"Then, I do hope that there is nothing more foul afoot than their simply losing their way due to inexperience," Viletta says to Grizelda, with a smile. "Let us hope for a happy ending!" Looking at Thrynn's small trick of the weather, her serious demeanor eases a bit as she reaches out a gloved hand to catch the falling snowflakes, saying jokingly, "It's going to snow, is it? It's a good thing we've come prepared! Fortunately, there is no need to keep up a pace with my horse... it better conserves his energy to travel long and slow in the cold, and so, except in times of urgent necessity, that is how we are used to traveling since we left the South."
Indeed, the white, thick furred horse looks almost as if he has fallen asleep in his feed bag, his neck lowered and his eyes drooping lazily. His long tail clamped against the cold and his solid, wide hooves braced, though no wind blows, he looks prepared for any storm.
Viletta addresses herself to the rest of the group. "My name is Viletta, of Swiftfall. I ride the patrol of the northern border for the Order of the Argent Vigil. It's a pleasure to meet you all," she says, as she looks... down... at Iden and Thrynn, and then.... up.... at Grelk and Skalma. Noting in the back of her mind how the layers of furs multiply as the person's size gets smaller. She herself is no exception, bundled so well that she scarce remembers what she looks like. Probably much like my horse. Shaggy and withdrawn. Life in the north draws you into yourself that way.
And she finds herself thinking about her own supplies. A 5 day trek into the Permafrost means a minimum of 10 days out in the wilds. And that, in fact, is twice as long as the number of rations she has. She has a few more days feed for her horse, but still not anything that would last beyond a week.
"Lady Grizelda," she says, "any help you can offer in the form of rations or even the loan of a bow or other hunting equipment would be most appreciated. But if nothing is available, it is not the first time we have trusted our fate to the bounty of nature and come out alive on the other side. A secure existence has never been guaranteed us in the north."
"Come with me dears," Grizelda says as she hops off the crate and kicks it just hard enough that it tumbles off out of the way. "Right this way." She leads the lot of you to a nearby building that really, just resembles a shed. However, in this outpost it's the third largest building behind the hearth common room and the guard's barracks. As you pass through the threshold, its much warmer in here than it is outside. It's also a bit more crowded. The inside of this building is roughly the size of large walk in closet. You all can see and faintly hear the crackling dance of flames behind the curtain blocking a backroom of some sort. "Now, like I said..I don't have much I can spare, but," she begins rutting around in a floor cabinet behind a small dwarf sized counter. "Ah! Here we go," she says as she presents a single potion of healing. It looks like its been sitting a while, as she blows on it and wipes away some dust. "In a pinch, this may be able to help out, and," she continues, as she sets the potion on the counter and moves to the other side of the small room, stepping over various objects and stacks of paperwork. "I hope venison and salted fish sound good to you." Grizelda pulls four packaged rations from the floor, setting them on the counter next to the potion. "Freshly wrapped up for travel yesterday," she says. "Ain't getting any fresher than that." Grizelda then looks to Abishai then over to Viletta. "I'm sure the Protector of the Last Hearth," which is accompanied with air quotes and a faint smirk, "here could scrounge up a bow for you dear."
Abishai
You happen to know there are two bows hanging on the wall within the guard's barrack. A shortbow and a longbow. There is also a quiver and about 35 arrows. You're sure Trevor and Wallace wouldn't mind too much if a bow and maybe a few arrows went missing. You're not sure how many arrows you could realistically take though without causing issues.
Abishai follows Grizelda to the glorified shed and watches as the dwarf pulls out the potion and extra rations. "I'll hold onto the potion for now." The grizzled fighter says in a deep and gravely voice as he grabs it from the counter. Turning to Viletta, Abishai adds, "I can provide you with a bow, Ma'am. Would you prefer long or short?"Stromborne's irritation increases with the obvious mockery from Grizelda but chooses to ignore it entirely, thinking, 'That much was true... but how do you protect a place with sword and shield when the enemy is the cold?'
The warrior's attention returns back to Grizelda, "I thank you Ma'am for this generous offering."
Viletta follows Grizelda to the small shed, removing her horse's feed bag and tying him loosely outside the building. Once she steps inside, even the modest warmth hits her quickly, flooding her limbs with warmth, a flush rising in her cheeks. She pushes her hood back and pulls her goggles off. Pale grey eyes crinkle at the corners as they follow a smile that is finally visible as Viletta unwraps the scarf from her face.
"Much obliged, dear Grizelda," she says, "both for the fire and the supplies. I've got space on my horse for some extra supplies, if no one else has room to carry them."
She turns to Abishai with enthusiasm. "That's wonderful. Thank you, sir. I'm a good hunter, if there's anything to hunt. A shortbow, if you please. I can't draw a longbow on horseback...it gets in the way."
To prevent overcrowding the shed, Grelk stays outside. With a quick look around she tries to find some higher ground to sit and meditate while listening for any sounds on the wind, hoping for direction from her god.
Oh father of storms, please bless our journey and look after us as we look for these lost fools. Grizelda thinks they lost because they're new here. I think there is more too it and that we're in for a surprise. I don't think you'd send me all this way to find some people who got lost in one of Denrena's Storms.
There she sits, waiting to be interrupted by the party when they're ready to depart.
With his answered question, Abishai once again returns to the barracks to procure one shortbow and one quiver holding 15 arrows. Handing them over to Viletta, the red cloaked warrior says, "Here you are my lady. I hope this suffices."
Viletta takes the proffered quiver and bow gratefully. "Thank you. Abishai, was it?"
She leans closer to him, lowering her voice, her expression turning earnest and serious. "Listen, don't be too discouraged if folk seem not to like the Empire out here. In the town I grew up in, it was almost universal feeling. Folks feel abandoned out here, forgotten by the Crown, on their own against bandits and wolves. So there's a bit of resentment. I dare say you'll see it, how irrelevant they think you are. But my father was always loyal to the Empire, and there's a reason. Even here, the influence of what the Empire has done has made life better for people. Don't forget that, just because they do. A lot of them won't welcome me back, even though I grew up here in the north, because I 'went south'. Do your good duty anyway, and it will all come to right!"
Nilme rushes into the shed as soon as the opportunity presents itself.
“Oh come on! You know I was using you to see where I was going!”
Iden removes his goggles and waits a few seconds for the connection to Nilme’s senses to fade. As Iden’s senses return he opens his eye before letting out a sigh.
“Stupid Human? How rude!”
Looking at Grelk.
“We shall return shortly. I will tell Nilme to stay close to the door so please yell if you need anything.”
Iden walks into the warmth, not to achieve anything but to enjoy the only comfortable environment he will have for the next few days.
As the Order Knight, Viletta confirms the warrior's name, Abishai gives a slight bow, "At your service, my lady." Listening as Viletta encourages the bear of a man, Abishai gives a hint of a smile and momentarily gets lost in the woman's pale grey eyes, only returning to the present as the woman finishes talking. "I appreciate your words of wisdom, my lady. I will do my best to live up to them."
Moving back to the dwarf, Grizelda, Abishai says, "Excuse me Ma'am. It seems only fitting that I return the favor for providing us with this boon..." The grizzled man reaches around and produces a ceramic jug that was hanging from the warrior's backpack, placing it on the counter as an unknown liquid within sloshes around. "... I can provide you with some water, beer, wine, honey, or oil. Your choice. Name what you would have and provide the vessel to hold it and I'll make it so." He waits for the dwarven woman's reply.
Skalma watches as the chaos of the final preparations infects other members of the party. They were right to be animated - when the Last Hearth was finally beyond them, they would soon find the ice to be utterly unforgiving. The goliath herself remains largely impassive - she had been preparing for this voyage for several weeks, if not her entire life in some sense. Nevertheless, when Grizelda shows her generosity, she beams down at the tiny dwarf. "Thank ye, Miss Grizelda. Big and able to handle myself or not... we'll put these tae good use."
The massive blue-hued woman grins amiably when Viletta introduces herself, and she offers her name and occupation in return. "Lookin' forward tae gettin' to know ye, Viletta." However, the same lack of deference she had towards being deputised for the Bowen Empire is reflected in her cool glance for the Argent Vigil banner. It isn't quite antipathy, just the quiet absence of being impressed. On the Permafrost, nations and orders and guilds will mean little. The only thing that matters is how you prove yourself against the wild.
Skalma shakes her head and bites back a laugh as Iden and Nilme vanish into the shed, draining the last draught of luxury that the Last Hearth can offer. As Grelk excuses herself, Skalma nods appreciatively. "Of course I shall. Take the time you need. There'll be no turning back."She says, watching the orc meditate, or pray, or take a moment to collect herself. After a moment or two, Skalma decides it is best to make her own final farewells.
She returns to the cabin she has shared with Magnus since her youth and begins penning a letter.
Day's finally come. Last trial to prove myself for the Guild. The frost is calling me. If I don't come back, remember. You've been a good father to me. The very best I could have asked for. All my love, Skalma
The giantess folds the letter with care, and leaves it beside a shuttered window. After one last look at the only home she has ever known, Skalma gathers her gear and returns to the meeting point, ready to depart.
Thyrnn waits out in the cold with Grelk. The cold not bothering him overly much with his pair of Boots of the Winterlands on. This was his only inheritance passed down from father to son. On the day of his passing, his animal compatriots will deliver the boots to his son as well. He remembered so vividly the day he received them so long ago. A massive white-furred bear, the very creature his father once called guardian and friend, appeared at the farm’s edge at dusk, carrying the boots gently in its jaws before setting them before Thyrnn with a low, mournful rumble. It lingered just long enough for him to understand—his father’s journey was over, but the family legacy and tradition will continue through himself. The bear then turned and vanished into the falling snow.
"That would be wonderful, Abishai," Grizelda says as she turns and retrieves a small jar from one of her cabinets. "Do you think I could get some honey?" She places the empty jar on the counter beside the ceramic jug Abishai has produced.
As those of you who remained inside Grizelda's shack of a house step back out into the cold morning, the dwarf stops at the door and calls after you, "stay safe out there, and please, return unharmed." Outside, Skalma, its takes only a few moments for you to spot Thyrnn and a few moments more for you to spot Grelk on a high vantage point. As the six of you stand gathered together within the walls of The Last Hearth, your eyes drift around for one last look at civilization. Finally, you look north, looking at the northern entrance. The fortified palisade of the outpost ends here and the rocky outcropping of the mountain takes over. The first leg of the journey is a fairly easy descent through a narrow cleft in the mountain, a valley roughly thirty or forty feet wide; its walls climb upward a hundred feet on average. Eventually the rock walls abruptly give way. It seems as if your guided tour from civilization has come to an end. You stop here at the threshold; looking forward is a vast expanse of an endless, eerily motionless sheet of snow covered flatlands. No snowfall, no wind. The only sound to be heard is yours and those around you. You continue to stand here a moment, staring out into..nothingness. In front of you, as far as you can see is a blank, white canvas. Will it be forgiving or punishing?
The Bowen Empire guard is happy to oblige Grizelda's request. "It would be my pleasure, Ma'am." He pops the cork off the jug and whispers the word, "Honey" into the top. Immediately the jug begins to fill with 1 gallon of thick sweet honey. He begins pouring the liquid into Grizelda's proffered jar until it's full or Abishai runs out of honey. He takes a finger and runs it across the lip of the jug and licks the honey off of his finger before placing the cork back. As the dwarven woman wishes the party farewell, Abishai gives a polite bow and offers a vow, "I will do everything in my power to ensure we stay safe and return with the missing caravan. On my honor, this I vow." With that, the bearded warrior turns to go. Out of the safety of the Last Hearth, and into the unknown.
As the group sets out on the journey into the great white expanse that is the Permafrost. Abishai says to the others, "How can anything survive out here?" His mood dour as he begins to recognize the magnitude of this task.
Survival: 13
[[OOC: please let me know if any honey remains in my jug.]]
Thyrnn looks out over the expanse. To some this looks like the end of the line, a frozen wasteland… but to Thyrnn it’s home. Responding to Abishai, “Very few try, but are no shortage of beasts that call the permafrost home. There are others of my kind as well that choose to live in relative isolation rather than the chaos inside the cities. The weather is an obstacle, but one that can be overcome with knowledge and preparation.”
(OOC: Is there an amount of weight my familiar can carry and still fly? Going based on variant encumbrance a tiny creature should be able to carry 2.5 times its strength without any negative effects (for an Owl that would be 7.5 lbs). I listed my familiar having a bag of Caltrops but I never checked if that is okay.)
Before leaving the warmth Iden will use his one free casting of False Life to get 6 temp HP.
The freezing air nips at Iden as stories of ancient fey creatures at extravagant banquets swirl around his head. After a few minutes Iden acquiesces and offers to let Nilme hide away in her private dimension. As Nilme's white wings open up and she soars overhead, her last words ring in Iden's mind.
‘One must suffer to know joy.’
As the group starts their journey Iden will stay towards the back while Nilme will fly in front searching for anything dangerous. Iden nods in response to Abishai.
“People find a way to survive because they must. As shall we, survive and find the missing caravan. I think the more interesting question is what type of creature could thrive out here. That is what scares me a little.”
Iden pauses for a few seconds before continuing.
“I know we are not well acquainted with each other and I must admit I was not excessively detailed with the description of my abilities. I will say if we face a dangerous situation and strange things begin to happen around me it is very likely my own doing. One of my most constant teachers was a fey so my tactics can be strange to say the least.”
"Then, I do hope that there is nothing more foul afoot than their simply losing their way due to inexperience," Viletta says to Grizelda, with a smile. "Let us hope for a happy ending!" Looking at Thrynn's small trick of the weather, her serious demeanor eases a bit as she reaches out a gloved hand to catch the falling snowflakes, saying jokingly, "It's going to snow, is it? It's a good thing we've come prepared! Fortunately, there is no need to keep up a pace with my horse... it better conserves his energy to travel long and slow in the cold, and so, except in times of urgent necessity, that is how we are used to traveling since we left the South."
Indeed, the white, thick furred horse looks almost as if he has fallen asleep in his feed bag, his neck lowered and his eyes drooping lazily. His long tail clamped against the cold and his solid, wide hooves braced, though no wind blows, he looks prepared for any storm.
Viletta addresses herself to the rest of the group. "My name is Viletta, of Swiftfall. I ride the patrol of the northern border for the Order of the Argent Vigil. It's a pleasure to meet you all," she says, as she looks... down... at Iden and Thrynn, and then.... up.... at Grelk and Skalma. Noting in the back of her mind how the layers of furs multiply as the person's size gets smaller. She herself is no exception, bundled so well that she scarce remembers what she looks like. Probably much like my horse. Shaggy and withdrawn. Life in the north draws you into yourself that way.
And she finds herself thinking about her own supplies. A 5 day trek into the Permafrost means a minimum of 10 days out in the wilds. And that, in fact, is twice as long as the number of rations she has. She has a few more days feed for her horse, but still not anything that would last beyond a week.
"Lady Grizelda," she says, "any help you can offer in the form of rations or even the loan of a bow or other hunting equipment would be most appreciated. But if nothing is available, it is not the first time we have trusted our fate to the bounty of nature and come out alive on the other side. A secure existence has never been guaranteed us in the north."
"Come with me dears," Grizelda says as she hops off the crate and kicks it just hard enough that it tumbles off out of the way. "Right this way." She leads the lot of you to a nearby building that really, just resembles a shed. However, in this outpost it's the third largest building behind the hearth common room and the guard's barracks. As you pass through the threshold, its much warmer in here than it is outside. It's also a bit more crowded. The inside of this building is roughly the size of large walk in closet. You all can see and faintly hear the crackling dance of flames behind the curtain blocking a backroom of some sort. "Now, like I said..I don't have much I can spare, but," she begins rutting around in a floor cabinet behind a small dwarf sized counter. "Ah! Here we go," she says as she presents a single potion of healing. It looks like its been sitting a while, as she blows on it and wipes away some dust. "In a pinch, this may be able to help out, and," she continues, as she sets the potion on the counter and moves to the other side of the small room, stepping over various objects and stacks of paperwork. "I hope venison and salted fish sound good to you." Grizelda pulls four packaged rations from the floor, setting them on the counter next to the potion. "Freshly wrapped up for travel yesterday," she says. "Ain't getting any fresher than that." Grizelda then looks to Abishai then over to Viletta. "I'm sure the Protector of the Last Hearth," which is accompanied with air quotes and a faint smirk, "here could scrounge up a bow for you dear."
Abishai
You happen to know there are two bows hanging on the wall within the guard's barrack. A shortbow and a longbow. There is also a quiver and about 35 arrows. You're sure Trevor and Wallace wouldn't mind too much if a bow and maybe a few arrows went missing. You're not sure how many arrows you could realistically take though without causing issues.
Abishai follows Grizelda to the glorified shed and watches as the dwarf pulls out the potion and extra rations. "I'll hold onto the potion for now." The grizzled fighter says in a deep and gravely voice as he grabs it from the counter. Turning to Viletta, Abishai adds, "I can provide you with a bow, Ma'am. Would you prefer long or short?" Stromborne's irritation increases with the obvious mockery from Grizelda but chooses to ignore it entirely, thinking, 'That much was true... but how do you protect a place with sword and shield when the enemy is the cold?'
The warrior's attention returns back to Grizelda, "I thank you Ma'am for this generous offering."
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
Viletta follows Grizelda to the small shed, removing her horse's feed bag and tying him loosely outside the building. Once she steps inside, even the modest warmth hits her quickly, flooding her limbs with warmth, a flush rising in her cheeks. She pushes her hood back and pulls her goggles off. Pale grey eyes crinkle at the corners as they follow a smile that is finally visible as Viletta unwraps the scarf from her face.
"Much obliged, dear Grizelda," she says, "both for the fire and the supplies. I've got space on my horse for some extra supplies, if no one else has room to carry them."
She turns to Abishai with enthusiasm. "That's wonderful. Thank you, sir. I'm a good hunter, if there's anything to hunt. A shortbow, if you please. I can't draw a longbow on horseback...it gets in the way."
Grelk leans into Skalma,
"Please come grab me when we're ready to go."
To prevent overcrowding the shed, Grelk stays outside. With a quick look around she tries to find some higher ground to sit and meditate while listening for any sounds on the wind, hoping for direction from her god.
Oh father of storms, please bless our journey and look after us as we look for these lost fools. Grizelda thinks they lost because they're new here. I think there is more too it and that we're in for a surprise. I don't think you'd send me all this way to find some people who got lost in one of Denrena's Storms.
There she sits, waiting to be interrupted by the party when they're ready to depart.
With his answered question, Abishai once again returns to the barracks to procure one shortbow and one quiver holding 15 arrows. Handing them over to Viletta, the red cloaked warrior says, "Here you are my lady. I hope this suffices."
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
Viletta takes the proffered quiver and bow gratefully. "Thank you. Abishai, was it?"
She leans closer to him, lowering her voice, her expression turning earnest and serious. "Listen, don't be too discouraged if folk seem not to like the Empire out here. In the town I grew up in, it was almost universal feeling. Folks feel abandoned out here, forgotten by the Crown, on their own against bandits and wolves. So there's a bit of resentment. I dare say you'll see it, how irrelevant they think you are. But my father was always loyal to the Empire, and there's a reason. Even here, the influence of what the Empire has done has made life better for people. Don't forget that, just because they do. A lot of them won't welcome me back, even though I grew up here in the north, because I 'went south'. Do your good duty anyway, and it will all come to right!"
Nilme rushes into the shed as soon as the opportunity presents itself.
“Oh come on! You know I was using you to see where I was going!”
Iden removes his goggles and waits a few seconds for the connection to Nilme’s senses to fade. As Iden’s senses return he opens his eye before letting out a sigh.
“Stupid Human? How rude!”
Looking at Grelk.
“We shall return shortly. I will tell Nilme to stay close to the door so please yell if you need anything.”
Iden walks into the warmth, not to achieve anything but to enjoy the only comfortable environment he will have for the next few days.
As the Order Knight, Viletta confirms the warrior's name, Abishai gives a slight bow, "At your service, my lady." Listening as Viletta encourages the bear of a man, Abishai gives a hint of a smile and momentarily gets lost in the woman's pale grey eyes, only returning to the present as the woman finishes talking. "I appreciate your words of wisdom, my lady. I will do my best to live up to them."
Moving back to the dwarf, Grizelda, Abishai says, "Excuse me Ma'am. It seems only fitting that I return the favor for providing us with this boon..." The grizzled man reaches around and produces a ceramic jug that was hanging from the warrior's backpack, placing it on the counter as an unknown liquid within sloshes around. "... I can provide you with some water, beer, wine, honey, or oil. Your choice. Name what you would have and provide the vessel to hold it and I'll make it so." He waits for the dwarven woman's reply.
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
Skalma watches as the chaos of the final preparations infects other members of the party. They were right to be animated - when the Last Hearth was finally beyond them, they would soon find the ice to be utterly unforgiving. The goliath herself remains largely impassive - she had been preparing for this voyage for several weeks, if not her entire life in some sense. Nevertheless, when Grizelda shows her generosity, she beams down at the tiny dwarf. "Thank ye, Miss Grizelda. Big and able to handle myself or not... we'll put these tae good use."
The massive blue-hued woman grins amiably when Viletta introduces herself, and she offers her name and occupation in return. "Lookin' forward tae gettin' to know ye, Viletta." However, the same lack of deference she had towards being deputised for the Bowen Empire is reflected in her cool glance for the Argent Vigil banner. It isn't quite antipathy, just the quiet absence of being impressed. On the Permafrost, nations and orders and guilds will mean little. The only thing that matters is how you prove yourself against the wild.
Skalma shakes her head and bites back a laugh as Iden and Nilme vanish into the shed, draining the last draught of luxury that the Last Hearth can offer. As Grelk excuses herself, Skalma nods appreciatively. "Of course I shall. Take the time you need. There'll be no turning back." She says, watching the orc meditate, or pray, or take a moment to collect herself. After a moment or two, Skalma decides it is best to make her own final farewells.
She returns to the cabin she has shared with Magnus since her youth and begins penning a letter.
The giantess folds the letter with care, and leaves it beside a shuttered window. After one last look at the only home she has ever known, Skalma gathers her gear and returns to the meeting point, ready to depart.
Thyrnn waits out in the cold with Grelk. The cold not bothering him overly much with his pair of Boots of the Winterlands on. This was his only inheritance passed down from father to son. On the day of his passing, his animal compatriots will deliver the boots to his son as well. He remembered so vividly the day he received them so long ago. A massive white-furred bear, the very creature his father once called guardian and friend, appeared at the farm’s edge at dusk, carrying the boots gently in its jaws before setting them before Thyrnn with a low, mournful rumble. It lingered just long enough for him to understand—his father’s journey was over, but the family legacy and tradition will continue through himself. The bear then turned and vanished into the falling snow.
"That would be wonderful, Abishai," Grizelda says as she turns and retrieves a small jar from one of her cabinets. "Do you think I could get some honey?" She places the empty jar on the counter beside the ceramic jug Abishai has produced.
As those of you who remained inside Grizelda's shack of a house step back out into the cold morning, the dwarf stops at the door and calls after you, "stay safe out there, and please, return unharmed." Outside, Skalma, its takes only a few moments for you to spot Thyrnn and a few moments more for you to spot Grelk on a high vantage point. As the six of you stand gathered together within the walls of The Last Hearth, your eyes drift around for one last look at civilization. Finally, you look north, looking at the northern entrance. The fortified palisade of the outpost ends here and the rocky outcropping of the mountain takes over. The first leg of the journey is a fairly easy descent through a narrow cleft in the mountain, a valley roughly thirty or forty feet wide; its walls climb upward a hundred feet on average. Eventually the rock walls abruptly give way. It seems as if your guided tour from civilization has come to an end. You stop here at the threshold; looking forward is a vast expanse of an endless, eerily motionless sheet of snow covered flatlands. No snowfall, no wind. The only sound to be heard is yours and those around you. You continue to stand here a moment, staring out into..nothingness. In front of you, as far as you can see is a blank, white canvas. Will it be forgiving or punishing?
(OOC: Everyone please give me a survival check)
The Bowen Empire guard is happy to oblige Grizelda's request. "It would be my pleasure, Ma'am." He pops the cork off the jug and whispers the word, "Honey" into the top. Immediately the jug begins to fill with 1 gallon of thick sweet honey. He begins pouring the liquid into Grizelda's proffered jar until it's full or Abishai runs out of honey. He takes a finger and runs it across the lip of the jug and licks the honey off of his finger before placing the cork back. As the dwarven woman wishes the party farewell, Abishai gives a polite bow and offers a vow, "I will do everything in my power to ensure we stay safe and return with the missing caravan. On my honor, this I vow." With that, the bearded warrior turns to go. Out of the safety of the Last Hearth, and into the unknown.
As the group sets out on the journey into the great white expanse that is the Permafrost. Abishai says to the others, "How can anything survive out here?" His mood dour as he begins to recognize the magnitude of this task.
Survival: 13
[[OOC: please let me know if any honey remains in my jug.]]
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
Thyrnn looks out over the expanse. To some this looks like the end of the line, a frozen wasteland… but to Thyrnn it’s home. Responding to Abishai, “Very few try, but are no shortage of beasts that call the permafrost home. There are others of my kind as well that choose to live in relative isolation rather than the chaos inside the cities. The weather is an obstacle, but one that can be overcome with knowledge and preparation.”
survival : 11
Shiver perception - (9, 10) + 3 = 13 (adv on perception w/ keen hearing)
(OOC: Is there an amount of weight my familiar can carry and still fly? Going based on variant encumbrance a tiny creature should be able to carry 2.5 times its strength without any negative effects (for an Owl that would be 7.5 lbs). I listed my familiar having a bag of Caltrops but I never checked if that is okay.)
Before leaving the warmth Iden will use his one free casting of False Life to get 6 temp HP.
The freezing air nips at Iden as stories of ancient fey creatures at extravagant banquets swirl around his head. After a few minutes Iden acquiesces and offers to let Nilme hide away in her private dimension. As Nilme's white wings open up and she soars overhead, her last words ring in Iden's mind.
‘One must suffer to know joy.’
As the group starts their journey Iden will stay towards the back while Nilme will fly in front searching for anything dangerous. Iden nods in response to Abishai.
“People find a way to survive because they must. As shall we, survive and find the missing caravan. I think the more interesting question is what type of creature could thrive out here. That is what scares me a little.”
Iden pauses for a few seconds before continuing.
“I know we are not well acquainted with each other and I must admit I was not excessively detailed with the description of my abilities. I will say if we face a dangerous situation and strange things begin to happen around me it is very likely my own doing. One of my most constant teachers was a fey so my tactics can be strange to say the least.”
Iden's Survival Roll(rolled in campaign): 12
Nilme's Perception Roll: 15
(My whole post accidentally got deleted when I went to make the roll... I will write it again later.)
Survival: 21