10 - 1/31/24 : Face of the Enemy

"Oh wonderful, you're alive, runt! Good. I've always regretted not being the one who got to kill you. Let's fix that."  

Úlfur Siegsson

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  Before the meeting began, Speaker Waylen asked the party for a favor; if things with the barbarian king were to go awry, he asked for them to help evacuate the citizens of Three Streams instead of standing and fighting. The party agreed, though Melfina and Ragna preferred the idea of fleeing altogether if discussions came to such a conclusion.  

The steps of King Siegmar ended at the crossing at the center of Three Streams. His shoulders were broadened by his heavy fur mantle, his eye piercing the confidence of any who cross his gaze. Indeed, even when shadowed by a frost giant, the man seemed like a mountain among men, as if the cobble below him could barely support his weight. The snowflakes danced around the meeting, cascading around the King of the Broken Blade as if the very snow in the air was afraid to touch him.   "Swords drawn, men in formation, and eyes fighting back fear. Is this some attempt at a diplomatic summit, then? Or are you the first of the Ten Towns to stand upright in the face of the coming squall?" Siegmar called out, his bassy voice cutting through the frozen air like a sled through the tundra.   "With respect, your majesty…" spoke the Speaker, who may as well have been a shield facing a siege engine. "The history our people share is… bloody, to say the least. The announcement of your arrival was quite unusual, and we wanted to prepare for the worst."   Siegmar's eye slowly locked on to Danneth, as if to deliver a reprisal simply for speaking; and it hit like one too, as Danneth visibly recoiled once their gazes met. "And who are you? Do you speak for the people here?"   "I do." Danneth chokes out. Years of settling property disputes seemed to be poor preparation for talking a raging bull down from charging. "Speaker Danneth Waylen. Proud son of Three Streams. Of Frostgale Taiga."   "You speak clearly, Waylen. With heart and with hair on your chest. Good." Siegmar responded. "There will be time for measuring your will to defend this home you proudly claim at the summit in Lystheim. For now, let us speak of what you and your people shall do for us today."   Speaker Waylen braced himself, as did his people. Next to him, Captain Indra's gloved fingers danced with palpable anxiety along the hilt of her sword.   "You will provide food, drinkable water, and spirits for myself and my people to prepare for the last leg of our journey. You have two hours to gather what you will, and I shall take a head for each hour that passes after until your tithe is adequate. Refuse, and you risk a fight you know you cannot win. Comply, and you shall see a vision of the Taiga's future."   Immediate whispers of dissent and anger began to roll through the gathered militiamen at this demand. Yet Speaker Waylen looked back to Melfina, Alith, and Dahlia, his eyes conveying the thanks he had expressed earlier for the retrieval of the Cauldron of Plenty. A much-needed grace in a storm such as this.   "Fine." said Waylen. An answer that Siegmar seemed to expect, yet still brought a measure of disappointment to his face. "We will share our town's bounty, if only to avoid blood on this day."   Siegmar allowed the statement to hang in to the air, so as to let the people of Three Streams hear their Speaker's surrender. "You hide your tail and offer succor to a predator. You seek to delay our wrath, and prepare your defenses for when we arrive in earnest. Smart, but a sign of the rot that is made only worse by the biting cold."   The next voice to speak, however, was not the kind Speaker's. From the line of militiamen stepped forward a hooded man wielding a handaxe, his face hidden by his heavy winter clothing but his rage quite palpable nonetheless. "To the Hells with you, Waylen! You don't speak for me! This monster kills our kin and then has the gall to take everything else? We're Ten-Towners, dammit! This is how we handle animals who wander too close to the road!"   The handaxe went flying before he even finished, sailing a deadly arc towards the villain from the frozen wastes. A finely crafted piece, likely an heirloom from the father of a father. Stout iron, good for felling trees and cracking the skulls of wolves. Yet it paled to the monstrosity of metal that the King pulled from his back.   A black slab, nearly a full grown man in length, flashed in the light of the auroras above and below. It broke the handaxe's blade as if it were made of glass, showering the area in sparks and shrapnel. As the king's brute instrument of death collided with the ground, snow was launched from the force of the impact, revealing the dead ground beneath it for the first time in two years, and as the snow settled back once again, a droplet of blood fell from a small shard-wound on the king's face.   The barbarians all drew their weapons and emitted the first of their battle cries, and Ysmir Siegsson's own lustrous axe was thrust to the sky, but one sound froze them in place; "Stop." commanded King Siegmar, uttered not as a yell, but resounding like one nonetheless. As the king's retinue stashed their weapons, Speaker Waylen looked on in horror, his eyes quivering as if the world had just been split in twain by an old logging axe. Siegmar lifted the rectangular hunk of blackened crystal attached to a grip that one could reductively call a sword and planted its far end firmly in the snow, a noticeable crater left by its earlier strike. "Bring him here." The barbarian king commanded.   The axe-thrower trembled visibly, looking to his comrades and then to Speaker Waylen. As he was pushed into the center of the meeting area by his fellows, the Speaker could only wail out at him. "Brun, why didn't you listen to me?"   "Silence yourself, Speaker. This is the first man of the Ten Towns that has earned a shred of my respect." Siegmar said. Stepping forward, the king looked at the cloaked militiaman, staring down with the weight of a thousand battles behind his remaining eye. "Brun of Three Streams. What drives your axe-arm?"   Brun stands silently, fear gripping his throat like a vice. Again, Siegmar spoke. "You have the courage to lob an axe at the enemy, but lack the air to speak to him? Answer me, or they will be finding pieces of you on both ends of the lake!"   "You killed my ma, you devil!" Brun was finally able to choke out. "You and your damned raids! Can't be bothered to work an honest day in your life, you just have to take it from us, and cut down the ones brave enough to do anything about it! Well I've had it! I've had enough of you and the godsdamned Frostmaiden! Do it! Kill me if you're so mighty!"   Siegmar seemed only to grow more imposing as he was insulted; a true paragon of excellence through adversity. He turned his head over his shoulder to look at his eldest son, his own personal aurora flickering with intent to kill. "Ysmir. Break him, 'if you would be so kind'." He commanded, mocking the courteousness of the southerners as he did so.   Ysmir obeyed, ribbons of light trailing behind him as he stepped forward. Every aspect of the proud warrior-prince defied the cold around him; like Ragna, he wore little, exposing his skin to the elements and displaying glittering tattoos that shimmered like quicksilver. Brun braced himself for the end, but all that came was a wicked snap; Ysmir grasped the militiaman's arm and clamped down with the force of an angry giant, shattering bone even through layers upon layers of fur and leather.   As Brun fell to the ground and screamed, Siegmar looked around and spoke again as Ysmir fell back into line. "The Taiga withers so because we have forgotten the meaning of struggle. The people of the Ten Towns have forgotten it. The Broken Blade has forgotten it. The Frostmaiden has merely reminded us that life in this land must be bought with blood and heavy hands. And by blood it shall be bought."   The king turned about, his long fur mantle billowing along with him. None would dare strike him now, even with his back turned. "Bind the lad's arm and give him a pack to carry. If he survives the cold and his back does not break, then he will be allowed a second chance at revenge." He turned his head over his shoulder, piercing Speaker Waylen's heart like so much a bolt from the black. "Two hours, speaker."   Then the march of death departed from whence they came, their numbers bolstered by a now-broken Brun who was yanked from the snowy ground by a warrior and dragged along even as he screamed in protest.   Quietly, Siegmar spoke to the tiefling woman next to him as he walked. "I will oversee the setting up of a camp on the outskirts. Hulda, you will find Valdis and the dwarves. We will see if these rumors of the Burning Blood are true."   Quickly as they came, the Burning Blade made their way to their temporary refuge beneath a tall ridge. Yet the tension lingered, weighing heavier even than La Saia's dancing aurora above.

  After the confrontation passed, Waylen took a moment to still himself before speaking to the party. He thanked them for the gift of the cauldron of plenty, for it would surely allow the town to survive giving so much to the passing barbarians. The party cautioned him to keep such an item under wraps until the barbarians had departed, to which Waylen agreed.   Waylen also cautioned the party on their next moves, telling them to consider either departing to the east and circumventing the barbarians on the way north, or heading southwest to Caer Sella, which the barbarians were likely to bypass on their way to Lystheim due to its remote location. He thanked them once more for their aid, and assured them that they would have friends in Three Streams should they ever return.   The party took a moment to decide their course. Given that they had leads on strange occurrences and other situations in several towns to the south (Caer Sella, Honeybrook, and Vrath Keep) and only one lead in the north (the mysterious tower sought out by Dzaan's expedition), they decided that avoiding the barbarians by traveling south to Caer Sella was a better idea. After gathering their things, the Lonesome Few traveled the snowy dunes with little trouble.   As they walked, they conversed about Ragna's father, as well as their other two siblings that had been present at the meeting; Hulda and the mighty Ysmir. They thought about what could be done regarding the barbarian's intent to invade, and considered assisting the other towns, hoping that they would be able to prepare defenses if their problems were taken care of.   They pondered the intended invasion of the Broken Blade, and came to the agreement that nothing save the end of the winter would deter Siegmar's march south; and even that, perhaps, would not be enough. Ragna mentioned how anyone bearing the name Siegsson or Siegsdottir was dangerous, and also revealed the origins of their taken surname Íssbur, a name meaning 'Child of Ice'.   The party also pondered the presence of the black-handed duergar that was present alongside King Siegmar; they realized that the dwarf's hand was made of chardalyn, and theorized that this possibly meant the duergar of the region were involved in the barbarians' desperate search for chardalyn. Ragna also remarked that the frost giant marching with the barbarians was a new development, as they had not seen such a thing when they were still with the tribe.   Eventually they arrived in Caer Sella, a picturesque terraced river town that had been built around what once was a mighty caer that overlooked the waters and plains nearby. The caer stood in ruins now, but the town remained. The party decided to see to their usual tradition of seeking the tavern first, but realized they couldn't spy any road markers. Identifying a nearby home as a likely candidate for the town speaker's house due to it being slightly larger and more grand, they made their way over to ask for directions.   However, when drawing near, Melfina tripped over a bump in the snow and fell flat on her face. From under the snow rose a silver dragonborn man who drunkenly oriented himself; the party soon learned that this man was Speaker Trovus of Caer Sella. The party informed Trovus of the Broken Blade's movements and also declared their intent to help with the town's problems; Trovus invited them to the Hook, Line, and Sinker, Caer Sella's tavern, to discuss the situation.   At the tavern, the owner Glen gifted each new entry with a half-pint of ale (the 'Hook') and encouraged them to seek more with him at the bar (the 'Line'). The party sat with Speaker Trovus, who laid out what he knew about the situation; several things had been stolen by seemingly invisible culprits. A pair of goats had been taken from the tavern, a bag of pearls from Frozenfar Expeditions, and a magical lantern from the nearby Inn known as the Northern Light.   Glen refused to serve Trovus anymore, and the party admonished the speaker for his drunken behavior. Trovus lamented the Endless Rime and how he was powerless to help his people due to its fierceness; Alith reminded him that while he didn't have the power to stop the Rime, he had the power to help them weather the coming invasion. Seemingly moved by the gith's words, Trovus rose from the table and departed, passing by two other men on his way out.   Atenas Swift, a local explorer and expedition leader, entered with his partner, the dwarf Jartha, and sat at a table not far from the Lonesome Few. They greeted the party, since they were clear outsiders, and the party inquired about the missing pearls that had been taken. Atenas did not believe any locals would have stolen from him, and recommended the party speak to the Shorard sisters who owned the Northern Light.   Atenas also spoke of the directions of the footprints that had been left; they seemed to come and go from both ends of the town, disappearing not long after leaving the vicinity due to lesser foot traffic and therefore less snow being cleared out further away from civilization. He and Jartha spoke of a few hills not far from the town, though they knew not of anyone who lived there.   Alith and Melfina both recalled that the dwarves known as the duergar possessed the innate ability to turn invisible, and suspected that such individuals may have been behind the thefts. Glen soon announced last call for the tavern, which came in the form of a drinking contest over a small pool of gold (the 'Sinker). Alith, Ragna, Jartha, and a local half-orc woman participated, with Alith managing to outlast the others to win the pot.   At the Northern Light, the party met with Allie and Cori Shorard, paid for their rooms, and investigated a trail of footsteps that had been left behind shortly after the inn's namesake magic lantern had been stolen. Ragna was able to identify that the footprints had been left by something weighty; probably something wearing heavy armor. Melfina identified the boot prints as dwarven, based on their blocky shapes.   With a solid enough theory, the group rested at the Northern Light for the evening before departing to the nearby hills in the morning. Their journey ended when they found more footprints that seemed to round about the side of the hills facing the town. On the other side, the party discovered a duergar-make fortress that had been carved into the hill, and quite recently by Melfina's estimation.   The Lonesome Few decided to take a stealthy approach to investigate, first trying to approach a nearby lookout tower. However, they found that the tower was sealed up tight, with no apparent entrances; suggesting it was only able to be entered via an underground tunnel. They decided to press on to the front gate of the fortress, staying low to avoid the eye of the lookout guard.   The party found that the front gate was surprisingly unlocked, and pushed their way through. They soon spotted the abducted goats from Caer Sella, as well as the unruly occupant of a nearby cell; a vicious ogre zombie that began lunging at them in vain, held back by its restraints. However, the ruckus caused by the zombie drew the attention of one of the fortresses' occupants   Ragna was shocked to see another of her siblings enter the room; Úlfur, her wolfish elder brother known for his litheness, brutality, and cruelty. There was no time to ascertain why he was present with the duergar; Úlfur threw himself at the party after a quick round of taunting, leading to a brutal battle.   The blazingly fast and agile Úlfur proved a difficult target to pin down, and the danger was amplified as his duergar allies entered the fray and the ogre zombie broke out of its cage to chase Melfina down. Thanks to Melfina using the haste spell on him, Ragna was able to keep pace with Úlfur while Dahlia, Alith, and Melfina wore down the duergar and destroyed the ogre zombie.   Eventually, Úlfur began to realize the fates were stacked against him, and attempted to make his escape while leaving the duergar behind. However, even with his speed, he was unable to escape the hastened Ragna, who pursued him out into the snow for their battle to continue.