Apr 26, 2022 6:44 am
Targos - 20 Uktar 07:30
The clear sky above you still glows with the fading aurora, but the skies to the east look pregnant with snow. The silent town lies under a thick white blanket. You head to the frozen kennels in the near darkness of the morning. The metal tack of the harnesses bites and sticks to your exposed skin as you check it for the long journey ahead.
Mounting up, you consider your journey east. It's two hours to Bryn-Shander whose gates shall still be closed when you pass, then another six along the Eastway to your destination. But Auril laughs at schedules.
As you round the walls of Bryn-Shander, you start to ride into light snow, and the wind picks up. The flakes dance balletically around you - the Dance of the Sugarplum Blizzard.
Anders prepares you all for the storm by tying you together. Then, after another hour, the snows come roaring in. It's not the cold, nor the stinging snow, nor the ferocious wind that hampers your progress - it's the uniform, directionless, featureless whiteness. If it wasn't for Anders' rope, you could easily believe that you were alone in a white hateful void or a cloud made of icy stinging needles.
Using some perception not available to the rest of you, Anders guides the dogs onwards despite their reluctance. Progress is slow. After nine more hours hiking without any senses (save thermoreception), you break through the storm front into merely crushing snow.
Can I get a DC12 CON save from everyone except Anders? Failure is a point of exhaustion. Everyone rolls at advantage for the benefit of the sled.The Eastway - 20 Uktar 18:30
You break north from the path, along the bandit trails that criss-cross the south of Lac Dinneshere.
Ahead, peeking in and out of the white swirling coin-sized flakes, is the crossroads. You see flickering the light of an iron stove burning outside a snow-laden teepee surrounded by crates by the crossing.
A dwarf stands outside the teepee. She is covered in so many furs that she looks like a small, snow-covered teepee herself. She waves and hollers at you, but snow swallows her cries. Three humans fuss around the crates near the teepee. A little distance to the east, a human feeds sled dogs. The humans are all dressed in heavy furs, their faces obscured.
The clear sky above you still glows with the fading aurora, but the skies to the east look pregnant with snow. The silent town lies under a thick white blanket. You head to the frozen kennels in the near darkness of the morning. The metal tack of the harnesses bites and sticks to your exposed skin as you check it for the long journey ahead.
Mounting up, you consider your journey east. It's two hours to Bryn-Shander whose gates shall still be closed when you pass, then another six along the Eastway to your destination. But Auril laughs at schedules.
As you round the walls of Bryn-Shander, you start to ride into light snow, and the wind picks up. The flakes dance balletically around you - the Dance of the Sugarplum Blizzard.
Anders prepares you all for the storm by tying you together. Then, after another hour, the snows come roaring in. It's not the cold, nor the stinging snow, nor the ferocious wind that hampers your progress - it's the uniform, directionless, featureless whiteness. If it wasn't for Anders' rope, you could easily believe that you were alone in a white hateful void or a cloud made of icy stinging needles.
Using some perception not available to the rest of you, Anders guides the dogs onwards despite their reluctance. Progress is slow. After nine more hours hiking without any senses (save thermoreception), you break through the storm front into merely crushing snow.
OOC:
The weather is brutal, but the sled can carry people when they get too exhausted.Can I get a DC12 CON save from everyone except Anders? Failure is a point of exhaustion. Everyone rolls at advantage for the benefit of the sled.
You break north from the path, along the bandit trails that criss-cross the south of Lac Dinneshere.
Ahead, peeking in and out of the white swirling coin-sized flakes, is the crossroads. You see flickering the light of an iron stove burning outside a snow-laden teepee surrounded by crates by the crossing.
A dwarf stands outside the teepee. She is covered in so many furs that she looks like a small, snow-covered teepee herself. She waves and hollers at you, but snow swallows her cries. Three humans fuss around the crates near the teepee. A little distance to the east, a human feeds sled dogs. The humans are all dressed in heavy furs, their faces obscured.
Auril
