9. Caer-Dineval

Nightal 24th ~ Caer-Dineval

Your mounts follow the rocky shore of Lac Dinneshere in the gloomy daylight. Finally, after several hours of your beasts' steady plodding, you spy a small fortress jutting up from the prominence which overlooks the lake.

Below the fort (the "caer" from which the town takes its name), a ruined watchtower lies abandoned at the mouth of the frozen harbour. Most of the town's buildings line the path that winds down the steep slope from the caer to the docks perched on the rocky shore.

The town and the harbour look barren and abandoned. The caer is well lit, but the tavern at its foot and a few other buildings show only meagre lights and none show smoke from their chimneys. The street is deserted, and there are few footprints.

Auril's wind sneaks through your furs to cut and sting as you make your way up to the tavern. If you weren't being assaulted by Auril's bitter knives, then you might appreciate the spectacular view this tavern has of the lake and the docks.

A rime-frosted sign declares the tavern to be called "The Uphill Climb", but it's a thin joke. There's an empty stable for your mounts with troughs containing ice but no hay.

Inside the tavern, eight people sit around a single dale lamp set on a large table. Frightened eyes peer out of fur coats covering their gaunt, starving frames.

A skeletal man stands and slowly shuffles over with his head bent as though he doesn't have the strength to raise it. The skin on his face is dry and discoloured; his moustache is patchy and untended.

"Welcom.." the greeting crumbles into a cough. The man shivers more than one would expect given the Dale lamp - but this unfortunate no longer has fat reserves to warm him.

"I'm Roark. I'm afraid we don't have any mead. I can offer you hot birch tea."

A sudden convulsive shiver overcomes him before he gets it under control and gestures to the one warm table.

The man smiles weakly, showing bloody snaggled teeth. Zin's senses are wide open, so when it hits, it hits like a lightning strike. The smell of decay and decomposition is overpowering - but sweet like honey-dipped rancid flesh. It seems improbable that anything that wasn't undead could smell so rotten. But, Zin's alertness stays his hand. This isn't the smell of the living dead. This is what starvation smells like. This is the smell when the body starts to consume itself.

"Resting, sir. Saving their strength. Just a couple more days until the full moon and the knuckledeep rise."

The moon was waxing gibbous last night. It'll be five days until the full moon.

"Speaker Siever is resting in the Caer, sir. They say he's very ill. The new guards are looking after him."

Roark motions a youth over and whispers to him to take the rations around the town, but not to be too generous.

"There are others need it more that us, sir." Roark explains (somewhat improbably).

"The new guards don't have much to do with the town now, sir. When they arrived, we were told to look out for mages. One in red and grey robes, one who's a young woman with glasses, and..."

He taps at his head to dislodge the memory.

"...and old one-eyed woman. And grey dwarves. We're to look out for those too,sir. But the guards have left us alone since then."

He shrugs with one shoulder, as it's pretty obvious that there's nobody in any fit state to go out looking for anyone.

"The guards all wear talismans, like a knightly order. Talismans of swords over a black crystal."

Acknowledged. Mead and supplies to be delivered by Rayne's Huskies at first light. Battlehammer prospectors in town. Hruna's kin. Send their regards. Town spirits high.

Okto shares his rations and receives the town's pitiful story in return.

They fish for Knuckledeep here - huge trout that come up only after the full moon. There are a few days of fishing, then a month of surviving on their bounty and extracting the large ivory for scrimshanders.

When all the towns came together to agree their sacrifices to the Frostmaiden, the largest towns were forced to sacrifice their people, and the medium towns endure a night without any warmth. The Caers and Lonelywood? Their food. On the night of the new moon, the people here hang all their food out on the rocks for Auril's children to feast. Caer-Dineval's speaker is a noble; he's not a fisher; he didn't understand his own town and its infrequent bounty.

It wasn't too bad at the start. The town still had their prized knucklehead ivory to trade, and the ferry brought supplies. But the ferry stopped coming. The ivory trade evaporated when the Ten-Trail pass closed. The few merchants who braved the Caer-Konig/Easthaven route bypassed Caer-Dineval as it had nothing to offer.

As hunger set in, the people became weaker and landing the enormous knuckledeeps became harder. Speaker Siever was set to negotiate aid when he fell ill.

Many people left for Easthaven, Caer-Konig, or the bandit camps - better life as a refugee or bandit than no life at all. The weak, those with children, and the elderly remained.

Unlike Lonelywood, Termalaine and Good Mead, Caer-Dineval has no timber to trade nor woods in which to hunt. Caer-Dineval isn't entrepreneurial, like Easthaven. It doesn't have a strong leader like Targos or Bryn Shander. It doesn't have connections with nomadic tribes like Caer-Konig.

But eventually, Auril shall claim the woods of Icewind Dale, and all the lakes shall freeze. Seeing Caer-Dineval is like looking into Icewind Dale's future.