(IC) Quickleaf's Rime of the Frostmaiden

[Quickleaf]

GM POST

GM: @VLAD the Destroyer & @happylace Btw the town Speaker and Sherrif Markham are these folks: 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.

"Weeks ago?" Scramsax scratches his beard, thinking a moment. His waitstaff casts an exasperated look at the barkeep and Russet as they've no more countertop room to place washed plates and tankards. "I believe so, but she comes and goes a lot. Doubly so since the last of the caravans stopped two months past. Torrga... and her pirate bodyguard... one of the Folcey boys as I mentioned... a man who looked to be of the Reghed tribes... and two men I couldn't place."

Thinking a moment longer, Scramsax strokes his moustache. "Come to think of it, there was something odd. It was just a little thing. Torrga had two rooms upstairs, one for herself and one for her guards. When my staff went in to change the bedding, I overheard that in the four-bed room the guards stayed at only three of the beds were tousled as if someone slept in them. The fourth was completely untouched."

 

[happylace]

Alma nods at Logrim, ''Thank you. I don't know your name.'' She doesn't wait for it as she turns and heads towards the table where the two blue-robbed individuals are engaged in quiet debate. As she crosses the room, she waves a hand over herself. Clearing up the sulfury smell with a quick Prestidigitation.

She comes to stand in front of the table. Waiting silently until the two look up at her. It's polite to wait for a conversation to conclude before interjecting, she recalls. When Logrim has joined her and she has their attention, she speaks. ''My name is Alma Ostergaard. I'm investigating the murder of Priest Dellvon Ludwig. I was told Sheriff Markham may have some information. Is that one of you?''

 

[Quickleaf]

GM POST

"Well, Miss Ostergaard," the armored man begins with a deep voice, gesturing to the woman seated across from him. "I'm sure Sheriff Markham is involved in an important conversation with his friend here, and doesn't–" However, a wave of the woman's gloved hand as if she were silencing his objections causes the man to sigh and relent.

"Speaker Duvessa Shane..." he gestures to the woman seated across the table from him, before pivoting and resting an elbow on the back of his chair. The air between him and the town speaker is a little tense from their previous argument. "And I am indeed Sheriff, at least until they kick me out. Dellvon Ludwig was a good man. He came to us from Neverwinter 4 winters ago. A priest of Torm the True. He'd never call his god just "Torm"; it was always "Torm the True." Were it not for the murders happening in other towns – and the popularity she's garnered – I would have taken Jelenneth, the priestess of Auril, into custody."

When the pale-skinned raven-haired woman is about to object, he squints and gestures toward Alma, "An ice dagger through the heart? Please, Speaker, we all know what that means."

With an exasperated roll of her eyes, Speaker Duvessa Shane folds her arms over her crossed legs, leaning forward. "And how would the people react? Jelenneth's false promises offer hope that's all too scarce in this Everlasting Rime. This is exactly why we don't march on the House of the Triad, and oust the Aurilites." Restraining her urge to get back into the argument, the speaker sighs and regards Alma and her unnamed gnomish companion warily. "What is your interest in Tormtar Dellvon Ludwig?"

 

[Necropolitan]

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.

If this were a comedy the name "Sephek" and description of the man would have come at a time when Zeth had a mouth full of food or drink, causing him to spray it across the table. Instead it came when he was raising his glass to his lips. And he set the glass down to think.

Given the choice between betting that Sephek Kaltro had somehow survived his unfortunate tumble into freezing waters and betting that another pirate by that name was operating in these parts the former was by far the safer one.

Still, there was no reason to panic. Sephek had no reason to sell out Zeth and no way of doing so without incriminating himself in far worse crimes that he'd be certain to hang for. Instead Zeth would do the sensible thing and go along with this assassination (or 'compensated extrajudicial execution' if one was prone to showing of one's vocabulary and interested in making the act more socially acceptable-sounding). And if it just so happened that Sephek was the murderer (Zeth's mind assembled a possible scenario where Spehek had taken to worshiping a goddess of cold after his near-death and was carrying out what he believed to be her will) then Zeth would see justice done as swiftly as possible. Or if Sephek was innocent of these specific murders then he might be killed defending the real culprit or culprits. What mattered was Zeth retaining the title of "Sole Survivor of the Crew of...-" better not to think of that right now.

The plan was simple: Find the suspects, identify the murderer or murderers, then kill them and do whatever it took to ensure he wouldn't get in trouble for it later.

Then use the bonding experience of that to convince those with him worth taking to help retrieve the treasure. Zeth would have to think of what to say to ensure he actually got to keep it though, no sense losing most of it.

For now Zeth would follow Alma, she seemed like a sensible person.

GM POST

GM: @VLAD the Destroyer & @happylace Btw the town Speaker and Sherrif Markham are these folks: 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.

"Weeks ago?" Scramsax scratches his beard, thinking a moment. His waitstaff casts an exasperated look at the barkeep and Russet as they've no more countertop room to place washed plates and tankards. "I believe so, but she comes and goes a lot. Doubly so since the last of the caravans stopped two months past. Torrga... and her pirate bodyguard... one of the Folcey boys as I mentioned... a man who looked to be of the Reghed tribes... and two men I couldn't place."

Thinking a moment longer, Scramsax strokes his moustache. "Come to think of it, there was something odd. It was just a little thing. Torrga had two rooms upstairs, one for herself and one for her guards. When my staff went in to change the bedding, I overheard that in the four-bed room the guards stayed at only three of the beds were tousled as if someone slept in them. The fourth was completely untouched."

A man falls into freezing water far from shore and turns up later in a group where one of them doesn't sleep and murders people with magical ice as part of worshiping a goddess of cold. The only question to Zeth now was what Sephek had become.

The Warlock thinks hard, mentally going through the endless books on magical creatures he'd read as part of his studies.

(Arcana or Religion, whichever is appropriate and both have the same bonus. 1d20+6 = 15+6 = 21)

If Zeth could think of something he might be able to reveal it to both boost his reputation with his party and these townsfolk and make it far easier to justify cleaning up loose ends. Or just lie and tie Zephek to the murders if necessary. The pirate was a murderer before this after all.

 

[happylace]

GM POST

"Well, Miss Ostergaard," the armored man begins with a deep voice, gesturing to the woman seated across from him. "I'm sure Sheriff Markham is involved in an important conversation with his friend here, and doesn't–" However, a wave of the woman's gloved hand as if she were silencing his objections causes the man to sigh and relent.

"Speaker Duvessa Shane..." he gestures to the woman seated across the table from him, before pivoting and resting an elbow on the back of his chair. The air between him and the town speaker is a little tense from their previous argument. "And I am indeed Sheriff, at least until they kick me out. Dellvon Ludwig was a good man. He came to us from Neverwinter 4 winters ago. A priest of Torm the True. He'd never call his god just "Torm"; it was always "Torm the True." Were it not for the murders happening in other towns – and the popularity she's garnered – I would have taken Jelenneth, the priestess of Auril, into custody."

When the pale-skinned raven-haired woman is about to object, he squints and gestures toward Alma, "An ice dagger through the heart? Please, Speaker, we all know what that means."

With an exasperated roll of her eyes, Speaker Duvessa Shane folds her arms over her crossed legs, leaning forward. "And how would the people react? Jelenneth's false promises offer hope that's all too scarce in this Everlasting Rime. This is exactly why we don't march on the House of the Triad, and oust the Aurilites." Restraining her urge to get back into the argument, the speaker sighs and regards Alma and her unnamed gnomish companion warily. "What is your interest in Tormtar Dellvon Ludwig?"

Alma's expression doesn't change as she looks back and forth between the officials. Listening to what they have to say. There's no hint of sheepishness for interrupting their conversation, nor nervousness at Speaker Shane's question.

''We are investigating his death and its relation to the others in Ten Towns the last few weeks. I wished to ask for any information you might have in regards to the incident.'' She regards Speaker Shane with a direct, straightforward gaze. ''You seem convinced this Priestess Jelenneth is involved. Is she able to craft ice daggers? Does she remain in town at all times, or is she or her congregation known to travel between the towns?''

 

[Quickleaf]

GM POST

Exchanging a glance with the Sheriff in which he seems to relent in his standoffishness to her unremitting gaze, Duvessa Shane narrows her eyes. "Bryn Shander was nearly wrested from me. The mage responsible is locked away in Revel's End, but had I trusted my gut sooner the damage he wrought would have been less. I fear this situation with Jelenneth is similar."

Young though she may be, the dark-haired Speaker realizes that for a person in her position gut feelings are not enough. "For several months, Jelenneth's preaching – restricted to Bryn Shander's cold market square (and no other towns) until recently – made frequent use of the phrase "a dagger in the Frostmaiden's heart." While I don't know her to be a spellcaster, she is a cunning manipulator who has swayed people that the only way to stave off the Endless Rime is to offer human sacrifices to the Frostmaiden."

GM: @Necropolitan Leaving aside shapeshifters or a mage with the disguise self spell, there are three broad categories of arctic creatures which might originate as a man, only to become something much worse. Aberrations, Fiends, and Undead. Insofar as Aberrations are concerned, aboleth are not normally associated with the Sea of Moving Ice, but such entities are known to transform humans into psychically dominated "skum." Typically their appearance becomes inhuman during the transformation. Likewise, intellect devourers can crawl inside a creature's head and control it, but all records indicate the creature has to be living...whether or not a corpse sufficiently preserved by cold could still be inhabited, no writer has ever reported. Of the Fiends, one name stands above all others: Levistus offers devil's bargains to travelers facing death beneath winter's claw. Those he spares always bear a token of some kind signifying their pact with Levistus and the damning of their soul. Should such a man send others in his stead to the Stygian Depths, he may lose his mortality and become a fiend. And then there are the Undead, of which there are several. Wights may form through dark magics kept trapped in the ice or through resurrections gone wrong. While victims sacrificed to the Gods of Fury (Talos, Umberlee, Malar, Auril) rarely animate as undead, in the case of a druid who is sacrificed they may return as an icegaunt – akin to a spellcasting wight able to see through blizzards, but rarely going far from the spot where they died. A sailor who feasts on the flesh of men might return as a sodden ghoul (also called a "lacedon"), though the circumstances are murky – more than mere cannibalism is required, some act that is truly depraved and inhumane.

 

[happylace]

GM POST

Exchanging a glance with the Sheriff in which he seems to relent in his standoffishness to her unremitting gaze, Duvessa Shane narrows her eyes. "Bryn Shander was nearly wrested from me. The mage responsible is locked away in Revel's End, but had I trusted my gut sooner the damage he wrought would have been less. I fear this situation with Jelenneth is similar."

Young though she may be, the dark-haired Speaker realizes that for a person in her position gut feelings are not enough. "For several months, Jelenneth's preaching – restricted to Bryn Shander's cold market square (and no other towns) until recently – made frequent use of the phrase "a dagger in the Frostmaiden's heart." While I don't know her to be a spellcaster, she is a cunning manipulator who has swayed people that the only way to stave off the Endless Rime is to offer human sacrifices to the Frostmaiden."

GM: @Necropolitan Leaving aside shapeshifters or a mage with the disguise self spell, there are three broad categories of arctic creatures which might originate as a man, only to become something much worse. Aberrations, Fiends, and Undead. Insofar as Aberrations are concerned, aboleth are not normally associated with the Sea of Moving Ice, but such entities are known to transform humans into psychically dominated "skum." Typically their appearance becomes inhuman during the transformation. Likewise, intellect devourers can crawl inside a creature's head and control it, but all records indicate the creature has to be living...whether or not a corpse sufficiently preserved by cold could still be inhabited, no writer has ever reported. Of the Fiends, one name stands above all others: Levistus offers devil's bargains to travelers facing death beneath winter's claw. Those he spares always bear a token of some kind signifying their pact with Levistus and the damning of their soul. Should such a man send others in his stead to the Stygian Depths, he may lose his mortality and become a fiend. And then there are the Undead, of which there are several. Wights may form through dark magics kept trapped in the ice or through resurrections gone wrong. While victims sacrificed to the Gods of Fury (Talos, Umberlee, Malar, Auril) rarely animate as undead, in the case of a druid who is sacrificed they may return as an icegaunt – akin to a spellcasting wight able to see through blizzards, but rarely going far from the spot where they died. A sailor who feasts on the flesh of men might return as a sodden ghoul (also called a "lacedon"), though the circumstances are murky – more than mere cannibalism is required, some act that is truly depraved and inhumane.

Alma's ears twitch. She recalls Hlin mentioning something about sacrifices. She quickly flips through her memory, searching for that information buried under talk of the murders. ''Sacrifices to Auril. Termalaine, Targos and Easthaven all practice sacrifice, yes? But not Bryn Shander.'' She looks meaningfully to Logrim and Zeth, wondering if they catch the pattern too. ''She's trying to convince the people of Bryn Shander to accept the ritual as well. Is Priestess Jelenneth originally from this town?''

This is all too much of a coincidence. Torrga's caravan seems like a strong suspect, but there's little doubt in Alma's mind now that Auril is at the center of this. Whether Jelenneth is a ringleader or merely spouting the same rhetoric used in the other towns is the next big question. The pieces are sitting in front of her, ready to be assembled. But she needs somewhere to start.

Spoiler: history check

History check to see what I know about the lottery in the other towns: 1D20+2 = [4]+2 = 6

She tilts her head back at the two men. ''Do you know anything about the lotteries? What are your thoughts on this?''

 

[VLAD the Destroyer]

Logrim opens his mouth to introduce himself to Alma but stops as she turns and walks away. He closes his mouth and hurries after her. He keeps silent as Alma speaks. He listens and begins to make some of the same connections as Alma. This seems to be a larger thing than just murders. When Alma turns to him to ask his opinion he is startled.

"I need to think on the lotteries. I know they are sacrifices to Auril as the Speaker said. Several towns in the region still practice them. He scratches his chin. "Madame Speaker do ya think this priest of Auril might 'ave been a follower of the Ice Witch?"

OOC: History check on the Lotteries: 1d20+5 15 Also when the Ice Witch was slain was her body recovered? What was done with it?

 

[Quickleaf]

GM POST

Speaker Duvessa raises her brow at Logrim's question. "I... It is not impossible, but the Ice Witch kept little human company. When she sent her forces against our gates in the dead of night, they were orcs and verbeeg and winter wolves. The only men who served her were of the Bear Tribe." Running her gloved thumb along her chin in thought, the young speaker turns grey-blue eyes back to the windows of the tavern and light snows outside. "One of the adventurers who defeated the Ice Witch retired to tend the House of the Morninglord. Her name is Mishann. She was wounded and thus wasn't there for the killing blow, but she can regale you with stories closer to firsthand than my own.

GM: @VLAD the Destroyer The Ice Witch rose to power 4 years ago, but her threat was ended in that same winter season by a band of adventurers. Stories claim that her body melted away like the thawing snows of winter. No body was ever recovered. History (lotteries): The lotteries started a few months ago in Targos and Termalaine first, with Easthaven adopting the practice soon after. They're not official per se, and most town speakers and sheriffs would abolish the sacrifices if they could.

 

[Aethmud]

OOC: @tglassy fancy a few rounds of Three Dragon Ante together? It might be easier to pull a fast one on the Mintarn mercenaries if Mak and Jack team up, just sayin'... if not, no worries at all.

 

[happylace]

GM POST

Speaker Duvessa raises her brow at Logrim's question. "I... It is not impossible, but the Ice Witch kept little human company. When she sent her forces against our gates in the dead of night, they were orcs and verbeeg and winter wolves. The only men who served her were of the Bear Tribe." Running her gloved thumb along her chin in thought, the young speaker turns grey-blue eyes back to the windows of the tavern and light snows outside. "One of the adventurers who defeated the Ice Witch retired to tend the House of the Morninglord. Her name is Mishann. She was wounded and thus wasn't there for the killing blow, but she can regale you with stories closer to firsthand than my own.

GM: @VLAD the Destroyer The Ice Witch rose to power 4 years ago, but her threat was ended in that same winter season by a band of adventurers. Stories claim that her body melted away like the thawing snows of winter. No body was ever recovered. History (lotteries): The lotteries started a few months ago in Targos and Termalaine first, with Easthaven adopting the practice soon after. They're not official per se, and most town speakers and sheriffs would abolish the sacrifices if they could.

"This Ice Witch doesn't sound relevant to the situation. However, we can go question this witness if you feel it's important," Alma says, regarding Logrim. Turning back to the Speaker and the Sheriff, "What of the caravan led by Torrga Icevein? Are any of her group affiliated with the Aurilites? Or perhaps this priest had any notable contact with a caravan member when they were here?"

 

[Quickleaf]

GM POST

Duvessa Shane, young speaker of Bryn Shander, scrunches her brows in a scowl that she seems quite practiced at. "I'd say there's not a lick of religion in any of Torrga's henchmen. Not even a cold faith like Auril's. They serve themselves and Torrga's pocketbook." Nodding toward the Sheriff, she seems to half-remember a name, "Ah, who was that guide again?"

Sheriff Markham Southwell has been eyeing the quieter human (Zeth) and gnome (Logrim) standing near to Alma. He seems to be sizing you up as much as by what you say as what you don't say. "Corse. Fieldwalker Corse," he says with a slow measured tone. "She knows all the sled routes around Bryn Shander. Usually not discriminating in who she works for, but there was an incident with Torrga... All I know is that Corse refuses to work as a guide for Torrga's caravan anymore. Wait around the Northlook for a while," he gestures to the taproom's front door, "and Corse is sure to stop in after returning from the field."

GM: @Kobold Stew A little segue here for you to jump in when you're ready...

 

[happylace]

GM POST

Duvessa Shane, young speaker of Bryn Shander, scrunches her brows in a scowl that she seems quite practiced at. "I'd say there's not a lick of religion in any of Torrga's henchmen. Not even a cold faith like Auril's. They serve themselves and Torrga's pocketbook." Nodding toward the Sheriff, she seems to half-remember a name, "Ah, who was that guide again?"

Sheriff Markham Southwell has been eyeing the quieter human (Zeth) and gnome (Logrim) standing near to Alma. He seems to be sizing you up as much as by what you say as what you don't say. "Corse. Fieldwalker Corse," he says with a slow measured tone. "She knows all the sled routes around Bryn Shander. Usually not discriminating in who she works for, but there was an incident with Torrga... All I know is that Corse refuses to work as a guide for Torrga's caravan anymore. Wait around the Northlook for a while," he gestures to the taproom's front door, "and Corse is sure to stop in after returning from the field."

GM: @Kobold Stew A little segue here for you to jump in when you're ready...

Alma frowns thoughtfully. No new information there, but at least they've confirmed that none of Torrga's crew seem to be associated with Auril. Which makes the nature of the murders even stranger, if they're involved. If it has nothing to do with the caravan, then why do the murders follow them? If it has nothing to do with Auril, why does it follow the constellation? Is that entirely a coincidence? Then why double back? And what motivation would there be, if not a sacrifice?

"We need more information," she concludes after a long silence. "We already know a few of the caravan's staff, but we should learn more about their actions in town. If they had any contact with the victims. Fieldwalker Corse--I'll make a note of that." Her thoughts stutter as that name triggers a distant familiarity. She recalls echoes of sentiment, recognition of ability. She nods. "She'll be a useful resource."

 

[tglassy]

OOC: @tglassy fancy a few rounds of Three Dragon Ante together? It might be easier to pull a fast one on the Mintarn mercenaries if Mak and Jack team up, just sayin'... if not, no worries at all.

Absolutely! Mak is always up for a game of whatever will get you betting!

 

[Quickleaf]

GM POST

Chuckling at the fairy's bravado, Thidrik Steingrimsson moves the candle and empty tankard from the table to make room for cards. "Well if it's wild you're after, little fellow, then we play with Tiamat's Gambit rules!" The others emphatically agree. Any gambler knows that Tiamat's Gambit is risky. You begin with a "hoard" of 50 silver pieces. Each round when you play a card, you must add that card's face value in silver pieces to the pot (removing those silvers from your "hoard" and into the pot they go); thus, just like Tiamat's greed begins small but grows obscene, the betting starts small but can get high.

The seven mercenaries rummage around in their belt pouches, each placing 50 silver pieces in front of himself, joking with each over in throaty Illuskan – their words are lost on you, but their overconfidence is plain. The others besides Thidrik introduce themselves in accented Common, one at a time, "Arnholt... Rudolf... Sodt... Johun... Osvic, I am Thidrik's cousin... Ottar, I am his other cousin. See, it's a true joke: Ottar cousin."

GM: @Aethmud @tglassy This is a bit of an experiment! I've summarized rules here, but also attached PDF I got this from. If it's too involved for you, let me know, and we can just go with ability checks. You can assume you are able to exchange 5 gp for 50 silver pieces at the tavern. Either of you can go first, then the mercenaries, but we can be organic about it to account for posting schedules.

Spoiler: Here's how the game works

A gambit (game) of Three-Dragon Ante consists of 3 rounds.

You begin with your "hoard" of 50 silver pieces.

On your turn each round you roll for a dragon card – roll a d12. Then roll the follow-up "Strength" die (if any) indicated on this chart to determine the card's Strength. There are other cards in the game (called Mortals), but they are abstracted away to focus on the powerful dragon cards.

d12	Type	Alignment	Strength
1	Tiamat [god]	Evil	1
2	Brass	Good	1d4
3	White	Evil	1d4
4	Copper	Good	1d6
5	Black	Evil	1d6
6	Bronze	Good	1d8
7	Green	Evil	1d8
8	Silver	Good	1d10
9	Blue	Evil	1d10
10	Gold	Good	1d12
11	Red	Evil	1d12
12	Bahamut [god]	Good	13

Take Silver Pieces equal to the card's Strength from your "hoard" and add them to the pot.

Optionally, you can instead withdraw in any round, forfeiting any Silver Pieces you've placed in the pot so far.

After the 3 rounds, whoever has the highest "flight" (sum of the Strength of your cards) wins and claims the pot.

Ties at the end of the game are broken in this order of precedence: largest "hoard" > most dragon gods played > most good dragons in dragon flight > whoever rolls the highest Gaming check (or DC 10 against these npc mercenaries).

In addition to whatever you might try with skill checks & magic (e.g. Gaming check to roll for 2 cards and pick one, Insight to anticipate opponent's hand, Sleight of Hand to cheat replacing your roll with a card of your choice, etc), there are 2 special rules: Card Powers & Dragon Flights (like poker hands).

Card Powers:

• Evil Dragons (steal): When you play a non-god evil dragon, steal Silver Pieces from the pot equal to 1/2 the Strength (rounded up) of the card. If the full amount of stealable Silver is not available in the pot the player steals as much as they can.
• Good Dragons: When you play a non-god good dragon, choose an opponent with an evil dragon in their flight. That opponent must place Silver Pieces in the pot equal to 1/2 the Strength (rounded up) of the card. If the opponent does not have the full amount of Silver, they pay as much as they can now and owe a debt to whoever wins.
• Tiamat: If Tiamat is still in play at the end of the game, the lowest dragon flight wins the pot (instead of the highest). Her apparent strength of 1 is magical treachery to make her more likely to win!
• Bahamut: When Bahamut is in play, the owner may choose to sacrifice him at any time to destroy a Tiamat of their choice that is in play. Each of those players immediately plays a replacement card, with a Red dragon card replacing any removed Tiamat card and a Gold dragon card replacing any removed Bahamut card. The owner rolls the new dragon’s Strength as it enters play.

Dragon Flights: At the end of the gambit (game), evaluate each player's flights with the following criteria in the following order:

1. God Flight: A player that rolled a dragon god at the start of EACH of their three turns may take 1/2 of the pot's Silver Pieces (rounded down) and add it to their "hoard." Those dragon god cards are not necessarily required to still be in the player's flight.
2. Triplet Flight: A player with 3 dragons of the same Strength in their flight gains a reward from ALL opponents. The player chooses one the player with Silver Pieces equal to 1 of those dragon‘s strength from all opponents. If an opponent does not have enough gold, they pay what they have until they are out of gold, and owe a debt to the player for the remaining gold amount.
3. Allied Flight: 3 dragons of the same Alignment in a flight rewards a player the strongest dragon's Strength worth of Silver Pieces from the pot. If the full amount of silver is not available, the player takes as much as they can.
4. Leader Flight: Add the strength of all dragons in each player’s dragon flight together. The player with the strongest dragon flight (or weakest if Tiamat is in play) is the leader and wins the remaining pot.

 

[Kobold Stew]

" Fieldwalker Corse--I'll make a note of that." Her thoughts stutter as that name triggers a distant familiarity. She recalls echoes of sentiment, recognition of ability. She nods. "She'll be a useful resource."

A laugh rises up from the corner. "Here that, Corse? Yer a useful resource! Haw haw."
The old trapper who speaks has been eavesdropping as best he can. He's not been subtle, though, since his technique involves holding his earhorn in the wrong ear, so it points backwards.

The woman at the table with him smiles. "Who ever it is, it'll do for an introduction, Darlock. I'm not fussy." She stands, and toussles the old dwarf's head. There's a plate at her seat with the remains of a grainy loaf on the table, that had been used to soak up some gravy, and she leaves her companion as he half-heartedly reaches up for her hand to give an affectionate squeeze. "See you next time, Corse. Thanks for the cump'ny."

Her big eyes take in the group. "Sheriff Southwell," she begins formally. "I think you know I can be very discriminating. But it's nice to meet you all. I'm Corse, and if you are looking into these murders, I can take you along the trails. But if I'm interrupting, just say so. I'll be in town another day or two in any case."

 

[happylace]

A laugh rises up from the corner. "Here that, Corse? Yer a useful resource! Haw haw."
The old trapper who speaks has been eavesdropping as best he can. He's not been subtle, though, since his technique involves holding his earhorn in the wrong ear, so it points backwards.

The woman at the table with him smiles. "Who ever it is, it'll do for an introduction, Darlock. I'm not fussy." She stands, and toussles the old dwarf's head. There's a plate at her seat with the remains of a grainy loaf on the table, that had been used to soak up some gravy, and she leaves her companion as he half-heartedly reaches up for her hand to give an affectionate squeeze. "See you next time, Corse. Thanks for the cump'ny."

Her big eyes take in the group. "Sheriff Southwell," she begins formally. "I think you know I can be very discriminating. But it's nice to meet you all. I'm Corse, and if you are looking into these murders, I can take you along the trails. But if I'm interrupting, just say so. I'll be in town another day or two in any case."

Alma turns at the voice. There's no hint of embarrassment in her reaction. If anything, her brows raise slightly with intrigue. That's convenient. But it's a small town and there are only so many places to take shelter.

''Hello. I'm Alma Osteergard. I don't know their names,'' she gestures to the two men with her. ''No, you've saved us the trouble of looking for you, thank you. We will likley be leaving town soon to further our investigation, so your assistance would be appreciated.'' She pauses. Then looks to the others for approval. It's not polite to make decisions for others without their input, she recalls.

 

[Kobold Stew]

Corse nods at the greeting. "Osteergard. Oh, you'll forgive me." She pauses, thinking. "Are you kin to Nigel Osteergard, then? I used to see him in the Spine of the World."

 

[Steve Gorak]

A laugh rises up from the corner. "Here that, Corse? Yer a useful resource! Haw haw."
The old trapper who speaks has been eavesdropping as best he can. He's not been subtle, though, since his technique involves holding his earhorn in the wrong ear, so it points backwards.

The woman at the table with him smiles. "Who ever it is, it'll do for an introduction, Darlock. I'm not fussy." She stands, and toussles the old dwarf's head. There's a plate at her seat with the remains of a grainy loaf on the table, that had been used to soak up some gravy, and she leaves her companion as he half-heartedly reaches up for her hand to give an affectionate squeeze. "See you next time, Corse. Thanks for the cump'ny."

Her big eyes take in the group. "Sheriff Southwell," she begins formally. "I think you know I can be very discriminating. But it's nice to meet you all. I'm Corse, and if you are looking into these murders, I can take you along the trails. But if I'm interrupting, just say so. I'll be in town another day or two in any case."

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.

 

[happylace]

Corse nods at the greeting. "Osteergard. Oh, you'll forgive me." She pauses, thinking. "Are you kin to Nigel Osteergard, then? I used to see him in the Spine of the World."

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.''

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.

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.''