[3.5E] Heretic's Bane Icewind Dale

Heretic's Bane - Icewind Dale Group

Soulhammer Halls Group

Katasi – Amur Faer Wed – Gnomish Abjurer
Yuki Akuma – Raltise Calmblade – Human Psychic Warrior 2/Soul Knife 3
Tharar Greenleaf – Kelith Firestorm – Favored Soul of Kossuth
BChilders – Magnum Rurik – Cleric of Clangeddin
Paper Bard – Duergan Whurkin – Dwarven Fighter
Butch – Hjalmar – Dwarven Paladin
Diamurd – Bunduk Steelsmith – Dwarven Fighter/Ranger
SyennaMage– Arman Madero – Mage


Hundlestone is a small town astride the Northern Means; the only route through the Spine of the World to Icewind Dale making it a strategic location. Sitting inside a rocky valley and flanked by the imposing Spine on the east and west, it is surrounded by two stone walls. The town is home to about 1200 persons, mainly dwarves and gnomes, but some humans as well. Some travelers and passing merchant caravans pass through on their way north. During the warmer months, it is a bountiful valley full of game and flowers but those months are at a close and always far too short. Hundlestone is also notable for running some mines working the Spine worked by seasonal miners, many coming from Fireshear and Mirabar to the south and leaving before the snows come. Some of these mines actually go deep enough to connect into the Underdark. This has created a small but constant requirement for mercenaries. It also used to attract adventurers looking for Underdark experience, most of whom are somewhat mad.

The newly established Jilker Patriarchate has arrived in Hundlestone. The dwarves and the Ten Towns have become concerned about the vulnerability of the town with the rise of the Dark Arrow Kingdom of orcs and organized Frost Giant activity. It was also centered in any Luskan designs on the North. If it fell into the wrong hands, any route to the Ten Towns would be severed except through Ironmaster’s often iced in harbor. The Ten Towns, particularly Bryn Shander, depend on the pass to for their own supplies and scrimshaw trade. As winter sets in around Hundlestone, a delegation from the Patriarchate and Bryn Shander has arrived to discuss Hundlestone’s winter defenses and a separate dwarven initiative. The Patriarchate wants to try and find or create an Underdark passage from the north to Hundlestone using its Underdark access for a year-round connection. The trickiest issues of contention are the caravan tariffs levied by Hundlestone on all caravans that pass through the area and tempers have already flared on the issue. The delegation includes a detachment of Forgemark and regular infantry and several loaded wagons. While here, it is the intent of the group to tend to a nearby dwarven shrine as well. Additionally, the last caravan of the season is expected within the week. It is vital to the Ten Towns to get through the winter. Included in the caravan is a dwarven contingent led by a Reclaimer bringing several dozen young dwarven children destined for Sunderhelme and a traditional education hopefully leading them to the priesthood. Several other recruits are to be expected. While the journey has been long, it’s most dangerous ground may lay ahead as it passes through the Spine of the World. The caravan’s already large escort has been supplemented by another Forgemark detachment.

The delegation is lead by Forgesmith Tolrin Jilker, a cousin of Patriarch Hignar Jilker. While an accomplished cleric, he is overly trust and needs to spend more time away from his holy water. The Iron Knight Barus Clinkscales is in charge of the 32 soldiers that accompanied the Forgesmith. The party is part of the delegation. Their task has been broadly defined as assisting Forgesmith Tolrin, keeping the King’s cousin alive and keeping the Ten Towns delegation in line.

Morning has just come and your days are about to begin. While the soldiers stay in a nearby warehouse, the party is staying at a gnomish run inn, the Goblin’s Groin. It’s worn placard outside shows a gnome with his boot on a goblin’s groin holding up a mace.

It seemed like a good idea last night…

Duervar sits in the corner, nursing a mug of spirits. Despite being inside, he still wears his heavy black cloak around him. Come to think of it, none of you recall him ever taking it off.
His shield and massive warpick lie next to him, propped up against the wall within. His blue, glowing eyes stare eerily from underneath his cloak, penetrating the veil of darkness the cloak casts on his face. He glares up a the rest of the party. He's always antisocial, even for a dwarf, and none of you have ever enjoyed having him as a party member. Still, his skill with his massive warpick cannot be denied, and he's helped save the paty's butts more than once.
While he is rude to every party member, Duervar is especially foul to Kelith. Being an outspoken athiest, he had always argued with the priest, calling him a fool for beleiving in anything he couldn't touch or taste. When Kelith had tried to use his magical ability as proof of his God's exhistence, Duervar had simply snorted and replied, "Just a different form of magic. Wizards use incantartions, you chant to your supposed god. What proof do you ahve that it's your God that's giving you power. You could be calling on Mephistopholes himself for all you know! Save your healing for somebody who cares. I've got your "Godly Power" in a bottle!"

Kelith

Kelith sits by the tables and orders himself an ale. He is dressed in black, red, and gold cleric vestments with the Symbol of Kossuth on the front and the back of them. Across his chest is a bandoleer of 5 daggers and a blood red spiked chain is slung across his left shoulder. He has short dark brown hair and deep red eyes that seem indifferent to his surroundings. He seems approachable to those who desire company, although the conversation could well turn religious if not subverted.

An older gnomish woman walks over to the table where everyone is sitting and looks around at the group. Her clothes are old and she looks like she'd rather be asleep. In her hands is a wax tablet and a stylus.

"Oi, ye boys look like a fine bunch of fearsome cutters. In with that bunch of dwarves?" She squints at the group. "Probably, as there be a few with ye! Come to harangue the council about tariffs again? Although, ye don't look the type to be talking to society.."

She sniffles and wipes her nose on her shirt sleeve, than rubs her red eyes.

"So what do ye have an appetite for? I warn ya, I'm outta bacon and eggs and what's left is double the price. Shortages and all, we best be getting ready for the winter." She smile and lets the news sink in.

Leaning forward towards Duervar, she peers at him and says very slowly, as one would talk to a child.

"What... do.... you... want?"

Hjalmar

Hjalmar sits at the far end of the table, constantly trying to catch a glimpse of the outside. Grub, his dire boar mount, is tied outside and he can sometimes get agressive amongst strangers. Most people know better than to get close to a wild beast three times their size, though.

Otherwise he looks his usual self. Always in his heavy, the warhammer leaned against the wall. He sometimes has to move away one of the three braids that make up his beard in order not to spill ale on them. But what most people focus on, and probably what makes the waitress stay so far away, is his left eye. Or rather the lack thereof. He doesn't evn have an eye patch. When seeing face to face with Hjalmar you'll inevitably stare into his empty eye socket. A sight that catches many people off guard. You can clearly see that this is no man to male small talk to. When asking trivial questions, you are bound to get a cold hard stare for an answer. Hjalmar doesn't talk much.

The human Raltise paces back and forth, muttering to himself at length. He's new to the group; he joined entirely so he could eventually travel to Sunderhelme. What little you know of him makes him out as being rather friendly and talkative, and also unnervingly calm when he wants to be. He's a psychic; while not exactly rare, it's certainly uncommon, and always reminds people of Illithids whenever they're reminded of it.

Sitting in the corner is his small elemental companion, Lythe. Like her human, she's also friendly and talkative, although possibly moreso than Ralts (as she calls him). Even though she's sitting in possibly the darkest corner, her faint, almost eerie glow completely fails to disguise her rocky body. Next to the geodite is Raltise's bow, which she's keeping an eye on almost overprotectively.

Duervar glares hatefully at the gnomish woman. Then, without any noticable dwarven accent at all, he says coldly, "If you treat all your heroes like children, than they're likely to act like them. I deserve as much respect from the likes of you as any of my companions. Whatever prejudice you may have against me, I would suggest you keep it to yourself, lest you provoke my ire."

"Now now, Mr. Whurdek. If you act like a child, you're liable to be treated like one. Now, what do you think will happen when you threaten the landlady?" As usual, Raltise's voice hints at amusement, as do his eyes. He gives the half-deurgar a grin. "Maybe you should stop pretending to be mute, Mr. Whurdek. I'm sure people would treat you fairly if you opened your mouth once in a while. Without threatening them, I mean."

Magnum seems to be enjoying himself as usual when there's ale on hand. At the humans comment Magnum burst into laughter, "I have always enjoyed yer wit, especially when its directed at someone so sour." Magnum grins widely and looks over to Duervar, "Haven't we talked about working on yer ability to make friends."

(ooc er sorry if i did something wrong,Iam new to this)

A cloaked figure nears the town. Drifting silently closer, its impossible to tell his race or affiliation... for now..

Duervar scowls deeper, then chuckles a bit. "Sorry mam. Didn't mean anything by my comments. Though you should know I can understand as fully as any of my companions. I am not stupid." He looks back at the human. "How's that for friendship skills you rotten son of a Mind Flayer!"
He takes another sip of his spirits and curls deeper into his isolation, grumbling to himself.

At this Magnum roars all the louder, fully enjoying both the banter and the booze.

The gnomish woman listens to Duervar's response and the bickering of the group with as pinched and severe a face as the cherubic little gnome can muster. She is clearly growing impatient.

"I wasn't talking to you like that because I didn't think you could understand me. I was because you look simple and I don't like your type or why you're here. Or you, or you or you... and whatever that little chattering boulder is." She says, pointing at the group.

"Try being a gnome and get taken seriously! Our town needs the tariffs to survive and we don't appreciate any of ye tight fisted northerners coming down the Means and complaining. Ye think its rough up there? So I couldn't give a rothe's arse that ye look like ye crawled out of a chimney. All we have is gruel and bread. I'm Yvira, by the way. May I take yer order?"

She smiles pleasantly and waits attentively with her stylus. Her smile seems to make her disdain even clearer. In the back, you here another gnome rummaging around and throwing logs into a stove.

Arum sits quietly in a corner as the conversation takes place around him, but his ears perk up at the landlady's last statement.

"Madam, he says "I'll have you know that being a gnome is no reason to act disdainfully toward us. Look at me, I am a gnome and yet also a member of this group. And I will have you know that this dwarf, as well as many others is perfectly wonderful company. Now please, behave as a proper owner of an establishment like this and treat us, your customers, well or so help me I'll see to it that you will regret it not doing it." He doesn't know how he'd do that, but he is hoping she doesn't ask.

[roll0]

Kelith

Looking quite perturbed at the waitress's disrespect of his group he has grown fond, of Kelith looks up at her before talking. "No Yvira I think i've had enough ignorance and spite tonight to leave no room for bread nor gruel. If you'd be enjoyable enough as to leave us the well alone I believe we would think more highly of you. Right now your stature only metaphors your respect. No disrespect to you Arum; I hold you in highest regard."

Arum bows his head slightly. "None taken, I could not have said it better myself."

Yvira does not look terribly intimidated by Arum and instead fixes her gaze upon him now.

"Now how are ye going to do that?" Yvira shakes her head. "The one in the hood said I should be treat'n my heroes more kindly. I know why you're here. My husband is on the Stone's Council, yes the one in the kitchen trying to start a fire. The Ten Towns have been howling at us for years about the caravan taxes and fees here, but we need it for our survival and that keeps gettin' dodgier each year. Now the dwarves are back and the Ten Townies have brought ye along to lean on us. Showing up with half a hundred soldiers and more coming. A delegation and escort? Council was harshly split on that... So ignorant, I am not."

Her face becomes pinched again.

"That being said, yer still guests. I'll have me daughter bring out some porridge. Only thing we have really, anyways."

She turns and walks back into the kitchen.

A few minutes after Yvira left, Tolrin Jilker walks up from the stairs from the basement rooms. Few buildings had more than one level in Hundlestone as they preferred to dig down to better heat the establishment.

He is dressed in brown earthsilk clothes, some jewelry and wrapped in an expensive cloak made out of winter wolf fur. The cloak is nearly impervious to a normal chill. He also wears an oversized holy symbol of Moradin on a golden chain. Tolrin wears a short, braided, beard and has his long black hair slicked back and knotted at the back. He has a gentle demeanor and is chronically relaxed and a slightly ashen complexion, yet his eyes betray an agile mind. The cleric looks around the room and rubs his tired eyes. Walking over to the table, he sits and smiles at the group.

"I was rather hoping the food would be here already. I do try to time waking and eating together. Along with some tea. They are bringing tea, yes? I do hope they have some hares as well." He smiles at the thought.

"When we're done breaking our fast together, we need to get our equipment on. Before we go talking to the Council here, we'll be going to visit the tomb of Hundle, Hurler-of-Hammers in the nearby mountains. It'll take the better part of the day and we'll meet the Council this night. If we're lucky, we'll see the Valkyries coming down to meet us, maybe ever the Northstar caravan if its high enough. They say his tomb is guarded by two magicked hammers. Be good to make sure they're still fine. I doubt anyone here would know how to fix the wards." He grumbles slightly.

"Any questions? And how well were ye received this morning? Yvira's husband's on the Council, ye know."

Hjalmar

Hjalmar still sat quietly, all through the conversation with the land lady. Although he didn't show it, he was enraged. Not because they had been treated bad, for in his opinion they hadn't. Instead he was angry at his "companions". He hated how daft they were. No one who demands to get respect will ever get any; they will only get into arguments. Why couldn't Duervar have been the bigger man for a change and let it slide. Frankly, Hjalmar despised that attitude. He was quite bitter at the thought of having to travel with bullies. Why had he been forced to go here? Wretched church.

Raltise brings his hand to his forehead, and sighs. "Why must my travelling companions be a bunch of hot heads and bullies? Can't I have friendly allies for once?" He gives Tolrin Jilker a strained smile as he waits for the porridge.

Tolrin frowns slightly and looks at Raltise. "What did I miss this time?"

Kelith

"If by bullies you mean those who stand up for their companions when they are completely disrespected, then yes i suppose we do have some bullies here. But it seems she has left us alone so there isn't any point for dwelling on it. So long as respect is given, respect is shown. Although some of my more extreme and hot-tempered faithful would show a more ugly side to such disrespect."

Bundok Steelsmith

Nothing but incomprhensible, non-committal grunts and "Harumphs!" came from the pile of fur on the bench along the wall during the interchange with the lady of the house.

At Tolrin's comments about heading out, the bundle shuffled and groaned and eventually resolved itself into the ugly, ever sour-faced dwarf, Bundok, self-professed armorsmith turned tunnel-rat, scout, and badass with a stick.

Dark smudges of soot seemed tattooed on the stocky dwarf, and his beard and hair were a constant bird's nest of knots and tangles. Smacking his lips together and rubbing some sleep from his eyes, he began digging through the pack he had stuffed under the bench. An obviously well-kept chain shirt came out of the pack and was slipped over his head to settle on his broad shoulders. A strange, almost harness-like gathering of rope got draped over his shoulders and across his chest forming an X across his torso.

Setting the bag on the floor once again, the pile of furs that had been draped over him got shaken out and pinned around his neck to hang like the cloak it actually was. Grey wolf pelt lined the outside of the cloak, but the inside was a much lighter color and appeared a much softer material.

After stomping his feet further into the thick leather boots he wore, he sat back down on the bench and grabbed the wooden staff he had leaned near his resting spot. It appeared to be a very well-made staff and was carved with runes of the various gods of the dwarven people.

Resting it on his lap, he looked around at his group and showed little interest in much going on in the room while he waited for the signal to move out.

Tolrin frowns and has a sad, discouraged look on his face.

“I think I can figure out the rest… They are bringing food still though, yes? What about the hares? Did they have any of those?” Tolrin seems equally concerned about the food and the incident.

“I was hoping that staying here would give us a chance to make friends with one of the Council without actually seeking them out. Well… don’t blame yourselves, unless you should. They have a reputation for being a bit prickly here. What did Yvira say, actually?”

Tolrin sighs and leans back in his chair. Fumbling around inside his cloak, he withdraws a fine flask made of mithril and takes a long pull on it. A minute later, a younger gnome girl with blue ribbons in her hair comes and sets down a pot of porridge and several bowls with spoons. She returns a minute later with a pitcher of wine, smiles slightly and leaves.

“Oh dear... No hares…” Tolrin frowns and fills his bowl. "So what did she say?"

Ralts sits down in a chair, grumbling a little at how they never get human proportions right in these places. He fills his bowl, shaking salt over his breakfast before digging in gladly. He hasn't eaten since dinner, after all, and he's starving.

Duervar nods approvingly at Tolrin, saying "Morning..." He then looks at the porridge. He seems rather grumpy, even for him, as he looks a the food in consternation. After several seconds, he grunts and sets his empty mug down on the table. He gets up, and without a word, heads to the back of the inn, presumably the kitchen. A scowl is evident on his features, but something else too. Somrthing's obviously bothering him.

He returns several minutes later, with amazingly, a smile of sorts on his features. He sits back down at his seat, and begins to devour the food set before him.

Several minutes later, the little gnome girl exits the kitchen again wearing oversized mittens. In her hands is a pot of stewed hares with some potatoes floating about in the black cauldron. She says little more than courtesies and exits as anonymously as she came.

Obviously happy, Tolrin is the first to fill his bowl full of the hot stew. His mood improved, he declares "I knew they had some! At least the trip is not a total loss."

Catching Lythe's glittering eyes, Tolrin smiles and reaches into a small bag. He tosses some bits of gravelled quartz over its way for it to enjoy and returns to his stew.

"When yer done here, get on yer tack and meet me back down here. Oh yes... does someone want to inform Clinkscales of our plans? It'll just be us going up to Hundle's tomb." Tolrin smiles and waits for an answer before returning to the stew. "Help yourselves to some stew as well before ye go!"

Duervar sniffs the air as the stew comes forward. Upon Tolrin's offer, Duervar makes his way quickly to the stew and gets himself a bowl. "I'll take the stew sir, but I'll pass on the informing Clinkscales. I'm no messenger boy, with all due respect."
He brings the steaming hot food back to his table and begins to eat. After several seconds, he notices his hood has fallen back over his shoulders. He grunts once and brings the cowl back over his head. Before he can do this, however, everyone manages to see his scarred, dark-skinned face. The msot disturbing thing about him, though, is lack of beard. The only facial hair he posseses is a little tuff of black hair sticking out of the base of his chin.

Even though already half through with the gruel in front of him, Magnum doesn't hesitate on the offer of stew. "Now this here's a mighty improvement," Magnum says still with a wide grin.

He looks over to Duervar and not for the first time feels pity for him that he is not comfortable with the way he looks. He wished that some way he could tell him it didn't matter but serious conversation was never his forte.

"So, who's seeing Clinkscales? Not Duervar, I guess. He don't bite. Clinkscales, I mean." Tolrin chuckles. "Bundok, why don't ye go? Only take a moment."