GM POST
At Torrga's caravan... (@Steve Gorak @Aethmud )
At first, the caravan guards are skeptical. One of the guards - the fur-hooded half-orc - is still inside The Blue Clam tavern arguing with the other half-orc. The attention of the remaining four (4) guards slowly is diverted by the diminutive gossamer blue-winged man marketing the greatest of all sled dogs: Snowfang. While accustomed to glimmer-folk, fast-talking merchants, and con-artists, they take any excuse for distraction, chuckling at the clearly overblown sales pitch.
Dour-lipped Torrga Icevein rolls her eyes, chiding the men to get back to work. However, she appears more concerned with locking up an iron chest after surreptitiously checking its contents, then securing it with straps and another lock to her sled with the caravan's trade banner.
"Wonder of the Woofing Wilds, indeed," snorts the green-gloved archer with his scarf slipping down to reveal a wry smile.
"This winged man barks more than his dog."
While the gloom of the Everlasting Rime has reduced morning traffic to a handful of passersby, a few bundled fishermen trekking through the fresh snows point over at the display Jack and Aric are putting on. The Reghed guard wearing a white-fur cloak, however, casts an irritated look back at the green-gloved guard. He speaks to Jack in a voice thick with the joweled dialect of the Reghed tribes, each 'f' sounding more like a 'v'.
"Snowfang, eh? Quite the beast. But fancy words and fancy tricks aren't the same as being hitched to a sled on a four-day trek. That's when you take the true measure of a dog. I am Ulif. What's your name, little merchant?" It is surpassingly strange for a Reghed not to identify which tribe they come from – Elk, Tiger, Wolf, Deer, and so forth.
As "Snowfang" begins rowling and ruffing with the sled dogs, one of the dogs that was lying restlessly on the snow suddenly perks his ears up and cranes his head over his neck, stumbling over some other dogs in excitement. The Reghedman clicks his tongue, struggling to untangle the lead line, and forced to disconnect it to make sense of the knots. The dogs from one of the three sleds are disconnected now.
"A-rru-rru-aru-ghff. Trrrrff. Snfff-ffng!" <<"You're not tricking all of us, Aric. We know you're actually Snowfang!">>
Tongue out, the energetic dog (probably close to Aric's age in dog years) begins whining excitedly.
<<"I'm Fiasco. This is Chum, Sliff, Fishpaw, Shedley, Lupin... We're not supposed to play games when we're working. The sour-face smells-like-iron lady doesn't like it and she made Sliff stay in the cold box last time we were bad dogs.. ... ..what kind of game?">>
Meanwhile, back at The Eastside inn... ( @Neurotic @VLAD the Destroyer @TaranTheWanderer )
Alma Ostergaard, the haregon warrior Russet Ghostfur, and pragmatic but secretive spellcaster Zeth gather around the table with Lumrolur Bafflestone, Logrim Romwod, and Oskar Whisperstone. It's a conversation best kept from prying ears. Orchestrating a conflict between Torrga's caravan and the town guard in order to delay the caravan's departure long enough for the party to bind their wounds, sleep from the forced march, and prepare their spells.
Zeth's eyes are heavy with weariness but bright with focus.
"If Sephek Kaltro is the killer like I think, he showed no sign of magic on the ship we shared. Before it went down." Falling into brooding silence, Zeth tenses his hand around the mug of hot cider, quaffing it as if there's a void no amount of food and drink will ever fill.
"So I don't know how to explain the magical un-melting ice knife we found. But Sephek is sly. He set up two sailors who were plotting to rob him into believing the other cheated at cards, and after the fight, the pair were too sore to throw him overboard..."
Alma rejoins the party after a genial conversation with a fellow half-elven academic, intruding into the conversation as if she never left.
"Of course, it's entirely possible that something changed for this Sephek to gain new powers over ice. There are many things we don't understand upon the wastes of Icewind Dale. I would advise approaching him with caution. Perhaps it's wisest to come at it indirectly? Frame some of the other caravan guards? Isolate Sephek from potential allies?"
Russet twitches his whiskers with a weary chuckle,
"There's a haregon saying: Two thorns in the hand is worth one whisker of roses." He pauses as if the maxim is completely self-evident, but upon getting blank stares, the haregon gestures with his arm still wearing a sling from battle, wincing from the injury.
"If that green-gloved archer is who I think he is – Will Greenhand was in a... group... I once was part of." The way he says "group" makes it clear this was something outside the bounds of the law.
"I imagine he's only working with Torrga cause he needs the coin. May not even know they've the Cold-Hearted Killer among them..."
