(IC) Quickleaf's Rime of the Frostmaiden

[Neurotic]

Ooc: perfect entrance for a distraction

A halfling staggers from the restrooms, looking through the legs of big fellows trying to find his seat. Apparently not finding it, the hin staggers to a wall, sliding down it in a heap, close to the group of mercs with the blond man. Finding a cosy spot, he curls into a sleeping position mumbling to himself and settling down not ten feet behind the target.

 

[Quickleaf]

GM POST

The tall folk of the Northlook's taproom are deep in their cups, entertained by the minstrel's new song and peeking over one another's shoulders to gawk at the winter fairy who has become something of a local legend. Thus, the "halfling" Lumrolur slips unnoticed through the crowd – assumed to be another halfling trapper or petty-wares merchant – and finds a "sleeping" spot within earshot of the blonde man and his mercenaries.

GM: @Neurotic The mercenaries are speaking the Illuskan language unfamiliar to you, but you catch a few places names – Neverwinter, Cold Run, and Bryn Shander among them. They also say "Strunor" a couple times before you realize that it's the name of their blonde employer. "Strunor", for his part, is close-lipped company, offering some offhand comments, "I hear you can wring the alcohol from men of Mintarn like a sponge. Sober up by the morrow." Otherwise, he's absorbed in the journal.

Adjusting the tuning on his lute, the minstrel moves closer to the hearth, ignoring a drunken patron shouting out "play Juice of the Vine!" Setting up near the frigid dwarves warming themselves by the hearth, the minstrel begins a drinking song known by dwarves and Ten-Towners.

"A keg of ice. A cask of fire. In the Dwarven Valley.
Fought our wars. Where are they now? In the Dwarven Valley.
Too few remain. These ill tidings. Shadow of the Cairn.
Battlehammer and Silverstream. Sweating ice for hell.
Oho. Sweating ice for hell.
Picks and axe and hollyhocks, from the Dwarven Valley.
Bound for the South they braved the trail.
Through frost and fire they would prevail.
To Mithral Hall the dwarves withdrew. Left behind too few.
A keg of ice. A cask of fire. In the Dwarven Valley.
Lift up your ale. We will prevail. Oh the Dwarven Valley."​

For a moment, there's a forlorn glimmer in the battle-scarred dwarf's eyes as she gazes toward the hearth. Jack's entrance, however, quickly changes her expression to an unmistakable blend of exasperation bleeding into a roguish smile she can't help spreading across her face. "If it isn't Jack Everfrost," motioning toward Jack with her pipe, Hlin wags her finger. "The last time I saw you - how did you phrase it? - you were engaged in a snowball fight 'to the doom' with invisible 'frost sprites'? And the snowballs juuust happened to hit a town's Speaker, two merchants, and three frontiersmen?" There's a touch of sarcasm to her voice as if frost sprites aren't a real creature, despite the wintery fairy right before your eyes.

"Yes, it's about the murders, Jack." She lowers her voice here, not wanting to draw undue attention and hinting at a prior conversation between her and the fairy. "I was able to convince Sheriff Markham that you had nothing to do with them," she says, before adding wryly, "this time."

Addressing the rest of the group, she nods down to the fairy. "Jack can keep you forewarned of winter storms and knows a bit of magic that helped me catch one of my bounties. Just don't let him cheat you at cards." Nodding toward Jack, she gestures for him to join the table, "Timely arrival per usual, Jack. What kept you up? Have to jump a candlestick?"

At last, the barkeep Scramsax returns with another round of drinks and some food – three bowels of salted roasted chestnuts for the table, and for Zeth (@Necropolitan ) a jerked salted knucklehead trout sandwich with creamy mustard, pickles, and sauerkraut, along with a side of roasted potatoes seasoned with winter herbs and pepper flakes.

GM: @Aethmud Let's say that Jack and Hlin have already spoken about the murders, so you're caught up on the basic situation, modus operandi, and victims already (see this exposition post).

 

[VLAD the Destroyer]

Logrim listened to the scarred dwarf. The murders were intriguing, killing with some magically imbued ice. He listens to the various points of information provided by the others. He absorbs all the information pondering on what has been said. Having lived in the Dale all his life he thinks back trying to remember if anything like this has happened before. When the dagger is produced he takes a closer look.

"Miss Trollbane, I may be able to glean some information from the dagger. But I am missing a component to perform the ritual. Do you happen to have a pearl I could barrow? I will return it when the ritual is complete."

When Vorr speaks in gnomish he can't help himself from taking a quick glance in the indicated direction. He curses himself under his breath for being foolish and resolves to not look again.

OOC: History Check: 1d20+5 25, I want to see if anything similar to these murders has happened anytime in the past or anything in the history of the Dale of similar rituals. Also sorry for the absence this weekend. Both my kids where at a swim meet all weekend and I had little time to post.

 

[Quickleaf]

GM POST

GM: @VLAD the Destroyer No worries. There are going to be moments like that for all of us. Hope they had a good swim meet! Murders happen, but usually they're not like this – this may be the first serial killer in Icewind Dale's history. The history of Icewind Dale is one of malign influence and would-be conquerors, whether frost giants, followers of Auril, or the mage Akar Kessel. Each has some association with magical ice. The frost giants have long sought the Ring of Winter, an artifact with the power to create permanent ice. They say the ring's origins are evil and that it drives its wielder toward murderous intent. The ring was last in possession of the frontiersman Artus Cimber, whereabouts unknown. Some say the ring drove Artus insane. Others claim he found the strength to control the ring's evil. About 100 years ago Akar Kessel found Crenshinibon, an artifact also known as The Crystal Shard, and used its powers to amass an army. When he was defeated by the Companions of the Hall, the Crystal Shard was shattered across Icewind Dale. Some claim that those pieces can be found as everlasting "black ice." Followers of Auril led by the "Ice Witch" sought to take over Icewind Dale almost 5 years ago, but she was slain and her followers suffered a crippling defeat. Her followers were known to perform sacrifices of prisoners taken in battle that left mysterious frozen wounds as if the victim were impaled by a super-freezing icicle.

Hlin shakes her head to the gnome's question, glancing about the party gathered round the table in case one of them might have a pearl. "No, that's one gem that's in scant supply in the North and you won't find sold by the likes of Torrga (unless it's stolen). The half-elven merchant I mentioned, Rendaril, he probably has one for purchase. Gods know he sells all kinds of oddities." She ponders a moment longer, then pushes the oil skin with the ice dagger away from herself and toward Logrim. "Hang on to the murder weapon for your spell-working."

 

[VLAD the Destroyer]

Logrim nods and takes the wrapped weapon.

"Thank ya ma'am. I'll keep it safe."

He takes the ice dagger and shoves it into his backpack. Anyone who looks closely will notice that the inside of the pack appeares to be an empty black void.

 

[Necropolitan]

At last, the barkeep Scramsax returns with another round of drinks and some food – three bowels of salted roasted chestnuts for the table, and for Zeth (@Necropolitan ) a jerked salted knucklehead trout sandwich with creamy mustard, pickles, and sauerkraut, along with a side of roasted potatoes seasoned with winter herbs and pepper flakes.

Witnessing Zeth devouring the sandwich brings to mind an ogre devouring a halfling head-first. The potatoes go even more quickly and provide less of a potentially traumatizing spectacle in their consumption.

Finally approaching something close to satiation (Zeth hopes his necessary diet in the wilds hasn't given him any diseases or supernatural conditions), the meal and inn's heat finally return the full flush of life to Zeth's skin.

Logrim nods and takes the wrapped weapon.

"Thank ya ma'am. I'll keep it safe."

He takes the ice dagger and shoves it into his backpack. Anyone who looks closely will notice that the inside of the pack appeares to be an empty black void.

Ever-acquisitive, Zeth makes a mental note to ensure the dagger ends up in his possession once the bounty's been claimed. He might not personally use it but it'd be worth plenty if he could find the right buyer. "Sacrificial dagger of everlasting cold blessed by a goddess" could bring in a pretty pile of gold. And if not for him then kicking it up the chain in his organization could help get him promoted.

Seeing the magical bag Zeth makes a second mental note to see what other magic items could be gained. For all the trip had started as a disaster this could prove to be profitable. For him at least. He wouldn't betray those he worked with, but if the worst happened there was no reason to pass up whatever good fortune saw their possessions finding their way into his pockets.

For all gold glittered it was magic that was truly valuable. And Zeth wanted as much of it as he could get.

 

[happylace]

With her curiosity about the mercenaries sated for now, Alma turns back to the matter at hand. As far as she can tell, they don't seem connected. And have no intention of interfering. She watches Logrim pocket the knife and considers everything they've learned so far.

''I think we've exhausted most leads here. We require more information to continue. It seems most likely that someone from Torrga's caravan is responsible. However, there is a question--is the target random or specifically chosen, and for what purpose?''

She looks again to Hlin, seeming to defer to her instinctually. ''You mentioned the priest and the glassblower. The only correlation from the provided information is that both held negative feelings towards followers of Auril. Are any of the caravan employees associated with such a deity?''

 

[Quickleaf]

GM POST

Easing back down into her seat after greeting the fairy and discretely casting her eyes about for eavesdroppers, the aging white-haired dwarf arches a brow toward Alma. Her mouth has just clamped down on the scrimshawed pipe. After a moment's deliberation, she shakes her head, "Torrga employs all sorts, and they're constantly coming and going. Whether that's cause they're unreliable sorts... or because Torrga needs plausible deniability for her ill-gotten gains... who's to say?" Hlin Trollbane takes a puff of the pipe, bringing its fading embers back to life.

"Last time I had a headcount she had five men working for her," she begins, gnawing on the pipe and cocking her eyebrow as she strains to remember. "A man with pirate's tattoos, Sephek something or other... An archer with clothes that look stained by the mines common in Huldenstone and Fireshear... A man that could be an exile of the Reghed tribes... The other two the usual sorts of criminals fleeing the law come to the north to hide, and overstaying their welcome." Hlin shrugs and exhales a stream of smoke over her shoulder. "Wish I knew more. Bounty hunting is what I'm comfortable with. Give me the straightest point between two lines. Investigation? That's a meandering river of problems."

Spoiler: Necropolitan

@Necropolitan Zeth will immediately recognize the name Sephek – Sephek Kaltro was a sailor aboard your ship who fell overboard in freezing waters and his body was never recovered.

 

[happylace]

Alma nods in thanks and looks around the table at the others. ''Very well. It seems we have some options. We can pursue the leads here in town or attempt to catch up to the caravan elsewhere.'' She looks around the tavern briefly. ''But we'll need to wait for the gnome who didn't introduce himself to return.''

 

[domminniti]

Russet Ghostfur

Seeing Jack swan into the tavern put a smile on Russet's face. Jack's joy and lust for life is a bittersweet memory of what he once had. He gives his old friend a wry smile.

Your luck's still bad I see Jack! No way else to explain us crossing paths again. You owe me an ale, if memory serves, so it's my lucky day for a change.

When the chance presents itself, he discreetly wispers to Jack
If you feel like turning your luck around...see the human in the wide brimmed hat? That's Mak - got gold and is eager to lose it. Nice fellah, and we'll be working with him, so go easy on him.


Russet is happy that Alma is organising things. The idea of leaving the tavern, however is unwelcome. Its cold out there, and he's owed an ale.
Hiln, you were looking at those dwarves by the hearth... need some backup brining them in? I'm no good at all this mystery stuff, but I can just about hold my own in a tussle .