Icewind Dale: Rime of the Frostmaiden

Tarsakh 23, 1492 DR

Icewind Dale has become trapped in a perpetual winter. Ferocious blizzards make the mountain pass through the Spine of the World exceedingly treacherous, and this land has not felt the warmth of the sun in over two years. In fact, the sun no longer appears above the mountains, not even in what should be the height of summer. In this frozen tundra, darkness and bitter cold reign as king and queen. Most dale residents blame Auril the Frostmaiden, the god of winter’s wrath. The shimmering aurora that weaves across the sky each night is said to be her doing—a potent spell that keeps the sun at bay.

Dalefolk live in a scattering of settlements known as Ten-Towns. The drop-off in caravans coming from the south and travel between settlements in this never-ending winter has left everyone feeling isolated. Although each town has resolved to appease the Frostmaiden with sacrifices of one kind or another, no respite from winter’s fury seems forthcoming. For adventurers such as yourselves, Ten-Towns is a place to test one’s mettle and, in the spirit of heroes who have come before, leave one’s mark on this frigid, blighted land.

It’s freezing outside this afternoon, but the interior of Bryn Shander's Northlook Tavern is, thankfully, a little warmer. The Northlook is an adventurer’s best spot to find a little warmth, a mug of something hot, and the latest rumors from Ten-Towns and the rest of the Dale. In more stable seasonal conditions, this place would be full of mercenaries and sellswords relaxing between jobs or getting ready to go on their next one. But thanks to the Everlasting Rime, as locals have taken to calling this endless winter, things are much slower. Few travelers brave the pass in the Spine of the World to get to the Dale these days, and as a result, only a small handful of adventuring types and locals are giving the place patronage.

You are one such adventurous soul. Whatever brought you to the Dale, be it guilt, gold, or glory, you find yourself waiting for the next lead that could give you enough to survive for another tenday, maybe two if you’re lucky. But in the Dale, people do what they must to survive - a fact only further compounded by the relentless Rime. For now, describe yourself, your appearance, your attitude. What are you doing in the Northlook?

Orixian grasps a mug of mulled cider, grateful for the extra bit warmth even as he sits near the fireplace. Growing up in Mirabar, he thought he knew the cold, but Icewind Dale is unlike anything he could have expected. He looks around the room, seeing who else might be staying warm and away from the Everlasting Rime. Then he stops and his vision unfocuses as he mumbles to himself, "Rime and rhyme. Is that coincidence? Seems strange if it is. And despite the sound, they don't actually rhyme. Hah!" He shakes his head and little and smiles as he looks around him once more.

Calid Peshka is young woman 21 years old this winter. She wears a heavy cloak made of thick fabric and wolf hide. Underneath is leather armor with a wooden shield slung on her back and scimitar at her hip. She has on a mute brown coat under the armor and thick woolen trousers with leather boots. Wisps of flames occasionally runs along the length of her red hair. She stares into the fireplace with a light in her eyes that shines with a fire of her own. Somber thoughts of this everlasting rime fill her mind and thoughts of her mother now many years gone. To where Calid does not know. Is it Auril that is causing this everlasting winter? If it is I need to find a way to save my home. Lofty goals for a penniless lass. Dad should be fine for a while as he is a tried a true huntsman. Ugh... Damn I need coin and a lot of it. She looks around the Inn and gives some of the patrons a weak smile in hopes one of them has a job. I should be cooking and running my eatery, but with no supplies beyond fish and what Dad can hunt. Its not much of a eatery. More like a butchery.

His forge off for the night, Unburdened has a mostly-ignored mug of mead at his table while he is writing down some ideas in a notebook. From someone looking over his shoulder it looks like a mess of Common and Infernal characters.

He's been in the area long enough to know the cold, but still not get used to it. But, the problem seems to be getting worse and it's beginning to affect his work, mostly because the cold is making some of his smaller pieces cool to quickly before could properly quench them.

For those who can read Infernal able to take a peek at his scribblings:

"Wouldn't be surprised if fire freezes at this point," he says out loud to no-one in particular.

Most of the times the door to the Northlook opens he steals a quick look. Other times, he is too absorbed in his own thoughts.

Hood pulled up, several layers of gloves, and a hot cup of cocoa aren't enough to warm Oona's body. By the look on her face, you could imagine icicles forming on her ears she seemed so cold. She drank her mug, but despite the sweetness and warmth, her expression remained completely discontented. "How the hells have I been here for months and I'm still freezing my damn ass off..." She grumbles to herself, not caring who was near enough to hear her complain about the weather. 

Nothing about her said adventurer, so she stuck out like a sore thumb. 

Calid snaps out of her reverie and sees the shivering Oona. She gets up and takes a seat next to Oona. "Well met I am Calid Peshka. I don't mean to be too personal but at least near me you will be warmer." says Calid.

All her hair light up into flames and gently moves as if there is a breeze.

With starry eyes, Oona gasps as Calid's hair lights up. The warmth coming from the other woman excites Oona beyond just practical reasons. "A-Are you a genasi?? My goodness, I've not met someone of the fire lineage before!" The elf's attention wraps around Calid completely. "My name is Oona, please to make your acquaintance! D-Do you mind me asking -- do you enjoy the weather here? Or do you find it just as loathsome as I do?"

"Yes I am fire genasi. I am not as strong as my mother so yes this weather is loathsome. I just can bear with it better than some.  I cannot wait to see summer again. I wonder Oona, what are you doing here in Bryn Shander?" asks Calid Peshka.

Currently, in one of his more idle moments, Unburdened cannot help, but eavesdrop in on this conversation. His posture perking up, slightly, in involuntary response. The din of this tavern is somewhat more than light, mostly because most folk are concentrating more on warming up. But, the energy of the young lass, Oona, seems to penetrate it.

"M-Me? Oh! I'm... studying. This whole eternal winter thing is, for lack of better words, terrifying." Oona looks to the floor, thinking. "It's not everyday the weather decides to settle in and never depart. It's curious to see, and... I simply want to know more about it."

"So you here for the weather. Do you also think its due to Auril the Frostmaiden?" asks Calid as she is genuinely interested as to the cause of the everlasting rime.

A young woman who looks to be in her late 20s sits on an armchair at the corner of the (relatively) warm room, as she seems to have done for the last several hours, maybe several days, wide-eyed staring at the old heavy tome on her lap, utterly lost in whatever is relayed through those words. At some point, trying to use her cold numb fingers to turn a page and failing, she finally snaps back from the book, rubbing her hands together and blowing on them trying to warm them up as she eyes the others and the conversations springing up around her, seemingly at last to take note of their presence, muttering to herself "Dawn's grace! How many hours has it been...?" as her stomach grumbles and she quickly reaches for a discarded half of buttered bread she forgot to finish since this morning—likely stone cold by now.

She pulls closer the winter coat covering her amber and black priestly garments underneath, rubbing her arms and trying to fight away the cold, moving closer to the fireplace. She happens to walk close to Calid and Oona as they converse, "You actually came here for this?" she scoffs and shakes her head, "Didn't think fools such as myself would be in such ready supply." she smiles hoping the slight insult didn't offend and bowed slightly to the two "Dawngreeter Solvail, pleased. Though my research leans more on the divine matter she mentioned." the woman's eyes look severe and tired, but her demeanor and expression transpire softness.

At the table next to Oona and Calid's own table, with her back towards them, sits a young half-elf. She wears clothes fit for hunting in the arctic tundra, as well as a blue woolen scarf around her neck, leather armor and archer gloves. At her waist a dagger and what looks like a short spear can be seen, while on the chair next to her is an old long bow and a quiver of arrows. Her light brown hair is braided, reaching the base of her spine. 

Silvie is holding a mug of hot chocolate in her hands, glazed over blue eyes looking more in the direction of the mug than actually at it, when the conversation at the table next to her brings her out of her thoughts. Usually she would be content just to listen, but the faces of the hungry families she just gave some meat to this morning come to mind and an uncomfortable feeling turns her stomach. She turns, and while massaging the back of her neck with one hand asks Solvail, "And does that research of yours tell you how can the Dale be brought out from under The Frostmaiden's thumb?" She looks down then, her hand coming to rest in her lap. "Cuz I'm not sure that the Ten Towns will survive another year of this."

A tall half-elf covered up to his head in furs enters the tavern and without looking at anyone in particular, walks straight to the fireplace. He stays there for a couple of minutes, just enjoying the warmth and when he feels he's recovered a little bit from the outside cold, he begins to remove the cold weather garments. 

(art by dealunart)

Ciaran looks around 30 years old - in human standards - and he's got long raven-black hair, hazel eyes and the looks of someone who just doesn't want to be there. He's clearly not happy, but doesn't complain either. Not about the damned weather, not about the lack of sun. Not about anything. He just sighs a little, and already free from his furs, stays near the fire a little longer before realizing there's a lot of new faces in the tavern he's never met before, and also a couple of persons he's already met. There is Solvail, the cleric, and Unburdened. He greets them with a slight nod of his head, orders something hot to eat and an ale, and then sits next to Unburdened. Not that the tiefling is a friend or anything - he lost all of those when he was banished from Waterdeep - but he's definitly the person he's spoken to the most since arriving in the Dale.

- Greetings - he says to everyone gathered there. Not adding anything else, he proceeds to eat and drink. After he's done, he grabs his glaive and begins tending to it. In this cold weather one has to take extra care if you don't want weapons to degrade very quickly.  

"W-Well, uh," Oona begins to speak softly, caught off guard by a couple more strangers joining the conversation. That was the problem with adventurers... they were too friendly! Or, sometimes the opposite, and too rude. "I think it's the Frostmaiden, and, I-I'd like to know the magics behind it... Y-You know, like, what sort of enchantment did she cast? O-Or is it... y'know... raw power. I'd really prefer it be the former, because if it's the latter..." Oona trails off in thought.

Unburdened regards Ciaran with a simple nod.

Turning back to the conversation, he cannot help but insert himself, saying, "The magic of a goddess? That's quite the subject. I'm curious, what do you hope to gain with that knowledge?"

Solvail shrugs and takes another loud cracking bite at her rock-hard stale bread, "I wouldn't doubt a goddess as..." she looks around briefly and turns her voice to a whisper before continuing "petty as the Frostmaiden to be capable of just that." she sighs and munches, absently gripping the large tome at her side, "The specifics of the enchantment she might be using is another matter entirely, though. I doubt the powers of literal deities to be a matter for the simple interpretation by us mortals."

 Orixian listens as the strangers begin to chat. Some of them seem familiar, likely people he's seen on his odd jobs. But when mention of investigating weather and divine influence arises, his curiosity gets the better of him. He's not subtle as he watches the others, but hesitates before barging in to the conversation. After all, tyhese seem to be people with the experience and education of looking into phenomena like this, and he's just someone who has strange dreams.

His brow lifts as something occurs to him, though, and he rises, making his way to the bar. He requests a sizable tureen of stew and a few loaves of bread. He loads up a tray and brings them over to the group. "Pardon my intrusion, but I'm mighty keen to hear more of what you're speaking about. Help yourself to some food, as well. I insist."

The group sees a tall man still young in the face, but with kind eyes and a gentle smile as he offers the food. His ears, just visible beneath the tangle of brown hair clearly indicate some elven heritage, though his jawline is much closer to the stocky features of northern humans. His voice is a firm tenor, and holds just a whisper of an accent that seems strangely at odds with his appearance.

Ciaran has finished working on his glaive and is now just listening closely to the curious bunch of strangers. Investigating the enternal cold is definitely none of his business, but if this can lead to learning about the disappearance of the members of the Dale harper cell ... well... then he has to look into it. He owes his late friend Gwaine that much. That, and investigate that damned Ravisin who was responsible for his murder. 

So with this in mind, he pays close attention, and as he sets the glaive aside carefully, he asks:

- So, is this all why you are here? To investigate the Eternal Winter? - he raises an eyebrow - I find it hard to believe that anyone would wish to come to this hellhole of their own accord. But I guess stranger things have happened.

Orixian looks up and tries to answer, only to realize he has a mouthful of stew-soaked bread. He manages to choke it down before wiping off his mouth and saying, "Well, I'm not here specifically because of that. I came west because I kept having dreams of this place, despite never having been here." He raises a quick hand in greeting. "I'm Orixian Liadon. Ori if you don't want to waste all that breath," he says with a grin.