The Caravan in the Ice

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The Revelation

Return to Bryn Shander

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The Revelation

"Oh my! She sounds very strange indeed!" Fizz exclaims. "I wonder if she's talking about that nasty Mr. Eyeball down in the tunnel?"

Fizz says out the side of his mouth to Mutt, just loud enough for him to hear. "I say we take em! We're going that way anyway, and a little extra gold never hurt! Besides! I like green eyes! Sounds like maybe she's a lost druid or something. Oooo... I wonder if there's a shaggy Ice druid up in these parts! Don't suppose you've seen a druid up here have you Ms. Shensu? He wouldn't be green I suppose.. .more of a powdery white? Although he'd have to have some plants to grow... or maybe he can grow lichen! Hmm...Lichen soup is supposed to be very good.. maybe with Pine needles?" Fizz begins to mutter to himself about Lichen and Pine soups, breads, and oatmeals as he wanders off to the left away from the party gently kicking at the snow looking for answers.

Orin maintains his distance, covering his cautious inspection of the scene by pulling his hood tight around his face.

He shifts half a step back, boots grinding softly into the snow as if adjusting for balance. The faint, translucent shimmer of Mage Armor ripples around him as the wind catches it, an arcane distortion only those trained to notice would recognize. Just outside it, an arcane ward hums, ready and waiting.

When the voice recites from within the crate, Orin’s jaw tightens. The Oculus presses once against his pack, a subtle vibration, like a struck tuning fork settling back into silence.

He meets Mutt’s gaze briefly. No words. Just a slow, deliberate tilt of the head to indicate his pack, and his unease. A recognition that there is more to this and to be wary.

"We should help these folks to their destination, and see what we can learn of what befell this woman," he says to Mutt, eyes scanning in Azalie's last known direction. "She may not be dangerous, but she may be... afflicted."

He hopes his vagueness is enough for the Howlbears, but not so much as to alarm the strangers.

He tries to be nonchalant and casual as he makes space between him and the crate, still remaining close enough to hear, and to intervene as needed.

A shiver runs down Mutt's spine as the woman's dull chants emerge from the box. He hears the input from the other Howlbears, but makes no move. No emotions cross his face to betray his thoughts. He didn't like their description of this woman to start with. The way the chanting coincided with the subtle hum of the orb set his hairs standing on end. He didn't like this situation one bit. He looks from the box to the trio that guard it and frowns.

"You seem to think she's too dangerous to leave unguarded and uncontained. What's the plan once you lot arrive in town? Were you just going to drop her off at the gate and dash off to the nearest common room?"

Mutt pauses and considers the thought. It didn't sound so bad when he said it out loud. He shakes his head.

"Where were you coming from, anyway? Why travel with so few when even larger caravans are disappearing?" Mutt glances back briefly at the Howlbears behind him and catches Orin's look. Nodding almost  imperceptibly to the wizard he looks back to the caravan. "I'm going to need a few more answers here."

Shensu doesn’t bristle at the question. If anything, she looks relieved someone finally asked it out loud.

She exhales through her nose, fog curling in the cold air.

“No,” she says. “We weren’t going to dump her at the gate and run.”

Her grip tightens slightly on the spear shaft, knuckles whitening under the lacquered blue.

“We were told to bring her to Bryn Shander. To the Temple district, if we could. There are people there with more authority than a roadside priest. People who can decide whether she’s sick, cursed, or something worse.” She glances at the crate. “And what to do with her if she is.”

Her eyes flick back to Mutt, steady.

“We’ve kept her contained because we didn’t know what else to do. Because leaving her alone out there would’ve been a death sentence, and turning her loose among travelers would’ve been worse.”

She follows his second question without missing a beat.

“We came from the eastern shore. Near Lac Dinneshere.” Her jaw tightens as she says it. “We weren’t a caravan then. Just five people heading north with supplies. The raids hadn’t reached us yet.”

A pause.

“Then they did.”

Jory shifts, uncomfortable. Mave stares at the snow.

“We lost two along the way,” Shensu continues quietly. “Not to blades. Not to monsters we could see. Things in the night. Tracks that didn’t make sense. Lights on the hills.”

She meets Mutt’s gaze again.

“We travel light now because heavy caravans draw attention. And because fewer people means fewer graves if we’re wrong.”

Another soft thump comes from under the tarp, almost apologetic.

Shensu doesn’t look back this time.

“We don’t think she’s evil,” she says. “But we don’t think she’s safe either. All we know is that whatever touched her… didn’t let go.”

She spreads her hands, honest and tired.

“So yes. The plan was Bryn Shander. Help from someone bigger than us. And if you hadn’t come along—” she shrugs once, sharp and bitter, “—we’d still be walking that way anyway. Alone or not.”

Azalie stays back, training her sharp elven ears on the group. She has heard every word they’ve said.

“This can’t be good.” She glances toward Mellon.

He’ll need to get Orin’s attention. Her position cannot be discovered. Something gnaws at her gut.

Then she feels it, the connection to him.

How did he find them so fast?

Who did he send?

The gnawing crawls up her neck.

“Fly to Orin. Try to get him away from that box.” Azalie sends the bird, willing it to behave as naturally as possible. Just another bird in the dark. Still, dread presses in on her thoughts.

Azalie stays where she is, unmoving. Watching. She does not believe the thing in the crate is a beast. But belief is not certainty. She closes her eyes briefly, extending her awareness outward, listening to the land, the wind, the life around her.

Something here does not belong.

Her bow is already in her hand.

If anything moves toward Orin, she will loose and arrow without hesitation.

Mellon settles near Orin’s shoulder as naturally as falling snow.

Orin does not look up at first. He feels the shift in the air before he sees the bird. The Oculus hums faintly at his side, then stills.

A moment later, Azalie steps from behind the boulder, her movements soundless, her presence sudden only if you weren’t watching for it.

“This thing in the box,” she murmurs, eyes never leaving the sled. “It’s wrong. Not like a beast. Not like a corpse. It feels… open.”

She swallows.

“And something is looking through it.”

Orin’s jaw tightens. He nods once.

“That matches,” he says quietly. “She isn’t dangerous.”

Azalie’s gaze flicks to him, sharp. “Then what is she?”

Orin lowers his voice further, until it is barely more than breath and frost.

“She’s useful. To him.”

Azalie’s expression hardens. “Xal’Zyress.”

“Yes.” Orin glances toward the sled, then back to her. “The Oculus isn’t reacting to her. It recognizes the same signal. Mind flayer psionics, filtered through something… older.” His fingers brush his pack unconsciously. “She’s a window. And the window is already open.”

Azalie exhales slowly.

“So he knows where we are.”

Orin does not answer immediately.

“He knows we are here,” he says at last. “And unless we break that link, he will know where we go next.”

A few paces away, Mutt finishes listening to Shensu. He catches Orin’s eye.

Orin gives a slight, deliberate nod.

Mutt turns back to Shensu. “We need a moment,” he says evenly. “All of us. We’ll be quick.”

Shensu hesitates, then nods. “Do what you need to do.”

The Howlbears gather near the boulder Azalie was hiding behind, backs turned slightly from the sled, voices low, tight, efficient.

Orin explains. Briefly. Precisely.

No speculation. No dramatics.

The truth lands like a stone dropped into still water.

Silence follows.

“So she’s not the danger,” Dorf mutters at last. “She’s the trail.”

“And the trail’s already been found,” Mutt replies.

Fizz frowns, unusually quiet. “But… she’s still a person.”

“Yes,” Azalie says. “That’s the problem.”

They do not debate long. There is no good answer waiting in the snow.

They cannot leave her here.

And standing still only makes it worse.

“We get to Bryn Shander,” Mutt says. “Fast. Then we decide our next move.”

No one argues.

Azalie steps fully into the open now, no longer hiding. She takes her place with the group as they fall back into formation. The sled creaks forward. The wind howls louder, as if displeased.

The road to Bryn Shander stretches ahead, dark and unforgiving.

An hour from the city, they stop behind a low rise of rock. The wind screams across the tundra, flinging ice like needles. Lanterns are kept hooded. Food is eaten quickly. No fire.

Fizz fidgets.

Curiosity gnaws at him like hunger.

While Dorf stands watch near the sled and the others huddle close, Fizz drifts just far enough to be unnoticed. Just far enough to be Fizz.

He lifts the edge of the tarp.

Just a little.

Inside the crate is no monster.

No writhing horror.

It is a woman.

Dwarven. Wrapped in furs. Gaunt. Bruised.

Thin scars mark her scalp, precise and cruel, where something was pressed again and again. Faint fungal filaments trace along her neck and jaw, half-hidden beneath the skin. Her eyes are open, unfocused… glowing faintly green in the lanternlight.

Fizz’s breath catches.

He knows that face.

He’s seen it before.

One of Hruna’s miners.

One of the ones who never came back.

The woman’s lips move.

Not toward him.

Past him.

Fizz lets the tarp fall.

He backs away slowly, heart pounding, soups and lichen forgotten.

Ahead of you, the lights of Bryn Shander glow faintly against the dark.

Behind you, the wind howls.

And somewhere, far below the ice and stone—

something listens.

Next Post: Arrival In Bryn Shander

You are 1 hour from Bryn Shander.

Next post will take you into the city, you can post any retro dialogue on your journey, each of you can make any skill checks relevant to anything you may want to do during the trip.

Next posts also can include your plans and activities once you arrive in Bryn Shander, please include where you are staying in the town.

Even though it's only early afternoon, the twilight has already fallen and it feels like night. A reminder of the curse that is upon these lands.

Current Time: 5:00 PM

Date: Fourthday 4, Ches, 1742

Temperature: 21°

Current Phase: Exploration

Return to Bryn Shander

The march down from Kelvin’s Cairn is quiet, but not peaceful.

The wind never fully relents, hissing across the snowfields and cutting through layered furs like a warning whispered over and over again. The caravan moves carefully, sled runners groaning softly as the slope gradually levels out and the distant lights of Bryn Shander grow brighter with each passing minute.

Retro Actions - On the Road

As Shensu’s explanation lingers in the cold air, Dorf keeps his place near the sled, eyes sharp and posture loose in the way of someone ready to explode into motion at a heartbeat’s notice. Her words echo in his mind.

Told to bring her to the Temple district.

Not decided.

Not chose.

Told.

When the spacing opens enough for quiet conversation, Dorf leans slightly toward Orin, voice low.

“Who told them?” he asks simply. “And if she’s being watched… could they be too?”

Orin does not answer immediately. He watches the sled, the tarp shifting subtly with the rhythm of travel.

“I don’t believe they’re thralls,” he says at last. “Not in the way she is. But they’ve been guided. Nudged. Enough to put them on this road.”

Dorf grunts softly. It’s not reassurance, but it’s enough to confirm what his instincts have been screaming since the rest stop.

He keeps the sled, the travelers, and the horizon all in his line of sight from that point on.

Azalie eats sparingly as the caravan pauses again near dusk, her attention never leaving the tarp. She misses the briefest lift of fabric when Fizz peeks inside—but she feels the shift immediately, like pressure building behind her eyes.

She waves him over sharply.

“Fizz,” she whispers. “What did you see?”

His usual grin doesn’t come right away.

When he tells her, quietly, haltingly, her blood runs cold.

A miner. One of Hruna’s people. Alive. Broken. Changed.

Azalie’s jaw tightens. Her eyes flick to the sled, then back to Fizz.

“Should I end her?” she asks, blunt and terrifyingly calm.

The question hangs there, heavy and real.

Orin answers before Fizz can.

“No,” he says firmly. “Whatever was done to her… killing her doesn’t close the window. It only shatters the glass.”

Azalie exhales slowly, the tension in her shoulders easing by a fraction.

“Then we warn the guard,” she says. “Immediately.”

Mutt stays close to Orin for the remainder of the journey, deliberately positioning himself between the wizard and the sled whenever terrain allows. He keeps conversation light when it needs to be, probing when it doesn’t.

When he presses Shensu again—who told you to bring her—the answer finally comes, halting and uneasy.

“A priest,” she admits. “In Easthaven. Or… someone who claimed to be. He said Bryn Shander had the resources. The wards. The right people.”

She looks tired when she says it. Not deceptive. Just very aware that trusting that voice may have been a mistake.

Arrival at Bryn Shander - 6:00 PM

The walls of Bryn Shander rise out of the snow like a promise kept.

Torchlight flickers along the parapets as the gates loom ahead, iron-bound and familiar. The guards at the entrance straighten as the caravan approaches—and then recognition sparks.

“Well I’ll be damned,” one of them mutters. “If it isn’t the Howlbears.”

The tension breaks just enough to let warmth back in.

“You lot don’t stay gone long, do you?” another guard calls, grinning beneath his frost-lined helm. “Scramsax is still talking about that concert you played, Bromwell.”

The gates open without delay.

Inside, the city is winding down for the night. Market stalls are shuttered, but the taverns are alive with firelight and voices. The smell of cooked meat and spilled ale cuts through the cold like a blessing.

You are home—if only temporarily.

The Temple

Shensu wastes no time. With your escort, the sled is brought directly to the House of the Triad, where the clerics are already moving to assist once the tarp is pulled back fully.

The reaction is immediate—and grim.

“She’s alive,” Dain Ironfist confirms after a tense examination. “But her mind is… compromised.”

Fungal traces are identified quickly, though altered, interwoven with something far stranger. The clerics exchange looks.

“This can be treated,” another says carefully. “But not quickly. And not easily. Whatever has been done to her was layered. Purposeful."

Dain Ironfist takes you aside and tells you that while they can likely purge the fungal infection, and sever the psionic link - the damage to her mind is irreversible. She may never be the same again.

They take the woman into their care, promising isolation, wards, and observation.

No guarantees. Only effort.

Shensu pays the agreed sum without argument—100 gold, plus a small bundle of travel supplies offered with quiet gratitude.

“I hope,” she says simply, “that whatever comes next… doesn’t come for you first.”

Then the caravan parts ways.

The Northlook

By the time you reach the Northlook Inn, the cold has settled deep into bone—but the warmth inside is immediate.

Mutt bursts in, his arms spread wide. The cold and weariness seemed to melt away as soon as the familiar smells and sounds of the common room enveloped him.

"Scramsax! Please pour a round for the Howlbears and put it on my tab! I don't suppose you've seen Dannika around lately? We've returned with stories of her chawingas!"

Mutt places a finger to the side of his nose and winks at Scramsax. "We ran into mind flayers, drow, and undead beholders too, if you'd give good ol' Mutt a chance to tell his tales. What do you say?"

Scramsax looks up, blinks once, then breaks into a grin.

“Well I’ll be,” he laughs. “If it isn’t trouble on legs. You back already, Bromwell? The stage is all yours, we have no one scheduled tonight, but if you want a larger crowd, we should advertise and schedule you in a few days, totally up to you. In the mean time, I'll pour the drinks.”

Scramsax is more than happy to let you play, you just need to decide on a time.

The familiar sounds of dice, laughter, and clanking mugs wash over you. For a moment, the weight lifts.

But it doesn’t vanish.

You feel it still—like eyes lingering just beyond the firelight. Like a clock that has started ticking somewhere you can’t see.

You are safe.

For now.

You are now in Bryn Shander, early evening.

Please respond with:

1. How long the Howlbears intend to remain in Bryn Shander

2. What each of you does while in town (downtime, investigations, social scenes, preparation)

3. Where you are staying (Northlook Inn or elsewhere)

4. 
   

You can also include any retro dialogue from the road or immediate reactions to the woman being placed in the Temple’s care.

The city feels familiar.

But you are no longer unnoticed.

And Xal’Zyress is patient.

DM NOTES: The Shops have been updated, but I have not finished updating all the temple options (quests and services) I will let you know when they are updated via chat

Current Time: 8:15 PM

Date: Fourthday 4, Ches, 1742

Temperature: 21°

Current Phase: Exploration

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