DM's note: Tympani's writing posted by me on her behalf.

---

The slate gray sky of Icewind Dale loomed in its glaring indifference down through the transparent dome to where Tympani Major lay, making every effort to ignore the fact of yet another day.  Sea-green eyes blinked in reply, closing and opening in autonomic response as moisture dried from delicate surfaces.  These were eyes that tried their best to see nothing.  These were eyes that could no longer retreat into the empty realms of sleep.

"Rrrrabarglah!"  A flight of blankets fluttered across the tiny hut with an irritable pinwheel of arms as a relentless restlessness drove the halfling from the dubious refuge of her bed.  For a moment, she considered striding as she was out into the cold - nothing but pink skin and freckles.  But common sense and the memory of the vicious bite of frigid Icewind Dale won out over her current combined mood of impulse and irritability.

So, when the halfling stomped out of her pearlescent pink dome she did so fully clothed and ready for the day - despite all impulses to the contrary.  Snow crunched under her bright red boots as the dome winked out behind her, and she made her way through the North Gate of Bryn Sander on her way to the Northlook.

"Hoy, Scrammy!  Free breakfast for your favorite halfling?"  Quickly stuffing all ill-humor and concerns down under the cushions of her mental couch, Tympani Major entered the inn with a bang of the door.  She mustered a *tappity*tap* and slide across the wooden floor of the room before leaping to perch her pert bottom on the edge of the bar, and favored the old sellsword with her most charming grin.

The burst of energy faded then, as quickly as it came.  Silent and moody once again, she kicked her legs, red boots swinging in time from the edge of the bar.  "It wasn't her, Scramsax," she said.  "In Caer-Konig.  Tall, that one."  And Tym laughed a sorry laugh that threatened to crash into a sob - but didn't.  "Wasn't her."
This message was last edited by the player at 18:21, Wed 20 Mar.

Scramsax turned from where he was wiping down the shelves behind the counter, withdrawing his cigar as he cast his perpetual smug grin Tympani's way. "Ah, you saw the sign! Free breakfast, week out! Free rooms and handies, too!" He chuckled and shook his head, grabbing a knife he had set in the table to cut open a freshly delivered sack of chicken. The kitchen boy wasn't particularly busy, but he kicked hard on the door nonetheless with Tympani's order and the scarce ingredients. This was a delivery from Good Mead and it was the last he was due for a while.

"Although, if you truly can't pay . . ." he said to her in more earnest, tapping the list of names he kept on display. Each person was associated with a sum they owed, and that sum was scratched out several times — most for good, a few to allow for increasing numbers. Rapidly increasing numbers. Most knew that Scramsax was as cutthroat as his clientele, and he made no exceptions. Ever. If you didn't pay in coin, you'd pay in fingers, teeth, or kneecaps at the proprietor's discretion. Scramsax's age was betrayed by the silver that streaked his rich red hair and beard, but his long years as a mercenary were still sufficiently recent and hinted a bite to the bark.

Tympani was joined by only one other customer, a ragtag hoodlum of some sort. A brigand, perhaps. He was eating whatever soup the kitchen had prepared, and Tympani was offered her more of the same, some bread to go along with it, and a drink. The menu was short these days. "Can't say I've seen any Elves of note roaming about either, I'm afraid," Scramsax said as he served her. He wasn't going to let her bail on the bill, but he could offer her some sympathy at the very least. Only problem was that he was terrible at it. "Maybe it's time to think about heading to Lonelywood? It wouldn't do you harm, methinks."

"I can pay."  The petulant words came without even the slightest of assessments of her financial state.  She hadn't worked in a while - all efforts being consumed by the search for Maer.  "I can," she reiterated, though, from her tone of voice, this was more to convince herself than anything else.  She sighed.

"And thank you for the sympathy, Scramsax."  Turning at the waist, the flame-headed halfling leaned back on one arm with her palm planted on the top of the bar.   "The only problem is that you're terrible at it."  She fixed the innkeep with an accusing glare.  But the glint of mischief in the halfling's green eyes quickly spread to her lips which just as quickly parted in a bright laughter over one trait of the master of the Northlook that they both knew to be true.  "But, seriously.  Thank you."  Tearing a small, puffy cloud of bread from the main of her serving, she dipped the halfling-mouth-sized piece into her soup, and then paused, contemplating thoughts in the near distance before popping it into her mouth.

"I suppose you're right," Tympani admitted.  "But, I have to say, the idea is ...  Well, it's sort of terrifying.  But it's been ... what?  A month?  More?  Dougan's Hole, Good Mead, Easthaven, and Caer-Konig."  She counted the towns of Icewind Dale's Ten Towns off on her small pink fingers.  The halfling sighed again, before popping a chunk of cheese into her mouth.  "Have you ever been in love, Scramsax?" she asked from a place down within the well of her despondency.

"Nay," Scramsax was quick to conclude despite the complexity of such a question. "I didn't let myself. Thought I didn't want to. There were a couple of times someone nearly convinced me otherwise, but I was stubborn and stupid. Now I'm stubborn, stupid, and alone." He shrugged, smothering his cigar in an ashtray on the counter. It was what it was. He'd been through his own endeavors, but he very well knew it was small time stuff. Tympani's grief was plain to behold, and he couldn't begin to understand the extent of it. "'To have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all', isn't that something they say?" The words likely rung hollow to those whom they would benefit the most, but Scramsax at least held it to be true. They probably weren't right in the moment, but then again he was a terrible shoulder to cry on.

It was then that the door to the inn swung open, inviting in the terrible winds that howled this morning. In strode three faces familiar to Scramsax, those being Rhydd's, Stormheart's, and the squire who had visited his establishment several days ago for an interrogation. The Goliath woman he didn't know. He nodded Rhydd's way while still speaking to Tympani. "That's a mug I've not seen in a while," he commented. "Ranger. Him and the Goliath both. Leave the snow by the door!" he shouted to them before they could find their seats. He didn't want to mop the floorboards more times than he had to. "What can I get you?"

"Master Scramsax," rumbled the Human, speaking on a voice that sounded deeper than one might have expected from one of average size.

He stepped inside, then moved sideways to clear the door, and set about scraping off the snow that covered the thick cold-weather clothing that he wore. Perhaps a bit surprisingly, given the weather outside, he neither moved nor sounded as if he were near-frozen.

"Thank all the good gods -- but most especially, Lady Mallory -- for those boots that she crafted for me."

Rhydd had almost spoken of "magicked boots", but he caught himself in time and refrained from doing so. After all, magicked boots that could keep a body warm in the sort of weather that was howling outside were . . . well, Rhydd supposed that he valued his bow a bit more -- for after all, where would an archer be without his bow -- but certainly the boots were a close second, most especially when the weather was being as contrary as it was just now.

And if word got around amongst the wrong sorts -- like the ill-favored fellow who was hunched down over in a dark corner, for example . . . better not to praise Mallory's gift too loudly or proudly, Rhydd had decided.

Catching sight of the red-haired Halfling over by the bar, the outdoorsman nodded, affably enough, in her direction. His gaze was pulled down to her boots -- so brightly red was their coloring -- and the corners of his mouth curved upwards in a ghost of a smile.

"Rhydd Maldhon," he said, introducing himself, thus saving Scramsax the trouble.

"I am leaving," Farwalker stated before she bothered to dust off her snow. She adjusted her shawl, then plucked the Ioun Stone from orbit and handed it to Stormheart. It wasn't customary for Goliaths to regift something offered in respect unless death was involved, but if he was staying along with the group she guessed he would find himself in more danger than she would. And these weren't the times for customs. She also doubted the Trolls would have cared. "You must attune it." He would learn of its properties when he had.

Without any further words of parting, she reopened the door and headed back out. She did after all leave a rather large Peryton outside that would undoubtedly have drawn undue attention.

---

Farwalker is giving Stormheart an Ioun Stone of Protection.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the GM at 14:32, Mon 25 Mar.

"What's love got to do, got to do with it.
What's love, but a second hand emotion ... "

"That's sad, Scramsax."  Small and sorrowful, the words to the song had dropped like tears from a cheek that stain the breast of a doublet only to dry then, and disappear forever.  "So sad," repeated the halfling.  Though whether she had been speaking of the innkeeper's loveless life, or of some condition of her own was unclear, and seemed unlikely to gain further explanation.

Her head made a slow turn at the opening of the door.  Both the movement and the expression on the halfling's face were still wreathed in the lethargy of her emotional self-indulgence.  She watched with disinterest as the newcomers cleared snow from their footwear.

"Ranger?"  Perking up, the flame-headed halfling sprang to her feet atop the bar, placing her roughly three-foot height much closer to the ceiling than any other person in the room save perhaps the Goliath.  "You're a ranger!"  Both the words as well as a small pink indicatory finger pinned the vocation upon the man that had just introduced himself as Rhydd Maldhon.  Banished in an instant seemed the doldrums and the dumpy mood that had wreathed the halfling only moments ago.

*TUNK*tap*  Her red boots clacked as she leapt from the bar to hit the wooden seat of a nearby chair.  *PU-THUMP*tack*tack*tackity*tak*  She hit the floor next, and danced in a tight circle before striking a pose with arms flung wide.  "I'm Tympani.  Tympani Major."

"And you're a ranger.  Ranger's wander.  And I'm wondering, in your wandering, if you've seen an elf.  Not just any elf.  I've seen elves.  She wears furs.  White furs.  Over a shining chain shirt.  Dark hair.  With feathers.  In her hair.  About this tall."  With a single pink hand, the halfling that had just named herself Tympani Major reached up to indicate a height that could lay claim to being little more than somewhere taller than herself.  "Goes by the name of Maerthryl.  Have you seen her?"

The running stream of babbling exposition comes then to an abrupt halt.

"Ummmm ... She's leaving," said the halfling, indicating the Goliath with a point of her finger.

Awfully busy morning, it seemed. He often had patrons in the evening, but rarely did anyone need a room these days. Poor times for tourism. "Eh," Scramsax cocked his head and pulled a frown as he grabbed a mug to clean while he considered Tympani's verdict. He was the architect of his own fate, so he didn't consider it particularly sad. But maybe he should visit Helka in her chandlery again and invite her to join him for a meal . . .
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:19, Mon 25 Mar.

~If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, then it's probably a Ranger,~ Rhydd thought to himself.

~Nay, that's not quite right. But 'twas something like that.~

Rhydd could also remember having heard a bard some time, somewhere asking the audience what was in a name, and going on about roses. He could recall that had been part and parcel of a presentation by a traveling troupe about a pair of doomed lovers. He had not cared for the ending, he could recall.

In this instance, although Rhydd had not formally joined any of the bands of Rangers who operated in the vicinity, he sometimes joined them in their efforts to put things right. And he spent lots of time roaming the outdoors, and could take care of himself out in the Wild, if push came to shove. And so it was that most folks reckoned him to be a Ranger, and he had at some point simply ceased to correct them. After all, he *did* walk like a Ranger and quack like a duck.

He eyed the flame-haired Halfling as she leapt up onto the Northlook's bar and danced a little stutter-step, then "Thumpety-Thump!" jumped down into a chair-seat, and ended with dancing a little jig on the floorboards and announcing her name with her head held high and far-flung arms.

"Well . . . that's a good way to keep warm, I'd wager," the archer commented dryly, allowing a small smile to creep into his expression.

"Well-met, Mistress Tympani."

"And like you, I have also seen Elves. But to answer your question -- nay, not Maerthryl, I fear."

---

OOC: Tympani, I shall mention that I write Rhydd's inner (unspoken) thoughts in seagreen, as opposed to green for his spoken words. Also, his unspoken thoughts are bracketed with tildes (~), as opposed to the usual quotation marks (") for his spoken words. To my way of thinking, that makes things a bit easier to follow in a PbP forum such as RPoL. :)

Also, Rhydd's point about not "officially" being a Ranger is really just a D&D nuance -- he is a Fighter with an archer's Build, in game-terms. I was curious as to how such a build would stack up against a more traditional Ranger's Build. But, in truth, he does indeed walk and quack like a Ranger. :)
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 17:37, Mon 25 Mar.

"Oh.  Well."  The disappointment was palpable, and the halfling heaved a heavy sigh.  "Well, that's not much different from the answer I've had from anyone else over the past few ... whatever the time's been in this frozen hell-hole of Icewind Dale."  But, just as bitterness seems about to brim over and run to tears, the halfling turned to the other two:  The Goliath, now half out the door, and the one who had the look of a squire.  "You're ... with him.  Right?"  She sighed again.  "So you wouldn't know either."

"Has any of you ever been to Lonelywood?"  The question seemed yet another zig in the zag of moods and topics that had run through the halfling in what had surely been but moments.  Her mouth pulled into a line of worry, and her eyes cast down to the worn boards of the inn floor as she viewed various prospects of dread in imagination before her.  "I may have to go there," she said.  "And I'm not sure that I want to."

Stormheart was about to reply to the demand to keep the snow out but was distracted by the Farwalker. He turned to face her as she spoke. "Ahh, but I will miss you, my friend. It has been good to travel with another Goliath for a while."

He frowned slightly and hesitated at the 'gift'. "Are you...certain? I..." He restrained a sigh and gave her a nod. "Thank you. I will try to bear it with honor and think of you." He touched his forehead with two fingertips and then held them out towards her as she walked away. "Safe journey, my friend!" He shook off the snow and headed inside, shutting the door behind him and Khulekani.

There was...a very excited halfling inside apparently, barraging Rhydd with questions and descriptions. Then she looked at him. He wasn't sure whether to shake his head no indicating he hadn't see this person or to nod his head yes to indicate he was with Rhydd. After a second, he did neither and simply said, "I have not seen such a person, no." He gave a shrug of his massive shoulders. "And yes I have been to Lonelywood before, though it has been some time."

It seemed Tympani had gotten her answers, but Farwalker still lingered in the door as she was directly addressed. "Good luck with your search," she said. And she truly meant it. Out of anything, this little Halfling stranger had nearly convinced Farwalker to abandon her own goals in favor of the search of this person who was probably dead, and all in the span of mere moments. But still she closed the door behind her and headed on her way.
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:46, Tue 26 Mar.

Farwalker was apparently not given to long good-byes -- by the time Rhydd turned to speak to her, she had gifted Stormheart with the Ion Stone and left the building.

With a shrug, the outdoorsman turned back to face Tympani. In point of fact, he did not favor long good-byes himself.

"You mentioned Lonelywood. I am not sure whether you meant the town or the forest."

"It so happens that I have been to both, and know them well. Do you suspect that the person you are seeking may have gone there?"

And so the moment found the halfling waving farewell to a door now shut against the cold and snow of Icewind Dale.  "I thought she was going to stay," said the halfling.  "For a moment."  Another sigh escaped her small body before she turned to the remaining Goliath and the ranger named Rhydd.

"I meant the town," the little one clarified.  But then reversed herself.  "But, I could have meant the woods.  You could never tell with Maer.  I often thought her more comfortable with leaves in her hair.  More herself.  I loved her that way."  A soft smile dimpled the corners of her rose and freckled cheeks.  "She said she was from Lonelywood.  She ... she said she had relations there."  Despite the seemingly positive context of the halfling's words, they seemed buoyed by an under current of unease.  A fidget in the hands.  A tight set of her mouth.

"She seemed a good friend."  And the halfling pointed to the door of the inn, admitting the idea that she had been speaking not of her lost Maerthryl, but of the Goliath who had just departed.  "She gave you a gift.  Before she left.  Was she special to you?  She seemed nice.  In those brief few moments that she was here.  And as much as you are Rhydd, I can't imagine you'd want to be Rhydd of her," she added.  But the jest only rose to the level of a half-smile, before dying back again into the cooling embers of a banked flame.

"I believe that you will find both the town and the Forest more welcoming . . . well, at least not as daunting . . . as you may suspect," Rhydd replied to Tympani.

The outdoorsman pursed his lips, his thoughts seemingly turning inwards to search for memories. "Ever since I was a youngling, the town's Speaker has been a Halfling who answers to 'Nimsy Huddle'. She is of the Strongheart Clan, if I remember correctly."

Rhydd smiled, "Many were the times that I would wander in, hungry, cold, and filthy from the trail, and she would hasten to open her door for me, offering welcome, warmth and food."

The archer's smile broadened. "Her baking skills have been well-honed over the years. If perchance we visit her in search of your friend, be sure to ask after her lemon tarts . . . mouth- watering!"

"Now, as to the Forest," Rhydd continued, gazing up at the ceiling, "many who venture in with the wrong goals, wrong attitude -- what have you -- find it unwelcoming, even dangerous."

"But for those of us who are respectful of the Forest and those who dwell therein, that is not an issue. It is the domain of the local Rangers, many of whom are Elven. They deem themselves the guardians of the Forest, and they take this responsibility quite seriously. At the moment their leader is Eyes-of-the-Hawk, with whom I have trod many trails in pursuit of raiders, marauders, and thieves -- and, of course, despoilers of the Forest."

Rhydd lowered his gaze to peer at the Halfing. "Mentioning Nimsy and Eyes-of-the-Hawk as I do -- that is not to say that the two Lonelywoods do not have their fair share of rogues and ne'er-do-wells who have wandered there with the intent of leaving the broader outside world behind them . . . so you should not expect to find only rainbows and Unicorns -- and perchance some lemon tarts."

Rhydd smiled and nodded to Tympani in acknowledgement of the Halfling's good-natured jest. "Farwalker was a boon companion, and we have been through many adventures together. I shall regret her absence, but in the end we must each trod the path that calls to us the most insistently."
This message was last edited by the player at 18:59, Wed 27 Mar.

"Oh.  That's nice."  A polite nod accompanied an equally polite - though not terribly enthusiastic - smile.  In fact, a bit of concern seemed to worry at the corners of Tympani Major's eyes when the ranger made mention of another halfling.  "Thank you.  Rhydd.  For all of the very useful knowledge.  Of Lonelywood.  Which will come in handy.  I'm sure.  Yup.  Useful."

"Yup.  Um ... "

Curiously, the infusion of Lonelywood lore seemed to do little to set the flame-haired halfling's mind at ease.  Quite the opposite, in fact.  She paced in a tight circle with her face squinched into an expression of concerned consideration.  "Um, this halfling.  Um, Nimsy.  You wouldn't happen to know if she's, um, a, attractive or not, would you?" she asked the ranger, half in fear of what the answer might be.

Stormheart held the small stone in his hand, looking down at it. When the halfling woman addressed him, he turned to look at her. "Hm?" His head tilted to one side and his eyebrows drew in slightly, as if confused by the question. "Of course! Farwalker is of my Clan. My clan is the most important thing in my life, even when they are far from me. I would do almost anything for them."

He looked down at the ioun stone once more and shook his head. "so small." He then closed his hand around it into a fist and moved next to Rhydd.

He faced Tympani once more, "My apologies. Well met, I hope. I am called Stormheart."

Then Rhydd went on a long talking spree, the Goliath staring at him with wide eyes for a long moment. "right."

Then he cleared his throat and one eyebrow lifted. "And just who is this...Maer-thryl?" The name was said haltingly, with unfamiliarity, "...person to you that you seek them with such dedication and fervor?"

"Huh?"  The introduction of the Goliath came with a brief knee-dip of a curtsy as the halfling recovered from being torn from her Very Important Question.  "Tympani Major," she replied perfunctorily.  She was about to return to the ranger for his answer when the BIG QUESTION came.

"Maer is the love of my life," she replied.  "She rescued me from a life of the dull and the mundane," Tympani continued, by this time beginning to loosen up, possibly even wax a bit poetic.  "Dark and wild, clad in the white furs of winter wolves, Maer drew every eye in the common room of my mother's inn.  We ran away together.  Cut a swath through the Sword Coast.  Then made our way toward Icewind, where she said that she had family.  She didn't want to go.  But I insisted."

"'I want to know where you're from,' I said.  Stupid."  The halfling shook her head, the foreshadowing of sad endings to come.  "The storm rose up as though out of the snowy ground itself.  The winds howled in the voices of damned souls.  'Don't get separated', Maer shouted.  I turned at the sound of the voice.  A sharp flurry stung my eyes, and when I looked back, Maerthryl was gone.  Panic beat an alarm in my chest.  I shouted her name, but the wind stole my voice, and returned only cold laughter.  I called, and searched, but the storm beat me down.  It was all that I could do to trudge forward, growing colder, more and more numb and frozen.  Finally I collapsed into the snow, and then, as suddenly as it had come, the storm lifted.  On my back in the snow I saw the storm rise and retreat, fading into the hard dark mountains that towered above.  And, in the swirling winds of that retreating storm I thought I saw a face.  For the briefest of moments, the face of the storm grinned at me as it pulled away into the mountains, leaving me alone."

The halfling lapsed into silence then, as though channeling the vast emptiness of the peaks.  *tak* *tiktak*  Small movements of her feet as she shifted in her sadness were the only sounds.

"I've been searching for Maer ever since," she said, breaking the silence with a sigh.

Rhydd listened as the Halfling responded with great feeling and a heavy heart to the question that Stormheart had posed. He would answer Tympani's question about Nimsy Huddle in good time -- but now did not seem to the the right time.

He cleared his throat quietly when the Halfling had finished speaking. "Getting caught out in the open by a sudden winter storm . . . it's not a good thing."

"And it can happen to anyone. It seems to me that the storms have been getting worse as of late. 'Tis almost as if they are lying in wait, looking for an opportunity to spring up and catch travelers unawares."

The door opened again, this time to a Half-Orc and two men who, going by their snowed-down outerwear, had been on a journey of similar length to Rhydd, Farwalker, Stormheart, and Khulekani. Khulekani and Rhydd recognized the Half-Orc as Moyrah, her dark plait hair adorned with bones peeking out of her hood. Rhydd also recognized the two men as Arno, the rugged warrior whom had accompanied them on the journey to Targos, and Salim, one of the two bodyguards hired by Niels and Alma.

"Rhydd?" Moyrah said as she lingered by the door to brush off her snow. "I thought you were headed for Caer-Konig. I saw Farwalker outside. Is Mallory not here?"

A spectacularly busy morning, indeed. Not that Scramsax minded, it suited him just fine, and he whistled a tune as he got to pouring ale.
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:20, Thu 28 Mar.

Speak of Asmodeus and so he shall rise.  It was a mere half-moment after Mallory's name was uttered that the door to the Northlook came open at the hand of the very noblewoman herself, albeit with her looking quite distracted as she fiddled about with a few enormous blackish-blue feathers toted in her free grasp.  "Why in the world are there Peryton feathers, of all things, out--" she seemed rather preoccupied by the question and damn near walked straight into Moyrah.  Before she could apologize reflexively for the faux-pas, however, the sight of the towering Half-Orc brightened her cold-rosied cheeked with a smile.  "Moyrah!  Oh, it's so good to see you again!  Is Dannika here?"  She didn't hesitate a single moment to toss her arms out wide and seize Moyrah about the middle in a hug.

She shifted to lean past Moyrah a bit to peer around at the others gathered, though her expression certainly went on a journey as she scoped out the present company.  The lack of her Candlekeep companion brought a pout to her delicately painted lips, while the sight of Salim turned it to an outright scowl.  But before indignation could get the better of her, she spotted everyone else of her party - her fond friends - and her manner brightened up yet again.  "You're all here~!  Wonderful, I've brought presents for each of you to... wait, where's Farwalker?  Has she wandered off again?"  The young noble's reintroduction to the group was just another layer of the chaos on that busy morning.  Though she was without a particular Elf in company as well, so that only added to the questions.

Astre, meanwhile, remained fairly passive where he laid draped about his friend's shoulders.  His sharp eyes bounced around as they always did and lingered on the fellow in the corner, just in case.

---

Does the person hanging out in the corner seem familiar at all?  Be it on sight or scent?  Perception checks can be made as needed.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:45, Thu 28 Mar.

"I-" Moyrah started, Mallory's sudden appearance and subsequent hug taking her by surprise. Although, she eventually welcomed it, wrapping her strong arm and clenched fist around Mallory. "I'm sure Dannika is doing alright in the Geldenstag's with the Chwinga. I was away on an expedition for a few days." She nodded, indicating her happenstance companionship in Arno and Salim. Moyrah had seen the guard once before in the Three Flags Sailing the fateful night she had dueled Thorben, but Arno was up to that point unfamiliar to her. But she had found he was, on top of much else, reliable. "After you left, the Speaker approached me and Dannika with a request. She wanted someone to travel to Revel's End to deliver a message and carry out a bidding in her stead, someone who was already aware of the Arcane Brotherhood's activities in the region. Who was I to say no? Dannika didn't want to, nor should she have wanted to, so we set to gather a band for the task."

Arno, removing his jacket and uclasping his furs, gave Mallory a tilt of his chin in greeting. It had been a Tenday since he had seen any of them, and frankly thought they had settled in Targos. "Wine for me, please," he said to Scramsax.

The man by the table seemed harmless enough, Astre found. The Tressym had neither smelled nor seen him before. He was sniveling, looked somewhat worse for wear, and was entirely unperturbed by the sudden influx of patrons as he slurped his soup.
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:25, Thu 28 Mar.

"Moyrah!" Rhydd exclaimed in surprise, turning to face the new arrival.

An instant later his surprise redoubled as Mallory came bustling in the front door. "Mallory!" he nearly shouted, bounding across the room.

"Wonderful!" Rhydd exclaimed the second time in only a few heartbeats, as he nearly shouldered aside the big Half-Orc to hug the wizardess.

Having uttered about a week's worth of words in response to Tympani's questions, it seemed that the archer had resumed his more customary laconic manner of speaking.

"Oh!" Mallory yelped as she found herself on the receiving end of a far more enthusiastic welcome than she honestly anticipated.  She had a bit of trouble with reading Rhydd when it came to his level of comfort versus pride in public.  She'd seen him huff and shuffle in silent humiliation when they'd met the Chwinga, yet he was bold as brass with his affections in another moment, and stoic in yet another.  Well, if nothing else, the uncertainty made for an enjoyable surprise to keep Mallory on her toes even as Rhydd swept her right off them.

"Why, Mister Maldhon..." she tittered through her blush as she held at Rhydd's arm and shoulders in his embrace, dark eyes alight and eyelashes aflutter.  At any other time she might've flustered and erred reflexively on the side of etiquette to gently pry herself free, but in all honesty she'd missed him terribly and had no such desire, audience or no.  Though her fond gaze for Rhydd did quirk with confusion after a moment, given how close they were held to one another.  "Why do you smell like Owlbear?"

Astre, meanwhile, didn't quite appreciate the handling as much as Mallory did.  Rhydd's enthusiasm disrupted the Tressym from his perch along the woman's shoulders and he immediately bailed out with a flap of his broad, owl-like wings.  He instead daintily landed atop Moyrah's broad shoulder and offered the Half-Orc a fond chirrup himself.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:15, Fri 29 Mar.

"What's that . . . Owlbear?" Rhydd repeated, mayhap in an effort to give himself time to work up a worthy response.

"Oh . . . that," he continued after a moment, bending his neck to sniff at this clothing, even as he gently set Mallory down.

"'Twas sold to me by a most friendly merchant," he said, his expression all innocent.

"He assured me that 'twas a fragrance favored by men of action . . . 'manly men' was the phrase that he used, I believe."

"He guaranteed that 'twould win over blushing maidens -- 'sweep them off their feet', he mentioned several times, as if to emphasize the point."

"To hear him tell it, 'tis one of a line of fragrances that he is selling under the name of 'Wild Musk'."

"Do you like it?" Rhydd asked, striving most manfully to maintain a straight face.

"Does it render you weak in the knees?"
This message was last edited by the player at 01:26, Fri 29 Mar.

Mallory, meanwhile, made not the slightest effort to hold a straight expression and devolved easily into giggles in no time.  She rested her brow against Rhydd's chest and tried her best to stifle her laughter overall, but there was no helping the little squeaks and snickers before she could raise her head again to look him in the eyes.  "I actually am rather fond of Owlbears, but not like that.  I daresay you should have your money back.  You do just fine without a gimmick." she hummed warmly all her own even as she eased back from Rhydd's arms.

Rather than indulge too much in such open flirtations any longer, however, Mallory clapped her gloved hands together primly to reset her task.  "I want to hear all about what you lot have been up to while I was away in Luskan.  But, first of all, I have souvenirs!  When was the last time any of you had tropical fruit?  Citrus?" Mallory seemed more excited at the prospect of handing out treats than she ever was at receiving them, it seemed.  Her eager gaze even included the likes of Tympani, Arno, Scramsax, and the shrinking violet of a stranger in the corner; none were spared her enthusiasm.  Yes, even Salim.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:01, Fri 29 Mar.

Rhydd could not remember anyone ever giving him a souvenir. Truth be told, he wasn't entirely certain what a souvenir was. He hoped it wasn't a necklace or bracelet or whatnot crafted from the body parts of dead monsters, which Mallory seemed to like to collect, for some reason.

A moment later his mind was put at ease (at least on this issue) when Mallory spoke of tropical fruits. ~Better than monster's body parts . . . definitely better.~

Come to think of it, as a lifelong resident of Icewind Dale, Rhydd could not remember ever having eaten a tropical fruit -- or ever even having seen one, for that matter. So he was a trifle curious as to what one might taste like, even as he was mentally congratulating himself on not having to feign happiness at receiving a dried Troll's-gizzard something-or-the-other to wear next to his skin.

"Save mine for me," he replied to Mallory, "whilest I order a round of drinks for everyone. All this talking has given me a dry throat."

Glancing at Stormheart and Khulekani, he added "I've talked enough -- too much, actually. Why don't you two tell Mallory what we have been up to."

Next, Rhydd glanced around the room until he spotted the Northlook's bartender . . . or mayhap the owner -- although Rhydd wasn't entirely certain how Scramsax could have come to own much of anything. ~Mayhap he did not piss away all of the coin that he laid his hands upon whilest he was sellswording,~ he thought

"Scramsax, a round for everyone -- more coin in your pocket, ye old brigand . . . that includes the local fellow over in the corner. Oh, and make mine a Dwarven ale -- the darkest and heaviest that you have."

Suddenly Rhydd snapped his fingers and turned to Tympani. "You were asking me about Nimsy -- Huddle, that is."

The archer shrugged his shoulders. "Aye, she's attractive enough, I suppose -- although I never looked at her that way, ye understand. Dark blonde hair, and older than you . . . around a hundredish, I'd wager. Very friendly sort, as I've already mentioned -- although like all you Halfling folk, she's got plenty of steel in her backbone when she needs it."
This message was last edited by the player at 20:01, Fri 29 Mar.

Scramsax tried his best not to roll his eyes and almost succeeded, but thankfully a round of drinks was called and the taproom's atmosphere was brought back to familiar territory. "Comin' up!" he shouted and began pouring the ale and wine. And although he was the keep, he wasn't above engaging in some tropical fruits if offered. It had been long since he tasted the kind.

The stranger by the desk hoisted his mug to Rhydd in appreciation. The Northlook charged steep rates, but seldom did the prices reflect the clientele, and such was likely the case with this under-the-weather fellow. A free drink often went a long way.

Salim sat, sighing. He was a bald man with eyes that made him seem either perpetually tired or simply bored, but the man was truly weary now. The storm had made an already tiresome trek truly arduous. "You're wondering why we left you in Targos. Well, why Niels decided to leave you," he said, directing the comment toward Mallory. He couldn't really fathom what other reason she would have for her indignation. "We were a whole caravan waiting for you, but you didn't show. So Niels decided we would leave." He shrugged as he took a much needed swig of his ale.
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:17, Sat 30 Mar.

Mallory was quite excited to hoist her satchel to a bit of free space on the table to sort through it; she had various jars and packages she'd prepared, both from before and from her recent trip out of town.  Having been at the shipping docks of Luskan was the perfect opportunity for her to have acquired quite a bit of goods and foodstuffs specifically to make her time in Ten-Towns a bit more easily endured; small luxuries easily taken for granted while outside such an isolated area.  She was quite looking forward to the string of dried persimmons she'd bought though, for the moment, she withdrew a small satchel filled with palm-sized, vibrantly bright orange fruits.  The bulk of her purchases had been preserves and dry goods that could withstand a long time between use, but there was simply no way she could pass up the chance to get fresh fruit while it was before her.  Especially not when they'd been an absolute bargain fresh off the boat!

"Chultan tangerines; they're delightfully sweet, and you can steep the rinds in red wine for mulling." the young noble hummed happily as she went about to each person in turn to hand over a fresh fruit.  Given the environment as of late, scurvy was bound to be a genuine concern sooner or later.  "It's too bad I had neither the time nor the bulk to purchase in order to make marmalade... well, perhaps another day."

While everyone present was cheerfully given a rare treat to snack on as they pleased, Mallory did hesitate momentarily when she reached Salim.  His brief explanation for the sake of past indiscretions was met with a dry expression from Mallory but, after a moment, she simply sighed and let it go.  "I don't blame you, Mister Salim.  Seeing you again just brought the whole matter back to the fore, is all.  I apologize for my poor manner."  She tried to be gracious as she offered over a tangerine for him as well, both out of good nature and as an olive branch of sorts.  Salim was merely a guard on the caravan, after all; it wasn't his place to choose routes or question Niels' orders.  "Niels, however, has quite a bit to answer for beyond simply reneging on our agreement.  I happened to have a rather enlightening conversation with Speaker Shane on the subject, prior.  I am, however, content to let that matter lie until next I come across him - I've no desire to go seeking him out just to settle a score."

Stormheart gave a somber nod to the halfling upon hearing what the elf meant to them. To lose a love, even if only temporarily, was a sad thing. He assumed. He had not found love for himself thus far. But he was fairly busy most of the time, and also wandered quite a bit, so it might be difficult for love to find him.

"I am sorry to hear. I hope you are able to be reunited with them soon."

More people showed up and then even more, some hugging even occurred. Some of them looked a little familiar to him, but no one he was friends with yet. He gave a nod of greeting to any that happened to look his way.

"What's a tropical? I don't believe I've ever seen a tropical before."

But the conversation had kept going, so he merely listened and motioned for a large ale when Rhydd said he was buying everyone a drink. He murmured thanks to Mallory as he gingerly took and held the...fruit...in his hand. He examined it for a moment, sniffed it a couple of times, even licked it once.

"Ooo, mikan," cooed the halfling turning the orange sphere in her small pink hands.  She beamed a bright smile of gratitude at the dark-haired human from the edge of the bar where she had retreated once again to sit after receiving reports that had been in turn disappointing and disturbing with regards to both Maerthryl and to Lonelywood.  She had popped bits of cheese and bread into her mouth, munching while watching the humans interact.  It had been sufficiently unlike herself and Maer to make it engaging without drawing parallels that would have dragged her through more fields of maudlin flowerty.

"No, here, Stormheart."  The flame-headed halfling poked a thumb into the bumpy, orange skin of the fruit releasing a fresh and zesty scent in a slight, near imperceptible spray from the pierced peel.  "The outside smells good," she explained.  "But it's bitter.  So you peel it off first.  Then you can divide the insides into sections."

"Here."  He offered the translucent crescent up to the goliath in a fist that gleamed with juice.  "They're tart, and sweet, and juicy."

"You wouldn't happen to have strawberries too, would you?" she enquired of the human woman.  Mallory, she reminded herself.  "I love strawberries," she wheedled.

Ever the social butterfly, Mallory moved amid conversations and individuals easily.  She giggled softly over Stormheart's queries, though Tympani's request for strawberries drew a downright woeful sigh from the young noble.  "Oh, I wish.  Sadly, strawberries are out of season for another few months - not until at least the first week of Tarsakh.  Even a jar of preserves would've been-- oh, thank you--" she interrupted herself a half-beat as Scramsax handed over a mug of wine "-- would've been fine by me, honestly."

A moment's thought visibly passed Mallory's expression before she reached to snag a spare cup and poured a bit of her own wine into it.  Delicate, gloved fingers circled above the rim as a gentle glimmer of arcane energy passed like a heat mirage between her hand and the cup; the contents within readily shifted to a pale, rosy color and the unmistakable scent of strawberries wafted up, subtle and sweet.  She offered the cup over with a smile.  "If you'd like?  It's not quite the same, I'm afraid, but a simple trick of the senses does wonders for the mood."

---

Mallory casts "Prestidigitation" to flavor, scent, and color the wine to resemble strawberry wine

---

Frankly, a bit of flavor shifting was the only way Mallory could stand to choke down the squat barrel brews that passed for a "vintage" in Ten-Towns or making road rations even remotely palatable.  She'd become rather practiced at it out of necessity.

As the others seemed quite at ease in conversation with the yet-introduced Halfling, Mallory picked up on that thread herself and offered a polite half-curtsy amid her generosities.  "Lady Mallory Bonheur of Neverwinter--" she began, only to be interrupted once more as the snowy-furred Tressym still perched atop Moyrah's shoulder gave a sharp chirrup.

"Mrrlp~!" he piped in.

"-- and Astre." she didn't even bat a dark-ringed eye or miss a beat.  A broad gesture was waved to indicate Rhydd, Khulekani, and Stormheart.  "We've been away from our friends and companions for a few days now on a trip south to Luskan, but it's nice to be back in pleasant company.  Even if the weather is yet worse than I recall, somehow..."  She'd only been back from Luskan's temperate environment for less than half an hour by that point and she was already dearly missing the feel of warm sunshine and crisp ocean breezes.  All the same, she maintained her manners with a prim cant of her head Tympani's way.  "And you are, madam...?"
This message was last edited by the player at 03:41, Tue 02 Apr.

Ever the southern girl, and despite being bundled up, Khulekani gripped her mug of hot hard cider like she was trying to become one with the steaming beverage. When out in the field, it was amazing how stoic that she could be. But it was either these people or this place allowed her to let her hair down a bit, as it were. And apparently, when more open, she was simply cold. Icewind Dale and Athkatla were so very different, after all. The weather was pleasant almost all the year round in Amn. The winters were mild with minor freezes and a little snow all across the nation. For her childhood, Khulekani had considered the few flakes she experienced to simply be a heavier form of rain, as they would quickly melt, and not build any snowdrifts.

"By the Triad, thank you Mallory!" she shouted happily as a Chultan tangerine made it's way into her hand.

She peeled and pulled apart the fruit with old expertise, though she was amused to see Stormheart experience the exotic fruit for the first time, but was too polite to do anything more than smile behind her hand.

"Have you ever had Amnian dates Mallory? I'd forgotten how much I missed them until you shared your delicious treat," Khulekani asked, after dabbing the corners of her mouth from a large bite of the tangerine.

When Mallory introduced herself, Khulekani nearly kicked herself. How rude of her! Standing to her full height, the young Paladin gave the Halfling a polite bow.

"Greetings! I apologize that Ms. Bonheur had to speak for me. Where are my manners? I am Khulekani Kumalo of Athkatla, Squire of the Radiant Heart Auxiliary. It is my very good pleasure to meet you," the dark-skinned warrior said, not bothering to ask the Halfling her name, as Mallory already had.

"Tastes like ... magic."  A wry smile tugged at the corners of the halfling's lips as she sipped the wine transformed to strawberries.  But introductions called soon enough.

"Ymm, goog."  The halfling stuffed the other half of the orange crescent into her mouth before placing palms against the bar top, and pressing into a handstand, from which her feet split, one lowering to the rear, followed quickly by its mate that kicked the halfling into a stand atop the bar, arms raised above her head in presentation to the adoring crowds.

"Aye ebb Imbd ... "  She fingered a drop of juice from one corner of her lips while gulping down the remainder of the orange slice.  "Tympani Major!" she declared, throwing up her arms once again as well as tossing off a smile with the power of a temple's worth of candle light.

"But truly ... "  Her hands came down to hold each other just above the buckle of her belt.  "Who I am ... Who we all are, is not as important as who it is that calls us.  Am I right?"  Her smile cast out once again - a net to pull in an audience.  "Am I right?" she repeated.  Her green, green eyes went quickly inside for a moment, checking on a thing deeply personal, possibly painful.  But, her gaze returned just as quickly.  "What's in a name?  Its worth only comes from those who know it.  Those who use it.  Those who know us, and say our names."

Then from the top of the bar, she knelt, to bring her height down closer to that of the audience.  "And you know each other.  I can see that.  And yet you are all so different.  Not like the villagers from around here whose looks seem to me to speak as one voice.  You're not from here.  Are you?" asked Tympani Major, the question seeking the story beneath the blanket of snow.

"Of course; they're wonderful with yogurt and honeycomb, especially if they're roasted first." Mallory was at risk of making herself more homesick than usual when it came to topics of food.  Luskan had been a lovely reprieve, but it had frankly done more to revitalize her desire to go home than soothe the ache.  The drudgery and dance of the noble courts were a bother, to be certain, but she would never raise a word against the dining.  Mallory kept her mind on topic, however, as she stepped a mite closer to Khulekani to speak in a slightly hushed tone.  "Speaking of treats, Idri and I completed something special for you that's frankly been a long time coming.  A much-deserved thank you for all you've done." she nodded downward and gingerly wiggled one of her feet about in a telling gesture to draw the Squire's attention to her Ice Troll-fur lined boot, which she and Rhydd both sported a set of.  Magicked clodhoppers to keep away even Auril's accursed cold - they were practically the young noble's specialty at that point, and she frankly felt bad she'd not been able to complete a set for Khulekani's sake sooner.

Mallory actually had quite a few items to sort and hand out that were less edible and more practical, but that would be better handled later when there was less hustle-and-bustle all about.  But, for the moment, she ended up quite distracted once more as Tympani announced herself with a considerable fanfare.  Spontaneous acrobatics were quite the surprise and Mallory's face lit up with simple delight over the theatrics.  Her gloved hands offered a soft, cheerful applause.  She hadn't figured an entertainer would be traveling so far north, but it was a fine thing to encounter by chance as far as she was concerned.

"Each of us have woven across our individual paths by circumstance, and stay together by camaraderie.  Some of us are locals and others of us very much are not." a gentle shrug and shake of her head was Tympani's reply.  That was a drastic understatement; Khulekani certainly wasn't from around those parts but at least looked like she was fully capable of handling rough travel.  Mallory, on the other hand, had no business at all being in such rough country.  The likes of Rhydd and Stormheart, meanwhile, may as well have been carved from Icewind Dale's snowy mountains and forests themselves. "Nor are the citizens of any given town around here all that unified, I fear.  It's best to step lightly; we've encountered quite a few troublemakers of the worst kind.  Especially the longer the cold endures and morale depletes."  A sympathetic glance was cast Moyrah's way as thoughts of that awful bigot Gam, who'd caused her so much grief and ruin, rose to mind.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:04, Tue 02 Apr.

When Moyrah introduced herself and the two men she had traveled alongside these past few days, she had to acknowledge that she didn't truly know them. Not as she had come to know Mallory, Rhydd, Dannika, Torgrim, and the unfortunately absentee Farwalker, even though they had spent a similar length of time together. This journey to Revel's End would be their only one, she was willing to wager.

She nearly forgot to include Astre among those boon companions. An egregious oversight, as he was currently the boonest companion for having chosen to drape on the correct person, a decision that was rewarded lavishly with soft scritches. Somehow she also managed time to peel her tangerine, finding herself absolutely famished. She'd had them once prior when her father had bought some in Targos back when she was a wee lass. They had been good back then, but when she popped one boat into a mouth, she doubted her memories as she couldn't remember tasting anything better.

"Speaking of troublemakers," Arno interjected. He had caught the ranger speak to the Halfling about Nimsy Huddle, so he figured news would be appreciated, and he had no trouble sharing it with this crowd despite the Northlook's reputation. "We passed through Lonelywood right after the killings had occurred. Not a happy place then, understandably. The people were quite shaken."

Moyrah pounded the table with her fist to Astre's surprise, then looked Mallory's way as her brow furled in nothing short of outright fury. Not directed at her, certainly, but at the killer at large. "I asked around, but none had seen him. Of course they hadn't, since he would have been disguised. But he left no clues as to his whereabouts or future plans, so I feel like we're just as far. The best I managed to get was that he could have fled into the forest, but frankly, I got the impression they thought they knew who it was, and it wasn't a Human. Apparently they had some murders before, too." She shook her head, then drank from the ale she was served. "Whole world's gone right to shit . . ."

The mention of further killings in the area was more than enough to darken Mallory's spirits.  What good cheer she had gained in rejoining with fond companions and simple gestures of fortune seemed to evaporate out of her demeanor all at once.  It left her diminished - she seemed momentarily smaller as a hand raised to habitually fiddle with a pair of mismatched buttons sewn to her collar that didn't match the others on her coat in design or placement.  One was a simple, slightly battered old black wooden button, and the other a nicer, pressed brass button one normally saw as a common fitting on simple armors.  Neither were native to her clothing though and her thumb circled them in turn seemingly without thought.

"It's hard to say if it's the same killer at large without more information than that, I'm afraid." She shook her head pityingly.  The fact that there very likely were multiple murderers running around Ten-Towns at any given time was no comfort to dwell on.  They still hadn't made any headway on locating that nefarious Druid either, come to think of it...  "I believe I may have a lead I can follow; to Easthaven.  More of a hunch, really, but it's better than nothing.  I'll need to head there soon on my own matters, regardless.  I have to bear more than just bad news to someone there, though I'm not yet entirely sure who."

"Well, it had to happen sometime."  The halfling slipped to a seated position on the edge of the bar, and from there pushed off for a hop to the floor.  "No time like the present, right?  No time like the fear and chaos of a murder scare to slip in and look around.  Hoping that no one sneaks up, and introduces themselves as Maer's old girlfriend.  Who goes on about how they used to ... to make love in a snowbank.  To spend quiet evenings by the fire."

"I thank you, Lady Mallory.  Lady Bonheur.  Lady Mallory Bonheur.  And Astre."  Recovering her poise, Tympani Major flexed into a deep curtsy.  "Gifter of orange delight.  The wind that bears memories of better times.  Please call me Tym, Gracious Lady.  You and all of your friends."  She rose, opening arms to take in the entire room.  "It is a poor offering, but it is what is mine to give."

"And now I must depart."  Tym bowed then, as deeply as she had curtsied before, then turned steps toward the door.  She made it half way before circling back around in a tight arc.

"Um ... can anyone point the way to Lonelywood?" she asked.

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, 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, Fri 03 May.

Stormheart looked genuinely surprised, eyebrows shooting upwards. "Why would you assume that?" He smiled and shook his head. "I'm a wanderer. I have been all over most of Icewind Dale at this point, and even outside of the mountain range to the south. Moving around has allowed me to aid in things I would never have heard of in my tribe's home."

He looked thoughtful for a moment, staring upwards. "Let's see...who did I hear about the whale ferry trouble from?" He rubbed his chin and then looked back down. "Ah yes! That I heard when I was talking to some of the yeti. They let me know when I spoke with them about the news I have gathered in my travels."

He looked over at Scramsax and gave a small shrug of his shoulders. "If you think it a good idea, then I don't see why we shouldn't speak with them."

"I don't give a rat's arse," Scramsax scoffed. Frankly, at this point he mostly regretted wanting to make conversation. He would tell them where they could find Helka's shop, and then he would try his best to shut his yap for the rest of the morning.

---

Helka's chandlery was a homely little shop-and-workshop amid some households. Its most distinguishing feature was its pleasant smell, for it was filled with fragrant soaps, candles, and oils, as well as tallow, rosin, pitch, varnish, and even various precious stones. The shop owner was a lithe middle-aged Human with a friendly demeanor and willingness to entertain any inquiries. "I've only a hunch, to be fair. An acquaintance of mine had errands in Svardborg but was unable to summon Angajuk with the bell. I handle much of the whale oil that comes from the Sea of Moving Ice, and learned of a group of southerners who had set out from Bremen. Apparently, they knew of Angajuk and I fear they had come specifically for him. It wouldn't be the first time someone's after his ambergris. Last I know, they were still staying in Bremen. I put a notice up on the town board some days ago," she explained, "but it had no engagement. I wonder if it still even hangs."

"Be nice."  A backward lean in combination with a flexible twist at the waist beamed a peach-bright, smile at the innkeeper from the freckled halfling's face.  The clack of coins - of a worth far exceeding that of the cost of breakfast - upon the wood of the countertop served as additional cause for cheerier dispositions.  "We shall see you when we see you!"  Tympani Major left those works behind as she pushed off from the bar and landed with a *thump*thump*.  A *tak*tak*tak* then followed her as she trotted to the door.

---

The chandlery of Helka was a welcome surprise.  Tympani drew in another deep breath, feeling her eyes go dreamy as the entire essence of herself relaxed.  She shook her head to clear the feeling in order to allow the remainder of various and sundry loose details to fall the rest of the way into place.  "I'm sorry, I think there are some things that I'm missing.  Do you mean that Angajuk *is* the whale?  That is to say the *whale* as in *Whale Ferry*?

"Indeed," Helka said as she smiled warmly. She had always envied Halflings and their stalwart refusal to abandon childlike wonder. Perhaps her perception was currently skewed because of the perpetual darkness, but she found Humans rather dreary, even if she was one herself. "He carries a ship upon his back which he envelopes in a bubble to ensure comfortable passage in the frigid waters. And he even speaks Common!"
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:58, Fri 10 May.

"Soooo.  What you're saying here ... "  The words trailed each other out in a long, slow string.  Each followed as though emerging from a dark tunnel, blinking in a bright unknown into which they gazed about seeking orientation.  " ... is that there is this whale.  He's unique in all the world's worlds.  Or so it seems to me.  And that these Southerners.  They want to kill him.  To kill him for his stomach lining?  Is that right?"

As the words emerged - gaining footing as they were joined by more and more of their brether and sistren - the face of the halfling fell further and further into lines of discontent.  "You were right, Stormheart.  This is terrible."  By this time her hands had risen to her hips.  "It really shakes your faith in things to find that some people can think that such a tragically horrible act can be a good idea," Tympani said, arms akimbo.  She huffed out a breath.  A breath that, had she been a baby dragon, might have been accompanied by a puff of flame.

"Unfortunately, Bremen is the wrong direction from Easthaven," the halfling added.  "Oh, and I love your shop," Tym included to the proprietress.  "It smells amazing."

"Angajuk is tough as a nail, as I'm sure your friend can attest," Helka said. She didn't outright know the Goliath, but she knew of him. "It'll take more than some sorry southerners to best him. Although, that he didn't answer when summoned has me a bit worried. I pray he's just being wary."

Before Tympani and Stormheart could leave her humble shop, she took the opportunity to pack the Halfling a small rejuvenating soap. "Goat's milk and honey," she explained the sweet smell to be, and Tympani could confirm through the thin paper sheet. "Simple, but effective. This one is quite nourishing – I find it works especially well if your skin dries up." The gruesomely cold weather was often, though not always, synonymous with dryness. "Consider it my thanks for caring. When night seems the darkest," and the night did truly seem the darkest, literally even, "what we need most is solidarity."