BE7s Frozen Sick (IC)

“Yeah… several folk have already died with this disease.  We’ve been tracking it, wanted to warn you before that got out.  Have you seen any blue fluid, blue vials, some substance that felt unnaturally cold?  Believe you me, you do not want any part of this material, it’ll kill ya deader than dead.  Ask ole Urgon… oh, that’s right, because he’s dead!”  Torvil interjects and tries to add strength and warning to the cautionary tale that Kitsune is weaving.  

The men pale visably at Kitsune's description of the blue vials.  Irven reaches into a pack lying on the floor, producing a small, leather wrapped package, tied neatly with a blue ribbon.  He placed it on the table with a hand that shook slightly.  "We bought one blue glass vial from a dwarf we met along the road.  We have all handled it!" he says in a harsh whisper, his thin fist clenching with visible agitation.  

Another hand reaches over the table to cover that of Ivren.  Fenton calmed, quieted, and reassured his husband with a slight gesture and compassionate smile.  "The vial has remained sealed," he said softly.  "We assumed the strange blue glass vial may contain something valuable, indeed magical as it was cold to the touch.  We never considered that it could be dangerous.  Please, take it.  Perhaps it will be valuable in finding a cure."

Quote from Began772003 >>

A rush of warmth spills out as you open the door to the Yawning Yeti—woodsmoke, wet wool, and the rich, savory scent of stew that’s been simmering since midday. Boots thump on scarred oak floors, cloaks steam as they’re shrugged off, and laughter crackles louder than the fire in the hearth.  

Behind the bar, casks of dark ale rest like old friends, their contents poured generously into thick mugs that warm the hands as much as the spirit. The ale is malty and deep, with just enough bitterness to cut through the cold, and it goes perfectly with the inn’s pride: a hearty stew brimming with root vegetables, barley, and tender chunks of meat that fall apart at the touch of a spoon. Locals crowd the long tables, trading rumors and dice games, while travelers thaw out and realize—often with a sigh—that they’ve found the safest place in the village to wait out the winter. Outside, the wind howls and snow drifts higher, but in here there is food, drink, and the simple comfort of being warm.

The proprietor of the Yawning Yeti, Tharron Flintaxe, stands a dwarf among dwarves.  He is slightly taller than the average bearded folk, broad as a barn wall, and sported a belly that said in no uncertain terms I enjoy my own brewing and cooking skills immensely.  His hair, and beard which he had braded and tucked behind his apron, were streaked with gray, and his eyes seemed both welcoming and observant.  When you mention Elro's name his smile widens and he has a pitcher and mugs on your table before you could even get settled in.  When the steaming bowls of stew are served you find to your pleasure that the stew lives up to it's reputation.  

As your dishes are cleared, Elro joins you.  A second pitcher of ale soon follows.  When the initial pleasantries have been exchanged, Elro's demeanor becomes more serious. He leans in slightly, speaking to you all in a voice that cannot be overheard by the other patrons. You have my gratitude for agreeing to meet.  The Glassblades are reliable and talented defenders, but they lack the keen eye and social graces needed to conduct a proper and thorough investigation.  The people are uneasy, and we do not need fear gripping our community.  As you would guess, the loss of a seasoned adventurer in such an odd manor has the local lips flapping. This is what I know.  Two months ago, Urgon Wenth returned home after exploring Eiselcross for a year. He had been back for only for a few days when he came down with a strange affliction, which made the dwarf move slowly and caused blue veins to appear all over his body.  The village’s priests of Moradin and Corellon used every spell they could muster to attempt to heal Urgon, but nothing they tried could stop the bizarre malady. Urgon battled the affliction for weeks, until his ever-slowing body eventually turned to ice.  Until yesterday, I and the rest of the community believed that Urgon’s sad fate was an isolated incident, most likely caused by something the dwarf came into contact with while exploring Eiselcross. Then I noticed Tulgi Lutan, a dwarf trapper, showing signs of the same illness.  I can offer you 100 gold pieces if you can find the cause of poor Urgon's demise. 

 

Kitsune lets out a quiet breath of relief, her eyes fixed on the leather bundle.  "The fact that it stayed sealed means you likely saved your family" she says in a sharp whisper, carefully sliding the package into her pack without breaking the ribbon.  "We are taking this straight to Elro and the village priests so they can safely find a cure.  Thank you for your honesty, gentlemen...you've done Palebank a great service."