(IC) Quickleaf's Rime of the Frostmaiden

With a wry grin and a nod to all players, Jack shuffles the cards. His snowy wings flutter in delight, casting tiny, iridescent snowflakes that shimmer in the candlelight and disappear before touching the table.


"Ah, cousins Ottar and Osvic, tell me, do you share a similar fortune as well as blood? We'll see if your tattoos do bring luck after all." As he deals the cards with an effortless flick of the wrist, each card spinning in the air before landing perfectly in front of its intended recipient, Jack leans back in his chair with a satisfied grin, folding his hands behind his head. "Alright, gentlemen, may the luck of the dragons be with you. Remember, it's not the size of the dragon in the fight, but the size of the fight in the dragon. Don't you think, Steingrimsson?"

Jack peeks at his own card and flips it over with a grimace, revealing a gleaming Brass dragon with an all-too-humble strength of 1. "Ah, it seems I've drawn a meekling. Just a meager strength of one. Barely enough to melt an icicle, let alone scorch a town. Still, it has its..." he gestures pendulously with both hands, "charms." He takes a swigs from his brass flask with a knowing wink.

With a grin, he reaches for his hoard and lifts up a single, shining silver piece. He holds it up for the others to see, before tossing it lightly into the pot with a clink. "Just a lonely silver, that's all this little one asks of me. No grand pile of wealth demanded. Just a humble, solitary silver." He chuckels, looking around at the others with twinkling eyes.

With a theatrical sigh and a dramatic hand to his forehead, Jack exclaims, "Oh, woe is me, Jack Everfrost, beloved of fey and friend of giants, dealt such a paltry card! Is this to be my fate? To freeze in the shadow of the mighty dragons that adorn these cards?" He eyes Thidrik and his card, as he interjects some banter, "Why Thidrik, with the frosty gleam in your eyes, I'd almost believe you were a white dragon yourself!"

happylace said:

Alma's brows shoot up at the name. There is a long beat of silence, like she's trying to decide something, before she replies. It might be the most expressive she's been so far. ''Yes. Right. I recognized your name from him. We are...related. He considered you very capable.''

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"Thank you," says Corse. "That means a lot. I remember him." It's a simple satement, but it's meant sincerely. Now isn't the time to talk about how he was lost, or to offer false hopes. Corse knows that surviving so long on one's own is possible, but unlikely. It's clear Alma Osteergard is someone she can work with.

And there was Aric. The shifting goblin. He was a survivor, and would be helpful on the trails.

"We've all been eavesdropping, I'm afraid," says Corse, trying to deflect blame away from the shifter. Easier to take blame herself. "This is news in the Ten Towns, and it will attract attention. But this one, though a trickster with big ears, is trustworthy, and I'll feel safer travelling with him." She looks at the crowd.

She turns to Aric, "I am sorry for your loss. Morin was a survivor, and I hadn't heard that he was among the lost. Many are disappearing. This situation will continue until it is stopped."

Mak feels the familiar excitement as he reaches for his first card.

_: 1D12 = [8] = 8

_: 1D10 = [10] = 10


Which is a Silver Dragon with 10 Strength! A potentially good start if he can keep up the strength level, but my, playing such a high card surely depletes his horde.

Current Horde: 40/50

(I hope I’m understanding this right).

Kobold Stew said:

She turns to Aric, "I am sorry for your loss. Morin was a survivor, and I hadn't heard that he was among the lost. Many are disappearing. This situation will continue until it is stopped."

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“Thanks Corse”, Aric says laconically, as tears flow down his cheeks. He couldn’t help it, talking about his friend made the pain sting more.

As the group around the sheriff and the speaker enlarges, there is little chance of listening in on the private conversation. Yet, there still may be some chance. And Vorr is not one to show up unexpectedly such as this new...goblin! Little buggers show openly! It doesn't seem hostile or at least it didn't attack immediately.

Eyes shining, the halfling next to the wall mutters something and turns in his sleep. Only a very observant creature would notice that tossing ended up so that a shiny point of a hand crossbow bolt points directly at the goblin's heart,

OOC: no worries @Steve Gorak, I'm just role-playing I have no intention of shooting you

GM POST @Aethmud @tglassy


The mercenaries survey their cards, chuckling at Jack's freewheeling charms. Thidrik Steingrimmson maintains a sly grin as he plays the dreaded Tiamat in the first hand! He adds 1 silver to the pot. "Well said, Blizzard Bluffer. Now, as is customary in Mintarn, as leader of this company I will also ante... this nimble thread! It was spun from the crest hair of a roc, or so I was told." He adds a whitish-brown thread bracelet with streaks of copper.

Ottar, not to be outdone, plays Bahamut. "Look out! I'm coming for you cousin."

Osvic plays a Brass Dragon 2, a mere wyrmling.
Rudolf and Sodt both play Green Dragons 3.
Johun plays a Gold Dragon 4.
Arnholt plays a Gold Dragon 7, with a sigh, "Not good enough to match your Silver Dragon, Mak. Nor your Bahamut, Ottar. Yet. I feel my fortunes rising."

Thidrik chuckles at Jack's dramatic display, leaving the mystery of his eyes a mystery, "That's not all that's rising. Just because you're a little fellow, jack, doesn't mean you can get away with betting 1 silver each round!"

After the cards are played, the pot for this round is at 44 silver pieces so far. However, the special effects of each card must be accounted for before the first round is over!

Those with Evil Dragon (besides Tiamat) steal half their card's strength from the pot (rounded up). Thus, Rudolf and Sodt each steal 2 silvers for their Green Dragons.

Not to be outdone, those with Good Dragons (besides Bahamut) choose to attack certain opponents with Evil Dragons, forcing them to ante up silvers equal to half the strength of their Good Dragons (rounded up).

Thus, Osvic winks at Thidrik, "I don't trust you with the Queen of Dragons, cousin. Pay up." Thidrik smirks, and casts 1 silver into the pot.

Johun joins in the attack, "My Gold Dragon may be small but it is fierce!" Thidrik maintains his sly grin as he tosses 2 silvers into the center of the table.

Arnholt nudges Rudolf and taps the table. Rudolf groans, "My fortunes wane more than they rise. Stealing never pays – unless it's to the table." Rudolf returns 4 silvers.

Now the pot stands at 47 silver pieces... and the "nimble thread"...

Steve Gorak said:

Aric had been listening to many conversations in the tavern disguised as a cat. He was intent on finding clues on who or what had killed his friend Morin Littlebucket, the halfling trapper. Some folks were talking about constellations, others about caravans, and mercenaries. Aric was a bit overwhelmed, but his gut told him some of these folks were asking the right questions and really wanted to solve the mystery. He felt he could help, so he overcame his natural shyness and decided to appear in his natural form.

Seemingly coming out of nowhere, a cat appears and looks intently at both Alma and Corse. As onlookers are wondering whether this cat is actually smiling at them, it rather quickly transforms into a frail yet friendly-looking goblin.

Hesitantly and awkwardly, the creature says "h...hi. I'm Aric. My friend Morin the trapper was killed several days ago. If your goal is to find who did it, I want to help. I'm good in the trails too."

OOC: Hey @Kobold Stew, I'll leave it up to you if our characters know each other. I didn't want to assume they did, but I think it could make sense.

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Zeth raises an eyebrow at the cat suddenly transforming into...he's going to guess a goblin.

happylace said:

Alma startles as a cat suddenly shifts and grows, taking the form of a goblin. She rounds on him and stares, wide-eyed, a hand lifted, ready to cast. She makes a note to be more on her guard in this town. Too many things aren't as they seem. She hesitates. But like reciting a script says, ''Hello...my name is Alma Osteergard. I don't know their names,'' she tilts her head towards Logrim and Zeth. ''It's rude to eavesdrop on others' conversations.''

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Zeth doesn't extend his hand for a handshake but does incline his head in acknowledgement.

"My name is Zeth, it's good to meet you."

He'll leave his last name out of this for now, no telling if his companions in this will even survive their first adventure.

"Someone with tracking abilities will be useful, what else can you do?"

Necropolitan said:

Zeth raises an eyebrow at the cat suddenly transforming into...he's going to guess a goblin.


Zeth doesn't extend his hand for a handshake but does incline his head in acknowledgement.

"My name is Zeth, it's good to meet you."

He'll leave his last name out of this for now, no telling if his companions in this will even survive their first adventure.

"Someone with tracking abilities will be useful, what else can you do?"

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Aric childishly wipes the tears from his cheeks, temporarily distracted by the attention he is getting.

“Hi Zeth. Well , I can start a fire anywhere, and Morin was teaching me how to sing properly, but I’m still not as good as he is… I mean was.”

Quickleaf said:

The mercenaries survey their cards, chuckling at Jack's freewheeling charms. Thidrik Steingrimmson maintains a sly grin as he plays the dreaded Tiamat in the first hand! He adds 1 silver to the pot. "Well said, Blizzard Bluffer. Now, as is customary in Mintarn, as leader of this company I will also ante... this nimble thread! It was spun from the crest hair of a roc, or so I was told." He adds a whitish-brown thread bracelet with streaks of copper.

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"Ah, a nimble thread from the crest of a roc! Well, that’s a prize and a half, Thidrik!" Jack exclaims, eyes twinkling as he leans back on the pillow-top chair. "You see, I'm not sure I have anything to match a roc feather thread..." He strokes his beard theatrically, pondering on a suitable match for such a prize. "Well, maybe just one thing," as he produces from a pocket a small, shimmering ribbon, threaded with a tiny pendant of pearlescent petrified wood.

With a mischievous glint in his eye, Jack starts, "Now, this here is not an ordinary trinket. The ribbon was woven by the fey themselves, in the heart of the Feywild where the moon is always full. And the pendant is said to be a tear of a woodland nymph who fell in love with a mortal, but could not stay with him, frozen and then petrified over centuries into this small fleck of pearlescent gemstone.” He chuckles, continuing, "They say, on a clear night, under the soft glow of the moon, the ribbon will show you images that retell legends of the Feywild, each more enchanting than the last. And the pendant?" Jack's voice drops to a hush, "It whispers to the trees and the plants, and they whisper back. With this around your neck, you'd have more friends in the forest than any druid."

With a hint of worry on his brow, Jack drops the shimmering ribbon with the pendant into the pot.


Jack pointedly turns towards Sodt with a mischievous smile. "Ah, Sodt, dear friend, my humble little Brass dragon has taken a liking to you," he begins, his voice dripping with feigned innocence. He pats his card fondly, "A wee brass wyrmling, but with a heart as large as the mountains. Now, it seems your Green dragon managed to sneak away with a couple of shiny pieces, didn't he? And we all know how much dragons love their treasure. But alas, Sodt, my Brass dragon believes in fair and honorable play. He's of the opinion that what goes around, comes around. So, in the spirit of fairness and good sportsmanship, my Brass friend would like one of your ill-gotten silver pieces returned to the pot."


Revealing his card for the 2nd gambit, Jack rolls his eyes as he flips over a Bronze 3 Dragon. "Oh, woe is me! Once again the dragons seem to have misunderstood my innate charm and imposing stature," he proclaims, with a self-deprecating smile.

Turning towards Mak, he raises his brass flask in a salute, "And there you are, Mak, my friend! With your mighty Silver Dragon. A noble beast of grand power and beauty. As they say, 'Great dragons flock to great leaders'. This is clearly a sign of great things to come for you, don't you think? Or perchance your pet raven is a lucky charm?" he adds with a laugh.

Jack tosses his 3 silver pieces into the pot, "May the mightier dragons prevail! And may they remember that the lesser dragons tried their best," he grins at the table, spreading his arms wide in a lighthearted shrug, "But alas! The cards do not lie! So, here's to hoping for a little divine intervention in the next round!"