[Eberron] Beneath the Ice!

[nonamazing]

"We are too far north," Gravan tells you solemnly at your next meeting. "Impossibly far north, I'd say." He rubs his unshaven chin and looks at your thoughtfully. There are dark circles under his eyes, and it is obvious that he has come to feel a great deal of strain. "I can't begin to understand it, but that storm brought with it some strange magic indeed. The wood beneath the prow is warped, and I'd wager that on that night, we'd sailed on strange waters indeed." He sighs. It is more than a little odd to see this once confident man so nerve-wracked.

"W-well, just how far, um, have we been pushed?", asks Voddlegrok, somewhat impatiently.

"Near as I can reckon, most of our journey's behind us. You've got little more than a week before you'll take to your sleds..."

"But that is excellent news, Captain! I never thought," exclaims Voddlegork animatedly, "that we woud arrive so quickly, so far ahead of schedule! Oh, truely that storm was a fortunate one!"

Gravan stares at the tiny gnome with undisguised anger. "Fortunate! Fortunate, you fool! An ordinary storm doesn't carry a ship five hundred miles in one night! An ordinary storm doesn't do the damage this one did--my hull's in danger of falling apart, you feckless half-wit! If we don't find some way to repair it, we'll not be going home again, Voddlegrok, and I'm not aware if you've noticed but there's a shortage of timber round these parts!"

"N-not...going...h-home? "O-oh, my..." whispers Voddlegrok as he slips unconcious to the floor.

Gravan sighs and looks a back at you. "Sorry, I'm just frustrated, and I shouldn't have taken it out on the little fellow. It's true, though. Unless we figure something out, it looks like this has just turned into a one-way trip."

"I'd apreciate it if you didn't tell my crew about this, though. They're already wound up, and news like this could send them into a panic. I'm hoping you do find Voddlegrok's ancient Dwaves somewhere out there, 'cause at the moment, it looks like they'll be our only way of getting home."​

Soon: your characters' first steps onto the deadly ice of the Frostfell!

[Toshanharath] -

Spoiler

The stone that Norderil shows you, mysteriously floating, unattached, in a small cavity in the Warforged's chest, resembles an ioun stone (which are common in your native land). The sickly greenish glow it gives off, however, unnerves you--there is something very disturbing about this stone. The glow is the same one as from Deadweight's eyes, and you think you've seen the same green glow somewhere else recently as well.

 

[Barkey]

Much of the night Barandurr goes unseen, those who pay attention however, realize the dwarf is getting drunk again. Most likely finding some unsuspecting crewman not on duty, and betting his purse he could drink more than the crewman. And yet again, the dwarf wakes up, puffy eyed, scraggly (yeah, scraggly even for a dwarf), and in a bad mood.
"Lissen, dwarfs werena' made for travelin on yer lit'l boats and such, when are we gunna be there?" He eyes the damage done to the hull of the ship, particularly the bashing the fore of the ship, "Do ye be havin a lad skilled enuff to repair tha damage boyo?" eyeing the captain, "or do ya need a dwarfs hands," Holding up his hands, anyone can realize he's so hungover, they'd be impressed if he could hold a pencil straight.

 

[Krug]

Mong is glad to be reaching shore. "Well find a way to fix it. You should have more than enough time while we're exploring this... lost dwarven kingdom." She touches Rast, almost reflexively, as it coils down her arm. "Barandurr we'll let you near a tool when you're sober. You might turn it into a wagon or pushcart in the state you are."

 

[Speed-Stick]

When he hears the others talking about The Emerald Claw, Karthak speaks up "I don't know much about them myself, but my Uncle always said that they were trying to restart the war so Karnath could rule all of The Five Nations." . With that, he goes back to studying his spellbook. When he gets the chance, Karthak casts Detect Magic on the Warforged and his gear.


OOC: Sorry about the lack of posting the last couple of days. ENWorld has been giving me some problems.

 

[Doomhawk]

Upon hearing Gravan's measure of the distance, Toshanharath's eyebrows shoot up. "Five hundred miles in one night?! That's... well, I wouldn't have thought that was even possible. It's a miracle no one fell off the ship. Captain, how long can we last on our current supplies? It looks like we'll be making an extended stay here. I can probably feed myself, and I'll wager Mong can too," he says, nodding to the shifter, "but I doubt the two of us can provide for your entire crew." He nods for a moment thoughtfully. "Do we have any way of contacting civilization?" he inquires.
All in all, Toshanharath appears quite disconcerted. It's quite possible that everyone is in mortal danger, but even if not, the ship is still unfit to make it back to Aundair.

When Karthak casts his spell on Deadweight, Toshanharath walks over. "By the way," he comments, "Norderil showed me something he found in the Warforged's chest... it was a stone, and it was glowing green like the thing's eyes. I've seen things like it before, but there's something uncanny about this one... you might want to ask him if you can take a look at it."

 

[nonamazing]

Interludes

Barandurr - [SBLOCK]You've been drinking again, and by now most of Gravan's crew knows to avoid you when you're drunk. At first, you were easily able to convince one or more of the salty sailors to avoid their duties and drink with you instead. In this way you were able to recreate some of the comraderie and life of a dwarven gathering, always full of good ale and loudly sung tunes. But the crewmembers quickly discovered that they didn't have nearly your tolerance for the dwarven brew--most would leave your presence wobbling and slightly ill after only a dozen or so drinks. And because you had made it clear not drinking with you would have been an insult most grevious, the crew wisely began to steer clear of your drinking games, claiming the importance of their work.

(It is a bit of irony, in fact, that this helped insure the ship travelled so safely through the maze of ice--so many of Gravan's sailor were actually working, in order to have a valid excuse to avoid more dwarven ale forced at them, instead of goofing off, which they might have been inclined to do if Barandurr were not on board. So by his reckless drinking, it's quite probable that Barandurr saved the lives of everyone on the ship, though he'd never know that.)

One evening, a few days before the ship was to reach its terminal point (that is, the point in which the ice would become to thick to sail through), you found yourself stumbling through the lowermost decks, only slightly drunk, looking for a drinking partner. You quickly came to realize that the crew were nowhere to be found and the other members of the exploratory party were asleep or involved in other projects. So who was there to drink with? Why the prisoners, of course! Perhaps they were crude scoundrels, yes, but they looked like they might be able to hold their brew, and anyway, you'd gone drinking with worse.

But the soldiers proved to be poor company. They seemed terrified of their own shadows, and as they drank, they became more sullen and withdrawn. As they began to loosen up just a bit (although not enough to ever be much fun) they told you about the nightmares they'd been having--dreams of their terrible ex-captain rising up out of the water, threatening to kill them. "I swear that Miyris is still out there," one of the terrified prisoners says, "and she's caome back from the dead to get her revenge on us. Revenge becausewe failed her." You, of course, can't help but be amused by this. The soldiers hadn't been told about the fact that they were now more than five hundred miles north of the spot where their bitter old sow of a commander had fallen into the brine. Even if she'd come back as a seawraith, you'd find it hard to believe that she'd be able to catch up to the ship now. You supress a chuckle at the idea of a shrivled dead woman furiously dog-paddling through the vast ocean, vainly trying to follow a ship long gone.

But later, as you make your way back to your bunk, you can't help but feel a little shiver. Now that you're alone, the idea of a vengeful spirit haunting the waves frightens even you a small amount. You try and dismiss the idea from your mind, but you do not sleep well that night, as visions of a green-haired monster keep plying at your mind.[/SBLOCK]

Mong - [SBLOCK]In your dreams, you are wandering again, travelling from town to town as a mercenary. In many ways, these were among the best times of your life, despite the often sour reactions of those you worked for. Eventually you left the mercenary trade, tired of the sometimes frightful looks you would recieve, tired of being seen as some sort of monster. But in your dreams, it is the wandering itself that you return to, that you have always enjoyed, making your way from place to place, seeing new and strange things around every corner, walking sedately through verdant forests or sweeping plains, ever in appreciation of the landscape around you.

In your dream tonight, you walk though a cold land of snow and ice, and were this not a dream you might remark upon the fact that this place is not in your memories--but in dreams we tend to ignore such things. Beside you walks the priest, one of the few humans you've ever really been able to call friend. You walk together in silence for quite some time, your boots crunching on the packed snow. You do not question where you have been or where you are going--it is the journey that matters.

At one point, however, something in the dream changes. You are suddenly aware of the cold, and although not frightened, per se, you do feel oddly disturbed. The dream seems to become slow, and takes on a very sharp focus. You suddenly realized that the priest is calling out your name. "Mong. Mong!" His eyes are bright blue, like ice. He is smiling, and there is something odd about that, but you cannot quite see what it is. "You have to listen to me, please. I only have a moment--and the danger you face is so great. Know this: the storm was not meant for this ship. The wheels of destiny are changing, and you are caught up in them The balance..."

At that moment, the priest's words are suddenly cut off. There is a sudden, terrible roar of wind, and from the vale behind you emerges a blizzard, terrible and swift. In seconds, the two of you are seperated by the storm, the priest still trying to shout something at you.

Abruptly, you come awake, breathing heavily. A light dusting of snow covers your blanket.[/SBLOCK]

 

[Sorrow The Man Bear]

Norderil is happy to allow anyone who wants to to inspect the warforged, Repeatedly apologizing for the untidy (by Gnome standards at least) nature of his quarters. In fact, he almost seems glad to have company in the same room as he and it, especially after nightfall, and is eager to engage any who appear interested in long conversations.

 

[Barkey]

The next day when Barandurr awakes, he seems somewhat more serious, more so than any of you have seen him in the short time you've known him. He finally seems sober, if a little rough around the edges, and is finally dressed for the weather. Covered in large furs, many are of animals you can scarcely make out. He has a large toolbox in one hand, and his pipe in the other, slightly smoking, and smelling of a spicy sweet aroma to anyone who is near enough. He turns a look toward Gravan, then glances at mong, he walks over to the side of the ship, drops the toolbox in water, and turns back to them," Thas how much use tha any tool will do us to fix this ship, tha whole ship is warped cap'n, there be no way for us, or anyone to repair it. I hope ye brought enough warm clothes for ev'rbody." he stares hard at the captain for another moment, to make sure his point is made.
He then walks over to mong, and whispers so only she can hear, " Methanks to you lass, ye reminded me why I'm on this ship in tha firs place, not ta drink, but to figur out the history of muh peoples." He turns his back and walks back to where the captain was standing.

 

[nonamazing]

Interludes, continued

Norderil - [SBLOCK]Over the last few days of the ship's voyage, you are bothered not only by your disturbing dreams, but also by a number of odd, unexplained happenings. From time to time, small objects seem to vanish from your room; a pen, a few small tools, and even a knife. Occasionally, a soft greenish glow will seem to appear out of thin air, and you can hear faint whisperings that seem to come from outside the ship.

One night, as you are fitfully sleeping, a sudden noise wakes you. In the flickering light from your everburning torch you can see that the survival manual you were reading earlier has fallen off of your reading table. The thump of the book striking the floor was no doubt what awakened you. You slowly pull youself out of your bunk in order to set the book aright (the thought of leaving a book to simply lie open on the floor like a common piece of trash is somewhat offensive).

Suddenly, the book begins to glow softly, a sickly green color that barely provides any illumination. Dimly, you see the book lift itself up off the floor, hover in the air for a few moments, then slowly settle back down again. All the while, the pages of the book flutter furiously, as if some ghostly researcher were desperately trying to find some crucial piece of information. The glow slowly fades and the pages stop rustling. The green light lingers fainly on the last page revealed and vanishes.

Curiousity impels you to look at the open book. The passage revealed is a historical note, something you had skipped over earlier in order to get to the more practical elements of the book. Is there something haunting this ship? And what sorts of terrible secrets is it trying to hint at?

The passage from the book reads as follows:

"Only one expedition has ever ventured into the actual landmass of the Frostfell, although several other have reached the ice shelf, or 'false land'. It is from Lord Boroman's expedition, sponsored by the Wayfinder Foundation, that we have obtained most of the information presented in this book. The expedition members were: Lord Boroman ir'Dayne, group leader; Krosklinn Genlom Steelsing, enviormental specialist, Terrovin ir'Morgrave, archivist; Grinton Steed, equipment wrangler; V.S. d'Cannith, arcanist; and Uz Fullstar d'Jorasco, medical expert. Sadly, not all of the explorers returned. Grinton Steed was lost on the ice, seperated from his party and never found. His sacrifice in the name of exploration will always be remembered."​

[/SBLOCK]

Karthak - [SBLOCK]Your examination of the Warforged brings several interesting anomalies to your attention. First of all, the shield it was carrying has a gentle magical aura, a soft glow of abjurative magic, possibly faith-based in origin. Secondly, the Warforged itself has a minor magical thread wound through its life force, as though it is subject to some sort of enchantment. Finally, the stone that hovers in the Warforged's chest cavity radiates not one, but two strong magical auras. One aura is obviously some sort of Enchantment magic, and it is this magic that seems to be entwined with the Warforged's soul. A compulsion of some sort? You cannot say for sure.

The second aura is more interesting, but also somewhat disturbing. It is powerful Necromancy, but it is not static, like most magical auras are. It flickers, ebbs and flows, and seems to move as you look at it, almost as though it were alive in some sense. It is one of the oddest magical configurations you have ever seen, and you cannot begin to guess at its purpose.

One more odd thing draws your attention as you study the construct. The severe wound on the Warforged's neck seems to have been tampered with, as though someone were trying to repair it. Could Norderil have done this? If so, why would he not have told the rest of the group?[/SBLOCK]

Toshanharath - [SBLOCK]You have found that the cold air, when it is not windy, acts as an aid to your meditation, helping to bring focus your mind. As the ship winds its way through the towers of ice, the crow's nest goes largely unused (the icebergs, taller than the ship's mast, block all lines of sight). You're by no means anitisocial--you're quite happy to interact with your other explorers--but every so often it does you good to have a few quiet moments to yourself.

One day, you are sitting in the crow's nset, practicing your breathing exercises, when you feel the Emerald Lion suddenly become very agitated. You open your eyes to a wonderous sight: a small bird, perhaps a seagull, made entirely of crystal. No, not crystal, you realize--ice. The shimmering bird lands no more than a few feet away from you, cocking its head to the side slightly, as if curious. A moment later, the bird is gone, slowly drifting away on the breeze.

How can it possibly fly--isn't the ice surely too heavy? A few seconds later, you spot an entire flock of the ice birds, migrating from one ice tower to another. Where could such things have come from, and who could have made them?[/SBLOCK]

 

[Krug]

Mong wakes up with snow on her blanket. Rast appears distressed by this. The Shifter throws off the snow and looks dazed. "Did the rest of you have strange dreams as well? Mine told me the storm that bought us here... was not for the ship. There is some other reason the winds blew as they did. But I know not what," she says. She speaks a quick prayer to the Traveler for his guidance.