Icewind Dale Roleplay

[Blothulfur]

You stand in a small sheltered cove, some way up the shore from the ferry village, waiting for the Pathfinder to return. The recent clash with the townsmen nags at the back of your mind, but the wind whipping across Lac Dinneshere brings with it more important matters, with the smell of burned wood and flesh.

Eventually a small sailboat drifts into view, the Pathfinder paddling quietly. You wade out into the Lake and vault over the side to take a place behind her, the little fishing boat will do admirably. You busy yourself setting the sail, and then settle yourself in the stern steering board under your right arm. All the time you feel the Elfs eyes upon you, watching and weighing.

"Speak then." You state, meeting her eye.

She casts back her head, defiant. "There were six men slain in that village, all lying down as if they had simply fallen asleep and then frozen to death. Their wives and children gathered around them, likely going to starve over the coming months!" Her green eyes blaze with an accusatory fire.

You lean forward. "If they were family men then they had no business trying to murder strangers, my conscience is clear." You lie with cool indifference.

She turns around wrapping herself in her robes and sitting as far from you as possible, you roll your eyes and with a spoken word set a wind in the sail. The boat leaps forward, skipping over the waves like a good clinker built vessel should, making good time across the waters.

You cross the lake in silence, to the north a great fleet of fishing vessels gather, other survivors from Easthaven and townsmen from Caer Dineval and Caer Konig. But for the moment they gather their courage, shout and argue over what is to be done. You will have time enough.

You drift into the ruined dock of Easthaven under cover of smoke and drifting ash, here and their fires still burn but they cannot endure long in the climate of Icewind Dale. With a single word the wind is ripped from your sail, and you are grounded on a small beach where the charred skeletons of other boats lie.

The Pathfinder jumps out of the boat, her bow drawn and an arrow knocked, looking all around with her keen Elven eyes. You follow, drawing your sword and summoning power to your free hand, the flames along your blade illuminate the murky scene with an ethereal blue glow.

Everything is burned, no house or structure is left standing, and the sickly sweet smell of charred bodies rise from lumps lying in the snow. You take the lead, making for the Temple of Tempus, if any place has survived then it will be that holy church, no Reghedman would raise a hand against their god.

A mound of bodies turns you from the path, many slain ten townsmen lie here, terrible wounds of combat upon them, and a single slain Reghedman. He is dressed in full armour, padded gambeson, heavy mail coat, iron rimmed and bossed shield, along with a great helm covering his face so that only his eyes look out. A terrifying last sight. In his hand is a cruel spear and at his belt lies a fine sword, and they are old but of the finest make, this warrior came to make war in his finest regalia.

More importantly his shield is painted with the rearing Elk of that Reghedman tribe, this is proof of a kind. Flipping back his face plate in the vain hope you might know him, you are surprised to see what the flames have done, he looks many days dead but then again the cold and the flames have most cruelly scorched his arms and armour.

"Black Wolf." The whispered hiss comes from the Pathfinder, and you see that she has pulled forth a small talisman, a silvery representation of a hand which points ahead to the Temple of Tempus. "The rift is very near." She whispers to you, giving the talisman a jiggle which affects its pointing in no way.

You nod, stand and cannot help but give a grim sigh. "I feared as much. Be ready Elf, we may be facing Demonspawn!" You stride into the mist, summoning your will, armouring yourself in potent wards and readying devastating attacks. If the Rift that Jerrod sealed has been opened then all of it may be for naught, Icewind Dale will be consumed.

The smoke clears to reveal the great Temple of Tempus, burned, broken and battered, it's door hang from their hinges and its great blue stained glass windows are soot stained and shattered by the heat. Even as an unbeliever, more used to the material world and your own might this still touches you, no Reghedman could stand here and be unaffected by this. Tempos is the god of your ppeople, and this place is their holiest of holies, you cannot concieve of who would do this.

What do you do?

 

[Blothulfur]

Update tomorrow folks.

 

[Blothulfur]

The Pathfinder slips away into the smoke and mist, as invisble as any sorcerer could wish. You keep your eyes on the temples broken and burned doors, and glimpse a shadow slip inside, the Pathfinder moving quick and low. No wonder she managed to ambush you, she could have slain you then and there, you stroke your beard and grimace, pointless to think about it.

You do not have to wait long, a waved hand gestures from the shadowed doorway and sword in one hand, terrifying arcane ruin grasped in the other you dash into the temple. It is empty, empty and yet all too full.

[video=youtube;i4PPoCOf-j4]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i4PPoCOf-j4[/video]

The bodies of women and children lie here, butchered and thrown aside. They fought fiercely, as fiercely as their men for many of the elaborately armed and armoured Reghedmen lie amongst them, but it was not enough. They were all slaughtered, a cowardly sickening deed. Their broken and butchered bodies are lit by reflections from the stained glass above, dancing lights that serve to mock their rest. You walk amongst them, your booted feet growing sticky with blood, ashes and broken glass.

You are at a loss, you stand and stare about stroking your beard, your jaw working around the rage you feel. So many lives severed for no good reason. You would have stood against the invaders with all your might were you here, and made them pay dearly, fellow Reghedmen or not.

The Pathfinder touches your shoulder and holds up the hand talisman, that tracks the rift the Elven spellweavers say opened here. You nod and wipe your hand over your face, and are surprised to feel wetness there, you shed tears and did not even know it. How strange.

The talisman leads you to the far end of the temple, beyond where the townsmen made their stand, to the shattered remains of a statue. Here once Tempus rode twin stallions into battle, but now he lies smashed and broken upon the temple floor. What tribemen would do such a thing, this is madness! You shake your head and follow the talisman, it seems to point down and you know where it leads. Once your ancestor Jerrod was kept in a vault below the temple, frozen forever in stone, his sacrifice holding back an army of demons from this world.

Between the stallions, among the rubble you find the great iron doors set into the floor, spells of containment long since broken when Jerrod's stone was taken south. Signalling the Elf to cover you, you heave up first one door then the other, revealing steps downwards into the gloom. You share a glance and a nod with your companion then jump down, the cold blue light from your sword serving to illuminate the staircase as you creep down.

You emerge in a vault of treasures and provisions, a storehouse of relics and the mundane. Among revered and ancient arms and armour lie barrels of oil, sacks of flour and other everyday items. You watch everything with a wary eye, it seems deserted but you remain wary.

On the far wall is an indentation, a round recess where once Jerrod's stone stood, and the Elfs talisman agrees that this is the source of the rift. You pad forward, while the Elf bows covers you from a distance, spells lie uneasy on your tongue and your eyes shift constantly.

Nothing seems untoward, all is quiet and undisturbed. Nearing the recess you reach out with your free hand, your senses extended even further, and feel for what might have happened here. There is an echo, a hint of something and you feel rage, unimaginable rage, but as for the wall between the worlds, it is strong, massively strong. That is not right, there are wardings here, something or somebody has slammed shut the ether at this point, and whatever they have done is so far beyond you that it boggles the mind.

You lean back and think, but a strange brimstone smell rises to your nostrils, and your eyes are drawn down. Between your feet footprints are burned into the stone, human seeming footprints that stop and turn about, as if facing the recess from which they emerged. Whoever or whatever arrived here they sealed the rift behind them, that much is obvious. You turn and follow the tracks, but they fade away into nothing between one stride and the next. You press your fingers into them in the vain hope of finding some clue, but there is nothing.

You raise your head and look at the Elf. "A demon walks upon Icewind Dale!"

What do you do?

 

[Blothulfur]

Shall we kick this in the head folks?

 

[Cs__sz__r]

Shit I nearly forgot to vote. I keep forgetting because I like to roll it around for awhile then forget to vote.

 

[Blothulfur]

You pause and look around the vault, it is bathed in gloom, with sorcerous lights marking the path from the entrance to the Alcove behind you. Two great Iron Golems stand deep in the darkness to either side, their massive forms scarred by weapons and powerful magics, broken and lifeless. On the right side of the stairs barrels, bales and boxes stretch to one of the Golems feet, containing all manner of provisions and mundane equipment, including much heavy and well made woolen clothing.

However it is the strange artifacts that lie to the left of the stairs that draws your feet forward, there is something waiting for you in the dark, and you feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up as you approach it. There are many strange and weird things lying here, but you pay them no mind, they are Tempus's. Against the wall between the stairs and this sides Golem however stand six little tables, each bearing a copper plaque and an artifact laid upon a velvet cushion. Hesitant and careful you are drawn to only one of the displays, a rectangular necklace of plain stone as large as the palm of your hand, upon it a black pawprint.

You extend your senses and feel the thing nagging at you, it aches to join with you and you know that it is called by your blood, the blood of Kresselack the Black Wolf. You hesitate and brush off the copper plate, revealing the inscription printed below the relic.

"Here lies a talisman of the Six, weilded by the Paladin Caius Ironheart, and left in the care of the Temple of Tempus to commemorate the defeat of the Demon Belhifet in this very room. They swore to return should the evil rise again."

You stroke your beard, then extending your hands over the Black Wolf talisman begin murmuring spells of knowing and identification, the talisman reveals its secrets eagerly. There is no curse here, none of the dreadful lineage that the sword at your side seems to carry, there is protection and strength, with this you may turn weak blows aside, heal dread wounds and be sure of the strength in your limbs.

You reach forward and lift the Black Wolf talisman from its velvet bed, a distant howl echoes across the vault and you turn to see the Elf watching you intently, she hears nothing and so it must be in your head. An echo of your great ancestor perhaps? Shrugging you fasten the heavy steel and granite chain around your neck, it is cold but feels good to you, like the first breath of a fresh autumn morning upon the Dale.

You stride to the stairs of the vault, eager to chase your future. The Pathfinder shakes her head at your theft of the talisman, but you hardly notice in your haste.

What do you do?

 

[Blothulfur]

Map of Icewind Dale in OP, feel free to make any other suggestions as to choices, I feel i'm forgetting something.

 

[Blothulfur]

Anybody feel like continuing this? I'm full of energy and the joys of spring (that's not all you're full of) and I feel a bit creative, so if you fancy a session drop us a comment. If not no probs i'll go out and drown me sorrows in cheap ale and cheaper women, either way I WIN!

 

[Cs__sz__r]

Or you could do both.

Yes, I've been wanting to ask for a continuation but didn't want to be pushy.

 

[volsung]

Bring it on Bloth. Just don't add FPS elements or micro transactions.

 

[Blothulfur]

Right ho i'll work on getting the poll options back up, think I still remember them.

 

[Glaroug.531]

Where's our romance option!:look:

 

[Blothulfur]

Well there are plenty of still warm corpses lying around.

Update tomorrow night if that's allright.

 

[Blothulfur]

With one booted foot on the first step leading up to the Temple you pause, might there be a way to see what happened here, could the Heratstone Gem's vision be subverted to this place? Even now you can feel the Gem pulling at you, hungering to reach Bryn Shander and the Dwarf who lies in a dark place beneath it, but a cunning mind can subvert anything and an iron will can succeed where others fail. Might it be possible to sate your cusriosity and glimpse this Demon?

"Black Wolf?" The Elf maiden asks, but you hush her with a single gesture and turn back to the alcove where Jerrod's Stone once hung. Pulling the Gem forth from your pocket you stride over to the alcove, and kneel down before the footprints of burning brimstone that still smolder before the closed rift. Here would be best, yes where great sorcery was worked, something to inspire you in your struggle with the stone.

[video=youtube;ED-L_OQwFI4]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ED-L_OQwFI4[/video]

You clutch the gem in both hands and peer into its polished depths, light and reflections glitter and decieve but they cannot stop your divination, and you plunge deeper into the Heart of the Heartstone.

You soar into the heavens and fierce winds roar and tear at your spirit form, bidding you follow them to Bryn Shander. You exert your will and stop the motion with an upraised hand, you have business today in Easthaven and can spare the Gem no time for its hunt. You fold you arms over your chest and plummet down through smoke and fog to stand in the midst of the desolation, the burned ruins of Easthaven, littered with the corpses of attackers and many more defenders and innocents. You try to look beyond time, to see a few hours back when the attack occurred but it is like straining against solid granite, the veil of time will not be parted, the Gem will not obey you. It has only one desire, and that lies in the dark under Bryn Shander.

You frown and seek flaws and imperfections to exploit, but there are none in this half world you tread, here there are only shadows and the wailing dead. You stop and turn around, yes the Gem has give you sight beyond sight, you can see spirits dancing in the Ether. Some leap into the infinite while others wail and mourn at their dead flesh, clutching at ragged ugly wounds and shedding bitter tears over their corpses, all the many dead are here except for one group. The attackers, the ornately armed and armoured Tribesmen of the Elk, none of their spirits are present, they are long gone and this is curious.

Shrugging off this mystery you fall back into the Temple, and focus your attention once more on the stone and dive even deeper into its faceted depths. You are for a moment wrapped in the deepest darkness, the embrace of the warm earth, but slowly this place is suffused by the green glow of life and strength. Awful, massive strength, that is at the same time delicate and fragile, a babe in arms that roars like Icasaracht herself. This you realise is the very centre of the Heartstone Gem, the seed and child of the Great Kuldahar Oak, and it thrums with power that you can feel shaking your very being. It is a heartbeat so loud it might deafen you, and you plunge deeper into the grave to pursue it.

The beat grows louder, thrum, thrum THRUM, THRUM but there is something else, another beat skipping away in its shadows almost lost in the Gem's massive rhythm. You focus on that and find something familiar in it, you know this somehow, and grasping hold of that weak rhythm you see what makes it.

A massive Mountain Dwarf, five feet in height and with shoulders almost as broad sits in the dark and broods, crusted blood flowing forth from an old wound on his forehead. His hair and beard are wild and filthy, his clothes mere rags, and look like they were even before he came to whatever place he now languishes in. He does not notice you for you are submerged in the massive beat of the Heartstone Gem, that tugs and pulls at him with every pulse, and it would be like noticing a snowdrop in the avalanche. Taking advantage of the moment you peer about, worked stone walls, a door of solid oak banded with iron, rotten straw lying upon the floor, a bucket for slops and a rotten lice infested pallet the Dwarf sits upon. You know a cell when you see one, he must be a prisoner, but for what crime?

You wave these questions aside and step back into the beating heart of the Gem. The Dwarf is bound to the stone and it to him, it will grant no visions so long as it is apart from the Dwarf, for it spends all its strength trying to reach or summon him. Perhaps with your art you might sever that connection, but summoning the Dwarves thread you are doubtful, these tendrils binding the two together are a part of the Gem and to sever them might harm it in some way. You summon power and begin poking and probing the construct, testing is strength and flaws while squeezing yourself ever deeper into its infinite facets.

It is much later when you stumble upon an answer, the threads that reach out to the Dwarf, they cannot be severed you are sure of that now for they are the roots of this seed, but maybe they can be guided to a new host. With careful manipulation over many days you might concievably shift the threads from the Dwarf to yourself, and thus become master of the Heartstone Gem, its bearer and protector. Then you could summon its full power and share of its vision.

You awaken from your meditations and smile, the Dwarf does not want this honour, why not do him a service and free him from its shackles?

What do you do?

 

[Blothulfur]

Ere somebody tell us how to edit the poll would you, cheers Bloth.

Thanks Reptile.

 

[Blothulfur]

Update Sunday?

 

[Glaroug.531]

@Blothulfur: Sure But do you mean the story or the poll?

If its an error on my end, I would like to see a new ward for the stone

 

[Blothulfur]

Reptile's updated the poll for us, I didn't add the option to try and bend the Gem to your will as it will take days to do and you have only a limited time before the Ten Townsman return to Easthaven and probably try and kill every Barbarian they see. As soon as you are somewhere safe though I will add it as a possibility.

 

[Blothulfur]

Well since this has come to an end I thought i'd spoil you and tell you what was happening:

1. The Archmage Arrakon of the Intro video had returned from the Abyss, escaping from his servitude to Belhifet, he emerged in the Temple of Tempus in Easthaven.
2. Kresselack the Black Wolf had been raised from the dead to serve as his general, bound by hellish chains like in the dream.
3. Through charm, intimidation and magic Arrakon had risen to prominence in Easthaven and disguised quickly became the new speaker for Bryn Shander.
4. Arrakon left a gift in Easthaven, a plague of undeath that would curse the dead to rise from their graves, they would shortly have begun to do so.
5. However smelling the Elven spellweavers nosing about Easthaven he raised fallen Elk Barbarian warriors from the nearby Isle of the Dead in Lac Dinneshere, and had them destroy the town, no witnesses.
6. He aimed to wipe out the Barbarians, trigger a genocidal war between the Ten Townsmen and them, Easthaven was the spark he was going to use. He had longer term plans but the Elves divinations made him hasty.
7. He would have recruited the protagonist if he could, promising anything in his power as Speaker of Bryn Shander.
8. If that plan failed he would use force, spread his plague all through the Ten Towns, let the people suffer and die then raise them to form an Undead Host led by his general Kresselack.
9. The Heartstone Gem when planted needed a mortals sacrifice to fuel the growth of a new Kuldahar, you could possibly steal the Dwarves bond and become that sacrifice.
10. It would be possible to free Kresselack of his enslavement, with the armour in which his soul is held, the sword that answered to his mind and the totem that strengthened his body.
11. The Elven Pathfinder and the Dwarven Druid would either fight with you or betray you, from your actions the Pathfinder was definitely going to try and kill you, and possibly serve Arrakon.
12. There would be a number of ways to defeat Arrakon, summon his master Belhifet to reclaim him at a fearsome price, Have him be consumed by the birth of the new Kuldahar, through your own sacrifice you might have been able to kill him or possibly just contain his evil as your ancestor Jerrod did, have him be destroyed in the creation of the old Kuldahar's mythal, but this would have left you outside the mythal and homeless.
13. I planned for there to be an opportunity to seize power as Arrakon's right hand or as his enemy, and to become King of Icewind Dale, of either the Ten Towns or a newly restored Barbarian nation if Arrakon's plague wiped out the Towns.
14. Arrakon was the old mage with the tattoo'd face you met at the ferry village, he had also been rousing the Elk Barbarians to fury by claiming the Ten Townsmen were responsible for the desecration of their deads resting places.

 

[Cs__sz__r]

Sad Face.