Idri chuckled. "Why, of course I could! Find me... Oh, shall we say three months with nothing else on my plate and a couple of skilled apprentices, we'll have you armored up again like new." The billet in front of her, now longer and flatter by far than when she started, had cooled to a red glow. The spectral hand picked it up from the anvil and delivered it back into the forge to heat again. The hand moved a brick to block so much of the heat escaping, casting the forge in far dimmer light. Idrianthe's eyes had no trouble with it, but she knew that Trovus lacked her catlike vision.

For his benefit, she ran a thumb up the length of her hammer, and its head seamlessly reshaped to feature a sharp engraving tip opposite the face. With the tip, she drew something onto a small metal badge that sat on one of her worktables, and gave it a tap. Instantly, it was like she'd lit a candle, filling the forge with a cool blue light. Into the apron her hammer went, alongside the mundane tools she was borrowing from the workshop while she smithed for them.

Now illuminated, the sweat and grime from working around a heavy flame, coal, and oil were more obvious, and they stained Idri's pale face and work clothes like warpaint. The once white sleeve which was pinned to her right shoulder had gone especially gray, as Idri tended to use it to wipe her left hand off without thinking.

"You didn't do anything to deserve me, Trovus, meaning you, personally. It's not your fault that things are the way they are up here, all I'm doing is trying to help your people catch up with the challenges you've been forced to shoulder." Idrianthe answered, and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. She then walked around to the bellows and began to work its gasket with her foot. The coal smoldered as great breaths of air were introduced.

It was hard not to admire her own work a bit while the dragonborn drew attention to it. The lines were distinctly dwarven, heavy angles and sturdy construction that would hold up in any normal fight, but with a lightness to the shape that made it hers. Each blade had been given a sparse ornamentation of Jotun and Dwarvish runic script in the fuller that she hoped would satisfy local tastes, and a stylized, three-part M was stamped deep into both faces of the crossguard.

But even looking at the table of weapons, knowing how dire the situation was for the people who had ordered her tools of war, brought a deep frown to Idri's lined face.

"You will teach them, won't you Trovus? I'm... Well, I've not sharpened them as much as I can, yet. Just enough of an edge to hurt if they're used, but I won't forgive myself if someone does that damn fool thumb-slide on one of my swords and it costs them a digit. Or worse, they spar untrained and... Less said the better."

With the forge hot, she approached Trovus and picked up another of the shortswords, checking the line with her practiced, pale eye. "Anyway, they're good for the task. But swords are difficult to learn, we both know that."

As if unconsciously, Idrianthe spun the weapon in her hand, walking through a slow sequence of graceful dips, vertical swipes and quick lunges, albeit neither fast enough nor hard enough to compare to the likes of Trovus.

"Aye, good balance," she confirmed absently. "But two spears and a shield will be better. A tight fighting line, safer, simpler to learn. Shortsword or a mace in reserve if the spears are thrown or lost. That's the proper way to field a militia." Idri seemed to get lost in a thought as her eyes dilated. She winced, gripped the sword tightly once, then turned and put it back. "And... And mages. Teach them that first, Trovus. If they see someone working a spell, that's when you throw the spear. Throw it straight away, don't give them time."

Trovus found a stool to sit on, one that hopefully wasn't used by Idrianthe in her work. "How much more do you think they'll take? Yesterday it was invisible blue buggers, tomorrow who knows? And the sun ain't risin' first things first." He paused long enough to almost doze off again. "Sooner or later everyone'll get their thumbs out their arses and the Ten Towns will be a barren, frozen wasteland once more."

"Can't wait for the day," he added. "A weight of my back, really. Won't have to train 'em at that point! Ah, did you speak with the wizard? Can't recall if I told you already, but she came out askin' for you earlier."
This message was last edited by the GM at 10:55, Sun 17 July 2022.

The dragonborn's question, idly thrown out as it was, made Idri sigh deeply as she turned around to look at the dilapidated workshop. She crossed her left arm over her chest and cradled the end of her right arm, an approximation of crossing them that additionally helped warm her hand against the chill winds.

"Don't be so sure that day's coming, friend," she cautioned gently. "There's a powerful magic to home. Once someone or something starts to think of a place that way, it generates a certain... Attraction. Slow to bind but hard to break. As long as there's land to live on and shelter from the elements, home will still be real for at least some of your people. They'll spend their lives keeping it home, or try 'til they die.

The second question perked Idri back up, allowing her to put on a shroud of enthusiasm. "Briefly! She gave me a mineral fragment that she says is important to the duergar. Haven't had a chance to look closely at it yet, or ask her more. Been a busy day. Can't even remember if I've eaten, come to think of it..."

The broad and burly Dragonborn leaned forward with a weary huff. "I hope you're wrong, Idrianthe," he said. "About the people here. No offense. Here, let me help you clean up and cool down the forge. I reckon it's time for myself to find some warmth as well."

---

The Northern Lights was an inn of moderate size. Perhaps it could even be considered large for these parts. Its namesake evershining light, an orb which had been retrieved in the Duergar raid, hung above the entryway from a chain, illuminating it for any and all visitors. Inside, the younger Shorard sister, Alice, lithe and charming, swept the floor for the night. She greeted Dame Idrianthe with a genuine smile. Trovus she scowled at, though the Speaker knew not the reason. Nor would the innkeeper hand him the drink he soon requested, forcing him to take his leave for the Hook, Line, and Sinker where the proprietor was more lenient.

Idrianthe could find Vellynne Harpell in her room, reading and writing glyphs. A piece of Chardalynn rested underneath the lit candles, its black, rugged form catching and reflecting the light. The wizard had asked for the largest room in the establishment, furnished at the very least with a desk and a chair. It had been granted her, and she had paid a large sum upfront for a prolonged stay.

The woman was old. Her well-kempt hair was starkly gray, almost white, and she wore a patch over her right eye. Her familiar, a Barn Owl, rested silently by her bed's raised footboard slat.

"Did your examinations prove worthwhile?" she asked without taking her eye from her spellbook. She dipped the pen, flipped a page, and continued, "I requested your presence earlier today."

---

Idrianthe Arcana on the Chardalyn (w/ Advantage due to Proficiency with Smith's Tools) [19 9]: A hard but brittle material with innate magical properties. Namely, it has the power to absorb a spell, which it releases upon shattering. The larger the Chardalyn, the more potent the spell it can hold. Little to no leakage occurs, meaning the spell would reside within the crystal for centuries, perhaps even millennia. Vellynne, of course, already knew this. This explanation had been given Idrianthe when the wizard had handed her a blank sample.

What she might not have known, however, was that it had a melting point beyond anything her forge could generate. When subjected to its maximum heat output, the Chardalyn hardened to the point where it required significant force to break. The chemical structure seemed to not deteriorate as was the case with emeralds. The composition wasn't carbon, so it wouldn't sublimate or combust like diamonds would if one could somehow generate enough heat to achieve that — it likely had a melting point. Just not at a temperature achievable by ordinary forges. Furthermore, its ability to retain heat far surpassed most workable material, like steel and iron, which meant it cooled slowly. When it finally did, it returned to its previous brittle state.

With a tap of her shiftweave pendant, Idrianthe's ensemble reverted from her soiled smithing ensemble to sturdy, hefty, and warm winter clothing, complete with a large red scarf and a coatsleeve pinned where a shirtsleeve was before. It still had the faint aroma of coal and soot as the dirtied fibers simply shifted, but that was her perfume of choice anyway.

Idrianthe smiled sadly at Trovus when he wasn't looking at her. She'd seen many dozens of people fall into drink in her life, and he was a tragic example: A warrior who gave a damn about his people, but who couldn't find it in himself to resist the temptation, anymore. What a gain it would be for Caer-Konig if their speaker could get back on his feet...

But it wasn't for her to wrestle with. No, what she needed to focus on was Vellyne Harpell and her chardalyn fragment. Now that was an interesting material. The first thought through Idrianthe's mind was making shields of it to charge with magic, but they would shatter easily if not kept hot -- that was out. Almost any worn or carried object was as well, except for those which could maintain a heat source of sufficient temperature. A flaming sword might work, if allowed to reach its hard temperature, and may even be easier than most metals to enchant. Indeed, that would be a fearsome thought, duergar armed by the platoon with flaming, magic weapons. But even that was only touching the surface of its potential. No, Idri had a much more dangerous thought about how they might use it...

"I was working, nobody came to say," she explained to Vellyne off-hand, smiling to the barn owl and nodding to its mistress. "But yes, I think they did. This is a very useful material, under the right circumstances. Granted, those circumstances are... Niche... But keep it hot and this chardalyn crystal would be a worthy entry to the pantheon of hallowed minerals, proudly alongside mithral and adamant. Tougher than steel, more trustworthy than diamonds -- but only if kept hot. I've got a few theories how it might be employed to good effect, more importantly which fit the style and methods of the duergar, at least as I know them."

Idrianthe rubbed her chin and leaned against the wall by Vellyne's desk. "Magical weapons are possible. The spell-storing properties may make the substance easier to enchant as well as giving fighters an option in battle, so long as the weapon is flaming and thus kept hot. However... The far more concerning option, the one which I will assume is the case until proven otherwise, is some sort of construct. Most likely, a golem. A terribly powerful golem, stronger than steel, approaching the strength of adamantine, maintained by some form of magical heat, and made of a mineral in great supply. Possibly even several such war engines, in fact, if they have enough and the skill to imbue them with form and life."

"Is that so?" Vellynne answered, her attention split between Idrianthe's words and the pages beneath her pen. "A construct . . . a shame, the fate of our thieves." The wizard was of course referring to how the band of invisible Duergar, or those remaining when they realized their defeat was inevitable, slit their own throats instead of risking capture. Trovus, intent to shoulder every burden in sight, blamed himself for the incident. After all, he had taken the forefront in the raid alongside Idrianthe.

She closed the book and put down the pen. And her reading monocle. "I called upon you because I have conferred with the Host Tower," she said, turning to face Idrianthe. "There are limits to what I should disclose, but I am compelled to inform you the Duergar you faced were the pawns of a Xardorok Sunblight, a warlord whom is believed spurred to the surface by Deep Duerra. In other words, not an adversary to be underestimated. And you have just slain one of his sons. Or rather, he slew himself." She waved a dismissive hand. "Same difference."
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:39, Mon 12 Feb.

The corners of the Witch Knight's mouth turned down subtly, but the revelation of slaying a warlord's son didn't elicit any greater emotional response than that. "That's a shame. I'd rather none of them had died, but I imagine there are a great many fathers and mothers who would want vengeance on me, Trovus and Caer-Konig. Can't blame this Sunblight for that, nor any of the others."

She looked to the window, at the infinite twilight beyond. "But that does mean I should leave Caer-Konig soon, and loudly. If he blames me personally, then I may be able to spare this town more anguish my drawing his ire out into the wilderness. I'll confer with Trovus about it, when he's sober. Few more days of work to finish, then I'll make tracks. If there's anything you aren't compelled to tell me but decide to anyway..." A little smirk. "I promise I won't tattle."

I'll confer with Trovus about it, when he's sober.
"I fear you will then wait until the Dusk War," Vellynne said as she suppressed a chortle. It wasn't a topic to jest about eagerly.

"The Duergar staunchly follow a 'might makes right' doctrine. In this way they are a predictable sort. It is possible that this son, in his failure, inspires not vengeance but disappointment in his father — especially given Caer-Konig's remoteness and insignificance," Vellynne continued, hands comfortably in her lap. "Speculation, admittedly. But we do know he is after Chardalyn, and we know this village holds none. Furthermore, this Xardorok Sunblight might have no idea as to your identity or involvement.

She allowed a brief pause to fall over the conversation. "Know that I decide to stay despite these revelations," the wizard offered. "And if the Duergar do intend to descend upon Caer-Konig, your presence would be valued greatly."
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:40, Mon 12 Feb.

Idrianthe clicked her tongue softly about Trovus. "I grew up with dwarves, I have a different threshold of sobriety than you. But... You aren't wrong."

The elf listened thoughtfully to Vellyne's explanation, and she didn't have a reason to doubt the mage's wisdom about the duergar and their methods.

"Then it sounds as though the best thing I could do is learn where chardalyn is concentrated in these lands, and from there begin to predict how the duergar might approach their harvest. I have no intention of abandoning Caer-Konig or Ten-Towns, I only acknowledge that it is better I bait foes away from unprepared villagers than try to fight a battle in their streets.

But what is it that continues to be of value to you, here, Vellyne? You don't strike me as sentimental, and I don't know how much more you can learn from the inside of this room -- even with the help of an able scout." She smiled at the owl.

Mercuri, the Barn Owl was called. For the most part, she kept him here in her room alongside her during her studies, allowing him only the briefest of expeditions. "You'd be surprised," Vellynne said, not turning to face her conjured companion, "what one can achieve from the comfort of a small and warm study. Caer-Konig is more strategic than you might believe. I would tell you of my endeavors, but you might then think less of me, though I assure you my goals continue to be dignified. Much in contrast to my colleagues'. To put it briefly, I am engaged in a race to locate two things — a tome, the Codicil of White, and an ancient Netherese city by the name of Ythryn. The denizens of Icewind Dale should pray that I come out on top."

Her sharp, unflinching gaze lingered on Idrianthe. "I tell you this because I have come to trust your character. I realize it is much to ask for one in my position that the trust be mutual, but in its stead I ask you to trust my expertise."

"I don't distrust you, personally, Vellyne. And I don't particularly distrust your order, although that comes with a caveat: I trust them to behave as wizard's guilds generally do. Which is... Not the kindest thing I've ever said." Idri answered pointedly. "But you seem less prone to hoarding your knowledge and snarling at curious passers-by, so that puts you quite far above others."

To the issue of Vellyne's studies, Idri had to spend a moment wracking her own extensive stores of knowledge, trying to remember if she or her past lives knew anything substantive about this Codicil of White, or knew much of Ythryn.

---

Religion check (22) for the Codicil of White, Arcana check (18) for Ythryn.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:42, Sat 23 July 2022.

Idrianthe's assessment drew a slight smirk and chuckle from the otherwise stoic wizard. "You seem to have an accurate assessment of my brood. If only it weren't so . . ." She paused for a brief moment, as if weighing her next words carefully. "I believe you must have heard of her on your way through — Avarice. Let us describe her as the wrong kind to enter our ranks. Vindictive, power hungry, and unfortunately an immensely skilled Evoker. I believe that if I don't act with haste, she will be the one to retrieve both the Codicil and the lost secrets of Netheril, and she will utilize it all to her own ends and her own ends alone. The people of Icewind Dale? Their existence is barely a presence in her mind." She slowly stood and folded one arm behind her back as she stepped up to Mercuri to gently scratch its chin. The Barn Owl accepted with coos.

"Dzaan, a Red Wizard. Of far lesser merit, but dangerous through unpredictability. He shies no means. And by that I mean none. Lately, he's stirred up quite a ruckus recently and has been fleeing the authorities — him and his Simulacrum alike. One of them burned at the stake, but I am yet to determine if it was the authentic one.

Lastly there is Nass Lantomir," she continued, "a Diviner apprenticing under one of our archmages. She was first to arrive here, but she was last seen in Bremen Tendays ago. Hopefully both she and Dzaan has met a timely demise, but all her knowledge is lost to me."

She hesitated while she stroked the Barn Owl's head. "I am behind, Idrianthe. The only lead I had to work from was the Spire, which I cannot brave myself, and now the Sunblights, which I was only able to pry from my institution because of the intelligence you managed to unearth. A shame it is, that our dealings must always be so transactional . . ."

---

Religion Check on the Codicil of White [22]: The holy scriptures of Auril. It is uncertain if she had a hand in the tome's creation or if it was merely the work of reverent followers. Over the course of history and Icewdind Dale's turmoils it has traded hands uncountable times and its current whereabouts are a mystery.

Arcana Check on Ythryn [18]: One of the Spectacular Enclaves of Netheril that came crashing down nearly two millennia ago. Little information has been preserved, and all its secrets were lost in the catastrophe that was Karsus' Folly.

Idrianthe listened with rapt attention to Vellyne's surprisingly forthcoming breakdown of the Brotherhood presence and interest in Ten-Towns, for a greater boon she could not ask. This

Dzaan was an odd one, being that he was either at-large or quite dead, but whether or not his simulacrum was a good or bad person, she couldn't begin to speculate. That was a magic she had little experience with, and far beyond her own kenning.

This Nass Lantomir, likewise, was an unknown element. But Diviners could be truly devastating foes, so long as they had the support to make use of their brilliance and foresight. At the very least, there would be no catching that one by surprise. Idri was not, however, inclined to try that anyway -- even being capable of some stealth, more with her arcane armor, it felt... Dirty. Stabbing someone in the back. A recourse for dire times, then.

And Avarice. Sounded almost as though she fancied herself a dragon with a name like that, and an evoker as cherry on top. Idri couldn't expect to take that sort of power on directly or alone, especially if she gave a more powerful wizard like Vellyne pause. And her temperament was everything already wrong with Icewind Dale, so... At least she fit in.

"There's a... Purity, to transaction," Idri opined. When you deal often with a person, and you come to learn their reliability, then you likewise begin to trust what they offer. It's a valuable position to be in, knowing what you're getting. And if the price is comprehensible and forthright, all the better to weigh the value. I'm no tracker, but that spire already interested me on its own merits. I would be open to sharing my findings with you, when I find the opportunity to pursue it. Although, with so much interest in Ythryn from your guild, I would be unwise to go alone. Hm. Trovus can't leave, nor would I want him to. Perhaps I shall seek mercenary support, or other interested parties with more palatable motivations. Can't imagine any will be easy to find, but you can't fault a lady trying..."

"Thank you," Vellynne said further. "It is in times like these I must remind myself to stay patient. That will be all, Idrianthe. I wish you a good night." With that, Vellynne returned to the book beneath her candlelight.

---

From her own room, not soon after, Idrianthe heard stirring, and the sound of Mercuri taking flight.

Continuing from Chapter 3, post #199 . . .

---

Caer-Konig was a humble lakeside town, built into natural terraces that receded from the shore like an amphitheater. Buried under the snow on the slopes above the last row of houses laid the ruins of the Caer, the town's namesake. Contrary to the Caer of Dineval, this was in a sorry condition, comprising nothing but crumbled, worn walls and pilasters. A ruin, through and through.

There were, however a certain warmth to the town that Caer-Dineval had been missing. Bright, orange lights from windows pierced the dim surroundings, and while there certainly existed more busy towns across the lands, the people here showed signs of life — a woman stood outside her porch, shoveling snow, and down on the ice were fishermen toiling in similar fashion to the Targosi.

But it was not the woman shoveling snow or any innkeep or barkeep who greeted the party and instead someone else entirely, someone lying in a pile of snow on the outskirts. A Dragonborn of silver complexion. He was shirtless, worse for wear, and either dead or unconscious. An empty bottle laid next to him, having accumulated snow from the previous night, just as its owner.

---

Rhydd will know that the town has one tavern (Hook, Line, and Sinker) and one inn (The Northern Lights). The Hook, Line, and Sinker is kept by a jovial Half-Elf named Glen. The Nothern Lights is kept by the Shorard sisters. Both establishments and its proprietors are accommodating and competent, though only the latter offers lodging.

Compared to Caer-Dineval, Caer-Konig was a far more cheerful and welcoming sight.  Though what qualified as cheerful and welcoming in the Ten-Towns was its own thing... Mallory could feel her standards diminish by the day.  But she preferred the state of a lively town with a dead castle over the opposite, no doubt there.

Of course, she also preferred the sight of living people over dead ones, but it hardly seemed like she was going to get her way more often than not.

"Oh gods.  Is he...?" the young noble drew their sled to a hasty halt when she realized there was an apparent corpse in the snow on their approach toward town.  Being passed out half-naked in such dire weather didn't bode well at all for their chances, even if they were a Silver Dragonborn.  She knew their kind was sturdy in the face of cold, much like Farwalker was, but still...
This message was last edited by the player at 21:07, Mon 19 Sept 2022.

Rhydd was not at all displeased to leave the unwelcoming environs of Caer-Dineval behind them. All in all, he was well-pleased to be outside walls, and enjoying some small measure of freedom -- at least by comparison to the way he felt when he was inside the walls of a town . . . any town.

The good gods smiled upon the small party, it seemed, for they suffered no "adventures" on their travels to Caer-Konig, and the fact that Rhydd had been through this area before aided the archer in leading the party unerringly to their goal.

"Well, here we are," he said as the group crested a small rise and had a good view of their destination. "I must say, it already looks much better than Caer-Dineval did."

"I daresay that we will find ourselves much more welcome here than we did in that last place that we showed our backsides to, earlier in the day-- and good riddance to it."

"I can recommend a tavern here -- the 'Hook, Line, and Sinker'. There is a good inn, also -- 'The Northern Lights'."

When Mallory pointed out the Dragonborn who lay in a snow-drift off to the side of their route, Rhydd grunted. "That was a silly thing to do," the archer muttered upon glimpsing the lack of clothing worn by the dead or unconscious person, "even for a Silver Dragonborn."

The archer made his way over to where the Dragonborn lay, and knelt down beside the motionless figure. To be sure, the lack of clothing made it slightly easier to check on the condition of the person than would be the case if he were wearing heavy winter clothing. Of course, offsetting that somewhat was the fact that Rhydd had no formal training in the use of herbs or medicines . . .

---

OOC:

12:15, Today: Rhydd Maldhon rolled 8 using 1d20+2 with rolls of 6.  Medicine Check: Dragonborn.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:08, Tue 20 Sept 2022.

The Dragonborn sat slightly askew up on the snowbank, but had suffered a considerable layer of snow atop his maw, and the rest of his body, for that matter. No matter his condition, he had been laying like this for hours. Taking the pulse on a creature with a hide as thick as a Dragonborn's was no trivial matter. Both neck and wrist were scale-clad, tough and unyielding, which meant the hunstman had to resort to leaning in to feel for the exhalation of his nostrils, since neither the rising and sinking of his breast was perceptible.

And indeed, the Dragonborn was alive. Rhydd received more than he bargained for as the Dragonborn puffed heavily, dispersing dry snow onto Rhydd's face. He roused, slowly opening his bright violet eyes to his surroundings. "Ough . . ." he grumbled as he propped himself upright, rubbing his temples. "Gods above and fiends below . . . what day is it?"

Mallory gingerly leaned and gawked from her spot at the front of the sled while Rhydd checked on the fate of the poor, surely frozen-solid fellow.  Inwardly she was already in the process of thinking over how best to fit the body into the sled's platform, who they might contact to report and leave the remains with, and so forth.  So it came as an immense relief when the Dragonborn popped right up with a bit of prompting.

"Oh, thank goodness..." she sighed, equal parts gladdened and frankly impressed that he'd not somehow expired in the night.  "It's the twentieth--"  she chimed up from her spot.  Though after a glance at the fellow's emptied bottle and his state, she added "--of Uktar." just in case.  In all honesty, she'd had a few evenings of weakness where she'd awoken not knowing the month herself...

Mallory hopped from the sled and made her way over alongside Rhydd with arms out to offer the Dragonborn a helping hand up.  "Come along sir, let's get you up and in proper sorts.  Are you quite alright?  Do you need a lift to your home or a physician?"

"I am freezin'," the Dragonborn responded. He looked down on himself, noticing his absence of any outerwear to cover his torso. "I thought I found my shirt . . ." He accepted the offer to steady himself, though he was large, burly, and despite his condition he very much did not need the assistance. "Thank you kindly. I'd ask you to take me to the tavern, but I've the feelin' that's not the best of suggestions. In which case I don't reckon any of you kind strangers have remedies for a throbbin' head?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:12, Tue 20 Sept 2022.

"My suggestion would be to head for The Northern Lights," Rhydd replied to the Dragonborn.

"And as far as remedies go, I think that you have established that rolling around in the snow with most of your clothes off is not a good one," he observed dryly.

"Three fried eggs with pepper sauce, a fatty cut of fish, and an entire pot of kaeth usually does it for me." Mallory added on her own accord as she lingered at the Dragonborn's side long enough to ensure he could stand on his own before she stepped away.  A quick traipse to the sled let her snatch her blanket from where it was bundled against her bedroll and, unless the Dragonborn tried to shoo away the aid, she swung it about to drape over his broad shoulders.

"Be it for the hangover or hypothermia, the best remedy is getting a proper meal and a warm bed to recover in." With a quick gesture and a faint flicker of arcane energy off her fingertips, the blanket promptly became toasty warm about the Dragonborn's frame.  She flinched and fought back a shiver herself though; she was limited in how much she could enchant and came to the habit of warming her own, Rhydd's, and Khulekani's boots while they traveled.  Thus she chose to break the spell on her own footwear for the sake of the Dragonborn's comfort rather than put her companions out.  "We're only passing through town ourselves for some supplies, but we could drop you off at the inn on our way...?" She was uncertain of he was actually a local with a residence himself, all things considered.

---

Prestidigitation on the blanket to help try and warm up the Dragonborn.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:54, Tue 20 Sept 2022.

The Dragonborn simply smiled as Mallory let him stand on his own two feet. He had no trouble with it. "My, am I fortunate to have had you stumble upon me. More sinister things lurk out there," he cast a glance up the hillside towards nothing in particular. As Mallory's magic set in, the Dragonborn shivered and his attention was pulled back. "Oh, oh, that is quite lovely! I don't s'pose I get to keep this, do I? Much better than my shirt. Graaah . . . All jokes aside, my hardship is my own. I shall accompany you to the Northern Lights, where I shall learn your names and repay you to the best of my ability."

"You can keep it for the hour the charm will last, but after that it's just a blanket.  I'd need a day and a handful of resources in order to make the enchantment permanent, but that is quite doable." Mallory motioned to usher the Dragonborn along to their sled.  At the mention of 'resources', she rubbed her fingertips together around a proverbial coin to make her meaning clear.  "Have a seat then, sir, and point us in the right direction.  The sooner all of us are out of this awful cold and get some proper breakfast, the better.  Caer-Dineval was hardly forthcoming with hospitality and we have a very long day ahead of us."
This message was last edited by the player at 16:10, Wed 21 Sept 2022.

"Ah, I see," the Dragonborn responded as he found seat in the sled. "Perhaps arrangements can be made and 'resources' can be procured, so long as the price is not too steep." Though a Dragonborn's facial expressions were often hard to discern — a more rigid maw and reptilian eyes had that effect — it was clear he became thoughtful from where he sat wrapped in the blanket bestowed him. "Aye, I've heard of the troubles in Caer-Dineval. A shame, really. It once was a town with a welcoming and open folk. It was a town with a heart. But it has now been ripped from their chest . . . Do not be quick to judge the people there. It is solely within the castle that the rot festers."