"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, Tue 30 Apr.

"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?"

"Out there," Scramsax specified, throwing his hand up dismissively. "You know what I mean. Dunno what creatures lurk about these days, but I'm betting there's a few."

A chuckled bubbled from the halfling's throat, her voice shot through with dark irony.  "It's a war out there," she added to the innkeeper's explanation.  "Didn't you and Rhydd say something about owlbears?  Sounds like there's story in there somewhere."

Upon the explanation from Scramsax he replied, "Ah! I see!"

Stormheart gave a few enthusiastic nods of his head at both of them. "Yes. I have my own..." He thought about it for a moment, searching for the right word but finally just gave a shrug and continued, "missions, including helping two owlbears, the whale ferry and then a few non-animal potentially very violent things to look in to as well."

He took a quick sip. "We were tracked by a peryton, managed to kill it." His eyes shifted to Khulekani since she had disapproved. "And where one of the owlbears was lairing, we found eggs from a frost salamander, though we did not see the creature itself."

"Angajuk," Scramsax said. Not many knew of the whale ferry, but he did. "Helka mentioned it. Something about hunters prowling the shore." As he stopped pouring ale it looked like he wanted to say more, but he simply raised his shoulders and carried on.

"Angajuk?"  Tympani turned a questioning look in the innkeeper's direction.  "A whale ferry.  What's that?"  This question, however, was directed at the Goliath.  The halfling broke another piece of cheese from the chunk on her plate.  "Always nice to have stories with breakfast," she said, and the piece of cheese disappeared, popped into the halfling's mouth.

Stormheart leaned a little closer to the halfling, but still didn't 'pierce her personal bubble' as it where. He looked very serious for a second. "A whale...used as a ferry." His face split in a grin and he leaned away once more, chuckling.

"People who ring Angajuk's bell on the harbors to the Sea of Moving Ice can signal their wish for safe passage, to be ferried to reach remote locations such as Revel's End, Svardborg and Grimmskalle."

He frowned. "But...I have heard something is wrong and feel the need to investigate."

"Sea of Moving Ice."  The halfling's green eyes sped far away to an imaginary landscape of shifting hills of jagged ice, gleaming white as they rocked under a noonday sun.  This was wrong, of course.  She hadn't seen the face of the full sun since her arrival in Icewind Dale.  There would be no sun in this this place.  In this imaginary sea.  The picture had been so nice, though, that it was with a sigh that the halfling released it to wander away into the Repository of Improbable Imaginings.

"So, I take it that you have not yet been to this Sea of Moving Ice?"  The address to the goliath was one of those questions of which one is already half certain of the answer.  "You have not yet actually seen this Sea?  This Whale?  This Ferry?  This Bell?  They do seem things that would be worth seeing someday, though," the halfling added.  "Where did you hear of this from?"

"And while we're exploring this course of inquiry, who is Helka?" she asked of Scramsax.

The answer from Scramsax came hesitantly. Not because he didn't want to give it or because he didn't know it, but rather because he didn't like digging in private affairs. Not when done by himself, and not when done by others. He wasn't sure if the Halfling was just curious or had ulterior motives, be they well intended or not. ". . . She's a chandler here in Bryn Shander." And that was all he wanted to say. "She knows a lot more about this Whale Ferry ordeal than me, so you should rather speak with her." Again, he wasn't entirely sure that was true, but he had every intention of keeping the affairs of others the affairs of others.
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:11, Yesterday.