Session 12

The next morning brought a rare quiet to Bedd’s Breakfast & Inn. Nightshade and Maylin awoke to find a note left in Kaldor’s precise hand: he had gone to check in with his people, but would return by nightfall. Meanwhile, Gale stirred in a tangle of sheets, groaning from the weight of last night’s excesses. But Pharox was worse—face down, groaning into his pillow and declaring, with absolute certainty, that he would not be getting up. Gale shrugged, left him to his suffering and the care of Fun-Gus, and joined Nightshade and Maylin downstairs.   Hilda, for those undeterred by hangovers, served up a hearty breakfast. Nightshade enjoyed one of the best steak-and-egg meals she'd ever had. Gale, though mildly disappointed he couldn’t get exactly what he’d envisioned, was nonetheless impressed by Hilda’s rustic take on Eggs Benedict. Maylin dug into her plate, but no one was as visibly satisfied as her cragcat kitten Lumphion, who purred loudly over his slice of salmon.   With bellies full, the trio crossed the slushy plaza to the famed Urskaard Saunas. Inside the locker room, they encountered three figures: two men singing what sounded like meaningless gibberish, and a third sitting silently with his hood pulled low. To most, the “song” was chaotic nonsense—but Gale’s trained ears picked out the truth. It was a secret code. And the message? Disturbing. He offered no explanation as he quietly left the room.   Familiar with feline emotions, Maylin sensed Gale's tension. Her locker was inconveniently placed behind one of the “singers.” He struck up conversation but when he insulted unnamed Gale's bardic abilities, she—perhaps for the first time—defended his talents.    In another part of the bathhouse, Gale had hastily climbed into a hot tub already occupied by a gnomish woman and a satyr in the throes of flirtation. They invited him to join their make-out session. He politely declined. Moments later, Maylin and Nightshade—disguised as a human via magic to retain her weapons—joined the bath, prompting the awkward couple to relocate.   Soon, the two singing men entered the hot tub chamber, still crooning their bizarre tune. Maylin, assuming it was a game, tried to join in. She was met with a sharp rebuke: “You’re not a bard.” His partner hushed him, and the pair exited. They wer later seen escorting the still-silent hooded figure with them as they exited.   Gale later explained the tune was a coded message, but when Maylin pressed him for details, he demurred—"Not the right time." With the strange trio gone, the companions enjoyed the rest of their sauna visit in relative peace. The warmth restored them, body and soul, and each left the baths with 1d8 temporary hit points.   Their next stop was the Mothers’ Grove, where the druid Eldrin had promised Maylin a book. The elder druid was kind, serene, and full of quiet wisdom—but Gale, still groggy and perhaps a touch irrational from the night before, took an immediate dislike to him. He leaned in and muttered to the others, half-joking and half-serious, that Eldrin was probably stealing souls. Nonetheless, Eldrin gifted Maylin an old herbalism tome filled with his personal notes—one that would require downtime to properly decode.   When Gale asked how much it was going to cost Mayling, Eladrin responded while  placing the book in her hand, “I only ask that you pass on the ways to the next generation of druids.” Maylin admitted she hadn’t found her circle yet, but promised to try. As they spoke of druidic traditions, Eldrin mentioned having recently spoken with another traveler—one curious about ancient sites and herbal lore. One that fit Lyra's description.   “It was… about a week ago,” he recalled. “Maybe give a day or two.”    It seemed like he was going to say more before he looked liked he remembered something and trailed off. Gale, sensing hesitation, dropped Lyra’s name—Eldrin hadn’t mentioned it. This was the only confirmation the old druid needed.   “She was asking about the Frostveil Spire. A peak of ice with geothermal caves beneath. Perfect for mushroom cultivation. I went there back in my adventuring days.”   He described how Lyra’s visit was cut short when four “tough-looking types” arrived—men who looked like they’d cut down every tree they see and slaughter every animal they see. Their presence made Lyra nervous, and she left abruptly once they were out of sight.   With new threads of mystery, the group returned to the inn. There, Gale paid a local page boy to deliver a letter to Aljarl Kolskegg, the leader of the Cave Bear Clan. The message, cast via Magic Mouth, was embedded into the envelope, set to activate by the Aljarl himself:   “Jarl, danger approaches. There will be an attack upon the trade post—likely a massacre. Watch for the bards; there are spies. —The Storm.”