The adventurers continue their journey to Lonelywood. Eventually, they reach a forest. Animal tracks crisscross the ground, but none belong to the bear they had been following. They head deeper into the trees, where the quiet grows heavy.
Skye feels a prickle at the back of her neck. She turns quickly to find figures emerging from the trees as if carved from the winter itself. Three humanoid shapes, pale as the snow around them. One steps forward, a tall woman with long hair and an antler circlet resting on her brow. Her face is lined with age and wisdom, weathered by countless winters. Her eyes burn with a piercing, unnatural blue.
The two figures flanking her share the same cold gaze, their skin marked with dark lines, their clothing made of hides and furs. They move with the quiet certainty of predators who know the forest belongs to them. Inala recognizes them instantly as druids, dangerous devotees of the Frostmaiden.
Illustration: dndroll.wikidot
The old woman fixes her gaze on Arassost, her voice low and edged with frost. ‘Give it to me. Give us the Summer Star. Do not act ignorant. Give it to us, and the cold will pass you by.’
The elven wizard stands firm. ‘I promised it to someone. So no.’
A flicker of irritation crosses her face. ‘We will not ask again.’
The wizard feigns confusion, but the woman’s expression hardens. ‘Then be still. The cold will take what it’s owed.’ And just like that, they melt back into the trees.
The party presses on, and the unnatural silence returns, thicker than before. Thalion leads, Inala close behind. A high, thin sound rides the wind. Mocking laughter, distant, yet everywhere at once, and shadows flutter between the branches.
Ice mephits attack Arassost from both sides. ‘Warm things shine too bright,’ they hiss.
A chaotic battle erupts with cold breath, shattering bodies and explosions of ice. Arassost’s flaming sphere hits one of the creatures, Skye and Inala cut through the swarm, and Thalion’s arrows strike true. They manage to kill the mephits, but two new ones appear, whispering: ‘She watches… she watches…’ They destroy one as well, and the remaining mephit flees into the trees, cackling as it disappears.
Illustration: Forgotten Realms Wiki
They move quickly now, exhaustion dragging at their limbs. The forest presses close, the silence raw, broken only by the soft crunch of their boots. Frost hangs heavy on the branches. Whispered voices drift through the air: ‘Almost safe… almost warm…’
Then the trees themselves seem to exhale. Ice clings to every branch. Tiny wings unfold, and dozens of mephits watch from above. The wizard blinks, wondering if this is illusion or enchantment. The moment he questions it, the spell breaks. Snow falls in a sudden cascade.
A voice echoes through the clearing: ‘Lonelywood is now close to you, but you will not enter unchallenged.’ The snow gathers, swirling, condensing into a towering snow golem.
The fight is brutal. The creature’s aura freezes the ground, trapping Inala and Skye in place. Its fists slam into the earth, sending waves of ice through their bodies. The wizard’s flaming sphere burns it again and again, but the golem charges him, knocking him to the ground. Thalion tries to stabilize him but fails. Arassost saves himself with a desperate surge of will. The ranger tries again, and this time manages to pull the wizard back from the brink of death.
The battle turns desperate. The golem grabs Skye’s backpack, freezing it solid. Frost cracks the leather, spilling everything, including Macreadis’ device, into the snow.
Illustration: Forgotten Realms Wiki
Thalion dives for it, dodging a massive swing, and sprints away with the Summer Star clutched tight.
Arassost’s unseen servant scrambles to gather the scattered items. Skye and Inala strike again, divine light and steel cutting through the creature’s icy form. The golem tries to sink back into the snow, but Inala lands the final blow. The creature collapses into a heap of frost.
And just like that, the forest exhales and the silence lifts. Skye gently lays her hands on Arassost’s shoulders, and color returns to his face.
Thalion reaches the edge of Lonelywood first, still carrying the dormant Summer Star. The others follow, battered, exhausted, but alive.
The Black Cabin stands silent in the thinning mist. Macreadis gone, Bagheera gone, and the air still humming with the echo of the ring device’s brilliance. Inala steps into the workshop and looks around inquiringly. Snow lies thick over beams, planks, and shattered walls; the whole place feels abandoned long before the fire ever touched it. After a last look at the incomprehensible blueprints, the Goliath follows the others outside.
The group turns their attention to the surroundings and notice that wherever Arassost stands, the snow melts. At first it’s subtle: a soft sinking of white powder, a darkening patch beneath his boots. But when he pulls out the device and holds it experimentally to the side, the effect becomes undeniable. The metal feels cold in his hand, yet when he sets it down, the snow around it recedes in a slow, deliberate circle.
Illustration: World Anvil
They stand on a high plateau overlooking the ravine, a natural vantage point. As the mist continues to thin, a wide radius of clarity opens around them, hundreds of meters of crisp, untouched air. The stone circle they visited earlier becomes visible again. Birds circle overhead in a strange, looping pattern, never leaving the invisible boundary created by the ring’s presence. No other animals stir. Even the wind feels gentler here, as if the cold itself hesitates.
In search of other magical stone circles or other sacred places, the party follows the river north, trudging through the deepening snow. The mist continues to fade around them, but the world remains eerily quiet. Thalion glances upward, but the birds are gone. When he looks back, he sees movement far behind them: distant animals returning to life, but the silence remains unnerving.
At the fork in the river, the effect of the ring device begins to weaken and the melting gradually slows. The cold returns, sharp, merciless, and absolute. The mist rolls back in like a living thing. The sudden drop in temperature hits them hard, and Thalion staggers under the weight of exhaustion.
The Ranger searches for a place to rest, but the night is brutal. The cold gnaws at their bones. After a short debate, they decide to turn back. The return journey is worse. Though they are walking downhill again, the wind cuts deeper, the snow grows heavier, and every step feels like wading through ice. When they finally reach the cabin again, the melting effect is gone. The rings lie dormant.
Illustration: World Anvil
But something else has changed. Fresh footprints mark the snow: several sets of human bootprints. Thalion crouches, studying them. Two to five individuals, heading toward the cabin and then southward again. Inala tries to read more from the tracks, but the details are lost to the shifting snow.
They follow the trail. Three distinct sets, a few hours old. Then something unsettling: massive bear tracks crossing through them. The prints are fresh, formed around the same time, heading in the same direction. All of a sudden, the human tracks vanish completely, but the bear tracks continue, though deeper. Thalion can tell from the disturbed snow that the animal has been running.
Everyone except Inala feels exhaustion dragging at their limbs.They take a short rest. Ara flips through the Book of Norse Myths, searching for meaning. Stories speak of one person riding on a bear, but never three. Such things belong to druids, shapeshifters, and old magic. There are tales of dragons ridden by mortals, but nothing that explains the tracks they saw.
When they rise again, the bear tracks have vanished. They press on toward Lonelywood.
They continue northeast, searching for Macreadus’ cabin. The weather worsens as the shelter of the circle fades. The voices stop. They follow what path they can, constantly pushed by the wind. The goliath suffers less; the others become more and more exhausted.
Thalion climbs a hill to scout for a place to rest and suddenly sees the perfect place: a lodge perched above a gorge, standing on wooden stilts. Abandoned. Silent. Sinister. Two stone chimneys rise from the structure. The western half hangs over the ravine. Steps lead up to a snow-covered walkway. They pass an outhouse half-buried in snow. Arassost peeks through a hole: parchment, used as toilet paper, everywhere.
Illustration: Reddit
Thalion climbs up the steps and continues along the wooden walkway attached to the house, while Skye and Inala follow. Frost coats every surface. One of the windows is shattered. The ranger and his snow leopard jump over a gap in the walkway and step into a large room. The smell of burned wood, flesh, and wine hangs in the air. Snow has blown in through the damaged roof. Everything inside is charred, even the table, where only the remains of a book survive. A burned skeleton lies beside it.
The ranger kneels to examine the bones and finds an object: a large ring holding a black stone. He picks it up. The coal‑like center is glowing, radiating heat. When Thalion puts the device on the table, without warning, the sphere erupts in blinding light. Thalion is thrown back. Bagheera is caught in the blast and turns to ash. Then the ring’s glow fades.
Skye vaults across the gap and finds Thalion scorched and trembling, standing beside the heap of ash that used to be his companion. A second skeleton lies nearby. The others hurry in after him. Thalion tells them to stay back. The adventurers fall silent as they take in the remains of what, only moments ago, had been a young and courageous snow leopard. Inala gently rests a comforting hand on Thalion’s shoulder. The others exchange quiet, troubled glances, a small, wordless acknowledgment of the loss.
Ilustration: Etsy
Arassost studies the scorched remains of the tome and notices letters still visible: Ether. Then he examines the human skeleton. Most of the flesh and clothing have burned away, but he finds a golden amulet depicting two hands holding the sun: the symbol of Lathander. It radiates faint magic. He turns his attention to the ring but cannot determine its purpose. He does note that it consists of two interlocking bands.
Inala moves into the next room. A fireplace, two bookcases, scattered blueprints, and a tiny clay figurine fill the space. She calls the wizard over. He cannot identify the figurine, but he can read the blueprints: someone here attempted to build a machine capable of controlling the weather. One of the designs resembles the ring.
Thalion checks a small side room and finds barrels of sweet berry summer wine, all frozen solid. Another room appears unused.
Inala explores further and discovers a bedroom. Near the hearth lies an intact scroll: a letter from Copper Knobberknocker to Macreadus about the ‘Summer Star’ project, with which he was clearly obsessed. Three is better than two. She hands the scroll to Arassost. The wizard studies the blueprints again, which describe the ring device. Copper had been right: a third ring is required. This version could never have worked.
Arassost examines the clay figurine once more, but its purpose remains unclear.
Skye and Inala settle down to rest while the others take watch. The research here is valuable and interesting, and the solution is near. A skilled mage might be able to complete the device. Arassost takes the deactivated ring with him.
There is nothing left for them in this valley, except Bagheera’s ashes and the ranger’s grief.
At dawn, the party heads toward Lonelywood and continues farther north. In the middle of the frozen lake, several boats lie trapped in the ice. There is far less activity than usual; the townsfolk have to cut holes in the ice to fish. Eventually, the group reaches the woodcutters’ settlement of Lonelywood, a remote cluster of 100 to 150 houses, little more than scattered cabins in the snow. They press on, and the wind grows even stronger, its direction unpredictable. They leave the forest behind and step onto an open plain northwest of Kelvin’s Cairn. The visibility drops so low that they can barely see anything at all. The road slopes steadily upward.
They decide to make camp. Thalion and Bagheera take first watch. The stars are faint behind the swirling clouds, and the wind howls across the plain. The camp is sheltered as best as possible. Thalion listens more closely to the wind and suddenly hears his name carried on it. “Thalion… Thalion… Thalion…” Then: “Skye… Skye… Skye…” “Arassost… Arassost… Arassost…” “Inalalalala…” He does nothing at first.
Arassost wakes for the second watch. Again, the wind whispers: “Inala… Inala…” He steps outside and looks at the ranger. “What are you babbling about?” Thalion says quietly, “There are voices on the wind.” Ara is skeptical until the wind carries a sentence: “Do not mistake obedience for righteousness. The just path is chosen, not commanded.” The wizard listens carefully. These voices are not sentient: they are echoes, fragments of things once spoken. “This is not Auril,” he murmurs. “It’s older. A magical residue that refuses to fade. Something powerful happened here.” He takes over the watch, while Thalion retreats into reverie. The echoes continue, drifting from the north.
By morning, Inala and Skye awaken. The wind has calmed somewhat, but they, too, hear the names and the sentence. Skye freezes. She recognizes the words. She once wrote them herself… and never shared them with anyone. She’s slightly creeped out.
They move on, tense and alert, still accompanied by the whispering wind. They climb a hill to get a better view. Thalion looks around, but sees no huts, no smoke. Nothing. Only several black stones in the distance, and a wide stone circle with a pedestal at its center. Arassost squints and sees something fluttering around the central stone: a black shape, like a cloth, but not tied to anything. The others see nothing. Ara warns them: an evil entity may be present. Circles like this often serve as occult sites with sources of magic. They can be extremely powerful.
Thalion and Inala take the lead, Skye and Arassost close behind. They trudge through the snow for twenty minutes until they reach the stone circle. Whatever once stood on the pedestal has been broken off. Shadowy figures drift around the outer stones, never crossing into the circle.
The weather here is surprisingly calm compared to the surrounding region. Arassost studies the formation. It is ancient, magical. “This might be Netherese, a society so big they thought they didn’t need the gods. They were the most magically advanced the world has ever known,” Arassost explains. “They built cities in the sky, and their artifacts are unimaginably powerful. Those artifacts are still being searched for even now.”
He casts a spell and summons an unseen servant, sending it into the circle to investigate. The wraith-like beings do not react until a sudden crackling blast of arcane energy strikes the servant. The spell ends.
The party cautiously circles around the stones, approaching from the other side. At ten to fifteen meters, they now see them clearly: two figures in ancient clothing, eyes glowing bright blue. Coldlight Walkers! The pedestal in the center has been broken by mortal tools. Someone hacked at it. Arassost suspects it was once a source of energy.
As they debate their next move, one of the wraiths suddenly turns toward Thalion and glides forward. Skye reacts first, casting Bless over herself, Thalion, and Inala.
Illustration: Forgotten Realms Wiki
The Coldlight Walker lashes out at Skye, but she slips aside and counters with a quick strike. Not as strong as she hoped, but enough to make an impact.
Thalion marks the creature with Hunter’s Mark and fires an arrow, while Inala charges in. The creature’s chilling aura bites into her, but she pushes through and lands a hit. Arassost attempts a ranged spell, but it goes wide; Chill Touch fizzles uselessly in the cold air.
Skye whispers her Vow of Enmity and strikes with radiant force. The wraith screams, hovering for a moment before releasing a pulse of freezing energy. Inala and Bagheera are caught in it and shiver uncontrollably.
Thalion sends Bagheera forward. The leopard bites and claws. Inala follows with another strike, and Arassost’s necrotic magic coils around the wraith’s neck. Skye steps in with one more blow.
The wraith finally collapses, its glowing eyes fading to nothing. Only its tattered clothes drift to the snow.
The second wraith glides closer and unleashes a beam of cold light, striking everyone except Skye. Inala takes the worst of it. Thalion fires an arrow, Bagheera leaps in with claws, and the wizard casts a spell that goes wide. Skye answers with Searing Smite and moves in.
The fight grinds on. Skye’s next strike misses. Thalion pulls back long enough to heal Bagheera, who then exposes himself to a slam attack, but Skye steps in and shields him just in time. Bagheera retaliates with another claw attack. Inala lands a heavy blow, and Arassost’s necrotic magic finally connects, though Skye’s follow‑up strike misses again.
A wave of cold washes over Skye, Bagheera, and Thalion, and the wraith slams into Skye once more.
Thalion calls Bagheera back. Inala swings and misses. The wizard responds with a fireball, blasting the creature. Skye is hurt but still standing. Thalion fires another shot, Inala follows with another solid hit, and Arassost drives the flaming sphere into the wraith.
The creature ignites and dissolves into drifting ash.
Skye approaches the stone circle, scanning the ground for markings. Ancient magic hums faintly in the air. Near the pedestal, a mound of snow catches her eye. Something protrudes from it, as if a device once stood there before being torn away. They mark the location on their map.
The wizard steps into the circle. The atmosphere shifts immediately. A crackling field of power surrounds the stones, and the air feels thick with old magic. Half-buried in the snow, he spots the top of a lens. As he moves closer, a wave of unease washes over him. The entire place is saturated with raw arcane energy.
A sudden jolt hits him. He pauses, then another shock ripples through him. Determined, he dives into the snow and pulls free the prism‑like lens. He leaps back out of the circle, and the moment he crosses the boundary, the whispering voices return. Inside the circle, there had been only silence. Arassost lifts the lens and peers through it. It’s a device meant for studying the stars.
The adventurers discuss their next steps. Thalion studies the map of Icewind Dale: Sunblight lies to the southwest, Yarl Moot to the west of Easthaven. They decide to find out whether Macreadis is still missing and if the road to his cabin is still blocked. The journey north is bleak. Even fewer people travel the roads now, and the towns feel more isolated than ever. They follow the main road, pushing through the biting wind, and after a full day of travel, they reach Bryn Shander.
The Northlook Inn is still warm and lively, at least, as lively as the Ten‑Towns can manage these days. The bard sings the same familiar tune, and the talking knucklehead trout still recites its rhyme:
There’s a place I like to go Farther up the river’s flow; Where it is, I do not know; Must be under all that snow.
Illustration: WorldAnvil
Scramsax greets them with a tired smile. There’s less celebration than before; people gather mostly for warmth and company. The party has just dug into their food and ale when the Sheriff steps inside. He shakes off his cloak and approaches them with a mug in hand. “Greetings, adventurers. You’re staying in the region longer than expected.” He sits down. “I’ve heard you’ve been helpful. Still willing to contribute more?” He makes the sign of Thalos. “I’m starting to think we’re cursed.” Ara replies calmly, “Strange things are happening indeed.” Skye asks, “Have you spoken to the priests?” The Sheriff nods. “We are cursed. If we offer more to Aurel, things will improve. Every town should contribute: food, or a human sacrifice, but they refuse.” He sighs. “I’m grateful people want to look into this. Whether it’s divine intervention or something else, I don’t know. But this cold isn’t natural.” Inala leans forward. “Is there anything specific you need help with?” “No,” the Sheriff says. “I try to keep crime down. Sacrifice is a last resort, but nothing else seems to work.” Thalion quietly says he doesn’t believe sacrifice will help and asks whether the road to Lonelywood is open again. The Sheriff finishes his ale and stands. He still doesn’t know if the road is passable. Without another word, he leaves the inn. Thalion heads outside to train Bagheera.
The next morning, the group visits the House of the Morninglord. Mishan leads the service as she prays for the return of the light. When the townsfolk drift out, Copper approaches them with a warm nod, pleased to see familiar faces, especially Skye. They ask about Macreadis, but Copper has heard nothing, and that silence worries him. When Inala checks whether the road is open again, he confirms it is, which only deepens his concern: Macreadis should have sent word by now. With that, the decision is made: they will head straight to the lodge above Lonelywood. Skye offers Copper a hopeful farewell before they step back into the snow.
They walk with determination, the weather worsening with every mile. From Bryn Shander, they travel to Targos, passing the wooden palisade and the largest fishing fleet of the Ten‑Towns. They turn right toward Termalaine and soon see the curve of the harbor.
Illustration: Forgotten Realms Wiki
At their stop at The Blue Clam, a teenage girl called Marta takes their order. The stew is rich with meat, and Marta is cheerful and hardworking despite the hardships. Thalion asks, “Any more trouble with the kobolds?” Marta shakes her head. “They’re much better off now. Their reputation isn’t deserved. They know a lot about the mines.” Inala asks, “Has anything else happened?” Marta smiles. “We can talk more when my shift ends.”
Later, she joins them. “There’s always something happening. You did hear about the wizard who burned? He was supposed to be a member of the Arcane Brotherhood. Most likely, they are involved in what is happening now. He knew too much and was deliberately eliminated by his enemies, the Zhentarim.” Marta becomes fully absorbed in her own story. “But what secret did he know…”
“Are there other sources confirming this?” Arassost casually asks. “Indeed,” Marta says. “I heard it from a reliable source: the Battlehammer dwarves. They passed through five days ago.”
Inala takes a sip of her ale. “Any idea what the secret was?” “No,” Marta says, “but he must have talked. Some of the founders of this town might have been Zhentarim, they still have activities here.” The barbarian nods, then asks, “Anyone else from Lonelywood?” “Yes,” Marta says. “The weather there has gone completely mad. Mountains appearing out of nowhere. Cabins rising and disappearing in the mist. Distances not making sense.”
Ara leans in. “Don’t you think the Brotherhood will find out you’re talking openly about them, accusing them of everything?” The poor girl goes pale when she really looks at Arassost, a wizard himself. “You’re right. I’m terribly sorry, you’re right!” She disappears into the back and does not return, unintentionally intimidated.
That night, the party gathers to discuss the ghost and plan their next move. Skye hands the bloodstained book to Arassost. At first glance, it looks like poetry, but the wizard senses something more: a magical layer. He recognizes it as an enchanted spellbook, its illusion intact even though its owner is dead. Arassost cannot break the magic, so he stows the book in his backpack.
Thalion and Inala stake out the harbor – Thalion from a rooftop opposite the frozen ferry, Bagheera at his side, while Inala waits in the alley behind. The ferry door opens and closes, fresh tracks appearing in the snow, but no one seems to be around. The tracks lead into town, then split toward the Town Hall. Thalion climbs down. They try to follow the snowy imprints but lose them in the crowd. Still, the evidence is clear.
Back at the inn, Thalion shares his plan. He wants Bagheera to catch the scent of the footprints so she can track the duergar. Together, they return to the pier, and Thalion commands: “Seek!” The leopard sniffs the snow and pads toward the ferry. They follow, Thalion smoothing the snow again to erase signs of their passage.
Skye approaches the dark boat. The cabin seems large enough for cargo and crew, about ten feet across. The half-elf climbs aboard, where footprints cluster thickly. The door facing the pier is locked. As Skye rattles it, Inala strides up the pier and yanks the door open. Skye peers inside. Four sleeping bags lie on the floor, with small crates of rations and, in the center, a large parchment roll. All is silent, save for Inala’s boots crunching in the snow as the barbarian returns to stand guard at the pier, moonlight glinting on the frost. Arassost also remains outside, watching the shadows.
Thalion climbs aboard and holds the door as Skye steps in and grabs the parchment. It is a map of Icewind Dale. In the south, Easthaven bears heavy markings, with smaller symbols and question marks scattered across the tundra. Caer-Konig is marked. In the hills south of Easthaven, two names stand out: Sunblight and Yarls. Another base lies near Caer-Dineval.
Just as Skye is about to slip the rolled parchment into her pack, a grey shape lunges from the corner of the cabin. A duergar strikes with a psionic blade, catching Skye flat-footed. Thalion reacts instantly and aims an arrow at the dwarf. The duergar fixes his gaze on Thalion. The ranger suddenly swings his bow toward Inala, who rushes to their aid. Confused, Thalion shakes his head, lowers his bow, and refocuses on the dwarf. He casts Hunter’s Mark and fires again, hitting his target. The duergar slashes Skye once more; she collapses.
Arassost hurls a fuzzy object through the doorway. It hits the floor and transforms into a boar, charging the duergar, but misses. Inala rushes to the entrance and sees Skye down, an angry dwarf looming over the parchment. Thalion kneels and casts a healing spell; Skye stirs but remains prone, whispering a prayer to heal herself further. The duergar lashes out at Thalion, and the boar retaliates, tusks tearing flesh. Inala swings her greataxe, but the space is too cramped, and she misses. Bagheera leaps in, claws ripping twice into the duergar.
Illustration: 5e Tools
Bleeding and desperate, the duergar snarls in Dwarvish: “Too many.” His gaze locks on the scroll. The dwarf shrinks, disengages, and slips through a crack in the door, vanishing onto the deck. Arassost commands the boar to pursue and rushes outside. Bagheera bounds after the fleeing dwarf, Thalion and Inala close behind. The leopard pounces, biting hard. A strangled cry pierces the night. The duergar expands to full size, blood soaking the snow. After a few shudders in the snow, he appears very dead.
Inala searches the corpse and finds a healing potion, a potion of elemental resistance, and a potion of cold resistance. She drags the body back to the cabin, where Skye has picked up the parchment once more. They scour the cabin, taking rations and supplies. Skye and Inala return to the inn. Thalion follows, but not before setting the cabin on fire, without regard for the surroundings. The flames spread to the pier, and townsfolk rush to contain it, saving Easthaven from disaster and the party from possible local judgement.
When morning dawns, Thalion, Skye, and Arassost head to the Town Hall to speak with Speaker Danneth. Inala keeps her distance, still simmering from their last encounter.
Thalion recounts the night’s events, but Speaker Danneth frowns. “And what about evidence of their plans?”
“I’ll get to that,” Thalion replies. “We tracked them back to the ferry, and there was a fight on the boat.” Skye places the scroll on the table: a map marked with crosses and question marks. “This led us here. The battle at Caer-Konig, the tracks, everything points to Easthaven. We burned the ferry to force them out.” Her voice hardens. “Is the chamber with the statue secure?”
Danneth nods. “The guards are extra alert, and we’ve covered the statue with a tarp.”
Skye gestures to the southern markings on the map. “What about this area, Yarls?”
Danneth leans back, eyes narrowing. “Our barbarian guards have heard of it. Long ago, frost giants ruled that land. They held moots and great councils to decide wars and the fate of the North. Now, only ghosts linger. If you speak to that crazy barbarian of yours, she’ll believe it.”
Skye slams her hand on the table, voice sharp. “Take this seriously.”
Danneth exhales slowly. “Consider me warned.”
Skye slides ten gold coins across the table. “Compensation for the pier.” When she offers to return the book, the Town Speaker admits it is useless to him and that they can keep the book.
The party steps back into the cold, where Inala waits. Together, they return to the tavern. Over ale and firelight, they share what they’ve learned. Inala’s eyes gleam. Her tribe reveres that land: a place to prove yourself, to see if you are worthy.
The plan is set: next time, they march south. Thalion rises and heads to the market. He buys a sack of flour. “For invisible dwarves,” he grins.
The group continues forward. Above them, a stone bridge arches forty feet high. Inala follows the winding path of frozen water. It grows darker, but the natural light reflecting off the ice provides a faint glow. They arrive at a portal with multiple passageways. The ice suggests that it was not always frozen – perhaps a hot stream once flowed here.
They step into a chamber. Inside the ice, the remains of four frost giants lie in various stages of decay, frozen beneath the water. One underground river remains trapped in ice. One path leads to a dead end, while another extends deeper into the cavern. They follow the winding tunnel, which curves back upon itself.
Around the corner, in the center of the cavern, a large copper cauldron bubbles. An old woman stirs its contents with slow, deliberate movements. Near her, an aged altar stands covered in rusted hatchets and freshly flayed human corpses. She wears thick furs against the cold. Floating beside her is a small, glowing orb: a willow wisp, her eerie companion. The cavern is dimly lit.
Illustration: 5e.tools
The willow wisp hovers before the woman’s face, casting its pale glow over her grotesque features. Her appearance is unsettling – scaly skin, tangled green hair – while she is stuffing entrails into the cauldron without care. She is so hideous that Skye and Inala reel in fear, their resolve breaking. They are frightened, unable to approach willingly.
Thalion swiftly marks the willow wisp with his Hunter’s Mark and fires an arrow, but it misses. Inala meets the witch’s gaze – her glare is terrifying, threatening to paralyze her with fear. Inala struggles against it, heart pounding, and manages to resist! The witch pounds the cauldron twice in agitation, and Inala hurls her javelin at the hag, but it flies wide. Arassost attempts an enchantment spell on the witch, but fails as well. Skye quickly casts a blessing spell on herself, Inala, and Thalion. The willow wisp targets the wizard, unleashing a shock spell, but fails to hit. Thalion retaliates and aims at the wisp again, and this time his arrow strikes true, dealing enough damage to annoy the buzzing creature.
The hag turns to Thalion, swinging her claws, but misses. Her stench fills the cavern, and she yells, revealing jagged, yellowed teeth. A response echoes from deeper in the cave. Heavy, slow footsteps come in response to their mistress’ calling. Inala steadies herself and throws another javelin at the witch. This time, the weapon strikes true, and sickly green blood oozes from the hag’s body. Arassost exhales a magical puff into the hag’s face, sapping some of her strength.
Skye moves toward the willow wisp, her fear vanishing. The wisp retaliates, sending a surge of electricity through Arassost. Thalion, now engaged in melee combat with the wisp, strikes but deals less damage than expected.
Bagheera lunges at the hag, and frantic, the hag screeches and gestures wildly. She turns to retreat, just as the undead frost giant they saw before steps into the chamber, magically released by the sea hag. Inala prepares to strike with another javelin attack, but she miscalculates and misses, as does Skye’s attack. Thalion’s arrow strikes true. The hag shrieks and slashes at Skye. Her filthy claws rake deep.
The giant moves forward, blocking the passage. It swings its enormous great axe at the wizard’s illusion, striking the fake image twice with brutal force. Inala, fueled by rage, attacks the frost giant and deals a lot of damage, while Arassost quickly disengages and steps backward.
Skye channels a vow of enmity, her divine energy focusing on the hag, and the hag’s wounds multiply. She is now heavily injured. The willow wisp strikes at Skye, but misses. Thalion rolls between the giant’s legs, dodging its strikes, and rushes toward the seahag. The creature snarls, “Oh no, you don’t!”, swiping at him, but she misses. Skye counterattacks and delivers a radiant attack to the hag, striking her with full force. The seahag collapses, her filthy body lying motionless.
The frost giant turns on Inala, delivering a brutal blow, and then focuses on Arassost, its piercing magical gaze threatening to freeze him, but the wizard resists the cold. He conjures a Minor Illusion: a massive eagle swoops at the giant’s head, distracting him from attacking till it suddenly collapses in a heap of bones on the ground. Without the hag’s magical connection it turns lifeless once again
The barbarian strikes at the willow wisp but misses multiple times. She howls in frustration. Skye manages to hit the wisp, though the damage on the magically enhanced creature is less than expected. The creature unleashes a bolt of lightning at Thalion. Arassost comes to their aid and casts an enchantment on the wisp. It suddenly gives over to fits of laughing and falls to the ground, making noises that could be considered laughing
Inala strikes again but misses. Skye lands another blow on the wisp, dealing damage. The wisp flickers, then suddenly phases through the cave wall, disappearing into the rock. Inala turns to the hag’s corpse and, out of frustration, chops off her head.
Skye peers into the cauldron, where floating lumps of flesh and entrails swirl in the magical brew. Inala searches the hag’s remains, but she has nothing of value. Inala stuffs the hag’s severed head in a bag, intending to take it back with her to Easthaven. The altar holds only the remains of townsfolk: the lost victims. Quickly they overturn the ghastly cauldron, spilling its contents, and roll the 50-pound cauldron to the lake, sinking to the bottom.
The party takes a short rest until night falls. Moonlight dimly illuminates the corridors and the wind moans, whispering through the cave. They climb 20 feet up the cliff face toward the other entrance… where they are greeted by a growling sound. The Goliath barbarian rolls her shoulders and heads inside. A dire wolf lunges at Inala and its jaws tear into her flesh. She is knocked to the ground. Thalion fires in response, but his arrow sails past its mark and he is also knocked to the ground. Bagheera, sensing the threat, leaps forward, his claws tearing into the wolf’s side, so the ranger can get up and attack. This time his arrow flies true. The beast counterattacks, sinking its teeth into Bagheera. Arassost repeatedly attacks with a poisonous mist. Inala takes a swing but misses. Then, Thalion fires a final arrow, piercing the wolf’s throat. It crumples, the light dying in its eyes. Bones are scattered around the chamber floor.
Illustration: dndbeyond
The adventurers climb even higher towards a broad tunnel entrance, but there are no more tracks. The cave splits: leftward the wind howls, and straight ahead is a bridge covered in ice. They decide to follow the left path, Inala in the lead. They pass three ice-covered pillars, follow another tunnel and find themselves in an open cave with stick figure drawings on the wall. These carvings depict frost giants walking into steaming rivers. In the last scene, they lie flat – drowned. The grim realization settles upon them: these giants have taken their own lives.
They find their way back towards the bridge and, together with Thalion, Inala crosses the bridge. In an open cave there’s an abandoned campsite. Inala finds three charred pages, only partly burned. In Dwarvish it reads:
“These caves are sacred to the frost giants. The carvings on the wall suggests that the giants came here to drown themselves. Did they use the hot spring as a sacrificial pool?” “The wind truly sounds like a wailing woman. One could easily go mad in this place.” “I think there is someone living in these caves. Shortly after discovering the hot springs, I heard what sounded like a granny singing. When the song ended with a shrill laugh, dread sunk its teeth in me. Ye gods, that horrible cackle! I shall leave these caves in the morning and never return.”
In the dead of night, they return to Easthaven, Inala carrying the seahag’s head and the history pages. She recounts their journey to Indra Arlaggath, who is sad for the lost fishermen, intrigued by the cauldron, and happy that the case is solved. In recognition of their bravery, she offers the companions the choice between a Scroll of Fireball and a Bag of Tricks. Arassost chooses the latter. Tired but content, the group returns to the inn to bathe, eat and rest.
When day breaks, the massive cloud cover still lies over the region of Icewind Dale, blocking the earth from the sun’s warmth. The inhabitants of Ten-Towns have been offering food, burn candles, and sometimes even have made human sacrifices over the last few years, trying to please their Goddess. But the Frostmaiden is not appeased by these atoning gifts: perpetual winter persists.
It’s getting busy in the Northlook. The daily occupants are filing in, drawn by warmth and friendly banter. The four adventurers discuss their next course of action: will they visit Dougan’s Hole and its winter wolves, or make the long trek to Lonelywood to check in on Macreadis? Another possibility is Kelvin’s Cairn, to search for the lost iron ingots of the Battlehammer clan. In the end, they decide to start investigating the chwinga’s. Arassost studies the lantern that Danika has supplied them with, and concludes the lamp needs a pint of oil to function. When a chwinga is within a 100 meters range, the lantern light will change to green.
Dressed in their winter gear, our adventurers set off into Bryn Shander. Inala is carrying the lantern, but she seems a bit strained. She confesses that she tends to break things, and Skye hastily takes over the lantern. After wandering the streets for a while, the lantern sheds a warm yellow light, without even a hinge of green. This is taking them nowhere. If a chwinga was to be found in Bryn Shander, Danika would have captured it a long time ago.
The foursome decides to travel to Good Mead. Thalion’s experience in traveling in winter weather and harsh conditions, combined with Inala’s exceptional sense of direction, make sure they don’t get lost. After about an hour, four small figures appear out of the gloom, about fifty meters away. They’re heavily loaded, wearing helmets and carrying fishing poles and harpoons over their shoulders. Thalion calls out in common, “Well met, how’s the road to Good Mead?” The dwarves plod along in the snow, until Skye hollers “Hello” in the dwarven language. “Hello, fellow travelers. We’re on our way to Good Mead. How is the road?”
The dwarves – although they look more like walking ice cubes than dwarven folk – come closer. They are carrying heavy backpacks and racks with knucklehead trout, and are on their way to Bryn Shander. When asked for news, one of them jokes “There’s no good meat in Good Mead. In fact, they’ve run out of mead as well! A giant has stolen all supplies, so if you’re looking for an adventure, that is the way to go.”
Soon thereafter, the houses of Good Mead loom at the horizon.
The wooden banner on a sign post depicts a promising image: a big mug, filled with… Arassost dreams of wine. There is no wall, no gate, and only a few armed guards patrol the streets. Thalion casually takes over the lantern, but there are no chwinga’s in the streets of Good Mead either.
“I’m hungry. No more chwinga-hunting, I want a hot meal!” Inala has had it with the cold and looks around, in search of an inn. The buildings look different from those in Bryn Shander. Many of the houses have wooden details in the shape of wyvern heads. “Ha, you’re always hungry!” The elves joke, but Skye nods approvingly. Together they head over to the Mead Hall. A loud buzzing fills the air, getting louder the closer they get.
The barbarian opens the door, and it soon becomes clear what’s causing the buzzing: honey bees! The droning of the bees fills the air as they slowly walk towards the center. A big fireplace in the middle, with benches on one side, and honeycombs with thousands of bees on the other. A gnome approaches and bids them welcome. “You’re not from around here, right? A splendid company such as yourselves would have stood out. I hope our pretty village is to your liking?” “Well,” Thalion says, “the noise is pretty loud.” “What sound?” The gnome is baffled. “Ah, the bees of course. You’ll get used to it. Can I offer you some refreshments?” “Yes, mead please. We came all the way down here to taste it.” Thalion’s face lights up in a grin. “Oh, but I am sorry, my good sir. No mead in the whole village, I’m afraid it got stolen. But we do have ale.”
The gnome soon returns with four mugs, filled to the brim with the foamy liquid. “So,” Inala repeats, “stolen, you said?” The hall keeper nods. “Two days ago, our town speaker, Kendrick Wheelsbarrow, was ambushed by a giant. Kendrick took a spear to his back and was killed instantly. The verbeeg took off with four barrels of mead on his sledge: our whole damn supply.” “And isn’t he likely to return?” Skye asks. “Yes, that is indeed to be expected. He left in the direction of the forest. Our new town speaker has set out a reward, and some villagers are in pursuit. Your help would be a welcome addition to our militia. You’d get free mead for a long while.”
“By the way, what is your name, good sir?” Inala asks, and as the gnome replies, she continues. “Nice to meet you too, Dougal. Have you ever seen a chwinga?” The gnome strokes his chin. “No I haven’t, but there are some that have. They say they steal things in the night, and others claim that chwingas ride on the back of a fox. Don’t get me wrong, they’re good-natured, but I haven’t witnessed it myself.” Inala nods her thanks for the information. “Now tell me, do you serve lunch in this fine establishment?” Soon the adventurers fill their stomachs with steaming hot fish and sweet honey cakes.
Five years after the involuntary ending of our Underdark campaign, due to young bairns being born, and them being, well, young bairns, finally the time has arrived to continue our journey into the wondrous world of dark Dungeons and mighty Dragons. Not 3.5 like we used to, but 5.0. It will take some time to adjust to the new rules, but the fun stays the same.
No cozy caverns, no sun or beaches, happily raiding a shopping mall. Nope. Our Dungeon Master has chosen Icewind Dale: Rime of the Frostmaiden, to plunge us head over heels into a wintery environment, where cold and darkness rule. And did I mention the yeti’s we’re about to meet? No? Well, follow us and we’ll take you along through snow and ice. Come closer to the firepit, sit down, and make yourself comfortable. The adventure is about to start…
Due to young-family developments, it’s been a year since we last dwelled in dungeons and played with dragons, drow, and dwarves. Were caught up in intrigues and went on exciting adventures. But the memories, the feeling of excitement, friendship, and the future expectations are still very much alive.
Just take a look at the birthday present I got today:
Dungeon DuTchess Rossen sinds 2003
For the non-Dutchies, it means: ‘Pummeling since 2003’, the year we started playing D&D 3.5. Each time the Dungeon Master asks me what I’m going to do when we encounter adversaries, my first reply is ‘Rossen!!’, since I love to attack in melee and rush in without thinking it through too much. Plus we enjoy good strong ale. 😉
Dungeon DuTchess 