The wind and snow follow you through the doors of The Northlook inn and tavern in the largest town in Ten-Towns, Bryn Shander. The now-familiar face of Ol' Bitey looks down upon you and the other people in this refuge from the ever-present weather. Scramsax, the proprietor, only looks up from pouring another draft of ale if the door stays open too long.
In addition to the usual assortment of people who have decided that it is time for a drink, you spot three very different groups in the Inn. A group of three frostbitten dwarfs huddle in one corner, arguing over some business deal gone bad. A solitary dwarf nurses a drink as she looks intently at you and every other potential adventurer who walks in, possibly measuring their worth. And a bundled-up elf with spectacles is bustling about, going from table to table before shaking her head and moving on.
You wisely close the door and move into the Inn...
(OOC - please take this opportunity to introduce your character and role play.)
Into the Northlook inn and tavern steps a young white-haired woman dessed in a white cloak over white and brown winter clothes, seeming fairly well equipped for the cold climate but the awkward way she tries to stomp off the snow from her boots by the door reveals she is a newcomer to the dale. She firmly closes the door behind her and looks around the taproom with purpose and determination, making note of the people there before walking over to the bar.
"Excuse me good sir, I would like to order a pot of tea if you have it, and perhaps some soup. Also, do you have any rooms, I just arrived and need somewhere to stay." She says with a polite tone and a friendly smile to the proprietor as he finishes with the ale drafting. "Oh, and also, do you have anyone here that knows their way around the dales, I have some business here and would require a guide." She continues after a moment, trying her best to seem calm and confident.
The young woman might notice a young dragonborn sitting alone at a table off to the side with a steaming bowl of stew, plate of bread, and a tankard of ale. The dragonborn has silver scales, deep blue eyes, and white hair pulled into a bun. She looks up from reading a small book to observe the new customer. Should said customer make eye contact, the dragonborn would give a friendly nod and then self-consciously return to her book and her meal. Every once in a while, she looks around the room and sighs.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Marva Stormavendrien - Level 1 Cleric - Rime of the Frostmaiden
As the words are wafting toward Scramsax, another cold draft comes in the door. The sound of louder stamping then heavier footfalls walks closer. The young woman senses rather than sees or feels a significant presence behind her, listening patiently. There is the sound of a couple of large knuckles cracking for a moment, then the sound of hands rubbing together. He waits for her to finish, then a low-pitched *ahem* comes from behind her, trying his best not to startle her.
A large Goliath wearing a dark green/gray cloak and cold-weather gear stands behind her with a smile on his face, trying his hardest to look unopposing, stooping his head low in an effort to make himself look smaller. "You need a guide, ma'am? That's wise, these are rough parts. M'name's Dvu, ma'aam. Dvu Doulas, and I've worked as a guide for quite a while.. perhaps we could discuss your... ah... business and see if we could help each other. Dak ru'sen.. you've come to the Dale in a cold part of the year, and it just seems to keep getting colder." Dvu looks up at Scramsax, saying slowly "I'd like a bowl of your soup as well. Make it a big bowl, if'n you have one." He turns back to the woman. "Want to grab a table and discuss?" He gestures toward a table in the middle of the room, stopping short when he sees the dragonborn looking their way, tilting his head sideways.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
It takes a moment for the young white-haired woman to take in all what she sees as she turns to face the massive Goliath now joining her at the bar. She had never seen one before but she had certainly heard about them, even read that they were more prevalent in the dale and she could easily imagine they were less bothered by the harsh climate than someone like her. As the rumbling voice suggests grabbing a table she briefly imagines the Goliath actually grabbing one and easily lifting it to place it by the bar.
"Oh...um...yes, how nice of you..." She starts a bit unsure how to address someone like this, but again she fairly quickly regains her composure and returns to her more confident self. "And good to meet you...um...Dvu Doulas. I am Ellora, and yes I am in need of a guide to the dale." She continues with a friendly smile as she looks up at the much larger Goliath, ready to follow him to a suitable table as soon as the proprietor had handled her requests. "Not sure what I could possibly help you with though Dvu, but I'm happy to listen to what you had in mind."
The door to the inn swings open wildly with the wind. Cold air blowing through the door and chilling those nearby. In stumbles a Silver Dragonborn. He fumbles for the door and struggles to close it. He brushes off the snow and then, finally becoming aware of the eyes on him, turns and does a deep bow, mutteringhis name, not knowing if it's wise to give that out yet.
He walks over to the bar and asks "What's the special for the day?"
Barely has the door shut when it swings open again, letting in the chill wind.
A man, human, with a weathered face and a knotted, long beard that ages him steps in even as the silver dragonborn is reaching the bar. He wears a thick leather armor, riveted and stitched together with a fur lining on both sides. A heavy overcloak sits on his shoulders, and a tall hat fashioned out of some small Dale animal sits on his head. He squeezes the snow from his beard, sweeps his cloak open and tips flakes of frost to the side of the door. He rubs his red nose with one gloved hand and looks around for a long moment before he makes to move in.
"Hot one out there today," he says, gruffly, to Scramsax, as he reaches the bar. He takes a tall stool and sits on it without acknowledging anyone else who might have been reaching for it. He has the easy manner of someone who has been here several times before, but not the welcome of someone who has come here all their life. As he sits and moves his cloak aside, you might see that he carries a messenger bag at his side, and some mapscroll cases, and various small complex tools hang from his hip in a complicated arrangement.
"What's it for usual board and bread today, then, and don't suppose you've had anyone say they need the services of a cartographer and guide so I can afford it?"
Not expecting much in the way of a response from Scramsax, his eyes flicker around the inn's common room, and come to rest on the arguing dwarves. "What's happening with them?" he asks quietly.
Scramsax grumbles to no one in particular, "What is the, a bleedin' parade?" Taking a look up, he addresses the various newcomers.
To Ellora, "Ye want tea? Ye will get your tea for 5cp, just like she did," pointing at the solitary silvery dragonborn reading a book at a table. "An' we wouldnna be much of an inn without a room. You get the stables for 7cp (squalid), a sheet in the common room for 1sp (poor), or a mattress in a semi-private room for 5sp (modest)."
To Dvu, "One big bowl of soup coming up. Itsa got bread and cheese on the side, but donna expect any fancy garnish here. (modest) 3sp for the lady and 5sp for you, be accounts of ye size."
To Olfin, "Everything here is special, annit? Me ale will warm you up, although tea seems to be popular tonight, likely 'cause o' your twin." He gives a crooked glance at Marva.
To Drift, "Hrmph, a comedian. It''s still the same price for you as for the others. 3sp for soup with bread and cheese or with another 2sp I'll throw some meat on the plate, but not if you be needing work." Nodding his head at Ellora, he adds, "She will let you know the prices for staying."
"An' to the lot of ye', you look like you need work more than you got coins, so this one is on me. I expect to be paid back once you succeed." He raises his substantial eyebrows in a manner that makes it clear that he both charges interest and will compel payment once they return.
The seated dragonborn takes in each of the new arrivals. She watches the conversation between Ellora and Dvu, nodding a little nervously at the goliath when she sees him look her way. Her eyes widen when the other silver dragonborn enters. But it is the human man who really gets her attention. She pulls out a small sketch from the back of the book she is reading and seems to compare it to the fellow on the stool.
Seeming satisfied, she takes a deep breath and stands up from her table. Now that she is on her feet, you can see that she is wearing a gray leather vest over a chain shirt and a periwinkle cloak. She approaches the man at the bar, and says, all in a rush, “Excuse me, sir, are you by any chance Mr. Drift? I’m Marva Stormavendrien, and I think we have some business. I have a package, you see, from Neverwinter. I think it’s for you. You look like the sketch I have, so I hope it’s you. I don’t want to give it to the wrong person, you see. Are you Mr. Drift?” She stops suddenly, her cheeks flushing slightly under the silver scales.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Marva Stormavendrien - Level 1 Cleric - Rime of the Frostmaiden
Shimmering violet her eyes and shimmering violet the dying weed that strangles her waist in a cinch, Ophelia stands strangely alone, alone in The Northlook as a child might, gazing awkwardly up unawares, bow slung at her back and cold weather clothing doffed, slim wood elven figure poised as if in mid-step, lips parted so, so gently, as incongruous as a solitary iris blooming beneath a frozen winter's dawn.
Near her, and yet immeasurably far away, the lucid meet and converse, newcomers and townsfolk alike. As often, her mind meanders, eyes unfocused.
Do they feel it too? The need, the need. It survives yet in the ice, stamped on what remains, lifeless, lifeless yet not. Shall I walk the world in a bliss of not-knowing? Shall dead flowers beweep my grave? While from the dim lit halls of other places forms that never were and never could be writhe for the impatience of the few who never saw what could have been... No. No. Wait. What had the large one said to the newcomer? Just here, just now...
In a soft daze, graceful and graceless all at once, Ophelia approaches the goliath man and the human woman he speaks with. Aloud, she murmurs.
"A guide." It is unclear from her quavering tone and upturned face whether she is offering to be a guide (unlikely), or is also in need of one as Ellora is. "Above the boundless snows, round the bitter decay of glacial ruin, something waits implacably, preserved under the radiant, radiant winter sky..."
Her fingers gesture absently (Minor Illusion), and a ghostly image of the northern lights, radiant in their pale blue aurora, glows in the air beside her.
Trailing off, Ophelia's gaze finally lowers to almost meet their eyes uncertainly, not comprehending herself the source of her own words. She tries to smile.
At Scramsax’s reply, the corners of Drift’s mouth flicker, a smile coming and going as quickly as an ember might, out there in the tundra. Having stayed several times before, he doesn’t haggle. He knows Scramsax is one of the few he can’t extract a discount from. He takes the offer of credit as he asks for soup and a sheet for the night and signs over 6 silver pieces to be paid back at a later date.
“My own mother doesn’t treat me so sweet,” he says, to the proprietor as the meal comes.
He turns from his meal as first one and then the other silver Dragonborn comes to stand behind him.
“Aye. I’m Drift,” he says, after a moment “Just Drift. I haven’t earned the mister. Can I see it?” He olds out his hand for the package.
Dvu smiles and nods at Scramsax, reaching on the counter to pick up a ladle as a spoon, looking down at the bowl eagerly. When the woman in shimmering violet walks in, he tilts his head again, struck by the .. oddness .. of the situation, and he holds his bowl with both hands as she approaches him and Ellora. She seemed to be lost in her own thoughts, he waits for her to gather herself. When she mentions a guide, he puffs his chest out and smiles at her. Then she starts speaking in an odd manner and he seems confused again - and the light show begins. He watches the lights that remind him of what he would see at night along the spine of the world, he becomes mesmerized, watching the twinkling and glowing display. For a moment, he forgets about his big bowl of soup and nearly drops it. After a tick, he focuses back on her and comes back to the matter at hand.
“Miss, uh…. We were just about to find a table, you are welcome to join us. I’m not quite catching your drift, what is waiting, but I can help to guide you in this land, for sure. We were just going to discuss such things… I’m Dvu by the way, a guide and tracker. This here’s Ellora, will you come join us?” The goliath looks taken aback and wishes to find normalcy in the bowl of delicious soup, dazzled by these new arrivals and the glowing light display that seems to accompany her words.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
Marva turns to the other dragonborn, saying, “Oh, hello, Olif the Stupendious. As I was just telling this gentleman, I’m here with a delivery.” She digs a book out of her bag and turns back to Drift.
“Here you are…Drift,” and she hands him the book as she continues to explain, talking quickly. “It’s from Oriolle Legantel. She is the great-niece of my mentor Wrenn Legantel, and she’s been giving me some work since Wrenn died and I got kicked out of the library. Um...she said she worked with you years ago up here in the North. She’s been trading and collecting books and relics in Neverwinter for some time now. She thought you’d find some use in this one. It’s quite a nice edition.”
As she talks, she is a little distracted by the elven newcomer with her odd speech and colorful illusion. But she hands Drift a small book with the title written in fancy script: Freezing Flora and Frigid Fauna of the Great North: A Frosty Forager’s Guide.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Marva Stormavendrien - Level 1 Cleric - Rime of the Frostmaiden
"The tea, the soup and a key to a room then please." The young white-haired woman says and places a golden coin on the counter, not really interested in having a debt if she can avoid it. "Yes, please join us, and perhaps tell us more about what is waiting." She chimes in with a curious smile, bringing her soup and tea to the table, hoping the peculiar elf would have more to share.
"Dvu! Ellora! I am... I am... Ophelia!" For a brief moment, the mind-touched she-elf smiles beatifically at the two of them despite seeming to struggle while remembering her own name. Tremulous hands clasp around theirs' in turn as she sits suddenly, nearly causing the goliath's soup to spill.
"A guide..." she breathes, nodding, yet seeming to lose her train of thought. Her lavender eyes lose focus and gaze tilts slightly upward once more.
"...I’m not quite catching your drift, what is waiting..."
"...perhaps tell us more about what is waiting..."
"What indeed," Ophelia intones solemnly, as if she herself had not brought up something waiting implacably in the snow as a statement of fact. The undulating ghostly Minor Illusion of the Northern Lights continues unabated beside her (no concentration required, duration one minute).
She looks to Ellora questioningly, her words still lucid, at least in theory. "You... you too seek... what lies hidden in these far frozen lands?"
Yet as the bundled up elf in spectacles who is bustling from table to table and shaking her head in turn passes by, Ophelia appears to become distracted by another thought, turning and mumbling thoughtfully, yet pointedly in the other (bespectacled) elf's general direction.
"There are more things in heaven and earth, than are dreamt of in our philosophy, whether waiting in the high glacial passes, or upon the snowbound tundra or icy sea, or above in the ever-darkened dazzling skies, all shall come to revelation, and to revel in the grace and mercy of knowing..."
Drift’s bushy eyebrows climb into his hairline. “Oriolle? Well that name is a surprise. Oriolle is your kith, your mentor’s kin and she bid you bring me this, all the way out here in the arse end of nowhere? You two must get on well.”
He unwraps and examines the cover of the book. It’s freshly bound, well presented. Tasteful. Large, for this sort of guide. He reads the title, he laughs, some private in-joke, perhaps, then opens the book. Flicks through pages. His eyebrows furrow. His mouth turns downward.
“What is this? Are you playing a joke on me? Is Oriolle?”
Drift turns the pages towards the Dragonborn. Though the cover and title are perfectly ordinary and legible, inside, every page is completely baffling, written in a language he has never seen before.
Icewind Dale: Rime of the Frostmaiden
Month: Hammer, Day: VI, Time: 1700
The wind and snow follow you through the doors of The Northlook inn and tavern in the largest town in Ten-Towns, Bryn Shander. The now-familiar face of Ol' Bitey looks down upon you and the other people in this refuge from the ever-present weather. Scramsax, the proprietor, only looks up from pouring another draft of ale if the door stays open too long.
In addition to the usual assortment of people who have decided that it is time for a drink, you spot three very different groups in the Inn. A group of three frostbitten dwarfs huddle in one corner, arguing over some business deal gone bad. A solitary dwarf nurses a drink as she looks intently at you and every other potential adventurer who walks in, possibly measuring their worth. And a bundled-up elf with spectacles is bustling about, going from table to table before shaking her head and moving on.
You wisely close the door and move into the Inn...
(OOC - please take this opportunity to introduce your character and role play.)
Into the Northlook inn and tavern steps a young white-haired woman dessed in a white cloak over white and brown winter clothes, seeming fairly well equipped for the cold climate but the awkward way she tries to stomp off the snow from her boots by the door reveals she is a newcomer to the dale. She firmly closes the door behind her and looks around the taproom with purpose and determination, making note of the people there before walking over to the bar.
"Excuse me good sir, I would like to order a pot of tea if you have it, and perhaps some soup. Also, do you have any rooms, I just arrived and need somewhere to stay." She says with a polite tone and a friendly smile to the proprietor as he finishes with the ale drafting. "Oh, and also, do you have anyone here that knows their way around the dales, I have some business here and would require a guide." She continues after a moment, trying her best to seem calm and confident.
The young woman might notice a young dragonborn sitting alone at a table off to the side with a steaming bowl of stew, plate of bread, and a tankard of ale. The dragonborn has silver scales, deep blue eyes, and white hair pulled into a bun. She looks up from reading a small book to observe the new customer. Should said customer make eye contact, the dragonborn would give a friendly nod and then self-consciously return to her book and her meal. Every once in a while, she looks around the room and sighs.
Marva Stormavendrien - Level 1 Cleric - Rime of the Frostmaiden
(Librarian/Gamer/Knitter)
As the words are wafting toward Scramsax, another cold draft comes in the door. The sound of louder stamping then heavier footfalls walks closer. The young woman senses rather than sees or feels a significant presence behind her, listening patiently. There is the sound of a couple of large knuckles cracking for a moment, then the sound of hands rubbing together. He waits for her to finish, then a low-pitched *ahem* comes from behind her, trying his best not to startle her.
A large Goliath wearing a dark green/gray cloak and cold-weather gear stands behind her with a smile on his face, trying his hardest to look unopposing, stooping his head low in an effort to make himself look smaller. "You need a guide, ma'am? That's wise, these are rough parts. M'name's Dvu, ma'aam. Dvu Doulas, and I've worked as a guide for quite a while.. perhaps we could discuss your... ah... business and see if we could help each other. Dak ru'sen.. you've come to the Dale in a cold part of the year, and it just seems to keep getting colder." Dvu looks up at Scramsax, saying slowly "I'd like a bowl of your soup as well. Make it a big bowl, if'n you have one." He turns back to the woman. "Want to grab a table and discuss?" He gestures toward a table in the middle of the room, stopping short when he sees the dragonborn looking their way, tilting his head sideways.
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
It takes a moment for the young white-haired woman to take in all what she sees as she turns to face the massive Goliath now joining her at the bar. She had never seen one before but she had certainly heard about them, even read that they were more prevalent in the dale and she could easily imagine they were less bothered by the harsh climate than someone like her. As the rumbling voice suggests grabbing a table she briefly imagines the Goliath actually grabbing one and easily lifting it to place it by the bar.
"Oh...um...yes, how nice of you..." She starts a bit unsure how to address someone like this, but again she fairly quickly regains her composure and returns to her more confident self. "And good to meet you...um...Dvu Doulas. I am Ellora, and yes I am in need of a guide to the dale." She continues with a friendly smile as she looks up at the much larger Goliath, ready to follow him to a suitable table as soon as the proprietor had handled her requests. "Not sure what I could possibly help you with though Dvu, but I'm happy to listen to what you had in mind."
The door to the inn swings open wildly with the wind. Cold air blowing through the door and chilling those nearby. In stumbles a Silver Dragonborn. He fumbles for the door and struggles to close it. He brushes off the snow and then, finally becoming aware of the eyes on him, turns and does a deep bow, muttering his name, not knowing if it's wise to give that out yet.
He walks over to the bar and asks "What's the special for the day?"
D&D since 1984
Barely has the door shut when it swings open again, letting in the chill wind.
A man, human, with a weathered face and a knotted, long beard that ages him steps in even as the silver dragonborn is reaching the bar. He wears a thick leather armor, riveted and stitched together with a fur lining on both sides. A heavy overcloak sits on his shoulders, and a tall hat fashioned out of some small Dale animal sits on his head. He squeezes the snow from his beard, sweeps his cloak open and tips flakes of frost to the side of the door. He rubs his red nose with one gloved hand and looks around for a long moment before he makes to move in.
"Hot one out there today," he says, gruffly, to Scramsax, as he reaches the bar. He takes a tall stool and sits on it without acknowledging anyone else who might have been reaching for it. He has the easy manner of someone who has been here several times before, but not the welcome of someone who has come here all their life. As he sits and moves his cloak aside, you might see that he carries a messenger bag at his side, and some mapscroll cases, and various small complex tools hang from his hip in a complicated arrangement.
"What's it for usual board and bread today, then, and don't suppose you've had anyone say they need the services of a cartographer and guide so I can afford it?"
Not expecting much in the way of a response from Scramsax, his eyes flicker around the inn's common room, and come to rest on the arguing dwarves. "What's happening with them?" he asks quietly.
Scramsax grumbles to no one in particular, "What is the, a bleedin' parade?" Taking a look up, he addresses the various newcomers.
To Ellora, "Ye want tea? Ye will get your tea for 5cp, just like she did," pointing at the solitary silvery dragonborn reading a book at a table. "An' we wouldnna be much of an inn without a room. You get the stables for 7cp (squalid), a sheet in the common room for 1sp (poor), or a mattress in a semi-private room for 5sp (modest)."
To Dvu, "One big bowl of soup coming up. Itsa got bread and cheese on the side, but donna expect any fancy garnish here. (modest) 3sp for the lady and 5sp for you, be accounts of ye size."
To Olfin, "Everything here is special, annit? Me ale will warm you up, although tea seems to be popular tonight, likely 'cause o' your twin." He gives a crooked glance at Marva.
To Drift, "Hrmph, a comedian. It''s still the same price for you as for the others. 3sp for soup with bread and cheese or with another 2sp I'll throw some meat on the plate, but not if you be needing work." Nodding his head at Ellora, he adds, "She will let you know the prices for staying."
"An' to the lot of ye', you look like you need work more than you got coins, so this one is on me. I expect to be paid back once you succeed." He raises his substantial eyebrows in a manner that makes it clear that he both charges interest and will compel payment once they return.
The seated dragonborn takes in each of the new arrivals. She watches the conversation between Ellora and Dvu, nodding a little nervously at the goliath when she sees him look her way. Her eyes widen when the other silver dragonborn enters. But it is the human man who really gets her attention. She pulls out a small sketch from the back of the book she is reading and seems to compare it to the fellow on the stool.
Seeming satisfied, she takes a deep breath and stands up from her table. Now that she is on her feet, you can see that she is wearing a gray leather vest over a chain shirt and a periwinkle cloak. She approaches the man at the bar, and says, all in a rush, “Excuse me, sir, are you by any chance Mr. Drift? I’m Marva Stormavendrien, and I think we have some business. I have a package, you see, from Neverwinter. I think it’s for you. You look like the sketch I have, so I hope it’s you. I don’t want to give it to the wrong person, you see. Are you Mr. Drift?” She stops suddenly, her cheeks flushing slightly under the silver scales.
Marva Stormavendrien - Level 1 Cleric - Rime of the Frostmaiden
(Librarian/Gamer/Knitter)
Olif says "I'll take an Ale and be right over here with my cousin."
Walking over to Marva, he continues, "Cousin! How'd you end up here in this ... fine town? I just arrived by ship. My name's Olif the stupendious."
D&D since 1984
Shimmering violet her eyes and shimmering violet the dying weed that strangles her waist in a cinch, Ophelia stands strangely alone, alone in The Northlook as a child might, gazing awkwardly up unawares, bow slung at her back and cold weather clothing doffed, slim wood elven figure poised as if in mid-step, lips parted so, so gently, as incongruous as a solitary iris blooming beneath a frozen winter's dawn.
Near her, and yet immeasurably far away, the lucid meet and converse, newcomers and townsfolk alike. As often, her mind meanders, eyes unfocused.
Do they feel it too? The need, the need. It survives yet in the ice, stamped on what remains, lifeless, lifeless yet not. Shall I walk the world in a bliss of not-knowing? Shall dead flowers beweep my grave? While from the dim lit halls of other places forms that never were and never could be writhe for the impatience of the few who never saw what could have been... No. No. Wait. What had the large one said to the newcomer? Just here, just now...
In a soft daze, graceful and graceless all at once, Ophelia approaches the goliath man and the human woman he speaks with. Aloud, she murmurs.
"A guide." It is unclear from her quavering tone and upturned face whether she is offering to be a guide (unlikely), or is also in need of one as Ellora is. "Above the boundless snows, round the bitter decay of glacial ruin, something waits implacably, preserved under the radiant, radiant winter sky..."
Her fingers gesture absently (Minor Illusion), and a ghostly image of the northern lights, radiant in their pale blue aurora, glows in the air beside her.
Trailing off, Ophelia's gaze finally lowers to almost meet their eyes uncertainly, not comprehending herself the source of her own words. She tries to smile.
Tanis (Ranger1): Shiverquill's Tempest City | Barn (Paladin1): Damian_May's Ereworn Under the Shadow | Lyra (Warlock2/Bard4): VitusW's Silverwood Forest
Joren (Fighter6): NotDrizzt's Simple Request | Sabetha (Monk3): Bedlymn's Murder Court | Quyen (Adept1, ba5ic system): ConstancePhokas' Nentir Vale (Discord)
Xarian (Fighter3): Luna_Dust's Marks on the Map | Ophelia (Sorcerer1): BillM's Icewind Dale
At Scramsax’s reply, the corners of Drift’s mouth flicker, a smile coming and going as quickly as an ember might, out there in the tundra. Having stayed several times before, he doesn’t haggle. He knows Scramsax is one of the few he can’t extract a discount from. He takes the offer of credit as he asks for soup and a sheet for the night and signs over 6 silver pieces to be paid back at a later date.
“My own mother doesn’t treat me so sweet,” he says, to the proprietor as the meal comes.
He turns from his meal as first one and then the other silver Dragonborn comes to stand behind him.
“Aye. I’m Drift,” he says, after a moment “Just Drift. I haven’t earned the mister. Can I see it?” He olds out his hand for the package.
Dvu smiles and nods at Scramsax, reaching on the counter to pick up a ladle as a spoon, looking down at the bowl eagerly. When the woman in shimmering violet walks in, he tilts his head again, struck by the .. oddness .. of the situation, and he holds his bowl with both hands as she approaches him and Ellora. She seemed to be lost in her own thoughts, he waits for her to gather herself. When she mentions a guide, he puffs his chest out and smiles at her. Then she starts speaking in an odd manner and he seems confused again - and the light show begins. He watches the lights that remind him of what he would see at night along the spine of the world, he becomes mesmerized, watching the twinkling and glowing display. For a moment, he forgets about his big bowl of soup and nearly drops it. After a tick, he focuses back on her and comes back to the matter at hand.
“Miss, uh…. We were just about to find a table, you are welcome to join us. I’m not quite catching your drift, what is waiting, but I can help to guide you in this land, for sure. We were just going to discuss such things… I’m Dvu by the way, a guide and tracker. This here’s Ellora, will you come join us?” The goliath looks taken aback and wishes to find normalcy in the bowl of delicious soup, dazzled by these new arrivals and the glowing light display that seems to accompany her words.
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
Marva turns to the other dragonborn, saying, “Oh, hello, Olif the Stupendious. As I was just telling this gentleman, I’m here with a delivery.” She digs a book out of her bag and turns back to Drift.
“Here you are…Drift,” and she hands him the book as she continues to explain, talking quickly. “It’s from Oriolle Legantel. She is the great-niece of my mentor Wrenn Legantel, and she’s been giving me some work since Wrenn died and I got kicked out of the library. Um...she said she worked with you years ago up here in the North. She’s been trading and collecting books and relics in Neverwinter for some time now. She thought you’d find some use in this one. It’s quite a nice edition.”
As she talks, she is a little distracted by the elven newcomer with her odd speech and colorful illusion. But she hands Drift a small book with the title written in fancy script: Freezing Flora and Frigid Fauna of the Great North: A Frosty Forager’s Guide.
Marva Stormavendrien - Level 1 Cleric - Rime of the Frostmaiden
(Librarian/Gamer/Knitter)
"The tea, the soup and a key to a room then please." The young white-haired woman says and places a golden coin on the counter, not really interested in having a debt if she can avoid it. "Yes, please join us, and perhaps tell us more about what is waiting." She chimes in with a curious smile, bringing her soup and tea to the table, hoping the peculiar elf would have more to share.
"Dvu! Ellora! I am... I am... Ophelia!" For a brief moment, the mind-touched she-elf smiles beatifically at the two of them despite seeming to struggle while remembering her own name. Tremulous hands clasp around theirs' in turn as she sits suddenly, nearly causing the goliath's soup to spill.
"A guide..." she breathes, nodding, yet seeming to lose her train of thought. Her lavender eyes lose focus and gaze tilts slightly upward once more.
"What indeed," Ophelia intones solemnly, as if she herself had not brought up something waiting implacably in the snow as a statement of fact. The undulating ghostly Minor Illusion of the Northern Lights continues unabated beside her (no concentration required, duration one minute).
She looks to Ellora questioningly, her words still lucid, at least in theory. "You... you too seek... what lies hidden in these far frozen lands?"
Yet as the bundled up elf in spectacles who is bustling from table to table and shaking her head in turn passes by, Ophelia appears to become distracted by another thought, turning and mumbling thoughtfully, yet pointedly in the other (bespectacled) elf's general direction.
"There are more things in heaven and earth, than are dreamt of in our philosophy, whether waiting in the high glacial passes, or upon the snowbound tundra or icy sea, or above in the ever-darkened dazzling skies, all shall come to revelation, and to revel in the grace and mercy of knowing..."
Tanis (Ranger1): Shiverquill's Tempest City | Barn (Paladin1): Damian_May's Ereworn Under the Shadow | Lyra (Warlock2/Bard4): VitusW's Silverwood Forest
Joren (Fighter6): NotDrizzt's Simple Request | Sabetha (Monk3): Bedlymn's Murder Court | Quyen (Adept1, ba5ic system): ConstancePhokas' Nentir Vale (Discord)
Xarian (Fighter3): Luna_Dust's Marks on the Map | Ophelia (Sorcerer1): BillM's Icewind Dale
Drift, see DM about the book.
Marva, also please see a DM about the book.
Drift’s bushy eyebrows climb into his hairline. “Oriolle? Well that name is a surprise. Oriolle is your kith, your mentor’s kin and she bid you bring me this, all the way out here in the arse end of nowhere? You two must get on well.”
He unwraps and examines the cover of the book. It’s freshly bound, well presented. Tasteful. Large, for this sort of guide. He reads the title, he laughs, some private in-joke, perhaps, then opens the book. Flicks through pages. His eyebrows furrow. His mouth turns downward.
“What is this? Are you playing a joke on me? Is Oriolle?”
Drift turns the pages towards the Dragonborn. Though the cover and title are perfectly ordinary and legible, inside, every page is completely baffling, written in a language he has never seen before.