The Dragon, along with the Werebear, were not to be seen again. At least not this evening.

A narrow, beaten path was found sometime after Farwalker, Mallory, Rhydd, and Torgrim had trekked through the frozen barrens, Chwinga in stow. The welcome road likely lead from Termalaine to Bryn Shander — a path far less tread than its eastern and western brethren. In the clear of night, with vision unhindered by blustering blizzards, Bryn Shander could be gleaned, perched majestically atop its cold, lonely, and wind-lashed hill. There were no other towns in Icewind Dale as brash in its position. Or disposition, as its returning visitors would know. While nowhere near as large, Bryn Shander bore the markings of a metropolis akin to the larger settlements along The Sword Coast, and carried itself as such. Much thanks to the firm rule of its Speaker — and head of the Council of Speakers — Duvessa Shane.

While Dannika and Moyrah would have entered through the south-western gate, it was now most sensible to enter Bryn Shander through the North Gate. The town's walls comprised two concentric rings of upright wooden poles, the gap between them filled with dirt and rubble, and, on the planks layered atop, armed guards patrolled the perimeter. And unlike the gates of Targos had been the days prior, these hinged, heavy doors remained closed and shut.

As Farwalker, Mallory, Rhydd, and Torgrim approached the gate, a blinding light from a bullseye lantern shone upon them. The features of the person, stationed up high by the rampart provided by the poles rising above the wall, was impossible to discern. As were their numbers. "Humans! And a . . . Goliath?" a woman — the person behind the lantern — called out.
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:35, Mon 10 Jan 2022.

The long trudge back to civilization - or what meager efforts passed for it so far north - was both a delight and a struggle.  Mallory didn't dare place her lantern back up for fear of drawing attention to them as they went, but it was thankfully bright enough by moonlight alone to travel without too much worry.  A slow, plodding, weary pace.  After what they'd just been through there was no joy to help lift one's heels higher than necessary on that long march, even with a tiny new companion in tow.  Astre spent his time either in the air to scout for the party as they went or, whenever he did swoop back down to rest a bit, atop Farwalker's shoulder rather than Mallory's so long as he wasn't batted away.  He may have been a troublemaker but it seemed the Tressym had genuine concern for the towering woman's ordeal, for what good worried chirps and paw-kneading reassurances could offer her.

When Bryn Shander finally came into view Mallory heaved a relieved sigh as a cloud of vapor.  She'd kept her own and the men's boots toasty the whole trek but her minor magics couldn't compete with the rapidly plummeting evening temperatures or the biting wind.  Bryn Shander's sloped roofs of thatch and tar, the scrimshaw accents, the roads packed by bootfall rather than laid stone... honestly, it was a glorified junk heap that had a lot of nerve daring to call itself a 'city' by her experiences.  Which said a lot about how it still stood high above places like Targos in terms of its quality of living.  But it was vastly superior to the frozen wilderness and left Mallory mildly annoyed with her own diminished standards at just how much her spirits rose as they approached the gates.

"Travelers from Targos!  Two of our company arrived earlier today, but we were separated from them on the road here!" the young noble called out in return to what she could only expect was a guard.  She couldn't see past the glare of a directed lantern's spotlight and raised a hand to shield her eyes a bit to try and squint beyond it.  "Let us in, please!"
This message was last edited by the player at 22:57, Mon 10 Jan 2022.

Rhydd was usually hunkered down when out in the Wilds at this time of night -- at least when winter conditions prevailed -- but he told himself to just keep quiet  . . . and to keep putting one boot in front of the other.

He was glad to have Astre flying high overwatch -- he knew that the feline's eyes were much sharper than his, and he wanted plenty of warning if that big White Dragon decided to come looking for another snack.

It was a bedraggled little group that reached their destination, and Rhydd stood quiet whilest Lady Mallory spoke to the town guards on duty up on the walls of Bryn Shander. He reckoned that the noblewoman had a way with words that he could never hope to rival, so his first inclination was to leave the talking to her.

After a moment, however, a thought occurred to the outdoorsman. Rhydd supposed that standing watch exposed to the winds high on the walls on such a cold night must be a miserable assignment. So he cupped his hands around his mouth and called up to the sentries "This one right here is a wizardess."

"Let us in, and she'll warm up your toes for you."

Out of the side of his mouth, he whispered to Mallory "You *can* do that, right? I mean, I know that you *can*, but you still have some magicks left, right?"
This message was last edited by the player at 00:16, Tue 11 Jan 2022.

Being volunteered for a service when the gate guards were, presumably, already duty-bound to let them in to begin with had Mallory give Rhydd a look of consternation.  "I mean, yes, but only if there's just a few of them... I can only manage two or three at a time."  It was only natural that one unfamiliar with spellcasting wouldn't know its limitations, but the dawning realization that Rhydd had just offered to lose his own warmed-up boots was bound to be a heavy one.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:18, Tue 11 Jan 2022.

"Humans! And a . . . Goliath?"

Torgrim raised a finger in objection, but quickly put it back into the comfort of his coat. No reason to offer up too many identifiers this soon, especially before giving the wanted posters in the square a once-over. Not every syndicate apostate would end up with a prize on their head, but experience had taught him that they did make opportune scapegoats.

"Loosing the heated boots would be inconvenient, but I'll trade it for a drink at Kelvin's any day. That said, I'd rather have both."

The light swung out of sight. A moment later, the gates creaked open, and the lantern once more greeted the new arrivals. "Welcome," its wielder said, breath puffing through her scarf. Like the guards still stationed up on the wall, she carried a shortsword at her hip, and wore packed leather armor with an insulating layer of fur on top. Her sharp, blue eyes and cheeks, flush from being exposed to the cold, peeked out from behind her hood. "It gets awfully cold out here. Never mind us – find yourself warmth. If you're looking for a place to stay, The Northlook lies just beyond the gates." She gestured inward to a nearby building. A sign depicting a lone mountain hung above its entrance. "But if you want easier company, I suggest heading to The Hooked Knucklehead near the town square or Geldenstag's Rest by the East Gate . . .  though I would suggest The Northlook," she continued after another look at Farwalker. "As for the rest of your company, I'm afraid no one else has left or entered through here today."

---

Rhydd would likely be very familiar with the layout of Bryn Shander and where to find its establishments. Mallory and Torgrim would have some recollection, as I believe they've both visited in the past. Farwalker would be the only one new here. As such, I'll whip up some information detailing important locations so that you have an easier time deciding where to head. I'll probably post that in the "Setting Information" thread later tonight.

"As for the rest of your company, I'm afraid no one else has left or entered through here today."

Torgrim was taken aback. As trying as it had been to reach Bryn Shander, missing it entirely seemed nigh-on-impossible.

"Are you certain? No mean looking half-orcs or bookish elves? The latter may have been prone to chatter your ears of about "Chwingas?"" Torgrim made sure to keep his own hood up to keep up the appearance of a wanderer every bit as human as the ranger alongside him.

"Not through these gates, no," the guard shook her head. "I've been on patrol since morning. No one's come through. Though I could check with the other guards if you wish?"

In reply to DM Bears (msg # 8):

"Aye, that would be very helpful -- thank you," Rhydd replied to the sentry's offer.

"There were some others in our group who should have reached town before us. If they have not, well . . ." he let that hang in the air for a moment without finishing his sentence.

"But if you are supposed to stay here at your post, I could walk around and make the inquiries."

Mallory heaved a deep, grateful sigh as the gates lurched open for them and was all too quick to hurry inside.  True, stepping beyond the barrier was no warmer than being outside it, but it certainly made her feel better all the same!  She danced a bit in place and rubbed her arms beneath her cloak to try and keep her warmth while the others prodded on the whereabouts of their companions.

"Given the route we were originally on, they would have come in from the southwestern gate, most likely." the young noble supplied as she raised a palm.  Though she had to fight to keep her hands from shaking due to the shivers, she still managed a familiar flourish that conjured up small illusions into the air above her fingertips.  Somewhat shimmery portraits of Dannika and Moyrah, for the sake of the guard's knowledge.  "We can search ourselves as well, but I imagine they would've headed for the most immediate or affordable Inn nearest their entry.  Which would that be?"

"Hmm. If they came from Targos, they should have arrived here." The guard leaned closer and pondered the faintly fluttering visuals, holding her lantern up to illuminate the already luminous figures. It didn't help. "Can't say I know them."

"Magicks, eh? No one's been through, no," another guard stationed just beside the flanking watchtower, having overheard the conversation, said as he approached, observing Mallory's illusion with interest. He was a scruffy man, and spoke with a raspy voice. "Ain't too busy these days. If they arrived with a caravan, it's a good idea to check the Southwest Gate."

"I agree," the female guard concurred. "The nearest inn would be The Knucklehead, though Kelvin's Comfort – a tavern – is nearer."
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:41, Tue 11 Jan 2022.

"Kelvin's Comfort would be our best bet then..." Mallory pondered aloud with a look to her companions for their consent.  She was only passingly familiar with Bryn Shander's finer details but knew well enough of the central tavern.  If nothing else, it would certainly be the easiest place to gather information since folk from all ends of the city would congregate there.  If it really came down to it, there was always the city stable house; their companions would have needed to put her Axe Beak up for the night, so it was possible someone there could yield more information as well.

"Oh, this may be a long shot, but have either of you seen this gentleman in recent weeks?  He's a merchant named Andaj Hukkush, who was supposed to be doing business among the Ten Towns recently.  I was told he planned to establish an office here, but he may have moved on since then."  With another swirl of her fingers the illusions shifted to display a middle-aged looking Tabaxi; rather placid and sleepy in expression, with such fluff about his face that it gave him the look of a mustache.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:46, Tue 11 Jan 2022.

For his part, Rhydd had spent some nights -- both long and short, depending upon the season -- in Bryn Shander, and knew a bit about most of the town's taverns and tap-rooms.

Kelvin's Comfort was certainly a good choice, but The Northlook's tap-room was much closer to their present location, if mayhap a bit dicier in terms of its patrons. Then again, Kelvin's Comfort was better known to people who had only a superficial knowledge of the town and was closer to the Southwest Gate, which had just been mentioned by the sentries as a likely entry-point for a caravan.

There was also Goldenstag's Rest, run by the gray-haired busybody named Myrtle Something -Or-The-Other. It was a little out of the way, off the direct route from the Southwest Gate, but Myrtle was the sort who was sure to have her finger in lots of pies here in Bryn Shander.

The archer kept his own counsel for the moment, waiting to hear how the sentries would respond to Lady Mallory's inquiry about one Andaj Hukkush, merchant by trade.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:17, Wed 12 Jan 2022.

"Him I know," the male guard answered. "Hard to miss a Tabaxi in these parts. Funny though . . . he's the second I've seen since Highharvestide. Aye, he left through here. A Tenday ago? Maybe more. Friendly fellow. Said he was headed for Targos."

"I know him too," the female guard added. "He did business with the Dwarves, and some of the caravan masters, but when I think on it, I'm not sure what he trades in. He did tend to dine in Kelvin's Comfort, I recall."

Another long sigh heaved out.  "We just came from Targos and he hasn't been there lately, it seems.  I swear, I'm going to trail him all throughout the Ten-Towns only to find him right back where we started by the end of it all." Mallory had a knack for telling the future but desperately hoped she'd be wrong in that particular case.  Hopefully her business-minded uncle would just be in the next town over, or might even return to Bryn Shander while they were still in town themselves.

Mallory was about to just pack it all away and say her goodbyes to the guards, but a thought crossed her mind first.  For a moment she mulled it over in her head but then decided there was no harm in merely asking.  "One more thing, if you please?"  Another illusion was conjured up as she presented the image of two men stood in her palm; that of Sephek Kaltro in his two known appearances.  "Have you seen either of these men around?  They've been about the Ten-Towns of late and were last seen in Targos just yesterday.  Town Speaker Naerth is looking for information on their whereabouts."

The man stepped closer for a more thorough look. "Nay, can't say I-"

"Sephek Kaltro," the woman interrupted, pointing to Kaltro as he appeared after he had left Three Flags Sailing. "From Easthaven. Bodyguard of Torrga. If he's been in town, your best bet would be to talk to Scramsax at The Northlook." For a brief moment, and while it could have been happenchance, it appeared her eyes traveled to meet Torgrim's before returning back to Mallory's. "Why does Town Speaker Naerth inquire about this man? Does he suspect any illegal activities?"

---

17:20, Today: DM Bears rolled 28 using 2d20 with rolls of 17,11.  Do the guards know of Sephek Kaltro? Success on 15 or higher. Woman first.
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:39, Thu 13 Jan 2022.

In the moment the guard looked to Torgrim, so too did Mallory's gaze follow her line of sight and then bounce to Astre with a more focused, unspoken intent.  The Tressym fixed the guard under scrutiny, as cats were so often wont to do.  From atop his perch on Farlwaker's shoulder he kept wary of subtle tells that only a beast's senses were keen and varied enough to catch.  Mallory herself, on the other hand, considered the guard's tone and bearing as she drew a breath to reply...

---

Insight Check w/Advantage via Help Action before Mallory answers the question.  She wants to get a read on the guard's mood; does she seem defensive, or angry, or such?

Mallory Bonheur rolled 17 using 1d20+1

---

Mallory's Insight Check (w/ Advantage from Astre) [17]: The guard's tone was neither aggressive nor defensive. Rather, it was merely confident. Vigilant. A band of strangers — of strange composition, no less — inquiring about a shady individual on behalf of a Town Speaker was unusual, and she was intending to do her job and pry.
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:02, Thu 13 Jan 2022.

"I couldn't say for certain.  The Speaker is a rather guarded fellow when it comes to his intentions, but he does seem to want to improve Targos' standing at the very least." Mallory certainly had no doubt of that, though she knew full well Naerth had his own ends in mind when it came to uplifting Targos.  Still, if he could improve the lives of the citizenry in the process...

She wasn't about to leave the guard hanging, however, especially since that might spark suspicion on them in the process.  Rather she stepped a bit closer to lower her voice in a conspiratorial hush, though it wasn't as if the others couldn't readily hear her all the same.  "Though, if one is to believe the gossip-- " she glanced about, as if there were somehow eavesdroppers to be wary of "-- there were whispers of murder in Targos the other day, with these two gentlemen leaving town rather precisely before the victims were discovered.  Seems only natural the Town Speaker might find that suspect and wish to hear if these two had an alibi."

The guard remained stoic, nodding along attentively as Mallory laid out her explanation. "Linked to the murders in Easthaven?"

---

Torgrim Insight into the guard's glance [14]: Mallory was in the process of making sure this guard would report Torgrim's arrival to her superiors, along with everyone else's currently present. Likely, the guard was taking in everyone's visual, not just Torgrim's, so that she could deliver descriptions. The extra look at him in particular could be chalked up to the fact that he was making sure his hood was properly obscuring some of his more noteworthy features.

But it wasn't possible to entirely rule out that the guard had recognized him. She had, after all, recognized Sephek Kaltro, who had also spent a considerable amount of time in Easthaven. Though Kaltro was always much less subtle in his movements, especially considering he had no reason to be, since, to Torgrim's knowledge, he was not a murderer in the times before The Frostmaiden.
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:05, Fri 14 Jan 2022.

Deception: [4] vs. Female Guard, [13] vs. Male Guard.  One failure, one success.
The more attentive of the two guards could get an immediate read on Mallory's manner, especially since the strange woman wasn't being all that subtle to begin with.  She was playing dumb and obviously knew more about the Town Speaker's interest in the manhunt than stated so far.  Her overall presentation is not malicious though; she's simply holding back information rather than trying to outright deceive.

The other guard, meanwhile, would likely just see her as the nosy gossip she presented herself to be.  Some rich out-of-towner who was having fun slumming around with a bunch of hired local grunts as her bodyguards, sticking her nose into local affairs like it was just a game.  Tourists...

---

The mention of Easthaven got an expression of further piqued interest from Mallory.  "That does seem to be the case.  I'd heard there had been murders there recently but don't know any of the specifics myself." True enough, in that particular case; Naerth hadn't seen fit to address the grisly details.  Mallory leaned nearer still with all the bearing of a bored rich girl offered some bit of juicy gossip behind a friend's back.  "Why, what have you heard?"

It was right about then that a stiff breeze off the snow made the noble choke on her own words and reel back with a grimace, quick to gather her cloak around herself that much tighter.  She'd gotten so wrapped up in the immediate distraction of investigation that she'd momentarily forgotten she and her company were, in fact, freezing their collective ass off.  "Ech, damn this abominable cold..." she afforded a look to her companions, then back to the guards.  "On second thought, we should get to cover before it gets any later.  Though I'd like to continue this conversation if you'd come find me later at Kelvin's Comfort after your shift ends?  I'll buy you both a hot meal and drink for your time.  Miss...?" There hadn't been proper introductions and she let that blank invitation hang for the guard to fill or refuse to offer their names.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:56, Fri 14 Jan 2022.

"Signy," the woman filled in. The male guard stood with folded arms and chin buried in his neck, remaining silent.

"My apologies, we've kept you long." The now named guard stepped aside with a smile and indicated the road ahead. "Find yourselves warmth. Although, first, if you would, your names?" She looked around, making it clear she meant everyone, not just the noblewoman, as she removed her glove and produced a notebook and a stylus from a pocket.
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:21, Fri 14 Jan 2022.

"Mallory--" the noble began to introduce herself, only for Astre to give a loud meow from his spot over with Farwalker "--and his name is Astre."

While the others handled their own introductions, Mallory offered a congenial smile on the side - particularly to the other guard who seemed grumpy all a sudden - and once again raised a gesture with fingers curled just so.  A faint, mirage-like shimmer coursed about her fingertips and across the cloaks of each of the two guards.  Just like that they'd begin to feel a fair bit cozier as their cloaks grew comfortably warm in outright defiance of the cold around them.  A boon for the guards but a bane for herself and Rhydd; their boots promptly lost the warming charm they'd been enjoying that entire trek.

---

Mallory casts Prestidigitation on the guards' cloaks to warm them for the next hour.  Torgrim's boots remain warmed as well, but Mallory and Rhydd lose their usage.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:28, Fri 14 Jan 2022.

"Mallory . . ." the guard wrote, then paused for a moment, lingering on the winged feline. ". . . and Astre."

The other guard, having seen Mallory's tell-tale signs of casting and while still saying nothing, looked to his coat questioningly as he felt it heat to a pleasant temperature. "Hmph," he snickered mostly to himself. "Magicks." The effect did not seem entirely amiss on his disposition.

Signy shimmied her shoulders, trying out her warmer cloak. "Oh, thank you," she offered. Whatever surprise the spell might have induced in her was quickly reconciled with the fact that the noblewoman — Mallory — had just put on a theater of mirages for them all.
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:03, Fri 14 Jan 2022.

"Of course.  That should last for about an hour or so before the charm winds down." she noted as she drummed at her cheek with the tips of her chilled fingers.  "You know, I've actually been thinking about enchanting a few warming trinkets that would last longer, as of late.  I think they'd sell quite well around these parts."
This message was last edited by the player at 22:18, Fri 14 Jan 2022.

"You can do that?" the guard asked, ready to take the name of the person next in line. She still found ample opportunity to chat with Mallory, however. "As I have no knack for these things myself, I wouldn't mind one of those. It does get awfully cold on long patrols. Though, I heavily doubt I could afford one on my wage . . ."
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:35, Sat 15 Jan 2022.

So much for sliding in undetected Torgrim thought, as it became apparent that Mallory's charms could only get them so far. Might as well lean into it at this point.Torgrim removed his hood in a matter-of-factly manner, making no attempts to hide his elven heritage.

"Leyon." The name came out in a gravelly voice with a hint of tribal accent.

No reason to offer the full truth on a silver platter until he had the opportunity to learn the lay of the land, though Torgrim doubted his uncle would appreciate the brazen case of stolen identity if it should ever reach him.

OOC: Deception: 23 using 1d20+5 ((18))

"Leyon," the guard repeated and wrote, without a second glance at Torgrim.

---

Torgrim's Deception Check to fool the guard into writing down a false name [23]: Success. With her Wisdom Score, it is impossible for the Guard to beat a 23.

"Though, I heavily doubt I could afford one on my wage..."

That certainly earned a sympathetic sigh and nod out of Mallory.  "Coin is always the issue, both coming and going, I'm afraid.  Honestly, I blame the Spellplague.  Over a century past and the entire Oeconomia Arcana is still in utter shambles."  It was entirely likely she was speaking well over the guard's head with that sort of topic, but it seemed a sore spot to her sensibilities for some reason all the same.  Mallory was just as easily shifted off her own tangent as a thought seemed to strike her and brought her chin down for a pondering stroke.  "Though... hmm.  Perhaps?  If I can arrange a proposal appointment with the Speaker... I'll need a prototype first; that'd have to be out of pocket.  Few hours, tops..."
This message was last edited by the player at 20:36, Sat 15 Jan 2022.

Rhydd had stood by stoically as Lady Mallory and the guards nattered on and on. The guards who were on Watch duty, he could understand -- this was their post, and they had to be out here in the bollocks-freezing cold. But Mallory did not. They could certainly ask the sorts of questions that she was asking in much more comfortable surroundings. Which made him wonder whether Mallory was as smart as he had taken her to be.

All the same, it wouldn't do to show a weakness. Wild animals, he knew, were quick to pounce on the weak. So were people. So don't look weak, and never let your guard down. Well . . . not unless you happened to be having a tea party with some Chwingas. Then it was all "Knee-Deep, Knee-Deep, and devils take the hindmost!" It had worked well enough for Rhydd thus far, and why fix what wasn't broken?

And so it was that the outdoorsman stood patiently and endured the cold and the wind, not even stamping his feet. He did notice that the warmth that had kept his toes toasty-warm inside his boots had suddenly faded away, and he wondered what that was all about.

Finally . . . finally(!) the conversation seemed to be winding down, and the guards asked for the names of the newly-arrived foursome. Lady Mallory offered up hers and Astre's in a straightforward fashion, but Rhydd found himself giving Torgrim a side-eyed glance when the man gave a false name.

~~I wonder what that's all about?~~ the archer mused. ~~Still and all, lots of folks who come up here to the frontier have things that they'd rather keep to themselves. I'll not be the sort to tattle on a companion, but I'll need to keep an eye on this "Leyon".~~

Since everyone else had spoken up, Rhydd supposed that it was his turn. He gave a moment's thought to refusing to give a name, simply because he didn't care for rules and other people telling him what he had to do. But he was savvy enough to know that a wise man chooses his battles carefully -- and in this instance, to his way of thinking, the game didn't seem to be worth the candle.

"Ryhdd," he said at length.

Rhydd Maldhon," he added.

"If it matters, I live . . . out there." Here he lifted his arm and waved it in a wide semi-circle, encompassing with a gesture the whole of the Wilds that existed on the far side of the walls.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:20, Sat 15 Jan 2022.

"With Speaker Duvessa?" The guard snickered offhandedly as she wrote down Rhydd's name. "Good luck with that . . . 'Ride?' How do you spell your last name?" She did not seem to note the hunstman's place of residence.

Once that was settled it came to the Goliath. ". . . aaand?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:33, Sat 15 Jan 2022.

Though Mallory was taken by her own financial planning for the immediate future, the dull in conversation as Farwalker was prompted for her name caught her attention after a beat.  She glanced back and forth between the Goliath and guard, then gently cleared her throat after the silence had begun to linger.

"Ah... her name is Farwalker." she supplied.  "You'll have to pardon the stoicism; we had a rather... perilous... encounter on the way here and she suffered the brunt of it.  Poor thing's hardly said a word in hours."  She was uncertain if it was trauma or simply Farwalker's manner of coping with the experience.  Hopefully a good night's rest would do her some good though.

"Farwalker," the guard repeated in a low voice as she wrote down the final name, glancing back up at Mallory and raising an inquisitive eyebrow. "I see . . . and this perilous event doesn't happen to couple in any way to Kaltro and his accomplice, does it?"

At that moment, Mallory was most genuinely urged to not be genuine.  A quick lie about their encounter would serve best; not out of any real desire to hide anything or mislead the guards, but merely out of bare convenience.  But, for as willing to bend perception as she was for her own needs, the noble didn't fancy herself a liar.  Nor would being vague about what they'd been up to serve them well at all.

"Gods, I'd certainly hope not." she balked at the notion of such a team-up.  Worse still was that, given the sheer oddities they'd encountered in the past two days, it wasn't even entirely farfetched!  Mallory offered Farwalker a sympathetic glance before her attention returned to Signy.  "The short of it is that, while out north of here on the shore of Maer Dualdon, we had a brush with a particular White Dragon who bore an Undead astride her back.  Our escape was narrow but Farwalker's most of all among us."

To that same end, Astre once more laid his own attention with soft purrs and kneading presses of his paws to Farwalker as he'd been since the lakeside.  Were Mallory a more petty person she might've felt a shade jealous of her own Familiar choosing another shoulder to warm, but she hoped just as much as the Tressym himself that his presence was a comfort to Farwalker.  "There's a bit more to it than that but, if you need a proper report, I'd rather we do it at the inn before our boots freeze in place.  Though... are Arveiaturace and Meltharond a common sight in these parts?  Please tell me they're not.  I don't think my heart could endure another such encounter."
This message was last edited by the player at 11:28, Tue 18 Jan 2022.

"Arveiaturace?" Signy questioned.

"The White Wyrm. She's speaking of The White Wyrm," the other guard explained. It seemed to clear things up since Signy mouthed an 'ah'. "I wouldn't say common. She's been noted to stay away from people, but perhaps the same cannot be said for Goliaths? If you've done anything to draw her ire . . . I'll alert the Sheriff. In fact, I'll alert the Sheriff anyhow." The gruff man unfolded his has arms turned to leave past the flanking stone watchtowers.

"Well . . ." Signy began after he was out of earshot, tucking her notebook and stylus away, "you certainly are an interesting lot, has anyone told you that? I'll find you at whatever inn you decide to stay at later. Enjoy Bryn Shander."

"If you've done anything to draw her ire... I'll alert the Sheriff. In fact, I'll alert the Sheriff anyhow."

"As far as we can tell, it was a case of 'wrong place, wrong time'.  The Dragon seemed to be on the hunt for food.  Please let the Sheriff know they can call on us for a report of the event any time." Mallory offered the other guard a reassurance on that point as he turned to leave.

Signy's observations got a weak smile out of the noble.  "Believe me, I'd much prefer boring over interesting at this point.  I've had enough life-threatening excitement just traveling to and from Targos to age me a year." she tugged her hood a bit closer around herself to fend off the omnipresent chill in the air.  "Thank you very much for your time.  And please, do call in on me for that hot meal and drink when you can."

With that Mallory looked to the others with a beckoning tilt of her head so they could all get a move on.  No doubt to everyone else's relief that she'd finally managed to stop gabbing while their toes went numb, surely.  Though once they were all underway down the road and out of sight of the gate guards?  The noble's demeanor shifted rather abruptly as she seemed to outright deflate with a long, heaved sigh; instantly gone was the bright conversationalist, replaced by open exhaustion clear in the slump of her shoulders and weary expression.  "Gods, I'm glad that's over... I was not in the mood for a performance." she muttered dryly while they went.

Rhydd could tell from a glance that Lady Mallory was extremely weary. He was tired as well, and he reckoned that he was in much better physical condition than a soft noblewoman from much more temperate climes. Plus the wizardess had expended quite a bit of magical energy as of late, and the archer suspected that doing so might well also drain a magicker's reserves of energy.

"My suggestion is that we make for Kelvin's Comfort," he said. "It will be on the way towards the Southwest Gate, which is where the guards suggested that we should inquire about a caravan coming in from Targos."

"We can ask around when we arrive there, and 'twill give us a chance to warm up -- plus, depending upon how much time and coin we wish to spend there, mayhap we can get a little nourishment as well."

Rhydd paused for a moment, then glanced at Mallory and spoke again. "Is there anything that I can carry to lighten your load until you have a chance to sit and catch your breath?"
This message was last edited by the player at 03:49, Wed 19 Jan 2022.

"A splendid idea if ever there was one." Mallory keenly agreed with Rhydd's summation.  Even if Dannika and Moyrah weren't at Kelvin's Comfort, she was sorely tempted to simply remain there and send Astre out with a note to the other possible locations around town where they might've ended up.

"Is there anything that I can carry to lighten your load until you have a chance to sit and catch your breath?"

Though worn in both body and spirit, Mallory's sense of humor wasn't entirely spent yet as she held out her arms.  "Me?" she suggested wryly, clearly all in jest as she let her arms back down to her sides.  In truth, for a noble she seemed to travel exceptionally light; only a lantern rod and a well-layered, if only half filled, pack that didn't seem to have much in it at all beyond a handful of minor possessions.  A tightly bundled road tent and bedroll were honestly the most cumbersome items she carried and even those were on the light side.  It looked as though Mallory hardly had anything to her name with her.  "Thank you though, Rhydd.  It's sweet of you to offer, but I'll be alright once we get somewhere warm and safe.  I really need a drink."
This message was last edited by the player at 04:24, Wed 19 Jan 2022.

Rhydd was not a man much given to humor, but Lady Mallory's dry retort scored a direct hit on his funny-bone.

"Ah-ha!!" he exclaimed, his explosive laugh sounding much like the bray of an ass.

He turned to the noblewoman and held his hands out. "I'm game if you are, Milady."

"Not exactly a coach and four, true, but those seem to be in short supply just now. And I promise not to drop you."

"Ahem. Most likely not. Probably not. Mayhap not."

---

OOC:The above post was written prior to your edit, Mallory, so it does not directly address some of the subject-matter that was added. I'll try to work that into subsequent IC posts for RM. :)
This message was last edited by the player at 04:26, Wed 19 Jan 2022.

The young noble's own laughter was far softer and melodic compared to Rhydd's, but they paired just fine together.  It felt good to laugh even after such woe throughout the day.  Brushes with death made it hard to see beyond the moment.  Mallory took one of Rhydd's offered hands - her own gloved touch so delicate compared to his hardened, work-chuffed grip - but not to leap into his arms.  She just gave his hand a fond squeeze in good humor, only to flush a bit at the cheeks when she realized that lingering in such a gesture was perhaps too personable.

"Perhaps another time." she giggled softly as she withdrew her hand to steeple her fingertips together instead.  Still, Rhydd's concern reached her.  It was easy to focus on one's own woes.  Too easy, really.  Her gaze wandered among her companions in turn.  "How are you each holding up?  Adorable Chwinga aside, today has been just terrible... are you alright?"

---

Yep, no worries.  I realized it after the fact and did some quick editing to work around statements.  Hopefully this keeps the flow.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:30, Wed 19 Jan 2022.

"Knee-Deep!" came the quick reply, right on the heels of Lady Mallory's inquiry, spoken just as rapidly as her "Me?" had followed just a hair's-breadth behind Rhydd's earlier question.

---

OOC: And that, I do believe, may well exhaust Rhydd's supply of humor for the week. Although, truth be told, between the efforts of Mallory and the Chwingas, cracks are starting to appear in the archer's hard-shell exterior. :)
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 05:08, Wed 19 Jan 2022.

"I still intend to do my best, but don't be too surprised if I let slip to Dannika after a few glasses of wine." Mallory warned with a smile.  Her dark eyes drifted to Torgrim and, while there was no accusation in her tone when she next spoke, the curiosity was clear.  "What about you, Leyon?"

The Northlook, at a passing, seemed rather lively this evening, as firelight cast silhouettes of toking men engaged in conversation onto the frosted windows. However, outside, the dirt-packed roads along the streets of Bryn Shander were scarcely more populous than those in Targos. Or so it seemed, until the town square came into view, and more townsfolk were seen going about their day. Still not many, much thanks to the blasting cold and perpetual darkness, but there were some who dared to brave it to man their stalls, tents, and wagons. Worst were the few without any home, who sat huddled on the streets, wrapped from head to toe in whatever piece of dirty fur and cloth they'd gotten their hands on. They seemed like statues where they sat in circles, finding solace in the few campfires that were lit away from the more dense architecture. Cups, hats, and bowls remained by their feet in the snow, but none held more than a few meager coppers.

Some of the merchants in the town square sold cheap, odd wares, such as beaded necklaces, wooden figurines, or scrimshaw tools, while others sold much needed apparel of woven wool. Those who'd visited before knew that none held a candle to Rendaril's Emporium, which advertised itself with large, elegant letters on a building undoubtedly positioned at the most attractive location in town.

Of course, there was the Town Hall to rival it, though it appeared vacant. Kelvin's Comfort, another large building just a stone throw away, was not. Far from it — as The Northlook was densely populated, so was Ogden Flamebeard's tavern. Bedecked with Dwarven craft of Battlehammer make, it was the grandest and most popular establishment in Bryn Shander — and thus in all of Ten Towns — being two stories tall, with the second floor overlooking the first. If Ogden so wished, he could room and serve half a battalion. Upon entrance, the cold was immediately swept away in favor of what was comparatively near sweltering warmth, and the smell of enticing cooking permeated the air. Kelvin's Comfort typically hosted entertainment, and today was no exception. Near the back, up on a small scene, a minstrel plucked away at their lyre as they sung some ballad. "—climbing far mountains, riding in high closer to Waterdeep and the shores of the Shining Sea—" it went to a tune more whimsical than somber.

One could forget about finding an unoccupied table on the first floor, as there were hardly even any available singular seats. Among the patrons were a select few from the caravan — the boisterous Waterdhavian, for instance. A company of Dwarves had gathered around one round-table and were being particularly rowdy, and some, true to Dwarven fashion, were deep into their mugs early in the evening. New visitors might have had better luck on the second floor.

Just above the toiling, plump bartender, the prices were writ on a large wooden sign;

Brown Ale (Mug / Gallon): 4 cp / 2 sp
Wine (Pitcher): 2 sp
Flamebeard's Firebrandy (Mug / Bottle): 1 sp / 3 sp
Bread and Cheese: 6 cp
Chicken Mince Pie: 2 sp

Supper
Whole Duck: 2 sp
Stuffed Trout: 2 sp
Pike Soup: 1 sp
Plum Pudding: 1 sp

"Mallory!" Dannika's voice sounded from up above, and the Half-Elven scholar could be seen leaning over the railing. She and Moyrah had managed to secure a table to themselves on the second floor. "Goodness, do you know how worried we've been?"

---

I figured you can continue your conversation as I set the scene. Hope you don't mind!
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:39, Wed 19 Jan 2022.

As they walked through the streets of Bryn Shander, the playful conversation between Mallory and Rhydd did not go unnoticed by Torgrim. The awkward exchange of laughs and touches served as a much needed return to normality, especially after their earlier brush with death. A soft smile grew on his face.

"Ah, to be young and clumsy again, eh?" He said in a low tone to Farwalker, careful not to interrupt the ritual before them. "O-of course, not that you're not- I'm jus- Actually, how ol- I'll shut up now."

Oh well, young at least. Torgrim thought, as he looked ahead again.

Despite the welcome distraction, Torgrim soon found his gaze wandering into every narrow alleyway and dark corner, scanning out of habit for unspecified threats. He'd forgotten how much the paranoia took hold in places like this. He'd feel better once he'd checked the notice board, but for now he'd stay on the safe side.

Mallory's comment snapped him out of it. "What about you, Leyon?"

"I know, I know." Torgrim replied sheepishly, scratching his stubbly cheek. "Just a precaution until I make sure my name won't bring any unnecessary..." He paused for a moment, looking for the best suited word. "baggage, to the team." "Sensing that none present would be satisfied by such a cryptic answer, he quickly followed up with "I'll explain it all once we're in private, I'm sure I worry for nothing."

As they reached Kelvin's Comfort, Torgrim excused himself to look for any kind of notice board in the Town Square. "Buy yourselves a bottle of Firebrandy on me, and I'll join you before the uncorking."

The parchments nailed to the bulletin fluttered gently in the frigid winds.

• A simple note with no ornamentation but elegant handwriting:
  'I am in search of individuals skilled in combat and wilderness survival to escort me to The Sea of Moving Ice to investigate an issue with the whale Angajuk. See me in my chandlery near the Southwest Gate for details and discussions on compensation.
  ~ Helka Jaggerath.'
  
  
• A large poster with bold letters:
  'Free pot with the purchase of any buckler!
  ~ Blackiron Blades.'
  
  
• A wanted poster, depicting a bald man in armor with a scar in the shape of a V across his forehead:
  ‘Attention! The man depicted here, of unknown name and provenance is wanted dead or alive . . . A reward has been set for information about him.’
  
  
• A sketch of a man in a stiff wizard's hat:
  ‘It is hereby announced that the Red Wizard and criminal Dzaan has been captured by a noble knight of The Order of the Radiant Heart. The criminal now awaits his just sentence.’
  
  
• A large exclamation point was written at the top of this note, and the crest of Bryn Shander — a wheat plant with antlers — had been stamped underneath the text:
  ‘Attention! There have been numerous sightings of Yetis near the Ten-Trails and on the road to Easthaven. Do not travel alone and unless absolutely necessary.
  ~ Sheriff Marhkam Southwell'
  
  
• A crude note written in Dwarvish:
  'Recover our sled. 50 gp reward.'

The rest of the notes were dated riffraff, either faded or torn. Though from the corner of his eye, Torgrim could spot a figure wreathed in a cloak standing in the shadows of the Town Hall, a few paces away from the notice board. Their sharp eyes, gleaming coldly, observed Torgrim — and not particularly subtly.
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:16, Fri 21 Jan 2022.

Torgrim's hasty efforts to excuse his deception were met not with scolding, but with a gently raised hand to quell his worries.  "It's alright; I'm certain you had good reason.  A nom de plume is, by far, the least unusual thing you've asked us to believe of you, after all." Mallory gently joked.  Compared to his claims of being followed by invisible spirits of the dead?  A fake name was a paltry matter.  Though she was left to idly wonder if 'Torgrim' was another false identity in and of itself.

On their way up the road toward Kelvin's Comfort, it was indeed comfort Mallory eagerly looked forward to.  The promising warmth and noise from the distant tavern hastened her chilled step despite the ache in her muscles from their long trek already.  But it was as their group passed by huddled urchins and vagabonds that she felt a different kind of chill seep through her bones.  For the briefest of moments the young noble found herself somewhere else entirely.  In a heartbeat she was back in Neverwinter; a mere child at her father's side, hand in his, as they made their way into the ghettos that had sprung up outside the neighborhoods worst hit by the eruption of Mount Hotenow.  It had been decades ago yet the scars of that horrible event remained both on the city itself and its people.  The hodgepodge burrows and housing that rose up in the wake of destruction lingered; so many had lost everything in that disaster, and far too many of the noble houses pretended not to see those in need.  As if they weren't the very same neighbors, workers, and citizens anymore.  It would've been easy to just walk past and ignore them.  But her father never did.  Not when there was work to do and good to be done.

Just like that, Mallory blinked and she was back in the present moment, having stilled her stride in a lingering stare at the huddled vagrants.  Consternation flared across her expression and she looked about the nearly vacant square, amid the scattered stalls of those merchants needy enough to face the cold evening for hopes of making some coin, and huffed sharply through her nose.  "One moment.  I need to do something." she mentioned to the others before she promptly turned and bee-lined for a merchant wagon loaded with wools on sale.  "You there, pardon.  Might I see your wares, please?"

Farwalker flicked another flake of ice off of her and onto the ground, where it was promptly hidden by the snow. She'd tucked her floating orb back into a pouch, no reason to show off obviously magical items in one of the Ten Towns, and was very carefully not glaring at anything. She didn't let her anger control her anymore, but that didn't mean it was an easy task. She still needed some time to centre herself.

"Old enough to know that I am still young." She replied to Torgrim with dry amusement. "Age itself is meaningless in many ways." She made a face at that, as if remembering something distasteful, then shook her head. "I will be headed to what passes for temples here. More shrines, than anything. I will meet you at the tavern later." With that, she shifted her pack and started her way towards the House of the Triad, though the building itself wasn't where she was headed. No, it was one of the smaller buildings nearby. People always liked sticking the temples and shrines near each other. She wasn't really sure why.

As Farwalker excused herself, Astre gave one last soft mewl and bumped his brow against her temple, then leaped away to the side.  A quick flare of his wings carried him over to land back on Mallory's once again so he could drape himself around like a fluffy and feather boa.

---

After a short bit of conversation and coin passed to and fro, Mallory soon shuffled back from the rear of the wagon outright overladen with a stack of dense woolen blankets heaped into her arms.  She had to wheel about a little on her heel just to make sure she didn't topple back off-balance in the snow, barely able to peek up past the heap of textiles she toted.

"Ah... Rhydd, is that offer to carry something is still on the table?" she hoped for a bit of assistance.  Regardless, she was quick to make her way in a purposeful bee-line for the huddled vagrants.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:02, Sat 22 Jan 2022.

The vagabonds warmed by the campfire, of which there were eight, looked up curiously at the approaching woman. Or rather, the approaching stack of cloth with the ends of her red coat shuffling beneath. None got up from their seats, which comprised logs, buckets, and rocks, a bit hesitant as they were handed a blanket each, but they all accepted nonetheless. The first person signed with their hands. "Thank you, madam," another said in a raspy voice, speaking for the group. "Many thanks." They wrapped the clean cloth around themselves, some taking care to remove the more stained or stiff textiles they'd been using prior.

One person in particular, a coughing man who sat further away from the fire, rose to his feet once he was handed his. Instead of wrapping the cloth around himself, he tossed it onto the fire, watching the flames quench before they flared up as it was swallowed and consumed. Wool did not burn well, so it would take some time before the stench of seared fibre swelled in the air.

The others said nothing.
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:00, Sun 23 Jan 2022.

Rhydd stopped himself from smiling at Lady Mallory's comment. He had found himself doing far too much of that as of late whilst in her company. ~~Best not to let anyone inside the walls you have constructed, Rhydd-me-lad. The one time you did that, it resulted in great hurt.~~

And so it was that he simply nodded his head in reply to her inquiry. "Of course," he said. The archer ended up carrying most of the woolen blankets as Lady Mallory trudged over to the group of beggars, moving carefully due to the uncertain footing, Rhydd supposed.

His eyes narrowed when the man threw the blanket that had been gifted to him into the fire. Since his hands were filled with the remaining blankets, Rhydd stepped over to the fire and kicked the blanket out of the flames.

Rounding on the man who had thrown away the length of wool that might mean the difference between life and death in the frigid conditions, he snarled "What's the matter with you, sirrah? Are you overcome with rudeness in response to a selfless act of kindness, or are you simply a lackwit?"
This message was last edited by the player at 21:19, Sun 23 Jan 2022.

"Kindness?" the man growled. He wasn't a large fellow, and remained somewhat hunched over, and while it was difficult to determine the age of some of the other vagrants, this one was clearly elderly. He left most of his face uncovered, having elected to not wear as many layers of clothing as the rest. "No, *cough* this is foolishness. Crawl back up whatever snothole you came from and leave us be. We've got enough trouble as is." He turned to sit back in his spot. "Listen to some wisdom — burn them all. It's all that fire is good for."
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:57, Sun 23 Jan 2022.

Rhydd turned to Lady Mallory. "I have not the patience to argue with the likes of this one."

"But you have already shown that you have more kindness in you than I do. Perchance you might care to do so."

Mallory was quick to pair each given blanket with gentle assurances and kind smiles, as well as a helping hand to those vagrants who were too stiffened by age or cold to easily move on their own.  But when one fellow literally cast charity into the flames, she gasped aside in shock at the sudden billow of smoke from the half-smothered fire.  She was aghast for only a moment while Rhydd, faster on the draw, both saved the blanket and rounded his ire on the ungrateful fellow.  But, unlike Rhydd, there was no burst of outrage in her when he turned about to her once again... simply a somber look of sadness in her one visible eye.

Seemingly undaunted by the man's harsh response, the young noble handed out the last of her blankets and dusted off her emptied hands with a passing clap.  The scorched blanket was plucked up instead and held out at arm's length for her to look it over; a bit seared and stained with soot for its foray into the flame, but in all truth the blanket had done more harm to the meager fire than the other way around.  She gave it a hard shake and toss to snap it out as, with a crack and arcane shimmer, the wool instantly became clean once more in the blink of an eye.  Another beckoning gesture to the fire itself caused the flames to momentarily surge higher and hotter; just enough to be stoked back to life fully from the brief smothering that threatened to quench them.

"There's nothing to argue about, Rhydd." Mallory said as she folded the blanket over her arm and eased to his side with a smile.  She wasn't convinced at all about his claim of lacking kindness though.  Given his habit of threatening people who really ticked him off with grisly death in the wilds, the fact that he even bothered giving the ungrateful vagrant a moment of his mind said much.  Mallory stepped up to where the coughing man sat in his stubbornness and, despite her charity having been cast aside once, offered something else in its place.

"But if you have such wisdom to spare, I'm willing to listen.  Please?" she asked patiently.  That so many people in a such a small town could be driven to huddled destitution without their neighbors springing to their aid?  That a man would stubbornly cast aside a life-saving kindness?  As with Targos, there was bound to be greater woes in Bryn Shander lurking just below the surface that would render up such an awful state.

---

Mallory casts "Prestidigitation" to clean the blanket and re-light the fire, in case it was in danger of going out after that.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:14, Sun 23 Jan 2022.

"Snooty one, aren't ya? Oh, o'savior of us wretches! What would we do without you?" the ungrateful vagrant spat. "There's not an ounce of wit rummaging through that hollow skull of yours . . . if you think blankets are going to keep the cold at bay, you are sorely mistaken, miss High-and-Mighty." He shivered and brought a fist up to his up to his loosely tied scarf, revealing purple lips as he hacked twice. "No, they'll do the exact opposite. You're making it colder for us all," the old man said before continuing his coughing fit.

"Oh, would you quiet your rambling?" one of the other beggars interjected from where she sat huddled on her log. A younger, more lively voice. She had dark green eyes, and a strand of red hair peeked out from underneath her hat. "And frankly, I’m sick of your coughing. It'll be the death of you within the Tenday. What good then will your pigheadedness have served you?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:03, Sun 23 Jan 2022.

Mallory would at least afford herself a sigh behind her own scarf.  But that was the most of it - she didn't rile to the man's insults at all one way or another.  She knew pride in the face of charity... not just having seen it before, but having fallen to it herself on her sullen trek northward.

"Speaking of the Frostmaiden, are you?  She's going to blow and bluster either way, so you might as well have a blanket all the same."  When another of the group spoke up, Mallory shifted her stance a bit to more openly address the lot as a whole rather than just that one stubborn fellow alone.  "He's not entirely wrong though; it's not going to get any easier exposed like this.  What's driven you to this point?  Is there nowhere for you to take shelter?  A temple or a public property?  Surely there must be somewhere you can go for your own safety?"

"Though we typically stayed out during the day, we could seek refuge in the temple," the woman said, wrapping the blanket more tightly around herself as a particularly chilly wind decided to make a timely entrance. "But we were cast out. The new clergy aren't as welcoming as the last. Thankfully they open the Town Hall for us during the nights now." She nodded toward the building just across the square.

The cross beggar grumbled. "'Bluster and blow', she says," he scoffed, "*cough* like it's one or the other — either she leaves us be or she doesn't. Simple! I thank you for clarifying."

"Shut up," the woman retorted. "Or I'll beat the cough to it."
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:04, Sun 23 Jan 2022.

The notion of any well-meaning clergy actively turning away those in need brought a look out outright consternation across Mallory's face.  She wanted to press for more information on the matter but, given the surly grumblings close at hand, felt their continued presence was just going to stir the pot.  She'd have to ask Farwalker if she'd noticed anything when she returned.

"So long as you have somewhere to go, then.  I wish I could do more, but I can at least do this much."  It wasn't as if she could solve all their problems so easily, after all.  But whatever she could do, she would.  One man's scorn wasn't going to so easily quash her charitable spirit as she reached into her breast pocket and produced two gold coins.  The spurned blanket was folded and set to the ground before the ill old man along with the two coins atop it.  If he wanted to toss those into the fire as well, at least they'd survive for someone else to pluck up from the embers later and make use of.  As she'd handed out blankets to each of the needy, so too did Mallory go to each in turn to give money as well.  Two gold for each, in hopes they'd be able to make better use of it.

---

Eight vagrants means Mallory hands over 16 GP total, 2 to each.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:47, Sun 23 Jan 2022.

Rhydd looked on as Lady Mallory treated with the beggars. As she was wrapping thing up, he spoke to her.

"That was . . . very generous of you. It is almost unheard of in this place and in these times. I will admit to being impressed."

"Are all nobles in the part of the Southlands where you are from as free with their golders as you are, or are you an oddity?"

"A free pot? Maybe.. Nah, not a buckler man"

"Could this..?" He covered the scarred man's bald head, trying to imagine him with a full set of silver streaked locks. "Absolutely not."

"Wizard, knight, yada yada yada... Southwell, that's good to know, yada yada"

Torgrim let out a sigh of relief after getting through the last poster. Probably not wanted, at least not officially. It was a start. He fished out his notebook and was in the process of jotting down details from some of the more relevant postings when the cloaked figure caught his eye. He'd been spied upon before, but never quite so blatantly. That was usually reserved for his visitors, who did not have to mind how others perceived them. Though ghosts rarely saw a need to stay in the shadows.

He turned his toward his onlooker. If they saw no need to hide their gaze, then neither would he.

OOC: Does Torgrim recognise the figure at all?

"You are much too kind," the red-haired vagrant bowed as Mallory handed her the two gold coins. While it wouldn't last longer than a Tenday under normal circumstances, it was certainly more than any peasant could hope to make in a day. The others, too, accepted gratefully. In some, one could visibly see them contemplate how to spend it, twirling the coin around in their fuzzy gloved fingers.

The vitriolic old man simply scoffed at the additional gesture. It appeared he had no intention of accepting neither gold nor blanket. At least not immediately.

---

The cloaked figure, upon having their gazed returned back to them, retreated slightly in to the shadows while still remaining within sight. They weren't familiar to Torgrim at first glance, but whether it was someone he knew or not was impossible to tell with that cloak covering them up like that.

To be thanked for what she considered to be the bare minimum of Human kindness;... it brought an ache to Mallory's chest that she couldn't quite bear.  In the end all she could do was offer a demure bow of her head and wish the group a safe evening before she took once more to Rhydd's side.

"That was... very generous of you. It is almost unheard of in this place and in these times. I will admit to being impressed."

Mallory seemed sullen as they walked up the road together toward Kelvin's Comfort.  At first she simply shrugged to Rhydd's praises to play them off, but his insistence on the subject forced her to look it square on herself.

"Are all nobles in the part of the Southlands where you are from as free with their golders as you are, or are you an oddity?"

"Yes and no to the lot." she sighed out a plume of steam into the evening air.  "Charity isn't uncommon in Neverwinter, though more often the noble houses simply give sums to organizations and temples who carry out goodwill in their name.  It's not a bad thing but it's... distancing.  It's removed from the heart of the matter and becomes abstract, where money can simply be signed away without ever meeting those in need."  Mallory spared the briefest of glances back over her shoulder at the then-distant group of unfortunate souls, then sighed once more.  "When my parents were younger, a volcanic eruption near Neverwinter destroyed much of the city.  It killed thousands and to this day there are still scars on the city itself.  So many became as refugees in their own home.  But in its terrible wake and in the time of rebuilding that followed, for a short while at least, the social stratum all but disappeared... people were simply there for one another, keen to help and pick up the pieces together.  When it comes right to it, there's no real difference between any of us.  My family's roots are placed within ashen earth; we rose from the same humble place as so many others, and it's all too easy to return there with just a single bad turn of luck.  Would that man have scolded me as he did had he met me a week ago, when I was down to my last two silvers en route to be stranded here as he is?"

There was much that flitted about in her mind as she dwelt on such thoughts.  It had all been before her time but she grew up seeing the impact it had on everyone around her.  She'd heard the stories and seen the wounds.  Her father never spoke of it all himself... never directly, and she'd learned quickly enough that some suffering was kept in silence by choice.  Though she felt she could go on and on about the whole affair, Mallory feared to tax Rhydd's already thinned patience.  They'd each been through so much that day alone and it wouldn't do to overwhelm him any further.  So, instead, she simply shook her head and shrugged.

"Sorry, I'm rambling.  I just... wish there was more I could bring myself to do."
This message was last edited by the player at 21:25, Mon 24 Jan 2022.

Rhydd chuffed when Lady Mallory spoke of Neverwinter's noble houses using the local temples as go-betweens to hand out alms and charity to the needy. "And I wonder how much of that coin sticks to the fingers of the local priests -- you know, to cover handling costs and various other expenses -- and never reaches those who are in need."

"No question about it, your more direct method is much preferable."

He waved his hand dismissively at her effort to apologize as she wrapped up her comments. "Stop with that. Please . . . just stop. You have no reason at all to hang your head, and I will hear no more of it."

"So chin up, and walk with pride. 'Tis a good thing you have done this night."
This message was last edited by the player at 05:38, Tue 25 Jan 2022.

That distrust of nobles and the clergy Rhydd bore seemed to be a common trend, Mallory noted inwardly.  It wasn't as if she could really say otherwise though... there were genuinely good people in such places yet, as always, there were those who'd abuse a position of power and make a bad name for everyone else.  But that Rhydd would so readily give her reassurances and praise in the same breath left the young noble with a guilty feeling she couldn't quite shake.  Just as before, he seemed to see her in a better light than she felt she deserved... worse yet, she realized, was a sense of dread in the pit of her stomach that he might someday see her with the same scorn he offered others of her ilk.

"I'll keep my chin down behind my scarf, I think.  It's too cold otherwise." she tried to joke away the matter. "Come on then, let's get inside.  With any luck we'll find Moyrah and --"

---

"Dannika-ah-ahhh!"

Mallory sounded like she was about to cry as she hurried her way across the busy tavern room and upstairs, heedless of the spattering footsteps of shed snow she left in her wake.  Such was her haste that Astre bailed off her shoulders to amble along beside Rhydd's boots instead.

"Goodness, do you know how worried we've been?"

Such was Mallory's relief that she couldn't even contain herself despite knowing Dannika wasn't as comfortable with overly familiar gestures.  The young noble caught her up in a crushing hug all the same, too glad to see her again after their brush with doom to resist.  A brief, if almost smothering, embrace before Moyrah ended up the receiver of one as well thrown about her middle.  "You've no idea how happy I am to see you both again!  That was an absolutely terrible experience; we nearly died!  Again!"
This message was last edited by the player at 05:40, Tue 25 Jan 2022.

Clearly whoever this was either wanted to be followed, or they wanted to make sure Torgrim knew that his entry into Bryn Shander had not gone unnoticed. He put both hands up to shoulder height, showing the cloaked stranger his open palms as a sign of non-aggression. After making sure no one else was watching, he lowered his arms and casually approached the shadows.

Best case scenario; they were a simple low-life dealer looking for an easy sale. Worst case, Torgrim's presence would be reported back to someone with a grudge. In case of the latter, it was preferable to stay in control of the narrative.

Once close enough, Torgrim put out his gloved hand for a handshake. The index finger was folded onto itself, presenting him as a member of the criminal underworld to anyone in the know.

"Hello friend, see anything you like?"

The shadowy figure initially shied away at Torgrim's approach, though hesitated and averted their gaze, ultimately remaining close. A palpable silence hung in the air as Torgrim's prompt was left unanswered for a time.

"Cannibals." the figure eventually said, looking at Torgrim once again. "Four days ago, a group of furriers and trappers left from here. They have been captured by my tribe, who are eating them one by one. All the sled dogs and most of the elderly are dead. Our camp lies to the southeast, near the woods. But we won't stay for long. If you wish to save some of their lives, you must act quickly." That was all the person said before they grabbed their hood, turned, and hurried off in the opposite direction.

---

Torgrim's Perception Check [14]: The character had unnatural eyes, too round and too intensely blue. And though it was difficult to tell in the darkness, along the ridge of their nose a tuft of grey fur poked out from the cowl they used to cover their face.

---

It seemed the tavern wouldn't be as busy if it weren't for the overwhelming amount of Dwarves that currently occupied the room. In fact, there seemed to be more Dwarves than any other race combined. "HAAAH!" one Dwarf's drawn out, one-syllable laughter boomed above the general chatter as ale dripped from his lips and onto his beard.

As Mallory had suspected, the hug had caught the scholar off guard and Dannika wasn't exactly quick to return the embrace. "Oh, wow. Okay," she muttered as she awkwardly patted the wizard's back. Moyrah, on the contrary, reciprocated in kind with one powerful arm that pressed Mallory close. "It is good to see that you managed. I do bet the Yetis had it worse than you, no?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 10:06, Tue 25 Jan 2022.

"Yetis would've been preferable." Mallory gave an exhausted sigh and practically melted into a seat at the table.  It wasn't until she stopped moving that she realized how much her legs hurt from trekking for so long; high steps in deep snow were going to be the death of her.  "No, it turns out what made the tracks was a Werebear.  Which actually wasn't too bad in and of itself?  I got the feeling they might've been able to be reasoned with... right up to the point that the giant White Dragon swooped out of the sky and ate them.  You surely know of Arveiaturace from her assault on Candlekeep prior, right Dannika?  Turns out she's in this neighborhood, presently.  Swept in from the north of the lakeside and flew off back that way again."

The noble moved to draw her hood back but hesitated a moment.  Normally she'd just whisk it over her shoulders as soon as she was indoors but, given the tiny passenger she had tucked amid her tresses, she instead took a more careful gesture to lower her hood.  "Of course, we did thankfully stumble upon something far more pleasant as well on our way back..." she noted as she lifted her hair aside to try and find their newest companion.
This message was last edited by the player at 10:28, Tue 25 Jan 2022.

"I must say that is quite the turn of events," Dannika began after listening intently. "While Arveiaturace was prior to my time at Candlekeep, I do know of her visit. Everybody does! In fact, I wouldn't be-" she trailed off once the Chwinga's mask peeked out from beneath Mallory's locks. The little elemental had remained peaceful the entire trek. Now was no exception.

Dannika's eyes grew wide as surprise washed away word and thought. "T-that's-" was all she managed to stammer before she bunched her hands and began tapping her feet, squealing in excitement. Now she lunged forward to embrace Mallory across the table, bumping against the edge to rattle the plates and cutlery atop. She only stopped short once she suspected any sudden movement could very likely upset the Chwinga. "Oh, sorry, sorry," she apologized, foregoing the hug to extend her hand invitingly to the tiny being. "May I?"

Mallory couldn't help but wonder if Dannika ever realized just how adorable she actually was when something caught her passion for academia.  That barely-bottled excitement of hers made the noble want to hug her once again but she refrained.

"Well, that's hardly up to me to decide.  This fellow is quite the willful adventurer." she swept her hair aside over one shoulder to let the Chwinga have full view of its new surroundings and Dannika's eager invitation.  "Little friend?  This is the person I told you about before; she's been very eager to meet you.  Would you like to get to know her better?" Mallory flexed her intonation up and down in that same sing-song manner as before to emulate the Chwinga's chiming vocalizations.  She honestly didn't know if it helped or not, but it was a little fun at the very least.

Rhydd was delighted to discover that both Dannika and Moyrah were already inside Kelvin's Comfort. For that meant that not only had they arrived safe and sound, but that Rhydd would not have to venture back out into the frigid conditions and travel down to the Southwest gate in search of them.

In no time at all Dannika and Lady Mallory were nattering away at one another, and as the archer had expected, Dannika was positively entranced by the Chwinga.

WIth a shake of his head, Rhydd smiled a thin-lipped smile and turned to Torgrim. "Well, they will keep each other busy for a while, methinks."

"Did you find anything of interest on the Notice Board?"

The Chwinga chimed softly — very softly — as Dannika moved her hand closer. "It sings!" It had been enough for the scholar to hear, but the Dwarves and minstrel downstairs were all loud enough to drown it out for everyone else. After a moment, once the scholar's fingers were just next to it, it reached out with its tiny hand and gently grasped the tip of her index finger.

Dannika chuckled. "Hello, little guy," she started introducing herself, carefully moving her finger as if to shake its hand. "My name is Dannika. Of course, you don't understand a word of what I'm saying. Still, it's nice to meet you!" She tilted her hand to make a platform for the Chwinga to step onto, but it seemed hesitant, leaning closer to Mallory for reassurance. Aside from the barest of melodies, it had given the noblewoman no tell indicating it had understood the unfamiliar Human had been vouched for. But after a moment it still took the step, leaving the comfortable and warm lodging of Mallory's silken hair.

With Dannika still avoiding any and all sudden movements, the Chwinga was slowly served a close up of her face as she brought it nearer for an inspection. "Incredible . . . they look just like the illustrations I have. Can you believe it? Where did you find them? Were they alone?"

"I'm honestly uncertain about their level of comprehension.  They can most certainly converse among themselves just fine and I think I was able to get across to them with illusory illustrations, but anything else?  I have a spell of linguistic comprehension, though I lacked the safety to cast it while out in the wilds.  Would you like me to try and see if it works on Chwinga-speech?" Mallory could only shrug helplessly on that point.  She tried to reassure the Chwinga as she reached to cup the side of Dannika's offered hand in a show of trust, and a length of her long, dark hair served easily enough as a tether to hold onto if the little fellow was truly uncertain.

"In truth, they found us when we were hiding from Arveiaturace.  They were quite cautious of me, but the Dragon's presence scared even them enough to overcome any worry and take refuge with us.  They seem quite curious once they're at ease." she scooted her chair a bit closer to Dannika's side for the sake of keeping the Chwinga comfortable.  All the while she ensured her touch remained close so that the tiny Elemental could retreat to her if it so chose, never leaving it stranded for want of escape.  "Once things had quieted down this one led us to meet two of their companions amid the trees.  While I'm glad you weren't there for the Dragon, I wish you could've seen that..."

Thus Mallory set into a lengthy explanation of what they'd experienced, albeit tailored specifically to where the Chwinga were involved and without mention of Rhydd's singing.  Her free hand gestured about as she conjured illusions to relay the tale visually as well, supplying Dannika with examples of the tea party scene they'd come upon, the other two Chwinga with their varied masks and thatch clothing, and an echo of the way they all sang together with her conjured piano trills.  Dannika's theorizing had been correct; they seemed quite fond of music and she replicated their darling harmony as best she could recall.  She was certain the fascinated scholar would want every last detail and, despite how rough a day it had been, Mallory wanted to satiate that curiosity before she drank enough to blot out the last few hours in a haze of wine.

"They all seemed quite enthralled by man-made items.  This one entrusted their spoon to a friend, and they were all practically enraptured when Rhydd contributed a 'plate' to their tea party.  Honestly, I still can't imagine where they scavenged up such trinkets to begin with." she mused aloud.  "Do you have a bauble you might part with?  They may trust you more if you give them something to keep."

---

If Dannika requests it, Mallory will take a few minutes to ritually cast "Comprehend Languages" to see if she can understand the Chwinga.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:01, Wed 26 Jan 2022.

"Wait, what? What are yo-" It was all Torgrim was able to get out before the mysterious figure disappeared into the darkness. He had half a mind to run in pursuit, but ultimately decided against it. He of all people knew that there were very good reasons to keep what anonymity one could in a place like this.

As he walked back to Kelvin's, Torgrim started filling in a new page in his notebook, opposite the sketch of the Chwinga and summary of the notice board. By the time he arrived it read:

"Blue Eyes"

• Blue eyes (duh.)
• Eyes uncomfortably big.
• Grey fur/hair on nose (tiny werebear or hairy teenager?)
• Tribe eating people southeast near forest.
• Ghost or living? 95% 90% 80% chance they're real. Very concerned with hiding for a ghost.

---

Locating the others were not a particularly difficult task. As the door into Kelvin's Comfort opened, Dannika's squeals somehow managed to reach out across the busy tavern, a feat impressive in itself even before taking the predominantly dwarven clientele into account.

"Well, they will keep each other busy for a while, methinks. Did you find anything of interest on the Notice Board?"

"Nothing that jumped out at me, no." Torgrim admitted before consulting the notebook. "An issue with a whale, figured it could be related to our friend.. Terrorfish? but probably not. Bald scarred man wanted, red wizard caught. Sheriff here is Southwell, and some dwarven lads lost a sled." Torgrim read aloud from his jotted down stream of consciousness.

"There was also a hairy blue eyed fellow who talked of cannibals eating trappers near the forest, but he ran before i could squeeze him for details."

Torgrim shut the notebook with one hand and put it back inside his coat. "Now, how about that bottle of Firebrandy?"
This message was last edited by the player at 20:54, Wed 26 Jan 2022.

"I-" Dannika began, but the Chwinga was now close enough to have access to her nose. And it exploited its opportunity to the fullest. That it was somewhat unsanitary and definitely socially frowned upon to brush ones fingers against the inside of other's nostrils did not matter to any Chwinga. Dannika steered away as a sneeze built. "Tchi! Hang on," she scrathed her nose, lowering the Chwinga to the table as she turned to access her bottomless satchel which she had slung over her chair. "I should have something . . . don't run off now, please . . ."

The Chwinga, however, now closer to the table, had already set its eyes on its price — a fork by Moyrah's plate. It climbed out of Dannika's fingers, beelined for the cutlery and hefted it askew in its arms like a grown man would hold a log. It didn't seem to matter that it was a bit dirty.

"I have this," Dannika said and showed a hairpin. She held it out for the Chwinga to grasp, who eyed it briefly before accepting, only to immediately put it down in favor of the fork, serving up a short trill as a 'thank you, but no thank you'. Then it put that fork down in favor of a different fork.

"Okay then," Dannika leaned back in her chair, far more amused than upset. "There's no mention of them producing music in any of the notes or books I've read. I always figured they were mute. Perhaps it's a unique trait of Chwinga here in Icewind Dale? If you wouldn't mind casting your spell, I would love to know if its legible, or if its just random noises similar to what an animal might make. Although . . . they're Elementals, not animals . . . Curious indeed. Sorry, I'm thinking out loud."

"Does it eat?" Moyrah interjected. "You know, since it seems to like forks."
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:26, Wed 26 Jan 2022.

Mallory was certain to keep an eye on the Chwinga so that it couldn't skitter off somewhere unnoticed and fall underfoot of some careless bar patron.  Even if it might've eluded any of their potential efforts to hold it, Astre would have no trouble snatching it up before any harm could befall the little thing.  She tittered softly over the Chwinga's antics as Dannika reeled back to sneeze.  "Curious, aren't they?  They were batting at my earrings the whole trip back."

Dannika's prompting for the spell earned a gentle nod in return and Mallory set her focus inward.  Normally she could chant to invoke magical effects on the fly, but some techniques of hers required a more lengthy meditative process.  "No apologies, darling, I do the same thing.

They seem to behave more like children than animals, though it's always hard to tell with beings like Elementals and Fey.  Their psychology is so alien to ours that it's easy to misinterpret their mannerisms.  But the trio did seem to be able to communicate with one another in some manner, so they appear to be acting on more than just instinct." she continued, apparently able to at least converse without breaking her focus.

"Does it eat?" Moyrah interjected. "You know, since it seems to like forks."

"I don't believe so, at least not in the conventional sense.  Elementals, Spirits, and the like generally don't require physical sustenance as they're naturally fueled by ambient Planar energies drawn from The Weave.  I think this little one just likes flatware.  They were quite attached to a spoon earlier, and the lot of them were delighted over an imaginary tea party." Mallory couldn't help but giggle over the memory of both the odd little experience and Rhydd's grumbling song, though the latter was kept to herself.  "It's a bit odd to think that they might see us as being just as strange and ponderous as we see them, isn't it?"

---

Takes 10 minutes, but Mallory casts "Comprehend Languages" on herself.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:17, Wed 26 Jan 2022.

Dannika smiled at the antics of the little Chwinga. She'd taken to let the little Chwinga go about its little table-expedition in peace, and it made its rounds between every object remotely shiny. Though still it clung to the fork it had picked out for itself. Moyrah's green, strong hands also inspired marked awe. "Innocent. That's the descriptor most often used in the text by the leading expert on them. It's definitely an understatement to call them alien, and its not just their psychology, but their physiology as well. They're able to merge with their surroundings, such as rivers, rocks, or trees. In fact, that's how they sleep. If they even sleep, which is still up for debate. It is speculated that they are the rivers — or trees — or rocks — themselves. The embodiment of nature! And when they die, they return to whatever state they sprung from, becoming petals, pollen, puddles, or pebbles."

It would take some time for Mallory's ritual to complete, and both Dannika and Moyrah cleared space for whatever she needed to do in preparation. The Chwinga, however, offered her no such luxury, and would have to be removed from its playground if Mallory were to use the table as a desk, lest it grab ahold of her chalk, stylus, or spellbook.

"What I'm wondering is if it's the vocalization that helps them communicate, or if it serves some other purpose?" Dannika continued.  "What if the singing is something they've recently developed? I'll admit, the hypothesis isn't founded in much. But still. It is quite possible the Everlasting Rime has afflicted them in some way. Which is also why it'll be so important to study them."

---

I'll allow the others some time to interject before I determine the Ritual to be completed. That's the price she pays if she wants to save the Spell Slot :^)
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:04, Wed 26 Jan 2022.

Thankfully it didn't seem as though Mallory needed much at all beyond concentration on her task and the occasional arcane flourish of her gloved hands.  Such spells were directed on the caster themselves and thus highly internalized; while little happened visibly, those who could detect the flow of magic would know a whole other affair was underway within Mallory's own form.  Thus she wasn't terribly bothered by the Chwinga's antics even when it occasionally hopscotched over her hands in pursuit of its explorations.

"It's certainly possible.  This one's preoccupation with flatware may be because Chwinga don't need to eat and thus may find us shoveling food into our faces a most curious practice.  If they don't have a language of their own, the chimes may be their way of trying to emulate speech, the same way they play at other things mankind does.  If it's just gibberish sounds then this spell will confirm that for us."  While she hoped to hear coherent words from the Chwinga, even ascertaining an absence of meaning would still be a valuable addition to Dannika's findings.  "Do Chwinga commonly wear clothing?  I recall illustrations of them being bare, but these three have fashioned little coats for themselves.  I wouldn't suspect they'd be the least bit bothered by the weather though... might it be that they see everyone else bundled up and want to mimic it, or is the Frostmaiden's supernatural winter enough to even hinder an Elemental?"

---

Mallory, for the immediate future: https://youtu.be/xsHRRHW6sGw?t=392
This message was last edited by the player at 23:49, Wed 26 Jan 2022.

"You're completely right," Dannika nodded at Mallory's reasoning. "They don't need to wear clothing, but they've been observed with it in certain regions. The desert Chwinga from Anarouch, for example, sometimes wear poncho-like outerwear. But even there, half of them elect to wander about without anything on at all, so it seems more of a stylistic choice as opposed to a practical one."

A thud sounded from above, and the Chwinga stopped what it was doing — which was presently scraping its fork against a plate — and looked upward. Another thud. Cling!

"Cling?" Dannika posed, spotting that the Chwinga was now paying attention to something besides the tableware.

CRASH! The roof collapsed, and the Chwinga sprang for cover as a person fell through, landing on their side upon the very table it had just stood on. Two of the table's legs gave out from underneath it, tossing Dannika aside and plates and cutlery high in the air as the person — a blue caped knight in heavy chain armor, her strained face bloody and bruised and with a fork protruding from her thigh — rolled out of the way and onto the floor before another figure came down from the newly opened moonlit hole.

An Undead. Though it landed on its knees with slightly more grace than the knight, the impact was heavy and ensured what remained of the table's integrity was completely undermined as rubble, splinters, and broken shingles flew to the walls. The knight wasn't the only one to sport armor, as the Undead — a grotesque entity with a face as bleak as bone and eyes red and sunken — was fully donned in spiked plate with sharp-teethed animal skulls for pauldrons. A bow, along with a quiver, was strapped to its back, and a couple of the arrows had fallen out in its descent. Its blood stained longsword had penetrated a chunk of the table, clearly having been aimed at where the knight had been a split second prior. "Haaah . . ." it groaned unnaturally as it dislodged its weapon and stood, breathing frost.

---

Torgrim, Mallory, and Rhydd all make a DC 12 Dexterity Saving Throw. On a fail, they take 1d6 Bludgeoning Damage.

Dannika's Dexterity Saving Throw to avoid falling debris [2]: Fail. Dannika takes 6 Bludgeoning Damage and is knocked Unconscious.

Moyrah's Dexterity Saving Throw to avoid falling debris [18]: Success.

Initiative!

• > Mallory and Astre [21]
• Torgrim [19]
• Khulekani [14]
• Moyrah [16 (moved down)
• Wight [13]
• Rhydd [8]
• Farwalker [8]

Wight HP: 23/45
Wight AC: 14
This message was last edited by the GM at 11:47, Fri 28 Jan 2022.

---

Rhydd's Survival Check on cannibalistic tribes in the area [13]: While there doubtlessly existed some, if only because of the law of numbers, cannibalistic tribes were practically unheard of. Even among the more brutal of Reghedmen. Eating trappers was more so Orc, Goblin, or Gnoll behavior.

"Ilmater's mercy!" came a grunt of pain from the tangled mess of table, cloak, woman, and clay tiles from the roof.

Struggling to sit up in all this mess, with a crimson puddle slowly spreading out from the fork in her thigh, the dark-skinned figure with long locks took stock of her surroundings. Despite the obvious pain on her face, and the longsword held firmly in her right hand, her grimace turned to a look of fear once she realized that the room was host to a number of other souls. Most of which did not look to be able to defend themselves against the horror that walked in their midst. Despite the direness of her situation, it was clear that this person's priority was the safety of others.

"Beware! Prepare to flee or to defend yourselves...A Wight is upon you. Don't let it touch you!" she cried, eyes wide wide with adrenaline and pain.

She struggled to find her feet, but slipped in the debris and blood. It was quite the experience to go crashing through a building, and it seemed that her limbs would need a few moments to sort themselves out before she could rise again to do battle with the vile creature.

"Torm, grant me the strength to defeat this evil..." the knight whispered, trying to gather the physical and spiritual power to stand before the monster slew any more innocents.d
This message was last edited by the player at 21:43, Thu 27 Jan 2022.

While Mallory's focus remained on her spellcraft, Astre was another matter entirely.  The Tressym had ambled alongside Rhydd and Torgrim on their way upstairs to join the little table party in process but, even before the Chwinga itself noticed a moment of foreboding, Astre's sharp ears flicked at the creaks of wood and impacts others weren't keen enough to hear.  All at once the Tressym suddenly burst forward in a surge of speed and flapping wings with a lunge across the table and into his surprised companion's chest that pitched Mallory ass-over-teakettle backwards.  Just in time for the whole room to go to chaos as the roof caved overhead.

---

Dex Saving Throw: Mallory Bonheur rolled 20 using 1d20+2.  Astre didn't assist Mallory in the save, that was just for flavor.

---

Amid the dust and haze and confused shouts, the first thing to break out above the rest was Mallory's terrified scream at the monstrous sight that loomed before them.  A looming, desiccated corpse driven to action by bloodlust was the stuff of nightmares for any reasonable mind, let alone when one was stood right before her.  The first thought that sprang to mind was the entirely reasonable reaction of "kill it with fire", only for the addendum that they were in a wooden tavern full of flammable alcohol and civilians to immediately quash that idea.

"Dannika!  Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods..." It was a struggle not to let panic grip her heart as Mallory flailed and clambered over to her fallen friend.  The strange knight's words of warning seemed to be given heed as she hurried to drag Dannika away from the fray, though all the while hasty words spilled from her lips in a low, resonant chant.  "Spirits of the Windy Skies, soaring free on endless wings.  Break these earthly tethers and bear aloft the mortal anchor, for but a glimpse of your splendor."

All at once the Wight, terrible as it was, would find its ability to advance and wreak havoc on the hapless tavern-goers hindered as gravity itself seemed to betray it.  Mallory's outstretched hand gestured skyward as a whirl of rising debris and snow floated upward around the Undead's form; its own feet left the floor to leave it suspended in mid-air like a marionette dangled on the end of its strings.

Astre, meanwhile, wheeled about in concern over both Mallory and Dannika.  He landed himself atop the unconscious scholar's chest with a few sharp bounces and fanned her with his wings, in hopes of bringing her back around.  He'd had to do that quite a few times prior when his companion had too much to drink and passed out strewn across the floor beside her bed, after all...

---

Mallory
Action: Mallory casts "Levitate" on the Wight and uses her remaining daily Portent to make it roll 8 on its CON saving throw, auto-failing the save.

The Wight will be suspended five feet off the floor and held in place - it can't move on its own unless it can grab onto something to anchor itself to, but it will be able to make melee attacks against anyone who comes within reach or thrown/ranged attacks otherwise.

Bonus Action/Free Interaction/Movement: I'm not sure how this measures up in the mechanics since moving another creature is always odd.  But Mallory wants to drag Dannika as far into cover as she can.  Is it like grappling where she can get half her movement speed in?  Or is it like hauling an Object where it's based on her carrying capacity?  Either way, trying to get Dannika and herself out of the line of fire behind something that offers cover.

Astre
Movement: Keeping with wherever Mallory and Dannika are.

Action: Medicine check to Stabilize Dannika, DC 10
Mallory Bonheur rolled 6 using 1d20+1
Failure, so Dannika is not yet stabilized.

I find it a bit hilarious Familiars can actually do this, but Stabilizing a creature is an Action, so I guess they can?  Basically trying to do the same thing as wafting smelling salts under someone's nose, I suppose.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:32, Thu 27 Jan 2022.

In spite of the threat being suspended — quite literally into thin air — there wasn't anything some air and light batting on Dannika's chest could immediately accomplish. The half-elven scholar was out cold, with blood streaking down her forehead. Moyrah, on the other hand, had anticipated the threat and gotten out of the way before she could be hit by knight, wight, or wreckage. And the Chwinga was nowhere to be seen.

The minstrel halted his ballad, and the patrons all found themselves on their feet within moments of the thundering boom. The Knight's cry of warning did seem to inspire some order in them, keeping them from running around like headless chickens and the situation from plummeting into utter chaos.

"What in th'bloody NINE HELLS' goin' on up there?" one Dwarf shouted, mowing his way through the crowd on the first floor.

---

Torgrim's turn.
This message was last edited by the GM at 08:09, Fri 28 Jan 2022.

"Now, how about that bottle of Firebrandy?"

Torgrim took a few steps towards the bar before the sudden cracking of wood and smashing of plates made him whip back around, just in time to dodge the piece of the roof that flew towards his face. Once the snow and dust settled and the pale red-eyed wight came into view, Torgrim acted on instinct ad pulled out a pair of knives from the inside of his coat.

He was about to rush forward when an unfamiliar voice reached through the chaos: "Don't let it touch you!" He halted his advance, but launched both knives in the direction of the creature with a flick of the wrists. In the same motion the newly acquired hand crossbow shot forth from his vambrace and into his open hand, preparing to follow up with a bolt.

The first dagger hit the wight in the side, somewhere around where it might have had a functioning kidney at some point. As the second dagger flew the wight was magically lifted up into the air, making the dagger miss its mark and barely miss whoever was unlucky enough to stand behind it before finally getting lodged in the wall.

OOC:

Dexterity saving throw to dodge debris: 22 (Success)

Action: Throw two daggers at the wight.
Throw 1: 14 to hit, 6 damage.
Throw 2: 8 to hit, miss.

When her pain-wracked body finally ceased sending discombobulating signals to the rest of her body, the chainmail-clad woman used the point of her sword to struggle to her feet. A fresh spurt of blood from the fork in her thigh added a bit of garnish to the destruction and debris already around her. But she had neither the time, nor the inclination, to see to her wounds at the moment. There was still a beast that should not live threatening these people.

When her eyes focus on the foul Wight, her eyebrows shot up when she saw that it was floating a few feet off the ground rather helplessly. Though, the creature still had a longbow, and was far from no longer being a threat. Before she could move in, a pair of daggers zipped past her face, one of them embedding itself into the side of the Undead creature.

No doubt it, and the spell trapping the creature, had come from one or more of the tavern patrons. That was good. They were keeping their distance, but still fighting back. Still, it was her duty to protect these people, and she was not about to shirk her duty just because she was injured and there were a few scrappy and resourceful folk about.

"The Loyal Fury strikes thee down, creature of darkness!!!" she roared, brandishing her sword.

The blade, which was already glowing with a soft, silvery light, suddenly exploded into a golden blaze that shone with the purity and power of the sun. Her first strike went wide, as she stepped forward and her leg threatened to give way. But the second strike landed with all the surety and finality of an executioner's stroke.

OOC Mechanics
Hit Points   : 19/39
Armor Class  : 18
Initiative   : 14
Active Spells: Divine Favor

Free    : Divine Smite (2nd level), Speak
Move    : Stand (15 ft), move to floating Wight (probably less than 15 ft away)
Action  : Attack, Extra Attack
Bonus   : Cast Divine Favor

Damage: 37 (13 Magic Slashing, 20 Radiant)

-Rolls-
08:13, Today: Khulekani Kumalo rolled 13,16 using d20+7,d20+7.  Attack Rolls.
08:15, Today: Khulekani Kumalo rolled 13,3,17 using 1d8+6,1d4,4d8.  Damage Rolls.

The Wight, realizing someone was casting magic its way and that that someone was the raven-haired woman close by, tried to grab a hold of something — anything — to shove against so it could reach her. While it stood a chance against a single knight, a whole band of combatants was another matter entirely and it had to reprioritize its target selection. And that meant casters first. Unfortunately, there was nothing it could use to reach her.

Until it was pierced in the abdomen by Torgrim's blade. The Wight grabbed ahold of it, intent to yank it out and aim it Mallory's way, but before it could, the knight's sword, glowing in the moonlight, struck clean through its neck. The severed head took a moment to detach. Once it did, it didn't plop to the floor, but floated in the air, remaining suspended along with the rest of the body. No blood sprayed from its cold, dead neck, but the Wight's movements fell still and its weapon dropped from its hand.

---

Wight HP: 0/45

Combat over.

Farwalker had already been on her way up when the crashing came from ahead. At this point, it was almost expected. It didn’t stop her from rushing a bit on her way up. Not too fast, she still had her pack and she didn’t want to trip on the stairs. That would be embarrassing, even if it wouldn’t harm her. She also didn’t burst into the room, as that was likely to get her attacked by allies as much as by enemies. In the entrance of the room, she frowned at the scene in front of her. Though, some might call it glaring if they didn’t know any goliaths.

Once everything had properly registered, she looked first to Dannika and spoke a single word. “Heal.“ As always with her magic, a faint aurora flickered to life around the young woman before sinking towards her body and patching together the worst of the damage.

“Would someone care to explain what happened?” She asked, evenly and calmly. The frown had been smoothed away, and large, amiable Farwalker was back as usual. “I’ve barely been gone an hour.” And the ice hadn’t even melted from the heat of the building yet.

Though her face paled and eyes widened in mounting panic when the Wight turned its attention her way, Mallory didn't shy from its focus.  When a weapon was raised she didn't try to run.  Not out of courage in the face of danger, but in that her immediate reaction was to curl herself over Dannika as a living shield to protect her from any strike that might come.

Thankfully all further assault fell on the Wight itself and spared the rest of them the turmoil.  Mallory didn't see any of it herself beyond the flares and flashes as she kept her head down in her efforts to protect her friend but, with everything over in a moment's time, she slowly lifted her frightened gaze to a more reassuring sight.  A literally shining paladin stood victorious over an Undead scourge, aglow with divine righteousness... it was the sort of thing she was more accustomed to reading about in stories, but to see it in the flesh was a whole other matter.

Her relief was short-lived though.  No sooner did she blink than she looked back down to Dannika, still cradled in her arms and seeping hot blood across her skirts.  "Dannika!  Dannika, please, wake up... oh gods, she's bleeding..."  The noble looked about in panic for help from someone, anyone, and found it in Farwalker's approach.  Healing magics!  Mallory choked out a relived sob and she set to trying to rouse her friend back into wakefulness once more.

“Would someone care to explain what happened?”

The absolutely baffled expression shared by both Mallory and Astre said plenty about what answers they had to give.  Apparently even a seer's knowledge had its limits.  While she returned her focus to tending to her scholar friend, Astre's gaze looked instead over to Khulekani rather pointedly.

---

Mallory's going to maintain Concentration and keep the Wight floating there until we're 100% positive it's not going to get back up again.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:42, Fri 28 Jan 2022.

Rhydd had pursed his lips thoughtfully and was trying to remember if he had ever heard anything about cannibals eating people -- and he could not, at least not Humans, any way. He was just about to reply to Torgrim's comment about Firebrandy when the roof fell in.

Well, it was more a matter of a female in heavy armor falling through the roof and crashing into the table where Dannika and Moyrah had been sitting. An instant later, a horrible monstrosity followed through the hole in the roof, finishing off what was left of the table.

The archer was quick enough on his feet to stay clear of the flying wood and other objects, and he stared at the monster whilst he heard the heavily-armored woman warn that it was a Wight -- and that everyone should avoid being touched by it. Rhydd had heard horrifying tavern tales about various sorts of Undead, but he had never fought such a creature himself -- so he was thankful for the warning.

Moisture tended to destroy the tautness of bowstrings, so if it was snowing or raining Rhydd generally kept his bow-stave unstrung when he was not expecting trouble. In this instance he was carrying a bow-string his belt-pouch, and he fished around in the pouch while the his companions and the stranger reacted to the Wight's unexpected appearance.

An instant later the Wight floated up into the air. From its actions, seemingly it did not expect this turn of events. ~~Most likely Lady Mallory's work. That was some quick thinking on her part!~~

By now Rhydd had found the bow-string that he needed, but two flashing daggers from Torgrim and a heavy-handed sword-strike from the female (which resulted in a glorious explosion of golden light) had slain the monster before he finished re-stringing his bow.

Rhydd slowly exhaled. He had not even realized that he had been holding his breath. By now Farwalker had arrived, and she looked to Dannika (who was lying prostrate upon the floor) and uttered the word "Heal."

The archer finished stringing his bow -- just in case -- and glanced at the woman who had fallen through the roof. "Are there any more of them that we will need to fight?" he asked her.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:17, Fri 28 Jan 2022.

In the aftermath of the blaze of glorious light, and the sharp crunch of parting bone and dried flesh, it was an almost deafening silence. The heavy breathing of the dark-skinned woman was almost a whisper in the aftermath of that divine power. Though her blade no longer shone with the wrath of the Celestial planes, it still shone steady with a soft, silvery light. Once satisfied that the headless corpse would remain among the dead, finally, the mailed warrior rose to her full height and took a more thorough stock of her surroundings.

Now that she was no longer struggling to her feet beneath a pile of roof debris, or rushing about with the swiftness of battle, more details about here emerged in the combination of firelight and glowing sword.

The Human stood nearly six feet tall, and was built like the warrior she obviously was. The fine chain of her armor could not fully hide the swell of her muscular arms, nor the heavy winter trousers hide the thickness of her legs. This was clearly a woman who could labor for many hours, or trade blows, with most men of great strength. That her skin was dark in complexion was obvious from the moment that they had layed eyes on her, but looking closer this wasn't a person man swarthy under a harsh sun, or even someone from Calimshan to the deep south. For those that knew the continents of Toril, they could trace her lineage to Katashaka. Her long black hair was divided into thick dreadlocks, which she held back from her face by tying it back with itself. Her eyes were bright, intelligent, and the color of an old oak tree. Atop the chainmail she wore a thick mantled winter cape the color of a Bluejay. The mantle appeared to be the soft white fur of some large cat, possibly a lynx. The fur that trimmed her leather gloves matched the mantle, showing that this girl had at least some fashion sense. The shield she bore in her left hand was a simple affair. A thin steel sheet backed by slats of hardened wood in the style of a heater shield. Upon its face was etched a stylized heart contained within a perfect circle. For those with an eye for history or martial organizations, they would recognize this as the symbol of the Radiant Heart Auxiliary, the junior wing of the Order of the Radiant Heart, comprised of knights who were not yet old enough or highly regarded enough to gain membership to the senior branch of the Order. From her neck she wore a heavy silver Triquetra upon a steel chain, a common symbol representing The Triad. The naked steel that she held in her right hand was a simple, almost common longsword. The only thing that stood out about it was a heart held within the shadow of a crescent moon that was stamped above the cross-guard.

Well, that and the glowing of course.

Seeing no other threats, and seeing the wounded already being tended too by a large Goliath with apparent healing abilities, the Paladin sheathed her blade and strode out of the devastation of her fight. With the calls of confusion from the Goliath, a Human patron, and what could only be a surly Dwarf from downstairs. She raised both hands in the universal sign of calm and peace, and limped forward to stand closer to the others.

"Peace, friends. My name is Khulekani Kumalo, and I am a Squire of the Radiant Heart Auxiliary. To my knowledge, this creature is the only of it's kind in the area. It was in the service of a Red Wizard of Thay who was recently apprehended, and has already slain three guards. But it's terror has ended. Are there any others who need healing? I am sure The One Who Endures would give mercy and aid to those injured in the battle. And would one of you be so good as to run and inform the Sheriff that the danger has passed? They will want to call off the alarm. I would do it myself, but I find myself a bit hampered at the moment," Khulekani said soothingly, not wanting to cause a panic now that the danger was truly over.

Though she had understated the severity of her injury, it was clear that the iron fork was deep in her thigh. Possibly pressing against bone. But despite the blood-loss, the health and safety of the civilians was paramount in her eyes, and she knew she could wait to be seen too.

Through the power of Sune's healing, Dannika was restored to health and consciousness in Mallory's arms. She slowly batted her eyes open, scrunching her face in discomfort as the pain from what must have been a stray shingle or splinter of wood set in. "Ooooh . . ." she moaned. "Chauntea ease me . . . What happened? Did I pass out?" When her vision cleared and she laid eyes upon the decapitated, floating corpse, she leaned upright in spite of her pounding head. "What. Happened?"

Thankfully, the Knight — no, not a Knight, but a Squire of the Radiant Heart Auxiliary — explained the situation to the onlookers. Many had fled downstairs, not ready to leave their fate in the hands of a bunch of strangers. The strong, regal woman, however, provided a comfort, and as the situation calmed, so did everyone else. Well, almost everyone else.

"First-" the loud Dwarf bellowed. He had made his way upstairs, shoving against the flow of patrons. Those familiar would recognize him as Ogden, the stout and bald proprietor of The Comfort. "—you'll let me know why there's a blasted HOLE in my roof!?" He seemed to care little for the suspended Wight. "Who's gonna fix this?" He pointed to the Wight. "Is he gonna fix it?!" Spittle flew just as the splinters had done a moment earlier. "Sure as HELLS doesn't look like he's gonna fix it, does it?!"
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:21, Fri 28 Jan 2022.

As Dannika sat upright on her own power she once more ended up in the midst of a crushing hug from Mallory.  With the intensity of danger having passed it gave way to relief and she nearly wept into her friend's frizzy hair.  "Oh, thank goodness... you were bleeding so much!  Hold still a second." the young noble was too caught up to focus on much of anything other than Dannika as she tried to wipe away stream of blood that still lingered on her forehead.  It took a second before she realized she was being dumb about it and instead gave a flare of cleansing magic to purge away the blood matted about in Dannika's hair, as well as across her own gloves and clothing.

---

Prestidigitation for a quick clean up.

---

The Dwarven proprietor who boomed his way up the stairs was plenty to draw attention all on his own.  Mallory looked back and forth, wide-eyed, between him and the knight while demands of recompense were roared about.  She couldn't really blame him...

But mention of a Red Wizard of Thay being present in town, let alone one powerful enough to conjure up a Wight, furrowed Mallory's brow.  He'd already been captured?  Inwardly, she was highly skeptical of that.  Further investigation was required.  But first she spoke up before Ogden could raise his own blood pressure any higher.

"The one who summoned this Undead is responsible for any harm it's done, and if he truly is a Red Wizard then he's surely well-heeled enough to pay any fees." she chimed in.  "Squire Kumalo, was it?  You said this wizard was in custody?  Where?  A mage capable of this sort of craft requires a specialist's attention to make sure he doesn't have any further tricks up his sleeves."

As she weathered the storm of anger and spittle, Khulekani looked genuinely embarrassed and uncomfortable. Despite facing a powerful creature that had greatly injured her, and who's very being was a violation of goodness and nature itself, causing this Dwarf distress through her own failure was a worse prospect, going only by her expression. She sheepishly rubbed the back of her neck with a gloved hand and looked down at the enraged tavern keeper with sympathy and apology in her lovely brown eyes.

"Forgive me, Master Dwarf. This damage is entirely my fault. I noticed the Wight slinking along the roof, possibly looking to pick off more guards with it's vile bow. I climbed the side of the building and engaged it directly instead of forcing it to the ground. It threw me with such force that it was I who broke through your fine roof. Please forgive me. I hope that this will be enough to compensate for the damage, and salve any other hurt you may have experienced..." the young Squire said somberly, reaching into her satchel and drawing out one of five identical leather pouches.

She handed over the coin without comment, but ready to pay more if asked.

She looked up at the question of the Human woman with fine features in the immaculate red attire. It was a fair question. Combined with the winged cat at her side, Khulekani surmised that she was the one who had cast the spell of Levitation earlier. She nodded her head in belated thanks.

"Indeed, the Red Wizard currently resides in the local jail. He is bound, blindfolded, and gagged. His ability to cast spells has been curtailed until either his acquittal or his...sentencing. It was I who arrested him in the first place, but I found it strange how little he was distressed once he regained consciousness. I suspected a contingency plan to free him. Binding a Wight is powerful and expensive magic, and he is, as of the moment, unable to cast spells. I do not think we will have a repeat of this drama," she said with a certainty that sounded genuine.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:18, Fri 28 Jan 2022.

"Now is not the time for yelling." Sure, her voice was calm, but she was still large, and loud. It was just a natural thing. "People have been injured. Your concern for your inn over the health of your patrons is immensely disappointing." She held up a hand as the warrior moved to hand over a coin pouch to the dwarf. "And you will sit. You will help no one by permanantly injuring your leg."

She looked back down at the dwarf, "If you are so concerned over the damage to your building, I will see to it's repair myself."

Today: Farwalker rolled 18 using 1d20+5 with rolls of 13.  Intimidation?

Rhydd had never heard of the Radiant Heart Order, but he reckoned that a squire was some manner of knight. You didn't see many of their sort up here in the Far North -- and certainly not out in the far Wilds, where he spent most of his time. But be that as it may, he found himself quite impressed with the newcomer. Now that the fighting had ended she seemed quite polite and mild-mannered -- although clearly she was a formidable warrior when the need arose.

She had requested that someone go and inform the commander of the local Guards that the Wight had been slain, and the danger that it had forced upon the town had passed.

"I shall go and speak with someone in authority with the town Guard and let them know the situation," he said to the Squire. "Is there anything else that I need to tell them, other than letting them know that this . . . that the Wight is dead?"
This message was last edited by the player at 03:14, Sat 29 Jan 2022.

"EVERYBODY OUT!" the Dwarf yelled as he spun around and swung his arm in a wide arc. Despite being a third of her height, he didn't care much for Farwalker's condemnation, nor did he accept Khulekani's coin. "Show's over!" He turned back and pointed sternly to the one's who had been involved in combat in any capacity. Which seemed to include Farwalker. "Not you! You stay! MAGDA! Fetch supplies from the medicine cabinet!" he leaned over railing to address the plump barkeep downstairs. "And me coat as well, if you'd please."

That the good squire was so ready to shoulder responsibility was admirable, but there was a big difference between holding a proper account and being a doormat to demands.  Especially where money was involved.  Mallory made no comment as she helped Dannika back up to her feet and didn't release her until she was certain the scholar could stand on her own accord.

"Not you! You stay! MAGDA! Fetch supplies from the medicine cabinet!" he leaned over railing to address the plump barkeep downstairs. "And me coat as well, if you'd please."

"I daresay we're all about to make a visit to the sheriff's office shortly." she muttered half under her breath toward Rhydd and Torgrim.

The young noble gathered up the chair she'd been seated in herself, toppled by her Tressym's timely tumble, and righted it once more to afford Khulekani somewhere to sit and take the weight off her injured leg.  "Here now, have a seat, Squire.  As for the rest of us; let's do what we can to tidy this affair up in the meantime, shall we?  Moyrah, gentlemen?  Won't you gather the debris to one side while I handle the Wight?"  With the Dwarven proprietor in such a tizzy it was best to try and take the pressure off a little.  Though another thought came to mind as she looked about around the floor around them.

"Dannika, darling?  Do you see our little friend anywhere?" if the scholar was wanting for something to do, searching for the Chwinga was an easy place to set her focus.  Astre, similarly, coiled his way around Dannika's ankles with an arched press to show his company with her.

---

If Dannika searches for the Chwinga, Astre will assist her.
This message was last edited by the player at 07:42, Sat 29 Jan 2022.

If anything about the present moment shocked Khulekani, it wasn't the Goliath ordering her around, nor a patron actually listening to her and offering to run information to the Sheriff. It was the Dwarf refusing a sack full of compensation. Despite being a woman of faith dedicated to higher ideals, she knew how the world worked. Coin was the language of most in the Realms. He must truly be angry. Stowing the contents back into her satchel, Khulekani resigned herself to whatever authority that the Dwarf was no doubt going to fetch.

"Yes...tell the Sheriff the creature was in the service of Red Wizard Dzaan, and that he should add three more murders to the list of charges against him. Tell him that I would be more than willing to swear to such in whatever version of a court this town has," she replied to Rhydd, nodding her thanks.

The Paladin was going to argue the point to the two women, arguing that she could perform some minor healing on others before worrying about herself, but when presented with a chair just behind her, and the forceful words of the towering grey-skinned woman, such arguments died before they ever left her lips.

She sat down with a soft groan, and it was only then that everyone could see a thin sheen of sweat upon her brow. Despite her stoic show while standing, it was clear that she was in a lot of pain. She slid the shield off her arm and leaned it against the chair, before putting pressure on both sides of the embedded fork to staunch the flow of blood.

"Ilmater's mercy! Ah...yes...you are both right, thank you," the Squire said with a small smile to the two women, still trying to put on a brave face so as not to worry them.

"The Chwinga!" Dannika exclaimed, forgetting all about her wound as she scrambled to her feet. The little being had disappeared, likely among the rubble, and both Astre and Moyrah, in her attempts to clean things up, assisted the scholar in her search.

"Sit still, blasted woman!" Ogden snarled at Khulekani. "Goin' 'round playin' hero . . . Magda will be up in a moment to patch ya up. Don't hurt yerself anymore!" And true enough, the plump, kerchiefed barkeep ascended the stairs with a medicinal case in her hand. She laid it out on the table, grabbing bandages, swabs, and salves with the intention of applying them to Khulekani.

"You!" the Bald Dwarf continued as he donned his coat, pointing through a sleeve toward Rhydd. "Let's go."

---

Dannika's Perception check to look for the Chwinga (w/ Advantage granted by Astre) [19 20!]: While they're not immediately able to locate it, there was still a lot of debris to sift through. It could also have ran off to another corner, and not stayed in the heat of the action. And such was precisely the case.

---

After sniffing the air for the scent of the Chwinga, Astre swooped in toward a table further away. There, the Chwinga stood, cowering behind the leg of a chair. Dannika rushed on over and scooped it up, the little fellow apparently happy to be provided comfort.
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:52, Sat 29 Jan 2022.

Rhydd nodded his understanding to the impressive dark-skinned female as she gave him her thoughts on what the Sheriff --or the Captain of the Guards, whomever -- should be told. "Understood, Squire. I'll make sure that he -- or she -- gets that message."

The outdoorsman scowled down at the Dwarf when that worthy started issuing orders left and right, and demanded imperiously of Rhydd himself "You!! Let's go!"

"All right, Short Stuff," Rhydd fired right back. "I'll even give you a head start, on those stubby little legs of yours."

"Or," he suggested in a milder tone, "keep a civil tongue in your head and show some respect for those of us who were willing to put our lives at risk to slay yon Wight, and I'll pay you the respect that you are due."
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 18:13, Sat 29 Jan 2022.

Dannika escaped a scorning by virtue of having been cleaned up by Mallory's magic. Otherwise, the Dwarf would surely have yelled at her as well and ordered her to sit back down.

When the barkeep dragged along a chair to sit beside Khulekani, the tavern had completely cleared — even the minstrel had managed to pack his lyre and head back out into the cold. She smiled gently as she popped the cork on a bottle of pure alcohol and pointed it toward Khulekani's fork-wound. "Ready? You don't seem like the kind to ask for a spindle to bite down on, but I have one if you need it."

"Hah!" Ogden laughed at Rhydd's remarks as he bounced his way down the stairs. "Don't get snotty with me, lad! You know what I call respect shown through words? Superficial."

"Have it your way, Short Stuff," Rhydd replied with a shrug. "Then I won't show you any respect with my words. Although, truth be told, I don't give a rat's ass whether you think me superficial or not."

The archer waved his hand down the stairs. "Down you go, Shorty. I promised you a head start, and I'm a man of my word."

"Bah! Insulting me based on me immutable characteristics! Perhaps you do be superficial . . ." The Dwarf did, however, happily take the head start.

Rhydd turned his head and winked at Mallory, waved to the others, and followed the Dwarf down the stairs.

As everyone settled in their various manners and took to tasks, Mallory's apparent handling of the Wight involved undoing its armor while it was still held aloft in her magics.  Pieces shed without much concern for how noisily they were dropped in a heap; they were of rather poor quality, ravaged by exposure and lack of care, so she wasn't particularly delicate with them.  Once the Wight was down to its thinnest layer she pulled free her road blanket, draped it over the desiccated remains to gather its various floating severed bits all together, and then bound it all tight with knots and a length of rope.  Only then did she finally gesture the remains down to the floor to lay at rest there.

Meanwhile, Astre's aid helped uncover the timid Chwinga and return it safely to the doting care of the strange giants it had come into the company of.  Mallory was quite relieved to see that it hadn't been crushed underfoot in the chaos and came alongside Dannika to offer gentle reassurances to the little fellow with a brush of her fingertips across its back.  "There you are, safe and sound now.  I'm sorry you got caught up in that.  But don't you worry; we'll make sure no harm comes to you.  Just stay with Dannika, alright?" she reassured the poor thing while Astre hopped his way back up to drape across her shoulders.

"Don't get snotty with me, lad! You know what I call respect shown through words? Superficial."

"Down you go, Shorty. I promised you a head start, and I'm a man of my word."

Rhydd's wink back her way seemed as good a queue to pick up as any.  "Hold on you two, I'm coming with!" the young noble insisted.  She crouched to take up one end of the bound corpse and actually managed to hoist it up over her shoulder with relative ease for so small a woman as she was.  The bulk of the Wight's weight had been in its equipment; without all that it was little more than a hollowed husk and not too heavy for her to manage.  Astre was close on her heels as she hurried downstairs after Rhydd and Ogden.

As Mallory and Rhydd followed Ogden down the steps, they were met with Torgrim coming in the opposite direction with a bottle of Firebrandy in one hand, and a stack of cups in the other, recently snagged from behind the temporarily unmanned bar."Have fun you two, I'll hold down the fort here." The half-elf slid to the side of the stairs, letting the trio pass. "Also, I've paid for this, in case you were wondering." He turned to hold up the bottle in the dwarf's direction while continuing upstairs and nearly tripping over Astre in the process, though thankfully without loosing any of his valuable cargo.

---

"I took the liberty of getting some medicine of my own." Torgrim presented the cups and bottle triumphantly. "Yes, in fact I did pay for it" He repeated himself to Magda before moving to pull his errant dagger from the wall and using it to uncork the bottle and dividing its content evenly between five cups, and the cups evenly between his companions. The final cup apart from his own, he presented to the newly arrived squire. "Khulekani, was it? Tell me, did it hurt when you fell from heaven?

---

OOC: Torgrim left 3 silver behind the bar as payment.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:09, Sun 30 Jan 2022.

Khulekani smiled weakly at the barkeep when she offered a spindle to bite down on. She gave it some serious thought for a moment. But in the end, she shook her head. If she was going to curse and cry, that was simply how it was going to be. Now that the danger had passed, there was no need to put on a brave front. She was simply Human after all, and Humans got injured from time to time, and there was no shame in experiencing pain.

"Thank you, but no. I will simply have to endure. Forgive me in advance if I say less than kind things," she said with a soft chuckle.

When the pale-skinned man with the grizzled features offered Khulekani didn't even wait for him to finish placing it upon the table. She simply snatched it from his hand and gulped down the entire contents in one go. But almost immediately she started spluttering and coughing violently. She dropped the glass on the table and slapped it a few times as she coughed, clearly in distress.

"Ew ew ew ew! What is that?!" Khulekani wheezed once she caught her breath, clearly not a heavy drinker.

Once she finally recovered from that overpriced rotgut, the young woman took a steadying breath, and looked Torgrim dead in the face and searched his eyes for a moment. But then she threw her head back in a deep, genuine belly-laugh, which was quickly cut off when a fresh throb of pain in her leg made itself known.

"Quite a lot, actually. Thank you for the drink, sir. Tell me, you look the type to have spent an evening or two in a tavern. Do those lines ever work?" the Squire asked, eyes sparking with amusement.

“Are you going to ask her age, next?” Farwalker asked with amusement colouring her voice. She was sorting through the broken chunks of wood and roofing and table. Her piles were fastidiously neat. Plus, the cool air from the hole in the ceiling was nice. The snow drifting in was a little less so. She’d taken off her pack for the moment and had set it in the corner. It had of course thunked heavily when she’d set it down.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:24, Sun 30 Jan 2022.

Torgrim had been barely been able to keep a straight face already, so when the squire's laughter filled the tavern he burst out in a gravelly chortle of his own, which eventually broke off into a stifled cough. It took a gulp of his own cup for his throat to somewhat recover. "Hah *cough*, not that I've ever seen, no. In fact, I'm fairly certain i once saw a man loose half his family jewels over one in Easthaven."

“Are you going to ask her age, next?”
"Hardy har har." Torgrim laughed sarcastically in Farwalker's direction. "No, I'm more interested in the glowy glowy stuff. Is that something all you knights, or squires, get to do?"
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 14:33, Sun 30 Jan 2022.

In reply to Mallory Bonheur (msg # 103):

From his spot partway down the stairs, Rhydd glanced back over his shoulder as Lady Mallory made her announcement. The corners of his mouth turned down in a frown as he glimpsed what she was carrying.

"Do you really need to take that . . . that Thing with you?" he asked.

"Even assuming that you have some interest in it, can't it be left here? 'Tis hard for me to imagine that anyone else would wish to carry it away, but if that concerns you, I'm sure that someone could watch o'er it for you."

The concept of cutting up dead bodies as a means of "harvesting" some supposedly magicked parts or portions was a new one for Rhydd, and was one that he quite honestly found to be rather ghoulish and disgusting.

He had heard that some barbarians (or, mayhap it was some of the Orc tribes -- he couldn't remember which) made a habit of feasting on the hearts of foes whom they had vanquished in battle, and to his mind Lady Mallory's disquieting practices did not seem overly far removed from that.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:18, Sun 30 Jan 2022.

"Have fun you two, I'll hold down the fort here." The half-elf slid to the side of the stairs, letting the trio pass. "Also, I've paid for this, in case you were wondering."

"Could I have one of those for the road?" Mallory leaned a bit precariously to the side given the load she carried to let Torgrim ease past.  Such a request perhaps sounded too much like a blithe joke as he just continued upstairs to serve the others their fare, which left the young noble with a bit of a pout.  She'd really needed a drink an hour ago, let alone after all that had just happened.

Rhydd's mulling over the necessity of bringing the corpse along, however, brought her back on task by the time they'd reached the landing at the bottom of the stairs.  "As I said of the Wizard, Rhydd; these sort of things require a specialist's attention.  If I left the remains to the locals, they'd surely just bury it or burn it and that could yield a whole host of other troubles.  Do you know what happens when you bury a powerful Undead in unsanctified ground?" she left it at that with a shake of her head to allow one's imagination to run wild on the grim possibilities of strange, dark magics run amok.  Given what she'd told Rhydd of what could happen if one buried an Ice Troll's heart, the risks of improper handling of monsters were perhaps more disastrous than most appreciated.  "Besides, I'd like the Sheriff to see this so they might fully appreciate the sort of threat their captive Wizard may yet pose as well."

Mallory shuffled up alongside Ogden and played the Good Soldier to Rhydd's Bad Soldier as she afforded the Dwarf a sympathetic hand rested at his back.  "And hasn't this poor gentleman endured enough tonight?" she crooned even as she started to tilt once more to one side, then hoisted to readjust the literal dead weight load more evenly.  "His home and business damaged, profits lost in these troubled times?  As a fellow businesswoman bruised by the fickle whims of chance, I couldn't possibly stand aside and see him suffer more."
This message was last edited by the player at 22:01, Sun 30 Jan 2022.

In reply to Mallory Bonheur (msg # 109):

"Well, I did not mean for you to leave the dead Wight for the locals to tend to," Rhydd answered. "My thought was simply to leave it here until you returned for it."

"Personally, I see no sense in carrying it around with us. But if you are determined to do so -- here -- hand it over to me. There is no reason for you to carry the burden. And I promise that I won't run off with it."

The archer just rolled his eyes when Lady Mallory addressed the Dwarf and played the simpering female card. ~~Silly me. I had thought that such obvious tactics would not be something that she, of all people, would employ. I wonder if all females  customarily call upon such wiles if they see some benefit to be had from it?~~

"It might get back up again and wander off."  A very simple, if absolutely unnerving, reason was given for the haste in handling.  She let that notion settle with Rhydd as to whether or not he would retract his offer to carry the corpse for her but, if he persisted, she'd hoist it to him with a grateful smile.

In reply to Mallory Bonheur (msg # 111):

Rhydd's eyes widened in surprise when Lady Mallory gave another reason for taking the Wight's body along with them -- namely, that it might revive and begin causing more trouble. He thought that she might be pulling his leg just to make jest of his lack of understanding of such things, but that very lack of understanding made him uncertain of the right of it.

"Well . . ." he began, speaking hesitantly at first, but then with more confidence, "if that is a possibility, 'tis better that I am carrying it instead of you."
This message was last edited by the player at 23:05, Sun 30 Jan 2022.

"Thank you very much, Rhydd.  I knew there was a gentleman somewhere under all that gruff." Mallory could bear the load herself but wasn't about to turn down the opportunity to avoid such labor.  A bit of adjusting later had the bundled corpse in Rhydd's possession for the time being, which freed her up to sort out her lantern rod for the walk.  "Right, let's get to it then."

Though she had freed her shoulders of one burden, they weren't unoccupied for long as Astre took the opportunity to bound up and drape himself like a boa once more.  The Tressym was a far more welcome guest to carry though and earned himself a fond scratch beneath the chin for his presence.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:28, Mon 31 Jan 2022.

Dannika found her seat at the table once again, this time making sure the Chwinga didn't leave the safe confines of her cradled hands. When offered Firebrandy by Torgrim, she politely refused. "No thank you, the memories of yesterday still remain firm in my mind, and I think my headache is bad enough from the beating . . ."

"I'll take that off your hands," Moyrah said, tipping the contents back with the proficiency of a hardened sailor, only for her face to contort into immediate regret. "By the love of Umberlee, that is truly vile! Hoo-hoo-hoo," she chuckled, wiping her mouth. "Do not drink this. Hang on, I'll get us some water."

The fork embedded in Khulekani's thigh was yanked out in one go, so as not to prolong her pain. Traditional remedies often underperformed when compared to those magical, but it worked in a pinch. And it was usually cheaper. The barkeep had clearly done this before, swabbing up the remaining blood, and cutting into the leather leggings with a pair of scissors to get easy access, making sure to disinfect the wound properly. "Rebottled rotgut from Mirabar. Now, don't tell Ogden I told you that!"

As the Wight was being moved and stripped, it became clearer and clearer it wasn't getting back up. Wights were different from Wraiths, which were different Skeletons, which were different from Mummies, and so on and so forth . . . While the inner workings of Undead were often poorly understood by anyone not adept in the foul crafts of Necromancy, it had now been enough time to reasonably conclude the magic that kept it upright and moving had emptied from its remains. Possibly due to Khulekani's radiant sword.

The armor, a vile and crude thing comprised of layered plates embedded with spikes, was weather beaten, chipped, and cracked in numerous places. Even Orcs wore better armor. That it was at all wearable was a minor miracle. Its sword, similarly, was a miserable thing, and didn't look like it would last more than an additional swing or two. The arrows were in finer condition, as was the bow, though it still looked like the thing an Undead would carry around. The wood branched into prongs, and it was stained with old blood — as the rest of its equipment.

Otherwise, it carried a set of keys, also bloodstained, and a single iron coin of unknown currency and strange inscriptions. One face depicted a skull, while the other hinted at a kind of twisted, abstract machinery.

"We do nothing. We do not command powers as those who touch the Weave do. It is by the grace and will of the Triad that their desires are made manifest on our world. I am but a servant to an alliance of higher powers," came the reply to Torgrim's question, along with an amused smile.

"Sard a goat!" Khulekani cursed as the fork was pulled out, using less than knightly language for the first time.

The way she violently jerked in her chair made it obvious to everyone that her outburst had not been an exaggeration. However, the Squire allowed Moyrah to clean and disinfect the wound. Though, the disinfection process almost made her curse again, but she managed to bite her lip and contain it this time.

"Thank you...thank you...that was one of the most painful wounds of my entire life. You have steady hands, and a kind heart. Well done..." she said through gulping mouthfuls of air, like she had just been running.

"But before you take out a needle, let me see if I can entreat someone dear to me to help. Lo, Wounded Tyr, the Wounded One, the Even-Handed, what was once maimed through evil, please see right again. What was once rent, balance the scales to wholeness. What was once purchased with pain, see rewarded with succor. Until the Final Judgement comes," the young woman whispers, voice ringing with a volume that went beyond the capacity of her lungs, and thrumming with a power beyond simple oration.

Fingers that had been clutching the wound to staunch the flow of blood suddenly had shafts of light spring forth between them, as if he wound was suddenly glowing with a brilliant radiance. Only this time the shining light was different than before. It wasn't the brilliance of the sun. It was a cold light. Like the light of a full moon was dancing over a tundra of snow. And then the glow snuffed out like a candle in the wind.

When Khulekani removed her hands from the site of the wound, there was no sign of it. There was fresh and dried blood of course, but her thigh was smooth and unbroken, as if it had never been pierced by anything.

"Aaahhh...I thank you Grimjaws, and I honor you Lord on the Rack, and you Hand of Righteousness," the Squire said, touching the pendant around her throat and bowing her head humbly.

Finally be free of the pain seemed to draw all the strength from her in a wave of grateful relief. She slumped back in her chair like she would happily fall asleep right there. The fight had been hard enough, but the pain was exhausting. If the Sheriff wasn't on their way, she might have simply drifted off right there. Still, there was one more duty to perform before that could happen, and so the aspiring knight forced her eyelids to remain open.

OOC Mechanics
Lay on Hands: Heal 20 points of HP
HP: 39/39
This message was last edited by the player at 13:55, Tue 01 Feb 2022.

"Rebottled rotgut from Mirabar. Now, don't tell Ogden I told you that!"
"Huh. I'll be.." Torgrim swallowed before taking a new critical look at the cup in his hand. "Guess I just lost a bet." The news did not stop Torgrim from drinking the foul brew. It was more about the nostalgia than the pleasure at this point.

The door downstairs burst open and a handful of guards swarmed the first floor, all sporting sword and shield. Moyrah, on the way up the stairs with a jar of water and a fresh set of mugs, didn't even look their way. "A tad late, aren't we?"

The mobilized squadron, numbering at least seven, exchanged a few confused glances before they sheathed their shortswords, trusting the word of the Half-Orc. "Any casualties?"

A grunt of amusement escaped the lips of Farwalker at the paladin’s words, “That was a no, Torgrim. In case you didn’t catch it. Religious types like to vague and mysterious.” Dusting her hands off, she looked over the stacked wreckage and grunted again, this time in annoyance. She’d rather be making jewelled carvings, but she’d forgotten to get jewels. The dwarves might know where to get some uncut ones. She’d have to ask later.

She settled onto the floor with the pieces of the table first, only to look up as the guards stomped their way in. “Nothing that couldn’t be handled.” She replied to the question, then went back to piecing a table together.

"I have already dispatched some messengers to inform the Sheriff that the danger has passed. The only casualty suffered is my pride," Khulekani replied, indicating the hole in the ceiling with a self-deprecating smile.

"Is there a good tailor or washing service here in Bryn Shander?" the Squire asked Moyrah, indicating the hole in her pants, and the bloodstains about her person.

"Very well," the guard who spoke for the batallion replied. They all looked like they didn't quite know what to make of themselves, but their lead set some to oversee the tavern and help clean the rubble, while the rest were sent to the gates to deliver word of events.

"Is there a good tailor or washing service here in Bryn Shander?"
Moyrah clinked the mugs of water down on the table and found herself a chair among the pieces. "I wouldn't know. I've spent all my life in Targos. But now that you mention it, I would accompany you in your search." She scrutinized her hide and leather clothing, which seemed like it had seen better days. "I could do with a new wardrobe. Find something that doesn't smell of fish . . ." She tugged on the hide stitched to her leather outerwear. It did have the faint odor of a busy dock.

Tallness aided Farwalker well in her task. While the magic channeled through her could only do the brunt work, patching both the table and the roof back to functional condition was a simple task, albeit time consuming. Being able to reach the gables from where she stood made things quicker, as she required no ladder to be wheeled out. The shingles on the roof could be tedious to fix back in place, however, as the clay laid strewn about and she would have to go outside once the hole had been repaired.

Dannika seemed to have forgotten all about her wound and the chaotic events that just transpired and had found herself a spot on the floor. She hadn't contributed to the clean-up at all — quite on the contrary, she had found her tomes and encyclopedias and were scouring them while she attempted to study the hapless Chwinga. Keeping it still was as easy as keeping a litter of pups in one place.

"Forgive me if I'm being rude," Moyrah continued to Khulekani, "but you don't seem like you're from around these parts. I know little of the world beyond The Spine. Would you care to sate my curiosity?

“That was a no, Torgrim. In case you didn’t catch it. Religious types like to vague and mysterious.” "Takes one to know one, eh?" Torgrim responded with a smile between sips of Rotgut. "To each their own."

While the group was occupied with their own conversations, renovations and scientific inspections, Torgrim took a seat that had somehow survived the wight's spectacular entry. The now empty mug was placed down on the floor as he pulled out his white oak wood lute. It had taken up most of the space in the backpack, which collapsed in on itself without its only load bearing beam.

Slowly but surely, dulcet tones replaced the silence left behind when the Comfort's bard had vacated the locale. To the attentive ear the occasional hum could be heard from the half-elf, though they never grew louder than the melody from the ivory instrument.

"You are not being rude at all. Curiosity is only natural. I hail from further south on the Sword Coast. I presume you've heard of Amn, even this far north? That is my homeland. If you want to get even more specific, I was born in Athkatla. I'd be happy to answer any more questions you may have. I know my appearance, attire, and mannerisms must seem odd here," Khulekani smiled back to Moyrah.

"Oh wait...Lady Farwalker? If you have the ability to mend stone, might you magics extend to the fabric of pants?" she asked, wiggling her fingers through the torn fabric.

Moyrah sat with folded arms, occasionally sipping of the Firebrandy she had designated foul earlier. Foul, perhaps, but strong enough to get the job done. And fishermen from Targos weren't known to be picky. "I've . . . heard of Amn. But aside from the fact that it lays further south, I know nothing of it. How far must you travel to reach it? How long was your journey here?"

And then she paused, looking down at her drink as she swirled it in her hand. The brownish liquid reflected the torchlight, and, briefly, her face. Two questions begged a third. "What is required of someone to join your order?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:52, Fri 18 Feb 2022.

The Squire chuckled at the series of questions. Not in a condescending way, but in a nostalgic way. When she was younger, she wondered about the wide world as well, and it brought back summer days of standing on the balcony and staring out into the sparkling bay.

"Well, let's see...Amn is an oligarchical nation state, known far and wide for it's trade. Indeed, it is often called 'The Merchant's Domain' by residents and foreigners alike. It is one of the most important and influential trading centers throughout Faerûn. I am somewhat embarrassed to say that in the absence of a nobility, wealth is the only symbol of status. The richer, the higher the social standing. Indeed, class is often compared to precious metals, with Ore referring to someone of criminal or beggar class, and Platinum referring to our highest elite. But enough of that. It has very mild weather, year round. We don't even have winter, just a rainy season. Waukeen holds the largest sway over the natives, though I do not share that faith. And fashion is often highly influenced by Calimshan. But there is so much more. How can an entire nation be distilled in a few words? But that is a fair beginning," she said, mind wandering back to the land of her youth.

"Amn lies more than twenty-three-hundred miles to the south, by road anyway. It takes about a month-and-a-half of solid, dedicated travel to reach it directly, assuming the weather or other impediments don't slow you. If you needed to travel with haste, I would suggest traveling by ship. Then it is only about fifteen days. I however did not take a direct route here. It has been many months of travel, traveling generally north. As for admission to the Radiant Heart Auxiliary, you need to be sponsored by an active member of the senior branch of the Order. Two of the Council of three Prelates have to approve the membership and assent for the initiate to be accepted into the Order. Most members of the Order come from noble families, many of which have a history of Order membership. Not me though. My sponsorship was unexpected, resulting from a chance meeting. Any may join if a senior member sees potential in you," Khulekani beamed proudly, truly enamored by her own Order.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 01:30, Sun 20 Feb 2022.

Magda had retreated to the ground floor, disappearing into the kitchen area after Khulekani had been properly bandaged. There were matters to tend to, and she did so cheerfully, humming a soft tune as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

When Khulekani began detailing her order's admission protocol, Moyrah couldn't help but start chuckling heartily. "So what you're saying is it's not just for anyone. You're quite the gal, aren't you? You're right — your type is rare in these parts. But that has nothing to do with your visage."

The muscular Half-Orc hesitated on the next sip from her mug. "Amn sounds like quite the place. Certainly different from Icewind Dale. Perhaps I'll visit. One day. But that day is far off."

---

Ogden puffed wearily as he entered his tavern. Wights, wizards, and woes. Too much to burden a simple tavern owner with. But he had seen the huntsman and sorceress — or whatever the two of them were — to the constable, which should suffice on his part. When it came to dangerous criminals and monstrous beings, he was as at home as a eunuch in a brothel. Rubbing his shiny head, which he often did when tired or uneasy, he tromped up the staircase to take stock of the damages.

To his surprise, the table had been restored to working condition, and the Goliath was making the finishing touches on the roof.

Ogden stood there, speechless. "How in blasted damnation did you patch it up this quick?" he finally shouted, just as angrily as he had when the Wight had been slain.

"My mother always said I was one-in-a-million," Khulekani chuckled back, turning the compliment into a humble joke.

"Well, I have to go back and check in eventually. If you want, why don't you travel with me? I know the way, and I could be your guide in the southern lands. If you can stand my company that is..." the Squire said, seriously.

When the Dwarf began his barking yet again, Khulekani promptly ignored him to continue her conversation with Moyrah.

The ghosts had been quiet in Bryn Shander. Atypical of a place where a lot of people lived and died. There were no signs of neither the Cobbler nor the Fisherman — the latter had not revealed himself since the day prior.

"Hmm," Moyrah humphed in response to Khulekani, "I have matters that need seeing to. In fact . . ." She paused once more, surveying the room. Farwalker was reaching upward, channeling her mending, Dannika was chasing the Chwinga which had wandered off somewhere, and Torgrim was contributing soft music to augment the mood. Moyrah gently shook her head and sighed. "I wanted to bring this up when Mallory and Rhydd were here too, but I suppose I can inform them once they return. Though I've only known you for a few days, I feel . . . how should I say this? More at home than I've ever been. At least since the death of my father. But I am afraid I have my own journey laid out for me, and that journey beckons me farther north. If we were to chase this Sephek Kaltro, there is no guarantee he has my parchment. And yet still," she said, gently tugging on her left sleeve to reveal copper red tattoos of intricate patterns in vague shapes of animals, "I might have all I need. I will be heading to the Sea of Moving Ice in search of a whale. It would be selfish of me to drag you along with me, so, although it pains me greatly, this might be goodbye." She'd of course only just met Khulekani, so the words were more directed to Torgrim, Farwalker, and Dannika.

"Ah, well, if you have obligations and duties to perform, don't let me keep you from them. I understand completely. And sailing the Sea of Moving Ice to hunt a whale sounds exciting! I've certainly never done anything like that before," Khulekani replied brightly, honestly fascinated by the idea.

"Hm...I've heard the name Sephek Kaltro before around Tentowns, but I don't know much more than that. Who is this person, and why are people chasing them?" she asked, Paladin-senses tingling.

It was a thankfully short walk from Town Hall, though even with it being brief Mallory still saw fit to ensure both her and Rhydd's boots were suitably bolstered with warming magics.  Even with it she still hunched and huddled onto herself from the wind while they made their way along the ice-slicked road.  It seemed it would take far more potent magics to safeguard fully against the cold, though whether it was a matter of Auril's mischief or just Mallory's intolerance from having grown up in a more temperate region was anyone's guess.

"Honestly... Red Wizards, Wights, a murderous shapeshifter, rogue cultists aligned with infernal forces, an Ancient Dragon... this entire region is going straight to Avernus at this rate." Though she bemoaned the state of things over the past few days, she quirked in momentary pause.  "Hm.  Cania, rather."

All the same, she cast her gaze up from within the depths of her fur-lined hood to regard Rhydd with a sheepish smile.  "Thank you for keeping with me through all that, Rhydd.  I'm certain you'd rather have been anywhere else, but I don't think I'd have been able to conduct myself with as much assurance had you not been by my side." she waggled the glow of her lantern a little nearer overhead his way.  "You played the role of 'glowering enforcer' swimmingly, I might add.  Such negotiations go far better when there's that contrast of sweet and sour."
This message was last edited by the player at 05:30, Tue 22 Feb 2022.

Lady Mallory's description of him as a "glowering enforcer" coaxed a hint of a smile out of Rhydd's otherwise stoic expression, although buried in the depths of his hood as it was, he wasn't sure whether she could actually see it.

"I'm glad that I was there," he replied. "Although, truth be told," he added after a moment, "I was the one who was tasked with delivering the Squire's message to Markham. 'Twas you who were the tag-along."

"Lucky thing for Markham and that lot," he muttered.

"How do you think that the Squire will take the news about the Red Wizard?" he asked.

"If he is likely to be as powerful as you say, I'm not sure that we could best him. Although I would not be surprised to hear that the Squire might feel honor-bound to make the attempt."

"Yes, and you had every right to simply dump the Wight on the floor and walk right back out to get yourself a well-deserved drink by the hearth.  You didn't need to stay with me through all that followed, but I appreciate that you did."  she clarified with a knowing tilt of her head.

As for the matter of Squire Kumalo, Mallory could only yield a helpless shrug.  "I'm uncertain.  I suppose it depends on whether she was tasked with handling the Red Wizard himself or merely reacting to the murders committed by his Simulacrum.  If the latter then I'd say she's done her good deed in all.  She seems an upstanding sort, but hopefully not blinded by misplaced obligation." Ahead laid the tavern - far quieter than before with all that had happened prior.  "I suppose we'll just have to play it by ear."

"Hm...I've heard the name Sephek Kaltro before around Tentowns, but I don't know much more than that. Who is this person, and why are people chasing them?"

"Former hired brawn of the criminal underworld turned fanatical serial killer, seems like." Torgrim responded offhandedly, attention still turned to his lute. "Targos' been sacrificing people to appease the Frostmaiden, and Kaltro has seemingly, conveniently been there to pick off those who get away."

Ogden puffed and shook his head. It seemed his special guests had matters more important than conversing with the proprietor. "MAGDA!" he turned around and bellowed before promptly trudging down the stairs again. At the bottom, he offered Mallory and Rhydd that same, weary exhalation, not bothering to inquire about the events that took place in his absence.

Moyrah folded her arms and leaned back in her chair. She wasn't quite as large as Farwalker, but the chair creaked all the same. "Murdered ol' Herve. And his daughter, just for good measure. Though it's supposed to be somewhat hush-hush . . . damned Naerth," she said, muttering the Town Speaker's name under her breath. "Miss Farwalker and Miss Mallory remained in his office to discuss matters, but I couldn't stand the stench of his shit. You'll have to ask them what the plan is." She shot Mallory a neutral glance once she came up the stairs. An inquisitive glance, and she had very much intended for the noblewoman to hear.
This message was last edited by the GM at 08:50, Thu 24 Feb 2022.

When they actually shook off the snow and got back in, Mallory was concerned that the interior of the tavern would be just as cold as the outside given the giant hole in the roof.  That the ceiling and table alike had been repaired already left the young noble to blink in owlish surprise.  "Oh!  The roof is fixed already?  How did they do that?" she seemed as bemused by the development as Ogden had been but stepped aside as he shouldered his way through the room.  She knew better than to get in the way of a grumpy Dwarf and offered Rhydd another of many hapless shrugs.

Of course, the conversation at hand as she ascended the stairwell stilled Mallory's demeanor even before Moyrah's heavy gaze settled her way.  For a moment the young noble looked quite stricken and a hand lifted to fiddle at a small black button sewn to her collar that did not at all match the style of the rest of her clothing.  Her own half-bandaged gaze flitted about indecisively before it landed on Torgrim.  "Please tell me there's more firebrandy to spare?"

"Sounds like a rather unpleasant fellow. Hunting him would be in the best interest of everyone in Tentowns. Forgive me, but, did you say Targos has been sacrificing people to appease the Frostmaiden?! Do you have names? This sort of thing cannot be allowed to stand!" Khulekani declared forcefully, a hot flash of anger passing through her eyes.

She was so caught up in her anger that she only barely registered the return of the others.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:41, Thu 24 Feb 2022.

"Please tell me there's more firebrandy to spare?"
"Hup!" The music stopped as Torgrim's right hand grabbed the bottle and passed it to Mallory. "Careful there, it's got some bite to it. Imported from Mirabar, apparently."

Torgrim let his hand rest idle on top of the lute as he spoke. "Most of the names in Targos, I'd say. It was more of a mob organised raffle, with the first prize being 15 minutes of fame on the scaffold. Most people seemed to accept it as long as their names never came up."

Finally.  Mallory snatched the offered bottle with a bit more haste than was suited to her otherwise prim demeanor with one hand, a spare glass with the other, and quickly doled out a very heavy pour.  A snifter of the stuff had made like likes of Moyrah recoil yet Mallory took two deep pulls without the slightest flinch.  It was only after the glass was nearly empty that she paused long enough to give what lingered an incredulous swirl around the bottom.  "This isn't firebrandy." she remarked Torgrim's way.  Not that it stopped her from finishing off that last swallow all the same.

Khulekani's righteous upset about the state of Targos was one that Mallory herself shared, to be certain, but she was more controlled in the moment as she set herself down at the table.  Another full glass of not-firebrandy on hand before she relinquished the bottle at all, and another too-deep drink before she bothered to speak further.  "The matter is already resolved, Squire.  Apparently each of the Ten-Towns have been performing various sacrifices to try and placate the Frostmaiden; here in Bryn Shander, they seem to give a sacrifice of surplus food.  In Targos, they were suffering a food shortage because of an aquatic monster in the lake attacking their fishing boats, so they resorted to that barbarous lottery instead." the young noble explained in a carefully measured tone, as if she were cautious of her own voice in that moment.  "Miss Farwalker and I interrupted a would-be hanging when we arrived in Targos prior.  The man was spared, but murdered by a fanatic servant of the Frostmaiden later that night.  He and his daughter, Maia.  A child.  Butchered in their own home, still clung to her teddy bear."

Throughout her explanation, Mallory's visible, unbandaged eye had been fixed squarely at the contents of her glass the entire time.  She kept a controlled tone to her voice and measured pace in her words, yet there was no hiding the haunted look to her gaze.  The others had simply heard of the murders second-hand by her own telling or from Naerth.  But she, by means of Astre, had witnessed it directly.  Just as the phantom scent of blood, iced air, and lavender began to tickle her memory she quickly drew from her glass to quash it all away.  "Regardless, I confronted Speaker Naerth on the matter and, with everyone's help, was able to converse with the so-called Lake Monster.  It left peacefully for fairer waters, so Targos' food shortage will resolve itself shortly and give them an alternative to hangings."
This message was last edited by the player at 22:05, Thu 24 Feb 2022.

Moyrah listened to Mallory's comprehensive explanation, idling with a splinter between her fingers. "How certain are we that the hangings are going to stop? What assurance have we been left with? None. The Lake Monster was only one of the problems that plagued Targos. The other was Naerth, and he still remains. Did we mention that Sephek Kaltro was previously in his employ? And that both he and the Captain of the militia had every intention of covering for his crimes? It wasn't until Mallory forced their hand that they even cared to reveal them."
This message was last edited by the GM at 09:33, Fri 25 Feb 2022.

"If there is anything you can trust when it comes to people like Naerth, it's that they'll always serve their own interests.  Naerth inherited the practice of the hangings from the previous Town Speaker; it would only benefit him to put a stop to it now." Mallory reasoned with a shake of her head.  "What better way to solidify his position as Speaker?  He can very easily spin it as proof of his wisdom and the quality of his leadership that he's not only gotten rid of the Lake Monster, but also put men back to their work, restored their food supply, and put a stop to blood sacrifices all in one fell swoop.  On top of protecting Targos from a pair of Ice Trolls and routing a would-be murderous arsonist."

All matters that the group themselves had accomplished of course, but Mallory didn't delude herself for even a moment that a savvy politician wouldn't sweep up all possible credit.  In truth, she wouldn't be the least bit surprised if she later heard that Naerth had pinned the murder of Herve and Maia onto Gam, given his drunken attempt on Moyrah's life as well.  They'd given Naerth an abundance of material to spin in his favor for an extremely paltry sum as payment, all things said.

"I'm afraid it's more complicated an affair than I like and there is no clean course of action where Naerth is concerned.  Sephek Kaltro, however, is a far more simple matter to address." she rubbed her brow with the heel of her fist wearily.  "However, let's handle one serial murderer at a time, please.  Squire; there's been developments with the Red Wizard you captured, and Sheriff Markham has requested our presence at the jail come morning to assist in an interrogation.  But in the meantime, can you tell us anything about your encounter with him?"
This message was last edited by the player at 10:17, Fri 25 Feb 2022.

"Welcome back. And thank you so much for running that errand for me. My leg has since been healed, but at the time I was less than thrilled about making that walk," Khulekani said brightly upon the return of Mallory and Rhydd.

"Oh, um...I'd rather not join in the interrogation, if that is possible. I understand the need to get information out of a dangerous subject, but I find the whole process of torture to be highly distasteful. Unless the Wizard called for me specifically or something," she continued, biting her lip nervously at past memories.

"Well, in my travels through Tentowns, I had heard the vile deeds of Dzaan. With everything the region has been experiencing, I thought perhaps to alleviate at least some of it by bringing this man to justice. Red Wizards are powerful and clever practitioners, and I thought that perhaps by bringing him down some of the...larger problems might be lessened. Who knows what kind of magics he may have performed in his time here? The details of tracking him are unimportant. Needless to say, I found him in his lair. It was a decrepit tower in Hundelstone. But instead of simply attacking the man, I approached him under a...*cough*...banner of peace, and at his request disarmed myself for our meeting. During our conversation, I urged that he repent for his deeds, and willfully turn himself in to face the consequences of his actions. When Dzaan obvious did not take kindly to this suggestion, he violated the rules of meeting under a banner of peace and went to cast a spell at me. But Zula, my loyal steed, kicked Dzaan in the face and broke his nose. After-which, it was relatively easy for me to subdue him with a few blows and some creative grappling, and bring him to justice. While Red Wizards have much in the way of power, they seem to be martially deficient," the Squire shared, leaning back in her chair to remember the events of a ten-day ago.

"I doubt torture will be involved given the circumstances.  We hoped you might be able to use a spell to prevent the prisoner from speaking lies, as members of Orders such as yours have been known to do." she offered at least one reassurance for the moment.  "Regardless, it would behoove you to answer the Sheriff's summons, even if only to tell him no in person.  You are of a station, after all."

Ah, the ever-burdensome trappings of etiquette and duty.  Even so far away from polite society such chains still hung about here and there... even if Mallory herself was loathe of them most of the time, part of her didn't want to fully surrender that link to her home prior.  The young noble sipped at her drink while Kumalo went on to explain her encounter with 'Dzaan', though her manner remained passive throughout.

"Hundelstone?  The Sheriff mentioned Fireshear as well..." Mallory muttered in thought.  Their wagon had passed Hundelstone coming up from the south only a few days prior on their initial journey in.  Both sightings of the Red Wizard's appearances were far separated by days of travel; Fireshear and Hundelstone in the south, Good Mead and Caer-Konig in the north.  Easthaven where the murders happened in between.  "Why did you bring him all the way to Bryn Shander upon his capture then?  And what of the Wight - when did you first encounter it, and how was it behaving aside from being murderous?"

---

I doubt it needs to be spelled out, but Mallory is referring to the spell "Zone of Truth", which I believe both Kumalo and Farwalker would be able to access at our level.

"I...do have the ability to compel the truth among the weak-willed. I will do so if the need is dire enough, but I honestly do not like to utilize that aspect of my faith. It feels like I am performing a...a...violation of the mind. It makes me feel uncomfortable," she said, looking down and wringing her hands.

When Mallory asked the second question, Khulekani looked up with a slightly confused look on her face.

"It was in Bryn Shander that I first heard of the Red Wizard's deeds, and where the Sheriff first asked for my assistance. As for the Wight, I've already told you. It attacked and murdered some guards, and I was once again asked for aid in slaying it. This evening was my first encounter with the horrid creature," Khulekani explained evenly.

The concern of imposing on someone's free will was a worry Mallory herself was likewise familiar with.  It was an uncomfortable element of magic; far, far too easily abused and taken for granted.  To genuinely ensnare someone's mind and will was a loathsome act, so it spoke well to Kumalo's nature that she felt the same way.  "I'm familiar with the nature of that particular form of spellcraft, so I can at least assure you it doesn't compel one's mind.  It's more of a hurdle than a chain, so to speak.  If it would make you feel better, we could both remain within the area of the spell ourselves so you could experience its effects."

Mallory chose to not press the matter beyond that.  It wasn't ultimately up to her to coerce the Squire's cooperation, so she had neither the desire nor drive to pressure the poor woman further.  As for the topic of the Wight, she just hummed thoughtfully against the rim of her glass as she drew the not-firebrandy down by half in a single gulp.

"I'm trying to build a timeline.  The magics involved in controlling a summoned Undead need to be maintained each day and, if one fails to do so, the Undead will do as it pleases.  Most just meander aimlessly but Wights are especially malevolent, so they always become violent.  Hundelstone is well over a day's travel from here and the Red Wizard has been in captivity for days now, so he couldn't have been the one to command the Wight's attack on the guards.  It had to have come from a different source than the Red Wizard you captured."  she reasoned through the technical side of things.  The spell to summon a Wight was especially demanding both of arcane might and resources, so it wasn't something that could be maintained indefinitely on the road either.  The Simulacrum could have perhaps performed the spell once or twice but, with its energies depleted, no further.  So either the real Dzaan had commanded the Wight to retrieve his Simulacrum and was somewhere within a day's travel of Bryn Shander, or control of the Wight had been lost and its attacks were simply to sate its cruel bloodlust.  Which meant the real Dzaan could've been anywhere.

"And during your conversation in Hundelstone, the Red Wizard confessed to the murders?  What did he tell you of his actions or reasons?  Did you search the area for any possessions he might've had with him there?"
This message was last edited by the player at 23:34, Fri 25 Feb 2022.

After having fixed Khulekani's pants, Farwalker had taken to slowly fitting the ceiling back together. Just, on the floor. Or at least as much as she could. Once she was done there, she'd taken herself outside and onto the roof, which was less of a process than it otherwise might have been. There were often bonuses to being rather large and generally immune to inclement cold weather. Or grabbing ice. From there, it had been a slow task of carefully not putting her foot through the roof while she fixed it, which was harder than it sounded.

So it was that she made it back inside, once again covered in ice. What she'd had on her earlier had melted, and then refroze. It was going to be irritating to clean her armour. "Everyone looks so tense. Did I miss some other awful thing that happened?" She asked dryly as she made her way through the room and towards her pack, which she'd left close to the fire. At least that was dry, given how it hadn't gone for a swim.

“Honestly, I could ask the same thing,” Moyrah said after Mallory had finished her torrent of questions. “What’s with you? Was the Wight not a one-off occurrence? Should we prepare for more?”

"There has been something of a wrinkle, Miss Fa-- oh, goodness, Farwalker!  You're more hoarfrost than anything!  Let me.  I don't care if you don't feel the cold; even Goliaths chafe." Mallory began to elaborate only for Farwalker's frost-encrusted state to draw her attention squarely over.  Unless Farwalker insisted on refusing, she'd get the benefit of Mallory's cleaning magics up and down a few helpful passes to clear away the frost and dry off any lingering wetness from her body, clothes, and armor alike.

Whether it was a matter of discussion while she worked or simply had to return to her seat to nurse her drink, the young noble eventually continued.  "I doubt we'll need to worry of another Wight, though perhaps lesser Undead still.  The troubling matter is the summoner himself." she cast a sidelong look Khulekani's way to gauge her reaction.  "The person you apprehended both is and is not the Red Wizard Dzaan.  I confirmed it with my examination earlier; he's a Simulacrum.  A sort of magically created doppelganger that is a perfect duplicate of Dzaan in every way, including his behavior, manner, and memories.  Which means that the real Dzaan is still at large somewhere amid the Ten-Towns, presumably quite close if he was the one to send that Wight here.  I can only assume the reason it was attacking guards was in an attempt to free the Simulacrum."

Up until this point in their brief association, Khulekani had either been the friendly and earnest young soul that seemed to get along with everyone, or the righteous avatar of her gods, dispensing justice with a zealous but cool passion. But now, she was not smiling or pursing her lips into a grim line.

Her mouth was simply hanging open in pure shock.

"WHAT?!?" the young woman asked, voice booming with disbelief.

The Squire shot to her feet, all trace of her earlier pain gone, and she stomped towards Mallory before grabbing her by both shoulders.

"Mallory, we've known each other less than an hour, but I need to know if you are speaking the truth or simply making jests. This is important!" Khulekani asked seriously, a strange mixture of fear, anger and...shame? in her voice.

She'd expected a poor reaction in the first place.  Yet the sheer vehemence in Khulekani's shout made Mallory flinch and begin to physically backpedal away as the Squire bore down on her.  She didn't get more than a step or two before she was grabbed up, pulled right off her heels with ease as she was a rather slight woman, which left the young noble wide-eyed as she quailed under that imposing presence bore down on her so abruptly.

"Sq-Squire Kumalo, please!  Calm down!" Mallory yelped as she tried to shrink down into herself, much the same way she did in days prior when Rhydd leveled a glower in her direction.  It was all too easy to forget that, despite her penchant for being thrust into strange encounters, Mallory was very much not some kind of daring adventurer who could stand firm in the face of intimidation.

While Mallory trembled, however, what at first might've been mistaken for a fluffy fur-and-feather lining about her coat's shoulders proved another matter entirely.  Astre sprang up in a sharp arch, disrupted from his rest strewn over his companion's shoulders in a lazy drape, and bore at Kumalo with as ferocious a yowling hiss as he could offer.  All fangs, flared wings, and glowing eyes in the face of a far more dangerous stranger as far as he was aware - but he'd stared down a charging Werebear for Farwalker, so he wasn't about to back down from an upset Paladin for Mallory's sake.

---

Just for fun, I rolled an Intimidate check for Astre and got a 4.  He's not the least bit imposing, but it's the thought that counts.  ^^
This message was last edited by the player at 23:12, Wed 02 Mar 2022.

Rhydd had been sitting at the newly-repaired table, sipping an ale. Lady Mallory and Squire Khulekani had been having a detailed conversation about the Red Wizard and the goings-on related to him, and the archer felt that he had little to add.

Suddenly the tone and tenor of the discussion changed. Over the course of a few heartbeats the Squire turned fierce and demanding, and Lady Mallory looked and sounded alarmed by this turn of events.

And in case Rhydd had any doubts about the matter, Astre's reaction told him that he had not misjudged the seriousness of these unexpected developments.

Rhydd shot to his feet, his hand falling to the hilt of his rapier. If his bow had not been unstrung and leaning against a nearby wall, he would have reached for it, but events were moving too quickly for him to string it and make it ready for action.

"Squire Khulekani!" he hissed, stepping towards the two women.

"Unhand her. I am only going to ask you once."

Dannika looked up from her little fort of books — a construction work very much in progress — as the Squire's voice clang through the empty inn. It even caught the Chwinga's attention, who sat housed in his own little paper box folded from empty pages ripped from Dannika's notebook. Before she'd conceived of the idea, the Chwinga had kept undertaking the next raid after the other, but now seemed content playing with its spoon inside its new enclosure. Though if it wished, it could easily make short work of the flimsy walls or just simply climb out.

"A Simulacrum?" the scholar echoed. Despite her preoccupation with her own research, the talks of Red Wizards and magical duplicates. "It would be quite something to jest about . . . that is some extremely powerful magic. What is going to happen to it now that it hasn't been freed? Will it be dispelled? Now, I'm not much of a caster so don't mind me, but if I were a Red Wizard I might try to salvage the situation. The last thing I would want is for it to be forced to answer questions in a zone of truth. Hmm." She pondered the topic for a moment before returning to her literature.

Having recently crossed blades with a Wight and done battle with a powerful Red Wizard, the sight of a hissing and spitting cat, even a winged one, was not enough to make the Squire flinch back. What did however, was the look of fear and pain on Mallory's face. The young woman released her new acquaintance like she was made of burning coals. She took a step back and took a steadying breath. It was only then that she noticed that Rhydd had spoken. She looked down to see that his hand had fallen on the hilt of his rapier.

Apparently he was some sort of protector to Mallory.

"Peace, sir. I mean no harm," Khulekani said evenly, raising her empty hands in a show of submission.

"But I need to know the truth of this. No ambiguity can remain. Did you speak truth, what you suspect, or make a poor jest? Please!" she asked, turning back to the Wizard and her winged cat.

The moment Khulekani's grip released from about Mallory's shoulders was the same moment the young noble promptly adhered herself to Rhydd's arm instead.  Half-hidden behind him in the immediate reflex to seek protection.  It took another beat after the Squire's apology before Mallory had enough chance to regain her own composure from the startling.

"It's... it's alright, Rhydd.  I'm alright." Though quite grateful for his quick move to aid her, Mallory sounded half as much like she was trying to talk down her own flustered self with that assurance.  She needed a second to just breathe and gather herself before she regarded the Khulekani again.  "Squire, please understand; we've had more violence, bloodshed, and brushes with death in the last three days than in my entire lifetime.  My nerves are utterly shot." Mallory gradually eased her grip from about Rhydd's arm and settled back down into her seat, where she was quick to refill and immediately empty her glass of not-brandy yet again.  "I may hold a strong front most times, but it's only because of years of etiquette training for the sake of formalities.  It simply does not do to show weakness or weariness in court.  I would greatly appreciate if you afforded me delicacy, please."

In contrast to the seemingly unflappable company she kept - even Dannika and Astre - Mallory was a far cry different.  Wholly unsuited to such rough areas as the Ten-Towns, not the least bit acquainted with such hardships.  She may not have been some spoiled rich brat with no useful skills at all but it was clear she lacked the same fortitude for stresses as the others bore.

"A Simulacrum?  It would be quite something to jest about... that is some extremely powerful magic."

"Quite.  Extremely difficult, expensive, and exhausting magic.  Even for a Red Wizard of Thay.  On top of summoning a Wight?  Dzaan is throwing away many precious resources for whatever endeavor he's come for." she sighed as she went to pour herself another glass, only to barely get a trickle from the bottle.  Damn.  The young noble's gaze flickered about for other nearby bottles instead in hopes of another drink.  "I assure you, Squire, I would not make light of such a thing as a murderer.  I performed a magical examination myself and am quite positive of the results; the man you arrested and delivered to prison is a Simulacrum."

"What is going to happen to it now that it hasn't been freed? Will it be dispelled? Now, I'm not much of a caster so don't mind me, but if I were a Red Wizard I might try to salvage the situation."

"It's not a spell that the caster can simply will to end.  The Simulacrum won't expire on its own, but will persist until it is slain or until its magic is actively disrupted.  An executioner's axe or noose would do the trick just as well as any." she clarified.  "If the Simulacrum does suddenly just collapse apropos of nothing at all, it's because Dzaan was either within immediate reach to dispel it himself, or because he constructed a new Simulacrum to replace it.  That the latter hasn't happened yet means he likely lacks the necessary resources and cannot do so.  Thus, a summoned Undead to retrieve - or possibly silence - the Simulacrum."
This message was last edited by the player at 23:08, Thu 03 Mar 2022.

Rhydd exhaled and seemed to deflate  little as the tension-filled situation resolved itself, based upon assurances from Squire Khulekani and from Lady Mallory herself.

Soon enough the wizardess had taken a seat and was explaining some of the finer points of magicks, as they related to the Red Wizard and the Doppelganger-like imitation of himself that he had magicked into existence.

It did not escape Rhydd's notice that Lady Mallory had reached for a bottle with unsteady hands, and her expression when the bottle was revealed to be nearly empty spoke of intense disappointment.

Rhydd himself was not much of a drinker, but he understood that some people found alcoholic beverages useful to calm their nerves. Seemingly Lady Mallory was such a person. He did not feel especially comfortable walking off and leaving the flummoxed wizardess in the company of Squire Khulekani, for he did not think that he had a good understanding of whether or not the paladin could be relied upon to keep her emotions under control.

So he stayed in place and  looked around for a member of the tavern staff from whom he could request that another bottle of whatever everyone had been drinking be brought to the table.

There was no staff around in the immediate vicinity. But, as if she had divinely sensed Rhydd's needs, Magda conveniently exited the kitchen, humming her usual soft tune.

"If you wish, Ogden would be more than happy to lend you the tap room for the night," Magda said after climbing the stairs, "as gratitude for all your help today. It's large and open, but the hearth will keep you warm. Is there anything I can get you? Food, drinks? I can have Ogden make some lovely roasted grouse with shallots and baked potatoes. All on us, of course. We won't take a copper more from you, even if you insist!" Once she'd taken everyone's rounds, the cheery plump woman headed back down to deliver the orders.

---

So that the sun eventually sets, let's speed things along, shall we?

Khulekani seemed to deflate as Mallory explained more and more of the details of this faux-Dzaan. She sat back in her seat and let the Wizard conjecture about the particulars of the magic.

Which means that she had been tricked.

Which means that she had failed.

"...in the morning, I am going to interrogate this...Simulacrum. Then I am going to destroy it. I will return the reward money to the Sheriff. Then I will need to return to the tower once more. This cannot stand," Khulekani said, more to herself than the others.

"I will take a room, and that lovely sounding meal, if you please," she said with a weak smile to Magda.

She then sat back in her chair, rubbing a wound in her leg that was no longer there, staring off into the middle distance.

A shift back toward normalcy seemed to help settle Mallory's jitters a fair bit, especially with Magda's arrival and generous offer.  "That's remarkably kind.  I think we'd all be amiable to that, yes?  Saves us having to go trek out again and find an Inn at this hour, at least for tonight." she looked about among her companions for their consent on the topic.  It mattered very little to her where they stayed so long as she could keep warm and relatively comfortable.  As orders for food were offered, Mallory certainly took advantage of that with eager request for wine and as many vegetables as they cared to spare with the dishes.

Khulekani's somber mulling, however, brought the young noble's attention back around soon enough.  She cast an expectant glance and shrug over to Rhydd; that was more the response she'd anticipated for the news.  The 'upstanding defender' types always had a certain way about them.  "I admit to not knowing the ins-and-outs of your Order, but I don't believe the Radiant Heart has carte blanche to execute others' prisoners.  The fate of the Simulacrum is up to Sheriff Markham's judgment." she offered in gentle counter.  "Why would you return your bounty though?  From what I know of the situation, you did precisely as you were asked.  To capture both a Red Wizard and destroy a summoned Wight is no small feat; you should take pride, and most certainly compensation, in your accomplishment."
This message was last edited by the player at 21:53, Fri 04 Mar 2022.

"She's right," Moyrah said, "if it hadn't been for your efforts, they might never have known the wizard in Hundelstone was a Simulacrum. Let me restate that — they wouldn't have known. The Sheriff would be a fool to not realize the value of it. How much were you given?"

Dannika sat nibbling on her pen, plenty preoccupied cross checking her notes as the Chwinga played around in its enclosure — which it promptly escaped from. "Darn it!" she huffed as she leaped to apprehend the ambitious adventurer. It was no use. As the Chwinga deftly slipped out of her arms she ended up only embracing the floor, her thicket of hair falling over her eyes. "Torgrim?" she said, pulling her hair aside as she sat upright. "When you played your lute earlier, the Chwinga seemed to still. I'm beginning to suspect it was no mere coincidence. Would you mind resuming?"

---

The evening passed by in the unusually quiet tavern. Kelvin's Comfort was rowdy on any given day, but now there were only the soft hums of Magda, the somber melody of Torgrim's lute — the occasional Dwarven shout from the kitchen — and the drone of idle conversation to fill the ample alehouse. The hearth kept the body warm, while the soul was tended to by plenty of drinks and a lavishly set table of mains, sides, and bread. No job would be half-assed by any full-blooded Dwarf, and Ogden had spared no expense. When he exited the kitchen and wiped his hands on a cloth it was not with his earlier acerbity but a contented smile. He took great pride in his cooking and it showed.

When stomachs were full and night truly set in, Magda and Ogden cleared out a section on the first floor to allow space for their guests by the crackling hearth. An enormous rug fashioned from a brown bear — and it was truly enormous, for not even Rhydd had encountered any bear of such prominence — provided soft underlay for those wishing relief from the hardwood flooir. Magda retrieved furs and blankets, while Ogden made sure there was enough firewood to last through the night. The flame would need tending to burn until morning, but where there was desire there was will, and Ogden and Magda were content retreating to their own personal rooms.

Dannika, the ever dedicated scholar, was among the last to turn in, too busy with the Chwinga who needed no sleep. She remained by her candlelight to flip through her tomes and scribble in her notebook, though eventually, she too was overcome by drowsiness and Kelvin's Comfort turned dark.

---

With that, we'll make to the 17th of Uktar. Feel free to continue the conversation, but keep in mind that we're looking to wrap things up.
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:41, Sun 06 Mar 2022.

As the night wore on through dinner and rest, Mallory ended up seemingly contented by enough strong drinks to ease her frayed nerves eventually.  Yet where she drank herself to a state most people would be happy to capitalize on for nodding off to sleep, she remained awake alongside Dannika in very similar method.  Research.  From out her pack, buried deep and low inside its few contents, came a very, very old book.  An absolute wreck of a tome; one it might've been a comely leather grimoire with gold-trim pages and finely wrought accents in decades past.  But the book that rested in the young noble's lap as she perused its pages was aged and battered, its binding clearly having been broken and rebound many times over, its pages endlessly folded, dog-eared, bookmarked, and scribbled over in an incomprehensible mess of shorthand.

Astre, meanwhile, had been sent on an errand.  Once it was decided the group would remain at Kelvin's Comfort for the night, Mallory jotted out a quick note to inform Sheriff Markham by, as well as mention that Square Kumalo had agreed to join the interrogation come morning.  The scrip was folded up neatly and carried off by the Tressym for a quick delivery down the road.  When he returned, Astre spent most of the night with the task of babysitting the Chwinga; like the spirit, he didn't require sleep either and thus was able to occupy and play with the tiny fellow throughout the night.  Both for the sake of keeping it in the tavern where it was safe and to prevent it from bothering anybody's rest by curious mischief.

---

At some point in the evening after Dannika had finally nodded off over her papers, Mallory gently helped her scholarly friend lay down and delicately sorted her research aside where it wouldn't get mussed.

"Miss Farwalker?" she sought the Goliath's attention for a moment, her voice low and soft so as not to wake Dannika.  "I fear Dannika really would've died had it not been for your aid.  It's... well, it's terrifying that it could happen so suddenly like that.  Thank you, truly, for saving her."  Things had been in such a mess earlier that she'd hardly the chance to sort her own thoughts out, let alone express her gratitude.  "Are you... are you feeling alright yourself?  After the Werebear and the Dragon earlier, I mean?"

Farwalker had set herself up in a corner, mostly so her large pack didn’t take up too much space anywhere else. She was of course carefully carving a piece of bone, this time into the likeness of an ice troll. Except it appeared to be riding something, complete with little saddle. She didn’t really notice when the lights grew dim, as she didn’t even see the world like most people. She’d stayed quiet through the conversation, listening carefully but not adding much.

She eyed her work critically as Mallory approached, judging it done well enough before she looked up. “I help where I can. That’s often the most anyone can do.” She pulled a small stone from her pouch and ran it over the edge of her carving knife, clearing any burrs from the carving process. “And, as most people, I dislike being powerless when something happens. Unlike most people, I get angry about such things. I let it rule me, once. But I have since learned to temper that. This does not mean I enjoy that feeling of powerlessness any less, however.” Content with her work on the small blade, she carefully sheathed it and tucked it away with the rest of her carving equipment, only to pull out a tiny bottle of glue and the ioun stone. “It is not the worst thing I have seen. And it is likely that I will see something even worse in the months and years to come. But, knowing that does nothing to ease the irritation. It will pass, in time. All things do, even the gods.” She carefully affixed the tiny, bone troll to the ioun stone, holding both in place while she waited for the glue to set.

“Thank you for your concern.” She looked up from her work, pearlescent eyes glittering in what little light there was, the colours shifting with the flickering of the light. “What about yourself? I’ve seen you with the button.”

A desire to do good in the world and a frustration with overwhelming circumstances.  Indeed, Mallory could sympathize with that sort of feeling.  Her expression grew distant for a moment as her thoughts flickered back to her family in Neverwinter but she shook it off quickly, lest she grow even more homesick than she already was.  "Your stoicism is commendable.  Enviable, really.  But I hope you don't feel as though you have to bear such things on your own.  I'm certain I seem a silly little girl among worldly sorts as you all-" she gestured briefly about among their company at rest "-but I would at least offer an ear to listen with should you need one."

“What about yourself? I’ve seen you with the button.”

Mallory's hand once more raised, as if on reflex, to touch the newly sewn button on her collar.  She thumbed at it for a moment as miserable furrow crossed her expression that her half-bandaged face couldn't hide.  "It..." she had to swallow a moment as that awful scene rose once more to the fore of her thoughts.  Her hands dropped to her lap and, with palms outstretched, a flare of arcane energy manifested a simple illusion within her hold; pantomime to appear as if she held it herself.  A meager plush bear, roughly stitched but well-loved by its wear and tear, with those familiar black buttons for eyes.  "It's strange.  I never knew Maia at all.  Never knew she existed, let alone her name, until after she was already gone.  Yet every time I close my eyes for more than a moment, I see her and her father still."

A heavy sigh seemed to blow away the illusion from her hands like so much scattered dust.  "It never goes away, does it?"  Her gaze lifted to the modified Ioun Stone and the bit of delicate, Ice Troll bone Farwalker had affixed to it in her own gesture of remembrance.  She fiddled once more with the button - all she had of a girl she never truly knew.  "Rather, we don't let it, I suppose."
This message was last edited by the player at 20:42, Mon 07 Mar 2022.

"When you played your lute earlier, the Chwinga seemed to still. I'm beginning to suspect it was no mere coincidence. Would you mind resuming?"

"Oho, a fellow appreciator of music, are you?" Torgrim asked amusedly in the direction of the tiny sprite. "Well, luckily I've got a few more in my repertoire, let me know if you want a key change, little one." Torgrim's fingers found their way back to the strings, which gradually stumbled into a rendition of "Lass o' the Lake", an old Targosi favourite.

---

Not one to be a rude house guest, Torgrim put the lute away as their hosts turned in for the night, and Mallory's cat took over the task of babysitting the Chwinga. The half elf instead turned his attention to the final drops of Firebrandy styled rotgut still stuck at the bottom of its bottle.

As the final flames died into an ember in the hearth, Torgrim found his way over to Moyrah, still nursing one rapidly drying droplet at the bottom of her mug. "Suppose this is goodbye for now, kid. Off to find a whale was it?"
This message was last edited by the player at 19:31, Mon 07 Mar 2022.

Moyrah sat there, clutching her glass. A night of food, drink, and the good company of friends kept her mind off the grim reality that plagued both her and Icewind Dale. For a while, she said nothing. Then she let out a long breath. "I'm . . . of two minds. On one hand, I'm needed here, among you. Hunting rogue Wizards, apprehending the killer who's caused so much suffering. Fighting Dragons! And I mean it when I say I would wish nothing more. But on the other — by my father's legacy — I am steered down another path. One I cannot expect you to follow me on." She looked up at Torgrim, eyes pleading. "Please, won't you tell me there's a reason to stay?"

Torgrim instinctively went for another sip of his cup, but put it to the side when he found it empty. "I barely know my own reason, to be frank." "A dead fisherman had me help you, so I did. He told me to stay with you, and I did. Now they’re the quietest they’ve been for a long time, so I suppose I’m doing something right, but who knows how long that will last."

He took a moment to look around, as if making sure no one was listening in.

"Listen, whatever path you wish to go down, you should. Just make sure you do it for yourself, and not just for the legacy of a ghost. Leave that burden to those of us who don’t have a say in the matter." His gaze trailed off into the dying embers. "We don’t owe the dead a damn thing."

He hoped the words did not come across as unconvincing as they felt in that moment.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:55, Mon 07 Mar 2022.

The large woman shrugged slightly, hands not really moving with the motion as they kept the carving and stone pressed together. "People pick what they think is important, and they hold onto it." She replied after a moment of careful thought, "And those little moments of import define us. Those things we never really let go. It's less that they get better, and more that we get used to what those moments mean to us." She tossed the ioun stone up and let it float it's lazy way around her head, tiny carved troll riding along as it did.

Farwalker smiled at the sight, amused with her own work. "There are many horrible things in this world. Sometimes, I feel that I was among them. But I have also seen things of true beauty. Both natural and made by mortal hands. Those are the memories I try to follow. I do not forget the awful. I cannot. But I have found that dwelling on them only brings sorrow, in some way or another. So, I make things. Pretty things that might brighten someone's day. Even mine." She gestured at the ioun stone with it's troll rider. "Do you think trolls dream of flying?"

Take the good with the bad?  Don't be controlled by the past?  Make the most of any situation?  There were a number of ways Mallory thought to interpret Farwalker's advice, though she felt it reductive to try and summarize offered wisdom as a mere pithy proverb.  The pain that rose from the horrible scene in her memories flared bright and cold every time it came to mind; there was nothing she could do about that, as it was still very much a fresh wound.  One that couldn't become a scar until something could be done about Sephek Kaltro.  But Farwalker's words bore a measure of comfort all the same.  A salve that couldn't heal the hurt, but at least help in its own way.

"Do you think trolls dream of flying?"

That got a soft sound in return.  Half a laugh, half a sigh in the same breath.  "Every soul does, I imagine." she mused as she rested back to watch the Ioun Stone laze through the air with its new rider in tow.  That much certainly brought a simple smile - one that actually reached her eyes, as opposed to the more polite, facade smiles she so often bore throughout the day.

Rhydd had eaten his fill from the sumptuous fare that Ogden had provided -- much to the archer's surprise -- and had consumed several mugs of dark, heavy Dwarven ale. As his companions, new-found and otherwise, settled in and conversed among themselves, he occupied his time by sitting cross-legged near the fire and working on the fletching of some of his arrows.

He looked up from his task when Moyrah gave voice to her indecision. "I was not present earlier when you spoke of your . . . quest to honor your father. But if 'tis hunting a whale that would take you away, I would observe that, from all that I have heard, in most cases whales are long-lived creatures."

"Although Nature has Its own ways and schedules, and mortals such as we can only guess at them as best we can . . . still and all, I suspect that this whale will still be around whene'er you decide to turn your attention to it. Who knows? Some day, I might even be in a position to aid you."

Rhydd glanced around at those who were gathered near the hearth. "But for the moment, I will not weaken this group by taking my bow and blade elsewhere. If we are to be tasked with bringing down a Red Wizard and foiling the plans of the Ice Maiden . . . and thus far, I have not noted anyone else who is even considering stepping up and shouldering that heavy load . . . then we would certainly welcome your assistance."

"With all due respect and honor to your father and his memory, I would ask that you consider aiding our efforts."
This message was last edited by the player at 01:16, Tue 08 Mar 2022.

Moyrah sat there in silence, carefully weighing the words of Torgrim and Rhydd. "You're right, of course. Both of you. The world awaits, but there's no point in rushing. I might miss it if I did." Her cheeks pulled into a smile of genuine appreciation. "Thank you. But there might be one thing we owe the departed — our glasses. May they quench our sorrow-cinders." She raised the last of her ale for a quiet, melancholic toast. She'd make sure Mallory, Farwalker, and Khulekani, too, was included. For it wasn't for just her father she mourned, but for Herve, Maia, and all those claimed by these desperate times.

One being who knew nothing of loss was the Chwinga. Oblivious to world events, it kept up its tireless exploration. And, as suspected, a conjured Tressym was the perfect guardian for a Chwinga. The hours slipped away in whimsical interplay. Fascinated by Astre's sumptuous fur, it occasionally got lost nestling beside and climbing atop of him. Expeditions undertaken on a majestic steed were exalted indeed, and what glory every corner of the tavern held! But, well into the night, even though it was constantly under Astre's watchful gaze, the Chwinga disappeared.
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:41, Tue 08 Mar 2022.

Mallory Bonheur rolled 6 using 1d6 - Alphabetical/Numerical order on the cast list, so 6 is Torgrim

---

Communal sleeping quarters were a bit of a novel thing for Mallory.  She was far more accustomed to privacy in her quarters or, when pressed, perhaps one or two others nearby to share the room with.  To sleep on the floor of a taproom among her assorted companions was most certainly a new experience and one not without its hiccups.  She awoke fairly early the next morning and found that, at some point in the night, she'd unconsciously cozied up on Torgrim in unwitting pursuit of body heat.  A realization that had her flush red as a beet before she beat a hasty retreat both from his side and out the room entirely to freshen herself up for the day to come.

Of course, while tidied and soon in hopes of a breakfast as generous as their dinner the night before, Mallory ended up in quiet conversation before long, sat before the hearth to keep warm.  An odd sight for some, perhaps, to see her in chat with her cat at such length, but not so odd for others thus far.  "No trace at all?  Really?"

"Mrrrm..." Astre seemed rather displeased to admit it from all his scowling that morning.  Mallory just mulled over the matter while she unwound her bandages from about her face with ginger caution.

"Oh, don't be like that.  They're Elementals; even you can't be expected to--"

"Rrrwl!" he pawed at the Chwinga's abandoned spoon where it sat on the floor before him with a grumpy gesture.

"Well, yes, that's true.  But I suppose Chwinga are simply more elusive than Imps." she shrugged as she conjured a small hand mirror out of thin air with a twirl of her fingers.  Her bloodied eye seemed to have healed throughout the previous day and night quite well, which was a relief.  No trace of red blotches left at all.  She cast away the mirror into a flick of smoke and instead plucked up the spoon to idly twirl between her fingers.  "But thank you for keeping such a good eye on them anyway.  I'm sure they appreciated having such a lovely companion as you for the evening.  If they want to come back, they will as it pleases them."  Astre earned himself a fond scritching under the jaw for his trouble and pouting, which at least did some small bit to soothe his foul mood that morning.

Dannika didn't have much time to freak about about the absence of the Chwinga. Or, perhaps, she had expected its retreat into the object it had grown affectionate of. It was easily coerced out of its abode, and the spoon, ice cold to the touch, glittered slightly as it rose in a pirouette, the frost lifting from its surface to form a ribbon. That ribbon slowly coalesced into the form of the Chwinga, and it grabbed its dormant spoon before it could fall.

There was no time for breakfast, as it wasn't long after rousing that a guard knocked on the tavern and was let in by Ogden. He demanded Mallory's, Rhydd's, and Khulekani's — especially Khulekani's, insisting the Sheriff had gone out of his way to stress her importance — presence at the Town Hall. Anyone they wished to bring along were welcome.

---

Head on over to the Town Hall thread.

Most of Torgrim's nights were devoid of dreams, drowned out by generous amounts of alcohol. This was a conscious decision, as he found the alternative far more exhausting in the long run. During his waking hours the dead would come to him whenever they saw fit, but at night, willing or not, he went to them. There were advantages to this, however, advantages he needed right now.

He awoke surrounded by a familiar gray void, filled with hundreds of blurry whispering humanoid shapes of all shapes and sizes. The details of their faces could not be made out, and their whispers not fully comprehended. Torgrim rose to his feet and dusted himself off. "Hi again. It's been a while." The murmuring crowd did not respond.

"Still nothing huh? After all this time? Wonderful, always an absolute pleasure." He rolled his eyes, as if there were anyone there to see him. "Look, we are going after a magic wielding psychopath which, if the simulacrum he made of himself is anything to go by, is likely to be a bit paranoid. That could mean traps. Magical ones to be precise." The crowd remained unchanged.

"I wan- I wish for your help." "Help me see what they can't. Make me useful to them.". The spirits grew quiet, yet nothing changed. "Please?" The heavy hand of an unseen spirit fell onto his shoulder from behind, and Torgrim was jolted awake on the hard wooden floor of the Comfort.

As Torgrim took in his surroundings, he was surprised to find Mallory curled up next to him, but thought little of it. The cold makes strange bedfellows, doesn't it? He looked down at the sleeping witch, and searched inside himself for a feeling that deep down he knew he'd lost. In another life perhaps. For tonight, he found peace in knowing that even he could be a source of comfort and warmth, and fell asleep once more.

---

OOC: Torgrim will use Whispers of the Dead during the long rest to gain proficiency in Investigation through the shared knowledge of a ghostly presence, losing his proficiency in vehicles (water).
This message was last edited by the player at 17:37, Fri 11 Mar 2022.

That the Chwinga had taken to occupy the spoon rather than a more natural element was a delightful surprise with plenty of curious implications.  Though also a minor note of concern when it came to how poorly-crafted the flatware must've been if it had enough unrefined ore still within it to qualify as a rock.  Regardless, Mallory offered the Chwinga a welcome smile all the same.

"I have to go do something quite foolhardy today, so it's best you stay with Dannika where it's safe, alright?" she urged the little spirit in that sing-song voice she'd come to use exclusively for it.  When she handed it back over to Dannika, she hesitated a moment and took her friend by the wrist.  "Dannika, darling, please take care today?  You as well, Moyrah.  I'd be beside myself if anything happened."

---

Off to Town hall

For the remainder of their stay in Bryn Shander, the group had to find lodging elsewhere. While Ogden was accommodating, he also had a business to run, and Kelvin's Comfort was not an inn. He recommended Geldenstag's Rest, and could ensure a discount from Myrtle, the proprietor.

It was a quiet place, somewhat dark, with few patrons. Only one, in fact — one of the merchants from the caravan, a lanky blonde man. The establishment was far from upper class, and it was somewhat cold and small, sure, but it was nicely decorated with scrimshaw in various forms, tools, and stuffed animals. Dannika had donned her hat and she and the Chwinga was nestled up in a corner to continue their research. The tiny elemental's eccentricities had subdued over the course of the day. Now, it preferred to stick around Dannika's notes, and the scholar seemed to be thoroughly enjoying an outlet for her thoughts, be it to air grievances to a fantastic listener or tidying up incongruities. The nosy Myrtle was curious about both Chwinga and research, to the point where Dannika once had to politely ask her for some peace and quiet.

Moyrah, on the other hand, had not sat about. She'd been out to the markets to acquire outerwear that wasn't as tattered and beaten as the hide she was currently clad in, and had even stopped by The Hooked Knucklehead while Farwalker was present to inquire about wares. When she returned later that evening, it was with a bag slung over her shoulder and in similar, densely layered hide, though much fresher.

She put the bag down inconspicuously behind a chair. "Did you learn anything about Sephek Kaltro?" was the first thing out of her mouth. "I tried my luck at the Northlook. Nothing. Neither the proprietor nor the patrons knew anything aside from that he used to work for Torg's. If he stayed during his crossover to Targos, it wasn't in the Northlook. Or it was, but not as himself."

---

You each get a room for 1 sp per day, which is half of what Myrtle typically charges.

Ever since the execution Mallory had been rather terse.  Understandably so, perhaps.  The entire experience had been a weight on her soul since the moment she first understood the true nature of the Simulacrum, to witnessing his final moment.  His last, bitter words rested in her thoughts.  She feared no genuine haunting from such a curse levied her way though; the sort of baleful forces that could bring about torment beyond the grave required a soul in the first place.  But, all the same... the words alone were enough to linger and weigh heavily on the young noble's mind.

There was a part of her that craved isolation - to cope with everything she'd been through in solitude.  But an even bigger part of her was loathe to be alone.  Thus she remained in the presence of her fellows, albeit herself being rather poor company as she was more intent on personally emptying a bottle of wine than being a conversationalist.  She hadn't yet spoken of what she'd done or witnessed in the jail.  Only Rhydd knew for certain what bogged down Mallory's spirits so greatly.  She sat in silence at the table alongside Dannika; her manner subdued, the most recently filled mug of mulled wine already half-finished in one hand, and her other set in a thoughtless stroke along Astre's head.  The Tressym himself warmed Mallory's lap and refused to share her silence as he softly purred throughout.

Moyrah's abrupt return with both hides and questions in tow brought a slow, delayed sort of reaction out of the young noble as she cast her darkly-ringed eyes over.  A gentle shake of her head followed.  "Nothing to speak of, no, beyond what we already may have deduced.  He'll have to resurface sooner or later... if he's targeting those who avoid the lottery, then it would behoove us to learn which towns practice that sacrifice still and when the next will be.  He will surely be in attendance." she reasoned listlessly from beyond the rim of her mug before she took a slow, long pull.  Her eyes drifted to the load Moyrah dragged in with an idle nod of acknowledgment.  "What's that you've brought?"

"Mess kit. Hooks. Crowbar. Hammer. Stockfish. Unbelievable hard to get a hold off, which isn't surprising considering the lack of sun to dry with. Saltfish, too, is getting sparser." Moyrah opened the bag, finding some of the aforementioned food among the other items. She undid the wrappings, and the pungent smell of fermented fish was set free. After biting into it and tearing off a piece she extended it her friends' way. "Want some?"

Fresh fish and molluscs pulled right out of the sea and onto the kitchen table was more Mallory's fare growing up.  Neverwinter was a metropolis with more visitors each day than most cities had in total population; a true hub of unique trade, customs, and thus culinary wonder perched on the coastal cliffs with all the bounty of the sea and land at its disposal.  It should've been no surprise at all that the mere smell of such heavy fermentation was enough to wrinkle Mallory's nose and she gingerly raised a hand to refuse the offer...

"Mrrm." Astre chimed in with a pointed look up at his companion.  She just glowered at him in return before, despite the offensive odor set to her nose, took the piece anyway.

"Well I can't help it if I haven't eaten today, alright?  It's been rather difficult to conjure an appetite." she griped right back at him even as she relented to his demands.  A hesitant bite came down on the corner of the dried fish... which promptly had to turn into her using both hands and a fair bit of unbecoming gnawing to actually wrestle off a chunk to struggle through.  "Nngg... mng... thn'goo, Mrr-rah."  Talking with a mouthful was terrible manners, but it was the best she could offer in thanks before she realized she'd be there forever chewing away and forced herself to choke down the bite all at once.

"You know, someday quite soon, I think I'd like very much to take you around my stomping grounds, Moyrah.  There's a string of restaurants right along the coast with such fresh seafood like you've never dreamed.  Spicy bouillabaisse, Daintyfish skewers, grilled eels, great stone bowls heaped with crispy paella..." Lamentations over delightful meals in days past did little to rally the noble's flagging spirits, nor make the salted jerky any more appetizing.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:16, Thu 05 May 2022.

Moyrah chuckled as she watched Mallory fought with the fish, finding her troubles amusing. "Pretty good, right?" she asked, chomping down some more of her own. She, of course, by the virtue of having spent her whole life in its presence and strong, powerful Half-Orc teeth, possessed no trouble with the tenacious food. "Those restaurants do sound amusing. The view of the ocean, the thronging streets. Someday, when I travel southward, I shall visit Neverwinter. Though I doubt their food is better than ours!" She wiggled the stockfish for emphasis. It wasn't entirely unfamiliar to the Sword Coast as a whole, as the Ten-Towns exported a fair deal of the commodity.

Rhydd had never favored fish. It smelled bad before you cooked it, and it smelled only slightly less bad after you had cooked it. Sometimes, when his choices were limited, he had caught and cooked fish over an open fire.

But since they were at an inn, he figured that he did have a choice. "Something that's not fish. Something with chicken or pork," he said to the person who had come around to inquire whether the group wanted to order from the menu. "You know what's good. Pick something for me." He also ordered a flagon of thick, dark Dwarven ale.

He pursed his lips as he watched Lady Mallory pick up a piece of fish with both hands and gnaw at it. To his way of thinking, it seemed rather out-of-character for the normally very proper Southron noblewoman.

Rhydd understood that the business with the Simul-whatever had been very disconcerting for the young wizardess. In spite of his best efforts to convince her that her magicks were very mild compared to the alternative forms of questioning that could have been brought to bear, he felt certain that her digging into the mind and thoughts of the magicked creature had somehow felt wrong to her.

In an effort to get Mallory to thinking about something other than all that had happened earlier in the day, he asked her "So. Where do you think we should go, next? Your opinion, I mean."

Rhydd wasn't far off the mark - normally Mallory's sheer dedication to etiquette would prevent her from such uncouth mannerisms.  But a combination of her stomach being devoid of anything but wine and her open fondness for Moyrah seemed enough to get her to branch out a bit.  Though it did seem the more she tried to work through the dried fish the less she could actually bring herself to manage.

"Boar or venison would be lovely, come to think of it..." she noted on the matter of menu.  The next time Moyrah happened to look away, Mallory stealthily turned aside and waved a quick surge of cleaning magic across her mouth to purge her tongue of the lingering fermented flavor.

The topic of where their future laid, however, brought the noble's focus back around more squarely.  She leaned back a bit in her seat and crossed her arms as she pondered over the matter.  "Hmn.  Well, I suppose it does ultimately depend on what everyone else has been able to glean around town.  But I'm personally of a mind to try and find those poor souls Dzaan lured out east in search of his so-called spire.  Whatever was hidden there was something he desperately craved.  An intact Netherese ruin is certainly a tempting treasure trove all its own, but their lives are more important." A scowl fell across her delicately painted lips.  It had been quite a bit since Dzaan sent the adventurers out into danger and the likelihood they were already dead was incredibly high to begin with.  She couldn't deny that possibility no matter how much she hoped otherwise.  "If there's even a chance they're still out there holding on, it's a worthy risk to try and save them."
This message was last edited by the player at 03:23, Sat 07 May 2022.

"I'd be fine with something like that," Rhydd replied. "It will get me away from being hemmed in by so-called civilization."

The archer thought for a moment. "These Netherese . . . they're very old, right? I mean, they lived a long time ago."

"You've a masterful touch for understatement, Rhydd." Mallory afforded him a genuine smile that managed to bear itself through the wan manner she'd carried.  For a moment she tipped into thoughtful reverie as memories of oh so many lengthy history lectures rose to the fore.  Given that Rhydd had already been able to spot when the young noble would ready herself to go into a lengthy lecture of her own, he'd have a moment to brace himself as Mallory drew her bearing up for prim oration.

"Yes, the Netherese society as we know it founded itself well over five thousand years ago and endured for several millennia.  Theirs was a glorious, golden era of abundance and creation like none the world had known, nor has ever since.  They wielded powers beyond imagination that defy the understanding of modern arcanists, lived in flying cities that soared above the very clouds.  The truest pinnacle of mankind's potential, ascended from humble origin to reckon with the gods themselves."

A glowing review, perhaps, but one that was promptly snuffed as Mallory shook her head with a deep, pitying sigh.  "All brought to utter ruin in a matter of hours by the hubris of a single man." She shrugged helplessly on that note.  "The fall of the High Netheril is the ultimate warning to all arcanists, such as myself, to never repeat those mistakes.  For all the wonders they brought to bear, so too did the Neth embody the very worst of what we may become.  Unfettered gluttony, cruelty beyond speaking for the sake of amusement.  Their own people divided into callous castes.  Their fall was caused by one arcanist's desperate power grab that not only destroyed them, but slew a goddess and left scars upon mankind that we still bear to this very day."

Her gloved hand curled down to cup along Astre's head so that she could scratch about his chin, which earned a purr of approval from her feline friend.  "They weren't all bad, though.  They were responsible for the invention of most of modern spellcraft, including the ritual that brought me and Astre together."  They also invented the spell that conjured Dzaan's Simulacrum, she inwardly noted, but made no mention of in the moment.  "You may not recognize them, but I guarantee you've walked amidst the ruins of Netherese cities yourself many times, Rhydd.  The bones of their lost empire are scattered endlessly across the entirety of Faerun."
This message was last edited by the player at 19:02, Sat 07 May 2022.

Moyrah chomped down on the last bits of her piece of stockfish. She'd save the rest for later — gods knew they were to covet in these times. "If there's this spire, or tower, or whatever, out there in the tundra, how come I haven't heard of it before? Icewind Dale is big, but not that big. People venture out toward the tundra on occasion, and that's not even speaking of the Regheds who live there. Eh," she shrugged. "Maybe this just isn't the sort of thing to reach the common ear."

A fair question, but one Mallory could ultimately only shrug over.  "If I had to venture a guess, I'd say it was probably buried beneath the snow until recently.  An earthquake, or perhaps the endless blizzards, pushing frost about may have unearthed it.  The majority of intact Netherese ruins are almost entirely below the earth with only portions poking up here and there.  Though without seeing Dzaan's notes, I couldn't say for certain how he located it in the first place." she gave a flippant wave of her mug-holding hand that would've risked sloshing some drink out had she not already nearly emptied it herself.  "Surely you've heard of so-called 'dungeon divers' - adventurous sorts who trek into subterranean enclaves full of traps and monsters and such nonsense?  Quite a lot of those are indeed just half-buried Netherese ruins."
This message was last edited by the player at 23:09, Sat 07 May 2022.

"Maybe this just isn't the sort of thing to reach the common ear."

"Not the common ear perhaps, but it seems word is spreading by the minute among the clientele of the Northlook." Torgrim remarked in between bites of fermented fish. "There were quite a few rumours of riches and glory going around, and the tower among them."

"I've always thought the idea of a dungeon diver life has some appeal to it. Traps, monsters AND treasure? What's not to love? I'm in if you are."
This message was last edited by the player at 19:31, Sun 08 May 2022.

"Traps, monsters AND treasure? What's not to love?"

"The traps and monsters." Mallory promptly retorted in a dry deadpan.  Her idea of making money was more business-focused or being the one to supply resources to dungeon divers, not to be one herself.  Perhaps it would be more palatable if she tried to think of it as an archeological project?  There was plenty to learn from Netherese ruins, after all, and they were still one of the best sources of magical items that managed to survive the Spellplague over a century ago.  Perhaps a modicum of peril was worth the profit.

"Regardless, we should take this opportunity to aggregate our knowledge.  What has everyone learned in their time about Bryn Shander so far?"
This message was last edited by the player at 23:21, Sun 08 May 2022.

"If you are fond of delving into subterranean lairs of monsters both deadly and sanity-fraying, for entertainment and profit, might I suggest taking up with a knightly order, Master Squallborn? I may be able to put in a good word for you with a certain organization..." Khulekani said with a small smile as she approached the group that she had been apparently thrown into by the town authorities.

"I have learned many strange things since I arrived here. The religious practices of this community are...questionable at best. The dead do not rest easy here. But it is not all bad. These are a hearty people, and I suspect most of them will survive the current crisis. And the rule of law still holds, despite these conditions, which I appreciate. And I have also learned that there are many places which require a...certain kind of attention, around here. Places that Master Squallborn would enjoy exploring, is that not so?" the Paladin asked with a kind of coy innocence.

"I've learned that the walls have not become any less confining than they were the last time I was here, nor the town itself any less annoying," Rhydd replied, dryly, to Lady Mallory's inquiry.

"Shall I teach you the dome spell I conjured earlier, so that you might sleep outside without fear of freezing to death or being set upon by wild beasts in the night?" While Mallory's sidelong grin sent Rhydd's way spoke of jest, part of her mused that he actually might enjoy that...

"The religious practices of this community are...questionable at best. The dead do not rest easy here."

That furrowed the young noble's brow with enough consideration to make her actually pause mid-drink.  "You know, I do recall--" she began, only to cut herself off to actually take a drink before she continued "--hearing that the local church has stopped taking in the homeless.  They're posted up in Town Hall overnight now and some were even quite ill.  I thought that terribly amiss.  Why would the local worship turn away the needy or allow sickness to linger?"

"I fear that in these trying times that charity is one of the first casualties. Tightened belts, tightened purse-strings, and locked doors against cries for aid. These people didn't have much in the way of excessive wealth to begin with, and even churches have their limits. When they aren't considering allowing sacrifices that is," Khulekani said, her voice going flinty in reference to the horror that she hadn't been privy too, but had since investigated.

Rhydd smiled at Lady Mallory's offer to teach magicks to the likes of him. His expression turned grim, however, when the discussion turned to the powers that be in the town refusing to aid the homeless.

"Short-sightedness on their part," he grunted. "Be much easier to round up potential sacrifices when they are gathered together in one easy-to-find spot."

"Bryn Shander's sacrifices have been food, not people, from what I've been told.  Targos was - presumably - only performing those ghastly hanging lotteries because of their food shortage yielding no surplus to sacrifice with."  A matter they'd hopefully resolved by sending Streamseeker off to literally fairer waters.  Though there was still the chance that the baleful Druid behind the whole affair in the first place could've still been ready to cause further trouble...

"Squire Kumalo, Farwalker?  Please do correct me if I'm wrong, as my forte is in the arcane more so than the realm of the divine.  But I was under the impression that some who are divinely attuned are able to purge disease with a touch." she mulled as she rested the rim of her cup against her chin thoughtfully.  "When I was a child, I never got so much as a sore throat without someone from the local branch of Ilmater's clergy coming to lay hands to prevent the spread of illness.  Perhaps the clergy here are merely caretakers of the temple and not divinely-imbued clerics?"

---

Just to avoid any possible confusion, Mallory is referring to things like "Lesser Restoration" or a Paladin's "Lay on Hands" ability.  Readily available to people with PC levels, not so much with Commoners.

"As I understand it, there are those who follow the tenants and teachings of the gods, and guide others to do so. And then there are those whom the gods answer their prayers directly. And while the two groups often overlap, there is no guarantee a member of the clergy can direct the powers of their deity. Now, some think this means churches should be built around those gifted with such displays of faith, for it is tangible proof of the god's approval. I disagree. I think the gods have plans for all of us, and all have their parts to play. The kindly words born of long study of holy texts can have more effect on a community than the grandest display of divine fury. At least, that is what I have always believed. There were many years where I was a member of the Triad worshiper before my faith began to manifest in divine intervention, and I don't think my faith is any stronger now than it was when I was fourteen," Khulekani, answering the question and musing on some tangentially related thoughts at the same time.

"Hmn... well, I do suppose that is a fundamental flaw in relying on an extraplanar being for one's power.  Not as though I have much room to talk; any day now Mystra is going to die again and we'll all be in the shit." Mallory muttered into her dirnk.  While not dismissive of the gods - indeed, being a worshiper of Tymora herself - she did seem to bear a far less reverent interpretation of their role in the grand scheme of things.

"Mmmrrowl." Astre flicked his ears as he chimed in, which just got an eye roll out of his companion.

"Look, I'm not complaining about The Weave.  It's certainly more comfortable than channeling Raw Magic, which is an utter pain in the-- ugh, that's not the point." Mallory griped right back at her cat.

"Rrrm."

"All I'm saying is that whoever conceived of load-bearing deities had a lot of nerve, alright?"

On that, Mallory focused her brief bit of annoyance into the more productive - in a manner of speaking - task of refilling her drink yet again.  Astre, meanwhile, set his luminous eyes over to Khulekani.  Despite having yowled ferociously at her in their first meeting, he didn't seem to hold a grudge at all and was perfectly fine in her company as he chirped her way.

"Rrrm.  Mmrrllm?" the Tressym intoned.  Mallory's gaze followed his to the Squire as the both of them appeared to wait for an answer, until Mallory herself twigged on after a beat.  "Oh, right.  He's asked if you can cure illnesses with your divinity, Squire."
This message was last edited by the player at 07:17, Fri 13 May 2022.

"All things are possible with the guidance of the Triad...But, well, I must admit I've never tried before. Normally I've used Ilmater's mercy on those in my travels who have called for my help, or I was there when they were injured. Broken legs from falling off horses, lacerations from a Goblin raid. That kind of thing. But...yes, I believe the Triad would wish to see illness eradicated through their servants," Khulekani said with a hesitant shrug.

For all her normal calm, friendly, self-assurance, it was easy to forget that this young woman was fresh from the training fields of the Auxiliary. This Errantry Tour was to test all the things that she had learned in the real world.

Much like how Mallory herself had balked and scoffed over Markham's clumsiness in understanding the arcane forces she bore, so too was the young noble just as unwittingly foolish when it came to the divine.  Those associated with organized religious forces had a certain air and reputation about them that made it all too easy to expect more of them than was perhaps fair.  Of course, such questions coming from an irreverent feline and a woman quite deep in her cups could somewhat excuse the candor...

"I daresay you'll find a few folk around town worthy of testing your abilities then, were you so inclined to try.  There was one fellow in particular we saw earlier... he was very stubborn about accepting the charity of a warm blanket and cold coin; he seemed to have a sickness of the lungs." Mallory couldn't recall having seen the man earlier at Town Hall after their first encounter, but that she did remember someone else coughing as well spoke poorly of the general well-being of Bryn Shander.  "If nothing else, I'm sure Speaker Duvessa would appreciate a potential contagious disease being prevented from spreading throughout the citizenry."

She scowled a bit at her own reflection in the contents of her mug.  "I'm afraid I may have put the Speaker off.  She's very much against my business dealings with Speaker Naerth of Targos and, unfortunately, she's labeled you lot as guilty by association as well." It was all she could do in just offering an apologetic shrug to her gathered company.  "I'm sorry if I end up causing any of you trouble.  Especially you, Squire.  For what it's worth, I'll be doubling my efforts to earn what trust I can."
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 09:37, Sat 14 May 2022.

As the quiet of night settled in over Geldenstag's Rest, Torgrim remained awake. Though his eyes were set on the hard wooden roof, his mind was entirely elsewhere, fixated on ghosts. For once not literal ones, but figurative ghosts of his past. The words of the lanky Nothlook drunkard echoed in his mind:


After a few waking hours, Torgrim made a decision. He got out his notebook and wrote down a few words before gently tearing the page from the binding.

"Terribly sorry about leaving like this. Never been good with goodbyes. You work well together, take care of one another. -Torgrim"

He thought for a moment before adding: "Ps. If you come across a halfling called Apple at the tower, tell her she was right about the Firebrandy, and Quill owes her a gold." He left the note on a table, held down by a stack of coins, enough to cover the cost of the room and his likely long forgotten bet.

The half-elf stopped in the door to take one last solemn glance back over his shoulder before slipping out and away into the cold winter night.

OOC: Stealth: Torgrim Squallborn rolled 21 using 1d20+9

As was often the case, long into the night when all else had fallen silent and asleep in their chambers, Astre remained.  The Tressym was tucked amid the rafters of the main room to enjoy what lingering warmth was caught up there and maintain his vigil.  Once before he'd seen a strange man leave their company with only a note to mark the exit and, so too that evening, did history repeat itself.  Astre only moved once the door shut in Torgrim's wake; he fluttered down to a near window and peered out into the bluster of the deep night's snow, but there was no sign to be found of the strange fellow.  By morning his tracks and scent would've surely been swept away as well...

True to himself as ever, Astre let his inquisitive nature lead the way as he bounded over to the tabletop note.  Sharp eyes narrowed as he read it and, with the nearest measure a feline could offer to a sigh, tucked to curl himself in rest about the coins and note alike to keep them safeguarded amid his fluff and feathers.  There he would remain until morning to ensure nobody but his companions would find them first.

Given that Rhydd often slept out-of-doors in the Wilds, anything with a roof and smoldering wood in the fireplace felt like he was spoiling himself. And so it was that after his companions had turned in for the night, he spread his bedroll on the floor of the common room and used his pack as a pillow.

He was perfectly comfortable in such surroundings, and it also gave him the opportunity to keep an eye on the door to the inn. Not that he actively stood Watch, but he figured that he was more likely to notice comings and goings in the dead of night than if he were upstairs, behind the closed door of his own room.

It seemed, however, that Torgrim was much more adept at keeping his exit quiet than the normal, run-of-the-mill townsperson, and Rhydd never heard him leave.

If he heard Astre stirring, he thought nothing of it . . .

---

OOC:
11:53, Today: Rhydd Maldhon rolled 13 using 1d20+4 with rolls of 9.  Perception Check (To Notice Torgrim Leaving).

Comments: Rhydd would not have heard Torgrim's departure (19 on his Stealth Check).
This message was last edited by the player at 17:21, Mon 16 May 2022.

Throughout the evening, before everyone retreated to their rooms, Moyrah sat over her drink in contemplation. As with many of the others, something was clearly weighing on her, though when prodded she would brush it off as a long days' weariness. Perhaps some had realized that she had intended to leave that very night. Moyrah had not made up her mind yet — while she considered her quest important, there was something of value here, in this inn, that she was reluctant to part with.

And so it came to be that it was not she who left, but another.

With footsteps silent enough to barely grab Astre's attention, Torgrim was gone. The Tressym was not the only one privy to his exit, for in the door frame the Fisherman manifested. He took on a full shape, proud and tall, his beard undulating with the wisps of his makeup. The sleeves of his tunic, slightly wet from Ethereal rain and splashes, were rolled up, revealing immaculate tattoos.

"Thank you," his voice clang, and a strong, ghostly hand faced Torgrim, "for allowing me this closure." Of course, no physical contact could take place, but that did not stop the Fisherman from pantomiming the handshake, another phantom hand wrapping itself atop. He smiled sincerely of gratitude. And then, with the cold winter night awaiting him, no more words were exchanged. The Fisherman dispersed in Torgrim's grasp, now on his way to the Fugue Plane. To the spirit the journey would seem instantaneous, but he would not arrive before two or three months had passed on the Prime Material. From there, he would enter the realm of the deity to whom he had been faithful.

Though with one soul shepherded, another still awaited. The Cobbler would go on to haunt Torgrim for a long, long time.