Rhydd had been standing with his elbows up on the bar, talking quietly with Scramsax. When he noticed that the conversation behind him was breaking up, and that Tympani was making noises about heading out for the Lonelywoods -- that is to say, the Town and the Forest -- he turned around and faced the room, putting his back up against the bar.

"Bad idea," he muttered in response to the Halfling's request for directions, not attempting to sugar-coat his opinion.

"In case you hadn't noticed, there's a storm outside. And not one of your little weak southern summer storms, either -- a true Icewind Dale Howler. If you go quiet and listen for a moment, you will be able to hear it. And if you go out into it by yourself to travel more than a hundred yards or so, you will likely die."

The not-quite-a-Ranger took a drink from the wooden mug that he was holding, and then continued. "And as with most of the old sayings, there's some truth to the one about there being safety in numbers. Moreso than if you are traveling alone . . . well, unless you are me, I suppose."

"Now, we can't strike out for the Lonelywoods right away. But we are one person down after Farwalker left, and as far as I am concerned, you are welcome to take her place and journey alongside us."

"I can't say when it might be, but we will eventually get you over to the Lonelywoods."

Rhydd grunted, and a thin smile turned up the corners of his mouth. "Fair warning, though. You seem to be the energetic sort. We might ask you to sing or dance for your supper every now and again, just to break up the monotony of drinking river water and eating trail rations."
This message was last edited by the player at 16:27, Thu 04 Apr.

"Hmmm."  The halfling hmm'ed as she considered the advice.  "I didn't notice a storm outside," she said.  Those words were directed mostly in the direction of the door to the Inn.  Or, perhaps, more correctly to what might be outside, beyond the door, and of a potentially very storm-ish nature.  "But, then again, I wasn't really very awake at the time."

"Alright," she decided.  "Easthaven it is, then."  And she sealed the decision by putting a fist in her palm.  "They wouldn't happen to be a Red Wizard, would they?" Tympani enquired of Lady Mallory.  "Your personage of whom you are Not-Entirely-Sure?  I was through Easthaven a while back.  Let's just say they won't be feeling the cold any time in the future.  Future near or future far.  Burned to death.  Not a pretty smell."  Tym wrinkled her freckled nose at the memory.  "Zhahn or Tzkahn or Dzaan.  Some name that rhymed with Sesame bun."

"Needless to say, I didn't feel much call to stay long.  Even if I hadn't been searching for Maer."

Tympani returned from the door, springing with a metallic *tak* against the floor to the seat of a chair where, standing, she was at a height that made it unnecessary to tip back her head in order to speak in the company of Big Folk.  "Can you tell us more about your hunch, Lady Mallory?"  She asked.  "Better than nothing is, after all, even better when shared."

Stormheart looked over at Rhydd as he responded to the halfling and gave a nod. "Wise advice." He then continued. "Well, Farwalker has graciously agreed to go check on the second owlbear and make sure they are taken care of, but I do still have a whale ferry to visit as well, and see what is going on with them. That is causing some issues with people being able to get to certain areas."

He nodded once more. "But I have no objection to you traveling with us, if my opinion counts." He smiled.

To Mallory, "A...killer?"

Khulekani wasted no time in shrugging out of her road-worn boots, and slipping into the Ice Troll-fur lined boots. All at once, the bone-deep chill that she was barely holding at bay seemed to melt away, as warmth oozed from her covered feet to the rest of her body. The young Squire let out what could only be described as a pleasure-moan, and she actually closed her eyes for a moment and just basked in the splendor of not being frozen. When her oak-brown eyes opened again, they were deep pools of gratitude.

"Oh Mallory...these are...wonderful. Please, if I can, let me reimburse you if I can. This gift could not have been simple to make!" she practically purred.

That she would help with any killers or adventures that the group would pursue went without saying of course.

Mallory felt a mite out of the loop on matters of lost lovers and new companions accompanying along the road, but she figured it would sort itself to sense sooner or later.  For the time being she set to what she could manage, which was still handing out more items.  Khulekani's boots were produced for the grateful Squire to try on; good, sturdy boots already in a similar design to the ones she wore to begin with, but lined with a dense layer of ashy-grey Ice Troll fur.  The exterior leather shimmered with barely visible arcane symbols etched into the leather when the light hit them just so and, same as Mallory and Rhydd's own boots, the interior arch of the each heel was branded with the Bonheur family crest as a maker's mark.

"Nonsense, Squire; you've saved my life twice already.  Frankly, I feel I still owe you much more than mere boots, no matter how cozy the enchantment." Mallory gently refused any effort to pay back the worth of the boots gifted.  Nor was she about to reveal that they'd cost several hundred gold worth of materials to produce.  Selling her works for a fair price was one thing, but it was gratitude that drove Mallory's efforts when it came to keeping her companies warm in spite of Auril's efforts.

As the matter of Easthaven, killers, and Dzaan the Red Wizard came up from Tympani's prompting, the young noble cast a thin glance Khulekani's way.  "We're familiar with Dzaan, but he's not the matter of concern at the moment."  Goodness, she hoped he wasn't.  Despite multiple reports of Dzaan having been executed and herself having very much seen to the destruction of his Simulacrum, she couldn't help but worry that a mage of that level of power would have a contingency in place.  As the classic knowledge went: 'If you easily killed the Wizard, no you didn't'.

Mallory sighed and sat herself down at the bar beside Tympani.  From her outstretched hands radiated a gentle wave of arcane energy as she conjured a small illusion amid her palms; the form of two men stood side-by-side with each other.  One a hunched and hard looking bald fellow, and the other a slightly taller, sharper man with black-and-grey hair and intense, crystalline blue eyes that seeped ethereal mist from their edges.  She held the illusions out for both Tympani and Stormheart to see as she drew a deep breath to brace her feelings on the whole affair.  "A tenday ago, in Targos, Farwalker and I interrupted a blood sacrifice being made to the Frostmaiden - the hanging of a man named Herve, who's name had been drawn in a lottery.  Later that night, Herve and his daughter Maia - a young child - were found murdered in their home.  Butchered and frozen solid in the moment of their death by some form of ice magic."  Mallory was an expressive woman in general but it was obvious how much effort she put into holding herself at a monotone in the explanation.  Her eyes were hollow with the recollection of that awful discovery and, even as she briefly shut them, she could still see it behind her eyelids as clear as ever.  "This man here, with the strange blue eyes, is Sephek Kaltro.  He is a serial killer who's been plaguing Ten-Towns for some time now, and the one responsible for this mayhem.  This other bald fellow is a magical disguise he's used to mask his identity.  It's safe to assume he has others, but this is at least one I know of for certain."

As the illusions faded from Mallory's palms, she once more raised a hand to rub her thumb across the black button sewn to her collar in a seemingly reflexive gesture.  "The Town Speaker of Targos has asked that we search for this killer and deliver any information we can learn as to his whereabouts.  Thus far, we've been unable to find trace of him here in Bryn Shander, nor Caer-Dineval or Caer-Konig.  Wherever he fled to, it wasn't north as far as we can tell." she continued at length.  A glance was cast Moyrah's way - since she and her allies had just been to Lonelywood without any concrete results either; it was difficult to tell if the killings that happened there were Kaltro's doing or some other cause.  "As for my hunch - we know he specifically targeted those who's names were on the list to be sacrificed to the Frostmaiden.  Before Targos, he was responsible for a large number of similar murders in Easthaven as well.  The only towns slated to perform these sacrifices of their citizens are Targos, Lonelywood, and Easthaven."  Mallory gestured to Moyrah briefly.  "As Moyrah has mentioned, there was no clear sign of this monster in Lonelywood and he presumably wouldn't dare return to Targos so soon.  Further, Targos is likely to halt sacrificing their people and presumably sacrifice food instead, if their fishing industry has recovered its volume in the past tenday from our contributions.  It has been nearly a month since he was last in Easthaven, however, and the locals may yet be preparing for another sacrifice since burning Dzaan at the stake.

I believe Sephek Kaltro will be making his way back to Easthaven in pursuit of more victims.  I already have other very pressing business to attend to in Easthaven, so it's a matter of birds and stones."
This message was last edited by the player at 09:28, Sun 07 Apr.

It was a dark story.  But it was also very much fitting for this cold and never-summery land of Icewind.  One could easily imagine that the cold and depredation would breed its own brand of desperation and depravity.  "And a whole host of other 'D' words as well," muttered the halfling to herself.

Expressive green eyes explored the face of the gift giving, Lady Mallory, as they had since she had begun the telling of her tale of ice and death.  "I'm sorry.  I can see how deeply you feel this.  I see it on your face.  It can be hard.  Living with terrible things.  Even though they aren't necessarily happening to one's self.  Some people feel these things more than others."  The dimples at the corners of the halfling's mouth offered a sympathetic smile.

"I know we've just met.  But, you've inspired me.  Let's go after this man.  You said something about a list."  Tympani's freckled face screwed up into a look of distaste.  "Where is this list?  Who decides who goes on this list?  And Frostmaiden, bleh.  Seriously.  Bleh.  Poor taste in divinities."

"Don't you think?"  Tympani tipped her face up to look into that of the Lady Mallory, then she placed one of her small hands upon the human's arm.  "Are you alright?  You looked ... disturbed a moment ago."

A frown creeped up on to Stormheart's face as Mallory talked, and it only grew deeper and deeper into anger as she spoke further. He clearly did not like what he was hearing at all. He leaned forward to stare intensely at the illusory images, as if committing the faces to memory.

"This is...most disturbing news." His upper lip curled in disgust. "Sacrificing - nay murdering! - other intelligent humanoids to an evil deity in...what? The vain and futile hope they will be noticed and stop the unnatural winter??" He spat on the ground angrily.

He pondered for a moment. "Very well. I do need to go check on what is causing issues for the whale ferry since that affects many, but I will put that on hold for the moment to go to Easthaven with you and investigate, and hopefully stop, this...sick person."

Death out in the field where monsters roamed and danger was about was one thing.  Viscera in dissection and disassembly of creatures, even humanoids, as part of her schooling was another.  They were things Mallory could contend with; that she could compartmentalize and tuck away from her immediate thoughts.  They were things she could cope with.  Had it even just been Herve's corpse alone, she felt she could have handled that as much as she'd handled finding Miss Apple's body.  A shame, a pain, but one that could be endured as it faded to an ache in the heart.  But to have witnessed a child, still clutching her teddy bear in her arms...?

At first, Mallory didn't respond to Tympani's sympathies.  Kind words and gestures alike went without remark as the young noble drew in a long, slow breath, then offered the Halfling a wan smile.  "I'm alright." she lied.  All Mallory had in her was to put on a strong facade and take a deep, long pull from her wine.  She emptied the mug in one and gestured to Scramsax for another.



"Precisely that, yes.  It's an abhorrent practice on its face and a fruitless one at that.  But people are scared and desperate; they'll grasp at any shred of hope they can.  Even here in Bryn Shander, where only surplus food is sacrificed, I've witnessed locals who deny themselves shelter and warmth in an effort to appease the Frostmaiden.  I gave a man a blanket and he threw it in a fire out of spite." Mallory shook her head in disgust on the whole situation.  "In Targos, the sacrifices were managed by way of lottery; the practice was established by the previous Town Speaker, though the current Speaker - a man named Naerth Maxildanarr - doesn't favor it and hopefully has been making efforts to do away with the whole mess.  I need to visit him as well as Speaker Shane here in Bryn Shander, come to think of it.  I have some things for him as well." Being a noble meant friends in high places, it seemed... or, at least as high as a backwater boonies as Ten-Towns could yield.

"As for the lists, I'm not certain.  I think it may vary from town to town; the Ten-Towns are by no means unified in... well, anything, frankly.  For the likes of Easthaven and Lonelywood, I don't know how they manage their own practices.  Though based on Dzaan's execution and that there was a preexisting list of names that Sephek Kaltro targeted when he was in Easthaven prior, perhaps the sacrifices are used as a means of executing criminals?" She glanced about to Rhydd and Moyrah in hopes they might have known something on the matter, given that they were locals.

"In any case, Miss Major, while I appreciate your enthusiasm and I certainly don't mind us traveling to Easthaven together if you please, I can't advise that you take up this search.  Sephek Kaltro is dangerous: he's a fanatic of the Frostmaiden, a zealot.  I'm certainly no warrior, though my companions--" she gestured to Rhydd and Khulekani "--have proven themselves more than capable of guarding me from harm.  But I couldn't possibly see an entertainer such as yourself put into the path of danger." A reasonable objection to make on its face, perhaps, though Mallory knew nothing of the Halflings own skills yet.  She only saw Tympani in the most passing of lights for the moment.  She didn't deny Stormheart's offer though; he'd already proven himself and his abilities in having accompanied the others on their task, as well as having Farlwaker to vouch in his favor.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:07, Wed 10 Apr.

"Heh."  It started as a soft chuckle steeped in the warm tones of nostalgic memory.  "Maer and I used to put ourselves into the path of danger with a fair degree of frequency.  More she than I.  Always one to pick a good fight, my Maerthryl."  A frown then dropped down upon the halfling's face.  "Why am I talking about her as if she were gone?"  Tympani Major hopped to her feet, and began pacing the floor.  "You'll like her."  This she delivered with a wave to the goliath.  "She has strong opinions.  She is the shining steel, and I am the silken lash.  We're a team.  And, you know, if there's trouble here.  If this Sephek Kaltro is in need of a goodly dose of justice, I'm betting that Maer is probably there somewhere."

"That decides it!"  The halfling once again punctuated her decision with a slap of her fist into the palm of her hand.  "I'm going.  This is how I'll find her.  Follow the trouble.  Am I right, Scrammy?  Selune's skimpy underthings, I should have thought of this before."

Sephek Kaltro is dangerous: he's a fanatic of the Frostmaiden, a zealot.
"And an ally to Naerth," Moyrah muttered under her breath. But she'd spoken her mind on that matter previously, and she doubted she and the rest would find themselves in conflict with Mallory when push came to shove. Naerth, on the other hand . . .

Upon being prompted by Tym, Scramsax only managed the most skeptical draw of his lips as he ensured every cup was refilled. "Right . . ." He felt like he was finally making headway with her, only for the progress to be swiftly uprooted by this well-meaning band. "Easthaven held ballots," Scramsax said on the topic of sacrifices. He wasn't politically savvy and rarely made other's matters his own, but word got around. "Don't know how justice factors into it." Not at all, he guessed.

"Criminals were extra," the stranger suddenly chimed in after a couple introductory coughs. "On top. Supplementary. And the people murdered had it coming! Hadn't put their names in, they hadn't!"
This message was last edited by the GM at 06:07, Thu 11 Apr.

More than a mere ally, Mallory knew.  Moyrah's utterance was like a knife in the ribs - at least, what Mallory imagined such a thing might feel like - but it was given no retort.  It was less that the young noble was conflicted on the matter so much as she was yet unsure of how to address what she knew was coming.  Though she had already long since made up her mind in one regard...

Tympani had made up her mind as well, it seemed, and it didn't look like she'd be dissuaded.  "You remind me of a fellow we endeavored with named Leyon..." she remarked dryly behind the rim of her mug.  It was of little matter, really - she could imagine wasting breath trying to argue Tympani from her course would result in nothing but annoying the Halfling.


Such a remark drew a long, slow turn of Mallory's dark gaze to settle squarely on the fellow who'd been preoccupied by his soup until that point.  Though her stare narrowed on him, it was paired by a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.  "Each a violation of the Pillar of Isolation, then, in their own regard?  'A man who expects more of others than he does of himself is a weak man'." she prompted the fellow as she turned a bit in her seat to pay him more due attention.  "Do join the conversation, please, sir.  You speak as if you've knowledge of the matter.  Are you from Easthaven?"
This message was last edited by the player at 06:55, Thu 11 Apr.

More than meets the eye.  It was one of those phrases that tripped easily off the tongue.  It was so much so that it was easy to stop at simply saying it, without having to give it much thought.  Such was the line that ran through the mind of Tympani Major as names and unfamiliar ideas began flying about the room like arrows across the width of a contested moat.  And when more is there than comes to meet the eye, then, perhaps it were best that the eye go out and see the more.  Perhaps even request some aid from the ear.  And, as much as it hurt not to be at the center of attention, in times of eye seeking and ear aiding, it was best, or so Tympani Major had found, to walk softly.  Speak not at all.

She padded again to the bar, walking in such a way that the metal taps in her boots made little to no sound this time.  She sprang, then, to the bar top, seating herself once again on the edge next to her only-temporarily-forgotten breakfast.  She sliced more cheese from her allotment, and popped it into her mouth, watching, and waiting for the reply from the possible Easthavener in the corner with his soup.

The soup the scruffy stranger had ordered wasn't warm anymore, for he didn't have an appetite so all he did was swirl it. Didn't help that it was rather bland and very expensive on top. He wiped his nose with his sleeve as he looked Mallory's way. "I've a cold . . . best I keep my distance." Nevermind that he was awfully close to where Tympani had sat and done her acrobatics. "But aye, I'm from Easthaven. A fisherman. Or at least I used to be, until everything froze. Don't know about any pillars, though. Don't have them in Easthaven."

All of the things that you never see when you're just passing through.

The halfling sighed.  Her face settled into a contemplative frown.  More cheese.  This time on a slice of bread.  She took small nibbles from her open sandwich as she digested more than her breakfast.

"That's a tough break," she said to the man in the corner.  "Losing your livelihood."  She leaned in his general direction, palm planted on the bar top to prop herself on one arm.  Just below the bar an idle foot swung in time to a languid, but otherwise silent, melody.  "If you don't mind me asking, why do you think it would be any better in Bryn Shander?  I mean, if you're going to escape this frosty madness, I'd think that leaving Icewind Dale entirely would be the best of courses.  There was work for fisher folk all along the Sword Coast last I checked."  And she tossed the man a friendly freckled grin, that lacked enough in sincerity that a clever and watchful person might come to the impression that this might not necessarily be a friendly conversation on her part.  That she had let slip this modicum of her distaste for this man purposefully, and from an either mischievous or peevish intent.

The man hesitated in his answer and did not return Tympani's friendly smile, although it wasn't because he recognized the artifice. Rather, it was because he had something to hide. "Me pop's too weak to travel, especially now." It was common knowledge that getting through the mountain pass was difficult with the unpredictable weather and all the snow. "But I've thought on it. It's rough, as you say." He coughed loudly, unable to stifle them in his fist soon enough. "I'm here in Bryn Shander on . . . private errands."

It wasn't uncommon for the Northlook to draw this type of crowd, much because Scramsax rarely minded or pried. But that same indifference was extended to all his patrons alike, so if deals were revealed or fates were entangled, then so they were. The only business he cared for was the Northlook's.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the GM at 07:34, Tue 16 Apr.

"You know," the halfling whispered in a tone of voice just as faux as it was conspiratorial, "your private errands would be more private if you didn't call them private errands."  She offered him the quick nod and wink that one does when offering well accepted advice.  "Not to worry, though.  Your secrets are safe with us."

"I'm sorry about your Da, though.  I bet it's nice to have work beyond fishing.  Am I right?  Bring in some coin.  Take care of your Da?"

The stranger looked at Tympani somewhat befuddled. "I s'pose," he answered, unsure of what to make of Tympani. And the rest of the crowd present today, for that matter. But he knew the Northlook and it was rarely a place stumbled upon happenstance. So it was with a wary glance around the room that he scooted a bit closer and leaned in to the Halfling. "There's a gig. A campaign, even," he whispered, "I might let you in on it if you've . . . abilities." She looked like a traveling minstrel, but he had heard tale of traveling minstrels with magical talents. Whether or not that extended to tap dancers were anyone's guess.
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:11, Tue 16 Apr.

The halfling snapped her fingers sending a small shower of sparks to the floor below the bar.  She said nothing about powers in reply.  Rather, she shifted in her place at the bar, retreating from his advance.  And she turned her face away, looking askance at his approach.

"I thought you said you had a cold," she said, and held up a hand to shield her nose and mouth.

"I do," the stranger answered and summoned a couple of coughs as further evidence. "Just a minor thing that'll pass, don't worry. But if you're game, show here by evening. I can introduce you to the rest." He looked around again, then made to breach the distance once more in spite of Tympani's aversion. "A stranded ship, filled with treasure! We'll be stinking rich! Plenty to share!"

The man wasn't very good at keeping his voice down once sxcited, so Scramsax just shook his head disapprovingly from behind the bar.
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:14, Wed 17 Apr.

"Ooo.  I always wanted to be rich.  I'll skip the stinking part, though."  Bracing on the palms of her hands the halfling scooted her bottom back down the length of the bar a bit.  A subtle turn of her head exposed a roll of her eyes to everyone in the room except the unnamed Raider of the Stranded Ship.

"Sounds like there will be an interesting crew here tonight, Scramsax.  By the by," the halfling turned the conversation just as she turned her attention back to the man with the unfortunate cold.  "You wouldn't happen to know who owns the ship, do you?  Stop me if I'm wrong, but my thinking is that a stranded ship isn't necessarily an abandoned ship.  And, if there's treasure to be had, that usually means people with swords, and magic, and very unforgiving attitudes, who claim ownership of said treasure.  And, if they are not currently present on this stranded ship, they are usually highly motivated to track down this treasure, and take back what they consider to have been unrightfully stolen from them.  And, knowing these people as I think I do, they may be up for a little vengeance in the process.  A person who had engaged in the raiding of such a stranded ship may be looking to get their head smashed in.  Or so it seems to me."

"His head smashed in, and his heart cut out ... " sang the halfling in a rich mezzo voice.  "And his liver removed, and his bowls unplugged.  His nostrils raped, and his bottom burnt off."

"Anyway, I think you get the idea.  Does that give you any second thoughts?" she asked of the man.

Tympani's rightful concerns were rewarded with an absent stare. "Look," he responded, "it's all been thought of. Remmie has been planning this for at least a Tenday. The ship is called the Dark Duchess, and it's a frigate from Luskan. It's frozen fast in the floe. Remmie heard it from some sailor who died of frostbite. Nobody's gotten to thing yet, but it's just a matter of time. We'll get in, stuff our bags, get out, easy as. This whole operation is foolproof, I promise."

Scramsax trilled his lips both in reply to the whole spiel and Tympani's comment. This wasn't the first he had heard of this 'foolproof' operation.

The stranger slapped Tympani's back. "We'll tell you more this evening, yeah?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 09:35, Thu 18 Apr.

The steady march of the Coughing Man across the gap that previously served as a comfortable No Human's Land between them had been off-putting enough.  The hand that had nearly propelled her from her perch at the edge of the bar had pushed Tympani Major to the brink.

"Hands OFF the halfling!"  A tuck and roll turned the braking maneuver with the heels of her palms into a graceful backwards walk then to a stand atop the bar.  The added height of the bar put Tympani above the man and looking down where she stood with chest heaving.  This is where Maer would have stepped in and clocked the man, or kicked him in the yarbles, or terrorized his liver.  Something.  The image of her Maerthryl was so clear and so powerful in her mind, that it nearly reached in and tore a sob from the halfling's throat.

"Do not touch me."  Her voice sounded as though it were grappling to regain control, and that was a good thing.  "No one touches without permission.  Understand?"  She sounded calmer.  But she still felt her breath coming in short, heavy pants.

"Listen, I've been trying to be delicate with you.  Maybe a little mean, but well meaning.  I've been trying to talk you out of heading off on a frozen hunt that is surely to be far more dangerous than you imagine.  I've spoken of the reasons, and I'm not going to do it again.  If that's not enough to give you pause, then I say go ahead.  I won't be there.  I am NOT joining your fool's errand, running around in the deadly cold."

"But I will try one more time.  One more time to offer you second thoughts by asking you what your Da will do if you get yourself killed?  Too weak for the trip through the pass?  How will he get by without you?  How do you think he'll feel when he hears that he's lost his son?  He may never know!  Maybe you'll just disappear into the snow.  Then he'll spend every single day to the end of his life wondering what happened to you.  Wondering what happened to his son."

"Think about that."  In truth, that stung her as well.  Forcing herself to consider how her own Ma and Da had felt when she ran off with Maerthryl.  It had been a clear rejection of the comfortable life of the congenial hosteller.  It was not pleasant to confront the thought.  Little wonder she did it so seldom.  It had been easier to avoid when Maer had been around.

It would have taken far less for the man to collapse like a house of cards. When Tympani jumped upon the bar desk and boomed her voice, the man cowered and made himself small. Scramsax, on the other hand, was practically grinning ear-to-ear. He didn't take pleasure in losing customers, but that didn't mean he couldn't momentarily cherish stupidity squelched. For stupidity it was.

"I-" the man whimpered, involuntarily launching into both a stammer and cough simultaneously. When he finished harking, he was unfathomably tiny beneath where Tympani stood. "I understand . . ." The words left him like a leaf at the mercy of wind. "Da . . . pops couldn't manage on his own. I should have another word with Remmie, I think, if it's as dangerous as you say."

The deliberate thud of a recently cleaned mug resonated as it was put into its place on the shelf by Scramsax, a subtle celebration of something he didn't dare – or bother, rather – do himself.

---

Tympani's Persuasion to convince the man of the terribleness of the idea [21]: Success. The man is very much convinced.
This message was last edited by the GM at 06:48, Today.

"Any news from the front?" Scramsax asked Rhydd once the imbecile had been put in his place. Hopefully that was the last they would hear of him. He supposed the question was directed at Stormheart too, although he found the Goliath to be a bit more . . .  different, perhaps. From the little they had interacted before, he seemed an affable individual, but there was no doubt Goliath culture was far removed from the one in Ten-Towns, no matter how ingrained the Goliath felt or had become.

In any case, Scramsax didn't really care about the goings-on of the outside world. He mostly just wanted to make small talk.
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:05, Sun 21 Apr.

Stormheart had been listening to what was said, especially about the sacrifices. It was all very troubling to him. He had trouble wrapping his mind around it. It was so unlike how his people would handle things.

He started moving menacingly towards the stranger when they got too close and invaded Tympani's personal space. But the halfling handled it on her own and he didn't need to intervene. And she convinced him not to do something stupid...hopefully.

He took another drink as the Scramsax asked a question of Rhydd. "The...front?"