(IC) Quickleaf's Rime of the Frostmaiden

happylace

Explorer
Zeth doesn't know if it's exhaustion or the emotions he's been bottling up for so long finally being released, but he begins speaking.

It's all he can do to phrase it politely and omit a few particularly damning details, it's like the words need to come out.

"Trust me when I say I know the power of your goddess's domain personally. I arrived in this village today. Before that I was on a ship that became frozen in the ice. Of those who set out from there to reach civilization, I'm the sole survivor. All my crewmates perished in the cold."

He isn't even looking at the priestess anymore, he's gazing into the past. He speaks dispassionately but his teeth chatter unconsciously.

"The only difference between day and night was the light, but the cold was constant. The others kept dying, they'd fall and not get up or not wake up the next day or go mad and run away from the group. I kept going. I was the only one with the fortitude and will to survive, I did what I had to do and didn't let it break me. Even with that I would have died if I hadn't found this town, I don't know if that was luck or fate."

He gives a humorless chuckle.

"Or your goddess's will maybe. After all, she values stoicism, pragmatism, and cruelty and I needed all three to make it through the cold."

Zeth catches himself and tries to use what he's said to get information before he gives more away.

"I might be wrong though. About being the sole survivor. I've heard rumors of another sailor from the ship, Sephek Kaltro. From what I've heard he either survived a plunge into the icy water before it froze over the ship completely. Or he didn't survive and walks the world regardless."

He steadies his breathing.

"He was not a religious man in life, but I've seen many who find faith after near-death. Or after it. I need to know this. If he's living or undead I need to find him, whatever comes next I need to find him to make a clean break from the past. So if you can tell me anything, about him or what he may have become, do so. I'll keep searching regardless, because I know no matter what he is he's not stronger than me."

Zeth stares into the priestess's eyes unblinkingly.

(OOC: Persuasion 1d20+5 with Advantage = 16+5 and 9+5, so 16+5 = 21)

Alma turns her head towards Zeth. It's perhaps the most she's heard him speak since meeting. It's also the most he's shared of himself. Her brows raise. A strange sentiment prickles in the back of her mind. She's always eager to learn about people, to hear their stories. In that respect, she's intrigued to know more.

But there's something else. What he talks about. Unending cold and struggle. She recalls days spent trudging through blinding snow, huddled together over the dying embers of a fire. She thinks of the pages torn from her logbook, knowledge sacrificed for survival.

Stoicism. Pragmatism. Cruelty.

Those words strike something even deeper.

Alma stays quiet as Zeth speaks. Lets him take the reigns of the conversation for now. This talk about Sephek... she remembers the name. One of Torrga's bodyguards. He had pirate tattoos. She wonders if this is someone he truly knows or an impressive, on-the-spot improvisation. Either way, she awaits Jelenneth's response with baited breath.
 

log in or register to remove this ad

Neurotic

I plan on living forever. Or die trying.
Lumorlur keeps listening to the Sheriff and Speakerwoman - even as he retracts his hand crossbow and waits for the finish of the card game.
 

domminniti

Explorer
Russet Ghostfur.


If we're going by sled, I better get friendly with your ... handsome? ... hounds.

He reaches in his pack and retrieves a ration, and nervously puts it down in front of the dogs, his blood beating loud in his ears. He smiles at the dogs and tried hard not to show fear. He breathes in holding in his gut, to make him look less of a feast.

Animal handling: 1D20+3 = [3]+3 = 6



If the dogs allow it he will try and pet them.


(To Ava)
The name is Russet, by the way. What do you think of the Torrga and her crew? Ever worked with them before? They seem like a rough folk, particularly that tatooed pirate.

Sceptical of traders of any sort, he will examine the sled driver for anything she might be hiding, using his "tactical assesment" feature.
insight on ava: 1D20+1 = [9]+1 = 10
1D8 = [7] = 7 - total 17


OOC - How old is her son?
He turns to the boy and gives a grin

Nice crossbow lad. I bet these trails give you plenty of want to use it. How's your aim?
 

Quickleaf

Legend
GM POST @Steve Gorak @Kobold Stew @VLAD the Destroyer @domminniti

The Kennel

The wolfhound whom Russet offers the ration to looks dubiously up at Russet. Her chin is resting on the ground, weary from the day, but her hackles raise as the harengon leans down. She sniffs tentatively at the rations, feigning disinterest, big eyes going back up to Russet's face with a bit of confusion. After a moment longer, she relents, sniffing more at the hardtack and taking a dainty nibble. She allows Russet to pet her grey, black, and white fur, surprisingly soft to the touch for a terrifying pack hunter.

At the mention of Torrga, the sled dog whines, her "voice" muffled by eating, "Tuur...Mnnrrrr...ff... <Torrga bad to dogs.>"

5534561bc5cc75b6b05c79584e0a38f0.jpg
Eve Breengren sucks in her cheek in the way someone does when they're holding back from saying all the things on their mind about someone they find distasteful. "That dwarf has her own sleds, so she's got little use for me. I won't sell dogs to her, that's for sure, not after she tried to hawk that fake medicine to my boy." She shrugs her shoulders with indifference that's a little too practiced, as if she'd rather divert attention from herself with a vague gesture about 'most folks.' Like you, Eve may have a past she'd rather leave in the past. "Most folk in Icewind Dale are rough sorts. Fortune seekers, trappers, runaways. I don't get in their way, so they don't get in mine."

The 12-year-old boy ruffles Comet's ears, the two seeming to have a close bond. However, between Russet and the mechanical "Ludo", his attention is a bit distracted – these are some of the strangest things he's seen! "It's a self-spanner," he gestures to the long lever on the bottom. "It was my da's. I'm still practicing," he shrugs, though it's clear he lacks confidence and even the way he handles the light crossbow suggests a lack of proficiency. "I told you, ma, I wasn't going to buy the dwarf's syrup..." He begins in a whining tone, but is silenced by a stern look from Eve.

GM: Corse keeping watch on the kennels, she doesn't notice any unusual comings or goings.
 

Quickleaf

Legend
GM POST @happylace @Necropolitan

House of the Triad (occupied by Cult of Auril)

30cf52ea3e98c75ed5828659c9f5537166804a80_2000x2000.webp
The temple with its heatless torches, whispers of mist from the dry ice, and the ice sculpture-in-progress make a suitable witness to Zeth's testimony. Jelenneth's demeanor shifts to regard him with what almost seems like deference. There aren't many who can meet the cold steel gaze of one of Auril's fanatics and not flinch. "You have seen winter's fury, stranger. It was a test of Auril, there can be no doubt. You survived what weaker souls could not."

Upon hearing your description of Sephek Kaltro, Jelenneth has a flicker of recognition, but pauses with her head slightly cocked as if remembering something. "I don't know the name. He is not a follower of Auril that I recognize. However..." she gestures towards the double doors you entered through, "Three days ago, I recall seeing a man with sailor's clothes and forearm markings standing outside the temple. I remember his eyes the most. Stark crystal blue, like gazing at an iceberg on the deep ocean, only for it to gaze back. I swore I felt the goddess' hand upon him, but when I sought the man out, he was gone." Even the fact that the man she saw had his arms exposed in this weather is notable.

Almost excited to meet another who has survived a purported "test" of the Frostmaiden, Jelenneth controls her voice so as not to sound too passionate. "And you, stranger? Could your own brush with death bring you closer to where you're meant to be? To finding a new faith in the Frostmaiden's arms?"
 
Last edited:

Quickleaf

Legend
GM POST @Neurotic

An overheard conversation...

017-01-008.duvessa.png
The town Speaker shakes her head, her voice more audible to the "halfling" Lumrolur now that the sodding minstrel has moved on to the other side of the taproom. "But Markham, it's that kind of thinking that put the other towns in the situations they're in now. You want to use Easthaven and Targos as examples of what we should do? Easthaven was founded by thieves, and Targos is in the grip of a Zhentish speaker."


020-01-009.markham.png
With an aggravated tapping of his finger on the table to emphasize his point, the Sheriff shakes his head, "I am not saying we 'should'. But pretty soon, Speaker, if something is not done, that choice may be made by the people."





017-01-008.duvessa.png
"What then?" asks Duvessa Shane with emotion in her voice, "Are we to let these superstitions dictate public policy? Sacrifices, Markham. They've left people to die in the cold in Targos and Easthaven to appease the Frostmaiden. You can't seriously consider it!"




020-01-009.markham.png
Sheriff Markham Southwell has a tormented expression on his face, this argument seeming to have added a few more grey hairs to his goatee. "There is a way, but you keep denying it. We should move on the Aurilites occupying the temple. Ban frost druids from entering the city walls. Restrict those voices who whisper poisonous thoughts into the peoples' ears."





017-01-008.duvessa.png
"But are you hearing yourself, Markham?" the young Speaker whispers indignantly, making an effort to keep her voice down. "You know as well as I do that Jelenneth would leverage that against us with the next winter storm. And banning druids? How would you ban an owl or a snow hare that they might change into? Restrictions on speech? This isn't Waterdeep no matter how much we might wish it were – no Ten-Towner would accept such restrictions..." She's grasping at straws.


020-01-009.markham.png
"I am sorry, Duvessa, Speaker," the Sheriff corrects himself, sighing heavily. "You are a credit to your office. You fought off Vaelish Gant's attempt to control Bryn Shander. You coordinated our defenses and showed great courage in the face of the frost giants at our walls. I would follow you into any blizzard. But if you won't move against them or enact these measures, I fear the people's fear will force your hand."
 

Neurotic

I plan on living forever. Or die trying.
Vorr secretly places a paper on one of the persons he listens in on.

Before that he hastily wrote what he felt a good note even if the source of his inspiration remains suspect. He never felt the need for such elaboration, he's unsure of the source of the flowing script. But he feels it is a good note.

To Sheriff Markham and Speaker Duvessa,

In the shadows of silence, where whispers go unheard, I extend this missive to present an opportunity veiled in secrecy. Heed my words and consider this a clandestine request that can be disavowed at will. After all, your whispers were heard and I wasn't seen.

I, bearer of the scars that time cannot heal, offer my services for the covert missions that demand utmost discretion and deniability. Like a phantom slipping through the night, I possess the skills of a rogue honed in the crucible of the Underdark, tempered by the fires of remorse.

My agile movements and keen senses shall be your advantage in the pursuit of justice obscured by the veils of deceit. From infiltrating hidden lairs to extracting delicate information, I am but a shadow traversing the edges of the unseen.

Rest assured, my allegiance lies with the light, and my purpose is to unmask the darkness that festers in the world's underbelly. Yet, the nature of my deeds necessitates the plausible denial of your involvement. As a solitary agent, I shall operate under the radar, leaving no trace of my affiliation.

Should you choose to accept this entreaty, reach out through the Inn where the fairy played cards, put a rune <rune> on the leg of the table to the right of the entry door, a coded signal amidst the noise. I'll contact you for the mission details prepared to embark on the most perilous of assignments.

Together, we shall navigate the shadows, our partnership concealed from prying eyes. I pledge my unwavering dedication to the cause, my skills forged by regret and driven by redemption.

Remember, this is but a whisper in the wind, easily disavowed if the need arises. But for those who dare to explore the realms of the clandestine, I await your response, ready to undertake the impossible missions that others fear to tread.

May the hidden forces guide our path,

OOC: sleight of hand opportunity slip - I don't care which one of these two gets it and when
I'll give the message later, @Quickleaf please roll for me, I shouldn't know how well I did it :) post in about 12 hours from now, good night
 
Last edited:

domminniti

Explorer
GM POST @Steve Gorak @Kobold Stew @VLAD the Destroyer @domminniti

The Kennel

The wolfhound whom Russet offers the ration to looks dubiously up at Russet. Her chin is resting on the ground, weary from the day, but her hackles raise as the harengon leans down. She sniffs tentatively at the rations, feigning disinterest, big eyes going back up to Russet's face with a bit of confusion. After a moment longer, she relents, sniffing more at the hardtack and taking a dainty nibble. She allows Russet to pet her grey, black, and white fur, surprisingly soft to the touch for a terrifying pack hunter.

At the mention of Torrga, the sled dog whines, her "voice" muffled by eating, "Tuur...Mnnrrrr...ff... <Torrga bad to dogs.>"

5534561bc5cc75b6b05c79584e0a38f0.jpg
Eve Breengren sucks in her cheek in the way someone does when they're holding back from saying all the things on their mind about someone they find distasteful. "That dwarf has her own sleds, so she's got little use for me. I won't sell dogs to her, that's for sure, not after she tried to hawk that fake medicine to my boy." She shrugs her shoulders with indifference that's a little too practiced, as if she'd rather divert attention from herself with a vague gesture about 'most folks.' Like you, Eve may have a past she'd rather leave in the past. "Most folk in Icewind Dale are rough sorts. Fortune seekers, trappers, runaways. I don't get in their way, so they don't get in mine."

The 12-year-old boy ruffles Comet's ears, the two seeming to have a close bond. However, between Russet and the mechanical "Ludo", his attention is a bit distracted – these are some of the strangest things he's seen! "It's a self-spanner," he gestures to the long lever on the bottom. "It was my da's. I'm still practicing," he shrugs, though it's clear he lacks confidence and even the way he handles the light crossbow suggests a lack of proficiency. "I told you, ma, I wasn't going to buy the dwarf's syrup..." He begins in a whining tone, but is silenced by a stern look from Eve.

GM: Corse keeping watch on the kennels, she doesn't notice any unusual comings or goings.
Tell you what, kid. You make sure those dogs are well fed and don't get any funny ideas about having Russet Stew, and I'll give you some pointers about how to use that thing.

To Ava:
We Harengon have a saying. It goes something like this... ahem... "If you're the sort to sell fake medicine to a child, then you're probably the sort to go round murdering people, and we don't like that sort of thing". How did you know it was fake?
 

Quickleaf

Legend
GM POST @Steve Gorak @Kobold Stew @VLAD the Destroyer @domminniti

The Kennel

5534561bc5cc75b6b05c79584e0a38f0.jpg
Russet's comment evokes a cock-eyed look from the boy fighting against a grin. He is clearly related to Eve, who adopts a similar arched brow at the incredibly specific harengon saying. But who is she to question the way of harefolk? "I know hollyhock seeds when I see them. Good for aching joints and the skin, but not for serious sickness, not like what took my husband. And I've heard a woman in Easthaven took some of this syrup from Torrga for a toe infection and it did nothing. She'd have been better served pouring liquor on it!"

Glancing towards the window, Eve stifles a yawn. Faint traces of purple and teal light play across the glass from an aurora forming in the northern sky. "Alright, it's time for bed, boy. We'll have an early morning ride to Targos, so best to get some shut eye..."
 


Remove ads

Top