17 - Whispers of the Winds and Echoes of the Past
| Session 1 | Session 16 | Session 17 | ||
| ◀◀ | ◀ | ▲ | ▶ | ▶▶ |
| Ashira Brolin Frostbite | Ashira Frostbite | Ashira Frostbite |
A possible way home?
The air still carried the tension of their last ordeal as the group gathered themselves. Feenia, now free from the curse of the rope, was a bundle of gratitude, her words tumbling over each other as she thanked Zephyr for his help. Frostbite, arms crossed, raised a skeptical eyebrow at the scene. Had it not been Maeve who saved the girl from the kite? Brolin who had the insight? The entire group had played a role. Yet, Zephyr stood there, awkwardly accepting the hourglass Feenia offered as thanks. Frostbite merely grunted.
"Time to go," he muttered, his voice gruff as ever.
Feenia prattled on about her parents and a cave where she would wait for them. "Ha! A cave," Frostbite huffed under his breath. "A good place to stay the night." Ashira said.
A Night in the Cave
The cave was cool and damp, the scent of earth filling their lungs as they set up camp. While the others spoke amongst themselves, Feenia suddenly snatched a lizard from the wall and ate it whole. Frostbite, watching in silence, felt a twinge as the creature’s life flickered out. It was nature, yes, but still… something stirred in him. With a sigh, he retreated to a corner, Star curling up beside him. He withdrew the carved wood he had been working on and set to finishing the flute. As he carved, his mind fell into the rhythm of the earth, the whispers of the cave surrounding him. The simple act became something deeper - something primal. The spirit of the lost lizard appeared, perching on his shoulder, its glowing eyes filled with understanding. It did not blame Feenia. It simply was. And now, it would walk this journey with him.
Dawn came, and they set out once more. The air was filled with an eerie melody - a deep, low song carried on the wind. Frostbite scowled. Another distraction. Zephyr, however, was immediately intrigued. The group soon encountered a band of low singers, their haunting voices carrying stories of the dead. Zephyr engaged them eagerly, questioning their connection to the spirit world, while Frostbite remained wary of yet another delay on their journey.
Cryptic Goats and Prophecies
Moving on, the path leveled out into a vast field, where three giant goats stood off to the side. Frostbite greeted them as one should with animals, intending to move on, but of course, the others had different plans. Ashira was quick to dismiss the idea that goats could talk - until one did.
"When the moon obstructs the sun, Creeping Lyn will come undone," intoned one.
Frostbite frowned. "Makes no sense."
"Play to her passions. Stay on script. A cat, a horn, or a shadow ripped," the second added.
Ashira, testing a theory, handed the first a berry. It chomped happily and trotted off. The third goat, however, locked eyes with Frostbite and spoke. "The fool’s scepter is the key."
Dhanell launched into an explanation about enchantments, but Frostbite paid little heed. The goats were friendly, and that was enough. Taking out his brush, he set to grooming them. The creatures bleated in pleasure before ambling away, leaving Frostbite feeling, for once, that he had done something simple and good.
The Prince’s Plight
The journey led them higher into the mountains, the air growing thin. A rocky plateau greeted them, its defining feature an expansive lake encircled by eight towering columns. Atop one, a lone figure lit a fire, only for a group of winged beasts to extinguish it moments later.
The man, a prince named Alagarthas from Calimshan, explained his plight. He had made a bargain with Endalyn - help slay a dragon, remain away from home for a year, and then return. But his return depended on these columns remaining lit, something the creatures - once famed mimes, now cursed into monstrous forms - refused to allow.
Ashira, always the practical one, suggested shooting them down. The group, however, chose another path. If they could light the fires all at once, the birds would be unable to stop them. With the prince and Gleem joining their ranks, the group split, each claiming a column.
The fires blazed to life. The lake shimmered, revealing glimpses of other worlds. Frostbite’s breath hitched. There - his home. Without thinking, he sprinted down, ready to leap in, but before he reached the edge, the visions shifted. His home was gone. Only water remained.
Dripping wet, he met the questioning gazes of his companions. Would he have left them behind? He had not considered it. He did not have an answer.
A Bargain with the Cursed
Shaking off his frustration, he turned back to the creatures above. "I will speak to them," he said.
Ashira laughed. "You think you can talk to animals?"
Ignoring her, Frostbite ascended the column and sat. The stone hummed beneath him, ancient and watchful. He called upon its wisdom, asking permission to speak. The creatures circled before landing. One, named Mortia, spoke.
Once, they had been the Greyhawk Mummers, a renowned troupe of performers. The hag had cursed them, fearing their fame. And if they could never return home, then neither could the prince.
Frostbite thought. "What if… you were given an audience again?"
The mimes hesitated.
"Maeve is an artist," Frostbite continued. "A performance - for you, from her, and one from you in return."
Silence stretched. Then, slowly, Mortia nodded. "Very well."
As the sun dipped below the mountains, a strange stage was set. The prince’s fate, for now, would rest in the hands of art.
| Session 1 | Session 16 | Session 17 | ||
| ◀◀ | ◀ | ▲ | ▶ | ▶▶ |
| Ashira Brolin Frostbite | Ashira Frostbite | Ashira Frostbite |
Updated on: 15:59
