfully, there is no breeze currently, so its a comfortable 3°F out.
Conflicted, she looks to the skies.
Orvain, send me a sign if this is not your will. I do not know if this is why I was sent here, but I don't want to let these people starve.
She speaks up
Very well, I shall help find these folk.
Looking around, I'm ready to head out when the rest of you are. The name is Grelk Ma'thrak by the way.
Chargrined at the mention of his parole captain, Abishai says, "Yes, well I'll need to go collect my backpack and supplies for this journey back at the barracks. I'll be back shortly." With that, the fighter excuses himself from further embarrassment and heads off to prepare for the adventure. 'Stupid... why did you say that? Could you be anymore foolish Abishai? I need a drink.'
Back at the barracks, Abishai adds to his previous note: "Caravan is in trouble. Heading out to render aid. Lost somewhere between Last Hearth and Frostfall Hold. Send a search party if not back in a ten day."
After gathering his supplies, Abishai heads back to the group, "Ready to set out? Let's go."
DM for Tyranny of Dragons and Phandelver and Below, two in-person campaigns that meet weekly on Friday and Saturday nights. DM for Dragons of Icespire Peak Pbp
Thrynn double checks his belongings and food supplies. "Yes, Shiver and I are ready. Let's first see what today's weather will bring so we are fully prepared." With that Thyrnn casts Druidcraft yet again, but this time nothing apparent immediately happens, but then a miniature sensory effect can be seen, indicating the day's weather. "If everyone is prepared, let us head off. Villeta, we way not be able to keep pace with your steed, but as I always say, 'it is better to move slowly with friends than to race through the world alone'."
(OOC: DM to tell us what kind of weather and sensory effect is seen)
Iden walks over to Grizelda as he polls out a quill and paper.
“If I may be so bold om … as to make a few inquiries about this area would you be able to enlighten me? … Hmmm … First, what would you say would be the most dangerous large creature in the area? … Om … Does The Last Hearth have a place where I can buy the supplies needed to craft potions of healing? … And lastly … I'm sorry if I missed this information … but … om … how many days travel is it to the place the caravan was going? … I only wish to know so that I can estimate the amount of rations needed!”
After getting a response Iden will either grab the last few things and be ready to go.
(OOC: can I roll nature for what Iden knows about the dangerous creatures in this area. Also get a general understanding of the local flora and fauna.)
As Thrynn casts druidcraft a small dark cloud forms in front of him. It slowly begins releasing much smaller snowflakes than the ones currently falling for a few seconds before dissipating into nothing. It's clear to you, Thrynn, that snow is in the forecast for today.
"Frostfall Hold is about a 5 day trek through the Permafrost." Grizelda says, in response to your inquiry, Iden. "I cannot help with supplies for potions of any sort. We don't have any herbal crafters here in the hearth, but," she takes a moment to think to herself. "I may have a few things I can spare."
(OOC: Go ahead and give me that nature check Iden)
(OOC: Nature Check:11 rolled in game log.)
"Pleasure to meet ye all." Skalma says as introductions and pleasantries are cordially exchanged, shaking Grelk's hand last of all. Her easy grin twists into a brief scoff at Abishai's offer.
She raises her hands to forestall any offence, a crooked smile splitting her face. "Don't really fancy being pressed into service as some guard's deputy. Thanks for the offer, but I ain't doin' this for no flag. Not an empire nor a knight's order. I'm just simple folk. Happy to help Grizelda 'ere with her missing convoy, but good as I am - just a survivalist, who'll be pleased to help steer you across the Permafrost."
Her solid azure eyes shine with reverence as she speaks aloud their destination. The Permafrost. I was always meant to return. Magnus has been like a father to me, but I need to know. Need to uncover the truth of who I am, where I came from... I was always meant to return.
The frost goliath folds her large arms across her chest as she meditates on Iden's astute questions. "Did the leader of the convoy have a name? What's she look like? Were they travellin' on foot, sleds, or with pack animals?" She spares a glance for Viletta and her horse, quietly wondering how well the mount would fare, traversing the bitter cold where a slipped hoof could be fatal.
(OOC: What does Skalma know about Frostfall Hold? Is any one route said to be superior to another?)
Survival (or History) : 20 (or 16)
In response to Grizelda.
“My father always taught me to be prepared so I thank you for anything you can spare.”
"Single sledge with four dogs." Grizelda says, in response to you Skalma. "The convoy head is Mister Blackforge. I don't know his two helpers names, but one was a tall orcish man and the other was an average sized white dragonborn man."
Iden
With an 11, you know for sure there are wolves and winter wolves up here. You've heard rumors of a small white dragon that has been seen, but they've never been confirmed.
Skalma
You would know there's really only one route to Frostfall Hold for about 80% of the journey. Toward the end, depending on the snowfall at the time, some trips go low early and climb up the mountain at the end and some climb early up the mountain then coast down to the hold.