Winter's Savage Heart

[Kilaana]

She lay awake for a long time.

The clinic, with its straight walls and faded stone tiles held in the warmth brought from a nearby hearth, and the scent of dried herbs along with the acrid sharpness of disinfectant offered a familiar sense of comfort that was only really secured by the existence of her two companions in the same floorspace. When she had grown weary of waiting for the next intermittent lullaby from the family of cats that formed part of the clinic's residence, Kallian rose soundlessly from her cot on the upper floor and made her way to a window. She slid it open with ease, a foot on the ledge outside that barely needed to stay a moment before taking advantage of the barren tree that grew next to the building, lifting herself onto the snow-laden roof that offered a view above the shipyards.

When the snow began falling in thick flakes again, she no longer kept abreast of the hours that passed as she sat huddled in the shade of an overhang under the eaves of a taller building. The peaks here looked no different than the skylines of the Earthspurs, as memories of the day's events recollected themselves in broken fragments of time tainted by an obscure darkness that ate at the edges of her consciousness. The feral glint in Celith's cold stare, and the heat that rose from Anton's taut form as both stood knee-deep in bloodsoaked snow were a prelude to the grotesque white figures that shifted in the imaginary distance of her memory's eye. The shattering realization of a loss, so unexpected, came unwelcome once more. Sorrow was an emotion Kallian rarely allowed herself to demonstrate - sorrow, and fear; but today she had become smaller than her own shadow.

When at last she climbed back in from the cold, sleep came to claim her. For even elves would rest as humans do - under great duress.

[Ataraxia]

Forcing through the fringe of what was humanly possible pushed the body beyond the limits of the stress it could endure as ligaments, bones, and muscles were naturally created to hold back when led by the mind to a breaking point that would threaten the integrity of the entire being. To voluntarily shatter and transcend those barriers was unnatural. It was intentional self-harming, something deeply ingrained in the mind as an utterly irrational idea. The freezing cold, the hunger of two days, the wounds of both friend and foe in battles for survival, the fuel squeezed out to its last drop in order to keep moving forward, and the deception that jabbed over lowered guards to turn water to vinegar. Will could only take a man so far when weathering a storm that tore at him, lacerating the mind for every cell that was degenerating from the body.

He remembered the clinic, climbing down the stairs with a hand onto the wall to support him. It struck him as strange – but he could not anticipate the flood that came from the abyss of his subconscious, bypassing the fighter’s forged thought patterns that had always kept him on his feet when he wished to fall. Strength was drained from his legs and knees collided onto the floor within the next second. The embrace with the clean tiles rippled its impact throughout the tornado that brewed between his ears. Suddenly, nothing.

Stupor: a state of consciousness far beneath sleep but above the coma.

Attempting to grasp his own awareness was akin to containing fleeting smoke in a hand. To allow the body and mind to re-energize itself, the soul detached and retreated far into the vessel’s core. No more body, no more pain. He might have felt the peaceful release that had come if only it had not depended on his lack of consciousness.

Nothing would disturb his rest, and tomorrow could wait. The Monk’s natural regeneration kept him hibernating for a day regardless of the stimuli that sought to jolt him awake.

[Xanthas]

Rest did not come easy to him, the dark cavern, the blood drenched snow, the strange creatures sprawled in it and all they had taken lingering on the forefront of his thoughts. He sat up on the cot and twisted around to take a seat on its edge, peering out the clinics window at the barren tree and slowly working his way through the adrenaline laced memories of their escape and the violence that had erupted in the mountains with it.

The anger returned with the memories and the aches of the wounds seemed distant, anger at what had been done and at himself for not seeing its coming. Thoughts of wounded friends, flashing savage blades and axes, and struggling towards safety only to find it no longer so. He let out a long sigh pressing down the anger and the savage surrealistic mindset these memories brought to the fore. He had spoken to the guards in Vlasta before they boarded the wagon back and warned them of these new cold white foes that roamed the mountains, until he had rested and recovered from the fighting there was little else to be done.

He watched the snow falling over the old tree and wondered at it, the dispassionate, freezing and uncaring touch of the cold was a thing he had long since come to know well but these creatures were as though the winter had taken form and malice to it. It was late into the night that he watched out the window this way sifting through the sorrow and anger of the loss in search of what reason for all this he could muster before the aches of his wounds drew him down onto the cot and into a true sleep through the remainder of the night.

[Xanthas]

It is the end of the next day when Celith leaves the clinic again, his armor patched in a few places but seeming well enough recovered himself for traveling at least. Thoughts of what has befallen the section of the mountain he has called home still weighing heavily on him though any that might see him passing towards and out again of the city gates would find his old reserved mannerisms returning to him.

He trudges through the snow on a path back towards the mountains they escaped from, making his way near Songhall before finding a high up windy cliff and offering a prayer to Aerdrie Faenya before shifting into the form of a falcon and riding the winds up higher along the mountains peaks and towards the Taal Slopes seeking signs of this new menace in the mountains and what havoc their coming has wreaked on it.

[Obsidian Sea]

That day by way of wing and the wind, Celith Galiner overlooks the vast and violent Earthspurs. To flee the ground growing distant beneath a new body is so often a liberating feeling, though today it is a struggle. It is not control over the shape itself which vexes the Wood Elf, but the maintenance of his trajectory as cold winds that surround the mountains seem to effortfully buffet his being back and away. Riding up to high altitude is treacherous in this fragile form, but The Winged Mother provides Her presence in small pockets of safety and moments of reprieve between the gusts that preserve the falcon's quest.

The cloudy veil rides low over the uppermost parts of the mountains, forcing the snow and tears from their soft forms and keeping your vantage low-riding relative to the possibilities in a kinder climate. These skies are the aviary of only a few birds, scarcely scattering their songs upon a whistling and a howling wind that overpowers their delicate voices and delicate forms, but there is no anticipated cause for harm against a wayward falcon even when Celith Galiner's surveillance must occur close to the treeline. And although the total whiteness of the landscape offers little opportunity for camouflage, there is not a reason to expect direct danger.

The Druid's journey is a disturbing one. Since he had fled the mountain on foot with Kallian and Anton, the foremost and newest danger that threatens the passes has mobilised further. Rarely does a mile pass whereupon the falcon sees no trace of The White Ones, their shaggy fur and grunting voices perceptible along the rapids and in the valleys. Many a Hobgoblin lies dead, half-buried beneath new snow that has fallen to cover up the crimson. Faintly and occasionally there is the scent of a campfire, and it seems even these beasts require some small modicum of heat - or is it only for their meals? They are not seen going alone through the passes. These beasts are regimented in their activity, co-ordinated as it seemed the Hobgoblins that preceded them were, yet the might of the Hobgoblin armies has been repelled here, if not also elsewhere.

Springs and small tributaries in the nooks and crannies of the mountain surfaces are entirely frozen still in the perpetual winter. Celith Galiner's falcon form passes by some as he determines himself for the Taal Slopes, and Kesigar's March. Hereupon rest throngs of the foes. Countless are the strange white menaces that form orderly units and take position around weapon stands and campfires, deploying themselves to east, west, north and south as their war continues against all else that inhabit the edges of the Earthspur Mountains, and who can say for what lies deeper in the land? If it is a war for total control, there is cause to fear a total victory for these beasts, whose organisation and intelligence seems greatly to exceed that of the mountain's other known menaces. Around mediocre campfires and by trees upon which the blood of fallen foes has been painted, the broadest of the beasts that coat themselves in multiple wolf pelts enact primitive dances and chants. Are they the architects of this baleful circumstance?

The winds turn from cruelly cold to utterly arctic as the sun finds its way towards the west. There is no recourse for the Druid but to take flight once more and reach calmer currents nearer to the lowlands. Though the mountains take a different view from bird's eye, the Wood Elf is acquainted with every mile of the mountains even in its current snowy costume, and he is returning to the lowlands with a confidence knowledge of the locations for the three major war camps which The White Ones have constructed, from which they no doubt mean to maintain their chill grip upon the mountains.

[Xanthas]

It is the evening as Celith walks through the city streets to return to the Old Quarter and the Sword that Anton, Kallian, and himself had spoken to. He gives a few sharp knocks at the door and hands over a roll of parchment that when unfurled would offer a map of a section of the Earthspurs. The map is detailed and easily read but no work of art, offering an accounting of the area and what he has seen there, three sections marked in particular with a few small notes alongside them describing what he has seen of the war camps. After answering any questions that might be asked of it he would be quick to take his leave, thoughts of beasts holding the mountain still flashing through his mind.

[Obsidian Sea]

A missive arrives at Kelda's Clinic upon the docks of Sarshel, addressed to the Wood Elf, Celith Galiner.



Celith Galiner,

Leading a strike team into the mountains, I have been able to verify the threat at one of the camps you had pinpointed. With the next dawn, a Warsword unit will be led back towards the camp to disperse these beasts. Tacticians and scouts from the northernmost region of the kingdom have explained the existence of these foes: they are White Worm Bugbears; Glacier Bugbears; Arctic Bugbears. We had no prompt to consider their migration down from the glacier. There has never been a precedent recorded for this happening. The endless blizzard is their opening, but we do not know when it will end, and so cannot have faith that they are not a threat to the safety of the mountain settlements.

The map that you have provided has been invaluable. Mobilising our forces towards the camps at higher altitude will be difficult, but this first we shall put an end to. How these Arctic Bugbears took such a quick, firm foothold across such a geographical range seems only to be explained by their terrain and battle prowess, but we, the Warswords, shall be matched by no Evil.

Meantime, if you have means of going towards the higher camps in the mountains, I recommend you act in co-ordination with the kingdom's forces. Shatter one camp, as will we. You claimed to have friends among the adventurers of Impiltur that you could call upon? You know best what you can achieve, but the fighting reputation of some of the traveling types have even reached Warsword ears. I recommend you take the help you can. Know, however, that moving large forces through the snowier passes at the top of the mountains might be more to your peril than a small team capable of mobilising quickly. Know your allies, and strike true if you mean to stand in solidarity with Impiltur against this threat.

Bear the standard,

Sword Greylan Rumvier
19th Marpenoth; Leaffall



//OOC: This is best to take the form of a supervised dungeon run serverside. The preference is to keep the party size between 4-6, though those involved will be chosen at the discretion of those already involved in the storyline. I will keep up a dialogue via PMs or Skype with involved players to find a time which suits everybody.