Whispers at the Fire
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_Some folks say that they saw the Chancellor, one of the Dwarven Hold guards, and Eric the lumberjack chasing off a pack of winter wolves that wer pestering the northern parts of town. The pack leader turned and ran after his pack was turned into what the Chancellor called "dinner."
Later, the Chancellor spent some time healing the other 2 and discussing the cold weather, and the prayers of the local folks._
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A cleric from the temple of kelemvor has established a presence in town, standing overlooking the gates with the red cloaks, she says very little but seems sociable enough. But makes it clear she is there from the temple of kelemvor, not for the Repose
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@e66444eb15=Aota:
{{The Elven man surviving the recent shipwreck is rumored to be recovering under Tristina and Kia's supervision in the Norwick Apothecary.}}
Grak arrives just in time to hear about latest rumors about shipwrecks sole survivor being treated at Apothecary. He ponders aloud while sitting at campfire
"Ya gits were lucky dat ya gots dat pointy ear alive, ya cans now put ims right inta neckswing.
Why, eh? Well, quite a feat dat pointy ear pulled, as apparently pointy ear imself streered dat riverboat right inta rocks. Dat git musta slit their throaths during his watch or sumthing, ta make sure dat nay others would survived ta witness… Well masked robbery und cold-blooded massmurder, Grak says".
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Rumour has it that both the Chancellor and his Arcane Advisor were struck as hard by the cold as the crops themselves, the pair of them turned into deep-frozen, immobile snowmen by the biting chill in the air. It might even be speculated that the Frostmaiden's cold wrath has a particular bite for Dwin, as icy winds are said to have wrapped all around him, sweeping the stout dwarven figure far away after a divine messenger had been greeted with an axe to the head. Of course, others may insist that an ice mephit is just an ice mephit, and that the Chancellor flew away on his own accord, his cloak flapping in a mysteriously bat-like manner..
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{{The Elven man surviving the recent shipwreck is rumored to be recovering under Tristina and Kia's supervision in the Norwick Apothecary.}}
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_A Norwickian riverboat by the name of Arr Mule has sunk. A single elf was washed ashore to the docks, Umberlee claiming 19 other souls in her watery grave.
In other news, local farmer's wheatfield was struck by cold, destroying half of that farmer's crops._
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Rumors tell of a sizeable group that went south in search of a druid elder kidnapped by bugbear. The group returned carrying the corpse of a druid - one that left with them.
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The Chancellor can be seen walking around in a white-fur cloak, anyone with knowledge of the region would probably know it came from a Polar Bear hide.
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A very, very large figure in a yellow cloak and dented helmet wails in lament after Mercy's speech.
"Ohhhhhh!! We is doomed! Oh woe be us fellow citizenz o' this wee town o' Norwickz! We done angered the Bitch Queen by bein' so stingy! Best be payin' up if we knowz what be good fer us!"
He plods up to fishy dwarf and deposits a sack of coins at her feet.
"Me feel saferz already! Me recommendz ye lot be doin' the same!"
And with that he begins to saunter off in a decidedly more merry disposition.
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_Mercy makes a reappearance at the Docks, peg sounding it wooden report as she stalks the boards. Perhaps contrary to anticipations, she is not gloating over the dead or cackling - well, no more than usual anyway - but instead continues her fell ministry in the following terms…
"Arrr, mateys - Mercy came tae yer jolly little hamlet as a tallyman, she did. As'n tax collector. Now ye treated th' Queen's servant well enou', ye did, 'spectful like. I tell't ye o' th' fear tha' Umberlee asks o' ye - tell't ye wha' be 'xpected when ye stray intae her cold domain, wi' a wanion! Arrr, well - seems some o' ye nary heeded me generous lesson, wi' a curse - an' th' Queen hersel' ha' ta'en a personal interest in yer case. Th' forces o' nature ain't tae be denied their due, cully me lads. Umberlee's price fairly purchased can buy ye safe passage. 'Spectful civic cap'ns, suitable craven a'fore th' water's power, lay down yer tithes, lest th' Queen invite ye tae join her at the bloated table o' th' dead and drowned!
Repent, lubbers, fer tomorrow, if ye nary does - mayhap ye'll nary 'turn tae yer weans, an' yer wife! An' woul'n't yon be a pity, yarr?"_
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Aurelia, Raryldor, Belmar, and Danika were seen hiring a boat up river to investigate the Lacedons. They returned some time later claiming the issue to have been resolved, turns out an Umberlant River Hag was the cause.
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Word at the docks is that a passenger keelboat to Peltarch, the River Queen, has sunk with all souls lost. Some say lacedons were involved.
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Unrelated to the recent events, or perhaps in an effort to keep sane, Dwin has been spending time in the Crafting Hall on a project. One day he exits, triumphantly, with a beautifully crafted set of steel plates… obviously a masterpiece creation.
"Fark..if I could only remember who ordered em!"
((this is my way of saying that I forget who i spoke to about MW steel FP… I know I have had a couple conversations, and I'm really sorry that I dont remember who wanted it! I looked through my PMs and it must have been IG/IRC.
please contact me if you were the one I was speaking to, if not, then it will go to the highest bidder... sorry!))
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Some bystanders seem cheered by Dwin's assurances.
Others (mostly boatmen) just wince and cringe a bit. Someone is heard to mutter, "We're on the outs with Auril, and he wants to pick a fight with the Bitch Queen? Kindly gods save us."
One woman, a Captain Dal by name, loudly agrees with Dwin's opinion and advises all listeners to put their faith in Valkur the Mighty for a swift, safe river passage… Umberlee Schmumberlee!
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Rumors circulate Dwin and Telli were speaking at great lengths in dwarven before Telli waddled off towards the Inn with a bit of purpose in her waddle…
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Dwin instructs his harbor-guard to keep an eye on the kin-wench.
The mighty Norwick River aint a part of her wretched Peltarch harbor… she flows as strong as the realm, and coins seem to bubble to her surface!
Fear not, merchants and boats-men! This Mercy.... she's a few flames short of a forge is all... tis better not to make eye contact or heed any attention to her words... trust me!
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Adding to the wealth of religiosity in a cold climate, what with the watery Icelace having reached down the throat of the Rawlinswood, doughty dwarven priestess of Umberlee, replete with fish skin, skeletons and driftwood, has been making her presence felt a bit more regularly in Norwick. Proclaiming the Sea Queen's sovereignty over the whole web of rocky waterways used by riverboats and merchants, the howling pyratical hound exhorts wise Norwickians to placate the Bitch Queen if they dare to enter the tributaries of her domain, lest they find themselves wrecked and ruined, their plans in tatters, for failing to please her. At least, that is the translation in common of the more colourful, cuss strewn cackling speech which Mercy inflicts on locals or merchants using the Riverboat…
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_Local farmers and hunters can be heard to gossip about the unusual run of sudden cold snaps, not at all normal for this time of year. Snow clouds forming after clear skies, icy winds that seem to sweep in without warning, and animals found dead and frozen in the morning.
Some suggest that an offering ought to be made to placate Auril. Others advise seeking Chauntea's protection. Still others think it's nothing people need to be bothering any gods over._
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The Supreme Chancellor, Dwin Dolvak, is seen at the fire one day holding a spectacular looking large axe. The detail on the axe is mind-boggling, and its silver blade reflects the morning sunlight with a bright orange glare that could be mistaken for fire.
"This be Luck-Bringer. She's always brought me the luck of Vergadain, so I want to repay her with some proper attention. I'm willin' to pay good coin to have one o you wigglers enchant my silver-babe here with some magicks. Any takers? Any ideas?
I'm acceptin any ideas and proposals fer this… My ears, and soon my coin purse, are open."
((PM me if you have any interest, ideas, etc))
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@22486d98bd=Clan:
_Rumor has it that the Chancellor himself beat some Peltarch elf senseless at the town center recently.
Reports are varied, but some say that the elf approached the Chancellor with complaints about the Militia Commander and something about a jailed paladin.
Others say that Dwin was insulted after something to do with an omelet and broken eggs, but most agree that the stories have been confused in some way._
Devlin laughs hysterically when he hears the story, and only comments… "What a waste of perfectly good eggs!"
