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(IC) Quickleaf's Rime of the Frostmaiden
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<blockquote data-quote="Quickleaf" data-source="post: 9023409" data-attributes="member: 20323"><p>DM POST</p><p><img src="https://pwimages-a.akamaihd.net/arc/97/48/97482a0ae43a377095db5a28038ab31a1468532678.jpg" alt="" class="fr-fic fr-dii fr-draggable " style="" /></p><p></p><p><span style="font-size: 22px">Bryn Shander</span></p><p></p><p>If Luskan is the last bastion of civilization before the wild frontier of Icewind Dale, then the Northlook inn & tavern is the raucous heart that dwells within civilized men. As if keeping the chill weather at bay, loud conversation and bright burning lanterns create a cacophony in the high-ceilinged taproom. Inside, it is warm and welcoming, outside the ice-streaked windows evening snow falls across the town of Bryn Shander.</p><p></p><p>The bearded proprietor <a href="https://datasets-server.huggingface.co/assets/rvorias/realms_adventurers/--/default/train/4/image/image.jpg" target="_blank">Scramsax</a> tends to patrons of the Northlook – merchants grown restless with the last caravan daring the road south a memory two months passed, soldiers seeking their fortune, runaway thieves and gamblers. Hanging above the burning hearth is a massive stuffed knucklehead trout mounted on a plaque reading <a href="https://www.belloflostsouls.net/wp-content/uploads/2020/06/olbiteyfinal.jpg" target="_blank">“Ol’ Bitey.”</a></p><p></p><p>At a glance around the tavern, in addition to your soon-to-be fellow adventurers, you take note of a few patrons of interest…</p><p></p><p>A rowdy table of seven mercenaries from the island Mintarn, identifiable by their long hair, tattoos, scale armor, and hints of opalescent mother-of-pearl on their sword pommels. Their patron, a <a href="https://i.imgur.com/B85RSvT.png" target="_blank">scowling young man</a> with platinum hair and fine ermine-lined robes, offers a vacant smirk at their jokes, more concerned with his journal. The youth clasps his cloak with a distinctive brooch – an oval cut diamond-shape with twin silver ‘horns’.</p><p></p><p>A trio of three bedraggled dwarves suffering frostbite unburden their packs and snowshoes, leaving a trail of snowy prints behind them. Painfully prying off their gloves, they gather around the hearth to somberly hold council. Their battered shields bear faded crests of a foaming tankard.</p><p></p><p>An <a href="https://5e.tools/img/adventure/IDRotF/017-01-008.duvessa.png" target="_blank">ivory-skinned woman</a> with dark hair, fine fur-lined blue clothes, and a brooch of office holds a quiet but intense debate with an <a href="https://5e.tools/img/adventure/IDRotF/020-01-009.markham.png" target="_blank">ebony-skinned bald man</a> with a greying goatee, splint armor, and cloak adorned with the same crest on the lady's brooch: a chaff of wheat framed by antlers. They sit at a table near one of the windows, and several patrons nod deferentially to them in passing.</p><p></p><p>A <a href="https://db4sgowjqfwig.cloudfront.net/images/6106354/hlin-lily-abdullina_s.jpg" target="_blank">lone dwarf</a>, her hair grown white with age and skin marred by battle scars, reclines on a bench, slowly sipping an ale as she surveys the other patrons - eyes lingering on the other dwarves - and gazes toward the hearth. Resting on the table beside her is a overladen pack, sheathed sword, handaxe, and a map.</p><p></p><p>Roaming the taproom is a handsome <a href="https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/6c2a6e96-d53b-4a56-b34b-5191608a8a9b/dfrwvjn-4a349db8-a7e3-4578-8bb4-09aa0092c844.png/v1/fill/w_894,h_894,q_70,strp/edgin_darvis_by_janessignal_dfrwvjn-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTAyNCIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcLzZjMmE2ZTk2LWQ1M2ItNGE1Ni1iMzRiLTUxOTE2MDhhOGE5YlwvZGZyd3Zqbi00YTM0OWRiOC1hN2UzLTQ1NzgtOGJiNC0wOWFhMDA5MmM4NDQucG5nIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEwMjQifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.2wuLpIpHk5ThfpMxiM_qbvjgeK0VU0WqCrxCw27Xzv0" target="_blank">minstrel</a> of early middling years, with a scruffy look both scoundrelly but professional. He intones a low song akin to a dwarven ballad but in Common, accompanied by plucked lute strings. Some patrons tap their boots recognizing the rhythm, with a few shouting out “Burn Dzaan” at moments during the song …</p><p></p><p style="text-align: right"><em><strong>"She came without warning,</strong></em></p> <p style="text-align: right"><strong><em>This winter ‘afore.</em></strong></p> <p style="text-align: right"><strong><em>She came without solace,</em></strong></p> <p style="text-align: right"><strong><em>Nor care for the unborn.</em></strong></p> <p style="text-align: right"><strong><em>Turned to my father and mother once more,</em></strong></p> <p style="text-align: right"><strong><em>Told me this winter would settle the score,</em></strong></p> <p style="text-align: right"><strong><em>That death came a riding to their front door,</em></strong></p> <p style="text-align: right"><strong><em>But I lit up the torches and went to my horse.</em></strong></p> <p style="text-align: right"><strong><em>Flame ahead. Winter behind. Oho.</em></strong></p> <p style="text-align: right"><strong><em>Flame ahead. Winter behind.</em></strong></p> <p style="text-align: right"><strong><em>Burn down the road for all time.</em></strong></p> <p style="text-align: right"><strong><em>Storm lies ahead, left my family behind.</em></strong></p> <p style="text-align: right"><em><strong>I’ll outride winter and let it… burn.”</strong></em></p><p></p><p>[OOC]The game won't start until Saturday. But by player request, this is a chance to post character intros and for some free role-play before then. I might not get to check this thread regularly until Saturday, so if you need GM response to something before then in this thread just tag me.[/OOC]</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Quickleaf, post: 9023409, member: 20323"] DM POST [IMG]https://pwimages-a.akamaihd.net/arc/97/48/97482a0ae43a377095db5a28038ab31a1468532678.jpg[/IMG] [SIZE=6]Bryn Shander[/SIZE] If Luskan is the last bastion of civilization before the wild frontier of Icewind Dale, then the Northlook inn & tavern is the raucous heart that dwells within civilized men. As if keeping the chill weather at bay, loud conversation and bright burning lanterns create a cacophony in the high-ceilinged taproom. Inside, it is warm and welcoming, outside the ice-streaked windows evening snow falls across the town of Bryn Shander. The bearded proprietor [URL='https://datasets-server.huggingface.co/assets/rvorias/realms_adventurers/--/default/train/4/image/image.jpg']Scramsax[/URL] tends to patrons of the Northlook – merchants grown restless with the last caravan daring the road south a memory two months passed, soldiers seeking their fortune, runaway thieves and gamblers. Hanging above the burning hearth is a massive stuffed knucklehead trout mounted on a plaque reading [URL='https://www.belloflostsouls.net/wp-content/uploads/2020/06/olbiteyfinal.jpg']“Ol’ Bitey.”[/URL] At a glance around the tavern, in addition to your soon-to-be fellow adventurers, you take note of a few patrons of interest… A rowdy table of seven mercenaries from the island Mintarn, identifiable by their long hair, tattoos, scale armor, and hints of opalescent mother-of-pearl on their sword pommels. Their patron, a [URL='https://i.imgur.com/B85RSvT.png']scowling young man[/URL] with platinum hair and fine ermine-lined robes, offers a vacant smirk at their jokes, more concerned with his journal. The youth clasps his cloak with a distinctive brooch – an oval cut diamond-shape with twin silver ‘horns’. A trio of three bedraggled dwarves suffering frostbite unburden their packs and snowshoes, leaving a trail of snowy prints behind them. Painfully prying off their gloves, they gather around the hearth to somberly hold council. Their battered shields bear faded crests of a foaming tankard. An [URL='https://5e.tools/img/adventure/IDRotF/017-01-008.duvessa.png']ivory-skinned woman[/URL] with dark hair, fine fur-lined blue clothes, and a brooch of office holds a quiet but intense debate with an [URL='https://5e.tools/img/adventure/IDRotF/020-01-009.markham.png']ebony-skinned bald man[/URL] with a greying goatee, splint armor, and cloak adorned with the same crest on the lady's brooch: a chaff of wheat framed by antlers. They sit at a table near one of the windows, and several patrons nod deferentially to them in passing. A [URL='https://db4sgowjqfwig.cloudfront.net/images/6106354/hlin-lily-abdullina_s.jpg']lone dwarf[/URL], her hair grown white with age and skin marred by battle scars, reclines on a bench, slowly sipping an ale as she surveys the other patrons - eyes lingering on the other dwarves - and gazes toward the hearth. Resting on the table beside her is a overladen pack, sheathed sword, handaxe, and a map. Roaming the taproom is a handsome [URL='https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/6c2a6e96-d53b-4a56-b34b-5191608a8a9b/dfrwvjn-4a349db8-a7e3-4578-8bb4-09aa0092c844.png/v1/fill/w_894,h_894,q_70,strp/edgin_darvis_by_janessignal_dfrwvjn-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MTAyNCIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcLzZjMmE2ZTk2LWQ1M2ItNGE1Ni1iMzRiLTUxOTE2MDhhOGE5YlwvZGZyd3Zqbi00YTM0OWRiOC1hN2UzLTQ1NzgtOGJiNC0wOWFhMDA5MmM4NDQucG5nIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEwMjQifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.2wuLpIpHk5ThfpMxiM_qbvjgeK0VU0WqCrxCw27Xzv0']minstrel[/URL] of early middling years, with a scruffy look both scoundrelly but professional. He intones a low song akin to a dwarven ballad but in Common, accompanied by plucked lute strings. Some patrons tap their boots recognizing the rhythm, with a few shouting out “Burn Dzaan” at moments during the song … [RIGHT][I][B]"She came without warning,[/B][/I] [B][I]This winter ‘afore. She came without solace, Nor care for the unborn. Turned to my father and mother once more, Told me this winter would settle the score, That death came a riding to their front door, But I lit up the torches and went to my horse. Flame ahead. Winter behind. Oho. Flame ahead. Winter behind. Burn down the road for all time. Storm lies ahead, left my family behind.[/I][/B] [I][B]I’ll outride winter and let it… burn.”[/B][/I][/RIGHT] [OOC]The game won't start until Saturday. But by player request, this is a chance to post character intros and for some free role-play before then. I might not get to check this thread regularly until Saturday, so if you need GM response to something before then in this thread just tag me.[/OOC] [/QUOTE]
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