A Gathering Storm

[Saintheart]

A Gathering Storm

An Overture

Day One


The great audience chamber of Hardwalker Hall was warm. Rather than individual fireplaces, the builders had opted for a single, long firepit running most of its cavernous length. The coals glowed red, throwing yellow and orange against the thick stone walls, radiating heat and light. The walls were bereft of tapestries or banners, unlike most Highmark holds; but there was a certain beauty to stark, near-black stone wreathed in firelight. There was also a faint aromatic in the air from the spicesand sprinkled on the coal by servants early in the day.

The chamber was empty of people but for six adventurers. A person’s foot shifting on the marble-tiled floor echoed down the empty vault of the chamber, the only other noise an occasional crackle from the firepit. Outside, the rest of Hardwalker Hall was a frantic scurry of activity: men going here, women going there, fragments of conversations and things being moved filling the air. The family’s great sabertoothed cats were uneasy: in their stable, two levels down and across the courtyard from here, they snarled and bumped at their enclosures, an occasional disgruntled snarl echoing out of the stable and reaching to the main keep’s battlements.

But in this chamber, silence.

The adventurers had been waiting for a few minutes when the door at the north end of the chamber opened. Two men came striding through, passing the three-terraced dais which held the simple wooden seat of the lord’s chair, crossing a third of the hall’s length to where the adventurers stood.

One of the men walked with a stoop. He was dressed in restrained but expensive clothes: the clothes were simple and black and unadorned with jewellery but his black cape was lined with what had to be oxera fur; good stuff for a cold snap, the best wintercloth was made of it. His eyes had the look of a man for whom sleep is a teasing mistress rarely visited.

This had to be Lord Rowan Hardwalker. That was signified, if nothing else, by the cloak clasp he wore on his right shoulder: a silver circle bisected with two parallel vertical lines, the simple heraldry of the Hardwalker family. No one wore that symbol in that spot other than the lord of a Highmark demesne.

The other man was of a different quality. He too was dressed mostly in black, but his clothes had the look of a workman’s gear, as if of a smith, or a trader: a long battered leather robe with a high collar, circled by a belt containing any number of curious-looking pouches. His body was crowned with the hint of a smile and one of the most penetrating gazes any of the adventurers had ever seen.

Spoiler: Verglas Ulizgrant only

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Verglas, of course, could tell what he was. He might conceal it behind a workmanlike look, but the collection of pouches, tools, and other curiosities hanging off his belt signified it: the man was a mage. Given he was accompanying Lord Hardwalker, likely then a mage advisor to the lord, a not-uncommon occurrence in holds, especially those as isolated as Hardwalker Hall.

Lord Hardwalker stopped before them, taking a deep breath. “Thank you all for agreeing to see me about this.” His eyes flicked to Ethron for a moment, narrowing for a second, then moved back to address all of them. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. Many matters, all needing attention … but this is the most vital one. This,” he said, turning briefly to the man next to him, “is Endrow O’Mists, mage to my court. I know the message I sent to you was very brief and even more cryptic, so let me now speak plainly. My daughter, Lyssa, is missing. She is fifteen. She is – was – due to stand at her Kindling tomorrow and choose a husband. Now she is somewhere, alone, and I can’t—”

The Lord bowed his head, a trembling knuckle rising to his lips. Endrow O’Mists glanced at him for a moment and sighed. He opened one of the pouches at his belt and removed a small bit of fleece. Closing his eyes for a second, murmuring, he opened his hand.

Ten feet from the adventurers, the image of a young woman appeared. She was small, light-boned, dressed in formal, dark clothes similar to those of Lord Hardwalker.

Endrow regarded the image for a moment, then turned to the adventurers. “Lyssa fled Hardwalker Hall two days ago, on the back of one of the family’s greatcats. Because of certain derelictions, she wasn’t noticed missing for the first day.” His gaze flicked to Ethron for a moment. “It was no unplanned exercise, we think, because she took two greatcats with her. That suggests she intended to try and cover a considerable amount of ground in a short period of time.” He shook his head. “We might have tracked her, but a snowstorm blew in last night. It was thought at first that she had taken a ship in the night, or that she’d taken a trail down the coast. That was where we first sent our guards. But when those searches turned up nothing—”
“We should have sent to the Mountain for someone to scry for her,” Lord Hardwalker interrupted, looking at the image of his daughter.
Endrow inclined his head. “It would have taken far too many days to even reach the Mountain for those purposes, my lord. Days we cannot afford. Because we -- I -- believe the lady may have another course in mind – to cross the Valley of the Spear, north by northeast of here.”
“I still do not understand this idea of yours,” said the lord. He looked at the adventurers. “The valley is the old border between these lands and those of our nearest neighbours,” said Lord Hardwalker. “Fought over for generations between my family and the Darkstone clan. Abandoned by both now. How can you be sure--”
“I am certain, my lord.”
“But why? The Fall Folk make it perilous for Hardwalker and Darkstone alike, let alone a child, even with two greatcats. Why would she go that way?”

Endrow looked uncomfortable. Then delved into one of his pouches and produced a small bundle of papers. “Because of these, my lord.”
Lord Hardwalker took the yellowed, ink-scrawled papers. He frowned at them. “These are from Iohn Darkstone. Letters to Lyssa.”
“Yes, my lord.” Endrow shifted his feet. “I recovered them from your daughter’s room just now. I am sorry – the thought that this might be travel with a purpose rather than just fleeing the Kindling only occurred to me this morning.”
“Why would Niketas Darkstone’s youngest son be corresponding with—” The Lord’s words stopped as he reached a certain point in the page before him. He flipped over to the next one. And the next.
“Because it seems they are in love, my lord,” said Endrow, quietly. “And the Valley is the shortest route to Tor Bayard from here.”
Lord Hardwalker looked back up at the mage. “She fled a Kindling to go to Niketas Darkstone’s castle? Why? If Iohn Darkstone had wanted to wed my daughter, he need only have presented himself in the courtyard at her Kindling and she could have freely chosen him!”
“Niketas Darkstone would never let the match take place.” Endrow’s voice had grown even quieter. “That much is clear from Iohn’s letters. To say nothing of the consequences for all of us if Iohn came here without his father’s permission and you allowed him to stand for choosing. Your daughter must choose at a Kindling. Rarely is it permitted otherwise. Even for the children of lords.”

Lord Hardwalker let out a great sigh, looking up to the ceiling for a moment. “Shattered chains. Do the letters speak of where they plan to meet?”
“No, my lord. The last letter is dated some weeks ago and speaks only of the possibility of a rendezvous in the Valley, not precisely where. My guess is that Lyssa retained at least the one that tells her where to meet Iohn, if only to remind herself where they were to meet. Or indeed she might have kept it to prevent us from finding her.”
“It’s madness. Madness.” Lord Hardwalker rubbed his eyes.
“But not implausible madness,” said Endrow. “Your family’s greatcats are potent animals. She may have thought them enough to allow her to make a crossing of the Valley of the Spear if she travelled quickly.”
“Then she could have reached the far end of the valley safely?”
“I think not, my lord.” Endrow seemed to reconsider his words given the look that then crossed Hardwalker’s face. “By which I mean – not by now. The hazards of the valley are formidable. She is unlikely to have got that far yet, particularly with the snowstorm. I am convinced she is still somewhere within the Valley. Though the dangers grow every day, even if she has sheltered in place somewhere.”
“What do you mean?”
“Our skywatchers – and this accords with my own calculations – are predicting another storm. A Gravewind.”

Spoiler: Njal and Mundstock only

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The dwarf and the illumian immediately knew the full significance of that word. A Gravewind storm was one of the fiercest storms that could rage across Horizon, containing both natural rains of snow, ice, hail and magical rains of particles that could harm the unsheltered in other ways. It could travel at twice the speed of a group moving beneath it. Worse still, a Gravewind storm’s pushed the temperature further and further down as the days passed and a traveller remained in it. The temperature could at its worst reach the point of unearthly cold. Attempting to travel through a Gravewind storm was even more perilous than trying to travel through Horizon’s generally hostile weather conditions. Even among the brave or the foolish, few tried, and fewer still of either persuasion lived.

Spoiler: Ethron, Verglas, Maxis, and Roland

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Most of the adventurers did not have deep knowledge of the natural world, but most people on the face of Horizon knew what a Gravewind storm was and that it was aptly named. It was one of the fiercest storms that could rage across Horizon, containing both natural rains of snow, ice, hail and magical rains of particles, often lethal to those caught in its path.

“When?”
“It will reach Hardwalker Hall in sixteen days. It’s moving north to south, so it will reach the Blade River, at the north end of the Valley, in fourteen. And forgive me, my lord, but there is no way Lyssa will survive a Gravewind storm even with her greatcats. Cold weather gear is woefully insufficient to weather such a tempest and she has no magical aid.”

Lord Hardwalker’s eyes had closed sometime during Endrow’s speaking. He now took a shaky breath, and turned to the adventurers. “So there you have it. My daughter is somewhere out there in the Valley of the Spear. She must be brought home. I have no guards or vassals who can set out immediately other than you. I promised you a great reward in my message. So again, let me be plain: find and bring my daughter back alive, and you will have Hardwalker Hall as your shelter and home for life. This place will offer you succour and support, on my honour as the lord of Hardwalker Hall and on the shades of my fathers before me. I will offer you all the support and information I can. What do you say to that offer, and what questions do you have?”

TAG: All

[DrK]

Njal

The windblow dwarf stood near the back, warming his cold bones by the massive fire trench. He was wide and squat, leather trousersa dna boots still caked with mud from the hills leading down the town where had only recently arrived. At the sounds from the stable he turned, looking towards the stable where he stabled Stormrir. The big husky, a mass of grey and white fur sat on the floor near his feet. THe occasional crunch as it gnawed on a large chunk fat covered bone growling happily. Njal stood by the dog and patted its head fondly and listened intently.

As the mage finished speaking Njal looked to the windows and the grey skidding snow clouds outside. "A gravewind Mage. Aye she will be dead then." His voice was gravelly and flat. But the mage was right, a slip of a girl on a great cat would not survive a gravewind. "If she does no find a cave then we'll find naught but frozen bones."

He looks at the old man and points to the mountains outside. "If ye give us a map and where she may be I'll join a search party. It be a bad way to go. I've seen too many claimed by the winds." He glances around the room nodding to the longshanks in the room, a deeper nod to the tiny gnome woman and a friendly nod to Ethron. "I am Njal, "stormcaller" some call me, though bugger'd if I know why." Looking at the the guard he inquires, "How is old Olaf Svenson, he still standing watch at the gates with you Master Ethron"

Spoiler: @Goaty14/Ethron

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Njal comes and go's regularly to Hardwalker so is probably known to most of the Town Guards. Olaf Svenson is a "friend" from his background who is one of the hurscal's in the town.

[Goaty14]

Ethron stood along with the others. He kept his back straight and his gaze forward, but never dared to look back at Lord Hardwalker nor Endrow in their displeasing gazes towards him. A show of cowardice, perhaps, but this mission, suicidal as it may be, was Ethron's only option left, lest he embrace the life of an adventurer but... an adventurer?!
...
Ethron was getting ahead of himself. He only meant to survive this excursion, return Lord Hardwalker's daughter, and return to a life of not-risking-his-life, however shameful this misdeed may impact him.

Once Endrow revealed Lyssa may have left intentionally, Ethron stopped himself from smirking. His guard experience taught him that runners are rarely willingly go back, and his pair of Average Manacles in his sled would surely be of use. Not that being prepared would lessen his chances of death, but Ethron always liked to see a bit of planning come to fruition*.

Returning his thoughts to those before him, Ethron noted Njal with him. He responded "Olaf has seen better days, but it has been only me... recently". Ethron half-hoped that Njal would catch on and stop talking, but The Father knows Ethron could do with less shame, particularly on a stress-inducing mission as this, for a "first-time adventurer".

*((A reflection of his LN alignment, if you will))

[Saintheart]

While Njal and Ethron were talking, Endrow was rummaging amongst his pouches. Now he produced a long scroll that could not have fitted into the pouch without folding it. The mage then fished out a piece of string and a bit of wood, and again came the murmuring, words forgotten as soon as one tried to hear them. The scroll unfurled itself, held itself wide before the adventurers, floating in the air as though held in place by some unseen servant.

Lord Hardwalker nodded. “This map is about the best we have here. It dates back some decades. No one has tried to map the Valley for years.”
Endrow pointed to it. “The Valley of the Spear is named for the thin range of mountains that run across its middle, which we call the Spear. When you see it you’ll understand why: it looks like a spearhead laid on the ground -- high at the western end, tapering to a lower end in the east. We know of only one pass through the Spear: Lastbreath Pass, towards the eastern end. It looks like a wide pass on the map; I'm afraid it's not to scale. The pass is not a safe passage at best; it's prone to avalanches. When they were still contesting the valley, the Darkstones managed to raise a small fortification at the southern end of the pass – that’s marked here -- but as far as we know it has been long abandoned. The Darkstones could not hold onto the valley any more than we could.”

“And that,” said Lord Hardwalker, "is because some decades back, a band of Frost Folk settled in the northwestern foothills of the Valley, north of the Spear. As they often do, they grew in number, became used to the lands far more quickly. They drove both the Darkstones – and my fathers – out of the valley. They’re consummate hunters and archers, appear and disappear in the snows almost at will. We can’t find their villages. We rarely see any herds, indeed we’re not exactly sure what they herd. And they have a far better command of the snow and the hills than most of our people have. Our saving grace is that they’ve not come south of Lastbreath Pass in years.”

Spoiler: Njal and Mundstock only

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Lord Hardwalker’s story was consistent with wider experience. Frost Folk were said in stories to have been descended from men who struck a bargain with dark spirits around the time of the elves’ disappearance. Mostly humanoid in appearance, they were tall with pale, snowy skin, and a noticeable chill was said to hang in the air around them. A Frost Folk man’s left eye was always pure white with no pupil, and constantly steamed, as though the eye were burning. They tended to use battleaxes, but they moved faster than one could expect in snow. They wore furs, but hardly had need of them; they were said to be completely immune to cold, could see in the dark, and could lay ambushes for hours, lying beneath powdery snow. Their archers were supposedly regarded higher in the culture as hunters, and their hunting parties often travelled with ice dogs. Though they seemed tribal, Frost Folk were at least a pox on the holds of Highmark and the northernmost Chalice holds.

Spoiler: Ethron, Verglas, Maxis, and Roland

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Lord Hardwalker’s story was consistent with what they’d heard about Frost Folk. They were said to be descendants of men who had made bargains with dark spirits after the elves disappeared, and dangerous in the snows – though they’d never heard of Fall Folk completely butchering a large contingent of troops in pitched battle before.

“But they certainly control the land north of the Pass,” said Endrow. “They don’t fortify their places. They don’t need to. Their strength lies in their mobility and the fact they know the land and the snows better than most druids. Present company excepted, I am sure. Either way, they have raided and driven off the entire Darkstone presence north of Lastbreath Pass. These two places – Northmill Dam and the Tower of the Moon – as best we know are ruins. The Tower of the Moon as far as we know fell first. Northmill Dam was the site of a great battle, the last one fought in the Valley, the only time the Frost Folk gathered in force. It culminated in the death of five hundred Darkstone men and the collapse of the dam itself, or so the story goes. The Blade River is mostly frozen over, of course, even now.”

Lord Hardwalker indicated the bottom half of the map. “South of the Pass, there are really only three places that we are reasonably sure are standing: the old ranger hut, the Icethorn Plantation, and Kirillin Manor … which is noted on the map more as a warning than anything else.”
Endrow nodded. “The plantation is the one place you’ll find anything approaching an ally out there.”

Spoiler: About Icethorn

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Icethorn, at least, was something the adventurers all knew about. One of the strangest plants to survive the elven retreat, icethorn was a tree up to ten metres high with branches like grasping white hands with long, black, slim and rigid leaves. An icethorn tree's trunk was thick with nodules – right below the bark through to the tree’s central core – that could be harvested, milled and used in any number of foods -- sometimes as a replacement for flour, sometimes as a replacement for meat. It was one of the most nutritious food sources in Horizon. But it was virtually never grown in plantation; the plant resisted agriculture or cultivation. The fact there was a plantation of the stuff was remarkable in itself. Most significant of all: whether in some sort of symbiosis with other creatures, or as a defence mechanism, the air temperature dropped within the bounds of even a copse of icethorn. At the heart of a wild, untamed icethorn wood, the air could chill so much that whisky would freeze.

Endrow continued, “It’s run by a cabal of Illumians.” His eyes went to Mundstock for a long moment. “Duskwatcher Abthek is the name of the Illumian who runs the place. Or at least he’s the one that negotiates with the outside community. It’s a fortified plantation – enough to throw off all bar a truly serious assault – but they’re dug into some hills and slopes and they produce icethorn for Hardwalker Hall, in return for the Hall’s protection and other trade goods. Sometimes traders will brave the Pass and when they do, the plantation’s usually where they go first. So they’re reasonably well-supplied if you really do need help out there.”
“In fact,” said Lord Hardwalker, “it’s possible Lyssa might have stopped there. I just realised. They don’t regularly send word to us, she may have gone there for shelter.”
“But she may also have avoided the place too,” said Endrow. “Which brings us to the ranger hut in the western mountains. It is one of our oldest outposts, used as a waystation for our rangers when my lord's family were still contesting the valley. But as they abandoned the Valley, it fell into disuse. Still, she knows the place, and might well have gone there first. Or gone there for shelter.”
“And lastly, there is Kirillin Manor. Or what’s left of it, anyway.” Lord Hardwalker looked at it with a certain something in his eyes; something like apprehension. “If she went there I do not know why. It’s an old elven ruin. One with a black history carried down even to us, fifteen centuries later. The place is haunted. Dangerous. Few who go in there ever come out again.” The lord shook his head. “She knows that place’s reputation, too. But if she went there to throw off pursuit it would have been more foolish than I give her credit for. Even grown men avoid the ruins.”

“This is not to say these are the only buildings or ruins you might come acrossin the valley,” added Endrow, finally. “There will be the odd subsistence farmer or hunter or prospector looking for his life or his fortune in the valley. But many more have gone into the valley and not returned."

"I realise the map isn't much," said the Lord. "It’s not as though a cleric of the Father has been out there and conducted a survey. I’d call it a good fifty miles or so from here to the Old Fortification, and then perhaps another fifty miles to the Blade River once you’re through Lastbreath Pass.”

“But even then the time to travel through those areas is different.” he continued. “South of the Spear, snows accumulate. It might be a day's journey as the crow flies from here to Abthek’s plantation, a day and a half to Kirillin Manor or the ranger outpost, but heavy snow will slow anyone down, take twice the time you think to get there."

"On the other hand, there are mountain trails to the ranger outpost, and one that passes close to Kirillin Manor, and indeed goes on to Lastbreath Pass -- they're marked as the broken lines on the map. There’s not much in the way of snow there; something about the exposure of the paths to high winds, it tends to scrub the paths clear. But for that same reason they’re far more dangerous than travelling on the valley floor. No one travels the mountain trails lightly.”

Endrow cleared his throat. “North of the Spear we’re not so certain. There’s a great icethorn wood there, and icethorn fosters thick undergrowth. That will also slow a man down. The foothills are somewhat easier terrain, but there the risk is rather more of being accosted by passing pedestrians.” He tried to make it a joke. It failed. “From what we know, the rolling terrain still leaves it a two day trek from the Pass to Northmill Dam – and another day to the Tower of the Moon if skirting around the wood’s edge.”

TAG: All

[Niobaran]

Maxis

The young woman had stood in silence while gulping down the many pieces of information thrown at her. She is tall and slender, with short brown hair and functional clothes speaking of a belief in pragmatism. A donned breastplate and a shield on her back showed that she was prepared for combat, underlined by the big maul that leaned next to her at the wall. She had given her best to hide a certain young impatience. It was as difficult to her to stand immobile in one place, as it was for flames to stand still. As often, her eyes sought the flickering dance in the fire pit, and helped her focus. When asked whether she accepted the deal, she had wanted to speak, but others did, so she waited for the second flood of information to wash down on her. It was much, too much even. Quickly, she produced a piece of parchment from her scroll case and started scribbling down some of the information.

Once there was a brief pause again, she lowers the parchment and steps forward. One hand resting on the grip of her maul, she speaks confident words: "I am Maxis, Maiden of the Firekeeper. Your daughter may be in great danger, my lord. But fear not, her endeavor, as foolish as it is, speaks of inner strength and desire. I will find her before it is too late, and protect her from the cold wrath." or die trying she completes the sentence in her head. But how could she ask for the support of the fiery lady if she herself had no confidence in her own ability? Also, she is much too young to understand that some promises are better not made.

[Riggdgames]

Roland stands mute, hands clasped behind his back as he listens intently while Lord Hardwalker and Endrow converse back and forth, the tale of Lyssa's love-across-the-valley unfolding before Lord and adventurer alike. He'd selected his best outfit when he'd received Lord Hardwalker's summons, which amounted to his least travel-stained wool coat and heavy cloak, neither of which had started out a shade of dull brown. Though oblivious to most of the subtle trappings of power that filled the chamber, Roland could not ignore the single, near room-length firepit and everything it implied. Heat and light. Wealth and comfort. He can't help noticing a couple of the others are also preoccupied with it in their own way, warming themselves or stealing glances. As he watches the firelight dance on the dark walls, Roland turns Lord Hardwalker's plea over and over in his mind. Find her, and Hardwalker Hold will be your home for life. This place. A place of warmth, and light, and perhaps even rest. A real home.

As more details emerge, Roland scratches his beard, staring intensely at the map unfurled in the air before them. They were damned lucky to have the letters, that was sure, but the girl took one too many. His heart sank as he thought of all the ground that lay before them without the slightest indication which path she took, or where she planned to meet Iohn.

A young voice breaks in confidently after Endrow finishes describing the land north of the spear, her words echoing through the chamber. With a start, Roland realizes she's one of the faithful, a self-proclaimed maiden of the Firekeeper. With little time to react, however, Roland can only hide a grimace as she extends a fervent promise to find Lord Hardwalker's daughter, and bring her back alive. He looks askance at Maxis, trying to gauge her for a moment before his eyes wander over the other adventurer's on either side. Clearing his throat, Roland resigns himself to speaking next.

"My name is Roland, Lord, Roland Parnum, and you have my shield. If it's in my power to find and protect Lyssa with it, then I will. But," Roland starts to say, coughing and clearing his throat once more before soldiering on. "A thousand pardons Lord. I don't wish to wound you further, but on the road we have a saying. 'Prepare not for the summer breeze, but for the winds of winter to howl.' I will do whatever I can to bring your daughter home safe to you Lord, but make no mistake, with two days lost we may already be too late. Prepare for the worst Lord, and pray for the best."

[Toliudar]

Verglas

The trim little gnome woman, young and pretty enough, after a fashion, but with an edge that any teenage boy would have identified as 'too crazy to be worth it', had listened patiently to the description. As the others crowded around the scroll, she lost sight of the map, and so eventually grew impatient, wove through the legs of two of the men gathered around, and snatched it down for a moment for a closer look, before releasing the map again.

Her words were like the path of a waterspout guided by a toddler: ragged, sparkling, and rarely predictable.

"While some small part of this is clear to me, one element at the heart of it I don't think I understand.

"Your daughter's in love with this Niketas fellow, and only had a few weeks before she'd have to pick someone else to marry. All clear. But if you, Lord Hardwalker, would have approved the match, and the problem would have been the boy's parents, then they can't have been planning to settle with his family. If she intended to return here, having consummated or what-have-you with the little Niketas, then it would have been much simpler for him to get away and come here. So they must have been planning to go somewhere else after meeting, other than one of your two, uh, charming mansions. Is there a third destination best accessed from this valley that they could make their way to from this area here?"

The pert gnome smacks the centre of the map with the top of her staff for emphasis.

"Also, the two have been trading messages for weeks, as you say, good Master Endrow. What is the path followed by these letter carriers - and presumably that which would have been followed by the Niketae attending your daughter's growing-up-thing. Why would the young couple have not simply used this clearly safer and more reliable path between your strongholds? What drove them to the path of greater danger? Or is it some kind of ruse to throw us off her true path?!"

The young woman's voice rises to a bit of a squeak at the end. She takes a moment and collects her thoughts.

"Well, no, probably not. But still, it seems illogical to have so cunningly and executed a plan that would get you killed oh I'm Verglas by the way Verglas Ulizgrant. Scholar of the ancient arts, at your etcetera etcetera. Still, it's *amn perplexing. Going after them will most likely get us all killed. Let's do it."

She glances around at the other five, and nods confidently.

[DrK]

Njal

The dwarf looks at Ethron, but slowly catches on and quietens down. As the Maiden of the Fire and young Roland speak he studies the map carefully.

"Has the girl been to the valley Lord? She may travel a familiar route?" He runs a hand through his thick heavy beard as he thinks. "We should take the fastest route, with a 2 day lead tracks will be long snowed in. Unless she has familiarity with a path we should have to the neck of the spear and can wait there or start working out way back after a few days."

[Saintheart]

Endrow and Lord Hardwalker glanced at one another as Verglas rambled, but Njal's question came before they had a chance to answer her.

The lord folded his arms. "Lyssa has only been in the southern half of the valley, and that a small journey in with a few years ago. She's not fully familiar with all the terrain. But she does know where the old ranger outpost is; a mount amongst her escort went lame and they had to stop in there overnight. My feeling is that if she got into trouble she would certainly have considered that as a refuge briefly."

"But the gnome makes a penetrating couple of observations," said Endrow. "It is true the letter carriers go around the valley by a much more circuitous route. But had she taken that route it is certain she or Darkstone would have been marked or possibly stopped; there is no practical way she could go to him, or he to her, in any way secret other than by the valley. As for their communications, it's possible she and Iohn corresponded by raven; they're intelligent birds and can carry a document of the kind written. We don't know. I do know there is no third way out of the valley. The Blade River is its northern boundary and entirely mountainous beyond its far shore. Although I suppose the Darkstones might know that end of the valley better than we and therefore another way out of the valley north."

[Toliudar]

Verglas

The gnome tilts her head, absorbing every detail.

"That is very well considered, Lord Hardwalker. Very reasonable.

"Not in any way to second guess our own no doubt significant capabilities of me and my colleagues, but have you tried to send information to the family of this Dear Iohn? Perhaps by one of these clever ravens? They may wish to send their own, ah, espeditionary force. Double the odds of saving both young folk, so to speak. Not that we will fail and die, of course, of course."

She nods at her colleagues, and nods her readiness to depart.

[Riggdgames]

Roland

Roland rubs a pair of weary eyes after studying the map, running a hand through dark hair that is already starting to grey.

"Well put, um, Ver-glas, was it?" Roland asks, stumbling slightly over the name. "If a message can be sent to the Lord of Darkstone, he may yet be able to aid us before the Gravewind falls. Surely it's worth considering?

"Either way, I think Master Stormcaller has the right of it. We should make haste towards the pass. I do not claim to know what road the lady is most likely to have taken. I only know that all trails lead there if she's to meet the Darkstone boy north of the spear. Perhaps we may catch her there or find some sign that she's passed that way."

A question gnaws at Roland, though he can't quite place it at first. A subtle push of inspiration allows it to slowly form as he speaks once more.

"If she was willing to risk everything for Iohn when she left two days ago, perhaps she was willing to risk the fastest and most-dangerous route. If she took the mountain path and skirted past the Elven ruins, could she have gained the Old Fort before the storm fell last night? Forgive my ignorance, Lord, but is such a journey possible with two of your greatcats?"

[Auranghzeb]

Mundstock

Mundstock listened to everything said without uttering a word. She seldom spoke anyway, and mostly when she did was to sing old songs.

She knew the dwarven druid, and the recently arrived wizard had caught her attention as soon as she saw her, for magic was Mundstock fascination.

While they made questions she braided her hair, and then obliviously glanced at the map. She knew the area well, so she could picture the king's descriptions in her mind.

She walked near the fire and kneeling close to it she warmed herself and started to sing very softly, humming a song.

Then after the Roland asked his questions, she finally said.

I am sure your daughter is alive. For the Wildman would not let the storm take her, but we must hurry.

[DrK]

Njal

THe doughty dwarven druid looks around the room. "If she knows of the rangers hut we can hope to the Maiden that she has the sense to head that way". He looks at the rest of the room. "Shall we push that way and make haste to the pass. We'll have to move fast to keep up with the greatcats." He glances around the room some more, continuing in his blunt tones, "I have my horse, what manner of beast can you bring so that we can travel fast in the wilds?"

Spoiler: OOC

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@ THe GM - what time of day is it?

[Goaty14]

Ethron

Ethron spoke quietly to the others, still careful not to bait Lord Hardwalker's sad yet spiteful eyes, offering his take. "If we cannot overtake the greatcats, I think it would be wiser to conduct more investigation along the way to find the nature of where she's going, whether that information could be found at the lodge or at the plantation, but to try and look for such information would be wiser than to not try at all."

Something crossing his mind, Ethron looks up at Lord Hardwalker and Endrow, asking "And how much can the greatcats carry? Can they be equipped with saddlebags? When we find her, how prepared for the cold might she be?"

[Saintheart]

Endrow nodded at Ethron's comment. "You may have at least a little grace of time. It seems to me that Lyssa would hardly agree to a rendezvous in such a place that did not have some flexibility in its appointed time."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not," replied Lord Hardwalker. "She is not foolish, but neither is she equipped for a long camp in the Valley. The greatcats can carry two riders, but they are not well-suited for heavy loads. They can take a saddlebag, but--?" he looked at Endrow.

The mage shook his head. "No, it doesn't appear Lyssa took much with her. There hasn't been enough time to do a full audit of stores. We can see ten days' worth of food, waterskins are missing. A winter bedroll is gone, a portable hut, and some basic cold weather garb. Nothing like the higher-end protection of the kind I've seen Master Njal wear. And she certainly doesn't have the advantage of Master Njal's race, either."

"And whether she went by the mountains or straight across country she could have reached the Pass before the snows began to fall on the back of a greatcat," said Lord Hardwalker. "If she went up the mountain trails - dangerous though that would have been - then the cats could have easily gotten her to the Pass in two days. Going directly across the Valley, despite the snows she could have made it most of the way to the Pass by the time of last night's snowstorm. A man on horseback could only make about 24, 25 miles in a day, and only half that in deep snow. If he pushed his horse, travelled on into the twilight, he could make perhaps 36 miles. But the greatcats are more used to the snows, and they move faster than any horse. On a greatcat, she could have made 32 miles across the Valley in two days, in deep snow. But if she pushed them for those same two days? Then she could have made a good 48 miles ... leaving her at, or just shy of, the Pass before the storm struck last night."

He lastly turned, wearily, to Verglas. "And much as I might like to, as much as it would otherwise make sense -- I cannot send to Lord Darkstone. Niketas Darkstone holds an enmity for my family almost as great as my indifference to his. There is old blood - and blood much more recent - that drives him. If he were to find my daughter, she would live ... but I know Niketas Darkstone. And I wonder whether she would have regarded it as better that she had perished."

[Riggdgames]

Roland

Roland turns the figures over in his head as the Lord Hardwalker explains the capabilities of each mount in the Valley, and nods grimly. "We'd best get a move on while the day is still young. My horse, Ember, awaits in the stables," he says, by way of answer to Njal's question. I can make ready within the hour if we're all in agreement here," he continues, looking around at the assembled faces. "Shall we meet at the north gate as quickly as possible?"

[DrK]

Njal

THe dwarf looks at the man and nods, a smile on his craggy face at the swift decision making. "Aye. If his Lord could supply some meat and feed for the horses we can be away as quick as we able." He glances out the weather at the heavy clouds. "Best prepare for the cold as well. It will be a long afternoon and evening in the saddle."

[Toliudar]

Verglas

The gnome gestures to her small pack.

"I travel light. If someone has room for a box, not a large box but sadly fitted up with wheels not runners, perhaps foolishly, I'm good to go now."

[Goaty14]

Ethron

"I have a sled-wagon, loaded with supplies I think will be useful, and with space for your gear too. Here, I'll show you" Ethron immediately responded, leaping at the chance to be out of the hall and out of Lord Hardwalker's dreadful gaze, as he turned and showed Verglas (along with anybody else whom chooses to follow) to his vehicle, ready to leave.

[Toliudar]

He lastly turned, wearily, to Verglas. "And much as I might like to, as much as it would otherwise make sense -- I cannot send to Lord Darkstone. Niketas Darkstone holds an enmity for my family almost as great as my indifference to his. There is old blood - and blood much more recent - that drives him. If he were to find my daughter, she would live ... but I know Niketas Darkstone. And I wonder whether she would have regarded it as better that she had perished."

Verglas blinks twice, and nods. There were a thousand shades and variations of evil and stupidity in the world. it was clear that this Lord had seen more of them than she had, and she was grateful enough for that. Time enough to fix the world properly once she had the power to do so. In the meantime, she merely gave the gift of not speaking her thoughts, but merely nodding respectfully, and taking her leave.

--

Ethron's kind offer made her face light up.

"Ah, well that's excellent Ethron Ethron good name there's a kind of forward motion to it that speaks well to the task at hand Ethron My box is just over there if you can point me in the direction of your wagon I'll get loaded up and settled in and then we can go wherever you need to. It's funny, the box has been with me, invaluable really for years no but I doubt I'll be using it much on this particular outing. I should, I suppose ask if you have a good record of driving and staying on the mark not hitting things or driving off mountains that sort of thing."

[DrK]

Njal

THe dwarf heads into the stables and throws the heavy winter full cloth and saddle over the massive shaggy horse. The beast looking like an equine version of its owner. Mounting up he looks down at the massive husky that is jumping around the courtyard excitedly. Trotting out to the Courtyard Njal looks to the others and then stares at the mass of storm clouds. Reaching to his waist he pulls out a think stick of hickory and taps it on himself to give some respite from the weather.

Spoiler: OOC

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Cast Endure elemnts from the wand

[Auranghzeb]

Mundstock

She fails miserably at using one of her scrolls... The vicissitudes of the dilettante... she laughs it off and assumes she'll have to endure the cold with her thick fur coat.

She enjoys the heat of the fire one last time.

She goes to get her skis and wait for the others outside, getting used to the freezing air.

[Riggdgames]

Roland

Roland weaves back through the bustling courtyard to the stables, tossing the boy an extra silver piece for taking good care of his chestnut mare, Ember. He looks up fondly at the beast, scratching her neck. "How'd you like these stables girl? They treat you well enough? Hope so. Might be we've finally found a place that'll put up with you," he says with a half-grin, the mild-mannered mare staring back at him without so much as a sound. "Don't give me that look," he says, giving her one last pat.

As the pair reappear in the courtyard loaded down with gear, Roland juggles a heel of bread and some dried meat in his free hand, taking advantage of their last moments of respite. An energetic husky darts around Roland and Ember, spooking the horse momentarily and causing Roland to choke, bread crumbs sputtering out as he doubles over. The choking turns to a wry laugh as Roland wipes his mouth and tears off a chunk of meat, tossing it to the good boy. "Glad you're on our side, pup. What's his name?" Roland shouts over to Njal.

Finally arriving at the supply-laden wagon mostly unscathed, Roland whistles appreciatively. "Doesn't appear you've gotten much rest these past days, have you? Still, no doubt we'll appreciate it on the road ahead," Roland says to Ethron, unloading some of his own supplies into the wagon. "Forgive me Verglas, I didn't mean to pile gear where you'd be sitting," Roland says, shifting his stuff around to make room for the gnome.

[Niobaran]

Mundstock

She fails miserably at using one of her scrolls... The vicissitudes of the dilettante... she laughs it off and assumes she'll have to endure the cold with her thick fur coat.

She enjoys the heat of the fire one last time.

She goes to get her skis and wait for the others outside, getting used to the freezing air.

Maxis approaches Mundstock. "I saw you try to use the magic scroll. Maybe I can help you with that, if you will? What effect did you try to invoke?" She sounds friendly, and apparently appreciating the fact that Mundstock tried to accomplish something and was not upset about failing. A good start.

[Goaty14]

Ethron

Looking down at Verglas' never-ending babbling put a smirk on Ethron's face - surely with such a textbook of information, he may never get bored on the trail! He replies to her "No worries - I've worked with horses most of my life; this shouldn't be too much work", and loads her beloved snow-chest onto the cart. Though he speaks with confidence, Ethron knows that he hasn't been too far beyond the city gates, and hopes that the oncoming challenges would prove easier than feared to be.
...
Hopping up on the driver's seat of the cart, Ethron's "preparations" consist of stretching his arms, as he knew it would only be a matter of time before they grew sore from driving oh-so long. At least, the cold didn't bother him, and whether from long nights on watch made him accustomed to it, or merely by his own ancestral blood, he did not know.

[Saintheart]

Early afternoon, Day 1
Complication Pool: 3 of 6

The wind bit the moment they cleared Hardwalker Hall’s massive north gate. The clunk of the wooden doors shutting behind them was like the closing of a temple after a funeral service. Six the adventurers were, and animals in almost as many numbers, setting out in a small train northwest to the trailhead of the paths into the mountains on the west side of the Valley of the Spear. They were following the track as best they could from the duplicate map Lord Hardwalker had given to them just before they’d departed. It hadn’t been hard to see the tears the man was fighting back as he bid them farewell, though the tears surely had to be for his lost daughter and not for them.

The trail itself was easily found, starting under the dead branches of a single ancient oak long gone white. Gromnir solemnly inspected the tree’s base, lifted his leg, and urinated on the trunk. Then the big husky kicked with his back feet and was off a few feet down the trail ahead of the adventurers, returning to his master’s side a few minutes later, tongue lolling and clearly happy to be back out in the open again. Mundstock’s unnamed pack dog looked decidedly unimpressed by the other’s momentary frivolity.

They set a fast pace. The western mountains rose like great grey sentinels, capped with snow, under an dark-steel coloured sky, and as they moved up the temperature accordingly dropped. It didn’t take more than an hour or so for the winds to kick up, cutting into every one of the adventurers, though it also wasn’t the sort of cold they any of them were unaccustomed to either. More disturbing were the faint wisps of sound on the wind, unidentifiable, the moan which might, for a second, have been that of a child, or a man dying, but which disappeared just as quickly.

The path crossed small ridges, sneaked through short dales, and clung to wide ledges, giving stunning vistas of the valley off to the northeast. Thus far the trail had been more or less clear of snow, a light powdery dusting as deep as the white went, and there hadn’t been much in the way of loose gravel to impede them. Tough, low-lying, dark green bushes twitched and shivered in the wind on either side of the trail and clung to cliffsides around them. The valley floor itself was a white palm cupped by mountains in the northeast, though there were hints of hills and the dotting of copses down in there as well.

It was around midday that the trail grew more difficult. They were still able to hold to a fast pace, but the trail had narrowed against the mountainsides, slimming down to the width of the sled. There wasn’t a lot of room for error to the left or right, and whilst the drops off the path weren’t sheer and weren’t hundreds of feet down, it wouldn’t exactly be a fun experience falling off.

They pushed on, though, and even after midday Njal amongst the other, more seasoned travellers was fairly certain they were on target. They were making good time.

Which was then it all started to go wrong…

Spoiler: Njal

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If you could make a Survival check, please. The DC to meet is 15, and given you’re travelling at fast pace, I think your roll is at 1d20+6 since you take a -4.

Spoiler: OOC Whole Party

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As said you’re making good time. At fast pace assuming no interruptions you should be at the Ranger Hut by late afternoon with time left in the day to spare.

In mechanical terms, you’ve lucked into a calm day. Despite the wind, the temperature is only in the Cold range (i.e. somewhere between 40 and 0 degrees F). Level 1 protection is enough to function as complete protection against the elements here, which everyone in the party has in one form or another, as do all the animals since whether native to the arctic or otherwise, they all have fur.

I will assume for convenience that Maxis has cast Endure Elements on Mundstock unless someone says otherwise – Niobaran, I assume that’s off the Wand of Endure Elements if you could mark off a charge there.

You'll also notice I put the Complication Pool counter at the dateline at the top of the post - this is so you know it's there. It's at 3 of 6 because two time parts have passed thus far.
When it hits six, the pool is rolled.

[Toliudar]

Verglas

Pulling her little wooden box along behind Ethron, Verglas was uncharacteristically silent. There wasn't much else she could do today, except hope that it didn't get TOO cold. Tomorrow, she could be ready with magics to hold the cold at bay, but today, it would just be bunding in coats and blankets at the back of a wagon, and trying not to die. She sighed faintly. Why were all the interesting places always trying to killl you?

She noticed Ethron up ahead casting a spell of some kind. No. He was signalling someone? No. He was putting on an invisible coat? No. He was just waving his arms around. Hmm.

Come to think of it, Ethron hadn't actually responded to her question about his driving. Should she be worried? Well, of course she should be worried. They were going out into a hostile wilderness in the face of a killer storm to track down two stupid adolescents. But should she be worried that they woudln't get out of the city?

[Goaty14]

Ethron

"Say Verglas, tell me something smart", Ethron called out, shifting in place. "I'm getting weary of this already..."

[Toliudar]

Vergalas

The little gnome has by now wrapped herself in her cloak, her bedroll, any other cloth that she can find in the back of the wagon, and an aura of gloom. For an Ice Gnome, she was certainly not revelling in the weather. Well, perhaps exercising her brain would keep her body warm as well.

"One of my teachers at the Mountain -"

She dropped the name of the prestigious academy of magical arts into the conversation as if it were a feather.

"- suggested that ideas are not smart or not-smart in the mouth of the speaker. Because the intention of language is to communicate something, to leave the listener changed as it were by even a trifling statement like 'it is f***ing cold out here' not necessarily in a profound way but a manner in which the pathways of thought are improved, are refined, are for lack of a better term 'smarter'. Therefore, words are not smart as they are being spoken, but rely on the mental agility and positive will of the listener to be ready to accept them, to adapt their paths of thought as it were, to become smarter. So, in nconclusion, it is impossible for me to 'tell you something smart', but only for you to 'hear something smart'. With which I wish you great success!"

She fell into silence for a moment.

"If we were to lay down something fireproof underneath, I don't suppose that it would be safe for me to build a bonfire back here in the wagon?"

Spoiler: OOC

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Yup. Plenty smart, but a survival check of -1.

Survival: (1d20-1)[15]

Edit: sorry. I didn't notice that the survival check was just for Njal. It's too bad. This might have been the only survival check she ever makes!

[DrK]

Njal

The dwarf hunkered down upon the wide back of Stormrir, occasionally trailing a hand down for the big husky to jump and lick. As the snow and wind began to pick up he pulled out a heavy set of goggles with thick lenses and donned them, pulling the hood of his snowy white bear skin hood down. Peering over his shoulder he grinned at the humans in their steel, they would not appreciate those steel coffins when the gravewind strikes...

Looking about at the pass narrowing ahead he pauses, sniffing the storm ahead....

Spoiler: Survival check

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(1d20+6)[11] including the -4