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.
Please use the character generator to create a 1st level character from the Players Handbook using the Standard Array for stats.
I am going to use this thread to figure everything out. Like how to [ roll ] rolldice [ /roll ] which, when you remove all the spaces and change "rolldice" to whatever dice you want to roll,
[ roll ] 1d20 [ /roll ] looks like this: 15
But that's about the only trick I've figured out so far and it's kind of redundant because there is a dice roller built right into the reply box 7 which does it all for you.
The first stop for most visitors to Icewind Dale is Bryn Shander, a walled town perched atop a cold, lonely, wind-lashed hill. Bright lanterns suspended over narrow streets twist in the wind and add flecks of color to the town’s otherwise drab surroundings.
The friendliness in this settlement has dwindled of late. Auril’s unyielding winter has greatly reduced the number of visitors to Bryn Shander, and local trade is suffering for it, eating away at the locals’ sense of humor and goodwill. Still, there is no safer place in Icewind Dale to spend coin or spend the night.
The walls of the town stand some 30 feet high and are defined by two concentric rings of upright wooden poles, the gap between them filled with dirt and rubble. The outer ring of poles rises above the top of the wall, providing a rampart for defenders stationed on the wood-planked walkway. The wall’s hinged gates are 15 feet tall and can be barred from the inside with iron-banded wood beams. These gates are closed when it’s dark outside—which is to say more often than not.
You find yourselves in The Northlook. The Northlook is the establishment most frequented by mercenaries and adventurers, and as such it’s the rowdiest and most dangerous place to stay in Bryn Shander. At the same time, its taproom is the best spot in all of Ten-Towns to get leads on profitable ventures, along with the latest news and rumours.
It is just past what would be dawn, but is instead a barely discernible brightening of the snowbound street outside and you are among the first to stir. The taproom is quiet, with only a few would be adventurers sleeping off the previous nights revelries and a couple of workers tidying tables and the like. The inn’s proprietor, a retired human sellsword named Scramsax is behind the bar wiping out mugs with a rag so old that it is quite possibly leaving the mugs in a worse state than they were before.
All members of the party are present or may make an entrance. You are familiar with each other, having shared a drink the night before or perhaps travelled together in the past.
Faenys ricocheted through the tavern door, lost her footing, and skidded across the floor.
She looked around frantically, then scowled.
”After all that he’s not even here yet.”
She stomped to a nearby table, tore a chair out and angrily finished tying up her shoes, annoyed that with all her training and experience she could still be tripped up by a rogue shoelace.
When she was done she sat drumming her long fingers on the table. She half expected Colm to walk through the door and scupper her chances to get away. But the door remained shut.
Faenys had arrived in town late the night before. She’d given Colm the slip in a nearby village. Darbiton? Maybe? It didn’t really matter. What mattered was that last night she’d met a traveller who had offered to join forces with her and try to snag a quest. Hopefully a quest that would take her far, far away.
Salazar started at the sound of a chair raking across the floorboards screaming so loudly in his brain it overwhelmed him. He winced and squeezed his eyes closed harder. It didnt work, he was awake and he wasn't happy about it.
rap, tap, tap, tap. RAP, TAP, TAP. TAP TAP!!!! Someone belted him repeatedly on his brain with their fingers. Salazar dug his into the timber under his face, it was grimy with mud and stale booze, and clawed his way forward, eyes still firmly shut.
Salazar clambered to his feet, unsteadily swaying on the very stable floor.
"I'm ere! alright? now shuddup! wat dya want?"
He pawed at the tabletop for a tankard that wasnt there and hazzard an eyeslit to glare blarily at the elf sitting sullenly at the table he was sleeping under.
Apache opened one big yellow eye and peered down at Faenys and the disgruntled goblin seated at the table below her. The taproom rafters were covered in cobwebs and were far from comfortable, but had provided the perfect warm, dry perch for a few hours rest. Better than sharing the floor with the likes of Salazar.... She stretched slowly, eyeing a nearby pigeon and wondered if it was worth her efforts to catch. Too much feather and not enough meat.
When the barkeep Scramsax had turned to reach for another old cup on the back board, Apache dropped silently from the rafters and pulled out a chair at the same table as the others. She tried her best to smile warmly, despite the nervous twitch in her tail.
"I see it was not all just drunken babble then, some have returned."
Fiadh sighed, already wondering if joining this group was a bad idea. But upon checking her schedule she had absolutely nothing else going for her. So, tucking her pride into her boots, she strode across the tavern and dragged a chair up to the table and sat beside the feline.
”Greetings.” She didn’t know what else to say. She needed an adventure, but she wasn’t sure if Salazar was the kind of someone that she wanted to follow across the maps. None of them were. Such a ragtag bunch.
She screwed up her face as the cool touch of dread washed over her. Perhaps she would be better off on her own, she had always faired well on her own... she shifted in her seat and considered leaving. But something kept her feet planted in place.
Bröbean sprinted toward the tavern doors, frantically trying to open them before bursting in with his shoulder. His vision was blurred and his mind racing as he dashed toward the privy, paying no notice to anyone he passed. He only had one thing on his mind and no one was going to stop him.
As he ran toward the privy doors he kept muttering to himself, “no, no, no… nearly there, just a little longer”.
Bröbean jumped inside the privy, barely dropping his trousers in time as his body gave up and relaxed. He breathed a sigh of relief as the panic slowly subsided. He made it! He didn’t piss himself. Well, not again anyway…
Bröbean shook his head and chuckled to himself as he remembered bits and pieces of the night before.
That Salazar can handle his ale, he thought to himself.
After what felt like an age, Bröbean exited the privy, only now seeing a group of familiar faces staring over at him.
There is a sudden gust of frigid air as the tavern door opens again. This time, along with flurries of snow and ice, three stout figures enter. Bundled heavily in cold weather garb, complete with snowshoes on their backs and ice picks at their belts, they pause a moment and look around the tavern.
Upon seeing your group seated at the table they push back their hoods and head straight towards you. As they get closer you can see that they are Dwarves, and that they have been through some hard travel. Their hair and beards and even their eyebrows thick with icicles, and all three are suffering from frostbite. The one in front, a female, has lost a couple of fingers and her right ear. While one of her male companions has even lost his nose. The other male is staring up at the rafters and glancing out of the windows nervously as though he expects to be attacked at any moment by some unseen, airborne, foe.
As they step up to the table the woman croaks out in the harsh voice of a lifetime smoker “Well met! I’m Hruna, and these are my friends, Korux and Storn. We need help, and you look capable.”
“We’re the survivors of a group of dwarves tasked with delivering a sled of iron ingots to Bryn Shander. A yeti surprised us and killed a member of our group. The rest of us fled as the yeti tore Oobok limb from limb. Now we need someone to go back and get the sled for us. As payment, we offer each of you a gemstone worth fifty gold pieces. The friendship of the dwarves of Icewind Dale can also be a boon in these harsh times. You’ll need snowshoes to make the trip in good time.”
(DM’s note: As residents of Icewind Dale you are all equipped for the harsh conditions. You should all have a set of cold weather clothing in addition to your usual starting equipment. Snowshoes and Crampons can be bought in town)
Salazar, listed in his seat eyes closed again. He felt the warm crush of bodies as his companions joined him and Faenys at the table.
There was a loud bang and a cold gust "no, no, no,......" the doppler of Bröbean as he raced through the room.
When he returned, Salazar extended a finger to answer his question when there was another gust. Colder and more dramatic than the first. He figured pleasantries could be put aside for the moment. His head was still roaring from the effects of last night so he directed the gesture at Scramsax and beckoned for their usual.
Shortly after the husky dwarf had finished her monologue Scramsax delivered their drinks, placing a cup in front of each of the companions. A tall flagon of dwarven stout took both hands for Salazar to clutch to his pursed lips. He hesitated just a second before grabbing it and instead reached to his belt to retrieve a small flask of amber liquid, he tipped the exilir into the flagon before taking a long draw *gulp* With each pull he seemed to sit a little taller *gulp* the frothy brew renewed his hue *gulp* the green returned to his cheeks and he finally opened his eyes, they were a healthy yellow. "ahhh" , he wiped the froth from his lips.
"We'll met fair lady dwarf" he grinned "we are indeed capable and interested in coin, tell us a little more, but please sit and ease your burden. Such discussions shouldn't be had standing in the breeze way." Salazar beckoned for Scramsax to fetch the dwarfs something to ease their chill.
When the barkeep returns to the table he grumbled under his breath something about not being a charity... Salazar continued to smile, unfazed.
Faenys tipped back on her seat, silently watching the Dwarves.
From the outside she was the picture of composure. But those who looked closer would see her slightly furrowed brow, her thumb working its way anxiously through the fabric of her sleeve, and her eyes fixed on the Dwarves with the same intensity as you would eye a snake lurking in the corner of your room.
Faenys knew Dwarves. She knew them well. They had razed her village to the ground and murdered her whole family when she was barely 10 years old.They were the reason she ended up an Outlander, fending for herself in the wilds of Icewind Dale. All for some slight her brother had caused the clan leader - a Rumnik Rumnaheim. The story goes that her brother called him a one-armed freak who needed a bath.
”He definitely needed a bath,” Faenys muttered under her breath, forgetting where she was for a second.
The faces around the table turned to look at her.
”What I meant to say was,” she said “I saw a shop yesterday selling Snowshoes...the proprietor really needed a bath.”
She took a drink to quieten the inner turmoil. It would be fine...this was a different clan...and could it really be much worse than what she was running from?
Salazar eyed the elf next to him curiously; she was squirming and squinting at the small company of dwarves as a cat would a cucumber. Strange, he thought to himself, why didn't the cat do that?
She muttered something that made Salazar shift uncomfortably, was she talking about him? He tactfully sniffed his left pit.... Eugh... Probably...
Fiadh straightened in her seat at the dwarves approach. She had met many a dwarf, some kind and some not so kind. She wondered which type of dwarf were these?
she took a moment to study the others gathered at the table, all of them had varying looks of uncertainty towards the dwarves.
retrieving a sled? Simple.
facing a yeti? Yikes.
Fiadh had never met anyone who would willingly walk into the path of a yeti...but none at the table moved. Everyone seemed willing to accept the task. Fiadh hoped the yeti would have moved on by the time they made it to the sled, but a gnawing feeling in her gut told her that the yeti would be the least of their concerns.
Bröbean eyed the Dwarven travellers from the door way and listened to them intently. It had been some time since he had a quest or even some kind of purpose. The prospect of both excited him.
He rushed forward and said “What are we all waiting for? Last one to the cobbler is a smelly goat!”
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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.
Please use the character generator to create a 1st level character from the Players Handbook using the Standard Array for stats.
I am going to use this thread to figure everything out. Like how to [ roll ] rolldice [ /roll ] which, when you remove all the spaces and change "rolldice" to whatever dice you want to roll,
[ roll ] 1d20 [ /roll ] looks like this: 15
But that's about the only trick I've figured out so far and it's kind of redundant because there is a dice roller built right into the reply box 7 which does it all for you.
Did you manipulate that dice roll?
Ok I have a random generated character can I join?
Sorry Whisper, this ones a private group.
[ roll ] 1d20 [ /roll ]
18
Ok
The first stop for most visitors to Icewind Dale is Bryn Shander, a walled town perched atop a cold, lonely, wind-lashed hill. Bright lanterns suspended over narrow streets twist in the wind and add flecks of color to the town’s otherwise drab surroundings.
The friendliness in this settlement has dwindled of late. Auril’s unyielding winter has greatly reduced the number of visitors to Bryn Shander, and local trade is suffering for it, eating away at the locals’ sense of humor and goodwill. Still, there is no safer place in Icewind Dale to spend coin or spend the night.
The walls of the town stand some 30 feet high and are defined by two concentric rings of upright wooden poles, the gap between them filled with dirt and rubble. The outer ring of poles rises above the top of the wall, providing a rampart for defenders stationed on the wood-planked walkway. The wall’s hinged gates are 15 feet tall and can be barred from the inside with iron-banded wood beams. These gates are closed when it’s dark outside—which is to say more often than not.
You find yourselves in The Northlook. The Northlook is the establishment most frequented by mercenaries and adventurers, and as such it’s the rowdiest and most dangerous place to stay in Bryn Shander. At the same time, its taproom is the best spot in all of Ten-Towns to get leads on profitable ventures, along with the latest news and rumours.
It is just past what would be dawn, but is instead a barely discernible brightening of the snowbound street outside and you are among the first to stir. The taproom is quiet, with only a few would be adventurers sleeping off the previous nights revelries and a couple of workers tidying tables and the like. The inn’s proprietor, a retired human sellsword named Scramsax is behind the bar wiping out mugs with a rag so old that it is quite possibly leaving the mugs in a worse state than they were before.
All members of the party are present or may make an entrance. You are familiar with each other, having shared a drink the night before or perhaps travelled together in the past.
Faenys ricocheted through the tavern door, lost her footing, and skidded across the floor.
She looked around frantically, then scowled.
”After all that he’s not even here yet.”
She stomped to a nearby table, tore a chair out and angrily finished tying up her shoes, annoyed that with all her training and experience she could still be tripped up by a rogue shoelace.
When she was done she sat drumming her long fingers on the table. She half expected Colm to walk through the door and scupper her chances to get away. But the door remained shut.
Faenys had arrived in town late the night before. She’d given Colm the slip in a nearby village. Darbiton? Maybe? It didn’t really matter. What mattered was that last night she’d met a traveller who had offered to join forces with her and try to snag a quest. Hopefully a quest that would take her far, far away.
But where the hell was he?!
Salazar started at the sound of a chair raking across the floorboards screaming so loudly in his brain it overwhelmed him. He winced and squeezed his eyes closed harder. It didnt work, he was awake and he wasn't happy about it.
rap, tap, tap, tap. RAP, TAP, TAP. TAP TAP!!!! Someone belted him repeatedly on his brain with their fingers. Salazar dug his into the timber under his face, it was grimy with mud and stale booze, and clawed his way forward, eyes still firmly shut.
Salazar clambered to his feet, unsteadily swaying on the very stable floor.
"I'm ere! alright? now shuddup! wat dya want?"
He pawed at the tabletop for a tankard that wasnt there and hazzard an eyeslit to glare blarily at the elf sitting sullenly at the table he was sleeping under.
Apache opened one big yellow eye and peered down at Faenys and the disgruntled goblin seated at the table below her. The taproom rafters were covered in cobwebs and were far from comfortable, but had provided the perfect warm, dry perch for a few hours rest. Better than sharing the floor with the likes of Salazar.... She stretched slowly, eyeing a nearby pigeon and wondered if it was worth her efforts to catch. Too much feather and not enough meat.
When the barkeep Scramsax had turned to reach for another old cup on the back board, Apache dropped silently from the rafters and pulled out a chair at the same table as the others. She tried her best to smile warmly, despite the nervous twitch in her tail.
"I see it was not all just drunken babble then, some have returned."
Fiadh sighed, already wondering if joining this group was a bad idea. But upon checking her schedule she had absolutely nothing else going for her. So, tucking her pride into her boots, she strode across the tavern and dragged a chair up to the table and sat beside the feline.
”Greetings.” She didn’t know what else to say. She needed an adventure, but she wasn’t sure if Salazar was the kind of someone that she wanted to follow across the maps. None of them were. Such a ragtag bunch.
She screwed up her face as the cool touch of dread washed over her. Perhaps she would be better off on her own, she had always faired well on her own... she shifted in her seat and considered leaving. But something kept her feet planted in place.
Maybe adventure wasn’t all she was searching for.
Bröbean sprinted toward the tavern doors, frantically trying to open them before bursting in with his shoulder. His vision was blurred and his mind racing as he dashed toward the privy, paying no notice to anyone he passed. He only had one thing on his mind and no one was going to stop him.
As he ran toward the privy doors he kept muttering to himself, “no, no, no… nearly there, just a little longer”.
Bröbean jumped inside the privy, barely dropping his trousers in time as his body gave up and relaxed. He breathed a sigh of relief as the panic slowly subsided. He made it! He didn’t piss himself. Well, not again anyway…
Bröbean shook his head and chuckled to himself as he remembered bits and pieces of the night before.
That Salazar can handle his ale, he thought to himself.
After what felt like an age, Bröbean exited the privy, only now seeing a group of familiar faces staring over at him.
“Hey guys! When did you all get here?”
There is a sudden gust of frigid air as the tavern door opens again. This time, along with flurries of snow and ice, three stout figures enter. Bundled heavily in cold weather garb, complete with snowshoes on their backs and ice picks at their belts, they pause a moment and look around the tavern.
Upon seeing your group seated at the table they push back their hoods and head straight towards you. As they get closer you can see that they are Dwarves, and that they have been through some hard travel. Their hair and beards and even their eyebrows thick with icicles, and all three are suffering from frostbite. The one in front, a female, has lost a couple of fingers and her right ear. While one of her male companions has even lost his nose. The other male is staring up at the rafters and glancing out of the windows nervously as though he expects to be attacked at any moment by some unseen, airborne, foe.
As they step up to the table the woman croaks out in the harsh voice of a lifetime smoker “Well met! I’m Hruna, and these are my friends, Korux and Storn. We need help, and you look capable.”
“We’re the survivors of a group of dwarves tasked with delivering a sled of iron ingots to Bryn Shander. A yeti surprised us and killed a member of our group. The rest of us fled as the yeti tore Oobok limb from limb. Now we need someone to go back and get the sled for us. As payment, we offer each of you a gemstone worth fifty gold pieces. The friendship of the dwarves of Icewind Dale can also be a boon in these harsh times. You’ll need snowshoes to make the trip in good time.”
(DM’s note: As residents of Icewind Dale you are all equipped for the harsh conditions. You should all have a set of cold weather clothing in addition to your usual starting equipment. Snowshoes and Crampons can be bought in town)
Salazar, listed in his seat eyes closed again. He felt the warm crush of bodies as his companions joined him and Faenys at the table.
There was a loud bang and a cold gust "no, no, no,......" the doppler of Bröbean as he raced through the room.
When he returned, Salazar extended a finger to answer his question when there was another gust. Colder and more dramatic than the first. He figured pleasantries could be put aside for the moment. His head was still roaring from the effects of last night so he directed the gesture at Scramsax and beckoned for their usual.
Shortly after the husky dwarf had finished her monologue Scramsax delivered their drinks, placing a cup in front of each of the companions. A tall flagon of dwarven stout took both hands for Salazar to clutch to his pursed lips. He hesitated just a second before grabbing it and instead reached to his belt to retrieve a small flask of amber liquid, he tipped the exilir into the flagon before taking a long draw *gulp* With each pull he seemed to sit a little taller *gulp* the frothy brew renewed his hue *gulp* the green returned to his cheeks and he finally opened his eyes, they were a healthy yellow. "ahhh" , he wiped the froth from his lips.
"We'll met fair lady dwarf" he grinned "we are indeed capable and interested in coin, tell us a little more, but please sit and ease your burden. Such discussions shouldn't be had standing in the breeze way." Salazar beckoned for Scramsax to fetch the dwarfs something to ease their chill.
When the barkeep returns to the table he grumbled under his breath something about not being a charity... Salazar continued to smile, unfazed.
Faenys tipped back on her seat, silently watching the Dwarves.
From the outside she was the picture of composure. But those who looked closer would see her slightly furrowed brow, her thumb working its way anxiously through the fabric of her sleeve, and her eyes fixed on the Dwarves with the same intensity as you would eye a snake lurking in the corner of your room.
Faenys knew Dwarves. She knew them well. They had razed her village to the ground and murdered her whole family when she was barely 10 years old.They were the reason she ended up an Outlander, fending for herself in the wilds of Icewind Dale. All for some slight her brother had caused the clan leader - a Rumnik Rumnaheim. The story goes that her brother called him a one-armed freak who needed a bath.
”He definitely needed a bath,” Faenys muttered under her breath, forgetting where she was for a second.
The faces around the table turned to look at her.
”What I meant to say was,” she said “I saw a shop yesterday selling Snowshoes...the proprietor really needed a bath.”
She took a drink to quieten the inner turmoil. It would be fine...this was a different clan...and could it really be much worse than what she was running from?
Salazar eyed the elf next to him curiously; she was squirming and squinting at the small company of dwarves as a cat would a cucumber. Strange, he thought to himself, why didn't the cat do that?
She muttered something that made Salazar shift uncomfortably, was she talking about him? He tactfully sniffed his left pit.... Eugh... Probably...
Fiadh straightened in her seat at the dwarves approach. She had met many a dwarf, some kind and some not so kind. She wondered which type of dwarf were these?
she took a moment to study the others gathered at the table, all of them had varying looks of uncertainty towards the dwarves.
retrieving a sled? Simple.
facing a yeti? Yikes.
Fiadh had never met anyone who would willingly walk into the path of a yeti...but none at the table moved. Everyone seemed willing to accept the task. Fiadh hoped the yeti would have moved on by the time they made it to the sled, but a gnawing feeling in her gut told her that the yeti would be the least of their concerns.
Bröbean eyed the Dwarven travellers from the door way and listened to them intently. It had been some time since he had a quest or even some kind of purpose. The prospect of both excited him.
He rushed forward and said “What are we all waiting for? Last one to the cobbler is a smelly goat!”