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(IC) Quickleaf's Rime of the Frostmaiden



OOC/Recruitment Thread:
Rogues Gallery Thread (post PCs here):
(RG) Quickleaf's Rime of the Frostmaiden

Dice Roller for Play-by-Post: CoyoteCode Dice Roller v. 2.0 (always enter your ENWorld username or your Character Name in the NAME field - just be consistent)

In-game Date: Hammer 25 (december 16) around 4:00am, 1489 DR
The adventure began on Hammer 23 (december 14), 1489 DR

Initiative Groups
+3 initiative group
Aric Thornbloom @Steve Gorak AC 17 passive Perception 14 (dark)
Lumrolur Bafflestone @Neurotic AC 14 passive Perception 14 (dark 120')
Russet Ghostfur @domminniti AC 17 passive Perception 11 (blindsight 10')
Zeth Venagelida @Necropolitan AC 15 passive Perception 11 (devil's sight 120')

+2 initiative group
Alma Ostergaard @happylace AC 12 passive Perception 13 (dark)
Logrim Romwold @VLAD the Destroyer AC 17 passive Perception 11 (dark)
__Logrim's Steel Defender "Ludo" AC 15 passive Perception 14 (dark) >can't be surprised<

+0 initiative group
Jack Everfrost @Aethmud AC 10 passive Perception 12

Icewind Dale Weather Report & Timeline to Date
Weather Report: The Eternal Rime has been worsening over the past 2 years. Currently, there is one hour of diffuse sun light midday, with 1.5 hours of twilight on each end. Extreme cold (-10º to -20ºF or -23º to -29ºC) persists, but is kept at bay with cold weather gear (or resistance to cold). Mountain passes very difficult to traverse. Constant storm blowing off Reghed Glacier. Blizzard check die is d12+1.

2 years ago, the Everlasting Rime begins.
2 months ago, last caravan arrives in Icewind Dale.
1 month ago, first murder – dwarf glassblower in Termalaine.
3 weeks ago, second murder – human shipbuilder in Targos.
14 days ago, group of mages arrive in Bryn Shander.
10 days ago, third murder – Morin Littlebucket, halfling trapper in Easthaven (Arik's friend).
3 days ago, fourth murder – Dellvon Ludwig, human priest (of Torm) in Bryn Shander.
3 days ago, Cult of Auril claims the House of the Triad (Dellvon's temple).
2 days ago, Torg's caravan departs for Easthaven, makes an unusual return trip same day to Bryn Shander... (then possibly heads out for Targos that night).

Quest Board & Level Up Target
Current quest(s):
  1. Cold-Hearted Killer: (quest-giver: Hlin Trollbane) 200 gp offered by merchants of Ten-Towns represented by Rendaril for bringing serial killer to justice, dead or alive
  2. Dumathoin's Temple: (quest-giver Dain Stokley Silverstream) Safe passage to the Underdark, in exchange for clearing out zombies in Dumathoin's Temple and returning keys to the dwarves
  3. Mystery of Ol' Bitey's Verse
To Level Up to 4th: Complete 4 quests in the Ten-Towns. You may replace (up to 2) Ten-Towns quests with significantly progressing or resolving your individual character quests.

Completed quests:
  • Mountain Climb: (quest-giver: Keegan in Targos) free rooms at The Luskan Arms & discounted sled dogs for rescuing his husband Garret (or retrieving his body) at Kelvin's Cairn

NPC List
Astrix = tiefling mage adventurer frozen to death on Kelvin's Cairn
Muirdohr Evenhand = dwarven glassblower in Termalaine, killed by the Cold-Hearted Killer
Dellvon Ludwig = human priest in Bryn Shander, killed by the Cold-Hearted Killer
Mokingko Growling Bear = goliath adventurer killed by yetis on Kelvin's Cairn
Morin Littlebucket = halfling traper in Easthaven, killed by the Cold-Hearted Killer
? = human shipbuilder in Targos, killed by the Cold-Hearted Killer
? = Reghed tribesman working for Torrga (he)
? = archer with clothes of a miner of Huldenstone or Fireshear working for Torrga (he)
"one of the Folcey boys" = former member of Worvil "the Weevil" Forkbeard’s gang, working for Torrga (he)
Sephek Kaltro = ex-pirate working for Torrga (he)
Torrga Icevein = dwarven traveling merchant (she)
Earwick? Earvin? = prankster mage, enchanted Ol' Bitey, had a trinkets shop (he)
Darlock = old dwarven trapper with an earhorn, Corse's friend (he)
Eve Breengren = kennel master (she)
Hlin Trollbane = dwarven bounty hunter (she)
Jelenneth Arnuanna = priestess of Auril the Frostmaiden (she)
Jorlen Romwod = Logrim's uncle (he)
Mishann = priestess at House of the Morninglord & part of adventurers who smote the Ice Witch (she)
Rendaril = merchant of Rendaril's Emporium (he)
Scramsax = barkeep/owner of the Northlook inn & tavern (he)
Sherriff Markham Southwell = sheriff of Bryn Shander (he)
Sled Dogs = Comet (he)
Speaker Duvessa Shane = elected leader of Bryn Shander (she)
Thidrik Steingrimsson = Mintarn mercenary (along with cousins Ottar and Osvic, Arnholt, Rudolf, Sodt, and Johun) in service to ??blonde youth (he)
Keegan Velryn = kennel master, husband to Garret (he)
Perilous Fishfinger = surviving halfling acolyte adventurer of doomed expedition (she)
Angrom Krorfaeg & Rurm Doraghaen = gossiping guards (Battlehammer)
Brydum Black Axe = grumbling guard (Battlehammer) whose ancestors built the Temple of Dumathoin
Dain Stokley Silverstream = leader of Clan Battlehammer in the valley

Table of Contents & Songs/Poems/Riddles (linked)

Player Hex Map (attached) is ~1 mile hexes



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Bryn Shander

If Luskan is the last bastion of civilization before the wild frontier of Icewind Dale, then the Northlook inn & tavern is the raucous heart that dwells within civilized men. As if keeping the chill weather at bay, loud conversation and bright burning lanterns create a cacophony in the high-ceilinged taproom. Inside, it is warm and welcoming, outside the ice-streaked windows evening snow falls across the town of Bryn Shander.

The bearded proprietor Scramsax tends to patrons of the Northlook – merchants grown restless with the last caravan daring the road south a memory two months passed, soldiers seeking their fortune, runaway thieves and gamblers. Hanging above the burning hearth is a massive stuffed knucklehead trout mounted on a plaque reading “Ol’ Bitey.”

At a glance around the tavern, in addition to your soon-to-be fellow adventurers, you take note of a few patrons of interest…

A rowdy table of seven mercenaries from the island Mintarn, identifiable by their long hair, tattoos, scale armor, and hints of opalescent mother-of-pearl on their sword pommels. Their patron, a scowling young man with platinum hair and fine ermine-lined robes, offers a vacant smirk at their jokes, more concerned with his journal. The youth clasps his cloak with a distinctive brooch – an oval cut diamond-shape with twin silver ‘horns’.

A trio of three bedraggled dwarves suffering frostbite unburden their packs and snowshoes, leaving a trail of snowy prints behind them. Painfully prying off their gloves, they gather around the hearth to somberly hold council. Their battered shields bear faded crests of a foaming tankard.

An ivory-skinned woman with dark hair, fine fur-lined blue clothes, and a brooch of office holds a quiet but intense debate with an ebony-skinned bald man with a greying goatee, splint armor, and cloak adorned with the same crest on the lady's brooch: a chaff of wheat framed by antlers. They sit at a table near one of the windows, and several patrons nod deferentially to them in passing.

A lone dwarf, her hair grown white with age and skin marred by battle scars, reclines on a bench, slowly sipping an ale as she surveys the other patrons - eyes lingering on the other dwarves - and gazes toward the hearth. Resting on the table beside her is a overladen pack, sheathed sword, handaxe, and a map.

Roaming the taproom is a handsome minstrel of early middling years, with a scruffy look both scoundrelly but professional. He intones a low song akin to a dwarven ballad but in Common, accompanied by plucked lute strings. Some patrons tap their boots recognizing the rhythm, with a few shouting out “Burn Dzaan” at moments during the song …

"She came without warning,
This winter ‘afore.
She came without solace,
Nor care for the unborn.
Turned to my father and mother once more,
Told me this winter would settle the score,
That death came a riding to their front door,
But I lit up the torches and went to my horse.
Flame ahead. Winter behind. Oho.
Flame ahead. Winter behind.
Burn down the road for all time.
Storm lies ahead, left my family behind.

I’ll outride winter and let it… burn.”

OOC: The game won't start until Saturday. But by player request, this is a chance to post character intros and for some free role-play before then. I might not get to check this thread regularly until Saturday, so if you need GM response to something before then in this thread just tag me.
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I plan on living forever. Or die trying.
In the dimly lit tavern, a figure sat hunched over a wooden table, the weight of the world etched upon his wrinkled brow. Meet the unhappy rogue, a svirfneblin whose appearance spoke volumes of a life burdened by hardship and relentless purpose.

His gray skin, weathered by the unforgiving depths of the Underdark, stood in stark contrast to the gleam of his silver eyes that burned with a steely resolve. Completely bald, not a strand of hair adorned his head save for an unkempt, white mustache that drooped down and blended seamlessly into a small, scruffy beard. Long, black scar cut a path across his right cheek, disfigur5ign

Dressed in dark leather armor that hugged his diminutive form, he wore his battle-worn attire with a sense of grim determination. The leather backpack he carried seemed to sag under the weight of his convictions, each buckle and strap a symbol of his unwavering commitment. A matching leather cape, its edges frayed from countless encounters, draped over his shoulders, shrouding him in an aura of relentless purpose.

Yet, it was the shawl that commanded attention—a simple fabric, dull and unassuming, yet meticulously arranged to conceal his face when the need for action arose. With this shawl pulled up, it masked his features, transforming him into an enigma of justice, his true intentions hidden from those who would oppose him.

As he sat there, his gaze focused and unyielding, one could see the weight he carried, the burden of a life dedicated to eradicating evil from the world. The lines etched upon his face told tales of battles fought, sacrifices made, and the relentless pursuit of justice. Unbeknownst to those around him, he yearned for a world free from the shackles of darkness, where the innocent could flourish and the malevolent would cower.

In this unhappy rogue, one could glimpse the indomitable spirit forged through adversity, the unyielding determination woven into every fiber of his being. With a heart hardened but unbroken, he navigated a world where trust came sparingly, where his path was illuminated by the unwavering flame of his mission—a mission to vanquish evil, to protect the vulnerable, and to ensure that darkness would forever bow before the light of justice.


The bar is a sullen place. A place where souls go to resent the world as they drown their lives in drink and forget the cold. Conversation is in low tones or whispers, and even the Bard's music tells of the cold of winter.
So when the door burst open and a tall, slightly overweight man in a wide brimmed hat and long coat comes in making a racket, the rest of the bar takes note.

Mak didn't exactly make the best first impressions. Hell, he didn't make the best second impressions. Impressions weren't really his thing. Particularly when you enter a tavern after slipping on the wet ice outside.
Make came in the door backwars, unable to grab ahold of anything as he stumbled down the steps and landed inbetween two tables, flat on his back. His hat went rolling a few feet away.

He groaned. Well, he thought, that's about right for this year.

He looked up to the patrons sitting at the tables above him, staring down at him. He smiled his best smile. "Howdy. Don't suppose you know where a fellow might get a drink and a good game of cards, do ya?"

The other patrons just stared at him. A small bird came flying in through the open door and landed on his chest.

Mak looked down at the thing. "I think we might have interrupted these fine people, Tim."

The bird squaked at him.

He stood, grabbing his hat as he did so, nestling it on his head. The feeling of knowledge and with it, power, came flooding in, as it did every time he wore it. He was used to it, now. Too bad it didn't help with slippery ice.

"Well," he said, clapping his hands together, surveying the room. "I've gota couple coppers and a mighty big thirst. Who's up for a friendly game of cards?"


I plan on living forever. Or die trying.
Lumrolur sighs at the drama. But warns the stranger in eerie half-whisper, breathy voice that comes out like a threat even as he invites the man to his table.
"Careful with announcing you have money, stranger. And careful with card games. This fine establishment is safe...er than most, but occasional miscreant still finds its way here and tries to fleece people by cheating. People here don't like those."

Checking around to see if there is more tables free and finding them lacking, he pushes the chair toward the prone human, rare situation where he looks down to the big folk.
"Name's Lumrolur Vorhoc Bafflestone." The sound rolls easily with soft consonants pair and guttural 'r's
"Call me Vorr."

He motions for the barkeep.

OOC: Barkeep should know by now that "Vorr" is pennyless and any order goes on the other patrons account :p


Russet, had made his appearance earlier. Shambling into the busy bar he scans the tables for somewhere to sit to drown out his conceince. Lumrolur seems like the sort to be quiet and not get in the way of drinking. He threw his things by the table and gives a grunt of greeting to the gnome. At the bar he puts down a gold goin on the bar. Two Ales. And keep em coming. He returns to the table and wordlessly presents a beer to Lumrolur.

Russet drinks his ales as fast as Scamsax can bring them, and soon the harengon appeared more at ease. He tries singing along to the song, but he doesn't know the words, annoying other patrons.

He chuckles at Mak's entrance.
Sure friend, I'm game. Cards are about the only thing I got any luck with. Russet's the name. What brings you here? Don't tell me - you're a acrobat with a travelling circus?
OOC I missed the post above, so I'll let that play out. Russet can just be at the table smirking at watching what goes on here.


I plan on living forever. Or die trying.
The rogue wasn't greatest of companions in the fun compartment, but he didn't complain to the singing. On the other hand, he didn't ask if he may invite another to the table.
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“Tymora’s dice, you’re a scary little guy, ain’t ya?” Mak said to the gnome as he took a seat. He tips his hat to the two at the table. “Name’s Mak, and no sir, I am NOT with the circus. They wouldn’t have me on account of I look too pretty. Now, then, anyone have a deck of cards?” He calls out to the room. “I seem to have misplaced mine…”

He looks around, hopeful.

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