BE7s Frozen Sick (IC)

Along the cold shore of the Frigid Depths, Palebank Village marks the first surviving Uthodurn outpost beyond the mountains. The settlement is situated against the low cliff boundary of the Crystalsands Tundra, just north of the Flotket Alps. The denizens of Palebank often take to ice fishing, trapping, or hunting, returning in small caravans to Uthodurn to sell their wares and restock their supplies. Territorial monsters wander close to the village, so rotating squads of Glassblades are assigned to protect the people. The small docks have been recently expanded to accommodate the increased interest in heading northwest toward Eiselcross. Palebank has become a launching point for northern expeditions, leading to growing trade and a pressing need for more inns.

Snow gently falls from the sky and wind bites your cheeks as you stand in the graveyard of Palebank Village, a fishing outpost of Uthodurn that is home to several hundred dwarves and elves. The sun is low in the sky, sinking behind the fresh grave of Urgon Wenth, an old dwarf who caught a curse or disease that turned him into an ice statue. The folk of the village have gathered to pay their final respects to Urgon’s frozen remains.

***OoC: Character introductions will be done in the OoC message thread.  When we start, we will hit the ground running.***

What you know...

Palebank is a somewhat run-down village in a climate that is wintry year-round.  Defense structures include four watchtowers and a ten-foot-tall enclosure made of sharpened logs.  The village is otherwise comprised of over a hundred small buildings.  It is too small to have split into separate neighborhoods, so the layout of the town is somewhat haphazard, consisting of a large roughly circular main road and smaller streets and alleys breaking up the canter.  The narrow streets are muddy and slushy with piles of slow pushed to the edges against the rickety, rustic buildings.  There is a large meeting hall decorated with curling tusks over the door and a sign reading "Winter's Wind Lodge."

Demographics:  Palebank Village has a population of 690, the majority of the citizens are dwarves, 32% are elves, 3% are gnomes, and 4% are various other races. 

Government: Palebank Village is led and governed by Elro Adlatur, an elven ranger and the village's founder and appointed leader.  He is assisted by by a close knit group of trusted individuals to whom he has delegated various responsibilities.  The village is defended by approximately eighty Glassblades; a military and ranger force that guard, hunt, and watch over the perimeter of Uthodrun.  They can be identified by their all green attire. 

Within the Village, two temples can be found.  One serves the Arch Heart (Corellon), and the other is devoted to the All-Hammer (Moradin). 

Along with the other folk of the village, you have gathered at the graveyard.  Many dwarves have come to pay their respects, but so too have numerous elves, a few gnomes, and three human hunters.  The people talk in hushed whispers, clearly shaken up by the unusual condition of the deceased adventurer.  Within the coffin lies not the flesh and bone of a dwarf, but a dwarf made entirely of ice!  Whatever happened to poor Urgon Wenth resulted in his demise and transformation into an ice sculpture.  

As the sun begins to set, a gruff voice speaks softly from behind you.  

Thank you for attending Urgon' service.

You turn to meet the gaze of Elro Aldatur, a weathered elf, retired ranger, and the leader of the village.  

I am sorry to speak of dark tidings under such circumstances, but I believe that Palebank Village might be in danger, and I'm hoping you can help us.  Please meet me at the Yawning Yeti Inn this evening if you can.  We can discuss the matter over a warm meal and a cold ale if you are interested. 

A dwarf made of ice?  That’s physically impossible without a magical catalyst or extreme atmospheric pressure.

Kitsune isn't sad...she’s morbidly fascinated by the frozen corpse lying in the coffin.

She pulls a small glass jar from her pack, holding it near the coffin to capture the air around the body.  After quickly closing the lid, she intensely studies it in the light, before quickly stuffing it back into her pack. (Investigation: 14)

When Elro speaks, she turns with an intense, unblinking stare and a sharp professional nod.  "I’m coming.  I have questions about the melting point of his skin" she says, her voice flat.  She starts walking toward the Inn, her jars rattling loudly.  "Also, I hope there is soup.  Research is hungry work."

Kitsune is a petite, 4’9” young woman with striking alabaster skin and wild, raven-black hair that contrasts with her calm, silvery eyes.  She offers a small, awkward smile that doesn't quite reach her intense gaze, while her many specimen jars clink softly against her earthy-toned traveler's gear.

Torvil “Wolfun” Greattoe, a stout dwarf in a chain shirt and a warm traveler’s cloak turns and gives a quick side eye at Kitsune, then turns to face the elven leader of the town.  “Elro.  Heard o’ ya.  Yes, I’d like to meet you at the inn later.  A warm meal to stick to the ribs sounds good.  Be glad to help here, thas why I’m here.  Any idea of what manner of magic or whathaveyou froze him solid as a brick of ice?  Ain’t natural.  Something foul at work here.  I’d like to hear your thoughts.  Hggrh.   An find him some justice.”  Torvil nods at the elf and slaps his hands together in a form, nodding then turning toward the frozen dwarf, bowing his head and saying some unintelligible words under his breath, pointing his hands in his direction.  Then he opens his eyes and listens to Kitsune nerd out over the freezing and melting point of dwarfs, he rolls his eyes quickly toward the sky then looks at her with a smile, curious to see where her strange speriments will lead..

 ***OoC: read with passive perception over 12***

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 ***OoC: read with passive insight over 12***

As Vayne gets into town dragging my feet exhausted and cold, I start to see a mass group of people in the center of town. “ what is going on here……” I say to my self with my teeth chattering.  As he get closer he see it’s a funeral and many people mourning. Then I see him an entire ice cube. I slowly make my way forward and say some quiet words of prayer near the body absolutely astonished… As step away I notice a someone walking away muttering. Then I notice as a dwarves are starting to seem up set. Not sad but angry I hurry next to this stranger to try to warn her of her what is unknown disturbance of the people…. “Mam” I whisper MaM I whisper again MAM! I say as approach her and say quietly i am not sure what was just muttered but I believe you may have spoken a little to loud with that last sentence we should move to the inn” as the cold is now making me shiver uncontrollably as I slowly lock arms with her.

The locals are emitting high-frequency vocalizations of discontent.  My inquiry into the melting point was interpreted as a violation of their mourning ritual.  Kitsune realizes her mistake, though it feels like translating a foreign language she hasn't quite mastered.

Before letting Vayne lead her away, she pauses and turns back toward the scowling dwarves.  She gives a deep, stiff bow—the kind one might use for a high-ranking professor—and pats one of her specimen jars as if it were a sacred relic.

"I apologize.  My curiosity was...tactless" she says, raising her reverent voice just enough for the grumbling dwarves to hear.  "Urgon Wenth is a magnificent specimen of dwarven resilience.  I only wish to ensure his condition is documented so others do not share his...frozen fate."

She turns back to Wolfun and the new-comer Vayne, her expression still studious.  "There.  Social harmony restored.  Now, let us find the soup."

OOC: Kitsune is a Shadar Kai, a species tied to the Shadowfell.  Since her race is effectively immortal and view the transition of death as a natural, almost mundane part of their existence, she lacks the "mortal panic" or traditional grief others feel.  To her, Urgon isn't a tragedy to be mourned—he's a fascinating scientific phenomenon to be understood (and story to collect and return back to her queen, the Raven Queen)!  She’s trying to be respectful, but her social software is definitely running on a different operating system!

Quote from o_Merlin_o >>

The locals are emitting high-frequency vocalizations of discontent.  My inquiry into the melting point was interpreted as a violation of their mourning ritual.  Kitsune realizes her mistake, though it feels like translating a foreign language she hasn't quite mastered.

Before letting Vayne lead her away, she pauses and turns back toward the scowling dwarves.  She gives a deep, stiff bow—the kind one might use for a high-ranking professor—and pats one of her specimen jars as if it were a sacred relic.

"I apologize.  My curiosity was...tactless" she says, raising her reverent voice just enough for the grumbling dwarves to hear.  "Urgon Wenth is a magnificent specimen of dwarven resilience.  I only wish to ensure his condition is documented so others do not share his...frozen fate."

She turns back to Wolfun and the new-comer Vayne, her expression still studious.  "There.  Social harmony restored.  Now, let us find the soup."

 

OOC: Kitsune is a Shadar Kai, a species tied to the Shadowfell.  Since her race is effectively immortal and view the transition of death as a natural, almost mundane part of their existence, she lacks the "mortal panic" or traditional grief others feel.  To her, Urgon isn't a tragedy to be mourned—he's a fascinating scientific phenomenon to be understood (and story to collect and return back to her queen, the Raven Queen)!  She’s trying to be respectful, but her social software is definitely running on a different operating system!

 ***And role-played masterfully!  She did what she does, and the dwarves reacted as they would to an "outsider" in a delicate situation.  No need to explain your characters actions unless it is part of your post, like a peek into her mind through self chatter.  ***

Torvil shrugs his shoulders and looks at Vayne, holding his hands palm up.  “Don’t mind her.  Thas what she’s like.  You shoulda heard some of our conversations after she has a few ales in her.  How much fluid an average eyeball contains and so forth.  How much water you can infuse with a tube into a bladder.  Sheesh!  Trust me, don’t go there.  But… she grows on ya.  An she means well.  Just isn’t familiar with normal dwarven.. human… tiefling norms of communication.  Ah shoot.  Let’s go have somothat soup whatchasay?  Name’s Torvil, by the way.  Torvil Greattoe.  I come from a long line of Greattoes.  But my friends call me Wolfun.  Maybe if we help each other solve this mystery of the frozen one on that burial bier, you'll be callin' me that.  Whas your name then?"  

As Akira approaches the small ceremony she hears the commotion and tries to evade it. Seeing the frozen body a few rows of people in front of her she stands in utter bewilderment. “How could a brilliant and astonishing and accomplished Dwarf such as Urgon Wenth fall to such a peculiar state?” I thought to myself. I start to chat a very short and sweet Dwarvin prayer that I was taught a long time ago. A few heads turn in shock to see that a drow would know Dwarvish and as I arise to finish my prayers and walk away, a few of the fellow dwarves beside me link arms with me and finish the prayers with me. As we all begin to wipe tears from our eyes I hear and see this tall man to what I assume is a Teifling yelling at a woman and her muttering something about soup. Since I tire from my long journey and am starting to get a little cold myself, I follow this rag tag group of travelers in hopes to have some soup myself and see what all the commotion was about. 

The group of dwarves lose their bluster when confronted with an apology.  Grieving in their own way, they move back towards the the frozen statue that once was Urgon Wenth.  Quickly their attention is drawn into the gathering group of Urgon's closest friends.  As you begin to walk towards the village proper, deep dwarven voices are carried on the wind.  Together they sing of battles and glorious deeds, recount stories of the departed, and of the Great Feast that surely awaited Urgon at Moradin's table. 

The walk back to the Yawning Yeti was not long.  As your group neared the inn, Elro politely excused himself.  Please forgive me, but I have a few small matters that demand my attention.  Please tell the proprietor, Tharron Flintaxe, that I will be joining you.  Enjoy a pitcher of Tharron's fine ale while you wait, I will rejoin you presently."  With that, the retired ranger turned politician of sorts, pulled his cloak tight around his neck and headed towards his home and office.  Even in his post adventuring years, the wood elf still moved with remarkable grace, his soft, wool-lined leather boots making barely a whisper of sound.

The warm glow of candles in the windows marked the Yawning Yeti from a distance.  As you approach, you see it nestled along a snow-covered lane, it’s a cozy two-story building of warm stone and timber, with a steeply sloped roof blanketed in fresh white snow. Soft golden light spills from the mullioned windows, casting a welcoming glow that cuts through the crisp bite of the evening air.  A wisp of smoke curls lazily from the chimney, carrying the scent of burning pine and oak. Outside, an old wooden sign creaks gently in the wind, hand-painted with the inn’s name—The Yawing Yeti and the image of a fearsome beast, jaws parted into a giant yawn. 

As you pause to look at the sign and take in the rustic charm of the place, a pair of broad shouldered dwarves, looking even broader bundled up in heavy furs, makes their way past you to the door of the inn.  As one pulls the handle, he catches a glance at Akira's face.  He pauses for a moment, locking eyes with her, his own partially hidden beneath thick, frost spotted eyebrows.  He brings his right hand up, making a fist and holding it before his heart.  He offers a nod her way before disappearing into the inn.  As the door closes you hear: 'Bout durn'd time!  Ye dun let half da tundra inside!  Good natured laughter rang out, cut short by the closing door.

Akira recognized the dwarves from the funeral.  The were among those who shared in her prayer.

Wolfun’s comment about eyeball fluids is factually accurate—it was a fascinating conversation—but Kitsune is currently more preoccupied with the way the tavern’s heat makes the blue dust in her jar shimmer.  She finds the Drow, Akira, equally interesting; the Shadowfell and the Underdark rarely meet in such a domestic setting as a random inn in a backwater town.  She decides that this group represents a statistically significant increase in the likelihood of survival for her upcoming research.

She allows Vayne to lead her to a table, her movements slightly stiff as she adjusts to the sudden warmth.  She carefully places her labeled specimen jar on the wooden surface, positioned exactly between her bowl of stew and the center of the table so she can monitor both.

"I am Kitsune Narisu" she says, her voice regaining its steady, clinical rhythm as she looks at the Tiefling and the Drow.  "I specialize in the retrieval of lost information and the analysis of biological anomalies.  Wolfun is correct—I do not prioritize social norms when there is data to be collected.  For example, the blue dust in this jar is currently my primary focus, but I am also aware that we are expected to consume this liquid nourishment before Elro returns." (OOC: I keep on typing "Elmo" and have to go back and fix that before posting!)  She picks up her spoon, though her eyes remain fixed on the blue crystals in the jar.  "Vayne.  Akira.  Your presence here suggests a shared interest in Urgon’s condition.  Did either of you notice if anyone attending the funeral was...suspicious?"

***Feel free to add conversation along the way.  You are all currently parked in front of the inn, admiring the lovely, hand-painted sign crafted by BEAI7 enterprises.  If you didn't catch it, there is a pic of the inn [spoilered] in post #6.  ***

***Typing overlap there Merlin.  You beat me to the post!***

"Tharron!  Les have sommothat ale to go with this soup.   ****Brrrraaaap!****   Howsa!?  Whoa, this soup is repeatin' on me its so good!  Hah!"  The dwarf lets out a spirited guttural belch, then looks up with a meek *Excuse me!* to Kitsune, who has gotten used to his enjoyment of food and ale by now, with auditory outbursts as such being customary among his dwarvish kin.  

"I tella what I saw from my vantage point..."  Torvil lets you know in no uncertain terms that there is very little that could stop him from letting you know what he was thinking.  "I saw a buncha dwarves whisperin' around, tip toein and mippy moppin' around insteada just comin' out and saying what they mean.  Havin a real conversation about what really happened to the poor frozen bastard."  *mug fills up again*  "Iddn't that right?  And then ole Elro fearin for the whole village like.  Well, wouldn't itta been better that he came right out ta say what he was in a hizzy fit about?  Thas what I'm sayin'."  Torvil nods to confirm his own supposition.  Becoming more and more convinced that he's right that something was sus.  He slurps away on his soup, getting full enjoyment.  

Merlin

Kitsune stares at the bottom of her jar.  The shimmering crystals have vanished into a dull, mundane puddle of water.  Her expression doesn't change, but she tightens the lid with a sharp, clinical twist.  The data was a false positive; atmospheric moisture, not a magical pathogen.  She moves the blue dust theory from the inbox to the trash bin inside her mental checklist.

She ignores Wolfun’s belch, though she does make a mental note of the soup’s apparent gas-producing properties.  She looks at the dwarf, her eyes reflecting the flickering candlelight of the inn.  "The sample was merely frozen precipitation.  A disappointing variable" she says, finally taking a spoon of her soup.  She looks between Wolfun, Vayne, and Akira.  "However, Wolfun is correct.  The mippy mopping of the locals suggests a social contagion...fear.  Elmo's Elro’s reticence is also a data point.  If he is fearing for the village, then Urgon’s condition is likely a harbinger of a larger-scale biological or magical event."

She sets her spoon down and looks toward the door where the Mayor is expected.  "If the air and the ice offer no immediate answers, we must investigate the source.  We need to know where Urgon was before he became a statue.  Perhaps, after interviewing the Mayor, we should inspect Urgon's home?"