"Drift. Do you think you can make some forks and spoons too?" Olfin asks

((OOC: there is a pole and a hunting trap and rope in the Tinker’s magic item choices. So I think a fishing pole is doable with multiple actions. Cutlery I can’t see in adventuring gear options for tools, so it seems simple enough but I think we need Bill’s ruling.)

(Ooc - Drift can make cutlery)

“Always thought a dagger and ten fingers were cutlery enough, but don’t see why not, can’t be too difficult, if you don’t mind them not looking too elegant.”

“Oh! I never even thought of making the tools ourselves! I guess that shows my background, doesn’t it? Anyway, chwingas are interested in civilization, right? So, I was trying to think of simple tools that reflect civilization. My idea was to use the fishing pole to hang the spoons or forks out away from us to lure them closer. Ms. Graysteel said that they are shy.” Marva gestures wildly as she explains her idea.

Then she turns to Olfin: “I also thought maybe we should sing some songs or recite some poetry. That’s another part of civilization. I came up with one poem on our walk, but it isn’t a good one."

She clears her throat and recites quickly, her cheeks quickly flushing:

"We seek elementals curious
We hope you are not feeling furious
We offer some tools
We know you’re not fools
We promise to not be injurious.”

A little embarrassed, she says, “I’m sure you could do better, Olfin.”

As Marva delivers her Chwinga-inspired limerick, Ophelia's gaze snaps into focus and lowers to meet the female dragonborn's, brightening with delight.  As she turns expectantly to Olfin in case the other dragonborn delivers a performative counter-offering, the she-elf muses, strangely lucidly:

"Despite being inexorably drawn to the source of the enchanted strangeness which has befallen these icebound towns, I admit I know these Chwingas not.  Still, somehow I had envisioned such elemental spirts as Dannika described residing out in the wintry wilds, where few townspeople would see them, despite their purported fascination with civilization.  If they ventured often within settlement walls, fewer folk would scoff at their existence."

Yet her own mention of scoffing at the existence of Chwingas draws Ophelia's memory back to the gruff and disdainful Targos town guards.  Her eyes tilt upwards once more and she appears lost in thought, though not returning quite yet to her customary ravings.

"Why would guards refuse to search for a killer?  Likely a well-off fellow, Alvin, if he was proficient at building boats in a lakeside town with a bountiful supply of fish, as we witnessed from the haul borne by Gali the fisherwoman.  If he was slain for his wealth, a robbery gone bad, surely the guards would investigate.  With the weapon being a blade of ice to the heart, the murder seems a symbolic one, not one of envy or petty spite for the affluent man."

But speaking at length of murder seems to rouse dark memories of death in Ophelia, and her bout of lucidity draws to an end, her lips softly murmuring.

"None bore him barefaced on the bier
As snow swirled down from skies above
And on his grave shed nary a tear
So tread with care my arctic dove..."

Drift quickly makes utensils and fishing pole while sitting in the corner. 

Marva, the proprietor, Owenn, passes you an ale. No tea here, he mumbles. “Donno nothin’ bout the murder ‘cept Auril don’t mind if we all dead. I’s heard she sometimes shows herself as the Cold Crone. Few have ever seen it an’ lived ta tell the tale, but I’s heard she a tall monstrosity with cloven feet. Ungh, is bad to speak of her but speak of her we must.” He shuffles away, shoulders down. The few other folks in the Inn look cross-eyed at their empty glasses, as if desire would result in refills. This doesn’t seem to be the place for answers - next steps? The lantern remains yellow. 

Marva pays for the ale and tries to remember if she’s read anything about Auril appearing in different forms or attacking people. She drinks and considers the matter while Drift works on the fishing pole and utensils. (History: 12, Religion: 18)

Once Drift has finished his work, Marva is ready to head on to Bremen, holding the fishing pole out in front of her with the utensils jingling in the frigid wind.

Ellora frowns slightly at the ale and the response, but then she shrugs and takes a small sip from the mug, she was thirsty after all and the ale wasn't all that bad. Also, people seemed reluctant to speak of the murders, perhaps they were simply afraid it actually was Auril. It seemed unlikely that it was, but although she didn't see any particular reason to solve this mystery her curiosity was piqued now and if they only could find out what the three victims had in common they would also be able to catch the killer. It was surely one killer, one that had moved between the towns. It would certainly be helpful to speak to someone that actually wanted to find the killer though.

The young white-haired woman now notices the others being ready to move on and quickly finishes her ale and follows them out into the streets of Targos to make a short tour to determine if any chwingas hid there, before moving on to Bremen. "I don't think you will find any use for that until the light goes green right?" She tells the scholarly dragonborn as they move around town.

Marva looks at Ellora, looks at her strange fishing pole, and looks back at her companion. “Oh. Well, I guess I thought they would see it from beyond the distance that the lantern works and come out of hiding to approach us. How close do they have to be before the lantern turns green? 300 feet? I suppose that is pretty far. Perhaps we just get Olfin to sing loudly to attract them into the 300 feet range. Then when the lantern turns green, we’ll lure them closer with the utensils. The more I think about it, the sillier this idea seems. And yet, I don’t know what else to do…”

Marva thinks for a moment and then continues more quietly, “You know, it just occurs to me that I don’t know why I think he can sing. He hasn’t really said anything about himself other than introducing himself as Oflin the Stupendous. For some reason that gave me the idea that he was a performer of some kind.”

She looks Ellora over and adds, “If you don’t mind my asking, what is your profession? I happened to notice you were looking for a guide and you read Druidic. Are you a scholar of some kind yourself? Was there something you sought in the Dale before we got wrapped up in this chwinga chase?”

"No, I'm not saying it's silly, the idea to lure them closer with cutlery is a good one I think, but as you said, I doubt they will be able to see the cutlery from a distance of 300 feet, particularly here in town. Once we get the green light though it might be time to bring forth the cutlery rod" The young white-haired woman says with a friendly and encouraging smile. "And yes, it remains to be seen how the stupendous one has earned his name, but I doubt it is due to his conversational skills." She continues in a lowered voice with an amused smile.

Ellora then seems to hesitate before continuing. "I'm a scribe and a wizards apprentice from Luskan. Admittedly I have no clear objective for my presence here other than general exploration, particularly into the arcane as you might understand, but my stay here is indefinite so I guess I might find myself taking on odd jobs too in order to earn my living, like transporting fish." She finishes with a quick grin to the scholarly dragonborn. "I don't really know druidic though as such, but I have mastered a nifty spell that lets me understand any language, quite useful too. What about you Marva? I understand you are a scholar, but I might have missed where you're from and why you're here?"

Marva seems to stand up straighter as Ellora confirms the value of her cutlery rod and nods her head as the white-haired woman explains her background. “Well, I think we should get along well! I worked for some years at a noble’s library in Neverwinter, learning a little magic from my mentor and getting some training at arms with my lady’s guards. However, all things must change, I suppose, and I lost my position when my mentor died and a new head librarian took over. Since then, I have been working odd jobs, as you say. I came here to deliver that book to Drift, but I don’t have any particular direction now. As I’ve mentioned, the cold doesn’t bother me much and this chwinga-chase will help preserve my coinbag, if we are successful.”

"I guess we just need to try and find the little buggers through trial and error." Olfin suggests. 

"Well, I'm sorry you lost your position Marva, but if you hadn't we wouldn't have met here. I hope we both find an intersting new chapter of our lives in the dale." Ellora says with a warm smile to the erudite dragonborn. "Depending on how this mission goes we might even consider ourselves adventurers, perhaps even solve the great mystery with this endless winter we've heard about. It struck me that the ice dagger murders might be connected to Auril and the endless winter. I'm afraid my own field experience is limited though but hopefully I will pick up a thing or two from our guide." She continues, looking up at the massive golaith with a bright smile. "Not sure I would call them buggers Olfin, in fact they seem rather cute, but otherwise I agree, although I'm confident that if we get the green light we will also be able to catch a chwinga." She says in an optimistic tone.

Dvu has been tagging along, most excited when songs were sung, short as they were.  He was bouncing up and down making the drafty floorboards squeak in protest, but stopped with a chuckle.  He seems most interested when the cutlery was produced and then placed on a fishing pole!  “Fishing for bowl lickers?  Urchins?  Pot bellied Petes?  Hah!  I guess we can see if that’ll lure them, but I don’t think so…”. He crosses his arms and smiles, taking it all in and with amusement.  “No, I think we’re going to have to handle them like you do polar bears.  You ‘neak up on them and kick them in the ice hole!  Hah!”  He chuckles some more and then continues on along the snipe Chwinga hunt.

Dvu smiles down at Ellora, feeling very protective of her, as if he has taken her under his wing.  “Thas right ma’am.  I’ve taken quite a few folks along the trails between towns, here and there, to yon and back.  Can’t say I’ve ever been on a Chwinga hunt.  Things will come along, it is hard to cover everything, my clan showed me much.. I’ll do my best.  I think we just need to be sneaky and careful and thorough - - quickly cover the ground in 300 feet swaths watchin for the green light.  I don’t think they’ll want to sit and eat with us, we’ll have to narf ‘em up in a bag or somethin.”  He looks over at Marva saying “I’ve always heard of Neverwinter, I’ve never seen it.  I plan to go some day.  Heard there were so many lights, so many people!  Maybe I’ll save up enough someday to go… guess it depends on how many Chwingas and fish I can lug about…”. he chuckles to himself then keeps following, curiously peering at the lantern from time to time.   

Month: Hammer, Day: VII, Time: 1130

You leave the dingie Luskan Arms and make your way to the north end of Targos. The wind from the icy lake to your right means you only occasionally look that direction, which is fine since there is little to see but the docks and the breaker wall. On your left, you pass several buildings that have the markings of the Dockworker's Guild and piles of boxes. Compared to Bryn Shander, the drifts against the buildings are deeper here and the paths in the streets narrower. As you pass the Three Flags Sailing tavern, the lantern light flickers briefly to green then returns to yellow. 

As you continue north in the town, the green light grows stronger until it is steady and bright. As you reach the last east-west road in the town before reaching the northern wall, you see a bundled-up figure stomping out of a snow-covered building. Upon seeing you, the figure starts yelling, "it has unfairly cursed me and is playing mean tricks on me!" It is then that you realize that there is an elderly human woman under the pile of clothes. She continues in a voice just short of a shriek, "They be opening me windows, which is sending horrible chills through me little home! They be knocking me cups and plates over, and a few of me cutlery be gone! They be making me mind go round in circles. Ya' gotta stop 'em, please." The lantern is green! 

Dvu starts running, an odd smile on his face, he kneels down to get closer to eye level (not quite) with the "old lady."  "Really?  Who is it?  Who's doing such a thing?  I can get 'em!  Believe you me ma'am, we will help you.  And er um.. maybe you could help us in return?  We just arrived here.. but you clearly need help here - "  He turns to look at the others, giving a knowing smile.  

Marva immediately whips out the cutlery pole. She steps a bit away from the hubbub and towards the side of the woman’s abode. Kneeling quietly, she holds out the utensils and nervously whispers, “Forks are sharp and spoons are round, it’s chwingas we seek: can you be found?” She jingles the utensils a little, trying desperately to think of another rhyme. She turns back to Ophelia and stage whispers, "A little help here? I know you have some poetry in you!"

Owenn (Luskan Arms barkeep):
“Donno nothin’ bout the murder ‘cept Auril don’t mind if we all dead. I’s heard she sometimes shows herself as the Cold Crone. Few have ever seen it an’ lived ta tell the tale, but I’s heard she a tall monstrosity with cloven feet. Ungh, is bad to speak of her but speak of her we must.”

Upon hearing the name 'Auril,' Ophelia falls silent from her soft raving litany, slowly turning her head toward the barkeep, though still gazing slightly upwards with her unfocused lavender eyes.  Transfixed, as if something deep within her has been struck like a bell.  After a time, she resumes her quiet singing, repeating a rhymed refrain she had murmured back in the Northlook the previous day.  Eventually growing fainter and fading away.

"Soon comes the time, all shall be free,
Even Her, and even we.
Soon comes the time when all may die,
Never Her, yet surely I..."

Ellora:  "...perhaps even solve the great mystery with this endless winter we've heard about. It struck me that the ice dagger murders might be connected to Auril and the endless winter..."

As the white-haired woman makes her observation about the possible connection between the murders and Auril and the endless winter, Ophelia's head snaps around, turning to Ellora and this time lowering her gaze to meet her eyes, briefly bordering on lucid again.

"Connected, Aye.  As a snowflake connects to the storm.  Wintry worry rules these towns, and who can blame?  Death by icy dagger perpetuates chilled fear.  It may be a message... a threat, on behalf of implacable cold and the one who weaves it.  Auril?"  Ophelia's voice catches at the name.

"I don’t think they’ll want to sit and eat with us, we’ll have to narf ‘em up in a bag or somethin."

Uncharacteristically, Ophelia giggles and hugs Dvu's arm, thicker than her own waist, as a little sister might.

"An elemental spirit who wishes to remain unseen may remain unseen, or at least may not stay caught.  Perhaps we shall fascinate, not imprison them."

[Marva] turns back to Ophelia and stage whispers, "A little help here? I know you have some poetry in you!"

For a moment, Ophelia appears lost in though as she hears the old woman railing against what must be the playful tricks of the little winter spirits.

What had the other elf said, she tries to recall?  The studious one with the spectacles.  Dannika!  'Chwingas are small elemental spirits... painfully shy and prefer to move about unseen... find the trappings of civilization fascinating...'  How to draw mischievous spirits out of this woman's home?

Leaning down, Ophelia's muddled mind decides to try something to fascinate the Chwingas.  Something she is fairly certain only occurs as part of civilization.  She reaches down with her gloved hands to gather a ball of snow, packs it together, then hurls it as hard as she can at Marva.  Snowball fight!!!

As she bends down to gather another snowball, she dutifully accedes to the dragonborn's request for more poetry.  Singing (multitasking):

"The wintry woods are near I know
This house is in the village though
Yet what's the harm in pausing here
To fill the air with balls of snow

This Targos woman thinks it queer
As spirits ransack baubles dear
Between the walls and lake below
The strangest evening of the year"

The excitement with the young white-haired woman rises along with the intensity of the green light in the magical lantern she is carrying. "That must be it, chwingas no doubt." She says as the elderly woman desperately calls for their assistance. She nods excitedly as Marva and Ophelia starts their attempts to lure the chwinga out in the open. She realizes they have not decided on how to keep it once they catch one and she hopes it will be gently dealt with, particularly by the goliath. Still, they would need to catch it first, and to that end she draws on the weave to create a heap of cutlery and other curios trinkets in the snow outside the house, hoping it might help with making the shy creatures reveal themselves. Hopefully they could communicate with it and convince it to come along freely to their employer.

(Cast minor illusion to aid with the lure)