Episode 69

Collective Action stand once more beneath the pale sun of The Great Ice Desert, its light fractured by windblown shards of snow. Ahead, through the remnants of the expedition’s battered camp, Captain Sigrun Halmar awaits — a stout Dwarf with frost in her beard and resolve in her eyes. With her are the last surviving apprentices of the doomed expedition, both broken by frostbite and terror, their hands trembling even by the fire’s warmth.   Blair kneels to heal them. Holy light fills the tent — soft, golden, and kind — but as the glow fades, tears suddenly well in their eyes. It is not sorrow, nor joy, but something else that grips them: a surge of inexplicable emotion that spills out like the cracking of ice under pressure. Another echo, perhaps, of the celestial disturbance that has unsettled the world above.   When the apprentices can walk again, Groban works his Magic. A Teleportation Circle hums to life at his feet, and with a pulse of arcane light, the wounded are sent safely back to Kitaun, leaving only snow swirling in their wake.   That night, the adventurers rest within the camp’s ruins. Out on the horizon, hulking shapes move against the moonlight — Yetis, watching from afar. But they do not approach. The wind howls. The tents rattle. And somehow, the night passes in uneasy peace.   At dawn, Sigrun equips the party with cold-weather gear and points them toward the north — toward the cave where Thalen once discovered strange, glowing runes beneath the ice. The journey is long and blinding, the tundra endless and empty. But it is not without mystery.   Half-buried in snow, the adventurers find a shattered caravan, its crates marked with the sigil of the University. Digging through the wreckage, they uncover a frozen corpse — and when Aveline touches its arm, the ice shivers and splits. From the body rises a spectre, pale and uncertain, eyes glowing with otherworldly sorrow.   “Do you serve the madman who ripped open the planes?” it asks, its voice like the whisper of distant glaciers. The adventurers assure it they do not. The spirit relaxes, faintly. It asks one final favour — to deliver its amulet to a family crypt in Nistaun, that its memory might not fade. In return, it offers a warning:   “Slay the leader of the Yetis… and the rest will scatter.”   When the spirit fades, the snow closes over its remains once more.   Following the spectre’s guidance, the party press onward and finally reach the cave — a dark maw in the ice, glowing faintly from within. The air hums with Magic. Inside, the sound of growls and guttural speech fills the tunnels. Lyra, ever bold, weaves a spell of tongues, allowing her to understand the Yeti language.   The alpha — a monstrous brute known as Snowblind — raves to his kin. He speaks of whispers in the frost, voices that command him to spread beyond the tundra, to bring the cold into warmer lands. The madness in his tone is unmistakable.   Acting fast, Lyra unleashes her enchantment, twisting the Yeti’s mind. In a sudden frenzy, Snowblind turns on his own pack, roaring in confusion and rage. Chaos erupts. Collective Action seize the opening, charging into battle as spellfire lights the cavern blue and white. The Yetis fall one by one — though a wild magic surge briefly engulfs the chamber in roaring flame. The ice holds. Barely.   When silence finally returns, only the party remains standing. The bodies of the Yetis lie scattered beneath runes that pulse with a cold, alien light. Studying the markings, the adventurers realize their source — this Magic is what grows the ice here, impossibly strong and resistant to heat.   Then Chance calls out. Along one side of the cavern wall, beneath layers of frost, she finds something different — a massive gate, frozen solid, its edges traced with runic sigils older than memory.   Sigrun stares in awe, her breath misting before her. Turning to Collective Action, she straightens, and asks for their continued aid to explore what lies beyond the gates.   The ice groans as a cold wind rushes through the cavern, as though the world itself were listening. Whatever waits beyond those gates has slept a long, long time.