November 27, 2022

In Which a Wagon and Chardalyn Are Acquired

The comrades pound down from the rock ridge, ambushing the hobgoblin war wagon. They shout belligerently and bang javelins and blades on the side of the flimsy vehicle as hobgoblins boil out from within. But soon, the chill air over the blood-spattered snow grows quiet.

Pulling open the trapdoor at the back, Aela and Agricales discover the body of the unfortunate Oobok near the stack of iron ingots and a roughly sewn bag filled with dried meat. Hruna’s dead colleague seems to have been set aside as fodder for the polar bears that pull the wagon. This spurs an idea, and the group collects the hobgoblin corpses still steaming in the snow to feed their newly captured bears. They pile their fallen foes just inside the rear hatch of the vehicle.

As the troupe thoroughly combs through the wagon, they make a few discoveries. On the main floor of the wagon, Andrew’s sharp eyes detect a set of loose boards. Displacing them reveals a large compartment beneath the floor. Though suitable for smuggling, the space is now nearly empty save for a few wood shavings and the smell of something pungently musky. At the back of the secret compartment, Chance finds a lumpy burlap sack. He unpacks it, pulling out several cloudy ovoid crystals the color of smoke. Handling them, Chance remarks out loud to no one in particular that they feel cold, even through his gloved hands. 

Fabian leans over his shoulder and squints. “Chardalyn, I’d bet. A mineral found only in the Dale. It’ll absorb or retain magic once it’s cleansed of the evil spirits that dwell within it. Most chardalyn dug from the ground is haunted that way.” Grimacing, Chance replaces the stones in the sack and scrubs his hands against the wolfskin cloak he wears.

Nearby, Ivellios lithely ascends a crude ladder nailed to the inner wall of the wagon. It rises through the ceiling to a common sleeping chamber above. From here, he drops some stiff, rank-smelling reindeer hides and a few filthy, roughly woven blankets down to his comrades. These they pull over themselves as they press around the tiny brazier. On his knees, Andrew fuels it with shaking fingers from a heap of dried animal dung. The attempts to coax more warmth from the tiny copper vessel are to no avail, and the comrades shiver in the bitter air, despite the new layers they wear.

Appearing restless, Arval and Agricales also reascend the ladder, continuing upward to push through a hatch onto the roof. Here, they discover a large partly disassembled ballista on a platform nestled among the shingles. “Fixable,” Arval mutters, and he tosses the parts that are scattered beneath it into a rough crate he finds beneath the inert machine. 

 Agicales counts out a dozen iron-tipped stakes lashed to hooks on the low wall encircling the roof. He prowls the perimeter, spying out through the gloom. Far below, Thotham holds the reins of the polar bears. The goliath feeds them hobgoblin, the chunks staining his mittens bloody. The sound of the bears snarling and huffing at each other over their meal carries a long distance in the icy stillness. Agricales squints at a large shadow that moves against the nearby cliff face. Neither Thotham nor the polar bears appear to notice the approach of a massive ice troll as it creeps up behind the goliath. Agricales calls out a warning, and Thotham whips around, wide-eyed.

Behind him in a flapping, crudely fashioned walrus hide, the gray-skinned ice troll towers over him. Thotham is only just able to twist away from the sickle-shaped claws that descend toward his head. The troll roars its fury, and the rank stench of a carrion eater rolls from its maw in a sickening wave to the goliath. The bears scent the putrid smell from the troll and send up roars as they remain yoked. They can neither fight nor flee. They bounce on their front legs, huffing and snarling, unable to turn in the troll’s direction.

Aela, summoned by the clangor, swings down from the back of the wagon. She takes in the situation at a glance. From through the back hatch, she slides out a hobgoblin corpse. Straining to lift the body by its arm and leg, she heaves it away from the wagon. The troll darts quickly after it, seizing the prize then shambling off into the darkness.

Later, back in Bryn Shander, Bear and Thotham make arrangements for the wagon and its bears. They will be sheltered at Featherwig’s, the barn and paddock near the main gate of the city. In exchange for storing the wagon and housing the polar bears, the two agree to hunt for fresh meat to feed their own bears as well as those of some of the wagon master’s other clients. There are other bears, as well as other hungry wagon drivers, who will trade for their services. They express their gratitude to Featherwig for paying their stable fees in reindeer, yak and bison.

After the wagon and its team have been settled, Bear ventures out to find a wood carver. Hruna’s people have paid the group in bloodstones for the return of the ingots and Oobok’s body. Bear trades his reward to commission a polar bear totem carved of aspen from a violet-eyed tiefling woman, Runa. That evening before sleeping, Bear will braid this finely made statuette into his long, brown hair.

Ivellios returns to the Black Iron Forge to begin working on a delicate scimitar with one of the iron ingots he received from Hruna in place of a bloodstone. On the opposite side of the forge, Garn beats all the elegance from the blade he is working, and Elaiza sighs audibly. She sends Garn into the house on the pretext of fetching a bill from the prior month. After Garn is safely away from hearing, Elaiza seizes a stool and stares at Ivellios until he puts down his hammer. She begs yet again for him to join her and Garn.

“Your plan is still to come work here at the Black Iron Forge, no? Ivellios, tell me you’ll be back.”

“I’m not really sure where in the Dale I’ll land,” Ivellios mutters, not looking at the insistent woman. 

Elaiza, biting her lower lip, looks away. After a long moment, she spins back to face the kobold. “Surely you realize that without one skilled blacksmith, we’ll close for sure? Now that our father is gone, it’s just Garn and he…his gifts lie elsewhere. Between the two of us, we can convince Garn to keep to sales and design, rather than fabrication. That is, of course, where he really shines. Not in the making. That’ll be all for you.” Her eyes shine as she stares at Ivellios intently.

The kobold sets down the scimitar he has been working. He gently tells her he cannot commit right now. She stands so suddenly that her stool overturns. Coldly, Elaiza snaps, “Know that I’m paying you by the piece and not by the hour,” as she rushes out past a puzzled Garn, who offers her a slip of parchment that she ignores.