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.
Each of you finds yourself in Icewind Dale, in the city of Targos. Some of you may have been here for a long time, while others of you may have only just arrived. Targos is one of the largest of the Ten-Towns and is encircled by a wooden wall, which helps to protect the town against orcs and other threats from the wilderness. The wall extends out into the lake, creating a safe harbor for the town's boats. But now the years-long winter has frozen teh water in the harbor, and many of Targos's boats are trapped in the ice. Fishers must drag their smaller vessels across the ice to get to the unfrozen lake beyond the harbor walls.
Almost all the towns in Icewind Dale make their living off the lakes, but nowhere is that fact more evident than in Targos. The town has always had the biggest fishing fleet and the biggest fishing industry, and everything that goes on here revolves around hauling the knucklehead trout out of Maer Dualdon. The endless winter makes the work harder, but it gets done regardless.
Please take this chance to introduce your character and describe (if you wish) what your character might be up to at this moment in time, the afternoon of the 17th of Flamerule, in the city of Targos.
Also please note that the average temperature for the last two years has been well below freezing. Accordingly, your characters each own a set of cold weather gear, which you may add to your character sheet.
Yes, Nazcan is accustomed to getting looks from other townsfolk that range from curious to envious to downright suspicious, but he does not need to fuss with cold weather gear.
An unusually large dragonborn walks down the cold roads of Targos. His white scales glisten agains the snow falling, but they dull near his single leather coat. A mace with a long shaft is slung behind his back with a crossbow at his side. Seeing a group of people stare at him, he replies in a voice that does not match his size "What are you looking at?"
Variety sits in an inn somewhere, hastily writing in a small leather bound book. Around her is a collection of papers that appear to be half written on and crumpled at one point. Even though she's indoors, she wears a scarf and her cloak still, perhaps to diminish some of the more obvious traits of her heritage, though her horns are still the most obvious trait that gives her away.
Auraani steps into the inn hesitantly, not sure if seeking shelter from the cold or treatment for her wounds is more of a priority. She is a tall blonde slender elf wearing studded leather armor, a backpack with a shield and longbow attached to it and a long thin sword in a scabbard on her hip. A bandage is wrapped around her right thigh with obvious dried blood on it.
She looks around to see who is running the inn and asks, "Excuse me, how much is a room per night? Also, is there anywhere I could go to get this seen to?" She points down to her wound.
Matthias was glad--as glad as he could be about anything these days, at any rate--to have found the small, somewhat grubby inn in a rundown corner of Targos. He imagined he was safe from pursuit in this gods forsaken place, this land of seemingly eternal winter, so far from the City of Splendors. Even inside, in his cold weather gear, he felt a chill at his core. That chilly fire that had burned within him for some time. He shuddered just a little as he downed the last drops of a hard whiskey.
His trembling, weak hands pulled a black-covered book from his pack. He flipped it open, staring at his own virtually illegible handwriting, looking for meaning in the pages he had scrawled earlier that day. With a sigh, he pushed down the rising chill fire within him, wondering how much longer he would need to linger in this northern wasteland, so far from the easy luxuries he had once known.
Karl keeps to himself as he drinks away another silver piece at the Wolf’s Pelt Inn. He breathes deep, enjoying the smoky air and trying to calm his frayed nerves. Two blasted weeks, he thinks to himself, sulking. The shipment of wine had frozen on the trip up, shattering in their bottles, and scraping frozen wine slush off the deck of the icebreaker had been a wasted effort – he barely had enough coin to live on now, and a fine vintage had been wasted.
Two weeks of sitting tight and waiting and watching. Watching for work and watching for trouble. Neither had been productive so far. The cold and boredom had driven him to drink the slop they offered here in Targos, causing his coinpurse to thin even quicker.
“Any longer like this and I’ll have to go ask for another favor,” he reflects, grumbling to himself. Irritated by the idea, he spits on the table in front of him where it almost sizzles on the cool wood. The bartender shoots him a glare, and he reluctantly wipes it up with the sleeve of his thick woolen tunic.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Another medical problem. Indefinite hiatus. Sorry, all.
Curse this weather and curse those who sent me here, I will get my revenge on them whenever I am able to escape this accursed place, Ssej thinks as he helps pull the long boats over the ice back from fishing for the day. As he stands up arching his back all you can see sticking out form the many furs he is wearing is a green teeth lined snout and the tip of his tail and hint of an orange frill tapering to a point. He claps his crew mates on the shoulders as they all make their way to the Wolf's Pelt Inn, seeking what warmth they can find in this god forsaken land at the bottom of a tankard. The door bangs loudly as the group boisterously enters the inn and Ssej signals to the bartender to deliver a round of ale for the group as they take their seats at the back of the inn. Before sitting down Ssej takes a look around the room and then sits with his back against the wall keeping an eye on the door.
After several drinks Ssej finally removes some of his furs and you can now see the furs were hiding a mountain of a lizardfolk. Towering over most humans of the town is an extremely muscled lizardfolk with green scaly skin with splotches of darker green areas dotting his body. There is an orange frill that starts at the top of his head and goes all the way down his back to very nearly the tip of his tail. He excitedly tells stories with is hands never spilling a drop of his ale as his tail deftly grips the tankard weaving it back and forth. The surrounding group of fisherman all seem to like and respect Ssej. The group seems to be getting rowdier and rowdier as the night goes on but if one would pay close attention to Ssej you can see he is always looking around the room making note of his surroundings.
Nazcan: the group in the street give nervous and awkward bows to you in deference. All bundled up from the cold, it’s hard to distinguish one person from another. One of them steps forward and says,
”Begging your pardon, sir, but you look like you’re new in town. We thought you should know, the whole town’s supposed to gather up at the commons, in the middle of town. That’s back the other way, sir. You’ll want to come too, and see.”
The group gestures for you to follow them as they head further down the street. You see other people exiting their buildings, bundled up, and heading in the same direction, to the center of town.
Variety: The proprietor of the inn approaches you and says, “Excuse me, miss, but it’s closing up time. I know it’s early in the evening, but we’ve got a town meeting at the commons. The whole town is expected to be there. You should come too.”
You look up from your work and see that the tavern is indeed rapidly emptying of patrons. They’re all bundling up and stepping out into the cold outside.
Auraani: You’ve stepped into an inn named ‘The Luskan Arms’. It seems oddly empty inside, and the proprietor seems to on his way out, putting on his overcoat, scarf, gloves etc.
He rushes to you and makes a little fuss over your situation. “Dear me! Look at you! Oh, what timing... The cost to stay is 3 silver per night, or 5 with meals, but I’ll have to set you up later, after the meeting. I’m so sorry, but we’ve got to go to a meeting in the center of town. You should come, too. Nobody can help you with your leg just now, as they’ll all be at the town meeting too, but perhaps after... Can you walk alright? You really should come, everyone is expected to be there...” He seems torn between wanting to be hospitable but also wanting you to come back out in the cold, hurt leg and all.
Matthias and Karl: The both of you are similarly approached by your inn’s proprietors, who usher you back out into the cold. You both note that the other patrons are all following suit, putting on their warmest clothes and heading out. You see throngs of people moving toward the center of town, and you are invited to follow suit.
Ssej: your drinking buddies are indeed getting rowdy and drinking more heavily than usual this evening. They start making toasts: “To life!” “May tonight not be our last!” “Here’s to luck, and to fishing for another month!”
Before long, surprisingly, the drinking stops and the fishers start bundling up. “Come on, Ssej, it’s time to go.” You see that other patrons are doing the same, and the innkeeper makes an announcement: “you’re all welcome to come back, after. I’ll lock up while we’re gone but I’ll open up again, after.”
One of the fishers, still a little boisterous and tipsy, calls out, “Not if you’re the one. Then we’ll have to find somewhere else to drink!” He laughs at his apparent joke but the mood in the inn falls flat in a heartbeat, everyone going silent and grim. “That’s not funny,” says one of the other fishers in a low voice.
They all quietly file out of the inn, into the dark cold evening.
Karl pulls on his heavy Wolfskin cloak and reluctantly trudges into the cold. Leaving his gloves off, he cups his palms and musters a small flame within them, providing just a little bit more warmth to his chilled digits. Everyone else seemed to be moving with purpose, but one of the other bar patrons seemed a little more ensure in his movements. A wiry, moustachioed human man. He did not have the physique or attitude of one of the locals. His curiosity piqued, Karl steps alongside him as they follow the townsfolk to the center.
"Well, you don't stink of booze, fish, and piss, so you must be from out of town". The words spill forth from the fire genasi - the tone is aggressive and almost demanding as he approaches Matthias. "Any clue what they're doing tonight? I think I just missed the last brouhaha."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Another medical problem. Indefinite hiatus. Sorry, all.
With a sigh, Matthias tucks the book back into his pack, which sits against his chair. He rises slowly, the movement a bit slow. As he stands, it's clear that he is very scrawny, and just rising appears to be a bit of an effort. He dons his heavy fur coat, putting it on over his leathers and pulls his hat down over his ears. He grunts as he hoists his average-sized pack onto his shoulders.
He grabs his quarterstaff, using it to help him bear all the weight of his clothing and gear, and makes his way out into the cold darkness. He has no idea what is going on, but he also has no desire to stand out in the crowd, so he follows the townspeople as they make their way to the gathering. His gaze occasionally darts to the shadows and he listens for any odd noises under the wind.
Just then, he's approached by a somewhat unusual looking person. For a moment, Matthias looks as if he might pull away, he almost looks frightened. But when Karl speaks, he senses no immediate threat, despite the gruff tone.
"I have no idea," he replies, his voice deep and smooth, almost too strong for someone of his slight build. "I am new in town. But it seems that everyone is going, so..."
He gives a little shrug. "And by the way, thank you for the kind words regarding my scent," he adds. "Shall we?" He motions toward the growing gathering.
You’re in a great crush of people at the town commons. The early evening sky is black, with winking stars. The people seem to naturally press together more tightly, seeking the comfort of other warm bodies.
A man climbs the stairs to a wooden platform at the center of the commons. Three locked iron boxes are set on a table on the platform, for all to see. Nearby is a seated man, holding a large ledger. The first man, who some of you may recognize as the town Speaker (ie Mayor), name Naerth Maxildanarr, raises aloft an iron keyring with 3 iron keys clanking on it. People in the crowd begin to murmur, “Number 2, number 2.”
“Yes,” says Naerth in a carrying voice, “It’s number 2’s turn.” He holds the middle key up high, then uses it to unlock the second box, and the crowd goes still. He rummages his hand inside for a moment, then pulls out a small token and shows it to the seated person, who flips through the large ledger, finds what he is looking for, and softly says something to the Speaker.
Speaker Naerth clears his throat and the crowd seems to hold its collective breath. A mixed sense of dread and excitement fills the air as all wait to hear the name that will be called out. Naerth speaks clearly into the silence:
“Auril is a harsh mistress. We must give up much, to ease the displeasure she shows us. May this offering appease her and turn her cold wrath away from us! .......Avery Goodwin, you are honored to be tonight’s offering.”
The crowd around you erupts in a mixture of sighs of relief, shouts of hurrah, gasps, and cries of shock. Someone in the crowd starts jostling and trying to get away. Town guards point and move through the people, towards the disturbance. Meanwhile, the townsfolk themselves close ranks, clamping down on the one that seems to be trying to get away. A thin voice rises into the air, wailing, “No, not me, I’ve got a family!”
The crowd allows the guards through, and they grab one of the townsfolk, the one making the disturbance and wailing. Those close enough may hear:
“Now, now,” says one of the guards. “Come with us. We wouldn’t want you to miss your date with Auril.” The person, presumably Avery, slumps in their grip, and he is hauled away. The crowd begins to disperse, muttering and discussing among themselves.
Ssej exhales in relief, thankful his name was not called out, he inquires about going back to the Inn, but most of his fishing companions decided to just head home, leaving Ssej alone to stand in the cold. His head down low mumbling to himself and then slowly turns and heads back to the Inn.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
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ICEWIND DALE: RIME OF THE FROSTMAIDEN
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.
Here is a map of Icewind Dale that can give you a general idea of the lay of the land.
Each of you finds yourself in Icewind Dale, in the city of Targos. Some of you may have been here for a long time, while others of you may have only just arrived. Targos is one of the largest of the Ten-Towns and is encircled by a wooden wall, which helps to protect the town against orcs and other threats from the wilderness. The wall extends out into the lake, creating a safe harbor for the town's boats. But now the years-long winter has frozen teh water in the harbor, and many of Targos's boats are trapped in the ice. Fishers must drag their smaller vessels across the ice to get to the unfrozen lake beyond the harbor walls.
Almost all the towns in Icewind Dale make their living off the lakes, but nowhere is that fact more evident than in Targos. The town has always had the biggest fishing fleet and the biggest fishing industry, and everything that goes on here revolves around hauling the knucklehead trout out of Maer Dualdon. The endless winter makes the work harder, but it gets done regardless.
Please take this chance to introduce your character and describe (if you wish) what your character might be up to at this moment in time, the afternoon of the 17th of Flamerule, in the city of Targos.
Also please note that the average temperature for the last two years has been well below freezing. Accordingly, your characters each own a set of cold weather gear, which you may add to your character sheet.
(Since Nazcan is a white dragonborn, it it ok that he doesn't mind the cold weather?)
Yes, Nazcan is accustomed to getting looks from other townsfolk that range from curious to envious to downright suspicious, but he does not need to fuss with cold weather gear.
An unusually large dragonborn walks down the cold roads of Targos. His white scales glisten agains the snow falling, but they dull near his single leather coat. A mace with a long shaft is slung behind his back with a crossbow at his side. Seeing a group of people stare at him, he replies in a voice that does not match his size "What are you looking at?"
Variety sits in an inn somewhere, hastily writing in a small leather bound book. Around her is a collection of papers that appear to be half written on and crumpled at one point. Even though she's indoors, she wears a scarf and her cloak still, perhaps to diminish some of the more obvious traits of her heritage, though her horns are still the most obvious trait that gives her away.
Elra Skylash - Human Cleric | Vanzaren Tanidoni - Half Elf Wizard
Mindartis Liadon - Eladrin Barbarian | Naivara Siannodel - Half Elf Ranger
Arrila Evenwood - Half Elf Paladin | Callaphe of Setessa - Human Rogue
Katernin Nemetsk - Aasimar Cleric | Melody - Tiefling Bard
Auraani steps into the inn hesitantly, not sure if seeking shelter from the cold or treatment for her wounds is more of a priority. She is a tall blonde slender elf wearing studded leather armor, a backpack with a shield and longbow attached to it and a long thin sword in a scabbard on her hip. A bandage is wrapped around her right thigh with obvious dried blood on it.
She looks around to see who is running the inn and asks, "Excuse me, how much is a room per night? Also, is there anywhere I could go to get this seen to?" She points down to her wound.
Matthias was glad--as glad as he could be about anything these days, at any rate--to have found the small, somewhat grubby inn in a rundown corner of Targos. He imagined he was safe from pursuit in this gods forsaken place, this land of seemingly eternal winter, so far from the City of Splendors. Even inside, in his cold weather gear, he felt a chill at his core. That chilly fire that had burned within him for some time. He shuddered just a little as he downed the last drops of a hard whiskey.
His trembling, weak hands pulled a black-covered book from his pack. He flipped it open, staring at his own virtually illegible handwriting, looking for meaning in the pages he had scrawled earlier that day. With a sigh, he pushed down the rising chill fire within him, wondering how much longer he would need to linger in this northern wasteland, so far from the easy luxuries he had once known.
Karl keeps to himself as he drinks away another silver piece at the Wolf’s Pelt Inn. He breathes deep, enjoying the smoky air and trying to calm his frayed nerves. Two blasted weeks, he thinks to himself, sulking. The shipment of wine had frozen on the trip up, shattering in their bottles, and scraping frozen wine slush off the deck of the icebreaker had been a wasted effort – he barely had enough coin to live on now, and a fine vintage had been wasted.
Two weeks of sitting tight and waiting and watching. Watching for work and watching for trouble. Neither had been productive so far. The cold and boredom had driven him to drink the slop they offered here in Targos, causing his coinpurse to thin even quicker.
“Any longer like this and I’ll have to go ask for another favor,” he reflects, grumbling to himself. Irritated by the idea, he spits on the table in front of him where it almost sizzles on the cool wood. The bartender shoots him a glare, and he reluctantly wipes it up with the sleeve of his thick woolen tunic.
Another medical problem. Indefinite hiatus. Sorry, all.
Curse this weather and curse those who sent me here, I will get my revenge on them whenever I am able to escape this accursed place, Ssej thinks as he helps pull the long boats over the ice back from fishing for the day. As he stands up arching his back all you can see sticking out form the many furs he is wearing is a green teeth lined snout and the tip of his tail and hint of an orange frill tapering to a point. He claps his crew mates on the shoulders as they all make their way to the Wolf's Pelt Inn, seeking what warmth they can find in this god forsaken land at the bottom of a tankard. The door bangs loudly as the group boisterously enters the inn and Ssej signals to the bartender to deliver a round of ale for the group as they take their seats at the back of the inn. Before sitting down Ssej takes a look around the room and then sits with his back against the wall keeping an eye on the door.
After several drinks Ssej finally removes some of his furs and you can now see the furs were hiding a mountain of a lizardfolk. Towering over most humans of the town is an extremely muscled lizardfolk with green scaly skin with splotches of darker green areas dotting his body. There is an orange frill that starts at the top of his head and goes all the way down his back to very nearly the tip of his tail. He excitedly tells stories with is hands never spilling a drop of his ale as his tail deftly grips the tankard weaving it back and forth. The surrounding group of fisherman all seem to like and respect Ssej. The group seems to be getting rowdier and rowdier as the night goes on but if one would pay close attention to Ssej you can see he is always looking around the room making note of his surroundings.
Nazcan: the group in the street give nervous and awkward bows to you in deference. All bundled up from the cold, it’s hard to distinguish one person from another. One of them steps forward and says,
”Begging your pardon, sir, but you look like you’re new in town. We thought you should know, the whole town’s supposed to gather up at the commons, in the middle of town. That’s back the other way, sir. You’ll want to come too, and see.”
The group gestures for you to follow them as they head further down the street. You see other people exiting their buildings, bundled up, and heading in the same direction, to the center of town.
Variety: The proprietor of the inn approaches you and says, “Excuse me, miss, but it’s closing up time. I know it’s early in the evening, but we’ve got a town meeting at the commons. The whole town is expected to be there. You should come too.”
You look up from your work and see that the tavern is indeed rapidly emptying of patrons. They’re all bundling up and stepping out into the cold outside.
((more posts incoming))
Auraani: You’ve stepped into an inn named ‘The Luskan Arms’. It seems oddly empty inside, and the proprietor seems to on his way out, putting on his overcoat, scarf, gloves etc.
He rushes to you and makes a little fuss over your situation. “Dear me! Look at you! Oh, what timing... The cost to stay is 3 silver per night, or 5 with meals, but I’ll have to set you up later, after the meeting. I’m so sorry, but we’ve got to go to a meeting in the center of town. You should come, too. Nobody can help you with your leg just now, as they’ll all be at the town meeting too, but perhaps after... Can you walk alright? You really should come, everyone is expected to be there...” He seems torn between wanting to be hospitable but also wanting you to come back out in the cold, hurt leg and all.
Matthias and Karl: The both of you are similarly approached by your inn’s proprietors, who usher you back out into the cold. You both note that the other patrons are all following suit, putting on their warmest clothes and heading out. You see throngs of people moving toward the center of town, and you are invited to follow suit.
Ssej: your drinking buddies are indeed getting rowdy and drinking more heavily than usual this evening. They start making toasts: “To life!” “May tonight not be our last!” “Here’s to luck, and to fishing for another month!”
Before long, surprisingly, the drinking stops and the fishers start bundling up. “Come on, Ssej, it’s time to go.” You see that other patrons are doing the same, and the innkeeper makes an announcement: “you’re all welcome to come back, after. I’ll lock up while we’re gone but I’ll open up again, after.”
One of the fishers, still a little boisterous and tipsy, calls out, “Not if you’re the one. Then we’ll have to find somewhere else to drink!” He laughs at his apparent joke but the mood in the inn falls flat in a heartbeat, everyone going silent and grim. “That’s not funny,” says one of the other fishers in a low voice.
They all quietly file out of the inn, into the dark cold evening.
Nazcan follows them. His amulet holding the symbol of Bahamut clatters softly.
Karl pulls on his heavy Wolfskin cloak and reluctantly trudges into the cold. Leaving his gloves off, he cups his palms and musters a small flame within them, providing just a little bit more warmth to his chilled digits. Everyone else seemed to be moving with purpose, but one of the other bar patrons seemed a little more ensure in his movements. A wiry, moustachioed human man. He did not have the physique or attitude of one of the locals. His curiosity piqued, Karl steps alongside him as they follow the townsfolk to the center.
"Well, you don't stink of booze, fish, and piss, so you must be from out of town". The words spill forth from the fire genasi - the tone is aggressive and almost demanding as he approaches Matthias. "Any clue what they're doing tonight? I think I just missed the last brouhaha."
Another medical problem. Indefinite hiatus. Sorry, all.
With a sigh, Matthias tucks the book back into his pack, which sits against his chair. He rises slowly, the movement a bit slow. As he stands, it's clear that he is very scrawny, and just rising appears to be a bit of an effort. He dons his heavy fur coat, putting it on over his leathers and pulls his hat down over his ears. He grunts as he hoists his average-sized pack onto his shoulders.
He grabs his quarterstaff, using it to help him bear all the weight of his clothing and gear, and makes his way out into the cold darkness. He has no idea what is going on, but he also has no desire to stand out in the crowd, so he follows the townspeople as they make their way to the gathering. His gaze occasionally darts to the shadows and he listens for any odd noises under the wind.
Just then, he's approached by a somewhat unusual looking person. For a moment, Matthias looks as if he might pull away, he almost looks frightened. But when Karl speaks, he senses no immediate threat, despite the gruff tone.
"I have no idea," he replies, his voice deep and smooth, almost too strong for someone of his slight build. "I am new in town. But it seems that everyone is going, so..."
He gives a little shrug. "And by the way, thank you for the kind words regarding my scent," he adds. "Shall we?" He motions toward the growing gathering.
While going through, Nazcan notices the crowd and breaks from the group leading him to follow them to see what's going on.
Variety looks around confused, before stacking up her papers, putting on her gloves and coat, and following everyone out.
Elra Skylash - Human Cleric | Vanzaren Tanidoni - Half Elf Wizard
Mindartis Liadon - Eladrin Barbarian | Naivara Siannodel - Half Elf Ranger
Arrila Evenwood - Half Elf Paladin | Callaphe of Setessa - Human Rogue
Katernin Nemetsk - Aasimar Cleric | Melody - Tiefling Bard
(Assuming you’ve gone with the crowd)
You’re in a great crush of people at the town commons. The early evening sky is black, with winking stars. The people seem to naturally press together more tightly, seeking the comfort of other warm bodies.
A man climbs the stairs to a wooden platform at the center of the commons. Three locked iron boxes are set on a table on the platform, for all to see. Nearby is a seated man, holding a large ledger. The first man, who some of you may recognize as the town Speaker (ie Mayor), name Naerth Maxildanarr, raises aloft an iron keyring with 3 iron keys clanking on it. People in the crowd begin to murmur, “Number 2, number 2.”
“Yes,” says Naerth in a carrying voice, “It’s number 2’s turn.” He holds the middle key up high, then uses it to unlock the second box, and the crowd goes still. He rummages his hand inside for a moment, then pulls out a small token and shows it to the seated person, who flips through the large ledger, finds what he is looking for, and softly says something to the Speaker.
Speaker Naerth clears his throat and the crowd seems to hold its collective breath. A mixed sense of dread and excitement fills the air as all wait to hear the name that will be called out. Naerth speaks clearly into the silence:
“Auril is a harsh mistress. We must give up much, to ease the displeasure she shows us. May this offering appease her and turn her cold wrath away from us! .......Avery Goodwin, you are honored to be tonight’s offering.”
The crowd around you erupts in a mixture of sighs of relief, shouts of hurrah, gasps, and cries of shock. Someone in the crowd starts jostling and trying to get away. Town guards point and move through the people, towards the disturbance. Meanwhile, the townsfolk themselves close ranks, clamping down on the one that seems to be trying to get away. A thin voice rises into the air, wailing, “No, not me, I’ve got a family!”
The crowd allows the guards through, and they grab one of the townsfolk, the one making the disturbance and wailing. Those close enough may hear:
“Now, now,” says one of the guards. “Come with us. We wouldn’t want you to miss your date with Auril.” The person, presumably Avery, slumps in their grip, and he is hauled away. The crowd begins to disperse, muttering and discussing among themselves.
Feel free to explain how your character would react, or what they’d like to do at this point.
Ssej exhales in relief, thankful his name was not called out, he inquires about going back to the Inn, but most of his fishing companions decided to just head home, leaving Ssej alone to stand in the cold. His head down low mumbling to himself and then slowly turns and heads back to the Inn.