"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.