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[D&D5e] [PBP] [IC] Aurils' Everlasting Winter
The Brayster
UKRegistered User regular
UKRegistered User regular
11pm, 14th Nightal: 1489DR
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.
Bryn Shander
Black Antlers above a vertical shaft of golden wheat on a white field, signifying the town's strength and prosperity on the vast, snowy tundra.
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 woodplanked 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.
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PSN: TheBrayster_92
PSN: TheBrayster_92
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Be it by design or by necessity, you have found yourself arriving at Bryn Shander, the most populated and prosperous of the Ten-Towns. Your group finds itself being hurried through the Northern-most gate of the Town by a couple of nervous looking guards. Your journey here was wrought with troubled weather, screaming winds stinging your faces as you trudged your way through the frigid cold and blinding darkness. Your arrival was aided by the glow of the Aurora, arriving seemingly on schedule, night after night, ever since Auril cloaked the Dale some two years ago.
Your group is shephered through with haste, and upon entry are greeted by the captain of the gate, who jogs out from the brazier he had been warming himself by to deliver a hurried welcome.
"Welcome to Bryn Shander, self-appointed jewel of the Dale"
The man before you looks each of you up and down with a fron, before continuing.
"I'll not ask ye of yer business, but know that if you bring trouble, yer leaving it here at the gate. The townfolk are uneasy, and could do without the added stress. I'll give ye two pointers."
He first points to your right
"The Northlook Tavern, to get warmed and rested. I'll have ye fair warned that the proprietor was once a sellsword, and he'll swift remind ye if ye feel like acting up"
He then points down the street, directly ahead.
"An' down there's Blackiron Blades, run by a Dwarf couple who operate a smithy and general store both. The iron is shit, but it's at least as cheap as yer gonna get. Best be waitin' til mornin though"
PSN: TheBrayster_92
Flint flicks back the hood of his cloak and rubs his fuzzy chin.
“Dwarves smithing poor iron? Dread times indeed. You’d think it that their kin eastward would haul it across in trade of something or other.”
His accent brings to mind tales of shield biting raiders and mighty boasts that lead to daring quests, but his posture is slack, his heavy lidded eyes soft and his hands relaxed. Something in the way he slings his bow and hangs his axes from his belt reads as a craftsman going about his business than a wild barbarian.
"We should get warmed up and fed while we can and then obtain supplies tomorrow."
The half-orc is large, over 6 foot tall, with a thick, muscular build, giving the impression of a large sturdy barrel. On his back is a heavy supply pack, a quiver of javelins and a pair of handaxes secured to the side. On his hip, a worn but well maintained battleaxe rests, ready to be drawn in a moment's notice. In his hand is a long gnarled staff, a walking stick used to traverse rough terrain.
The guard clears his throat.
"Yeah, well, as I'm sure ye know trade has slimmed down to nothin. I'm sure the smithy is victim to it like all others. Shame really, ol' Garn seems like the right sort, he just can't get it his way. Perhaps go see him in morn, he's good fer a chat, if naught else"
He shuffles his foot in the snow and rubs his hands together in a vigorous motion.
"As much as I would love to chat, I have duties to see to. Take care, and keep out of my notice."
His eyes betray that his 'duties' involve being closer to the fire you pulled him away from with your arrival. He makes a swift turn and strides back into the warm glow.
You have been left alone in the street, with only yourselves and the glow of sporadically placed whale oil lanterns for company.
PSN: TheBrayster_92
"Jewels tend to sparkle best in the light, self-appointed or otherwise. I wouldn't welcome spending this night outdoors, and an inn is preferred to a gaol-cell."
The metallic slither of chainmail accompanies his movement as he resets his scarf and hood.
PSN: Wstfgl | GamerTag: An Evil Plan | Battle.net: FallenIdle#1970
Hit me up on BoardGameArena! User: Loaded D1
"Cheaper to sleep in the woods though." The wiry human considered for a moment, shrugged, then started off towards the Northlook Tavern. The druid was bundled up against the cold, wearing a mishmash of stitched-together furs from an indeterminate number of animals. Aside from that, they travelled light - quarterstaff in hand, and shield slung across their backpack.
Once in the Tavern, Morti intends to string up whatever they could forge on the way here up over the Tavern's fire place to begin cooking.
Mortilocian
On approach to The Northlook Tavern, you do not notice the sound of raucus cheer that would normally spill out onto the street from such an establishment. Instead, upon swinging open the front door, the patrons look you up and down with questioned expessions before returning to their hushed whispers and gossiping. The only break in the tension in the room comes in the form of a Knucklehead Trout framed on the wall, adorned with the title 'Ol' Bitey'. When passed by, Ol' Bitey seemingly comes alive with song.
Farther up the river’s flow;
Where it is, I do not know;
Must be under all that snow.
Most patrons, where feasible, are seated as close to the hearth fire as can be reasonably managed, chatting away to each other, albeit in rather hushed tones. The only exceptions to this are the taverns proprietor, who finds himself tending the bar, and a dwarf woman on the far side of the room, silently staring out of the window into the streets of Bryn Shander.
PSN: TheBrayster_92
Uma growls a quiet tsk at the fish, muttering under her breath “you’d be wantin’ to travel under the ice, ye daft fish”.
The tiny Kobold made her way to the table and hopped up nimbly, though she seemed a bit weighed down by her pack and the layers of furs and metal covering her body.
Once seated she turned her gaze to the dwarf by the window, trying to see what she could see about her- these folk wore rings to show they were mated, right? Was she carrying a weapon?
Geth roll 1d20+1 for Perception
Then he heads to the bar.
Uma
The man attending the bar looks up curiously at Flint.
"Not one of my regulars I see. What can I get ye?"
PSN: TheBrayster_92
"Oh, I wouldn't want to deprive Bryn Shander of its most consistently talented singer." Esk hangs his shield over the back of his chair, the better to slouch down and tuck his hands in his sleeves for warmth. "Though if you could teach it a different song, I might change my own tune."
PSN: Wstfgl | GamerTag: An Evil Plan | Battle.net: FallenIdle#1970
Hit me up on BoardGameArena! User: Loaded D1
He looks around conspiringly.
“Got any gossip fit for an nomad? Big rats in the cellar? Bandits hereabouts? Seen any reindeer passing by? Travelling folks don’t make much coin elsewise.”
“Oh wait, Morti? What do you drink?”
"Gossip? Ten-Towns is full of strange goins' on as of late. Hells, even on the subject of drink - honey mead shipments have all but stopped coming. Apparently, the Town Speaker for Good Mead was killed by a 9-foot-tall giant in recent days, and the blasted thing made off with the good stuff! Only the gods might know when we'll get more of that good stuff in, but it's certainly missed."
The proprietor moves a mug along to settle before pouring the next.
"What else? Oh right. Some lad passed through a few days back, said he was from over Caer-Konig direction. Said they were having a real bad problem with vandals and thieves in the place. Not one caught, not one! 'e said he wanted to try setting up his family somewhere safer"
He continues to pour apace as he clearly tries to search his own mind.
"Beyond that? There's yer woman over there", he subtly gestures toward the dwarf by the window. "Hlin Trollbane, ye call 'er. Retired bounty hunter, been plying her trade all over the area for years before she decided she had enough of it. She's quiet at the best of times, but she aint half been glarin' out that window. I know those serious eyes, she's trackin' something alright".
PSN: TheBrayster_92
Morti sidled as close to the hearth as they could get, then pulled out a pot from their backpack. The pot was already packed with snow, and nestled inside was a small hare - dressed and chopped into manageable pieces. The druid withdrew a couple suspicious-looking carrots next and added them to the pot, followed by a handful of herbs and berries for seasoning. On went the lid, then Mortilocian withdrew to the table Thorkel had claimed.
"Grog." The response was quick and unthinking, and the druid made a face after speaking. "Um. Or a small beer? Or whatever is fine."
Morti gestured to the Knucklehead Trout. "You know those things kill more fisherfolk than sharks? You catch one on a line by mistake, or try to land one without backup, and they can pull you right in. All of a suddenly, you're in half-frozen water and soaked through. If that happens and you're too far from a fire, next thing you know you're explaining yourself to Kelemvor."
After looking at their companions, Mortilocian reconsidered. "I mean, maybe not Eskatan or Thorkel. You two could probably handle it."
Thorkel gives a small chuckle, and perhaps even a slight smile, when Flint declares his intent to, one day, steal away with Ol' Bitey. "Perhaps you can bury it somewhere where it won't sing again."
When the proprietor speaks of vandals and thieves in Caer-Konig, Thorkel's smile settles back into its usual scowl. "We have enough trouble with Auril's damned winter biting our nethers without cowardly fools making it worse."
The proprietor finishes his pours and plants the drinks on a tray, sliding it across the bar.
"Four copper each, bringin yer to twenty coppers. Seein as yer fresh into town, will ye be looking for rooms? Five silver a bed, and I'll tell ye now you won't find anything as fair or comfortable in all of Ten-Towns"
PSN: TheBrayster_92
Thorkel he’s known a good while; him wandering out of town to hunt, Flint wandering the opposite way to learn the latest or spread his chief’s message. The others he’d gotten to know very recently in the hopes of forming an adventuring party (though he wasn’t exactly sure what to aim his bow at yet, just that something needs be done). Morti is an enigma. Instinctively, he wants to include them.
“You seen that old dwarf, Mortilocian? She’s a bounty hunter, watching for someone right now!”, he smiles, “Bet if we, and by we I mean you, asked her if she needed any hands we’d get a cut of whatever she’s getting paid. You’ve worked with dwarves before, right? Speak any of the lingo? No matter.”
He picks up his drink and wordlessly gestures to the party: Do we wanna try to muscle in on this bounty?
PSN: Wstfgl | GamerTag: An Evil Plan | Battle.net: FallenIdle#1970
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The druid nodded, and stood to go talk to the dwarf. Ships needed captains, and sailors followed orders. Just another part of the cycle.
Morti approached the dwarf. "Hail, bounty hunter. My friends and I are looking for coin, and they heard you might need a hand with with something. Do you want our help?"
The Dwarf does not immediately acknowledge you, her gaze solidly fixed out of the window.
"Bounty Hunter, huh?", the Dwarf asks, in a half mumble, almost as if to herself.
She turns her face to meet yours.
"You're with that fresh lot just arrived. Yes, I am a bounty hunter, or was when I was fit enough for it. You and yours must either have sharp eyes or a habit of inquiry to pick that up, in either case, you might be useful"
She gestures a pouring motion to the man behind the bar, then motions as if to join your table.
"C'mon young one, we'll discuss this as a group. I really hate repeating myself, really takes it out of these old lungs".
She strides towards the table and slams herself down in the first chair she reaches. Accepting a flagon, she eyes each of you up and down as she begins what you feel like might be a long conversation.
"Names Hlin. Former Bounty Hunter, but you knew that already. The work is behind me, but the habits aren't, and I know a bad smell when I sniff one.
You might think, oh, it's just another gruesome day in Ten-Towns: howling wind, bitter cold, foul tempers, and snowdrifts big enough to bury a herd of moose. But recently the locals are abuzz with news about a series of recent killings. Before the murders, the only question on everyone’s mind was, “Will summer ever return to Icewind Dale?” Now the question is, “Will I be the killer’s next victim?” Nothing breeds fear and paranoia like a murderer with no face.
Three cold-blooded murders have been committed in the past month: a halfling trapper in Easthaven, a human shipbuilder in Targos, and, most recently, a dwarf glassblower here in Bryn Shander. Each victim was found with a dagger of ice through the heart. Can you imagine that? There's naught on paper that should connect these three, save for the unusual manner of their deaths. But what's the motive?"
Hlin coughs a splutter and proceeds to down her flagon in one gulp, as if the ale were somehow a soothing remedy, before placing a keen shoulder forward.
"You lot are from out of the towns, however. Do you know aught of the sacrifices?"
Group
PSN: TheBrayster_92
PSN: TheBrayster_92
Though much of Morti's time was spent on their fishing boat, it was possible they had heard something...
PSN: TheBrayster_92
Surely if things were as bad as all that, Esk thinks he would have heard something. People love gossiping about a brutal unsolved mystery almost as much as a solved one.
PSN: Wstfgl | GamerTag: An Evil Plan | Battle.net: FallenIdle#1970
Hit me up on BoardGameArena! User: Loaded D1
The mention of sacrifices causes Thorkel to bristle, his body momentarily gripped by a shiver of a cold worse than that of the winter snows outside. He quickly composes himself, returning to his usual stoic scowl, but perhaps someone near him might have noticed how it affected the half orc.
PSN: TheBrayster_92
PSN: TheBrayster_92
“Ice is fragile. Slamming it through a chest is no easy task. Sounds like magic. But there’s no wizards I know of around here. We’ve got shaman and the towns have priests, though I don’t have much time for either. You thinking it has religious implications? Spirits wanting revenge for mistreating a sacred site? Or a sacrifice to them, for better days?”
Geth roll 1d20+2 for Religion
Who do folks worship in this town? And perhaps if it’s a particular high roll; is there a known divine caster in this town?
Flint
Flin places her elbows on the table and leans forwards, speaking through her hands
"Let me explain my hunch.
For the last year or so, the Ten-Towns have each been offering sacrifices to Auril, after it became clear that the Frostmaiden, in all of her wisdom, was not about to leave us mere mortals in peace. These sacrifices are picked based on the needs of each town and what they can spare. For some, that is food, often the catch of the day from the full town. For others, it is warmth - those who cannot sacrifice anything else give up any form of heat for the night. For the largest towns, the sacrifice is one of their own citizens, cast out into the tundra to be claimed by the cold".
Hlin leans back to give you all a moment to digest what she is saying, before continuing.
"In these cases, the unlucky soul is drawn from a lottery, so to speak, a lottery containing the names of every citizen living within the town walls. That is how things are supposed to work, at least. There have long been rumours that the process is seeped in corruption, that a few names are somehow being left out of those lists. The who and how escape me, but that's not my ultimate concern in all this.
Knowing this, you must understand my suspicion, then, when the only three towns in which the killings take place, are the only three towns which sacrifice their own citizens. It is my belief that the victims are from among those who have managed to keep their names out of the lists"
The dwarf once more begins to chug ale, before slamming her tankard down and wiping the foam from her face. She then gives a nod to Flint.
"You and I have very similar lines of thinking. Wielding a weapon of frost is no usual thing. My theory is that our murderer is one who is blessed by Auril herself, one who acts in her name, to work in her interests. Think about it - one so vain as Auril would not take lightly any mortal who would cheat her of a sacrifice. To cheat their way out is to spit in her face".
The dwarf pauses once again, to you a moment to understand her thinking while she scans the room. Content that there is no one eavesdropping on the conversation, she once again allows herself to continue.
"So, these assumptions being true, we have the how and the why, the question remains then - who?. I had long pondered this, but my more recent observations may have yielded the answer we seek.
Travel between towns these days is rare and cumbersome. Anyone who finds themselves in one of the larger towns tends to stay there. One group does seem to regularly travel between the three larger towns however - 'Torg's' - a trading caravan of sorts. Torg's is run by a particularly shady Dwarf - Torrga Icevein. She's always been a nasty Dwarf worthy of a wide berth, but more recently she's gained a new bodyguard - goes by the name of Sephek Kaltro. I spied this new one the last time the caravan came through here. While his compatriots bundled up like the rest of us in the warmth, Sephek simply strolled around town, unbundled and seemingly unburdened by the cold. That one is touched by Auril, I'd be willing to put money on it".
Hlin pauses before shaking her head to herself, almost as though she had just reminded herself of something important.
" - and put money on it I will. I will pay your group One Hundred Gold Pieces to apprehend Sephek Kaltro, ascertain his guilt, and if found wanting, put an end to him. We cannot trust anyone in authority to act, or even care, so I will. Do not get the authorities involved. Bring me some kind of proof that his spree is over and the gold is yours"
PSN: TheBrayster_92
What he doesn’t say is this: That’s going to be a little tricky… because I jilted Torrga Icevein at the altar!
"We could... meet Torrga or Sephek in person... and inquire about being hired with them... because we... are new in town and travel from place to place and could be useful as caravan guards!" He finishes quickly, hauling himself through the subterfuge to the surefootedness of truth like a jungle explorer scrambling out of a pit of quicksand.
PSN: Wstfgl | GamerTag: An Evil Plan | Battle.net: FallenIdle#1970
Hit me up on BoardGameArena! User: Loaded D1
"Does Auril even stay her hand?" The druid mused aloud. "A winter's tempest is part of the great cycle, but there must be other season for it to be a cycle."
Morti nodded their head, confirming something to themselves, and turned to Flint. "This ship must be righted. We should find out where the caravan is heading, and leave to intercept it at first light."
Hlin nods with a smile
"Your methods are your own to determine. However, if you're willing to take one piece of advice, it is this - do not rush. A target capable of these feats is likely a very dangerous combatant, assuming he can find him in the first place. Take the time to prepare for the journey, and prepare yourselves accordingly. If I may - I'd suggest a stop by Blackiron Blades in the morn. They're probably your best stop for supplies in these parts"
Hlin slams her hands down on the table and lifts herself up.
"I suggest taking a good rest tonight, it might be the best one you have in a while. Begin your inquiries in the morn. I look forward to your success"
The dwarf strides off, content that she is no longer the only soul who cares about resolving these murders.
PSN: TheBrayster_92
Assuming the gold he passed the barkeep accounts for their stay, he heads to bed after telling an old story about a ship that fell from the sky, a frog woman, a doubting cleric and a warrior with fire for a heart.
Uma stares off into the distance for a moment, looking thoughtful.
"Well tha's more to go on than I expected, at least. So we know who we're lookin' for and we just gotta prove they're behind the murders somehow and then manage to kill 'em. Still sounds real dangerous"
She pauses a moment, looking around the table.
"Think we can pull it off, the 4 o' us?"
Upon hearing Uma's question, Thorkel responds "We won't know until we confront Sephek, but if we can stop him, the we should." Thorkel spits on the tavern floor, "At least it'd be one less Auril loving fool in the world."