3. Termalaine

Oarus shakes Okto's hand warmly.

"The pleasure's mine, Okto. Do I detect a Targos accent there? A local hero! Does Ma still serve the best blubberdumps in Ten Towns? Wonderful woman, once you get past her unfortunate curse she's one of the kindest souls in the Frozenfar. Give her my regards, won't you?"

The Speaker rises,

"Hungry? That sounds like an opportunity to show you what this is all about.

Termalaine's sacrifice to Auril is warmth. On the new moon, we forgo all forms of heat for a day and a night. But some of Termalaine's citizens are so sick and malnourished that the cold might as well be a human sacrifice. Sister Mistletoe runs a kitchen and clinic to help those who might not survive the brutal cold."

He waves Cynthia over to bring his coats.

"Mining licenses are a significant source of revenue for Termalaine, and help fund Sister Mistletoe's work.

The mine is arranged around a central shaft that goes deep, deep into the underdark. A miner went missing a week ago. The other miners feared that something crawled up from the underdark, but if she fell down the shaft we'd never find the body. But the real problem is the kobolds - they crept in from the surface about five days ago and drove the miners out.

The town has scraped together some gold as a reward for anyone who can clear out the mine. The job is to clear out the mine and ensure it's safe for the miners to return to work."

The speaker indicates the door, and that you should follow him across town.

"My guess is you thought you'd see whether wealthy Termalaine could afford more than the fifty gold, eh? Truthfully, we can't. The town is running on the philanthropy of its wealthier residents but in these dark times, generosity is strained.

But I believe there's a deal to be done here. How are you transporting your equipment? Perhaps a dog sled would be of use to you, especially when you need to transport all the treasure you'll find on your adventures. You'll regret not having one when you find a hefty dragon's haul.

By the way, does your party have a name yet? I'm sure the bards will want to sing of your heroic deeds once you've cleared the mine."

The speaker gestures to the exit.

"Sister Mistletoe's kitchen is on the way to the mine. We'll grab a blubberdump broth there, not as good as Ma's but it will show you the good works you'll be supporting by clearing the mine, whilst putting some gold in your purse."

"Excellent!" exclaims Oarus

"This is why people love adventurers; you're decisive and direct.

They say that politics is the art of the possible. Fie! I say. With good hearts and strong spirits, anything is possible. Why, if this were a negotiation with the council, we would still be discussing who would feed the dogs and what constitutes dog food! But with honest heroes and..."

He trails off chuckling to himself, somewhat embarrassed.

"My apologies. Recently, there have been so many stump speeches that I sometimes fall back into them.

I shall speak with Marta at The Eastside. She's a true friend of Termalaine, and I'm confident that she will allow you the use of a fine suite at her Spa. It's not like Termalaine attracts that many tourists now.

No. No. You'll be helping by looking after the pups. I'm a politician! Did you think I would give something that didn't also benefit me? No. It's always been bad optics, feeding the dogs whilst children starve. It's taken a lot of political clout to keep the kennel off the dining table. But they're such lovely pups, and I'd like something to remain of my soul when the Rime ends.

The gold, the dog sled, and a suite at the spa during your stay. It's a fair trade, and I believe in fairness."

You arrive at a ramshackle outbuilding and its queue of Termalaine's poor. A pair of bored town guards lean on spears watching over the scene. The contrast between The Blue Clam and this destitute bunch is as stark as cosiness and frostbite.

"Here we are! Termalaine's crest is a gem and a fish. You've seen the gem; now meet its honest fishers."

The people look at you with a sort of resigned fear. You are new faces, and these people have learnt that all change brings new woe.

Standing with the many children are fishermen and women bearing terrible wounds. Okto knows these injuries. Targos's and Termaine's fishers often war on the maer, fighting with billhook and scimitar over the best fishing spots.

Oarus gladhands the crowd who seem anxious to speak to him. He offers reassuring words to the people and returns with some wooden bowls.

"The queue for the meal moves quickly; it's the food parcels that take the time. But Sister Mistletoe won't give a parcel unless they've also had a hot meal. It gives her time to look at the bairns and pregnant women.

Marvellous woman. If you ever return this way and need healing poultices and tinctures, then you should visit her. They sting like nine hells but are quite effective."

The kitchen offers simple fare, but the people and their reasons for being here are varied. Their dialects are a stew of dwarvish, Calishite, moon elf and salt-dog. They form into tribal knots at the tables, as is people's wont; they break bread together yet are somehow still separate. The children of hunters play hide-and-seek. The fishers mend nets as they natter. Scrimshanders sit alone and pick at knucklehead ivory with pins and scalpels between slurps of soup.

Targos and Termalaine - the two warring siblings on the Maer.

It was hard to say Targos without prefixing it with Mighty. It's the largest lake town and only eclipsed by Bryn Shander, and it carries itself with a belligerent swagger as if the whole place says, "We're Targos. Who the hells are you?!". Its iced-in fishing fleet looks like a war machine, and the people are as hard and straightforward as boat nails. When the Priestess of Auril told the people of Targos to 'endure', it was well pitched; it's a word those salts know well.

Termalaine feels... complicated, political, and delicate. Its people are fishers, foresters, miners, hunters, jewellers, scrimshanders, and wealthy nobles hiding away until the revolutions of their homelands had turned full circle. Their lives and roles in Termalaine society are a web of interdependencies - and webs are fragile.

Targos felt like solid ice eroding under the blasting hardship of the Rime, whereas Termalaine is blessed with resources but seems fractured and ready to shatter.

Oarus finishes his rounds and returns to you looking tired and drained. Nevertheless, he draws on his deep well of orcish resilience for a drop of bonhomie. He rubs his hands together enthusiastically.

"Are you fit and ready to tackle the mine?

I'll make sure Marta's spa is ready for you upon your triumphant return."