Story I: The Rift

The guildhall isn't the warmest place you've been. With no heating, save for the stove in one small portion of the large building, it is mostly just an escape from the chill wind that seems to find its way onto every inch of skin, no matter how much clothing is in the way. Stepping back into the cold outdoors makes the guildhall seem that much warmer, however, as your boots crunch through a layer of snow and mud. The sky is dark with the sun so low that it is hidden by the surrounding buildings. Each of you that travels to the Frozen Hearth passes by a few buildings on the way. Ellywick's Supply and Tailory, noted by a sign dug into the snow out front, is a small shop with an oddly shaped, ovular doorway; almost as wide as it is tall. Two more buildings pass by. These are several stories of rickety, slanted wood poorly put together into a building that looks ready to topple over. Wooden supports have been built on the sides to which they lean, but even those look ready to snap any day now.

The Frozen Hearth is beyond these buildings, and appears to be of a much finer quality. Like the guildhall, the first floor is made of cut stone, with another wooden floor built atop it. The exception is that this building's front is wooden and it has a porch a few steps off of the ground, with the cut stone forming a small, waist-high wall in front of it. A sign out front is a picture of a mug overflowing with drink with the tavern's name in a stylized script beneath it.



A simple, wooden door leads inside, and once it's opened you're introduced you to all manner of voices, laughter, and song. The interior within is dominated by a large, central fire, ringed in protective stones. Its smoke exits out the ceiling through a raised portion with narrow vents. Long tables and benches fill the tavern in rows, with a few, more private areas with circular tables that could seat six. A set of stairs in the back lead to a second floor that seems to possess some patrons and many additional rooms. On the left-hand side is a small, foot-high stage, and though there is no backstage, two red curtains hand on either side of it for decoration. Performing is a pretty, dark-haired half-elf who manages a mixture of folksy instrumentation on her viol and sweet, soprano vocals that sing haunting lyrics:

"The day be made, the deed be done,
Sevarra'll see my kingdom come
By vengeance due. By this horde I've bought,
Make Blackheart rue the Creature he'd wrought."



On the right side of the room is a lack of tables, and in their stead is a large open area. Dents in the wooden supports, dark stains, and a few loose coins could imply this to be some sort of fighting ring. On the far side of the tavern is a bar, entirely separated from the tavern proper by a chest-high counter. Tall stools line it, and a gathering of people have massed around to get their order. The rest of the tavern's population are most notably not dark elves, except for one or two that you can spot. Humans, Dwarves, Halflings and Summer Elves fill the seats, with even a couple of Cenerine's cursed half-orcs in their own isolated table.

"I'll have what I seek, I'll topple his throne,
Split his tongue a'fore he bemoan
My cruelty to him. This horde I've bought,
Make Blackheart rue the Creature he'd wrought."

Despite the chilling contrast between the sweet voice paired with the disturbing lyrics, the occupants of the tavern let out a cheer in the performer's honor as she strings out a powerful triplet of final, scratchy notes. It is suddenly very easy to remember that even if you are on the border, you are still just as much within the Valkarian Empire as you are the Winter Court. To the people here, Sevarra is a far and distant place, full of highwaymen and thugs; rebel lords and traitors.

Shortly after Baric and Pyrrah enter, Ameera and Erran are coming in behind them.

Devanis receives many greetings and nods in response to his own as your group navigates the crowded tavern. The singer, in particular, gives him a wave and a smile before she begins the next song. For this one she discards the bow, instead plucking the strings in such a rhythm that soon has the occupants of The Frozen Hearth stomping their feet in unison:

"Ask a priest and he'll tell you eight,
But I know a secret, you see,
The ninth God, ol' Vino the Great,
God of wine and revelry!"

It seems to be a crowd favorite despite blasphemous reservations, and it immediately becomes even more difficult to hear yourself speak. Brynn's attention is on the performance. She leans into a wooden chair, her back to the wall with her arms crossed over her stomach. Her armor is nicked and torn in places, blemishes of battle that resemble the scars on her slightly tinted skin. She is immediately given away as a half-orc by the cocked tips of her ears, the jutting brow and the peculiar snarl of her nose. Her glaive, which rests against the wall beside her, looks to be a simple shaft bound in coiled leather straps, with a metal pommel and a large, curved blade at the other end. The blade has notches in it from use, as well as old, dark-red stains on its edge. As Devanis approaches, Brynn turns her head away from the stage and looks at him without uttering a word.



When Devanis' gift-drink is brought to her, she pushes aside other containers that litter the table and pulls the new mug into a strong fist. "Appreciated," she says, her voice like some mixture of rhythmic lilt and grinding rocks, as she downs a sizable portion of the new refreshment. She hangs one arm over the back of her chair, letting your group gather about. She watches Pyrrah intently as she spins the chair about and takes a seat, introducing herself. She nods at the name she's given, and then replies, "Brynn." It isn't long before those of you ordering drinks receive your orders from the middle-aged barmaid working the floor, paying 2 copper for the drink of the house, or 5 for anything special.

"What are you looking to hear?" She asks casually. "I saw two beasts among a thick, black fog, eating some folk, carrying others." She clicks her tongue, "Are you going down there, then? Is that why that Winter Court slime Gallune finally pulled those boards up?" You gather that there are likely more details, from the way she spoke.

"Believe me when I say, my friends
I drank with him two nights past,
'A game,' he said, 'Drink to the end!
Don't let this chance go passed!'"

"I won't assume anything about their insides until I see them laid out on the ground," Brynn grunts, taking another drink, "But there was nothing that made me think they could not be killed." She puts down the mug with a slight thud, turning toward the performance once more.

"Beer, Ale, Mead and Stout!
More cider and wine as well!
I drank with him, dare you doubt,
Till under the table I fell!

"When I'd woken, Vino had departed,
My coin purse as well, none too baffling,
Now I do wonder, was that Vino the Big-Hearted,
Or just another thieving halfling?"

As the crowd goes up in a cheer, Brynn turns back toward the group of you with a frustrated sigh; It is as though the song disappointed her. "I saw two of them," she started, rapping her knuckles on the wooden table as her mind worked through the memories. "One was four-legged, dark skin, about the size of cattle. Narrow, like a big dog. It had a sharp tail, sharp teeth, claws." She ponders over her choice of words before continuing, "Things came out of it. Spirits, I want to say. Ghosts, if there's a difference. They were blood-red, and swarmed around it." Brynn brushes a thumb over her lip, briefly flashing one of her large bottom canines, like a small tusk. "She was fast, and fought like you'd expect a wolf would."

"The other one I only caught a glimpse of when it was going back into the Rift. It looked like a man, at a distance, but it's head was misshapen, like a pendulum blade." Brynn's tone seems to suggest more concern over this one than the ghost-spawning hound. Her brow furrows as she stares a hole into the table. "It had four legs, best that I could tell. Maybe more, but it stood straight. I saw it carrying some things---small cages, maybe---and there was something inside, but I didn't get a good look." She gestures with her hand to depict the size of the cages; approximately 10-12 inches, by your best guess.

With that, she looks back up at all of you, bringing her mug to her lips again to drink down several large gulps.

Brynn watches the interaction between the two, eyes switching back and forth between them. Her eyes narrow ever-so-slightly at Devanis' explanation, but she says nothing. Instead, she downs the rest of her drink, dropping the mug sideways onto the table. Leaning back in her chair, she adds, "Nightmares are all that's left down there, if I had to guess."

The songstress, by this point, seems to be taking a break and has migrated toward the bar, where a stool was freed up for her to have a seat.