As the days prior, the morning brought naught but darkness. Naerth had risen early to immediately throw on his jacket, finding little time for breakfast. He'd meet Mallory at the square to settle the matters of the Trolls in a half-hours time, stating he'd bring aid for the dissection.

Dannika had awoken disheveled and with a minor case of a throbbing head. Ethen sat a kettle of remedying herbal tea atop the rack while Hlin shuffled to kindle the fire. After the brew had been brought to a boil, Dannika humbly accepted an extended cup, remaining to idly steep in the warmth of the hearth.

Soon thereafter Alma checked in and Dannika stirred, for the ranger brought news that the expedition to Bryn Shander would be departing within the hour. The trip could be stalled if need be, but not for long — many of the merchants with shared fates were impatient and had prepared and packed already under the promise of an early morning departure. Dannika set aside her cup and hastened to shove her stray items into her satchel before hopping into her many layers of woolen clothing. Before long, she was all bundled up at the doorstep, lantern slung over her shoulder, and ready to brave the grueling cold once again.

---

You get a Long Rest and level up.


The onus is on you to figure out where to go and what to do next. Perhaps it could be discussed in the OOC, and I can weigh in if you have any questions. The way I see it, you have four options:

1. Stay in Targos for a while longer.
   
2. Leave with the caravan for Bryn Shander.
   
3. Leave for Termalaine.
   
4. Leave for Bremen.

This message was last edited by the GM at 21:41, Tue 24 Aug 2021.

One of the few benefits of the biting cold was that it limited the decomposition of what would in other parts of the world have been two rank Trolls. They still smelled, but it wasn't something a pinch of the nose couldn't block. Which was exactly what Triglio, the little Halfling with the top hat, did as he stood atop the back of the larger one.

A few of the fishermen had been conscripted, Thorben among them, and came prepared with wheelbarrows, hacksaws, ropes, hooks, knives, and any other equipment one might need for dismembering and dissecting such large and foul beasts. None of them seemed particularly delighted about the task.

"How long will this take?" Naerth shouted from a distance. Cold or no cold, he was not risking Troll stench on his jacket.

"The day, I would reckon. Perhaps we can be done before supper," Triglio answered, wading through the sea of mottled hair. "Though I doubt it."

"Triglio's laid claim to the big one," Naerth explained to Mallory when she arrived, "but I've talked him into splitting the fat." Triglio, in the background, had sent his force to work. It seemed his strategy was somewhat reminiscent of Mallory's — after flipping it, he had started to methodically bleed it, emptying the blood into barrels. From there he went about carefully extracting the innards and cutting flesh from bone.

After imparting his workforce instructions, they achieved some degree of autonomy. For a time. Both instruments and techniques were crude, but they did what they could with the tools they'd brought. It was enough for Triglio to catch a breath, remove his bloodstained gloves, and ring up Torgrim.

---

"Hand crossbow?" Triglio asked, scanning his plentiful shelves. Each was stocked to the brink and then some, and the Halfling carried all sorts of common wares, equipment, doodads, trinkets, and weaponry one might otherwise only find in an armory. Some of it doubtlessly arcane in nature. Everything had piled up over the years, and only Triglio knew if there was any sort of system. And, peculiarly, the store had always appeared rather large compared to its humble exterior. One was advised caution when browsing, lest you'd be crushed by crates, or worse yet, trip some magical device. "You are in indeed in luck — I carry an assortment of various kinds." He held up a crossbow on the lighter side, even when hand crossbows were considered. "It all entirely depends on what you have to spend — this one, for example, is one of my finer ones. An intricate piece of equipment, this is. One can detach the grip and mount the barrel to this," he continued, showcasing a leather vambrace with straps to slot the crossbow. "Quite nifty. And the limbs fold. Handy if you want to, say, slip your sleeve over it. Not that I know why anybody would want that . . . A hundred gold. I can part with something more ordinary for eighty-five. And then there's the matter of bolts, of course. A case of wooden ones would be three gold pieces."
This message was last edited by the GM at 09:05, Wed 01 Sept 2021.

Mallory, it seemed, had little luck when it came to gaining a restful night.

When Naerth rallied himself to join in the square with the other volunteers to manage the Trolls, he'd find the young noblewoman herself looking as much a half-frozen corpse herself.  Bundled up heavily against the cold, agitated with having needed to fuss with negotiations and pandering to the caravan drivers to not just leave them behind, and still with heavy, dark rings beneath her eyes.  Eye, rather.  For whatever reason Mallory wore a length of cloth wrapped across her face to completely cover her left eye and hand draped her long, black hair in such a manner as to disguise the apparent bandaging.  Whatever injury she'd taken during the night didn't seem to slow her down though, even if she saw fit to cover it up.

"Well, you and Mister Triglio will be getting the lion's share to begin with.  I need to travel light, so whatever doesn't come with me, I'll leave to you lot to sell off in my stead.  I'd appreciate a fair cut of the resulting coin set aside." Mallory had to draw close to Naerth to be heard over the whistling wind and he could hear the deadpan in her tone.  Clearly she didn't expect to see any such coin in the future; if Naerth did indeed decide to actually set aside a cut, it would be a genuine surprise to her.

It was both a case of needing to travel light and needing to work fast that limited what Mallory could truly gain from the Troll she was granted.  Though she took very easily - perhaps too much so - to a management position in ordering about those volunteers who'd come to help with the whole messy affair, she wasn't a layabout.  She showed those on her team where to cut and the best places to get at the core, precious components she was most after without needing to fuss about with more time-consuming carving ahead of time.  No need to saw through bristly, matted hair that was like wire when it was quicker to drag deep incisions alongside the Trolls' mane and patches through the skin, then peel away hide from muscle outright to take the whole lot together.  When it came to gathering the creature's heart, it was a two-pronged approach; the belly was opened midway up the curvature of the ribcage where hangs could reach inside through the muck and grip the enormous muscled organ while Mallory showed she wasn't squeamish in dissection by going through an incision made at the collarbone.  Elbow deep into the torso with a knife in hand, where she could sever the lining around the heart and allow her assistant to pull the whole thing free from below.  Skinned hide and gathered hair was cleaned with flickering waves of her cleansing cantrip, bundled and rolled tight in twine for transport, while various organs and portions of flesh were packed tightly into earthen jars with vinegar - a mild enough acid to ensure that any latent regenerative properties of the flesh would be stunted without the flesh itself being destroyed in the preservation process.  Blood would need to be stored in a number of smaller casks for the sake of her being able to actually manage carrying them at all (very clearly labeled and branded with warnings of toxic contents to avoid any mishaps, as well), while bits like claws, teeth, and portions of bone were gathered aside in a satchel all their own.

It was a grim and filthy business, but one Mallory approached with an air of utter professionalism.  Even being matted with slush-frozen blood didn't give her pause as she simply whisked herself clean with a surge of cleansing magic every few moments, and the same convenience was afforded all those busy at work in the meantime for as long as she could linger.

---

Arcana for Troll Dissection
Mallory uses her Portent to roll a 14
20 total for the skill check

"The coin will be set aside," Naerth answered. "Once we've found a buyer for all of this . . ." The tone in his voice hinted at skepticism. As for Mallory's requests of wares, Triglio was more than willing to share of his inventory, supplying jars, casks, and preservative substances. For a steep cut of her share, of course. Dannika had some containers in reserve, but she had not outfitted herself for an entire Troll's harvest.

"That reminds me," Naerth continued and procured a coin pouch from his jacket. It was far from as full from those he had provided yesterday evening, but weighty in its own right. Opening it to find gold instead of silver and copper certainly helped its cause.* "Hopefully that settles things. And if not, there's more to come."

---

*The pouch contains 20 gold pieces.

Triglio's efforts to slip expenses onto Mallory's share were met with an immediate counter and afforded the two merchants a quick spat there in the snow; little more than curt back-and-forth statements of value over a matter of seconds before an agreement of some kind apparently was reached.

---

Persuasion to haggle with Triglio, in case it was necessary
Mallory Bonheur rolled 18 using 1d20+3

---

When presented with a small purse of gold, Mallory spared a cursory peek inside before it was spirited away into her breast pocket.  "It's a fair advisory fee, I would say.  And if you have trouble finding buyers for all this, do tug on my sleeve; I happen to know quite a few interested parties in my own circles."  Only Arcanists like herself would find value in such gore, after all, and it took one to know one.  "If nothing else, rendered Troll fat makes fantastically long-burning lamp oil on the mundane market so long as you mix something in to mask the smell."

The bargaining concerned commodities with as-of-yet appraised values, for wares Triglio had plenty of, and he seemed to delight in obfuscating the details if it served him. If Mallory hadn't been on top of her game she might have not caught his subtle tricks and missed the fact that he, rather intentionally, was revising previously agreed allotments of fat on the fly and often quoted values well out of market range with the sole aim of skewing the middle-ground in his favor. But in the end, Triglio offered up what appeared like a fair deal, content with the feud in and of itself. Even if this was not an opponent he could run circles around.

---

Mallory Persuasion [18] against Triglio's Persuasion [9]: Triglio might have read the handbook, but so has Mallory.

Not much we can say here aside from "Mallory struck a good deal". Her chips are her allotment (unless she wants to pay for the wares outright), and Triglio will be selling much of that anyway, as Mallory can't bring an entire Troll with her. If it hadn't been for the fact that Naerth had stepped in, Triglio would of course just have considered it forfeit. But all this has been commented on, and Mallory won't see any of the profit for at least a good while.

---

"It's a fair advisory fee, I would say.  And if you have trouble finding buyers for all this, do tug on my sleeve; I happen to know quite a few interested parties in my own circles."
"I trust Triglio's expertise," Naerth answered. "And his loyalty. In a way. Let's say it's unlikely he'll try to stiff us."

During the encounter, Mallory's eye had revealed precisely nothing magical about the shaggy Halfling. The Troll's heart glowed, however, so the detection was not at fault. But Triglio had no aura, neither Halfling nor top hat.

"Quite nifty. And the limbs fold. Handy if you want to, say, slip your sleeve over it. Not that I know why anybody would want that..."

As expected when speaking with the well-connected, Torgrim ignored the halfling's insinuation and continued diligently studying the crossbow. "I must admit, it's a fine piece." He picked up the slotted vambrace and proceeded to study it from every angle. "Slightly wrong color for me, but I suppose it could be stored away under a sleeve like you say."

"A hundred gold. I can part with something more ordinary for eighty-five. And then there's the matter of bolts, of course. A case of wooden ones would be three gold pieces."

"Now, you know as well as I do that money like that rarely makes it way into the hands of musicians and minstrels like us, and especially not in a place like Targos. I'll give you 90 gold for these beauties and a case of bolts, as well as the knowledge that you've helped keep a fellow lover of the arts safe on the roads of the Dale."

Persuasion: 12 using 1d20+7.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:34, Wed 01 Sept 2021.

At least the cold is good for something," Rhydd muttered as he used a big skinning knife to assist Mallory in cutting up the dead Troll.

"This thing still stinks, but I'll wager that it would be much worse during the summer-time."

It was dirty, slimy, nasty work, and the outdoorsman was impressed that Mallory did not turn up her nose at what needed to be done.

"I must admit, I had no idea that there was so much value to be gained from a dead Troll, Lady Mallory," he said at one point.

"I damned sure wouldn't want to eat any part of it, and as for the uses that can be made from parts and pieces when it comes to magicks ... well, like I said, I had no idea."

Though she didn't recoil from the gore or even forging right into a half-frosted corpse by her own hand, it was purely a matter of professional focus that kept Mallory's bile down.  A sort of studious compartmentalization where one could mentally set aside their feelings for the sake of a necessary action, even if it might come back to catch them off their guard later on.  Still, one could never accuse her of being an idle noble who wouldn't first do herself what she asked of others.

"Years of study, Mister Maldhon, at the behest of my tutors and professors.  Dull, rote memorization and terrible-smelling dissections of all sorts of creatures, small and great.  Did you know there are one-hundred and fourteen different uses for the ichor of a Black Ooze?  It took me a month to memorize them all and I've never used a bit of it even once." Mallory recounted in a droll tone as she gripped at a portion of thick skin to peel it away while Rhydd worked a knife's edge between flesh and muscle.  "Trolls are actually of great value, particularly to alchemists.  Their flesh, blood, and fat can be rendered into... nngh... hold on, let me just get my boot here and... rendered into very potent restorative potions.  A mere liter of Troll blood is worth as much gold as a craftsman might earn for an entire year of labor.  Ice Trolls, such as these?  Their hair, bones, and organs are vital in the creation of cold-resistant enchantments." she grunted back as she needed a bit of extra leverage to pull a tough spot free before the entire sheet of flesh and dense, coarse fur could be cut completely loose and rolled into a tight bundle.

"You're certainly wise not to eat any, though.  There's an old cautionary lesson in a mining troupe south of Yartar who thought to use a captured Troll as a perpetual food source; severing portions of its body that its regenerative abilities would immediately replace.  Absolutely abhorrent, on its face, if practical." she recounted as she worked a tight knot of twine around the bundle to secure it for travel.  "I'll spare you the bombastically gruesome details but, needless to say, they were all dead in half a tenday as a result of their diet.  The reports after the fact contributed immensely to broader arcane understanding.  Explosively so, one might say."
This message was last edited by the player at 21:14, Thu 02 Sept 2021.

In reply to Mallory Bonheur (msg # 9):

Although Rhydd had heard of Black Oozes, he had never run into one in the Wilds. Which was fine with him.

He worked steadily as Lady Mallory spoke, using his skinning knife to good effect. "One hundred and fourteen?" he echoed the noblewomam

"Methinks you should have sought out a different tutor. Surely the most commonly-used fifty should have been sufficient."

He laughed out loud at Mallory's tale of the "explosive" misfortunes suffered by the group of miners who had apparently thought to save a little coin on rations by eating parts and pieces of perpetually-renewing Troll-flesh.

"The Wilds do not suffer fools and lackwits lightly -- or gladly. They are soon enough culled out of the mix, just as wolves and other predators make short work of the weak amongst a herd. In my opinion, weakness of the mind can oft-times be more deadly than weakness of the flesh."

He glanced over to the side, where the Troll's body parts that were deemed worthy of the effort to salvage them had been set out atop a waterproof tarp. "I noticed you paying particular attention to the heart of this monster," he remarked to Mallory,

"If you do not mind my asking, why is it more useful than, say, a random chunk of the flesh?"

Rhydd's mention of the wilds being less than forgiving with those foolish enough to challenge them brought a grimace out of Mallory, but it wasn't something she could deny either.  Even without supernatural blizzards being conjured by petty goddesses, the area of Icewind Dale had always been especially hazardous.  Bryn Shander was merely a few miles away; a distance she wouldn't hesitate to travel back south amid the civilized and guarded roads to outlaying towns surrounding Neverwinter, but would never dare trek on foot in the driving snows.

"Methinks you should have sought out a different tutor. Surely the most commonly-used fifty should have been sufficient."

"Try telling that to my tutor, or my father." she laughed despite herself.  "Don't mistake me; I'm grateful for the breadth of my education.  But should I ever hold tenure in academy, I'm going to make certain my lessons are far more entertaining."

With regards to the hearts, Mallory began: "Ah well, it's because--" her words cut short as she paused for a hasty look around.  Triglio was nowhere to be seen thanks to Torgrim's needs, though that alone wasn't enough to reassure Mallory entirely.  She shifted nearer Rhydd's side and lowered her voice, near enough for his ears only amid the bluster of the winds.  "It's because an Ice Troll's heart is uniquely dangerous and powerful; coveted by covens of Hags and curse-makers, but even alone it's a disaster waiting to happen.  Do you recall the freezing aura the Trolls exuded in life?  Its source is their heart and that innate magic runs berserk when improperly handled.  A severed Ice Troll's heart, interred undisturbed within broken earth, can summon a blizzard.  You could bury one in the middle of the Anauroch desert and freeze to death at high noon."  Nearby rested the stout earthenware jug, capped and bound, where the heart Mallory was granted was stored in vinegar.  Already the jar had become absolutely crusted in a dense layer of hoarfrost not from the atmosphere, but from the heart itself still exuding a supernatural chill.  She gestured vaguely about Targos' already frost-laden state.  "Surely you can imagine the devastation that would occur if these were to fall into the hands of Auril's followers, with the Ten-Towns in their current state?  The loss of life would be catastrophic."

Crafting tinctures and baubles from a magical creature's remains was one thing, but to think that the brutes they'd fought before could so readily yield a weapon of mass destruction?  A remarkable claim to say the least, but Mallory's demeanor offered no jest in the slightest.  "It's best that the hearts' true power remain hush, that they may simply be exported south for coin from the hands of apothecaries and enchanters of the Trade Routes, where they can do no harm."
This message was last edited by the player at 21:26, Fri 03 Sept 2021.

"Ninety-five. Or," Triglio countered, "a hundred-and-ten and I can throw in — hang on," he moved a stool, fetched a box to place on top, and balanced on both as he reached for one of the higher-up shelves. When he hopped back down he carried a metal case with a thick coating of dust, which Triglio blew away to reveal an engraving of a rain cloud on the lid. "These." He opened it to lay bare bolts streaked with shining blue veins, each laid finely within its own groove in their bed of dark felt. It was a set of three, except one was missing. "May the gods know where they came from . . . As you can see the set is incomplete, which is why I am willing to part with it for less than its worth. As to the effects, I know only I was blinded by a bright flash of light when I attempted to shoot one. The bolt went wide, never to be recovered. A shame, really. I haven't dared to shoot another, as I reckon they would fare far better in hands not quite so small and trembling."

---

Triglio counters with Persuasion [24!].
This message had punctuation tweaked by the GM at 21:49, Fri 03 Sept 2021.

In reply to Mallory Bonheur (msg # 11):

In spite of the fact that Lady Mallory was smeareed with gore and Troll's blood, Rhydd found the noblewoman's momentary trilling mirth to be quite becoming. It occured to him that he had not often heard her laugh. ~~I'll wager that she doesn't oft-times let her hair down,~~ he found himself thinking.

His eyes grew wide in wonder as she explained the power hidden within the heart of an Ice-Troll. "Black gods!" he swore softly, his whispers matching the volume of Lady Mallory's lowered voice.

"'Tis a wonder, then, that the Frostmaiden does not recruit a bunch of such monsters, and use them to o'erwhelm us all with a wave of Her hand."
This message was last edited by the player at 13:24, Sat 04 Sept 2021.

Indeed, Mallory seemed the sort beset with woes that prevented her from good cheer more often than not.  Stuck on an off-course caravan in the frozen end of the north, caught in the midst of a murder investigation, unable to gain meaningful rest if her weariness was any merit, and even presently with an eye bandaged up to top it all off.  Even with the good she managed in fending off tragedy with the Lake Monster, or Moyrah's home, it seemed bad luck was a constant companion of the young Diviner.

"You raise a point worth pondering.  Normally Ice Trolls wouldn't tarry so near to civilization; they're smarter than the average brute and know better.  Yet the gate was unbarred and the both of them were in quite a state when we found them." Emotionally and physically, as it was.  To find a Troll blubbering away like a baby, or one with an arm clearly ruined and in the process of fully regrowing, was bizarre to say the least.  "I dare say they might have been driven into Targos on purpose.  Perhaps by our Druidic conspirator who set the Lake Monster on its course, or some other enemy of the citizenry."

Mallory spared a pitying look to the state that the Ice Trolls had literally been reduced to by that point.  Just yesterday they were up and about, holding conversation with Farwalker... now, organized carcasses scattered amid jars and bundles.  Inwardly she relied on old lessons to cope with the notion; the body was just remains, not the person it once housed.  Once dead, the soul was expelled entirely beyond the Prime Material and was long gone.  It was of little comfort though, particularly as she fiddled with a particular extra black button newly sewn to her collar... Mallory figured comforts and reassurances would be rare to come by in the nearing days.  "Poor things... I wish it hadn't turned out like this.  If only Miss Farwalker had more opportunity to speak with them and learn what drove them to such a state, we may have avoided this.  I don't hold Captain Skath's decision against him, all things considered, but it remains far from ideal."
This message was last edited by the player at 01:53, Sat 04 Sept 2021.

While everyone else was out shopping, or breaking apart bodies, Farwalker was off elsewhere looking for the caravan. Though, it did occur to her that it might not be the best of ideas for her to make sure they aren’t leaving too early. But it was what it was. She’d spent most of her night meditating in her room after sharing her drink, and moving about was probably a good idea. She had her pack, of course. And everything else she carried. She really didn’t want it wandering off again. That had been an adventure.

"That's a shame." Torgrim shrugged, trying not to give away just how tempting Triglio had made the mystery arrows sound. "I'd hoped to make a deal here, but I'm certain the others have more than enough skills to keep us safe on the road. One of them is a witch, after all." He nonchalantly turned around and headed for the door.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:47, Sun 05 Sept 2021.

In reply to Mallory Bonheur (msg # 14):

"Skath couldn't find his arse with both hands," Rhydd replied, crossly, to Lady Mallory's mention of the captain of the Targos guards.

"Farwalker was well on her way to sorting out the situation with the Trolls without bloodshed when he and the other lackwits all showed up. After that . . . well, you well know how it went."

The hunter was down on his knees atop a corner of a tarp, in an effort to keep his knees and legs from getting soaked by the snow. He leaned back, stretching his back as he did so.

"What part do you want me to work at, next?" he asked the wizardess, nodding his head at the partially dismembered body of the Troll as he did so.

By that point Mallory had become a bit more accustomed to just how coarse Rhydd's manner could be, though she'd yet to pin down its cause.  He'd been practically charming in conversation prior when the desire struck him, yet other times he rankled and threatened.  The result of a hard lifestyle in a hard place to live, she mulled inwardly.

"We're harvesting the claws, so the arm, here.  They're anchored by a rather tricky bit of tendon that runs the length of the forearm, so we need to upset the elbow joint here to get under.  If you could just hold the wrist and pull on it like... so..."  With Rhydd's help to forcibly extend the Troll's limb and make its lean musculature bulge, Mallory could slip the edge of her field knife in just below the elbow.  A precise twist was all it took for the lanky fingers to go completely limp and uncurl from their death clutch.  "There we are.  Every wall has its weak points, as they say."

From there it was simply a matter of severing the Ice Troll's fingers at the first knuckle joint.  A process made far, far easier without the tense tendons drawn taut as steel cables, but it still required a fair bit of work with a hacksaw and pliers.  The Troll's hand - capable of hoisting a grown man full in its grip - was simply too large to take whole, but Mallory sat down beside Rhydd so they could each handle working on the dissection together from opposite sides of the hand's span.  "As for Captain Skath; I don't disagree with you per say, but I can't fault the man his decision to act.  Hasty as it may have been." she continued with her voice low as they worked, so as not to stir up any gossip amid the others who might overhear.  "Correct me if I'm wrong, but you and Skath seem to share a rather immediate dislike of one another.  Have you met prior?"  She'd noticed that Rhydd appeared familiar with the locals at the Inn as well, though it made sense if he frequented the area in his work.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:27, Sat 04 Sept 2021.

In reply to Mallory Bonheur (msg # 18):

"I'm a good judge of character," Rhydd said with a shrug and a thin-lipped smile in response to Lady Mallory's question as to whether he and Skath had a history. Perhaps he was being truthful, or perhaps he was attempting a little deadpan humor.

By and large he was careful to follow the wizardess's instructions regarding where to cut on the dead Troll, and which body-parts to concentrate their efforts upon -- primarily because he had no clue as to which parts of the dead Troll were valuable to magickers, and which were offal that could be tossed aside.

"How about the eyes?" he asked after the twosome had worked together to saw off the fingers of a dead hand.

"Do they have any special value? Obviously I don't understand such things, but it would seem that they would be more important than, say, fingers and knuckle-bones."
This message was last edited by the player at 15:53, Sun 05 Sept 2021.

"It is indeed a shame," Triglio echoed, shrugging as Torgrim went for the exit. "Safe journeys, my friend."

---

Farwalker was accompanied by Dannika as she went and checked up on the caravan. Though the smell and gore coupled with her muddled state had her somewhat nauseous, it was the pressing time concerns that made the scholar truly nervous. And since it seemed Mallory, aided by Rhydd, had the process fully under control — even if they were taking their sweet time — Dannika took the liberty of stepping away for a bit.

During the first check earlier the same morning the caravan was nearly fully geared and ready to depart. The merchants were impatient, but some time had been bought. One of them, the boisterous Waterdhavian, had been red as a furnace, as he'd thrown a fuss when he learned none of them could bring their stock of grain along for this second trip. Niels insisted on traveling as light as possible, which the Waterdhavian found to be utter bullocks. One would think that after Naerth paid them a visit to claim and compensate them for their wares at full price the man's ire would have dampened, but it only matured, and he was quick to allege foul play and even theft. It had taken the combined efforts of his colleagues to bring him down and accept the circumstances at hand.

However, now, when Farwalker and Dannika arrived at the stables, they were gone. A single man, Vander the Stable Master, remained as he tended to a pair of Axe Beaks within their enclosure.
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:17, Sun 05 Sept 2021.

"Surprisingly, no.  Academia spent decades absolutely convinced that the eyes of a Troll must contain unique secrets and particular worth, as is often the case with other creatures.  Yet experimentation has shown otherwise." Mallory noted as she pried the last digit she needed free with a grimace and a yank.  "You would think scientists and physicians would know better than to hold to preconceived notions like that; it turns out Trolls have absolutely abysmal eyesight.  Scent is actually their primary sense."

Things had about wrapped up, overall.  With the last of their casks sealed and as many sundry parts as could be spared within a reasonable amount of time, it was just left to be a matter of carrying everything to the stables to meet up with their caravan.  Mallory cast her eyes skyward in some hope of figuring out the time but the dense cloud cover served to be a total obstruction as usual.

"I am curious though, Mister Maldhon; what does your judgment cast of my character?" she asked as she pushed up to stand and held out both hands, blood-caked as her gloves may have been, to offer help and pull Rhydd to feet as well.

Subtelty over dramatics, Torgrim, Why do you always do this? When it was obvious Triglio had seen through his charade and would not budge on the price, Torgrim stopped in his tracks, his hand hovering over the door handle.  The half-elf made a heel-turn and let out an exasperated groan as he threw down a pouch on the counter. The sound of Torgrims remaining funds hitting the wood instantaneously made him sick to his stomach, and had him almost backing out of the whole deal, but damn how alluring Triglio had made the crossbow and magical mystery bolts seem. Curse his halfling salesmanship.

"There. I believe it's short a silver or two, but it's all I have. I'm certain you can afford to shave that much off for a friend. Feel free to count it."

OOC: The pouch contains Torgrim's last 108 Gold 9 Silver and 8 Copper.

Triglio took a cursory glance at the pouch. "I believe I quoted you a hundred-and-ten, did I not? I am afraid this is already such a generous offer, I cannot in good conscience go any lower. So unless you have something else of value, I think these bolts are best kept on the shelf a little longer. I am certain another buyer will stop by soon."

In reply to Mallory Bonheur (msg # 21):

"Hunh," Rhydd grunted, sounding slightly surprised, when Lady Mallory spoke her explanation about the eyes of the Troll. "Wouldn't've been my guess," he added, giving a short shrug.

After a momentary pause, he accepted the noblewoman's hand up and he rose to his feet, brushing loose snow off his heavy over-trousers.

A flash of white deep within the recesses of his hood hinted that he had smiled at Mallory's question as to his judgment of her character.

"Almost sounds like a dare," he said, looking her up and down in the manner of one appraising a potentially valuable item of livestock.

"All right then," he said. "Here goes."

"You are coming to grips with the realization that your books and pampered upbringing did not teach you all that there is to know, and are not quite sure how to deal with it."

"In spite of all the material things at your fingertips, life has not brought you true happiness, yet you are still hopeful that will not always be the case."

"You are much more comfortable surrounded by books than people, and are still feeling your way when it comes to interactions with others. As a result of that, sometimes you keep your true feelings hidden away, and bottled up inside yourself."

"In short, in many ways, you are a fledgling still learning how to fly."

"All of that said, you have a good heart, and are quick to act when others are in need of aid."

"You are much braver than you give yourself credit for being, and just need to develop a little more self-confidence in yourself and your ablities."

Rhydd flashed another smile. "Once that happens, you will truly be a woman to be reckoned with."

Still smiling, he asked "Did any of my arrows strike close to the mark?"

"I believe I quoted you a hundred-and-ten, did I not? I am afraid this is already such a generous offer, I cannot in good conscience go any lower. So unless you have something else of value, I think these bolts are best kept on the shelf a little longer. I am certain another buyer will stop by soon."

Why you greedy little... Torgrim's eyes might have betrayed his true feelings towards the merchant, but he managed to stay silent. He simply gritted his teeth and began rummaging through his pockets looking for any spare copper he might have missed on his first go. Though no coins could be found, his fingers eventually came in contact with a brass key sown into the lining of his coat pocket. He let out a reluctant grumble as he took a moment of silent consideration.

"100 gold, and I give you this." He grabbed hold of the key before tugging at it, ripping out the threads he'd previously used to sow it in place. The key was nondescript, lacking in any ornamental details or dectorations with a brown piece of torn string still tied to a hole on the back end. Torgrim placed it next to the pouch. "It's for the padlock on a chest in my house, or rather, in my room in the Dunn widow's house. In it you'll find a bottle of Berduskan Dark. Unopened, saved for a... special occasion." He eyed the halfling for any reaction. "It's all yours. The key, the padlock, the chest and the bottle. Should be enough to cover the missing 10 gold."
This message was last edited by the player at 00:51, Mon 06 Sept 2021.

"Almost sounds like a dare."

"Should I brace myself?" Mallory joked right back with as playful a smirk as one could manage while covered in viscera.  A matter she set about remedying with several gestures across her own form; wherever her palm crossed, a swath of gore, snow, and dirt was supernaturally purged to leave a perfectly clean line in its wake.  She continued to tidy herself bit by bit until all was well again even while Rhydd offered his appraisal, and gestured to give him the same cleaning if he'd linger for it.

Rhydd's summary and impressions brought a somewhat rueful smile; either he was off the mark or Mallory simply didn't agree with his views from the look on her face.  Though flattery seemed to soften her manner by the end and she offered a self-depricating laugh.  "I would say that you and Trolls share a limited vision." she gently teased.  She'd been the one to ask, after all, so there was no ire to be heard even if she disagreed with the review.  Mallory dipped to scoop up the bundled rolls of hide onto one shoulder and the frosted-over jarred heart under her other arm.  She gestured for her companion to help with the casks of blood and satchels of varied bits, if he would, as they needed to return sooner than later to catch their wagon out of town.  Once all was ready, she set off to lead the way through the snow-laden streets.

"I assure you I'm quite comfortable with others and was very happy." she recounted as they went along.  "I come from a merchant family; my grandparents, my parents, and all my siblings alike hold the trade just as I do.  My father has spent his life working for our sake and was so proud that we each held to the family trade... he would exhaust his peers boasting about me and my siblings.  When I first showed capacity for magic as a child, he was so excited I thought he'd burst!  He'd spare no expense and practically buried me in tutors, lessons, and books in order to see me thrive.  It was just the same for my siblings as well; he embraced our skills and passions with such joy..."

Her one good eye lifted to the cloudy sky as she walked along, momentarily lost in thought and memory.  "I was very confident in myself and my abilities, you know.  My family built our enterprise through hard work and dedication, were granted our rank of nobility because of our accomplishments, and with my visions I helped to catapult us into greater influence.  We did it all together and helped so many others in the process."  There was longing in her voice; wistful pride and a fleeting happiness that escaped with her breath as she sighed bitterly.  "And then I ruined everything.  I misinterpreted my visions and it caused a disaster... and another, and another, and it all just spiraled away from me.  All the good my family had, all we'd built for those who relied on us; ruined, just like that.  I've hurt so many people because of my failures.  Now my siblings are scattered to the winds trying to fix my mess, my parents remain in Neverwinter fending off the vultures, and I'm stuck here trying to do something... anything... to set things right again."

It was a lot to take in, but at no point had Mallory ever seemed like the sort who belonged in as rough and strange a place as Ten-Towns.  She didn't belong there, nor did she want to be there at all, but desperate circumstances demanded desperate action.  After a time the young noblewoman eased the clench of her jaw and sighed out once more, then gave Rhydd a miserable glance.  "You give me far too much credit, Mister Maldhon.  I wish I was the naive yearling you paint me as; it would be a far cry better than the truth."

Rhydd busied himself with moving the various containers of Troll-parts along in the direction that they needed to go. He carried a satchel in each hand and rolled a cask ahead of him, pushing it with his foot. He would double back later for anything that he and Lady Mallory had to leave behind.

He guffawed with amusement when the wizardess lumped him together with the Trolls as having "limited vision", then listened with interest as she spoke of herself and her upbringing, explaining why most of his shots at the target of her character had sailed well wide of the mark.

"Here's hoping that my arrows are more accurate when our lives are at stake," he said, chuckling.

After a moment his tone became more serious. "I don't like people, he said after a short pause. "I am most content when I am away on my own in the Wilds, with only myself to depend upon."

"And yet," he added, "I find myself liking you, of all people -- someone who has no business whatsoever being where you are, up here in the Far North."

"Why do you suppose that is, Lady Mallory?"
This message was last edited by the player at 02:19, Mon 06 Sept 2021.

There was a moment where Mallory worried about judgment for her tale, one way or another, but was relieved that Rhydd took it so well in stride.  Of course, they were up in the wastelands beyond the Sword Coast... stories of personal failure and collapsed lives were surely lamented over at a copper per dozen.  She was no different in that regard despite how much she stood out against the crowds for her manner.

"I don't like people-"

Mallory feigned a gasp of utter disbelief at that.  Rhydd's further leading, however, earned a sidelong smile given his way.

"Why do you suppose that is, Lady Mallory?"

"Novelty?  My ravishing good looks?  You like cats?" she chanced, still half in jest.  No doubt Rhydd hadn't desired to have a sob story dropped on him as she'd done, but it put her more at ease in his company once she had it all out like that.  As they walked together she shifted momentarily nearer to give him a bump shoulder to shoulder, simply for the sake of good humor.  "Let's see... if I were to judge your character?

You're a ruffian, to say the least, but not a brute.  Not one to suffer fools in the slightest, nor keen to let others decide your path for you.  Yet for all your growling there is a cleverness, and a kindness, and a desire to help.  I see an intimidating man beneath that hood, Mister Maldhon... but, ultimately, a good one." Mallory yielded a more generous appraisal in return but, given how afraid she'd been of Rhydd when they'd first met, it spoke well of how his actions had turned her view of him in so short a time.  "So... perhaps it's your desire to help a damsel in distress that draws you to me, hmm?  Or has my arrow landed off the mark as well?"
This message was last edited by the player at 03:03, Mon 06 Sept 2021.

In reply to Mallory Bonheur (msg # 28):

"Must be the cat," Rhydd dead-panned, giving Mallory a bit of sly side-eye that he figured she probably couldn't see underneath his hood.

~~Her being a wizardess and all, mayhap she can know such things without seeing 'em.~~

"Astre is terribly charming, after all." Mallory hummed through a rather smug grin.  Though, as had been the case all morning, the Tressym in question was nowhere to be seen.  Surely off on some adventure all his own yet again... or perhaps just snoozing away the morning by a hearth somewhere.

"What do you think of the others?  Miss Dannika, Miss Moyrah, Miss Farwalker, and this Torgrim fellow?  Not to gossip, of course, but I imagine you must feel like the only sane mind amid such an eccentric lot as ourselves?"

“Sold to the man with the key!” Triglio exclaimed as he eagerly snatched up the key. “And you can keep your silver and copper. I am a merchant, not a robber, and I prefer if my clients do not die from hunger. It is bad for business.”
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:25, Mon 06 Sept 2021.

"The others?" Rhydd echoed Lady Mallory as he gave the cask another shove with his foot.

"They'll do in a pinch, I s'pose." This was probably rather high praise from a man who, by his own admission, did not like people. Even though he apparently liked cats and Tressym.

"There may be something a bit . . . off . . . about Torgrim, though. Admittedly, I haven't quite figured him out, yet."
This message was last edited by the player at 19:12, Mon 06 Sept 2021.

"Indeed... while I admit that his claims of phantoms aren't the least bit impossible, there are far more plausible causes for one hearing voices."  A scowl crossed Mallory's face as she briefly recollected her few conversations with Torgrim.  He was handy in the fight with the Trolls, sure, but that was one thing and his claims were another.  "I don't like that he spoke of his phantom potentially being Miss Moyrah's family.  That's the sort of thing charlatans do to prey on people in mourning; one often finds a street corner darkened by some so-called soothsayer who can miraculously speak with the dead in return for a few coins."

She could only shrug in the end.  "I suppose we'll just have to keep an eye on him and take care if ulterior motives reveal themselves."
This message was last edited by the player at 18:23, Mon 06 Sept 2021.

Rhydd took some comfort from the fact that Lady Mallory apparently had some of the same concerns that he did. After all, as a magicker, undoubtedly she was privy to things that he had no understanding of.

At the same time, it felt a little odd, even having someone else around to discuss things with. The outdoorsman was used to making up his own mind with little or no input from others, then acting as he saw fit.

As the twosome moved along, burdens in hand and underfoot, he changed the subject. "Where are we taking all this?" he asked the wizardess.

"Are you planning to load it onto a wagon and cart it off to Bryn Shander?"
This message was last edited by the player at 21:27, Mon 06 Sept 2021.

"That was the intent, yes." A gentle assurance was given even as Mallory took a second to shuffle her load mid-stride to switch shoulders, lest she give herself a crick in the neck.  "The caravan agreed to delay their leave a bit for our work, though at this point I'm honestly tempted to be done with it entirely and purchase some Axe Beaks of our own instead.  We paid good money for safe transport to Bryn Shander and Mister Niels got us lost in a blizzard, attacked by wolves, and ended up in the entirely wrong town.  And not a single hint of remorse or even a token apology!  When one loses trust as a business person, it's nearly impossible to regain."

She blew a bitter scoff through her teeth.  "Honestly, I wouldn't be the least bit surprised to find out he just took our fee and drove off without us."
This message was last edited by the player at 21:27, Mon 06 Sept 2021.

In reply to Mallory Bonheur (msg # 35):

Rhydd grunted a wordless response to Mallory's recounting of the ills that had befallen the caravaneers in their efforts to reach Bryn Shander.

After a moment he muttered "'Tweren't Neils' finest hour, that's for damned sure."

"I suppose it takes a while for word to spread amongst those wishing to come up here from the Southlands as to who is good, bad, or indifferent when it comes to guides."

"Or, mayhap the choices are so few and far between that just about anyone can stick a feather in their cap and call themselves a guide."

"Well, I would certainly trust the likes of yourself, Miss Farwalker, and Miss Moyrah to be far more apt." she huffed indignantly.

"Well," Dannika commented, "that is unfortunate. At least Mallory will have all the time she needs." Before the last breath of the last word escaped her, Mallory and Rhydd approached from further up the street with the fruits of their labor. And, coincidentally, both Torgrim, with his newly purchased gear, and Moyrah, with her essentials loaded and packed, arrived to share in the realization that they had been abandoned.

"If you're looking for the caravan that was here earlier, I regret to inform you they've departed. You were too late," the haggard Stable Master spoke, peeking out from beneath his hood as he moved a bundle of hay. Neither he nor the animals found any reprieve from the cold here in the stables. The Axe Beaks appeared fine with their dense and downy coats, but the spare horses had been layered in rugs, blankets, and sheets — really anything big enough to cover them while they were idle.
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:44, Tue 07 Sept 2021.

As was often the case in having the ability to foresee future events, or having a covert spy-in-the-sky, Mallory was very much accustomed to her predictions being right.  The few times they'd been wrong were frankly terrible, but they were at least rare.  But when it came to Niels having actually up and left without them even after she'd asked him to delay... frankly, she hated being right.

"Nnnnnnngggggmm." was all she ever so eloquently managed to vocalize in a low, frustrated tone half-muffled under her scarf and one hand pressed over her face.  "I swear, when I find that man, I'm going to give him a piece of my-- no, no, not good enough.  I'll see to it every merchant's crossing along the entire damned High Road hears of this outrageous negligence.  See how he likes trying to find work with a black mark across his name."

"Hunh," Rhydd grunted when the Stable Master spoke his news, the archer somehow managing to convey disapproval with the tone of his wordless comment.

Having paused his progress for a couple of heartbeats, Rhydd resuming rolling the cask forward with his foot. "Can't say that I'm surprised," he muttered.

"Not at all sure that they'll make it to Bryn Shander," he added.

---

OOC: Bears, did Neils wait for a break in the weather, or did the caravan head out into the teeth of a howling winter storm? Thanks.

---

Rhydd's Weather Forecast [19]: Cloudy with a high chance of light to moderate snowfall. Moderate to Fresh Breeze. Nothing outrageously sinister.
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:37, Wed 08 Sept 2021.

It was times like these that Farwalker wished she still had her pipe. But the smoke had stained her teeth, and getting them cleaned properly had been both annoying and expensive. She could just start walking, but doubted that most of the rest of them could keep up. It was a bit cold to everyone else. She actually wasn't irritated, this would just be the perfect moment for some dramatic smoking. "There's always walking. A brisk hike through the snow is good for the blood." Her tone was jovial, she hadn't really liked some of the caravanners anyway. Mainly because they thought lesser of her due to her heritage. Which was rude.

"A brisk hike for you is trudging waist-deep through drifts for the likes of us, I'm afraid.  Snow shoes or not, I'm ill-prepared for a five mile winter march when the weather may turn at any moment."  Mallory countered with a disgruntled sigh and a gesture to and fro between herself and Dannika; the waifs members of the present company.  Though as she looked Farwalker's way, she seemed momentarily distracted by something she noticed... just long enough to furrow her brow in brief focus, though she shook her head and left it aside without remark.

"When did Niels even leave?  Did he wait around at all or did he just set out as soon as I spoke with him?" she asked the stable keeper, even as her one visible eye lifted to glance across the milling beasts behind him.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:54, Thu 09 Sept 2021.

Dannika shivered at the mere prospect of braving the distance at foot. "Good for the blood? I prefer my blood in liquid form, thank you very much."

"Not too long ago," the Stable Master grunted as he moved some more hay for the horses to nibble on. "They did wait, ya know. But Niels buckled under the pressure of his herd, I suppose. Can't say I blame him — if you're late, you're late."
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:26, Thu 09 Sept 2021.

The idea that Niels had been browbeat into leaving sooner than intended by the passengers was enough to lighten a bit of Mallory's ire toward him; she understood full well how bad clients could be, and doubly so when the weather might turn against them at any moment offering a very slim window of opportunity to work in.  As much as she hated to admit it, she might've been too hard on him... though it wasn't going to stop her from demanding a partial refund of her fare the next time they crossed paths.

"There's little to be done for it now.  Even if I sent Astre after them with a note, I doubt they'd stop and wait for us to catch up at this point."  Eventually she could only sigh out in impotent frustration.  "I don't suppose there are any other wagons making the trip to Bryn Shander today you know of, sir?"

"Nay," the Stable Master responded, "not that I know of. Don't see much traveling these days. If you still insist on heading out I strongly advice you find yourself another guide. Them roads get less safe by the day."

"If you still insist on heading out I strongly advice you find yourself another guide. Them roads get less safe by the day."

"And surely anyone would be a better guide than this Niels fellow." Torgrim put his hand to his forehead and made a scouting motion in the direction of Bryn Shander. "Probably halfway up the Cairn by now, if your journey here is any indication. Is there anyone you would reccomend?

"Is there anyone you would recommend?"

To wit, Mallory's eye was promptly drawn to both Rhydd and Farwalker alike as obvious candidates.  "I would say the matter of guides is readily handled.  Transport is another matter... assuming there even are any proper mounts and sleds available."  Clearly a leading remark, given their present company with the stable master, even though it galled her to risk a business transaction at such an overt disadvantage.
This message was last edited by the player at 08:53, Fri 10 Sept 2021.

The Stable Master glanced at Rhydd. "I presume you are Rhydd, then? In that case, Niels said you'd fare just alright." On the matter of price, he betrayed no will to inflate them. "Plenty of stock. I can't lend anything out, I'm afraid, so you will have to purchase. Sleighs are twenty each, horses go for fifty golders, same for the Axe Beaks. Though they can be a bit more feisty." One of the ones nearby shrieked as it rammed its head into a bar making up its stall, a habit it had grown fond of apparent by the numerous scratches and indents on the wood. "Blasted vermin keep doing that . . . I have to replace the planks periodically. Doesn't help that they have to be kept in longer nowadays. They're active animals, so I can't really blame them." He sighed wearily. "If you come with me, I can show you what I have of saddles and equipment."

---

In the somewhat large stall, there are about half-a-dozen horses, and five Axe Beaks. That should be more than enough for you to pick and choose from. Everything goes by the price listed in the PHB.

Rhydd looked offended at the Stable Master's "just alright" comment. "Neils said that? The man's got some nerve, after the mess he made of trying to get the caravan to Bryn Shander the first time around."

He leaned over and whispered to Mallory. "You come from a family of merchants, so why don't you handle the bargaining? Me, I don't really have the patience for it."

The Stable Master shrugged. He did not seem at all eager to play mediator between feuding rangers.
This message was last edited by the GM at 09:57, Sat 11 Sept 2021.

"Plenty of stock. I can't lend anything out, I'm afraid, so you will have to purchase. Sleighs are twenty each, horses go for fifty golders, same for the Axe Beaks. Though they can be a bit more feisty."

Torgrim felt around in his pocket for his coin pouch, which was getting lighter by the minute. "I'll take my chances on going by foot with you, Farwalker. The trek is not particularly long, so we should be fine. I've even taken it once before, albeit in the opposite direction."

"Suit yourselves," the Stable Master replied.

---

Mallory's Insight check into the Stable Master's personality [16]: Going by his shabbiness and dull expression, this was either a person significantly downtrodden or someone who got by without niceties. Whatever gift Mallory would conjure to sweeten the deal would have to be more impactful than fleeting warmth or slightly shinier bits and stirrups.

A bit of hushed chatter among the group for their consensus was enough to reveal that it was only Mallory and Dannika alike who seemed adverse to legging it through the open landscape between towns.  Little surprise there, really; of the gathered lot they were the only two from warmer and far-more-paved regions.  Though it was a matter of future investment as far as she was concerned since she had every intention of traveling about the Ten Towns for the sake of business.  The trek to Bryn Shander wasn't that far but the other settlements were another matter entirely.

It was Rhydd's whisper, however, that gave her a moment's pause.  "Oh... I... yes, of course."  Surprising that such a small remark could take her off-balance.  But after confessing that it'd been her own dealings that caused tragedy prior, she was surprised at Rhydd's encouragement.  Grateful as well, she realized, while she hid a smile behind the curl of her scarf as she strode up to start negotiations.  It wasn't his money on the table yet she found herself bolstered by even a small vote of confidence.

---

Mallory Bonheur rolled 4 using 1d20+3 - Nat 1

---

A miscast vote, it seemed.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:38, Sun 12 Sept 2021.

"This here is Frida," the Stable Master said as he led an obedient Axe Beak along. "She's in her late thirties, which is a bit on the older side. They typically live until they're fifty or so. No eggs to speak of. But she's calm and mellow," he continued as he fastened the buckles on the saddle and saddle bags. The bird made no fuss. Once everything was in its proper place and secured, the Stable Master gave her pat on her white plumage. "And crafty. She busts right through the bolts on the padlocks, so I have to use a metal bar for her. Though she's not prone to go anywhere once she's got the gate open. Let the grooms in Bryn Shander know anyway."

Frida stared upon her new master with glassy eyes as Mallory was handed the reins.

As she'd demonstrated with Triglio before, it was the way of merchants to want to duel back and forth like a fencing match, each trying to counter and assert to gain the upper hand.  Usually.  Though bolstered by Rhydd's word of trust, each time Mallory even began to attempt to try and open a line of dialogue with the Stable Master, she was just ignored as he seemed to have no interest whatsoever.  Two or three efforts were given, each time decidedly less assured in tone and with a furtive, embarrassed glance shot back to her companions as she struggled to find any foothold in a figurative stone wall.

But in the end?  It just came down to the Stable Master outright telling her what she was buying, and at full price to boot.  By that point, what portion of the noblewoman's face that could be seen under her hood, scarf, and draped hair glowed as dark red as her coat out of sheer humiliation.  She didn't even have it in her to try and save face by commenting on how a more passive but crafty Axe Beak was a better fit than a younger and blindly aggressive bird; instead she just silently took the offered reins and passed over a stack of coins in return.

She wouldn't be able to look Rhydd in the eye for a bit after that...

But, for the moment, she had Frida to contend with and heaved a deep, shoulder-slumping sigh.  While the Stable Master set to preparing the straps of saddles and attached bags also in the purchase, Mallory shuffled into her pack and withdrew a portion of dried meat.  Axe Beaks were quite common further south in the rockier coastal areas and she'd ridden them before, as often as she had horses.  Old, basic handling lessons came readily to mind: the birds were omnivores but liked meat, and were highly food-incentivized.  Their beak shape yielded a considerable blind spot directly ahead, and their strikes always went forward or backward, so always approach them from the side where they can see you coming and can't kick at you.  Let the bird acclimate itself to your presence first and accept you before trying to handle it...

"Hello Frida, nice to be working with you." she sighed dejectedly.  A little surge of magic was given to heat the dried meat up, giving it an immediate shift toward being softer and more aromatic.  Trying to hand feed an Axe Beak was a fantastic way to lose one's fingers, so Mallory waited until Frida showed a sign of interest in the snack before giving it a little toss up into the air for the bird to snatch.

---

Animal Handling
Mallory Bonheur rolled 10 using 1d20-1

Mallory pays 71 GP for the whole kit and kaboodle.

Whilst Mallory was attempting to bargain with a man that didn't seem to understand the word, Farwalker had taken the time to set her pack down near the door and pull out her usual tools. Now that she thought about it, the local shopkeep likely had some precious stones floating around. A bit late to check now. The thought of precious stones did have her pause in her search for a decent piece of bone to reach into a separate pouch and pull out the troll's gift.

With a soft hum, she flicked it into the air and watched as it started an orbit around her head. Now that was impressive. She'd have to figure out how to make one. Eventually. For now, she let it orbit her head as she went about sorting the bits of bone she'd taken from the troll, sorting by size and what she could carve with them. The largest and nicest piece, she slipped into a pouch next to her carving knife. She'd work on that one first. "Rhydd." She called out suddenly, her voice rumbling as usual, "Did you take any of the troll's tusks? If so, I would ask for one."

Frida followed the dry stick of meat with her gaze, but made no effort to catch it in the air after Mallory had lobbed it. Instead, she let it fall to the ground amid the loose strands of hay before craning her neck and snatching it up in her beak. Then she tossed it up on her own volition and ate it.
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:00, Tue 14 Sept 2021.

As Mallory futilely attempted to open negotiations with the plainspoken stablemaster, Torgrim looked on in silent horror. Although it was good to see that even her silver tongue could meet its match, it had been with a most unexpected combatant.

Torgrim approached as the meat stick sadly plopped to the ground before the steed. "She's a.. fine mount. Headstrong." He put a gloved hand onto the witch's shoulder. "Don't be too hard on yourself. Even the magnificent rapier would struggle against the humble rock."

Torgrim's reassurances might've been more helpful had Mallory been witness to his own struggles with Triglio.  The two might sympathize over rough dealings with small-town merchants that somehow were trickier to talk down than a murderous lake monster.  But, lacking that, the noblewoman's humiliated blush just burned all the brighter as it came across to her that she was being pitied.  "Let's... just get going, please." she pleaded meekly as she wound the reins around her fist and patted the Axe Beak's shoulder to guide her into walking alongside out the stable housing.

"Did you take any of the troll's tusks? If so, I would ask for one."

"Of course you may, Miss Farwalker.  We gathered knuckle bones as w--" As they all came back together, Mallory ended up stopping short in both stride and statement alike when she looked up and noticed the tiny, gleaming gemstone orbiting Farwalker's head.  Her one visible eye widened with obvious recognition as she watched it spin lazily around in space.  "-w-wh-where did you get that from?"

Farwalker paused in the carving of a small bead and looked up, then rolled her eyes to where Mallory was looking. "Mmm." She noised, head dipping back down as she rolled the unfinished bead in her fingers. "It was a gift." She tucked the bead away for now, and then carefully put her tiny saw and knife away as well. Which involved a bit of sheathing and wrapping, which took about as much time to do as it had to put the bead away. It seemed she'd had a lot of practise. "It's a rather pretty, shiny rock don't you think? I had convinced the trolls to leave the town. They wanted to sit with me, likely to tell me what had happened to them." Her face was hidden as she bent down to pick up her pack, tucking her little carving kit away in a side pocket.

"It is best to think of trolls as large, unruly children that don't know any better. Because that is, in a way, what they are." She shouldered her pack and gave a sad smile. "Just, ones with an insatiable appetite and near complete lack of fear. Which make them dangerous."

"Well, that and their general disregard for life... everything smaller than themselves being a potential food source..." Mallory wasn't of a mind to argue with Farwalker in the slightest; she would have been far happier had events allowed the Goliath to peacefully send the Trolls off after a chat and no harm done.  Though to merely assign such behemoths as unruly children was a vast underestimation of their danger... still, a Goliath saw the world in a very different perspective, no doubt about it.

She remained decidedly distracted, however, by the orbiting stone as her gaze tracked it much the same way Astre's did on a scampering rat.  "You mean to tell me the Trolls gave you an Ioun Stone?  They just... had one?  Do you have any idea what--?  Where did they even--?  " She couldn't help but raise a hand as if to snatch the drifting gem when Farwalker knelt nearer, but restrained herself anxiously.  "Miss Farwalker, if you focus you should be able to make the stone rest at your brow or temple rather than freely float... please, for goodness' sake, show some discretion before you draw untoward attention on yourself!"
This message was last edited by the player at 02:40, Thu 16 Sept 2021.

“A rather interesting parallel to civilisation, if one considers it.” She took a moment to make sure her pack was settled properly and wouldn’t be pulling at her shoulders too much. There was nothing more annoying than an improperly balanced pack when going for a hike. Except for maybe knickers that didn’t sit quite right. “And yes, I am in fact fully away of what I have orbiting my head. This one in particular covers me in something of a minor arcane shield.” She smiled wide then, teeth as brilliant as ever, “And Mallory, you may not have realised this, but I am large for a goliath, am wearing bright clothing, and my eyes look like they’ve been replaced with massive, perfectly round pearls. Which isn’t normal, in case you were wondering. I believe we have already moved past ‘untoward attention.’”

She looked up at her new, floating rock and smirked. “Besides, it matches my outfit wonderfully. How could I not let it float about properly?” She was a Suneite after all, and appearance was ever important.

The flippancy shown over the nature of the Ioun Stone made Mallory groan out and palm her face, though the knee-jerk gesture put pressure on her bandaged eye to leave her wincing with a sharp hiss through her teeth.  "I'm not talking about your looks.  An Ioun Stone of that cut is worth at least five thousand gold and rapidly appreciating in value with each passing year.  We're in Ten-Towns, for Tymora's sake!  I don't dare wear my mother's ring where anyone might see it for fear of thieves, and it's worth nowhere near as much as that."

It was, perhaps, easy for a woman built like a mountain and strong as an avalanche to be less worried of such things compared to a waif like Mallory.  Half the time it looked like the young noblewoman would simply cave in on herself from a combination of sleepless nights and wincing away from the cold, let alone be able to contend with a mugger.  "Just... please, be cautious with it!  Anyone who recognizes what that is would be bound to try and acquire it from you.  The majority of Ioun Stones in existence went inert or were destroyed during the Spell Plague, and the methods for creating them are still largely lost to history.  They're vanishingly precious in this day and age." she practically whined amid her plea.  It was like watching someone idly tossing an antique vase from hand to hand and made her just squirm over imagined disasters.

Rhydd stood a little off to the side, leaning against his unstrung bow-stave. His bowstrings were all waxed and put away in his belt-pouch for ready access, each looped around its own small length of wood for easy storage and retrieval. In these damp conditions, it was best not to leave his bow strung when it seemed unlikely that it would be needed, for the moisture would cause the string to stretch over time.

To the archer's eye, Lady Mallory seemed a bit subdued after her efforts to haggle with the Stable Master failed to yield any discernable results. The man was a rock, and absolutely refused to budge in his prices.

"Ah, I wouldn't worry about it," he said to Mallory when the group was examining the Axe Beak that she had just purchased. "The Stable Master had something that we absolutely needed, and he knew it. Plus, it wasn't like you could just walk down the street and seek better prices. He also knew that he was the only game in town -- so to speak. He had you at a disadvantage from the get-go, and there wasn't much you could do about it. On the plus side, as near as I could tell, he gave you fair prices, and did not try to take advantage of the situation o'er-much."

When the discussion moved on to Farwalker's Ioun Stone, Rhydd gazed at the orbiting gemstone with interest. He had heard of such things, but had never before glimpsed one. He was quite surprised to hear Mallory tell how rare and valuable they were, apparently even in the more southerly climes.

"I understand your concerns," he said to the noblewoman after a bit. "But after all, 'tis Farwalker's valuable, to do with as she pleases. 'Tis not everyone who can gain such a treasure, freely given, from an Ice-Troll."

"And besides," he added with a hint of a smirk, "I would pay good coin to watch anyone try and take it away from Farwalker."
This message was last edited by the player at 16:37, Fri 17 Sept 2021.

The Stable Master stared shifty eyed upon both Farwalker and orbiting stone. Townsfolk were seldom amenable to Goliaths — many feared them for a reason, be it right or wrong. But it wasn't the Stable Master's place to voice judgement, particularly when there were sales to make. A sale was a sale, as a price was a price, contrary to what quibbling southerners would think. He contented himself with a distrusting glare at whatever magic she was playing at, so long as she kept it to herself.

---

Frida was compliant the short distance it took to get to the gates. Tracks from the caravan that had neglected waiting were visible in the shallow snow in the street and by the portcullis, and in the deeper snow immediately outside. A total of four guards were stationed down at the foot of the watchtower, and two more up top. After yesterdays disaster, Skath had seen to it that the gates were no longer raised without official approval, as one of the guards informed everyone intending to depart. The blurred visage of the Tiefling Captain himself could be seen through the foggy windows, leaning in a wooden chair next to a warm stove. When it came time to raise the gates, one of the guards entered to get verbal confirmation, after which Skath got up and peeked out the door to ensure the situation was as reported. "Raise the gates," he called out. He offered no further comment before retreating back to his quarters.

"I've lost things more valuable before." She replied with a shrug and not-quite a smile. "What happened with your eye, anyhow? Do you require assistance?" It was the simple, easy concern of someone both fully willing and fully capable of assisting. It wasn't often that both were found in the same person.

"Tell me as we walk. The more we stand about, the colder the walk." Not that the cold was going to be bothering her all that much. She still found it quite refreshing.

"And besides, I would pay good coin to watch anyone try and take it away from Farwalker."

Torgrim laughed at the though. "Oh, believe me, there'll be plenty of chances for that. Once we get there, I bet there'll be at least three different attempts to con you out of it before nightfall, and maybe even one poor sod dumb enough to attempt a quick yoink-and-go."

As the group ventured beyond the gates and into the deeper snowfall outside, Torgrim decided to keep pace with Rhydd. "So, Rhydd. From what I've gathered, you know your way around a bow. Does that extend to crossbows?" He fidgeted with his newly aquired vambrace, and removed the crossbow slotted within. "Triglio was able to talk me into spending what was probably far too much money on this. Any chance you can tell just how badly the little sneak got me?"

In reply to Torgrim Squallborn (msg # 68):

Rhydd was always happy to talk archery and bows, so he looked interested when Torgrim spoke to him about his new purchase.

"Crossbows?" he echoed. "I could use one if I had to, but I much prefer a longbow, myself. Longbows have better range, and because of the time needed to load and cock a crossbow, a skilled archer can shoot multiple arrows more quickly than a crossbowman can shoot his bolts.The main advantage of a crossbow is that it can be shot from a prone position, so they are very handy for lying in wait and setting up ambushes."

He took a long look at the small crossbow that Torgrim showed him, examining the way that the bow could be attached to the forearm guard of one's armor. "That's . . . very interesting. I've never seen one like that before -- it seems like the sort of thing that one would be more likely to find in a bigger city."

"I can see how it would be easy to give someone a nasty surprise with it, though -- if that sort of thing appeals to you. As far as the price is concerned, I have no idea what that sort of a bow should cost you."

"There probably isn't too much of a demand for that sort of a weapon up here in the Ten-Towns. I could see a merchant either saying that it would cost you plenty because it is so rare, or else being willing to cut his losses and sell it cheap in order to get it out of his inventory, rather than having it sit around on a shelf gathering dust. I don't know how this Triglio fellow would be inclined to see it -- most likely it would depend upon how good a haggler you are."

After a short pause, Rhydd asked "Do I remember your mentioning that you recently made this trek, coming from the direction of Bryn Shander?"

"If so, do you remember anything about the road conditions between here and there? And I take it that you did not have to tangle with anything or anyone that gave you too much trouble."
This message was last edited by the player at 22:53, Sun 19 Sept 2021.

"Probably not worth the 100 gold then, even with the magical mystery bolts. Anyone can meet their match, I suppose."

"Do I remember your mentioning that you recently made this trek, coming from the direction of Bryn Shander? If so, do you remember anything about the road conditions between here and there? And I take it that you did not have to tangle with anything or anyone that gave you too much trouble."

"Well, that would depend entirely on your definition of recently." Torgrim looked ahead in thought while counting on his gloved fingers. "What has in been now? A year, maybe three? Previous speaker hadn't started making sacrifices to the Frostmaiden yet, at least." Torgrim was just about to add some comment about how he'd never have moved to Targos if the hangings had been implemented back then, but stopped himself. Given the state of his head at the time, he might have considered it a feature.

"Back then I joined up with a merchant in exchange for a couple of ballads on the road. I can't recall us meeting anything too sinister, and the roads were decent. The afore mentioned Frostbitch probably haven't made it any easier to traverse over the years, though."

Though she'd often heard that trying to change a Goliath's mind was like trying to reason with a boulder, Mallory had never quite understood the full weight of such a saying until then.  Ultimately she could only sigh and silently hope that Farwalker didn't draw any of the wrong kind of attention on herself, nor that it would risk catching the rest of them in the crossfire.

Mention of her wounded eye, however, drew Mallory's thoughts away from unpleasant what-ifs to an unpleasant right-now.  She gave a gently exasperated sigh and shook her head.  "No, I'm quite alright.  Just... growing pains, I suppose is one way to put it."  A hand brushed aside her covering hair and lifted the wrappings over her eye to show beneath; no overt wound on the surface, but the whites of her right eye were splotched with red and black alongside her iris.  Broken blood vessels that made for a distracting discoloration, but didn't seem to cause her any overt amount of pain.  "It happens whenever my magic matures in some degree.  Terribly unpleasant to look at, but overall harmless.  It usually fades within a day or two, so it's best to just leave it be.  Thank you, though."

Though her eye didn't directly pain her unless she thoughtlessly touched it, the brisk air certainly was being a bother and she quickly replaced her bandage and hair to cover it up again.  Something did seem to remain on her mind, however, especially as her gaze continued to be drawn back to Farwalker's Ioun Stone... or rather, the space immediately behind it as it spun through the air around her.  "Ah... pardon an odd question, but do either of you two know how to perceive magical auras?" she asked of both Farwalker and Dannika as they walked along in stride.  Being able to detect magic was a fundamental skill of any spellcaster, though she was uncertain of the Goliath's knowledge or Dannika's actual capabilities.

“Mmm.” The noise she made was somewhere on the edge of disagreement. “It doesn’t look wonderful, but your bandaging doesn’t look much better. It clashes with your image too much. A pity my needles broke.” She tugged on one of her strings of beads thoughtfully, the stone and bone clicking slightly when she let it go. “I’ll see about putting together some bandages that work better with your clothes and hair. That way if this happens again we can make sure you don’t look like you stumbled out of a bar brawl.” She’d have to check again later in the evening as well, just to make sure it was healing well. And if it wasn’t, she could deal with that easily enough.

“And yes, I can.” With a careful tug on her straps, she adjusted the weight of her pack so that it settled more on her hips, shield clanking slightly as she did so. “I can also peer into the ethereal. In case we had any desire to play charades with ghosts.” She chuckled at her own little joke, the sound low and rumbling. Like a cheerful rockslide.

Between her dark hair coiffed over the side of her face and her furred hood drawn up close, Mallory assumed she'd done a well-enough job covering the bandages to suit.  Though Farwalker's offer was plenty thoughtful on its face, she wasn't certain whether or not she liked the idea of a more elaborate binding when she most certainly didn't desire such passing wounds in the first place.

"Yes, well..." the bar brawl comment made her decidedly self-conscious as she gathered her hood closer up about her face.  "Normally when I do so myself, it lasts for a few minutes with proper focus.  Have you... ah... have you ever experienced it lasting longer than that?  Hours longer?  Without needing to focus on it?"  The young noble was a bit reluctant to ask, though it certainly seemed to be a matter on her mind to the point of distraction as she continued to bounce her gaze about between the Ioun Stone, Dannika's various belongings, and the glimmering flame at the end of her own lantern rod.  "I find myself in a rather... disconcerting predicament, really."

In reply to Torgrim Squallborn (msg # 70):

Rhydd's eyebrows rose up in surprise when Torgrim named the price that he had paid for the crossbow that, to the archer's eye, looked like a child's toy version of the real thing. -- although undoubtedly it would be a handy thing to have, in the right circumstances.

"That sounds a trifle . . . high . . . to me. Hopefully those bolts are indeed something special. Did this Triglio happen to mention what magicked properties they are supposed to have?"

"A year or three since you made the trek from Bryn Shander?" Rhydd echoed the other man. "My mistake. I thought that it had been more recent. Too much would have changed over that period of time for your recollections about road conditions and threats to be of any use to us on this outing."
This message was last edited by the player at 16:00, Tue 21 Sept 2021.

Beads clicked softly as Farwalker thumbed her way through them, "I cannot say that I have. But I have gone through something similar. Either you will learn to deal with it, or it will go away." She pulled her hand away, letting the beads fall back into place with a shrug. "Or you will go blind. Which is not something I can currently assist with."

Dannika had no significant insight to offer both when it came to seeing the ethereal and regarding the Ioun Stone. Though she agreed with Mallory — a magical artifact of such rarity was bound to draw attention. It had drawn Dannika's for one, and she was listening intently when Mallory had inquired and voiced her concern.

"I . . . can't say I've much practice with spells, I'm afraid," Dannika answered when prompted directly. "I can brew a potion if handed the ingredients, but I never had any real talent for casting. I know a few simple cantrips and carry some rudimentary components, but that's the extent of it. There were all manner of devices back in the halls of Candlekeep — I'm almost certain some could idly sense the presence of magical auras. But if you're about to go blind, I suggest we make haste so you can seek a temple in Bryn Shander!"
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:35, Tue 21 Sept 2021.

"Well, I wouldn't be the first blind soothsayer around, at least.  I daresay it might enhance my mystique." Mallory remarked dryly.  Dannika's concern, however, earned a sympathetic smile cast her way while the lot of them made their way out past the main gate.  "Miss Farwalker is just poking fun, darling.  This manner of magic isn't transmutative; it doesn't have any direct effect on a body.  The burst blood vessel is another matter, but that aside..."

She tightened her hold on Frida's reins to bring the Axe Beak to a brief halt when the snow began to get deeper around them, further from the main thoroughfare where the road began.  A quick set of her boot into the stirrup and a hop later was all it took for Mallory to hoist herself up, sat daintily side saddle in the lead spot atop her new-to-her mount.  "Come on then, let's get mounted up.  Who knows; perhaps we'll get lucky and spot some Chwinga playing in the snow along the way.  Or find the Trolls' den."  A gloved hand was reached down to Dannika to help pull her up as well.  It was difficult to tell whether the noble was being glib or not; frankly, she was partially curious whether the Ice Trolls had any more rare treasures hidden away in their nesting grounds, but the chances of finding their tracks after last night's storm were slim.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:05, Tue 21 Sept 2021.

"That sounds a trifle . . . high . . . to me."
"Oh gods, it does, doesn't it?" Torgrim's free hand went up to pinch the corners of his eyes in exasperation as he took in just how much he'd spent.

"Hopefully those bolts are indeed something special. Did this Triglio happen to mention what magicked properties they are supposed to have?"

"Only that he was blinded by a bright light when he first tried them out." Torgrim carefully put the crossbow back in its slot before taking out one of the blue veined bolts from the case. "And there seems to be a rain cloud here". He pointed to the engraving on the lid. "Thunder bolts maybe? Pardon the pun."

In reply to Torgrim Squallborn (msg # 78):

"Well, I wouldn't worry about it," Rhydd said in response to Torgrim looking a little upset at how much he had paid for the small hand-crossbow. "It's done now, and I'm sure that it will serve you well."

He craned his neck and peered down at the bolt that Torgrim showed him, then shrugged. "I have no clue as to what magicked properties these may have. I have never used such things."

"Mayhap Lady Mallory can aid you -- her being a magicker, and all."

Out in the open and away from the shelter of Targos' palisade, the dry, powdery snow drifted across the sastrugi layering the hilly landscape, stirred by the winds Rhydd had predicted earlier. The motes could sting the cheeks, but for what weather in Icewind Dale was concerned this was just short of perfectly agreeable.

It took Mallory only a brief glance to confirm Torgrim had at the very least not been completely conned out of his money, for the blue-streaked bolts were indeed magical. They emitted a sharp, crackling aura, one bearing the telltale signs of dormant evocation. Though their exact effects did not reveal themselves to Mallory's new endowment.

"Oh," Dannika uttered, ashamed she'd taking a jest seriously as she was aided by Mallory up into the sturdy, double-seated saddle. "Forgive me, Miss Farwalker, I should have realized." When they were both made comfortable, Frida turned right back around and headed for the stables.

That the Axe Beak abruptly turned about all on her own wasn't all that surprising; if she'd been with the stables as long as said before, the notion of venturing out into the world was probably going to take some getting used to.  Mallory quickly tensed her hold on the reins and gave a few sharp clicks through her teeth.

"Whoa, Frida, whoa!  Stand!" she commanded firmly to try and bring the bird to a halt, then back around to the road.

---

Animal Handling
Mallory Bonheur rolled 11 using 1d20-1
This message was last edited by the player at 20:10, Fri 24 Sept 2021.

"Not that way!" Dannika clacked her stirrups to help get the message across, but to no luck. Frida cared not for clicks or clacks, and staunchly pressed on. To her luck, the portcullis was just halfway through the process of being lowered. The guards looked questioningly at the returning riders, as if they were unsure if they should give the call to raise the gates again.

---

Dannika's attempt at Animal Handling [7]: Frida wins!

As Frida continued along without concern for commands and tugs, Mallory offered a quick look back over at the others while being carried away, stuck between trying to be in control of the situation and feeling like she was about to cry.

"Frida!  For the love of Tymora!  I've already been publicly humiliated twice this morning and I do not need a third!  Whoa means stop!" the flustered noble leaned in over the back of the Axe Beak's strong neck to order sharply and once more seized at the reins to assert command.

---

Animal Handling
Mallory Bonheur rolled 12 using 1d20-1
Third time's a charm, whether it's actually succeeding or confirming a lost cause.

Farwalker was about to talk about the blind seer she knew, terrifying woman that she was, when the axe beak decided that it wanted to go back into the warmth of the town. Not that the town was all that warm and cozy. "You appear to be having issues, there." The goliath added happily, if unhelpfully, to the situation. "Perhaps a solid headbutt will show her who's in charge."

Rhydd was not sure that he believed in portents, but it seemed that their journey was not starting off well. ~~Or, the other way to look at it is that we are getting our bad luck out of the way early on,~~ he thought to himself. ~~I like that version better.~~

The huntsman was not all that well-versed in the handling of animals, having never had much occasion to do that sort of thing. But he had hunted and been around various creatures in the Wilds often enough to know that there were a few generalities that applied to most of them.

It looked as if Frida the Axe-Beak was attempting to return to her home -- nesting area, whatever. So . . . "Shut the gate, you fools!" he shouted to the town guards who were just standing around gawping at the spectacle unfolding below them.

And then, there was food, of course. And mating, too -- although Rhydd couldn't figure out to make that one work in this instance. What did Axe-Beaks like to eat? He had seen enough to know that horses considered apples a treat, but he was unsure if trail rations were high on an Axe-Beaks' list of preferred foods. But there was one way to find out. Mayhap if Frida didn't care for such things, someone else might follow his lead with something that might be more appealing to the creature.

So put his fingers to his lips and whistled shrilly -- a sound that carried well, he knew. Then he pulled some trail rations from his belt-pouch and held them out, in the direction of the Axe-Beak.

"Come, Frida! Food!" he coaxed.

---

OOC:

12:50, Today: Rhydd Maldhon rolled 18 using 1d20+2 with rolls of 16.  Animal Handling: Coaxing Frida.

Notes: Not sure if an Animal-Handling check is appropriate or not, but it seemed as if it might be. If Rhydd can use his Survival Skills instead, the roll will morph into a 20.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 17:10, Sun 26 Sept 2021.

The situation was more perplexing than dire, and the guards appeared to accept Rhydd's command and proceeded to lower the gate fully. Even if it meant separating the returning Axe Beak and its riders from the ones still on the other side. Had they the intention to enter, there would still be time to duck beneath the teeth of the grille.

When all else had failed, Rhydd's sharp shrill brought Frida to a halt. She peered over her shoulder at the dry meat enticingly offered for a moment, then ignored it and continued on to the stables. It was only a stone throw away from the barracks, and there she met her greatest adversary yet — a closed door. While she possessed the power to hack it to pieces, the thought did not occur to her. So she stopped.

Fortunately — or unfortunately, depending on perspective — the ragged Stable Master had heard the whistle as well, and so opened the path for Frida. "Is something the matter? Did I forget to hand you some equipment?" he said, tucking a gray strand of hair back into his hood. The bird lingered, not in any immediate hurry once she had come this far.

---

Rhydd's attempt at Animal Handling [18]: Frida is just not stoppable.

It was a very, very fortunate turn of fate for the Stable Master that Mallory was not a woman prone to violence.  Many practitioners of the arcane arts tossed their magic about at every possible opportunity and the ability to harness such forces often made them very callous about flexing power on others.  Thankfully Mallory was not such a person... though, in that moment, she certainly saw the allure.

In the time it had taken Frida to amble on back to the stables, the young noble had simply let go of the reins and buried her face in her hands out of abject frustration.  There was seemingly no managing the Axe Beak at all and she just let the bird carry them back unhindered.  It took a moment longer after the Stable Master asked on them before she pulled in a long, stifled breath through her cupped hands and finally drew her gaze up to meet his.  "Is this your idea of a joke?"  she asked right back, her tone as soft and friendly as the edge of a bared knife.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:46, Sun 26 Sept 2021.

Dannika was several degrees calmer than Mallory appeared to be. Perhaps it was because Mallory sat up front, or the fact that she did not consider controlling animals among her finer skill sets, she was just left sitting somewhat awkwardly without much say in the situation. " . . . if it is, it is a rather poor one," she did chime in after Mallory had levied her accusation.

It had the Stable Master as rattled as the riders. "A joke? No, by my honor, I . . . oh my, did she return on her own accord? My sincerest apology, madams. She was out last night just fine! Let me show you back inside, I can fetch you another one."
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:33, Sun 26 Sept 2021.

There was a lot Mallory could've said in that moment.  Accusations, angry scolding, pointed insults, even possible threats of calling the guard if Frida's return home had been part of some kind of return-to-seller scam... but, instead, she simply remained quiet.  Railing at the man would do her no good and even with her temper simmering just below a boiling point, she knew better.  Losing her cool would only make things worse.

"Let me show you back inside, I can fetch you another one."

"A properly trained one that actually obeys its rider and doesn't break locks, preferably." she said with a glower as she stepped down off the stirrup to the ground, then offered her hands up to assist Dannika off the saddle as well.

The Stable Master took the reins once Dannika had hopped out of the last stirrup. “The thing is,” he went on as he led the bird and his customers back into the stables, “Frida does typically obey commands. She’s the nicest, easiest bird I have up here. The others are higher maintenance, and I don’t mean that in a figure of speech. I thought Frida was the perfect choice for a fresh pair of riders. Frankly, I don’t know what’s gotten into her. I’ll let you have a look at the other ones and you’ll have your pick of the litter.”

"Sir, I've regularly ridden both horses and Axe Beaks since I was a girl; I'm quite capable of handling a mount.  Say what you will of Frida's presumed manner, but the evidence shows otherwise.  She completely ignored every effort to direct her."  Mallory wasn't particularly interested in debating the veracity of such claims or the Stable Master's opinions of the bird by that point.  "I paid fair coin for a reliable mount, not a headache.  If you cannot assure a cooperative beast then you're better off returning my fee in full."

Though she was hardly in a forgiving mood at the moment with her patience already drawn thin, a notion did occur to her that seemed worth at least asking about.  They were up in the boonies, after all... "There isn't some specific kind of command practice local to these parts, is there?" she asked before giving a few demonstrative clicks and commands that were the standard throughout the Sword Coast to the south.  There was the possibility that Ten-Towns, or even just the Stable Master himself, had unique practices that left herself and Frida basically speaking different languages.

---

If Frida presumably requires a DC 20 Animal Handling check to manage and all the other mounts present are even higher than that, then Mallory literally cannot roll high enough to control any of them.  So unless there's some mitigating factor at play from her rolling that Nat 1 before, it might be best to just mulligan the whole matter and go on foot.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:34, Sun 26 Sept 2021.

"Forgive me, madam," the Stable Master said. "I mistook you for an inexperienced southerner — not many have had the opportunity to ride an Axe Beak. They're tougher to control than horses, but there's no regional set of command. An Axe Beak in Goldenfields should obey a rider from Ten-Towns just fine, and vice versa, so unless you're from the far reaches of the world you should be able to use what you've been taught." He clicked his tongue in a similar manner to what Mallory had done before to draw Frida's gaze as he guided her further inside to her enclosure. The bird cocked her head and listened attentively before the gate to her enclosure was opened. "Come on, lassie, let's get you back inside. I hope she's not unwell, is all . . ."

Frida obediently stepped into her plenty spacious coop, where she found a stack of hay to sit upon. Vander found the long metal rod and wedged it between two large and solid chunks of wood to seal her gate.

"If you follow me, I can show you the rest of them. Bear in mind that they're quite a bit livelier when they're out and about than they appear in their pens, but if you know 'em I don't need to tell ya, I suppose. If none of them strike your fancy, I'll return your payment in full."
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:00, Sun 26 Sept 2021.

Rhydd put his trail rations back into his belt pouch, and moved on into the stable. He stood off to one side while Lady Mallory engaged the Stable Master in conversation.

Turning to the noblewoman, he said "If Frida's the best of the bunch -- easiest to control, that is -- amongst the Axe Beaks, you might want to consider switching over to a horse . . . horses, whatever."

Having been a merchant in a metropolitan city like Neverwinter for all her adult life, Mallory was quite accustomed to the notion of less-scrupulous types trying to run a scam.  The sale of exotic animals that ended up trained - or were even magically empowered - to return to their seller was a common enough ploy as to have long since become too cliche to even attempt.  Even so, she couldn't honestly see the Stable Master as being the sort to try it himself... if he really wanted to pull a stunt, he would've just overcharged her outright.

It was only that consideration that allowed Mallory to extend her patience in the situation further than she might have.  While the Stable Master got Frida stowed back in her stall, Mallory leaned a bit closer to speak with Rhydd.  "Be that as it may, horses can't walk atop snow and would become a liability if the weather turned foul again.  It's harder to feed a horse than an Axe Beak as well in conditions like these.  Though if all his Axe Beaks are unmanageable, I may just have better luck buying one in Bryn Shander instead."  Something didn't quite feel right to her and it left the young noble unable to just throw her hands up entirely.  Rather than follow immediately after the Stable Master further in, she lingered by Frida's stall with a a furrowed brow and scrutinizing gaze cast about in hopes of insight.

---

Investigation
Mallory Bonheur rolled 18 using 1d20+6

Animal Handling w/Advantage
Mallory Bonheur rolled 17 using 1d20-1
This message was last edited by the player at 10:07, Tue 28 Sept 2021.

Frida sat perched on the biggest stack of hay available to her. She'd headed for it immediately, and when the Stable Master had turned his back she had wiggled and fluttered her wings to nestle herself further in. Those beady, pale-orange eyes held Mallory's gaze, but whether or not that hinted at deeper thought was anyone's guess.

---

Well, I meant for the Animal Handling to deal with getting Frida to move. If Mallory wants to confirm her suspicion, that's really the only way. Though I suppose it's fairly obvious at this point. Let me know how you wish to handle it and we'll leave the Animal Handling check spare, as a 17 is enough.

Given most animal's general proclivity towards shying away from the large woman that seemed to be made partially of stone, Farwalker was enjoying the shenanigans from a short distance away. It was a sort of theatre in it's own way. She wasn't in any particular hurry, in any case. She would end up where she was needed when she was needed there. Probably. It wasn't an exact thing.

So, of course, while they were figuring out what to do about the animals, she went back to her latest carving. First she needed to finish the bead, then the figure. She'd need some actual gems for her work on the tusk though.

There was something particular about the way Frida nestled down amid the straw that caught Mallory's attention.  She recognized that little shuffle movement.  "Surely you must be joking..." A mutter and a grumble paired up as Mallory leaned up onto the side of the stall's barrier before, with a bit of ungainly kicking in the air, managed to hoist herself right up over the side to join the bird within.

Another portion of dried meat was taken from her ration supply to keep Frida's attention set one way while Mallory, amid a series of soft coos and clicks, stroked down along the Axe Beak's densely feathered neck all for the sake of keeping the enormous bird soothed.  When the opportunity presented itself, Mallory used the foot end of her lantern rod to gently hoist up a portion of straw just beneath the bird's side to peek and see if her suspicion was correct.  "Sir, when you said that Frida was in the habit of breaking her lock and going to wander; she wouldn't perhaps have been visiting the other Axe Beaks, would she?"
This message was last edited by the player at 21:29, Tue 28 Sept 2021.

"Careful there, miss," the Stable Master said. He had turned heel when he realized no one was following him and was now leaning against the gate of Frida's enclosure. "Frida's a saint, but she's still an Axe Beak. Best know what you're doing . . ." He did not intervene, however.

Frida remained as peaceful as ever upon Mallory's visitation. The snack was more than enough to entice her gaze and keep her preoccupied as Mallory moved to confirm her suspicions. Sure enough, underneath the pile of hay the bird had hidden a large, spotted egg. While the Stable Master was unable to see from this angle, he knew what Mallory was getting at.

"Well, I'll be damned. She ain't laid one in years. Wonder how long she's kept it there. And no, I can't say I remember and instance where she made it into another enclosure," he said, folding back his hood and stroking his bristly hair. "But we do socialize them outside, when the weather permits. Not as much these days – they get a bit confused when it's so dark. If its actually an egg she's got there with her it could just as well be unfertilized."
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:15, Wed 29 Sept 2021.

"I would assume it's been there as long as within the last time you cleaned her stall." Mallory gave a dry retort over her shoulder.  "It doesn't matter whether it's unfertilized or not; Axe Beak eggs take months either to hatch or for the mother to give up on it, and a brooding bird isn't a cooperative one."

Any ire she might've felt for Frida had readily evaporated in light of her nesting and she offered the bird another fond pat before she backed away slowly.  One must never turn their back on an Axe Beak immediately, after all, lest it provoke their hunting instinct.  Once she'd backed up to the stall wall the young noble clambered her way back over to rejoin the rest.  "Honestly now... Well, let me see the others then before I decide what to do with all this nonsense."  Hopefully this time she'd be able to actually review each bird herself and find one that was suitable in manner, rather than trusting the apparently questionable expertise of the Stable Master.

"Humph. I'll have you know I cleaned it not two days ago, as it so happens," the Stable Master defended himself. "Do not insinuate I don't take care of my animals. And she was out yesterday, as I said. I believe Alma had her, so either she's a better rider than you, or Frida's laid this one overnight."

"Honestly now... Well, let me see the others then before I decide what to do with all this nonsense."
"If you so wish," the Stable Master responded and led Mallory further down the stables. Each Axe Beak was in an enclosure of its own, with decent space to prance about. The horses were another matter — they were mostly kept within narrow confines.

"This here is Dallin," he pointed to one Axe Beak who'd found itself a corner to rest in. "Fastest of the flock, but he can be a bit energetic and hard to steer. Either I typically ride him myself, or I hand him to someone I know can handle him." He pulled out some pieces of stockfish he kept in his coat pocket. They had a pungent smell, one Dallin apparently seemed fond of, because he immediately got up and walked over to the gate. Vander fed him and stroked the side of his beak. "He tends to be calm when he's inside, but don't let that fool ya."

Next, he introduced Nivar, another male. He was not given a treat, because immediately as the Stable Master stepped up the bird made a racket, screeching loudly. That earned a sharp click from the Stable Master. "Shush, you. He handles well enough, but he can be a bit verbose."

The third was a bird Wifni, a young female. "Biggest and strongest one, but not terribly fast. She can also get aggressive." He tossed her a piece of dry fish meat.

Lastly, there was Tori, the third male, slouching amid his straw. Vander tossed a piece of fish so he got up. "Same as the rest — he can be difficult to handle if you don't have too much experience. You have to be very assertive from the get-go, else he tends to think he runs the show."

Once the tour was over, the Stable Master waited for Mallory's decision.
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:39, Wed 29 Sept 2021.

Aside from the immediate concerns of convenience, Mallory had to think into the future.  She didn't need an especially swift mount nor did she like the idea of one that would get rowdy or pushy.  Aggressive was simply part of an Axe Beak's nature so, overall, Wifni seemed the best choice by her needs.  She'd require a particularly strong mount if she was to haul any goods around anyway... despite a desire to linger with Dannika, she couldn't rely on the scholar's company nor Bag of Holding forever, after all.

"Wifni will do then, I think.  Though this time we'll mount the saddle here just to make sure there aren't any other mishaps." the young noble had spent a moment among each introduction to gauge the various Axe Beaks.  Most of them seemed generally dismissive and uninterested in her presence, though Wifni was at least suitably responsive both to her approach and a few testing command clicks.

The Stable Master got the new steed ready and moved over Frida's equipment. Wifni had a menacing glare, and though she did heed commands, she was overall slower to react than Frida had been. But she did trudge along, and at long last, the party could get underway with their trip. That was, after the gates had been raised once again. Skath once more exited his booth and shot the lot a pestered look, but let them on without comment.

With the weather being nice and mellow — the snow twinkling underneath the sky as the last of the twilight faded over Thulsun¹  — it was easy to stay on the tracks of the caravan, which seemed to Rhydd to travel straight along the main road. The snow was dry and had developed a crunch, which meant the tracks weren't easily swept away by the singing winds. As with the expedition-gone-awry up into Icewind Dale, they were using mainly horses, and though they could make progress as long as the wintry terrain was forgiving, they were far slower than Axe Beaks or sled dogs. But with several of Rhydd's own charge being on foot, catching up was likely out of the question. At the time of their onset, Niels and his expedition must have already been halfway to Bryn Shander.

However, an hour or so into the trek, the tracks veered off and trailed into the bumpy hillside. The moonlight revealed a singular, equine set carrying on straight ahead, then looping back to fade in with the rest.

---

¹ Thulsun would be early afternoon.

For future reference, so long as the skies are clear, dark hours provide the same lighting as twilight; that is to say Dim Light. I assume your characters would light their lanterns or start carrying torches at some point.

I'm mentioning Rhydd here since he's the one who's given me a Survival check. If any of the rest of you wish to attempt one, name the reason and go on ahead!
This message was last edited by the GM at 10:56, Mon 04 Oct 2021.

Torgrim trudged alongside the others, only stopping occasionally to remove some snow that had made is past his left gaiter and into his boot. One of the leather straps had been loose for some time, which meant it would slide up over the cuff every mile or so. Each stop was accompanied by a low curse filled grumble before he'd run to catch up with the others.

This time, the group had stopped ahead of an odd shift in the caravan's tracks. It seemed their strangeness were not lost on anyone, with everyone studying the diverging tracks in silence.

"A bit early for them to run off to make camp, no?"

What caught Torgrim's attention the most, was the lone set of horseshoe prints that differed from the others. What could cause that kind of behavior? He walked ahead though the crunching snow to study them up close.

On their way out of town for the second time that day, Mallory shared an exasperated look with the distant and reasonably confused Captain Skath as they went by.  She pantomimed at him for a moment; two fingers tapped at her ear, then her lips, then pointed at him over where he was set at his placement.  "If you're half as annoyed as I am, take it up with the surprisingly inept stable master.  He's just come into a fair handful of coin, so perhaps he'd be inclined to treat your crew to a drink for their trouble with enough prodding.  Be well, Captain." she muttered in parting low under her breath.  While it would at first seem that only Dannika might hear that sort of grousing, a shimmer of magic across Mallory's painted lips carried the whisper to Skath's ear despite the passing distance.

---

Mallory casts "Message" to Skath on the way out, just for the sake of being a little petty.

---

Any hopes of potentially catching up with Niels and giving him a piece of her mind along the road had long since been dashed.  Thus Mallory had to content herself with a fairly leisurely ride instead.  Wifni had a plodding stride that suited her just well, all in all; since the majority of the group was on foot, it made keeping pace easy enough that the young noble was almost left bored en route.  As none of the others seemed concerned with conversation Mallory idly hummed to pass the time; soft, familiar melodies from home which bore a tempo matched by the tread of Wifni's claws. She kept her lantern rod set with its base at her hip to keep its light hoisted high to contend with the snowy gloom as the time wore on... though in time the glow revealed a troublesome prospect in the tracks they'd been following.

"Why in the world would they... you don't think they were run off the road, do you?" the young noble fretted a bit as she drew Wifni to a halt.  While the others investigated the tracks, Mallory reached to ruffle one of the saddlebags set to her mount's side.  "Astre, my love, would you be so kind as to go have a look?"

Though those who had seen Mallory purchase the saddlebags prior knew full well Astre hadn't apparently been with her at the time, nor had anyone seen hair-nor-feather of the Tressym all day thus far, the bag shifted all the same.  The flap came open as the winged feline popped his head out and gave a long, languid yawn before he clambered out and leaped off into the air with a flare of his snowy wings.  Away into the cold, dark day over the treetops...

---

Astre scouts on ahead to for any sign of the wagons or passengers

Perception w/Advantage
Mallory Bonheur rolled 15 using 1d20+5
This message was last edited by the player at 06:12, Mon 04 Oct 2021.

Skath grumbled when the words had magically reached his ears, looking no less annoyed, but gave Mallory a polite nod as she left through the gate, either as an acknowledgement of the Stable Master's ineptitude or as a final parting gesture. Or both. Dannika noticed the signs of a spell being cast, and though she could hear the words, offered no comment on the situation. While she was complicit in any frustration caused, it did not feel like her place.

---

In his study of the tracks, Torgrim spotted a curiosity — a faint glimmer, brighter than that of the surrounding snow. There, partly buried by his feet, was an intensely dark crystalline stone no larger than a pebble.

---

Rhydd's Survival Check [17]: The caravan had likely run one rider ahead during their travels. Once trouble was afoot, they'd turned to warn the rest, and the threat had apparently been dire enough to warrant a deviation from the trodden path. Following the scout's tracks, Rhydd could glean a faint set of prints further east — likely a day old or so, as they'd been mostly filled in by snowfall and whisked away by the winds. It required a sharp eye to spot them. They were large and round like pans, and though they were spaced like a bipeds' they were unlike any humanoids'. The tracks traveled northward, crossing the main road, while the caravan had steered off south.

Torgrim's Investigation Check [17]: The scout had not been in any immediate hurry. It seemed the caravan had halted for a time, going by the more densely packed prints in the area, before they'd veered off road. And, by the looks of it, one individual had dismounted their horse and been in a hurry to get back on.

Astre's Perception Check [15]: Astre could spot no being who could have been source of the footprints which had startled the caravan. But, while they were reduced to small blots of light on the terrain, the clear sky and barren hillsides gave him perfect view of both Bryn Shander ahead, Targos behind, and the caravan en route. They seemed to have gotten back on the road, and were just barely short of Icewind Dale's metropolis.
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:17, Mon 04 Oct 2021.

"Why in the world would they... you don't think they were run off the road, do you?"

"Well, something spooked them, alright. Seems that one in particular was in a rush to get off the road." Torgrim pointed towards the tracks of the dismounted rider.

As he studied the tracks to the best of his abilities, Torgrim found himself surprised at how much he actually remembered from the lessons of his youth. It would seem some tidbits on snow density had stuck after all. His line of thought was interrupted upon seeing the dark stone in the snow. "Hello? What's this?" He brushed aside some of the surrounding snow before picking it up for a closer examination.

"It appears to have served them well; they're back on course and nearly to Bryn Shander already.  Safe as houses, it seems.  Either they thought of a shortcut or there was something ahead that urged them to change course... it might behoove us to follow suit." Mallory noted as she received her mystical report from Astre once he'd circled back within range to give it.  True, their own group had proven plenty capable at handling threats given the fight with the Ice Trolls, but she'd much rather avoid a conflict entirely if the opportunity provided itself.

Meanwhile, up in the snowy sky, Astre took a wide sweep about the area as he set a course back toward the road.  Rather than head straight there he arced out further beyond where the group had yet to trek, just in case there was some sort of threat lurking about further up around the bend.

---

Another Perception check for Astre's next action, DM?  Or does the initial one cover here as well?

---

Astre's Perception Check (cont.) [15]: The land was as bare as the road ahead. No sign of any wolves, Crag Cats, or any other beast that might prowl the hillside. Astre could tell the deviation would not be a shortcut, as the road traveled on straight. The caravan had carved out a forgiving path, however, one that did not needlessly trek trek up and down the bumpy landscape.

---

Torgrim's History on the mysterious black pebble [7]: A gemstone of some kind. It felt light as glass, and was sharper in form and more brittle than an onyx. Termalaine had long history of mining – it's name derived from the crystalline mineral tourmaline, which came in many different colors. It could possibly be ravenar, the term for black tourmaline. Monochromatic specimens in nugget form sold for around 100 gold, which meant this smaller one could be valued somewhere in the double digits.

After assisting Rhydd in his search through the tracks Farwalker began debating whether or not to purchase some reading material. It probably wasn't a bad idea. She might be able to find an interesting book on something or other. Given the amount of walking they were doing, walking and reading didn't seem too bad an idea. Except for the general threat of death hanging in the air. Which she frowned at. Which is about when her thoughts were pulled away towards Torgrim and Mallory. "It might not be a poor idea to see what it was that they were avoiding. I would hate for some other traveller to stumble on some problem that could have been solved." She replied to Mallory after a moment of thought. Which really just looked like her glaring at the sky.

To Torgrim, she raised her gravelly voice so that it could be heard through the occasional gust of wind, "Did you find something useful, Torgrim?"

"Did you find something useful, Torgrim?"

"Seems to be a gemstone. Ravenar, maybe?" He turned the stone around in his hand a couple of times while walking back to the others.

"Could be useful, at least in that I might be able to make back a few coins when I sell it in town. What do you think?" He held out the stone in his open hand for Mallory and any others to study as they pleased.

Rhydd nodded when Torgrim mentioned that it appeared to him something had likely spooked the caravan and caused it to veer from the road.

"That's my read on it, as well," he agreed. He pointed off in the direction where he had discovered the odd tracks.

"Large, round tracks, as if pots had been set down in the snow. I don't recognize them -- 'tis nothing I have hunted -- or seen -- before."

Turning to Farwalker, whose experience in the Wilds, he knew, rivaled his own, he asked "Does that sound familiar to you?"

---

Farwalker's Identify Gems: This was no ravenar, nor any gemstone Farwalker knew of. In fact, this was no gemstone at all. This was a rock.
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:19, Tue 05 Oct 2021.

"Oh?  Would it be too much to wonder if you've also happened upon an unbelievably rare and valuable stone?" Mallory half-joked as she reached out to take the small bauble Torgrim had discovered.  She held it gently between her fingertips and shifted her lantern over to give a bit more light, so that both she and Dannika could examine it with a more critical eye.

---

Arcana w/Advantage
Mallory Bonheur rolled 20 using 1d20+6

"That is not what you think it is." She said to Torgrim, then turned towards Rhydd, "A moment." Farwalker made her way over to the tracks and looked down. "Show me the way." She muttered under her breath, flicking a hand down towards the tracks. A few seemed to partially light up from within, showing the tracks more clearly. "Hmm."


So that's a 24 on Survival.

Today: Farwalker rolled 24 using 1d4+20 with rolls of 4.  Survival, Advantage with Guidance.

16:39, Today: Farwalker rolled 20 using 2d20+5, dropping the lowest dice only with rolls of 15,4.  Survival, Advantage with Guidance
This message was last edited by the player at 21:45, Tue 05 Oct 2021.

"That is not what you think it is."

"So not ravenar? Onyx then? Obsidian?" Torgrim suggested, but the Goliath had already turned her attention towards Rhydd and the mysterious tracks. He shrugged and turned back towards the scholarly duo. "With my luck, I'm just happy it didn't come to life and try to bite my finger off, to be honest." Torgrim responded.

Obsidian was not a bad guess, as it was an igneous rock and not a gemstone. It bore many resemblances.

"Hang on," Dannika chimed after casting an initial glance upon the mysterious stone. Out of her satchel she produces what she knew positively was a piece of obsidian. About the size of a coin, it was smoother, with more of a purplish sheen to it as opposed to the rock's dark blue. It was also the wrong shape, and the unidentified rock was more rugged and crystalline than the Dannika's obsidian. It could have just been the cut however — Dannika's was polished. "It could be . . . although . . . do you know of Spell Gems, Mallory? Allegedly, there's a precursor to the Svirfnebli creations, stemming from Netheril. I stumbled upon a tome, The History of Focal Stones, once, and it bore mention of a black rock, in a way similar to this."

---

Mallory's Arcana to identify the mysterious rock (Advantage granted by Dannika's assistance) [20]: Dannika was speaking of Chardalyn, a mineral with its origin in Netheril. Chardalyn, which would by few definitions be considered a gemstone, was used in the arcane arts Gem Magic would eventually supersede. Today, gemstones had to be treated a certain way to accept magic, and the knowledge of how was hoarded by the Svirfnebli. While the process had certainly been attempted replicated from time to time, the fact that any stone had to be crushed to free the spell made trial-and-error an unattractive venture for arcanists. Chardalyn, however, while it too had to be smashed, did not have to be treated in any way before being imbued. And the bigger the Chardalyn, the more powerful the spell it could hold.

Farwalker's Survival to identify the tracks [24]: This was either a lone, very round-footed Yeti scared out from its cave — in which case the caravan's heed was warranted as Yetis had a penchant to bury themselves in the snow, then grab onto the next unfortunate passerby for a quick snack — or it was Oyaminartok the Winter Walker. But whether or not the half-Goliath, half-polar bear existed was contested among Goliath clans. Adults typically invoked her name to keep youngsters from wandering too far from home. Some claimed to have encountered her, but whether that was true, or merely a fabrication to serve overarching myth, was uncertain.
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:31, Wed 06 Oct 2021.

"I know of them in theory, at least.  Experimentation over the ages with spell gem developments is what led to perfecting the magical infusion process used with Pearls of Power and Rings of Spell Storing.  If you forgive the trendy brand names." Mallory excused herself on that last part as an afterthought.  Magic items were far from an industrialized development catering to the masses, but there were still a few well-reputed and infamous trinkets to have earned a common title.

Mallory scrutinized the small stone with a curious frown on her face, eye narrowed and brows furrowed in focus on it.  "There are known elements of Netherese ruins and entrances to the Underdark in these parts, so it's not totally unheard of... though what this is doing on the road is a whole other matter.  Perhaps it was dropped from one of the caravan merchants when they left the path?" she couldn't recall any merchants who might've carried arcane wares off the top of her head, but she'd also been more intent at burying herself under blankets the entire trip than paying attention to others.  "I don't sense any magical energy coming from it; if this is indeed a sample of Chardalyn, it's not currently imbued with any spell.  We'd need some time to examine this in better conditions to determine anything more, I'm afraid.  Would you mind if I held onto it for you, Mister Torgrim?  Blustery winter afternoons are a wonderful time to do research, but only indoors in the presence of a lovely fire and black tea."
This message was last edited by the player at 23:23, Wed 06 Oct 2021.

Torgrim tried to keep up with the ladies’ dissertation on the possible nature of the dark stone, with little success. "Never heard of it. Though I think I met a Chardalyn in Caer-Dineval once. Lovely girl."

"Sure, you can just keep it for a while. Let me know if you think it’s worth something."

“Mmm. Yeti, most likely.” She made a face at that. Yetis were annoying to deal with at the best of times. “I do not speak yeti. And they likely will not come out from the snow unless I did.” Then she huffed in annoyance, eyeing the snow thoughtfully. “I do not desire to let this issue stay if it is a yeti. But I also do not wish to put anyone in danger they do not wish to be in.”

"If the Yeti -- or whate'er it is -- attacks us, so be it. We shall fight. But my vote would be to not go seeking trouble, and avoid it if we can," Rhydd said.

"If a slow-moving caravan can avoid this creature, then other travelers should be able to, as well.

"And if anyone fails to stay sufficiently alert to avoid being ambushed . . . " He shrugged, as if to say "the North has a way of dealing with such lack-wits."

"Our goal is to safely reach Bryn Shander, and I would say that we should not lose sight of that fact."

"I'm not even sure such a small specimen could hold a spell. A cantrip, perhaps?" Dannika added to Mallory's musings. "If not, then I question the worth of it." She had no insights to offer into the tracks, nor had she ventured upward the path to witness them herself. But she took part in the journey, and felt she had a say in the matter. "They're fascinating creatures, but I would agree with Mister Rhydd's wisdom. Albeit, the conventional kind also tells me to . . .well, not go Yeti hunting."

"I could always send Astre back to Targos with word to let them know, so they might send out guards or at least post word to travelers." Mallory noted, given the indecision in the moment.  She was loathe to confront a creature like a Yeti in its hunting grounds but, all the same, she couldn't feel at ease with just leaving it completely unaddressed for someone else to fall prey to.

The young noble screwed her expression tight in thought and dug a knuckle into the bridge of her nose, as if the pressure would pop free a memory from her many lessons on creatures.  "Would a Yeti even attack a group like ours?  We may be fewer than the wagons, but we're more heavily armed.  If recall they're certainly on the more intelligent side... I think they're fearful of fire as well..."

---

Yeti Knowledge
Mallory Bonheur rolled 19 using 1d20

Don't know what precise skill that would be, so DM's judgment on what applies best.
If Arcana/History: 25
If Nature: 23
If Survival: 18

"I once read that Yetis outnumber people up here in Icewind Dale," Dannika said. "Not that it's important, I . . . just felt like mentioning it."

---

Mallory's Nature Check on Yetis [23]: If one thing was certain, it was that Yetis were always hungry and prone to attack anything that moved. But unless they had the numbers they were unlikely to risk fighting a battle with little chance of success, but how good they were at assessing the strength of armed forces was debatable. There had been one set of tracks. One Yeti. They typically dwelt in the mountainous areas, where they could shelter in caves and utilize the familiar terrain to stalk their prey, and if they roamed it was typically in packs and during blizzards. Of course, there was the larger, Abominable kind to consider. While not mating, those tended to be on their lonesome as they were exceptionally territorial.
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:17, Tue 12 Oct 2021.

"If you wish to go around, then do so. I must continue on, unfortunately." It was one of those things, guiding people through the dark and into the beauty of the light. This included travelers not stumbling on yetis. She wasn't bothered by Rhydd's own method of dealing with it, just disappointed. So, with a slight shift to her pack. Farwalker kept walking forward, making sure to check the ground around her in case a yeti decided she looked like a large, tasty snack.

"I daresay that's a rather important thing to have in mind... they are pack hunters, after all." Mallory nodded to Dannika's mention.  Though Farwalker seeming to be dead set on moving on right into the thick of potential danger without heed for the consequences... at least, not the consequences for herself.

"Miss Farwalker, please!  Yetis hunt in large groups, not by themselves.  There's only one set of tracks, so if it is a Yeti it might very well be the greater Abominable-breed." she called out after the Goliath.  "Entire settlements have been wiped out by a single Abominable; they're nearly as powerful as Dragons!  Our whole group is no match for that sort of beast, let alone yourself.  There are ways of contending with a threat other than rushing headlong into it."

“I am not rushing headlong into anything.” Farwalker called over her shoulder, “I am carefully walking forward into possible danger. There is a very large difference between the two. Do not mistake me for a fool. I know what dangers lie ahead, and I am prepared to meet them no matter what may come.” She quite literally couldn’t ignore the danger, but not everyone needed to know about that. And she’d do the same thing anyway. There was also the slight possibility of it not being a yeti, and she was curious about that as well. “Go around if you must. I will either meet you again, or I will not.”

"Self preservation doesn't rank very high on her list of priorities, does it?" Torgrim turned away from the wandering goliath and back to the axebeak's riders. "It's up there on mine though. Unlike facing off against anything that can be described as abominable."

As he watched, Farwalker kept walking away, seemingly undeterred by Mallory's words of warning. Unlike Torgrim's performance back at the shop, this did not seem to be a bluff. n unfammiliar feeling of concern crept into his mind at the thought of what could happen.

"She should be fine, right? The woman nearly talked down two trolls on her own after all, won't we just get in her way?" He chuckled nervously. Even he didn't fully believe his own words.

Rhydd saw no reason to add anything to the words that he had already spoken. If he had not been plain enough, the others were free to ask him questions if they thought it necessary.

But extended back-and-forth discussions like the ones that seemed to be favored by many of the townspeople hereabouts held little appeal for him.

His companions were all fully-grown adults who could chose their way forward for themselves. Once they had decided, he would make his own decision.

Farwalker's insistence left Mallory at a loss.  She tried once or twice to form a retort before, along with a deeply defeated sigh, she shifted in her saddle to drop down to the snowy ground.  "Lunacy.  Utter lunacy, no two ways about it.  This is what my life's come to?  I could've gone south to Amn but, no, I just had to head north..."

"She should be fine, right? The woman nearly talked down two trolls on her own after all, won't we just get in her way?"

"She's going to get herself killed, but I'm most certainly not going to stand idly by and allow that to happen." she griped.  Both Farwalker and Mallory shared a dedication to helping others, though the Goliath was far too reckless.  It was one thing to be confident about being a ten-foot-tall walking landslide when among Humans, perhaps, but she was nowhere near as sturdy a force compared to Yetis.  Mallory pushed her Axe Beak's reins to Dannika.  "I'm going with her, so that when this inevitably turns to utter chaos, I'll at least be able to help her escape.  I'm no battle mage but I can certainly make at a quick getaway.  Miss Moyrah, would you escort Dannika?  Go ahead to Bryn Shander without me.  There's no need for you to be endangered as well."
This message was last edited by the player at 02:01, Fri 15 Oct 2021.

Moyrah had been perfectly happy following along on foot during the journey. The familiar crunch of snow under her boot, the sharp, fresh cold, and the weight of her belongings flung over her shoulders helped put her mind at ease. Though there was nothing left for her in Targos anymore and no reason to stay, it was inexplicably still with a laden heart that she continued on. Perhaps because the damn town had, despite its stench and villainy, been her home.

She looked on, thoughtful, as Mallory requested they split off into two groups. "I must admit, I cannot possibly see what is to be gained by confronting Yetis. I've heard tell of them ripping careless climbers asunder in the mountains, devouring them bone and all. And yet . . ." she hesitated. "I would wish to join you. But if I can assure Miss Dannika's safety, then I will be content."

Dannika remained silent. As she grabbed the reins it looked like she was about to protest, but no complaint escaped her. Instead, tinges of admiration bespeckled her eyes. Or perhaps it was merely the reflection of the starry night. "Good luck. Don't get yourselves killed!"
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:46, Fri 15 Oct 2021.

Mallory offered the two a quick, strained "Mm-hmm!" through her thinly-drawn smile though, as they shifted past to remain on the move and a little out of immediate earshot, that affirmation turned readily into a whimper.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:53, Fri 15 Oct 2021.

Rhydd had never met a paladin, but he had heard tales about them. He figured that the stories were probably embellished more than a little, but one thing that seemed consistent was the frame of mind of the men and women who were the heroes of the tales that he had heard.

For better or worse, Farwalker's attitude put him in mind of the paladins in those stories. What the tales had left unsaid was whether the paladins' intensity had gotten any of their companions killed. To Rhydd's way of thinking, that was the sort of thing that the bards would have swept under the rug, the better to fashion a more heroic tale.

~~I wonder if chasing Yetis up the backside of Beyond will be worth a heroic tale?~~

"All right, count me in," he said laconically, speaking to Farwalker and Lady Mallory.

Turning to Moyrah and Dannika, he said "Travel safely."

"Well, now what?" Torgrim muttered the words under his breath, trying not to be heard. "You wanted me to remain, and I did. Now they're splitting up, so what now?" He did't waste any time waiting for a reply. From Torgrim's experience, if the ghosts wanted their opinions heard, they would usually let him know. Torgrim spent a moment weighing his options before falling in behind Rhydd. "Alright, fuck it. Let's go find a yeti."

Torgrim turned back towards the diverging duo after Rhydd. "And write us a ballad if we don't make it back! I've always wanted one of those!"

Dannika shifted to the front of the saddle as Moyrah took the seat she had left vacant. Wifni tugged on her bridle, taking a few brisk steps before the featherweight scholar got the steed back under control. A proficient rider she was not, but Wifni obeyed none-the-less and they were eventually under way. "Keep an eye out for Chwingas, Mallory! You might have more luck out here in the wilderness than we will in Bryn Shander!" she made sure to shout behind her as they trailed east-south-east.

While the occasional cairn marked the path in these perpetual winter times, it was difficult for anyone less experienced to spot what constituted the road when they were out of sight. It was, however, trivial for anyone who had spent any significant time up in Icewind Dale. The large tracks crossed the road, veering off into a gentle hill before disappearing over the edge.

Then, on the other side, they transitioned into a single spoor, carving out a smooth, continuous file in the sparkling snow, before once more becoming the earlier round shapes spaced apart.

---

Someone want to give me another Survival check? I feel like that's warranted here. Working Together nets you Advantage.

"It really is quite noble of you both to come along, but please don't feel obligated to do so.  This is terribly dangerous, after all.  If you want to leave after the others, nobody would hold it against you."  Mallory may have said one thing, but the way she'd immediately sidled up and latched herself to Rhydd's arm as soon as he agreed to help was a whole other statement on its own.  She could manage a brave face, but there was no hiding the fearful tremble in her hands as she kept close as she could.

While Astre once more kept the skies overhead with a watchful gaze and sharp senses open to any passing scent or sound on the wind, down below it was slower going.  Though the look of the strange tracks the group followed utterly confused Mallory's gaze as they seemed to shift between steps to a rivulet and back to steps again?

---

Farwalker's taking the lead on Survival checks, so Astre will stick to Perception.

Astre - Perception w/Advantage
Mallory Bonheur rolled 20 using 1d20+5

---

Farwalker's Survival (Advantage granted by working as group) [27]: This was no Yeti behavior, that was for sure — they were too gangly to slide on their bellies. This was instead typical of this climate's Owlbears.

Astre's Perception check [20]: The tracks went on for a bit, heading north-east in the direction of Maer Dualdon, and Termalaine further beyond. The stretch to the water was deceptively long, as nearly a third of the lake was frozen over, but this mysterious creature apparently wanted to save time by cutting across the ice.

“Mm. Good news.” Farwalker called to everyone else, though not overly loudly. “It’s not a yeti.” That didn’t mean she was going to be stopping her little march, however. Now she was just curious about what was going on.

"Aye," Rhydd agreed with Lady Mallory's statement about their hunt being dangerous, smiling a thin smile as he did so.

"Well, the dangerous part any way -- I'm not sure that it'll rise to the 'terribly' level." He wasn't sure whether that had comforted the noblewoman or not -- given the way she had latched onto his arm.

Rhydd wasn't used to that sort of thing -- his stand-offish personality gave most people pause. He had come to realize that, and welcomed it. He didn't like most people and few liked him -- all well and good, insofar as he was concerned.

And so it was that he was surprised when he was not bothered by Lady Mallory's actions. He was doubly surprised to find that he found himself rather liking the fact that she seemingly looked to him for protection.

He patted her hand lightly -- the one by which she held onto his arm -- and added "It'll work out . . . it'll be fine."

He hoped that he was right.

Rhydd glanced up when Farwalker opined that they were not on the trail of a Yeti. "Do you know what it is?" he asked the hulking Goliath.

The reassurances in both word and gesture alike earned a smile from Mallory.  Not the thin, strained one she'd given Dannika that was so clearly her struggling to keep a brave front, but a small, genuine smile indeed.  His efforts seemed to hearten her a bit, though it didn't keep her from remaining at his arm all the same.

A brief pause for Farwalker's assessment, on the other hand, did little to comfort the distressed noble.  That their quarry was no Yeti was good, certainly, but that just meant it could be any number of other terrible, enormous beasts native to the unforgiving north.  She lifted her gaze momentarily skyward to the distant dot of motion that was her airborne cohort, then shifted northeast despite there being nothing to seemingly see from where they stood.  "Whatever it is, it's headed across the nearby lake.  The waters aren't totally frozen over though... I wouldn't fancy our chances of following it onto the ice." Farwalker might've had no fear of the cold, but the rest of them wouldn't stand a chance against a bout of rapid hypothermia if they fell through.

The sky, free from cloudy obfuscation, turned brilliant and splendid as the very last light disappeared behind the horizon. It seemed all the cosmos had been laid bare, and Selûne, followed by her Tears, drifted on overhead, casting soft shadows on the frozen landscape.

The tracks went on. Soon, they came upon what Rhydd knew to be the road to Termalaine. There, they intermixed with another set of tracks belonging to a humanoid wearing boots, pointing away from Targos. The curious rounded tracks headed off into the ice — the ice braved no earlier than yesterday in the encounter with the awakened Plesiosaurus.

Astre spotted a brown blot not too large in size near where the ice broke off into floes close to the shore. The tracks stopped there, intermixing with disturbed snow. The exact nature of the blot was difficult to determine without stooping closer. A bundle of cloth, perhaps? Or a makeshift tent. Someone had made themselves comfortable, at the very least. There were no signs of any Owlbear or Yeti, nor a similarly large beast or creature.

Instead, Astre would learn that he shared the sky. Way north, in the distance, a silhouette unmistakably that of a dragon's or a wyvern's soared, white scales reflected in the bright moonlight.

---

Note to self: avoid referring to it as "Trail of Tears" . . . (welp, that's a bit embarrassing xd).
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:20, Fri 22 Oct 2021.

"It's something an owlbear might do, but the tracks are wrong." With a shake of her head, she continued along. Once they came to the ice, she paused and frowned. It was a bit inconvenient, as Mallory mentioned. "If you stay here, I can leave my pack with you and make my way over the ice. I don't think whatever this is is a particular danger to the roads, but my curiosity needs assuaged. The longer we follow, the more I feel this might be Winterwalker. I had a suspicion, earlier on, but they're a story you tell to children."

~~Why would someone leave the road and venture out onto the frozen ice of the lake?~~ Rhydd wondered to himself.

Then he thought of an answer to his own question. ~~Mayhap whoe'er it is glimpsed the whate'er it is along the road, and veered off onto the ice in the hopes of getting away from it.~~

Just about then, Farwalker's words caught the archer's attention. "What's a 'Winterwalker?" he asked her.
This message was lightly edited by the player at 15:19, Sat 23 Oct 2021.

"What's a 'Winterwalker?"

"Us, if we're out in this terrible cold much later." Mallory dryly popped off.  Being huddled close to Rhydd was not just for the security of his presence, but to share body heat as well.  A matter aided by a passing flare of magic that shimmered the air within her palm as her own, Rhydd's, and Torgrim's boots became supernaturally warmed.  It wasn't much in the face of bitter winter cold and marching in packed snow, but every little bit helped.  "Miss Farwalker, I understand your desire to help others.  But venturing onto the ice, especially without clear cause, is nothing short of reckless.  There are predator beasts in the waters, you know.  This is going too far."

Literally and figuratively, she inwardly grumbled in her own thoughts.  They'd been trekking through the snow for hours by that point and were halfway to Termalaine by her measure.  What should have been a quick bit of scouting around the pass had turned into a wild goose chase that tripled their journey's length.

---

Mallory casts "Prestidigitation" to her own, Rhydd's, and Torgrim's boots to help keep them warm.  Just a precaution on top of some fluff.

Meanwhile, Astre was content in returning to an investigation.  He'd been thwarted from his fun in Targos, but being able to indulge on the road was a nice middle ground.  He only distantly paid attention to the echoes of telepathic thought that rattled around in the back of his awareness while his greater focus was set on the figure by the waterside.  The Tressym spread his wings out and eased into a gentle landing a ways off from the hunched figure, as quiet and light on the snow as the shadows of the clouds themselves.  He kept low in a stealthy prowl, body hunched and pupils dilated out wide as saucers as she stalked nearer for a better look...

---

Astre - Stealth
Mallory Bonheur rolled 21 using 1d20+4

Additionally, Mallory is going to Hold an Action as Astre goes to investigate.  If the figure is a threat that tries to attack him, Mallory will use that triggering event to dismiss Astre to his pocket dimension.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:47, Fri 22 Oct 2021.

"They are a legend, of sorts." She replied, pausing to eye the landscape ahead of her. "The kind you tell to children, yet there are those that are adamant they have met the Winterwalker." She smiled at nothing really, seemingly elsewhere in her memory for a long moment. "If you had even the slightest chance to meet a legend, would you take it?" She asked, thoughtfully. "At first this was a simple side trek to ensure the safety of the road. I can confidently say that the road is fine. Now it is simple curiosity. I am not called Farwalker due to my lack of adventure."

"I am not called Farwalker due to my lack of adventure."

"And my mother called me Squallborn, but that doesn't mean I handle sleet and snow any better."

Torgrim turned to Mallory, and by extension, Rhydd. "Look, I'll be honest; I'm not too keen on staying out here at night for any longer that I need to. However, I've gotten a taste for magically heated footwear, and I don't think I can ever go back at this point. I'll follow you on this, if for no other reason that I've got a better chance of keeping all my toes."

The hunched bundle was just that — a bundle. No creature stirred, nor were there any signs of life amid the wrappings and leather clothing. A fishing pole stood firmly planted in the snow by the water.

As Farwalker went on about old wives' tales and satisfying her own idle amusements by wandering around across the tundra in the dead of night, Rhydd would be able to feel Mallory's grip around his arm tighten.  Her jaw and expression did much the same, though better masked by the layers she kept bundled up high about her face for warmth.

"And exactly how long did you intend us to just wander for the sake of indulging your curiosity?" There was a particular edge in the noble's tone that balanced between mere temper and bloodshed.  Sacrificing comfort and safety to accompany the Goliath on a righteous endeavor was one thing; Mallory was ready to make that decision and was grateful the others had joined her.  But she was not about to take following Farwalker around in a frozen, predator-laden mountainside in the middle of the night just for kicks.

---

Astre hesitated between each step nearer for any sign of movement.  Nothing though, as far as he could see.  But with no sign of any actual person beneath the cloth, he shifted closer still to sniff and inspect the remains - such as they were - closer.  The Tressym did remain wary of how near he was to the ice's edge itself though; if there was a chance some creature lurked under the waters that had dragged some poor fisherman to his doom, Astre didn't want to repeat the same mistake.

Perception?  Astre's looking to see if there's anything suspicious that stands out amid the bundle.  Items of interest, signs of violence, etc.
Mallory Bonheur rolled 25 using 1d20+5
Nat 20~
This message was last edited by the player at 22:44, Sun 24 Oct 2021.

"Did you do that?" Rhydd asked Mallory as his feet suddenly felt warmer than they had in many hours. "That was . . . is . . . quite wonderful," he said, smiling. Having toasty-warm toes when he was outside in such conditions was not something that he was used to. ~~But I could become accustomed to such a luxury quite easily.~~

Rhydd grunted in response to Farwalker's ramblings about the Winterwalker. "Well, depending upon the sort of legend we are talking about, some would interest me, and some are best left well enough alone, methinks."

He squinted up his eyes and stared out onto the frozen ice of the lake. Glancing at his companions, he said "My advice is that if there is no one nearby in need of assistance, we should try and  find a spot near here that offers some shelter from the wind, and make camp for the night."

"Night-time temperatures out in the Wilds at this time of the year are nothing to be trifled with. If there are no caves nearby, I  have a two-person tent that I can offer to you and Astre, Lady Mallory." Left unsaid was the unspoken opinion that a female noblewoman who was used to her comforts would probably need as much space as any two males.

"As for the rest of us, I shall need to construct a lean-to or a snow-cave."

The outdoorsman smiled at Torgrim. "A snow cave is better than it sounds."

After a moment's thought, Rhydd added "Of course, if we find that there is anyone in the vicinity who needs assistance, then that will knock all of that into a cocked hat."

"Did you do that?  That was... is... quite wonderful,"

"The first spell I ever learned and one I would certainly never intend to live without.  It will last for the hour on its own, though I've every intent to refresh it as many times as we need." she noted.  No surprise there, especially given the cold environment... such a trick could be a literal lifesaver even if not for mere comfort's sake.

Rhydd and Torgrim's positivity in response to her simple magics helped to lighten Mallory's attitude somewhat and she gave a little bow of her hooded head in return.  Really, she'd best not allow a flare of her temper anyway.  Annoyance at Farwalker's apparent frivolity would do none of them any good.  There were more productive matters to focus on... especially given Rhydd's suggestion of camping out.

"I'm not particularly intimate with this region, but by my measure we're about halfway to Bryn Shander as it is.  A bit of backtracking might be required if we wanted to stick to the road, but we should still be able to make it there before too long." Honestly, she was even willing to retreat entirely back to Targos and contend with Skath's inevitable sarcasm than risk sleeping out in the wilds.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:21, Mon 25 Oct 2021.

“Until my curiosity is indulged.” She replied simply. “It’s only a few hours past midday. While I thank you for accompanying me into possible danger, it is obvious that has passed.” Once again she paused, testing the snow in front of her before shifting around a particularly soft spot. She did look up occasionally, enjoying the brilliance of the sky and the twinkling stars. It was something artists could never truly capture. “Do not blame me for your decision to following me.”

She stopped again, staring up at the sky before letting out a long sigh. “I also do not know if what we follow is intelligent. If I can speak to them, then I must seek them out. I am a light in the darkness, and though it is a small and flickering flame, it is my duty to guide the lost and provide aid to the traveling. There are things I cannot ignore. This is among them. I apologise for not making that clearer.” She puffed out a quick breath, watching as the vapour froze into a ring as it floated away. “You are not currently lost, so if you continue to town, I will meet your there, gods willing.”

"If we are going to attempt to make Bryn Shander, we should be on our way," Rhydd said matter of factly, glancing up at the sky to observe the weather and the amount of light available. Choices were available, dictated by the necessities of life out on the iron-hard frozen tundra of the North.

"The temperature is already dropping. We should either move out now, or plan on spending the night somewhere out here."

"If we are going to attempt to make Bryn Shander, we should be on our way,"

"Agreed.  Whatever spooked the wagon went directly into Maer Dualdon, it's either left the area entirely or these are its native hunting grounds and the locals surely know full well how to avoid it.  For all we know it may even be that bothersome Druid making trouble.  Nothing we can do about it, regardless.  There's no good reason for us to be wandering out here in hostile, freezing cold wilderness further." Mallory's emphasis made her displeasure as clear as the dirty look she cast Farwalker.  It was all too apparent how poorly she took to what, in her ears, rang as a flippant and ungrateful attitude from the Goliath.

All the same, she still tried at least once more with the towering woman as she gestured her lantern rod back the way they'd come.  "Now, please Miss Farwalker; there's no sense in chasing old wives' tales.  Especially not when there's civilization awaiting us with shelter, food, warmth, and people concerned about our well-being expecting us." she insisted.  "If we're out all night, Miss Moyrah might come looking for us and put herself in needless danger."
This message was last edited by the player at 16:29, Tue 26 Oct 2021.

The goliath crossed her arms and frowned as she turned around, looking more bemused than annoyed. "I just explained why I cannot yet leave. This is what I do. This is who I am. At every step of the way, I made it clear that no one need follow me. I am thankful for your support, but I will not pity you for your choices no matter how much you seek it. Nor will you guilt me into turning my back on things that I must do." With that said, she turned and continued following the tracks. Just as slow and methodical as ever.

---

Astre's Perception check [25]: What had looked like multiple parts of an entire outfit was in fact a single, skirt-like garment of heavy hide adorned with a hefty buckle. Whoever wore this was broad indeed. It smelled of fish and . . . . berries? A pouch, fastened to the hide with its drawstring loose, hinted at a stone within, nestled among the berries and other items with less easily recognizable scents. Astre could spot the briefest outline of a petroglyph, or perhaps a rune, on the stone. But that it bore a carving was indubitable.

---

Before he could prod further, Astre's snooping was cut short — the water surface broke, sending the scattered ice floes bobbing as a figure emerged and grabbed onto the edge with wet and massive paws. White and hulking, the figure heaved itself up, freezing water splashing from its furry form. A polar bear, biting down on a thrashing knucklehead. A necklace of enormous, sharp teeth dangled from a mane braided and adorned with pieces of copper. Though, in its ascent, its form seemed to shift and change, its beastly forelegs growing longer, twisting and unfurling into that of a humanoids. When it stood, it stood fully upright. "Mvghkt?" the creature mumbled.

"Pity?  You think I'm looking for--!?" Mallory began, though she cut herself short with a frustrated huff as Farwalker turned away to continue on her own.  There was just no getting through to stubborn people, she told herself, amid inner warnings not to blame such behavior on Farwalker being a Goliath.  That sort of bad habit was too easy to fall into.  "Of all the obstinate, hard-headed, ungrateful... Astre!  We're leaving!"

---

Down by the lakeside, Astre tensed and bristled with the sudden surge of water that boomed up nearby.  He'd been alert for just such an instance and, rather than risk anything having a chance to snatch him, he snatched first!  A quick dart forward grabbed the curious little satchel in his jaws and he took up into the air with only a passing flurry of stray mist trailing after him, long gone by the time the creature had cleared the water from its eyes.

Up, up, up into the air!  The Tressym felt rather pleased with himself as he circled skyward and settled into a slow holding pattern overhead to spy down on the waterborne creature.  He had a clue to hold onto and a good look at the culprit!  All he needed to do was make his way back to Mallory before--

POOF!

All at once the Tressym vanished away in a puff of dull sparkles and loose snow.  The creature on the ice below was bound to get a startle as its bag of belongings suddenly fell from the sky and plopped onto the ice nearby where it had been picked up originally, though there was no trace of how it got up there in the first place.

---

Mallory's fur-lined hood abruptly shuffled and roiled about all on its own as, with an indignant yowl, Astre clambered out and hopped down to the snowy path amid the gathered group.  For a moment he seemed startled and confused only to give a very sour "rrrrrrrr-oowl!" as he realized what had happened.  If the look Mallory had shot at Farwalker had been dirty, then the one Astre gave his companion was downright murderous.

"Rrrl!  Rrrooow!" the Tressym spat as he stomped and flared his wings up in annoyance.

"None of your grousing, Astre; you had plenty of time to roam as you pleased.  We're heading back toward town now and--"

"Rrrlll!"

The young noble was more than frustrated by contrarians left and right at that point as she fixed her feline with a glower of her own.  "You're not making a lick of sense!  Honestly, I don't know why I bother with you... just show me, if it's so important."  Once again, the others weren't privy to more than one side of the conversation she had with her pet, though the familiar-by-then way her and Astres' eyes glassed over black offered a little more insight as to where exactly Mallory got her "insight" from.  Though that was hardly of importance to her at the moment as her expression paled and her eyes abruptly reverted back to normal.

"The creature from the road is a... a Werebear!  You found a Werebear by the lakeside..." she gawped a moment.

"Mmmr." Astre puffed himself up proudly.

"...and your first thought was to try and rob them?!  Honestly, I thought I raised you better than that.  What would ever possess you to do such a thing?"

"...rrm."

"Oh, 'it seemed like a good idea at the time', then?  For the love of Tymora..."

---

Astre - Instinct check to see if he thinks to steal something
Mallory Bonheur rolled 13 using 1d20

Mallory - Arcana check to see what she knows of the creature
Mallory Bonheur rolled 11 using 1d20+6
I'm guessing that's enough to at least recognize a Werebear on 'sight', right?
This message was last edited by the player at 22:04, Tue 26 Oct 2021.

---

Rhydd's Survival check on Werebears [6]: If such creatures have inhabited this land for long, they'd done a blasted good job of keeping to themselves.

---

"Mhbt . . . gt?" the Werebear mumbled on as their pouch all of a sudden made impact in the snow a few paces further up. They looked every bit as befuddled as a creature watching their belongings inexplicably drop from the sky would be thought to look. But that confusion did not amount to hurry. The Werebear removed the flopping fish from their jaw and a loud smack sounded as they whacked its thickset head on their forearm. The fish stopped its thrashing and the Werebear quickly slit its throat, utilizing the black claws still at their fingertips. Only then, and while still naked — to the extent a Werebear could be naked in hybrid form — did they walk up to grab their pouch, noticing Farwalker approaching across the ice.

"Ho!" the Werebear called out. They appeared to wish to speak further, but stopped short. ". . . Jotun?" they eventually said. The Giant term for Giantkind and, incidentally, their word for the language.
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:18, Wed 27 Oct 2021.

In reply to Mallory Bonheur (msg # 156):

Rhydd turned to look at Lady Mallory when the young noblewoman made mention of Astre having glimpsed a Werebear down by the frozen-over lake.

"That's interesting," he remarked. "I've heard tales about all manner of Were-creatures -- as I suspect we all have -- but I've never actually seen one . . . nor spoken with anyone who has."

"I'm guessing that Farwalker should be able to communicate with it. However, I have no idea whether such creatures tend to be hostile or aggressive . . . or not."

"I'm guessing that Farwalker should be able to communicate with it. However, I have no idea whether such creatures tend to be hostile or aggressive... or not."

"They.  Lycanthropy is a curse, but those who carry it aren't mere beasts.  Whoever this person is, they're intelligent enough to use fishing gear and modest equipment." Mallory clarified.  It was very easy to dismiss strange beings as monsters (particularly in her field, when dissection produced valuable components) and thus she held herself quick to rectify the thought.  She leveled a scolding glare at Astre who, to his stubborn credit, didn't back down.  "Someone who's belongings we most certainly are not going to steal, either."

One would think that being the constant companion of a feline would render Mallory more accustomed to dealing with stubbornness and independence.  Astre certainly had that much on full display as he turned up his nose, flicked his wings, and fluttered off after Farwalker.  Being far swifter on the wing than her lumbering stride allowed the Tressym to catch up and land himself daintily atop her shoulder, apparently intent on accompanying her with or without Mallory in tow.  The young noble, meanwhile, just groaned in low frustration and shook her fist at her rebellious pet.  "At least apologize to them, you furry rapscallion!"

She heaved a sigh and looked back up to both Rhydd and Torgrim with a helpless expression.  "I'm not all that familiar with Werebears myself, but they reputedly are more the 'peaceful hermit' sorts compared to dangerous barbarians like the Uthgardt Werewolves further south.  Given the trails on the path, it's likely the wagon accidentally encountered this Werebear en route and diverted to avoid entering their territory.  Or were just spooked and scurried off the road." A moment of consideration crossed her features as she shuffled into her pouch with produce the odd stone Torgrim had discovered earlier.  "This may actually be from them as well... the pouch Astre tried to burgle contained similar items, I think.

What do you two think we should do, in light of this discovery?"

---

Regardless of what the rest of the party does, Astre is going with Farwalker.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:26, Wed 27 Oct 2021.

"<Ho, and well met.>" The goliath replied Giant. It seemed the polite thing to do. If she was bothered by the person's appearance, it didn't show. But then, she had just been talking to a giant lake creature, so her idea of strange was a little more skewed than usual. "Well met, traveller. I am known as Farwalker." Farwalker continued in common, just in case they didn't actually speak Giant. She'd had that awkward conversation before.

She looked over at Astre as the winged feline alighted on her shoulder, not that the weight was particularly notable. "And this is Astre. Seemingly avoiding their companion." She flashed white teeth at the feline before turning back to the bear-person.

"Apologies for bothering you, but I had to make sure you weren't in need of assistance." She stopped a distance away. Not enough to need to yell, but goliaths were a loud lot when they wanted to be.

In reply to Mallory Bonheur (msg # 159):

Rhydd listed as Lady Mallory explained what she knew -- or, at least had heard -- about Werebears, and the news sounded reasonably good. From what he was hearing, it did not seem that Werebears were overly aggressive by nature.

"Farwalker seemed quite content to strike out on her own," he mused, thinking out loud. "Well . . . in Astre's company now, it seems," he added with a small smile.

"My earlier statement stands. If we are of a mind to attempt to reach Bryn Shander instead of hunkering down somewhere out here for the night, we should get moving."

Common it was. "You've been following my trail," the Werebear spoke, their voice deep and rumbling. It effortlessly matched Farwalker's own volume. "And now you show yourself, after your petty attempt at theft fails. I assure you — I do not possess much, but what little I have is dear to me." The Werebear stepped forward with clenched fists. "Your numbers will do you little good!"

They laid into full sprint. Though their stare conveyed brutal intent, their gait, with their heavyset body, stumpy legs, and arms swinging widely, looked somewhat humorous.

---

Initiative!

• > Astre (11)
• Farwalker (10)
• Werebear (5)

Astre acts first. The parties involved and the surroundings make this a rather simple combat, so I figure theater of the mind is sufficient. Consider the Werebear 120' and rapidly approaching.
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:25, Thu 28 Oct 2021.

That lumbering charge coming their way had Astre immediately bristle and arch atop Farwalker's shoulder, eyes wide at the approaching threat on reflexive instinct.  Yet even as base desire drove him to fly away, Mallory's voice echoed in his head.

"At least apologize to them, you furry rapscallion!"

The perturbed Tressym gave a low, annoyed grumble and leaped from Farwalker's shoulder as if to meet the Werebear in its charge!  Though he only dashed along a ways before he stopped short, flared out his wings... and gave a deep, apologetic bow in clear deference to the insulted Lycanthrope.  As plaintive and darling as a feline could be with those soft, saucer-wide eyes reflecting the moonlight.  Who could possibly stay mad at a face like that?

---

Astre - Persuasion, to try and defuse the situation.  Kitty cuteness, activate!
Mallory Bonheur rolled 16 using 1d20+1

Movement: 20' or so ahead of Farwalker, and if the Werebear doesn't show any sign of stopping or calming down, Astre will take to the air to keep out of Farwalker's way.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:07, Thu 28 Oct 2021.

Farwalker frowned as the werebear charged at her, completely confused as to what was going on. "What?" She managed to get out before Astre bounded into the air and did his bowing thing. Which is about when things clicked into place. "By Sune's tits, you flying cat. Did you seriously try to steal from them?" With a shake of her head, she pulled the straps on her pack and let it fall into the snow.

"Grant me the strength of the Mountain." She muttered to herself, one hand stroking the carved symbol hanging from her hair. From there, she waited. Either Astre would succeed, or fail. But Farwalker wasn't really the running type.


Movement: N/A
Action: Enhance Ability (Strength)
Bonus Action: N/A
Free Action: N/A

Who could possibly stay mad at a face like that?

This Werebear. This Werebear could stay mad at a face like that. They persisted in their rush, caring little for any doe-eyed, atoning furballs in their path.

---

The Werebear Dashes 60' toward Farwalker. There is now 60' separating them.

Initiative order:

• > Torgrim (10)
• Farwalker (10)
• Mallory* (6)
• Rhydd (5)
• Werebear (5)

*Astre falls into Mallory's Initiative.
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:32, Fri 29 Oct 2021.

"See? They'll talk it out, probably exchange a few philosophical musings, and before we know it- shit."

Peaceful talks seemed to break down as the werebear broke into a sprint towards Farwalker. Acting on instinct, Torgrim began running down toward the shore as fast as he could, loading his newly aquired hand crossbow and cursing as he went.

"Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit DUCK!"

In a split moment decision, Torgrim's hand went for the blue bolts, and loaded one of the two into the weapon before firing it off into the darkness in the general direction of the charging werebear.


OOC:
Bonus action / Movement: Cunning action to dash 60ft towards Farwalker.

Action: Shoot a special blue bolt towards the Werebear at disadvantage

Roll: 8 using 2d20+5 with disadvantage due to distance ((8,3)

Immediately as the bolt loosed a loud CRACK! sounded as a streak of white-and-blue lightning split the air, ending in an explosion of snow where it impacted. Though the streak, following the trajectory Torgrim had aimed for it, was off by the slightest of margins, it still took the Werebear by surprise — as it would have anyone. But while their vision flashed white and ears rung, their stride did not falter.

---

Werebear Constitution Saving Throw against being Stunned (DC 16) [24]: Success.

Miss means no extra damage. For future reference, a hit means an extra 2d10 of Lightning Damage.

Werebear AC: 12
This message was last edited by the GM at 11:47, Sat 30 Oct 2021.

“Oh for the love of-“ She cut herself off at the flash, shading her eyes before glaring back towards everyone else, who had apparently still been following along. “Could you make NOT make them think we’re thieves?” By the time Farwalker looked back, the werebear was getting pretty close. Hopefully they could end this with a bit of light tussling. This was just a misunderstanding, and she refused to seriously injure someone over a misunderstanding. So she settled in and prepared to grab the person. Hopefully it would go well.


Current AC: 17
Current HP: 31/31

Grapple Check of 23

Movement:     N/A
Action:       Hold Action (Grapple)
Bonus Action: N/A
Free Action:  Hold Action

Today: Farwalker rolled 23 using 2d20+5, dropping the lowest dice only with rolls of 18,11.  Athletics Grapple.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:31, Sun 31 Oct 2021.

With his efforts at apology ineffective, Astre did what any cat was wont to do in such a situation when his charm failed: be stubborn about it.  Even as he fluttered up into the air with a steady beat of his wings overhead, he let out a plaintive yowl.  He tried yet again as both he and Farwalker remained non-violent, and the only strike made thus far by approaching cavalry seemed to be a wide warning shot.

---

Astre - Persuasion once more!
Mallory Bonheur rolled 12 using 1d20+1

Movement: 20' into the air

Mallory's Movement + Action: 60' Dash just trying to close the distance
This message was last edited by the player at 20:07, Sat 06 Nov 2021.

Rhydd was a good enough archer that he was much more accurate at longer distances than most people were. Hence, he wasn't too worried about making a shot from the range where the threesome originally found themselves.

However, given Farwalker's reaction to the situation, it wasn't clear to him that he should be shooting arrows at the Werebear -- not yet, anyway.

And seeing as how both Torgrim and Lady Mallory had both closed the distance with Farwalker, Astre, and the Werebear, it seemed to Rhydd that he should probably keep pace with the others.

He figured that one way or another, the scene with the Werebear would play out soon enough . . .

---

OOC:

Move: Rhydd will move forward for 30 feet.

Action: Dash for an additional 30 feet.

Notes: Rhydd is holding his bow in his left hand as he moves forward.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:16, Wed 03 Nov 2021.

Where lighting had failed, so did Astre. His meow made the Werebear toss their gaze up into the air for but a moment. . Though his efforts were ultimately fruitless, the Werebears slowed their awkward haste to a confident, strong stride, all the while keeping eye contact with Farwalker. "Standing your ground?" they growled, flexing their claws. "Good. Brace for a ravaging."

By the shore, Mallory's lantern lit up green.

---

The Werebear moves 30' closer to Farwalker. There is now 30' separating them.

Initiative order:

• > Torgrim (10)
• Farwalker (10)
• Mallory (6)
• Rhydd (5)
• Werebear (5)

This message was last edited by the GM at 08:56, Sat 06 Nov 2021.

"Oh I'm sorry, I see now that you have this under control! Don't mind me!" Torgrim responded sarcastically as he trudged as quickly as possible through the snow towards Farwalker, loading up another bolt as he went. He once again pointed the crossbow in the direction of the charging bear, but held off from firing it. At least until it was clear Farwalker was the one in the wrong here.

OOC:
Bonus action / Movement: Cunning action to dash 60 ft. towards Farwalker.

Action: Ready a crossbow bolt, which he'll fire at a disadvantage due to distance if Farwalker starts fighting the werebear in any meaningful way.

This message was last edited by the player at 18:17, Thu 04 Nov 2021.

Farwalker had never really been one for taunting. At one point there had been a lot of yelling and battle cries, but not so much anymore. What she did find funny was the werebear taunting her while being cautious. So, she ran forward herself, slamming into the creature.


Current AC: 17
Current HP: 31/31

Grapple Check of 23

Movement:     30’
Action:      Grapple
Bonus Action: N/A
Free Action: N/A

Today: Farwalker rolled 23 using 2d20+5, dropping the lowest dice only with rolls of 18,11.  Athletics Grapple.

Though she did consider herself to be in quite good shape, especially when set against some of her more sedentary peers in business and nobility, the sudden rush into battle didn't do Mallory any favors.  She puffed and groaned a bit as she hurried alongside Rhydd with her skirts bunched to one side in her fist, flushed in the face and already a bit winded.  Who could blame her though?  An unexpected two-hundred foot dash through snow with the air so cold it felt like there were knives in her lungs after they'd already been trekking for hours?

It was right as they reached an invisible threshold that Mallory's expression quirked and she shook her head.  Rhydd couldn't tell by sight but the young woman's head was suddenly filled with a rush of chatter as she finally got near enough to reconnect with her Familiar's telepathic reach.

"W-wait, what?  Astre, you're not... what do you mean they winked at you?  What does that even..." she wheezed aloud with a shake of her head.  The sudden flare of her lantern's flame turning green certainly caught her attention as well.  Chwinga were around?  Seriously?!  Now, of all times?!  Though that brought further confusion to her mind.  Those little sprites wouldn't linger anywhere near danger...

---

Movement: Astre maintains 20' overhead in a holding pattern, Mallory continues her 60' charge

Astre - Insight: Taking the Werebear's actions, manner, and Mallory's notice of Chwinga in the area into consideration - Does this Werebear really seem like they're genuinely looking for a fight or are they just screwing around?
Mallory Bonheur rolled 14 using 1d20+1

Rolled with Advantage first on the reflexive thought that Mallory would be using the Help action for the observation, only to remember too late she's using her Action to Dash.  ^^;  No worries though; the first roll made was the higher anyway.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:04, Sat 06 Nov 2021.

As Farwalker ran forward, taking it upon herself to expedite the collision, the sheer enormity of the half-beast became evident. It wasn't quite their size, as they were only a head taller than Farwalker's own impressive height, but their girth. This was a being packed to the brim with muscle, bolstered with a healthy layer of fat, and further insulated by a thick fur-coat slick from its recent dive. This was a being perfectly acclimated to the intense winter conditions — even those imposed under Auril.

They roared mightily, flashing sharp teeth as they met Farwalker head on with the vigor of an avalanche, locking claws with hands. But, to the Werebear's surprise, despite their advantage in size it was not their opponent that was forced backward, but rather them. Skidding in the snow, this subversion allowed Farwalker a moment to overpower the Werebear and ram into their chest, knocking the air out of them, and then find the grip for the firm lock she was after.

---

Astre's Insight into the Werebear's intentions [14]: Curiously, to the Tressym's ears there was a hint of hesitation in the Werebear's latest taunt, as if it had been forced. An act. The impact, on the other hand, had been wholehearted.

Werebear Athletics to contest Farwalker's Grapple [19]: Fail.

Initiative order:

• Torgrim (10)
• Farwalker (10)
• Mallory (6)
• > Rhydd (5)
• Werebear (5)

This message was last edited by the GM at 19:31, Sat 06 Nov 2021.

Flashes of thought flickered back and forth between the pair of Neverwinter natives quicker than strides carried Mallory along.  Confusion and uncertainty were clear in her expression as she cast Rhydd a look.  "There's something off... about this..." she puffed, face flushed and words halted amid her gasping.  "The Werebear doesn't... doesn't seem to be putting up a real fight.  Think they're just... ugh, stitch in my side!  Gah!  ...just trying to scare Farwalker off..."

---

Free Action to speak aloud.  She's directing her remarks to Rhydd, but Torgrim should still be within earshot as well to overhear assuming he didn't branch off in an entirely different direction in his run.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:05, Sat 06 Nov 2021.

"Hunh," Rhydd grunted when Mallory made her observation about the Werebear seemingly wanting to scare Farwalker off. That was certainly possible. He had sometimes seen other animals doing the same thing -- or trying to. Obviously, if you could scare off potential problems, that was safer than getting into real fights with them.

"Let's give this a little time to play out, then," he replied. He notched an arrow out of caution, but held his bow so that the arrow was pointing towards the ground.

---

OOC:

Free Action: Speak.

Action: Rhydd will ready an Action to shoot his arrow if the situation becomes overtly hostile.

As Farwalker tightened her steel grip, there was no other way around it; the Werebear had been completely and utterly outmaneuvered. Though they were strong as a bull — Farwalker could feel as much, their muscles billowing as they strained — they were entirely at her behest. "Rrargh!" they growled, attempting to pry Farwalkers arms off, but to no avail — it was like parting the maw of a Dragon.

Speaking of Dragon, the one Astre had spotted earlier made its appearance at the opposite side of the lake, swooping down from the starry sky. Mere feet above, it spread its vast wings, gliding elegantly over the body of water in the direction of the spontaneous wrestling match.

---

Werebear Athletics [12] to escape Farwalker's Grapple [21]: Fail.

Initiative order:

• >Torgrim (10)
• Farwalker (10)
• Mallory (6)
• Rhydd (5)
• Werebear (5)

This message was last edited by the GM at 08:53, Mon 08 Nov 2021.

"If you think it's for the best; we'll let them fight." Torgrim came to a halt, crossbow still raised. He was still not close enough for a clear shot, but it would have to do. "Though I don't think "scared off" is in her repertoire."

Through the sights, he looked on with equal part worry and awe as the evenly massive combatants clashed into a deadlocked grapple. It was pure happenstance, an odd flickering of passingly obscured stars, that even made him notice the dragon. The realization sent a chill down his spine that even Mallory's magic could not thaw.

"That might do the trick though. DRAGON, COMING OUR WAY!"


OOC:
Movement: Stand with Rhydd and Mallory, should be about 60ft from the Bearbowl.

Action: Perception check with disadvantage towards the dragon: 10 using 2d20+1, dropping the highest dice.

The Werebear was blissfully unaware of the approaching danger, locked with their back to it in Farwalker's clutches.

---

Astre's Perception check (Disadvantage due to Dim Light) [11]: The Dragon had white scales, no doubt. And it was no small thing either; far from a Wyrmling, this was a fully grown specimen.

Torgrim's Perception Check (Disadvantage due to Dim Light) [10]: While it was far away, it was moving fast. There was likely less than a minute to prepare.

Initiative order:

• Torgrim (10)
• >Farwalker (10)
• Mallory (6)
• Rhydd (5)
• Werebear (5)

---

Rhydd's History Check on Dragons in the area [12]: Though the legend is old, the locals did speak of one Dragon that laired on Ice Peak. The White Wyrm. Back in the day, seafarers used to be vary of her presence when journeying north of Ruathym. She'd never attacked a settlement in recent memory, however.

Mallory's Arcana Check on White Dragons [20]: Any sighting of a Dragon warranted extensive cataloging, and, as subjects of great interest to any arcanist worth their salt, they were generally known by name. In Icewind Dale there were a few; Cryovain, Arautator, Arveiaturace . . . While they varied in age and thus size, those would be the ones to fit the bill. Unless, of course, a distant White Dragon had recently migrated northward.

While generally smaller than other Chromatic Dragons and weaker in combat, White Dragons were still a force to be reckoned with. Their breath could freeze any unprepared foe solid in an instant. Vile and spiteful, only the Black Dragon was said to be crueler.
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:43, Tue 09 Nov 2021.

Farwalker was also a bit unaware of the dragon, mostly due to large bear in her face and a lot of yelling going on. Some of it was even hers. Then she started to pick up the werebear. Which was impressive given how massive the creature was. Not that anyone noticed what with the dragon swooping in.


Gunna Shove the werebear. Or at least, try to.

 Mon 08 Nov: Farwalker rolled 17 using 2d20+5, dropping the lowest dice only with rolls of 12,5.  Shovin’ A Bear.

With their approach slowed in light of the apparent lack of true aggression being traded back and forth amid an impromptu wrestling match, Mallory offered a puzzled tilt of her head, then looked to Rhydd with a shrug.  Truly baffling.  The fact that the Werebear hadn't immediately set to trying to gnaw Farwalker's face off said a lot about just how violent the being truly was.  But Torgrim's shout drew her attention away from the tussle and off over the waters where a far more genuine threat was fast approaching.

"This right here.  This is precisely why one doesn't go wandering bold as brass into the wilderness." the young noble's tone remained surprisingly well-controlled as quickly dropped the cover on her lantern to stifle away its light.  It wasn't that she was calm, per say, but more that she recognized there was a rapidly closing window of opportunity in which to act and panicking wouldn't do any good.  Her overall manner was to treat the situation very much like how one would respond to a natural disaster... which, given the havoc a Dragon could wreak, was rather apt.  "Alright people, there's protocols for this we've all learned in school!  Douse your lights, cover your heads, and remain calm."

"Gentlemen, we need to hide; tree cover, a cave, a ditch, anything.  I can help protect us, but we need somewhere off the shore and out of sight first."  The control in Mallory's tone quaked despite herself.  She gave a quick flick of her dark red coat and, in the blink of an eye, the fabric abruptly turned snowy white to help her better camouflage with the icy terrain.  Gloved hands cupped about the sides of her mouth so she could shout down the shoreline.  "Farwalker!  You too, Bear... person... whoever you are!  Quit jockeying about like a pair of ninnyhammers and run!  There's a Dragon coming!"

Astre, in little need of further encouragement himself, gave a quick yowl at the two jostling giants before he flapped away on his own to rejoin the group further up shore.

---

Mallory casts "Prestidigitation" to color her cloak to match the terrain, covers her lantern, and is ready to get the hell out of dodge.

Astre will use the Help Action to assist in finding cover, if Rhydd wants to follow that suggestion, so he can roll with Advantage.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:27, Thu 11 Nov 2021.

The shout  of warning caused Rhydd to snap his head around and peer off into the distance, looking in the same way that Torgrim was looking. ~~Aye, that's a Dragon all right,~~ he thought to himself. ~~Of all the bad luck!~~

~~It's a big one, too -- not just a young stripling. I've heard tales of a big White that has settled up on Ice Peak. I wonder if that's who it is?~~

Luckily, Lady Mallory's mentioning that they needed to find a place to hide pulled the archer back to the here and now.

His first glace around did not reveal any likely hiding places, so he called out to the Tressie. "Help me out here, Astre -- we need to find us a hidey-hole, and sooner would be better than later."

---

OOC:
10:45, Today: Rhydd Maldhon rolled 10 using 2d20+4, keeping the highest dice only with rolls of 2,6.  Survival Check (Adv. Roll).

Notes: Not great, but it would've been much worse without the aid of Astre's sharp eyes. Thanks for that! :)

Not only did the Werebear keep solid footing to resist Farwalker's powerful heft, they got a firm grip around Farwalker in the attempt. The two parties, now engaged in a gridlock and unable to move, remained so as the Dragon approached. The Werebear, having glimpsed a view of it out of the corner of their eye, hesitated in what appeared to be a lengthy, exhausting tussle with no clear victor on the horizon. Then they began to chuckle. "Rwhahaha! You are strong!" They'd transitioned into Jotun. "Might I offer up a truce?"

---

Werebear Athletics [21] to contest Farwalker's Shove [17]: Success.

Werebear Athletics [23] to Grapple Farwalker [22]: Success.

Initiative order:

• >Torgrim, Rhydd, Mallory (-)*
• Farwalker (10)
• Werebear (5)

*As stated in an OOC message, I've lumped you three together so that you may post more freely.

"Help me out here, Astre -- we need to find us a hidey-hole, and sooner would be better than later."

Astre quickly began to climb through the air at that call to gain more altitude; there wasn't any real obvious means of cover around like trees or particularly large natural formations, so a broader view of the area was necessary.  Mallory, meanwhile, furtively looked back and forth between her distant Familiar and the increasingly not-so-distant Dragon on the horizon.

"Come on, come on... surely there must be something..." she whimpered with increasing anxiousness.  After a bit, Astre began to wheel about in the air over a particular spot rather than continue his broad sweeps.  "There, I think he's found somewhere for us!"

---

Rhydd's Survival check to find cover [10]: Of course, down here on the ice everyone was left wide open; everyone and their grandma could spot them from a mile away. The only advantage they currently had was the darkness, and then barely even that, as Selûne had decided to shine brightly tonight. The hillsides were barren, so there were no trees, no evergreen to duck behind. The only option would be to slide down behind a snow dune further up the shore, and pray the Dragon would soar past.

Notes: As stated previously, you will be able to break line of sight if you move dash another 60' up the shore. Staying unnoticed (meaning the Dragon will be confused as to your whereabouts) would require Stealth checks, but you might be granted Half Cover if combat were to break loose.

Seemingly Rhydd spotted Astre's tell-tale flying pattern about the same time that Mallory did, for he hissed "There!" and pointed to the area underneath the Tressym.

"We need to hustle over there" he said to Mallory and Torgrim.

"Once we get there, we'll be out of the Dragon's sight for the moment, so drop down and roll around in the snow -- try to get a good coating of it on your clothing. It'll make us tougher to spot."

---

OOC: Rhydd will wait for a moment, expecting Mallory to take his advice and make her way to the area that Astre has picked out. Once the noblewoman has moved, he will Move and Dash there himself, then follow his own advice about trying to get a coating of snow on his clothing.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:08, Sat 13 Nov 2021.

Like her Familiar, Mallory didn't need to be told twice to get a move on.  She could only hope that Farwalker had heard their shouts as she turned, picked up her skirt in one hand, and hauled off across the tundra as quickly as she could.  As soon as she reached the distant rising snowdrift she bounded right over its edge with a less-than-graceful hop to land butt first into the powder on the other side.  Thankfully out of sight of the shoreline for the moment, if nothing else.  Though by the time Rhydd joined her, he'd find she was more preoccupied with winding out a portion of rope from the bundle at her belt rather than trying to cover within the snow...

Astre, meanwhile, continued to circle about in place as he kept an eye on the events playing out below.  Both to keep sights on Farwalker and the approaching Dragon alike, though there was only so long he could serve as a marker before he had to dart away to try and take cover himself.

---

Mallory's full Movement and Action goes to running for cover, Free/Bonus Action is drawing 5' of Rope.

Astre's going to keep where he is for the moment so Farwalker has a chance of spotting where the group has fled to, but he's going to move away and make a Stealth check at the start of his next turn.

Following the others' lead, Torgrim leapt forward over the snowdrift before diving head first into the snow beyond and tried his best to hide from view. As he lay there, he could feel the snow melting around him, and icy cold water finding its way between his clothing and his skin. It was, however, undoubtedly better than being eaten.

~I sure hope that magic can warm more than just footwear.~

---

Actions: Torgrim will dash the full 60ft before using his cunning action to hide.

Stealth roll: 23 using 1d20+7

"There does appear to be a dragon on it's way." The goliath replied in the same language, though she didn't exactly let go just yet. Just in case. "It might be best to take a bit of cover." And there was plenty of cover to go around. If one was willing enough to hop into some water.

"Rhhm," the Werebear rumbled affirmatively. It was clear their attention was more to the Dragon than the bout, and they glanced toward the water, clearly thinking in the same vein as Farwalker.

And yet, caught up in the tangled moment, they too hesitated when it came to releasing their grip around their opponent. Though neither wanted it, the Dragon commanded that one of them be first. And so the Werebear let go. Hopefully Farwalker would do the same, and, once she'd fulfilled her part of the bargain, the Werebear intended to make a mad dash for the edge.

Meanwhile, the winged threat soared closer, the water rippling in its drag as it crossed what one could eyeball as the center of the lake.

---

Initiative order:

• >Torgrim, Rhydd, Mallory, Farwalker (-)*
• Werebear (5)

*Further collapse . . . I realize there's no need to keep Farwalker in an initiative of her own. We're slowly transitioning to the free initiative I said we'd test then forgot about. Eh, ain't no time like the present :)
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:46, Tue 16 Nov 2021.

The tremble in Mallory's hands and jaw interfered with her ability to work clearly, but she pressed on all the same.  Fear?  Cold?  Both, really.  The young noble hurriedly wound out a few pulls of rope around the curve of her elbow and tied off the remnant in a taut bundle.  "Writ and... no, warp and notch... wait, that isn't it either.  Weave and warp and-- ow!  Bit my damn tongue!" Mallory hissed as she stumbled over her words.  She had to force herself to take a moment to just breathe, hold it in to steady her nerves, and then exhale in a slow plume of steam and gently echoing incantation.

"Writ of the Weave, warp and weft.  Knit and gnarl, notch and knot, not a stitch in time for nine; spare a stitch in space for eight." The various chants she performed amid her spellcasting seemed unique to each spell, yet that one sounded more like a child's tongue twister than arcane words of power.  But when a witch beckoned, the world replied; the rope she drew out suddenly swirled like a serpent in her hands, animated with a life of its own as it rose straight upward a few feet into the air and hung suspended on absolutely nothing at all.  The air just at the end of the rope shimmered with a mirage-like ripple into a broad plane that was only visible for the briefest of moments before it vanished entirely, leaving just the rope hung there in empty air.

"Right, that'll do!  Quickly now, inside... ah... goodness, where did Torgrim go?" she'd lost sight of him in her efforts to focus but trusted he was still nearby.  Mallory led the way as she reached higher up on the suspended length of rope and, with a small grunt of effort, pulled herself up it beyond the point where that brief shimmer in space had appeared... and vanished herself!  A bizarre sight to witness as the young noble seemed to just clamber directly out of existence before, a moment later, she popped her seemingly disembodied head back out with her long black hair swung low from the upside-down lean back into reality.  "Come on now!  And keep quiet; this thing isn't sound proof." she warned before retreating once more out of sight.

Beyond that strange threshold laid an even stranger sight.  A cozy den not of solid matter, but of odd, immaterial curls of silvery mist and dense, roiling black fog that curled and undulated like ink dropped into a glass of water.  The entry in the floor of that hidden space peeked back into the chilled landscape left behind, but in all other directions - even down, beside that little rope-bound hatch - the roiling mists surged and swirled.  To peer beyond them was difficult yet yielded a bizarre view indeed; outside that obscuring little soap bubble of magic laid a seemingly endless expanse of unfamiliar stars and cosmic mists, planar tides of purple, orange, pink, and black churning away in untold distances.  Here and there one could barely spot what looked to be land masses floating in the void; some barren, others with entire cities hung upside-down on their surfaces as seemingly dead husks of long-forgotten civilization.

Mallory herself didn't seem to pay much mind to the unsettling realm beyond the little nest she'd conjured, however, and instead simply hunched beside the hatch to help her companions up inside as need be.

---

Action: Mallory casts "Rope Trick" at 5' off the ground; so no chance of fall damage if the spell ends, and hopefully the whole affair remains unseen behind the snowdrift cover and/or too low to the ground for a big Dragon's line of sight to see.

Movement: Up into the extraplanar pocket!  Mallory will wait until the others join her inside to pull the rope up as well.  If Farwalker comes their way, she'll drop the rope back down.

---

Astre, meanwhile, kept a sharp eye on the incoming Dragon for as long as he could endure the risk.  He was a very small target, but he didn't trust a predator of any size to not feel petty enough to swat at anything it could.  The Tressym himself loved to chase around crickets and beetles, after all.  With a quick tuck Astre dove away toward a distant snowdrift rather well away from the one Mallory had hidden behind and did his best impression of Torgrim with a headlong dive into the powder.

---

Astre - Stealth
Mallory Bonheur rolled 6 using 1d20+4

OOC: Grrrrr!! I had Rhydd's IC post all typed out and ready to go, and somehow managed to erase it in its entirety. The fact that our kitty is sitting on my lap as I type at my desk is probably not helping matters any.

In any event, I am not in the mood to try and reconstruct the post. Here is Rhydd's Stealth Check. He will use his movement to climb the rope and join Mallory.


17:49, Today: Rhydd Maldhon rolled 13 using 1d20+6 with rolls of 7.  Stealth Check re: Hide from Dragon!!

After letting go of the werebear, Farwalker rolled her large shoulder and eyed the dragon. They weren't too terribly far away, not with the speed they were going. But it also wasn't too terribly far from the shore. "Shall we see who can stay under the longest?" She asked in her native tongue once she was settled and ready to sprint forward.

And then she was sprinting for the water.

Rhydd had heard Lady Mallory muttered magicked-sounding somethings over behind his shoulder, but he had paid her scant attention, seeing as how he was busying himself by trying to apply as much white, powdery snow to his outer clothing as was possible -- all the better to deceive the eyes of the great Wyrm that was now headed in their direction and closing rapidly. In short, his efforts largely involved rolling around in the snow, as if he were a pig enjoying its slops.

After some little while, however, he heard the wizardess' tone of voice change as she became more insistent, urging "Quickly, now, inside!"

~~Inside *where*, I wonder?~~ he thought to himself. Curious now, he turned his head to see what Mallory was talking about.

"Aaaah!" he blurted out, so great was his surprise when he glimpsed the noblewoman's head, now turned upside down so that her long hair hung down towards the ground -- the head itself seemingly floating in mid-air, with no body to be seen. A rope could be seen, standing stiff and straight as if it were made out of wood and not hemp, and ending in mid-air somewhere close to Mallory's head.

Seemingly unperturbed by the archer's exclamation and clearly not in pain from having her head magically disattached from her body, Mallory insisted "Come on now! And keep quiet! This thing isn't sound-proof."

~~What thing? Whate'er is she going on about?~~

Suddenly the head disappeared. It began to dawn upon Rhydd that Mallory had somehow fashioned some sort of a magicked thing that was floating up in the air, which one might enter by climbing up the straight-dangling rope. Given that he could no longer see the wizardess, it stood to reason that whoever joined her in the "thing" might well be hidden from the Dragon -- something which would be most helpful!

"This way, Torgrim!" Rhydd urged, just in case the other man had not glimpsed Mallory's head before it had disappeared.

With that, Rhydd hustled over and quickly climbed up the short length of rope. Once at the other end -- and somehow inside Lady Mallory's magicks, he supposed -- the archer could not help but feel a little queasy at the sight of the roiling . . . "mists and fogs" was the best way that he could describe what he saw.

A glimpse through a transparent side wall -- Rhydd thought of the place as being somehow akin to a small room -- was even more disconcerting, offering vistas that were the stuff of dreams and nightmares.

"Lady Mallory," he managed to croak, hoping that his tremulous voice would not betray his fear of such otherworldly strangeness, "if you please . . . where *are* we?"
This message was last edited by the player at 03:29, Thu 18 Nov 2021.

As Rhydd hoisted his way inside he was quickly taken by Mallory reaching out to grab onto his cloak and shoulders, aided in the short climb even though he was surely more than capable of managing it on his own.  His surprise over where the two of them stood amid such strangeness wasn't unfamiliar to her... honestly, she had much the same reaction the first time she'd managed that particular spell herself, so long ago.

"Ah, yes... well.  Right here, where we stand, is a small pocket dimension I've wedged between two layers of reality, but on neither of them, like opening an envelope and tucking inside.  Out there--" she pointed briefly downward where Rhydd could see the snowy landscape they'd just left through a glimmering opening in the "floor" of their odd nest "--is the Prime Material Plane where we all live.  And out there--" she gestured outward around them to the unending expanse of galactic depths "--is the Astral Sea.  That's... ah, where we go when we die, to vastly oversimplify it.  If we're very lucky and very quiet, we won't be delivered there first-hand by a hungry Dragon in the next few moments."

She took a moment to peer down out through the hatch in the floor once more for sign of Torgrim or Farwalker coming, then offered a wan, fearful smile to Rhydd herself.  Despite being more accustomed to such alien forces of the supernatural it was clear she was just as afraid in that moment, albeit for more pressingly mundane reasons as being devoured by a giant apex predator.  "Congratulations; you're one of the precious few people alive to become a planar traveler.  Just... don't think about it too hard.  Or stare into the abyss for too long; it quite literally stares back and there are many things far worse than Dragons lurking out there.  But we're quite safe, I assure you.  _Mostly."

---

Stealth
Mallory Bonheur rolled 16 using 1d20+2
This message was last edited by the player at 06:20, Sun 21 Nov 2021.

Upon his name for the second time, Torgrim's head popped up from the snow akin to that of an arctic fox, or a weasel. In just the short time he'd been submerged, icy flakes of snow clung to his facial hair and eyebrows. He didn't know what he'd expected when he spun towards the voices, but a pair of snowy boots disappearing up a rope and into a shimmering light was certainly not it.

"Hold up, I'm coming!" He had no time to think before he found himself floundering through the snow towards the rope, barely finding foothold in the powder. He grabbed hold and hoisted himself up towards the shimmer, muttering frantically. "don't decapitate don't decapitate don't decapitate" Upon reaching the top of the rope, he swiftly pulled his legs up under him out of fear that they could be left behind in the frost if he weren't quick enough.

Torgrim rolled around onto his back before splaying out in exhaustion, just in time to catch the latter part of Mallory's dissertation. "Shouldn't be too hard. I've spent most of my life not thinking too hard. No reason to start now." He took heavy breaths between each syllable. "Seems the witch has no shortage of tricks nor sleeves, eh?" He chortled and stifled a cough.

Rhydd's eyes grew wider by the moment as Lady Mallory launched into her explanation. If anything, his expression of alarm only deepened as he heard ". . . a pocket dimension wedged between two layers of Reality . . . the Prime Material Plane . . . the Astral Sea . . . things far worse than Dragons lurking out there . . ."

The archer involuntarily shuddered, and he briefly wondered whether he had been better off before or after hearing the wizardess' explanation. Having been warned not to stare outwards o'ermuch, Rhydd dutifully stared down at what he thought of as the floor of their little "room" . . . pocket dimension . . . whatever.

And so it was that he saw Torgrim enter . . . whatever, wherever . . . as the other man scrambled up the rope and collapsed on the . . . floor, Rhydd supposed it was. It was, in truth, 'twas most likely something other than the floor, but Rhydd thought the question best left unasked, lest he be blithely informed of something else that he could scarce wrap his thoughts around.

"Ummm . . . aye," he was able to croak out in a small voice in response to Torgrim's comments about Lady Mallory's "tricks".

He briefly imagined himself floating away through the so-called Astral Sea, and wondered what would become of him if ever that were to happen. Then he shut his eyes as tightly as he could, much in the manner of a child who hopes to avoid the attentions of the Monster Under the Bed . . .
This message was last edited by the player at 18:36, Thu 18 Nov 2021.

"This is the barest tip of the cosmic iceberg, I'm afraid." It was hard to tell if that sort of remark was supposed to be reassuring to Rhydd's worry or somehow even more terrifying in the long run.  As Torgrim arrived she helped him up just the same and, with another furtive look out below, pulled the tethering line up after him.  Where the rope hung stiff as an iron bar for all others, it yielded to Mallory's touch and let her pull it inside like normal; any still beyond to see would spy the loop of rope simply vanish out of existence just at its climbers had, leaving no trace other than shuffled, confused footprints in the snow behind.

"Seems the witch has no shortage of tricks nor sleeves, eh?"
"Ummm... aye."

"Let a lady hold some mystique, hmm?  Goodness, you're both soaked in snow.  Hold still.  Very still, actually; do your best impression of a statue, in fact.  White Dragons have exceptionally sharp senses as hunters." Thankfully it seemed a witch's tricks encompassed tidying up as, with another wave of arcane shimmering from her palm across each man, their clothing rapidly dried as any traces of snow and water were cleansed away.  A second pass and their boots warmed anew, returning some level of comfort and preventing their presence from being given away by the chattering of teeth.  She wasn't adverse to it herself and her snowy white coat turned red once more as she hugged her own shoulders and warmed her clothing with that same bit of magical manipulation.

---

Since we're out of combat order, Mallory pulls up the rope and performs a few castings of "Prestidigitation" to clean and warm everyone inside the trick room.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:33, Thu 18 Nov 2021.

The green light in Mallory's lantern had lingered up to the moment she stepped into her conjured chamber betwixt realities, at which point it resumed its ordinary, orange lantern duties.

Back on the Prime Material, the Dragon approached quickly. The distance Farwalker and the Werebear had to close, a mere hundred-and-fifty feet, give or take, was minuscule compared the vast waters the Dragon needed to cross, but for every foot they laid behind, the Dragon gained ten as it was aided by its flight. Still, it seemed there was enough time — though with little room for stumbling or slipping — to beat it to the edge.

"Hah! And here I was, preparing for the grand reveal!" the Werebear said between bated breaths, right behind Farwalker. Still it was Giant, the tongue they seemed by far the most comfortable in. "Seems I bided my time for too long . . . it is good to see you, Vara." They then, midstride, transitioned to their full-fledged polar bear form, letting out a mighty roar as they strained themselves to overtake Farwalker.

Rhydd nodded his head gratefully as Lady Mallory set about using her magicks to clean the snow off of his clothing, and more importantly, make him comfortable in a toasty-warm fashion.

"You are indeed a handy sort to have around," he said quietly to her, assaying a tepid smile -- all that he could manage in such mind-numbing surroundings.

Still and all, as a life-long hunter he knew how to stay quiet and motionless, so he settled in to do just that.  In most instances, the circumstances involved an effort to improve his own bow-shot, to the detriment of some game that he had sighted. In this instance, of course, the boot was on the other foot, and he found himself in the highly uncomfortable position of being the hunted instead of the hunter ...
This message was last edited by the player at 16:30, Sat 20 Nov 2021.

The Dragon flew closer, mere seconds away as Farwalker and the Werebear reached the waters.

Splash! The Werebear dove headlong into the frigid lake, undaunted by the prospect of bone-chilling cold. They fully submerged themselves, and Farwalker could see, once she joined them, that they were paddling away wildly with their large paws, trapped air rising from their fur. Their eyes remained open, glancing Farwalker's way, as they sunk deeper to ensure they would be fully concealed. Below was utter blackness, and above, the moonlight danced across the undulant surface.

SPLASH!

The Dragon joined them.

Enormous and starkly white, it had folded up like an arrowhead to pierce the waves. Blank, ghostly eyes, almost luminescent in their prominence, shone through thin eyelids. Frills set along the length of its neck on scaly, baggy flesh accentuated its glide, allowing it to drift forward with ease. And its course was clear — it was bounded straight for Farwalker and the Werebear.

---

Initiative order:

• Farwalker [20]
• Werebear [10]
• Dragon [7]

I figured we'd roll for initiative anew as we broke combat. I still rolled Farwalker with Advantage, though I do think that is very generous of me :^)

The distant splashes of the Werebear and Farwalker taking to the water were too far and small to be heard, but the crash of an arctic wave when the Dragon dove, even cutting through the water as it did, was plenty to be heard even at the distant dimensional hiding place.  Mallory jolted upright for a moment and froze solid, only her one visible eye still moving as it darted about to Rhydd, Torgrim, and the hatch in the floor.

"Was that... did it just...?" she whispered imploringly.  Her long black hair was quickly gathered aside to keep it from spilling loose around her as she leaned over and just barely poked her head out enough from the entrance back into reality to peer around upside-down across the snowy landscape.  Distantly, Astre had been keeping an eye on everything.  His sharp ears flicked with a different recognition other than sound as he sensed his companion once more within telepathic range.  He took to the skies once more, abandoning his ill-suited hiding spot for the sake of an aerial view of the landscape below.

A moment later, Mallory pulled herself back upright and sat back with a fairly stunned expression on her face.  It took a second of opening and closing her mouth like a fish as she tried to figure out her own words and what to say before, with no real luck there, it just tumbled out of her.  "So... um... Astre said that Miss Farwalker, the Werebear, and the Dragon all just dove into the lake."  she wheezed a bit at the very thought of it.  "Which... ah... I mean, White Dragons are aquatic hunters who eat whales for fun.  Those two are... ah... well, very probably very dead now." was all she could manage with a staggered whimper as she hugged her knees to her chest.

---

Astre - Perception, trying to keep an eye on things going on underwater
Mallory Bonheur rolled 15 using 1d20+5
All visual, so no natural Advantage here.  Not a bad roll though.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:43, Mon 22 Nov 2021.

Rhydd grimaced uncomfortably when Lady Mallory spoke her ill tidings about the Dragon and the dangerous -- possibly even fatal -- circumstances in which the Werebear and Farwalker found themselves.

"I did not know that White Dragons were such accomplished aquatic predators," he said after a moment. "The water around here is much too cold for me to swim in it, even during the summertime. So, other than to do a little fishing every now and then -- and needing some water for drinking purposes, of course -- I pretty much just avoid it. Hence, I know very little about the creatures who favor the local waters."
This message was last edited by the player at 20:12, Tue 23 Nov 2021.

Mallory shared Rhydd's dismay as she stared down into the gap in the floor.  "I don't... I don't know what we could even do.  I don't have any magic that would be able to help in a situation like this and, even if we could get there in time before the Dragon reaches them, none of us would survive such a being as that."  Simply jumping into near-arctic waters was a death sentence for the majority of people in the first place; had Farwalker not mentioned she'd been able to withstand such temperatures herself prior,  Mallory would've assumed that alone would've been enough to end the Goliath.  But even if the cold was tolerable for her, she was still a massive woman heavily bogged down by her many belongings and pursued by an aquatic hunter!  Cold, drowning, being eaten... all just as likely, all just as fatal.

Her half-covered gaze lifted over to Torgrim in some distant hope he might have something that could save the day.  But what could even be done in such a moment anyway?  The young noble gave a miserable sigh and buried her face down against her knees.  Even if she was frustrated with Farwalker, she'd never wish such a fate on anyone and the notion that the last conversation the two might've had being bickering weighed heavily on her mind.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:34, Tue 23 Nov 2021.

As the sound of Mallory and Rhydd's voiced faded around him, Torgrim laid flat on his back, staring catatonically into the astral nothingness that surrounded them. The half elf could not remember the last time he'd been this out of options. Or rather, out of options would did not lead to his immediate demise.

He raised his right hand up towards what under other circumstances would have been the night sky. "I have... absolutely nothing." He sullenly let the hand fall back down. "Running, fighting, distracting, bluffing, what's that to a fucking ice dragon?"

It seemed all he could do was wait, and he hated it.

"I can... I mean, if need be, I can maintain this space here for another three, maybe four hours.  So long as the Dragon doesn't somehow find us in the meantime, we should be safe.  Hopefully they will just leave after they've... ugh... finished." Mallory muttered squeamishly.  There was an instinctive part of her that just wanted to leap out of the dimensional shelter and make a break for it while the Dragon was underwater, but that would just be needless exposure.  Odds were the Dragon wouldn't be out of sight for more than a minute or two at most, and being out on the tundra would just be making oneself an easy target to get swooped down upon.

No, they just had to wait it out a little while, then they could make their way back to the road and Bryn Shander under the cover of night.  But waiting... being patient, silent, helpless... was the hardest part.  It was something Mallory herself had become rather familiar with since she'd left Neverwinter and it was just as horrible to endure as ever.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:02, Tue 23 Nov 2021.

Yes, there was definitely no way the situation she found herself in could go poorly. Or at least, more poorly. She didn’t even have her pack, so it wasn’t like she could hide behind her shield. Not that it would be much help. So, with more hope than sense, she grabbed the pendant she had around her neck and held it tightly in one hand, praying as she looked around for anything to possible use as cover. Or something. Mostly just anything.

OOC:

Movement: Swim Away from Dragon
Action: Twilight Sanctuary
Bonus Action: N/A
Reaction: Possibly goliath damage reduction thing

In Farwalker's immediate vicinity, there was nothing but the scattered shade from the drifting ice floes — if there existed sea weed in the lake, it was far below in the black depths of the deep, deep lake. Nor were there any endemic creatures nearby. No fish. Nothing. Perhaps they'd wisely fled the scene.

The Werebear, initially panicked, paddled away vehemently, electing to swim in the opposite direction of Farwalker, so that there at the very least would be some distance between them. As monstrous as the Dragon appeared, it could still only be in one location at once. The Werebear reigned in its initial alarm and transitioned over to a deft breast stroke. Though it was difficult to tell given the circumstances, they might have changed back to their hybrid form to manage such a technique.

As the momentum the Dragon carried from its dive slowly petered out, it, still pointed and streamlined, leveraged its powerful tail to smoothly slip through the waters. While it had entered a fair distance away, that distance was closing, and it was closing quickly. As it did, if Farwalker turned to keep track of her pursuer she could get a closer view of its terrifying visage — a hundred sharp teeth protruding from its scaly lips, and pearly eyes furrowed with killing intent. And, curiously, it was saddled, with a rider sitting atop its back. Despite their steed's eagerness to enter the frigid depths, the rider's head, adorned with bristly, white hair billowing in the currents, hung limply against the back of their palanquin.

Before further observations could be made, the Dragon had chosen its target — it preferred the Werebear over Farwalker. And, unfortunately, despite the Werebear's newfound aquatic agility, the Dragon was faster.

---

There is 10' separating the Dragon and the Werebear. Let's put Farwalker at the Werebear's 60' of swimming moving + her own 15' (since Farwalker does not have a swimming speed, movement in water is done as if she's in Difficult Terrain) = 75' from the Werebear/60' from the Dragon. As the distances matter, I might make whip up a battlemap. You'll have to give me some time.

Farwalker must succeed on a DC 16 Wisdom Saving Throw or become Frightened.

Werebear Wisdom Saving Throw against White Dragon's Frightful Presence [7]: Fail.

Initiative order:

• > Farwalker [20]
• Werebear [10]
• Dragon [7]

Astre's Perception Check to follow the situation [15]: From up shore it was nearly impossible to tell what was transpiring but flying directly overhead gave him a chance to glean the silhouettes through the water surface, though it was still difficult to determine what was going on. The Dragon, bearing a rider, had encroached on Farwalker's and the Werebear's make-do hiding place, and now it seemed to light up a brilliant green, akin to the auroras Farwalker had weaved the days prior. Suddenly illuminated by the light, it was clear the three parties were split, and the large, sleek blot that was the Dragon was in hot pursuit of the smaller white blot that could only be the Werebear.

Mallory's History Check on Arveiaturace [14]: In the centuries past, she was a feared predatory of The Sword Coast, bringing terror and despair upon unfortunate sailors. Though in the recent decades, she'd been sequestered and rarely ventured south of The Spine, which likely had to do with the passing of the Wizard she bore, a mysterious mage named Meltharond Thone. Whoever he was, he was powerful enough to bind an Ancient White Dragon to his service. While there does exist literature, its veracity is in dispute. When Arveiaturace learned a sage in Candlekeep had written a disparaging account of his accomplishments, she personally paid the scholar a visit to correct the perceived error — by ripping the roof off the main building and snatching the writer up to set their views straight. It is said the sage later personally paid Arveiturace a visit to deliver the amended tome, and returned a Tenday later.
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:07, Sat 27 Nov 2021.

Mallory was anxious as the moments passed by.  Outside events unfolded across ice and beneath frigid water while the rest of them were left to wait, and the uncertainty of it all made her squirm.  It wasn't long before her fretting turned to impatience and she tucked forward once more to dip her head just so out of the floor hatch with a slow, cautious lean.  Between the close quarters of the pocket space and their collected body heat, it was actually somewhat comfortable within the safety of that hidden zone, but easing her head out into the world beyond was like dunking her head into a freezing cold pool of water each time.  She shut her eyes against the cold and let her senses fly from her, housed within Astre's view for a few moments of shared communication.

After a beat or two, she rose back up with quite the look on her face.  Outright consternation as she ran her hands over her hair, unsure of what to make of the sight Astre yielded.  "Well, good news; Farwalker hasn't been devoured yet and the Dragon seems to be chasing after the Werebear instead.  As for the... I'm not quite sure it's bad news, but it's Arveiaturace and Meltharond.  That... sweet Tymora, why is it those two?" she seemed half lost in her own whirling thoughts at apparently recognizing the Dragon.

A gentle breeze swept across Mallory's cascading hair as she once more conferred with Astre.

After she retreated to divulge his observations, a figure stepped into view beneath the transdimensional window. The masked being, no bigger than a pine cone, clad in straw apparel and carrying a teaspoon like one would a walking stick, looked upward to the invisible entrance that recently had a detached head reappear only to disappear again.
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:59, Mon 29 Nov 2021.

Magicks . . . Rhydd did not begin to understand them, and certainly did not trust them. But he had to admit, they were sometimes quite useful. He had developed a liking for the bursts of warmth that Lady Mallory seemed to be able to call up at will, and now it seemed that the wizardess was somehow receiving reports from Astre.

"Well, that is good news . . . the part about Farwalker, I mean," he replied to the noblewoman's latest update.

"As for the Dragon and the mage . . . I have heard tales, of course, but then one hears all sorts of tavern tales. I never really paid them much attention."

---

OOC:

11:43, Today: Rhydd Maldhon rolled 8 using 1d20.  History Check re: Dragon and Mage.

Comments: Rhydd is staying as far away from the opening as he can get. He has seen Mallory lean down and poke her head out, of course, but then -- she's a magicker and knows how to do such things in a safe fashion. For all he knows, he would get sucked out into the Void if he were to try such a thing. :) Hence, I don't think that he would have noticed our recent visitor.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:17, Tue 30 Nov 2021.

In a pique of at least hoping to distract the dragon, started to cast a spell, only to freeze and blink, remembering that she was underwater and couldn't actually breathe underwater. Which was very inconvenient at the moment. And given the amount of armour she was wearing, to say she was sinking was at least a lot accurate. Obviously this whole jumping into the water bit had been a bad idea. And she really didn't want to swim closer to the dragon, so she took a long moment to ponder what to do next. As it turned out, there was a whole lot of nothing, so for the moment she tried to swim semi-adjacent to the dragon, not wanting to leave the werebear to their fate.

OOC: Farwalker is Afeared.

Movement: Gunna not get closer to the dragon, but at least stay sort of near them. As best she can.
Action: Dashe
Bonus Action: N/A
Reaction: N/A for the moment

Free Action: Become not Afraid due to Twilight Sanctuary.

"Ah, The Dragon and the mage. Yes, I do think I've heard it sung in some tavern or another before, but the details escape me. And you're not sure if it's bad news? Friendly to weary travelers by any chance? Torgrim responded with strained optimism.


"As for Farwalker, should we call out to her? Will she be able to join us in here before the dragon's done with the bear?"

"Tales and hearsay are really about all anyone has to go on.  Their history is... colored, to say the least.  Primarily by the Dragon herself." Mallory muttered with a helpless glance Torgrim's way.  "Based on what is confirmed of her behavior by witnesses and survivors?  It's basically a fifty-fifty split on whether Farwalker will be devoured immediately or kidnapped, held captive as a plaything in Arveiaturace's lair through starvation for about a month, and then maybe let go when the Dragon grows bored."

No greater hope than they started with, really.  Accounts of Arveiaturace spiriting away individuals to her lair for interrogation and befuddling circular conversations were rare to begin with, but far more common was the Dragon's history of treating trade ships like floating dinner trays.  Far more sailors and dock workers had fallen to her appetite than to her curiosity over the centuries.  The whole situation just reinforced how helpless a position they were all in and left Mallory to groan into her palms.

"As for Farwalker, should we call out to her? Will she be able to join us in here before the dragon's done with the bear?"

The young noble's one good eye peeked up from the cover of her hands, bloodshot about the edges from stress.  "Well, she could... if she could get here.  Last Astre reported to me, she hadn't yet surfaced.  Let me check again and-- eh?" she'd just begun to kneel over the hatch once more only to stop short with an abrupt cut-off when she found a curious figure stood directly below in the snow.  For a moment or two she could only blink in abject surprise, lost for words before the painfully obvious rose to her lips.  "That's... a Chwinga."

Why there, then, of all places?!  Why was it wearing clothing?  Could it see them?  Did its presence mean the situation was less dangerous than she feared, or was it just not scared by the same things?  Mallory's thoughts were set for another whirl at yet another bizarre turn in an already far-too-eventful day.  For the sake of her own blood pressure she just took a breath and decided to roll with it as she slowly eased her head down out of the portal once more.  Astre's telepathic chatter immediately flooded her brain, though she worked to multitask as she gingerly reached out an offered hand down to the little fellow below.  "Ah... hello there, little friend?  You should be careful; there's a Dragon about, so it's not safe out there.  Would you like to come in here with us?" she gently cajoled.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:09, Thu 02 Dec 2021.

"♪!" the Chwinga sounded in what was a noise similar to that of wind chimes while taking a tiny step back and guarding itself with its spoon. Though unabashed in the face of Dragon calamity, a gloved hand was apparently intensely scary. After a moment, when it realized the Human meant it no harm — or rather, no immediate harm — it reluctantly stepped forward and tapped Mallory's fingers with its weapon of choice, as if testing the material of the leather they were wrapped in. "♪♫?" it sang, with an inflection implying a question, while looking up at Mallory.

Underwater, the battle raged on. The Dragon gained on the Werebear, utterly ambivalent to Farwalker's presence. The Werebear had thought along similar lines as Farwalker — staying submerged was a bad idea, through and through. They summoned all their might to swim back to the original jumping point, and managed to pop their head up and gasp for fresh air only for the Dragon to sink its teeth into their flesh and yank them back down. Then, after being momentarily bathed in brilliant, iridescent lights, the Werebear got what they wished for as the Dragon darted upward, unfolding its wings in a flurry of icy cold water before crashing down upon the thick ice. The Dragon's sharp, black claws sank through the snow and pierced the topmost layer of the sheet, and cracks sounded in the air as fractures rippled across it. Blood trailed from its jaw as the Werebear struggled against its abductor, still alive. "Graaah!" they yelled.

The Dragon, serene in its prance, scoured the area, unperturbed by its complaining meal.

Laying eyes on the Dragon, the Chwinga hurried into Mallory's extended hand.

---

Since Farwalker has made an effort to stay close to the Dragon, and since we're still doing this theater of the mind, I'll say she's within 30' of the Werebear, making them eligible for either of the effects of Twilight Sanctuary.
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:16, Fri 03 Dec 2021.

The gentle tapping at her fingertips was largely ignored in lieu of Mallory's focus being kept on Astre's line of communication.  Though even that wasn't entirely necessary since the booming din of the Dragon breaking the surface of the water could readily be heard from their distance, along with the Werebear's agonized screams.  As soon as the Chwinga hopped aboard Mallory quickly gathered it protectively to her breast and hoisted herself back up with a soft flail and thump onto her butt against the 'wall' of the pocket space.

"The Dragon's eating the Werebear.  Farwalker still hasn't surfaced yet.  They're going to die." she squeaked, ashen-faced and trembling from more than just the cold.  Both gloved hands were curled defensively about the Chwinga to keep it close to her chest, not gripped but simply cupped about it like a shield against the world.  "We should... we should be very quiet, I think."

Meanwhile, Astre continued to circle high overhead in a slow wheel.  He was more conspicuous against a starry sky than clouds or snow, but it hardly seemed as if the Dragon was bothered...
This message was last edited by the player at 22:14, Fri 03 Dec 2021.

Rhydd knew how to play the predator and prey game, and agreed with Lady Mallory that staying quiet was very important. Most commonly he was the predator, and being quiet meant that he benefitted from a better bow-shot at his prey. This time, though, the boot was on the other foot.

He smiled at the little chwinga that the wizardess had coaxed up into their sanctuary. ~~Well, having an ill-tempered Dragon close by could have been pretty persuasive, too.~~

~~What a shame it is that Mistress Dannika is not here with us, so that she might see a Chwinga for herself. I wonder if Lady Mallory can convince it to stay with us until such time as we meet up the scholar again?~~

Normally Rhydd would have put his thoughts into words, but in this instance he felt that Lady Mallory's urgings to be "very quiet" were wise counsel, indeed.

Breaking the silence that filled the extraplanar room they were in did not seem advisable, and so Torgrim made an effort to not make any witty remarks. Instead he casually removed a notebook and ink pen from his left breast pocket and made an attempt at sketching the regarding the tiny creature cupped in the witch's hands. Busy hands were in his experience the best way to keep uncomfortable thoughts at bay, second only to wine and song.

No further tinkles or tings came from the Chwinga, who occupied itself by runnings its tiny fingers through Mallory's wavy hair, fascinated by the locks. When it realized it had garnered an observer, it turned, contemplatively clamped its finger housing for a second, then attempted to climb out. But it was neither quick, nor was it strong, so it remained entirely at the behest of its benefactor.

On the ice, the Dragon got low to the ground. Its nostrils flared as it breathed out the last drops of water amid frozen vapor. While the Dragon had the Werebear firmly in its jaws, they were quite a mouthful — even for a Dragon this size. Farwalker, climbing up on the ledge, got to see the unfortunate situation continue unfolding.

"RRRRAAAH!" the Werebear bellowed, lodging their paws against the maw by using the teeth that impaled them as handholds. In a last ditch effort to avoid their fate as a snack, they summoned all their might to pry the steel jaws open. And, to both the Werebear's and Dragon's surprise, they managed to. Inch by inch, the mouth gave way, slowly cranked by the Werebear's sheer might. Before they'd made a space large enough for them to escape through — and they had to factor in some leeway, for the moment the Werebear let go, the teeth would again come crashing down — the Dragon finished its job for it, spitting it out into the snow below before snapping its head to spot Farwalker rising from the waters.

---

Farwalker's Persuasion to barter with the Dragon [20]: Her presence alone managed to get its attention. Now whether she manages to reach a peaceful resolution remains to be seen, and is reliant on her words.

The darling antics of the Chwinga were nearly enough to distract Mallory from the overwhelming sense of dread that loomed beyond their conjured hideout.  Had it just been the Dragon herself lurking about in search of them, perhaps it would've been enough.  But every bellow of pain from the Werebear that echoed up off the not-too-distant shore made Mallory wince and tremble.  Tears not yet shed welled up in her one good eye; being unable to do anything but cower was a torment.  She couldn't bear to dip out and gather a report from Astre either... despite hating how helpless it felt to be trapped like that, she couldn't bring herself to see that horrible sight again.

As the Chwinga showed interest in Torgrim, Mallory listlessly shifted a bit closer to him and held out her tiny guest.  She didn't fully relinquish her hold, as if afraid she might drop the little sprite, but it gave both Togrim and the Chwinga each a better view of one another for their desires.

The Chwinga wanted to interfere. More specifically, it was interested in the object Torgrim currently employed to capture its likeness. Still from the safe confines of Mallory's cupped hands, it reached out with its spoon, intent to place it on Torgrim's notebook, though its success lingered on how far the red wizard wished to carry the tiny being.

The Dragon had initially appeared interested in Farwalker, but now it seemed like it cared little for pleas and petitions, evidenced by the craning of its neck toward Selûne. While the Werebear writhed in its landing spot, the Dragon deigned not even look at it.

The Werebear mustered themselves to their feet. Though blood soaked the snow, their wounds were far from fatal — superficial even. Spacing their legs for a proper stance, they tensed their massive forearms and flexed their sharp claws while growling. "Is that it?" Their voice was strained, their breathing labored. "Come on, you oversized worm!"

Puffing icy breath up into the stars above, the Dragon's chest billowed as the cracks between its scales lit up a cool, bright blue. It then, rather gracefully, leaned down and spread its wings, becoming airborne as it fell into a glide, the cold magic churning within it, teeming to escape. "ROOOOAAH!" the Werebear roared, intent to meet the Dragon head on, even as it spewed its deadly breath. The Dragon dove straight into it, and both of them became mere silhouettes, wreathed in the twinkling mist. A second later, the winged monstrosity escaped and the fog rolled beneath it as it leveraged its powerful wings to gain altitude — with the Werebear in its maw, fighting, grasping once more for relief.

And that was it. The Dragon disappeared southward, gone.

Those distant roars, the crash of so much bulk thundering across the frosted earth or booming up into flight on massive wings, the terrible shattering din of frozen dragonbreath that built and splintered in a flash.  It was all easy to hear from where the group hid and made Mallory shudder more than ever.  She'd scooted a bit closer to Torgrim in the meantime, but after everything fell silent on the fading flap of wings moving swiftly to the distance, she stilled.  A furtive look - worried and fearful, yet with a hint of hope - was given back and forth between the two men alongside her.

It took another few seconds of silence from outside before the young noble had steeled herself enough to draw a deep, steadying breath, then leaned over the hatch to once more just barely breach the realms and get a report from her feline cohort.

"They're... they're gone.  The Dragon ate the Werebear and flew off southward, but Farwalker seems to be alright.  Uninjured, at least." she announced with a heavy, suddenly exhausted sigh as she sat back up and slumped back in a slouch against the aether-stuff that made up their little nest.  "We... we're safe?  I think?  Safe-er?  Oh gods, this is the weirdest day..."  Even with her voice still shaking, she managed a weak laugh in some meager effort to cope.  Mallory didn't even seem to realize that tears had begun to roll down her cheeks or stain the bandage she had about one eye in the relief of danger having seemingly passed.

Meanwhile, outside and high in the air, Astre watched the fading sight of the White Dragon vanishing further into the night.  He gave the smallest of hisses, then tilted into a wide, descending spiral back toward where the Werebear had first emerged at the water's edge.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:00, Wed 15 Dec 2021.

Rhdd took in a deep breath as Lady Mallory gave her report. Apparently he had been holding his breath - or, at least breathing very shallowly -- during the period of their enforced hiding.

~~Well, I suppose that having a rampaging White Dragon nearby is a pretty good reason,~~ he thought to himself, by way of justifying his uncharacteristic quietness that had -- as much as he hated to admit it to himself -- bordered on outright fear.

He turned and regarded the noblewoman. "Farwalker is safe? That is good news. I'll wager that not many have come as close as she did to an ill-tempered White that is on the hunt, and lived to tell the tale."

After a short pause, Rhydd gave a nod of approval. "Although I suppose that we'll never know for sure, I think that it's rather likely that your magicks saved us."

"That was some quick thinking on your part," he added, flashing about as much of a smile as the laconic man ever did.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:39, Wed 15 Dec 2021.

"Well... I just hope we never have to put it to the test like this again.  But thank you, Rhydd.  It means more coming from you than most." Mallory was a bit heartened by Rhydd and worked to pull herself back together.  A moment's pause was taken to lift the Chwinga in her palms up a bit higher to eye level with herself to give it a soft smile.  "And thank you for trusting us, little friend.  I'm glad we could keep you safe too.  If you'd be so kind as to linger a while, I have another friend who very much wants to meet you."  She wiped the back of her glove beneath her eye - she was going to ruin her makeup at that rate and quickly sniffed to steady herself.  "Come on then; we should go make sure Farwalker is alright."

If the Chwinga wanted to bound away the moment they returned back to the snowy world below, there was little Mallory could actually do about it.  He represented a fair bounty of gold and doing something nice for Dannika, but she wasn't about to try and capture an innocent spirit for the sake of greed.  She offered the little fellow a spot to rest in the safety of her hood and scarf while she clambered herself down over the edge of the hatch.  Before there were glimpses of her head peeking out but she came down with her boots kicking this way and that as she dropped free to the frozen ground below.  The first blast of icy wind made her instantly regret leaving that little cubby hole... it wasn't all that warm, but body heat and her cantrips had made it a far cry better all the same.

---

Once everyone has vacated the pocket space, Mallory will either end the spell early (if that's an option) or simply use her knife to cut the rope loose with as little loss to its length as possible.  Either way, she wants that rope back.
This message was last edited by the player at 08:28, Thu 16 Dec 2021.

It seemed the Werebear traveled light. Among their possessions were their loincloth, fishing rod, the dead knucklehead trout they had fetched for themselves, and, of course, the pouch Astre had attempted to steal earlier.

In the interaction with Torgrim, the Chwinga had elected to keep its spoon, as the turn of events came rather quickly, with little time left to inspect the tall Half-Elf's mysterious instrument. "♫" it sang as it was carried back into the material plane, peeking up from Mallory's shoulder. It did not particularly fancy her comfortably furlined hood. In fact, it did not favor riding along at all anymore. Once given the option, it climbed down Mallory and hopped off from knee height, their straw outerwear splaying to dampen their descent. Once their tiny feet made contact with the wintry terrain, it hefted its spoon in salutatory fashion. "♪!" it chimed, the sound harmonizing with the shrill of the cold winds, before turning around and wandering off.

When it realized no-one was following it, it turned back around and voiced its frustration, pointing with its spoon over yonder. "♪!"

Rhydd felt more than a little guilty when he realized that he had allowed Lady Mallory to disembark from the safe haven before him -- before anyone else, for that matter. Thankfully, however, no trouble came from it. He followed quickly after the wizardess, and peered every which way, wondering if the big White cared enough to set some sort of a trap to ensnare them. He was pleased to find that that did not appear to be the case.

The little Chwinga's antics amused him, and he found himself wondering if too much time spent with the diminutive creature might unduly soften his reputation as hard-edged man who brooked no nonsense.

Seemingly the Chwinga wanted the threesome to follow it. "Bide a wee, Little One," he said, still smiling, in spite of the concern that the frigid winds might cause his face to freeze with that silly expression in place.

Motioning upwards towards the opening into their magicked hidey-hole, he explained, "We don't want to leave the other big one behind."

Raising his voice a trifle, he called up "Hoi, Torgrim! Our little visitor is gettin' impatient for you to join us, so that we can see what he wants to show us."
This message was last edited by the player at 03:40, Fri 17 Dec 2021.

Indeed, just as she'd helped to haul the men up into the pocket space when they first ascended the short rope climb, so too did Mallory stand down at the side of the hatch to help them brace their drop if they'd like the hand.  Once Torgrim had left she withdrew a stout dagger from her belt; a good, sturdy tool that lacked any decoration and clearly wasn't just some prop blade like so many other wealthy folk accessorized with.  With the rope drawn taut in one hand she sawed the edge of the blade flush with the threshold of that interdimensional gap and shaved loose the very finest of frayed ends.  There was only a little fluttering of stray rope fibers left hung in the air which she quickly tucked up into the space out of sight.

Meanwhile, the Chwinga's insistence at going off one way while Farwalker was in another left Mallory conflicted.  She hesitated in the midst of winding her rope back up under her cloak with a furtive glance back and forth.  "Ah... goodness.  Torgrim, could you please go get Farwalker?  Rhydd and I will follow the Chwinga.  If you lose sight of us, Astre will lead you to me."  Farwalker was presumably safe and fully within view from their position, so splitting up didn't seem too treacherous at the moment so long as they could regroup quickly.  Her volunteering Rhydd to come along was less a matter of giving instruction and more a plea for company, however; it was clear from her pleading expression cast his way that she was still shaken from the whole experience.

Astre, meanwhile, had returned to his original M.O. at the site where the Werebear had first emerged.  He was often scolded on the notion of cats being foolishly stubborn and he wouldn't argue it at face value.  He'd gone after that satchel before and being thwarted once wasn't going to stop him.  The Tressym sniffed about momentarily to consider the trout and fishing rod, but instead simply grasped the cinched-up satchel in his jaws once more and took flight back into the skies overhead.

---

I figure sending Torgrim to recover Farwalker means that our two AWOL-Because-of-Life players can be managed by the DM in the meantime, and whomever returns first can take over narrating their actions.  That way Mallory and Rhydd don't end up in a situation where they're waiting for a response from a player who doesn't have the availability to reply.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:18, Fri 17 Dec 2021.

Dropping down out of the toasty warmth of the magicked space that Lady Mallory had created into the biting cold and flesh-numbing winds of the Northlands was like a sudden -- and none too gentle -- slap to the face. Rhydd had been expecting it, but nonetheless it had nearly taken his breath away, and he was quick to pull the hood of his heavy winter coat up over his head.

He found himself wondering how the wizardess knew that Farwalker was safe . . . well, had not been eaten by the big White might be a better way to put it. He put it down to some excellent scouting on Astre's part, and idly wondered if it would be possible for Lady Mallory to fix him up with a relation of the inimitable flying Feline.

Catching the expectant expression on the wizardess's face as she looked at him made Rhydd think that her Ladyship was awaiting an answer to something that she had just said. Luckily some portion of his mind had managed to keep hold of what had been spoken, and he nodded as if he had been hanging onto the noble's every word.

"Aye, let's thee and me be off, then," he replied.

"No need to test our little friend's patience any further than we already have."

No doubt there was a possibility of danger due to the fact that foursome -- well, fivesome, if you counted Astre -- would be split up . . . at least for a while. But with Astre flying over-watch, he doubted that anything -- or any one -- would be able to sneak up on Torgrim unawares.

And with the evidence of the floating room fresh in his mind, Rhydd felt comfortable that between Lady Mallory's obvious talents with magicks and his own skill with a bow, they would be a formidable twosome if push happened to come to shove.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:44, Sun 19 Dec 2021.

It took Farwalker a bit longer to make it back to shore than it did for her to swim out a ways. For one, she didn’t have the wake of dragon helping to pull her along, and it was mush easier to swim down and away than it was to occasionally fight her way to the surface then let herself sink to the bottom and walk her eat to shore. Mostly, she was annoyed that she wasn’t able to keep her head above the water long enough to tell the dragon off.

Once she was out of the water, it was off towards where she left her pack, then over to what little remained of the werebear’s gear. On the downside, she now had an additional task to complete before she could get back to travelling. From there, it was a slow tromp to town, ice occasionally flaking from her body and fluttering away in the wind.

Tiny Chwinga legs were not built for speed. So unless it was picked back up, Torgrim would be able to run down to fetch Farwalker, trek down and through the mountain pass, visit the markets in Baldur's Gate, and make it back with time to spare before the Chwinga had scaled the nearest hillside. And while it had at first consideration seemingly manifested out of thin air, such was not the case – the astute observer could spot the small, triangular footprints it had left behind in the hard and glittering snow.

Farwalker was joined by Astre in reclaiming the Werebear's belongings. The smooth stone the winged feline had spied earlier, was, true to his suspicions, a rune. The carved symbol was intricate, and not contained within any lexicon Astre subscribed to.* Further inside, near the bottom of the pouch, was a stash of cloudberries wrapped in cloth.

The Chwinga wished to crest the hill, for reasons not readily apparent. There wasn't anything of interest beyond the occasional tree that hinted at Lonelywood Forest. The Chwinga, whether carried or by foot, nevertheless insisted on pressing onward until it reached an outcropping a ways away from the shore. The snow was disturbed – some had been rolled into miniature snowmen, complete with branches made up to resemble hair – and a cracked dinner plate bearing a single silver coin was nestled amid it all. "♪!" The Chwinga raised its spoon. And then, out from the tiniest clumps of snow, two additional Chwingas eased out from their hiding place. While they wore the same straw apparel, their white masks all had differing patterns of angled, red stripes.

They sang softly in symphony, observing the larger bipeds with just as much fascination as the first Chwinga had.

---

Link to an image of the rune: https://i.imgur.com/xjIgThe.jpg

Though Astre had taken to the sky after gathering the Werebear's satchel, he simply circled about in a holding pattern overhead.  From on high he could see all parts of the group, scattered as they'd made themselves, and soon swooped back down when Farwalker reached what was left of the Werebear's belongings.  The fluffy-furred troublemaker alighted himself onto her shoulder with a flutter and mewled imploringly around the small bag in his jaws.

"Mrrrp..." while a cat's vocalizations could often be hard to interpret, there was no mistaking an air of concern over Farwalker as Astre brushed his forehead into her temple.

---

When it came to pursuing the Chwinga, Mallory was momentarily worried it would simply dart away quick as a flash and be a true challenge to follow.  Spirits were often slippery sorts, after all, and stories told of Chwinga being able to just vanish into their surrounding nature with ease.  She was quite surprised - and shared a hapless shrug of realization with Rhydd - when it turned out one of their strides was a dozen of the little Chwinga's.

"My goodness, Dannika would simply fall over herself if she saw this." the noble observed softly, as if worried raising her voice might frighten off the sprites or, worse still, draw something terrible upon them all again.  The whimsical sight of itty-bitty snowmen and a trio of chiming Chwinga was a delight, though the dissonance of seeing such innocence after having just watched the Werebear be devoured alive muddied the moment for her.  The plate and coin on display was a ponderously confusing sight and she leaned nearer to Rhydd, shoulder pressed to his to keep her voice down.  "What do you think the dish is about?  Normally I'd think offerings, but surely forest spirits don't use money?  Where did they even get flatware from?"

When it became clear the two of them were the center of attention, Mallory offered a thin smile and shifted to kneel down in the snow so that the Chwinga could get a better look at her up close.  The opposite was true as well; she wanted to put every detail to memory as best she could to be able to aptly convey it to Dannika later.  "Hello there, little friends.  I'm Mallory and this is Rhydd, pleased to meet you.  Your companion here has just been on quite an adventure." she hummed with a soft, sing-song tone to her voice in hopes of emulating the Chwinga's own intonations.  Well-meaning, of course, though part of her worried of a misinterpretation...
This message was last edited by the player at 21:42, Mon 20 Dec 2021.

"Hey, glad you're not dead. Congratulations."

Torgrim came upon Farwalker and Astre as they were rifling through what earthly possessions the werebear had been forced to leave behind.

"So, long story short: Mallory magicked, so we're fine. Chwingas are real, and not just the delusions of an obsessed bookworm high on candle fumes and loneliness, as one might believe at first. Not only are they real, but Mallory and Rhydd are following one right now. We'll probably catch up in no time."

Torgrim looked at Farwalker with increasing worry. He'd figured her and others of her kind were more resistant to the cold than others, but she was covered in a leaf thin layer of frozen lake water. He couldn't imagine that being comfortable, Goliath or no.

"But you know, whenever you're ready. Couldn't blame you if you needed some time to process the shock of what just happened."

"♪ ♫ ♪ ♪ ♫". The Chwinga, while communicating, completely unintentionally composed a little song for their visitors. Once they got chatting, there was no stopping them. At first they appeared timid, but once their friend convinced them the beings many times their size bore no ill intent, they gradually became more comfortable – and daring. One Chwinga tugged at the straps on Rhydd's boot, completely enraptured by the clasps. That it could very easily be accidentally stepped on did not seem to faze it. The other two Chwinga busied themselves with their utensils and dinner plate, scooping some snow up on the coin they had prepared. In addition to the spoon, they were also in possession of a table knife, which they used to mime the motion of cutting the coin. Of course, no actual cutting was taking place, but the Chwinga happily kept it up regardless as they pretended to eat off the plate, and chimed for their guests to partake in the meal.
This message was last edited by the GM at 05:15, Wed 22 Dec 2021.

Rhydd stood stock-still after the additional Chwingas appeared. He wasn't sure how skittish they might be, and he didn't want to scare them away.

"I've got no idea," he replied in a whisper when Lady Mallory asked him about the plate and silver coin.

The noblewoman soon knelt down in the snow and introduced herself and Rhydd. He remained standing, still unsure how to best seem friendly with the little creatures.

After a moment he knelt down himself, being mindful of the Chwinga that was fidgeting with his boot-lace. The archer pushed his hood back from his face, so that the little ones could see his expression.

Smiling what he hoped was a friendly smile, he reached into his belt-pouch and drew forth a silver piece, which he slowly -- and with what he hoped was an appropriate amount of solemnity -- placed on the plate beside the coin that was already there.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:31, Tue 21 Dec 2021.

Though she had written off Dannika's preoccupation with Chwinga as an eccentricity at first, the antics of the little creatures quickly made Mallory begin to see the charm her friend had become so taken by.  She had to hide a grin and giggle behind the curl of her knuckles when they began to pantomime having a meal.

"Oh, they're just darling.  This reminds me of my little nieces and nephews playing at hosting tea parties." she offered in a delighted hush as Rhydd joined her side.  Why the Chwinga seemed so caught on imaginative play was beyond her, but it was too adorable for her to really care.  It was a shame Dannika wasn't present to see it, but she'd surely be going berserk and spoil the soirée.

With Rhydd's addition to the "meal", Mallory reached out and pantomimed delicately picking up a saucer and tea cup, pinky lifted in playful exaggeration.  That same finger also wiggled a little as, with a shimmer of sparkling arcane energy, a phantom tea cup appeared within her grasp.  Devoid of any actual tea but all the more convincing a prop to play a dainty drink from.  It vanished away a moment later to be replaced by a similarly illusory tea pot of fine, well-gilded porcelain, which she offered to mime "filling cups" for Rhydd and their Chwinga hosts in turn alike.  While she was perhaps letting her guard down a bit much in the moment, Mallory couldn't resist as she hummed a few bars of a common melody; within a beat or two the illusory trill of unseen piano keys began to plink out, giving their gathering the sort of gentle ambient background music any tea party back in Neverwinter would enjoy.

---

"Minor Illusion" for the piano music and "Prestidigitation" allows for the brief creation of hand-held illusions and non-magical trinkets, so that seems fitting here.  ^^
This message was last edited by the player at 00:04, Wed 22 Dec 2021.

Rhydd's offering was met with careful consideration and weighty wonder, and the Chwinga watched the coin closely, clearly moved by the profound gesture. Now they had not one coin, but two! Even the Chwinga occupied with Rhydd's boots waddled on over to join its kin. A wad of snow was soon scooped by the spoon-wielding Chwinga to garnish it, which only caused the other two to increase in their revel.

It was when Mallory sipped her illusory tea that they erupted in cheer – well, song, rather – and dance. They adjusted the pitch of their jingle to agree with Mallory's plinking piano, taking turns to accept the pretend beverage she poured from her conjured tea pot.

~~Oh, by all the good gods,~~ Rhydd thought as he gazed, wide-eyed, at the scene developing before him as both Lady Mallory and the Chwingas all made their contributions to the revelry, ~~if word of what I'm doing here ever gets out, I'll be the laughing-stock of . . . well, everyone, everywhere. No one will ever take me seriously again.~~

All the same, the good-hearted gaieity was so inspiring that it was impossible to resist, and soon enough Rhydd held out his imaginary cup -- pinky-finger raised up in imitation of Lady-Mallory's grip (because she would understand all there was to know about such things, don't you know) -- for the wizardess to pour tea into.

Insofar as he could remember, Rhydd had never drunk any tea, ever -- well, with the possible exception of some that was made for him as a medicine when he had some sort of stomach ailment one time. So he kept a close eye on Lady Mallory, and tried to do as she did.

Well, except for the music that she was able to conjure up out of thin air. With everyone else jingling and chirping in some musical fashion, Rhydd soon began tapping his foot in time with the tune.

Unfortunately, it had been said of him that he could not carry a tune in a bucket. Another wag had pronounced that his singing voice sounded like a frog farting in a bucket.

However, thinking of frogs soon had Rhydd erupting in a deep-voiced "Knee-Deep . . . Knee-Deep . . . Knee-Deep . . ." as he attempted to contribute to the musical gaiety.

He blushed furiously and was unable to look Lady Mallory in the eye . . .

Though it came as a bit of a surprise, Rhydd's earnest efforts - clumsy and self-conscious as they were - struck Mallory as entirely endearing.  She knew better than to laugh but couldn't hold back her smile at how he flustered.  The hard-edged brute who threatened to feed annoyances to the literal wolves or waded square into battle with Trolls seemed quite far away in that moment.

A gentle, gloved hand rested to his shoulder so Mallory could lean in near and whisper low for his sake.  "This really is just the strangest day, isn't it?  I doubt even Dannika would ever believe the whole recollection." she knew a man's scuffed ego when she saw it, but the fact that the huntsman even allowed himself to such a moment spoke far better of his good nature than if he'd just stiffly turned his nose up at the frivolity.  The noble offered his shoulder a squeeze, then eased back to return her attention once more to the gathered sprites before them.

"This is all quite wonderful, truly, but I'm afraid we should be going sooner than later.  We must collect our friends; we won't be able to endure the cold of the night." she explained gently, still uncertain just how much the Chwinga actually understood of their language.

The phantom teapot vanished away in a swirl as Mallory curled her fingers about, quick to stir up the motes of illusory light that circled her palm before the image sorted itself into a new form.  A simple rendering, much like a watercolor painting made in broad strokes, of herself and her companions making their way toward the gates of a vague town.  "But you know... if you'd like, you could come with us.  I have a friend in town who would love to meet you.  She's very curious about your kind."  The image shifted to show the trio of Chwinga alongside the party.  A passing shimmer and swirl like ink in water changed the illusion once more; in that same color rendering was the three Chwinga being presented by Mallory herself to a frizzy-haired Dannika laden with all her scrolls and books.  The latter of whom was aglow with joy and excitement at their surrounding presence.  "What do you say?  Would you like to come and pay a visit?"

It had begun to snow. Where exactly it came from was a mystery, as the sky remained perfectly clear, but for the little impromptu get-together it was unmistakably snowing softly.

Once the merry died down, the Chwinga observed Mallory's visuals attentively. Their expression or behavior betrayed no understanding as the images cycled, and once they had, they chimed softly without looking at each other, having made up their mind in an instant. The Chwinga with the spoon – it was clear it was the original Chwinga who had visited the party from the downward-facing arrow shape of the red stripe on its mask and not just the spoon passing around – stepped forward and held out its arms as if to say 'pick me up', while the two other Chwinga remained.
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:04, Sun 26 Dec 2021.

Mallory watched the Chwinga's deliberation with lip-biting anxiousness while her gaze darted about between the trio and over to Rhydd.  She would never try to force such darlings into cooperation, of course, but ached at the potential for being refused their cooperation.  Being able to do something nice for Dannika was a key in the whole matter... but there was also a considerable amount of money on the line too!  Reputation as well; being able to come back with such an elusive quarry within a day's time of the commission was precisely the sort of quality that held true value, if she hoped to try and foster any kind of relationship with Candlekeep in the future.

She gave a heavy sigh of relief when at least one of the Chwinga seemed on board with the idea.  All three would've been ideal, but she wasn't going to complain!  Gloved hands reached out - one open palmed to act as a stepping platform and the other gently curled for support about its tiny body - to gingerly hoist the little fellow up once more.  "Wonderful!  It'll be a grand time.  Of course, you may leave whenever you wish as well; if you let me know, I may even be able to have you escorted right back here." the young noble assured their newest, littlest companion as she lifted the Chwinga to once more have a spot to settle into her hood if it pleased.  "After all, I'd love to come back later for another spot of tea with you all."

Rhydd really didn't know what to expect by way of an answer when Lady Mallory made her proposal for the Chwingas to come along with them, into a town. He knew next to nothing about the little creatures -- other than what he had just observed for himself, of course -- so he had no idea whether some, most, or none of them would agree to the noblewoman's invitation.

Surprising himself a little, he felt actually pleased when the first of the Chwingas to contact them made it plain that he -- or she -- wished to come along with the Big Folk. He hadn't expected to care which way the Little Ones had decided.

With a chuckle, he turned to Lady Mallory and said "When Dannika sees who you have brought along with you, she is goin' to pis . . . errrr, she'll be *very* pleased."

"Yes, and I'd like very much to see that before we get accosted by another Dragon or freeze to death by moonlight."  Though the Chwinga were a delightful distraction from the traumatic moment they'd all just endured, they weren't out of the woods yet.  Literally.  "Let's regroup with the others so we can get a move on back to town.  Poor Farwalker must be shattered from that experience..."

Of course, even in her haste to get to warmer and safer places, Mallory couldn't overlook manners.  She rose and dusted her skirts free of clinging snow, then offered a prim curtsy to the remaining Chwinga.  "Don't you worry; your friend will be in the best of care with us and they'll be back with stories to tell, I'm certain."
This message was last edited by the player at 22:19, Tue 28 Dec 2021.

"You make a good point," Rhydd said when Lady Mallory spoke of rejoining Farwalker. He knew that Goliaths were tough, but this ordeal had really proven the point to him. He still wasn't sure how Farwalker had managed to survive so long in the freezing-cold waters of the lake.

He waited while the noblewoman said their good-byes to the Chwingas who were not going with them, figuring that she would be much better with her words than he would be with his. Plus, truth be told, women . . . well, some of them, any way -- Rhydd had known a few who could've blistered the paint off of a wall just by cursing at it -- the better class of women had a more gentle way of expressing things that he ever would.

When Lady Mallory had finished speaking with the Chwingas, he asked her "Can you communicate with Astre from this far away?"

Mallory took a moment to cast her one-eyed gaze skyward in consideration, then shook her head to the negative.  "Not yet, no.  We're a bit too far."  She'd surrendered much of her mystique around Rhydd, all things considered.  It was no doubt telling to look back on some of her claims of seeming arcane omniscience with the additional context that she could remotely communicate with an extra set of eyes-in-the-sky.

Still, she gave the surly gentleman a lot of her trust in the short time since she'd stopped fearing him, she realized.  "Honestly, I think the world would be a better place if everyone had a fluffy or feathered companion of their own.  You can tell a lot about someone by how they treat a pet."  An idle observation on their walk back toward the shore, and one paired with a bit of an impish grin cast Rhydd's way.  "Or how they sing.  What was that tune before?  Knee-deep?"

Rhydd gave Lady Mallory a side-eyed glance upon hearing the "Knee-Deep" reference.

"That . . . ummmm, that should just be our little secret," he suggested after a moment, his gaze now directed towards the far-away speck in the sky that he thought was probably Astre.

After a short pause he cleared his throat. "It's not like anybody would believe you, any way. Rhydd Maldhon, sing? Pffffttt! Riiight!!!" he added with a chuckle.

"Of course, of course." Mallory could only laugh it off with a roll of her eyes.  Egos were such fragile things, though she was no better herself on that front.  "I'll come up with something to tell Dannika... but, for what it's worth, I thought it was rather charming."

The Chwinga assumed a comfortable position between the noblewoman's soft, furlined hood and smooth, black locks, though not before it had insisted on being lowered to the snow one last time to hand over the spoon to the Chwinga without a utensil. Once that business was taken care of, it waved its wayside companions goodbye.

Reduced to a mask that could have be mistaken for a peculiar hairpin, the Chwinga remained content watching the return trip while absently caressed Mallory's scalp. "♪~!" it mused vaguely to the tune of Rhydd's Knee-Deep.