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Penny's Dungeons and Dragons: Black Ice

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For two years, the sun has not risen over Icewind Dale. Every night, when dawn would come, the sky alights instead with a colourful aurora, and the sun never appears. When she was a girl, Mèabh's adoptive mother told her the aurora was the souls of the dead departing for the afterlife, but if that is the case now - the aurora extremely bright and appearing every single night - there would not be anything left alive in Icewind Dale. All the old beliefs are now in question.

No one knows why or how this endless night is happening, but they know who is behind it: Auril, the Frostmaiden, goddess of the cold and winter's cruelty. They know this because of her speakers, those who were born on the winter solstice. She has blessed them with tolerance to the cold and whispers her desires to them, and they pass those desires on to others in the tribe. One such speaker reports to the clan now.

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"This winter is no curse!" the speaker shouts. Everyone else is wrapped in heavy furs to survive the cold, but the deadly cold does not affect him. His wolf companion trots a circle around him, attentive to its master but uninterested in the speech. "It is an opportunity for those who have the strength to take it! Our enemies cower in their tents, or their houses, or their caves! This is our time to take their caribou and prove we are the true and rightful rulers of this land!

"Isarr calls all the Wolf Tribe to him. As one, we will reclaim our glory - but only those who deserve the name Wolf. Those whose hearts do not bleed for our lessers. Those who do not take them as our own. Those that know the weak should be culled - not cultivated."

The speaker finishes his speech with a sidelong look at Mèabh, his lip curled in contempt. Decades ago, there were far more Reghed tribes, but time has reduced them to four - Bear, Elk, Tiger, and Wolf - and of those, Wolf is the smallest. Most of its members fear it will not survive much longer, and many clans have resorted to taking in outsiders - including disgraced members of other tribes, outcasts from the Ten Towns, and goblinoids. The Wolf Tribe has had no king for years, but the most powerful chieftan, Isarr Kronenstrom, vies for the title. Few outside his own clan support him - Isarr is a bloodthirsty brute who worships Malar the Beast Lord and hunts outsiders for sport - but no other clans are strong or organized enough to challenge him.

Most of the clan ignores the speaker. They are taking down tents and gathering their belongings, getting ready to move and follow the migratory reindeer herds they rely on for meat, skins, and bones. Mèabh, however, will not be joining them. Instead, she will go to the Ten Towns. She was born among them, but her parents were killed on the road when she was a young child, and she was adopted into the clan. Her position between both the Ten Towns and the Wolf Tribe make her a perfect go-between.

"Ignore him," Mèabh's mother says. She is quite old by now; she was too old to have children when she adopted Mèabh, and had left her original tribe of goliaths when she was considered too old and weak to not slow them down, and was taken in by the Wolf Tribe. "Isarr's a fool, as is anyone who stays with him. Packs so hungry always eat themselves eventually. Go to the Ten Towns, my child. We will await your return."
 
The redhead meets the speaker's glare with a smirk, one hand resting on the knife at her belt. Meabh stands tall, and while not as tall as her mother she is not a woman easily overlooked. Several of the clan glance towards the two women at the speaker's words. None of the looks seem hostile but it is obvious whom he's referring to, and some seem worried - or at least interested - for her reaction. She holds the speaker's eyes just long enough to let every onlooker know she's aware of his words, and then she issues the greatest insult she can imagine for one such as he. She does as her mother says and ignores him - very deliberately. She doesn't cower or try to pretend to not have heard him. She makes it clear that she's aware of what he said - and just as clear that she has dismissed his words as unimportant and him as someone not worthy of attention or respect.

"I know, ma. But folks are scared, and scared folks are idiots." Mèabh checks her sled one last time, making certain the goods are tied down securely. The clan doesn't have much that is both worth trading and something they can spare, but she will certainly not loose what little there is to haste or lack of caution. The dogs are already hitched up, ready to set off, and all her belongings are either on the sled or on her person. "Take care of pa. You know how he gets when people say such things." She gave her mother a brief but fierce hug. "I'll come back as soon as I can."
 
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"Pfeh!" scoffs Mèabh's father, emerging from the tent behind her. "Quit your worrying, Mèabh. No one needs to take care of me."

"Oh really?" Mèabh's mother's voice is teasing. "And the speaker's words don't bother you at all?"

Mèabh's father turns towards the speaker and scowls. He's younger than his wife, but still not young. He still hunts, but not alone, lending his experience to the younger members of the tribe that get the actual kill. "I don't need to. He uses the authority Auril gives him to speak of mortal matters, but we aren't fools. He looks ridiculous. I pity him."

"Of course you do." Mèabh's mother giggles softly. "You'd never want to look like him. Of course."

Her father blasts a breath out his nostrils and crosses his arms. "I'm attacked on all sides," he grumbles. "Foolishness in my left ear and betrayal on my right."

He comforts himself by wrapping Mèabh in a bear hug. "Be safe, girl. Don't underestimate the townspeople. They are soft but cunning."

"And don't worry about us," her mother adds. She returns Mèabh's hug even more fiercely. Her goliath strength has not left her, despite her age. "Don't hurry for our sake. If you find opportunity in the Ten Towns, take it."


Mèabh leaves the sound of the her clan, and the speaker's speeches, behind. Soon, all she hears is the sound of her dogs panting, the soft crunch of the snow under her sled, the occasional crack of her whip to keep the dogs in line, and the harsh blowing of the wind.

Icewind Dale has always been as dangerous as it was beautiful. Now that the Frostmaiden has cursed the land to suffer an everlasting winter's night, it is treacherous, even to an experienced outdoorsman like Mèabh. The cold never breaks, and without thick, heavy clothing, exposure would kill her without hours. Even the wolfdogs that pull her sled must keep running to maintain their body heat or huddle together to share warmth. The night is without end; while Mèabh's eyes see better in the dark than an ordinary human's, she still cannot see clearly except for the couple of hours a day that the aurora lights up the sky with strange colours. Otherwise, she must squint against the twilight, constantly on the lookout for whatever hides in there. And something often does hide in the shadows; everything in the Dale is hungry now, and even beasts that normally shun people will attack out of desperation.

Yet somehow, life persists. Not longer after leaving her clan, she passes the reindeer herd they are preparing to follow. Unlike the elk and moose of other regions, both male and female reindeer have antlers, though males' are larger. Unique to the Dale, the antlers of one in six of them glow with magical light.

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It takes six hours of travel across the dark, frozen tundra before Mèabh finally approaches the Ten Towns. She comes from the east, and the first of the towns she encounters is Bremen - a sleepy town about about 150 people on the west bank of the Maer Dualdon lake, sitting on the mouth of the Shaengarne River (as they call it). Both are broken now, though the Maer Dualdon is still liquid in the center, enough for Bremen (and other towns) to fish knucklehead trout, their main source of food and fish oil - which supplements the whale oil they burn instead of wood, having no forests within easy travel.

Few Ten-Towners brave the cold more than they have to, but as she approaches the town, she sees one figure clad in heavy furs at the river's edge, standing motionless and staring across the ice.
 
Standing at the back of her sled, Méabh let her gaze wander across the dark lands around her. She had a bullseye lantern that she could've used to light her path to some degree, but she rarely ever used it out in the wilds - it would make her easily seen, far beyond any sight it would have given her in return. Though not to be underestimated, the greatest dangers out here were not the cold or treacherous terrain.
They crested a hill, snow hissing beneath the skids, and Méabh scanned their surroundings, her shapely hips swaying without conscious thought to keep her balance against the movements of the sled. All four of her leader and swing dogs knew both the terrain and the way to Bremen, and needed little guidance to keep the rest of the dogs on course. The teams pushed a solid pace that all of her dogs would be able to maintain for several hours. She could have pushed them quite a bit faster in an emergency, but those speeds would require frequent rests and slow her overall progress.

They were taking a quick break when she saw the reindeer herd in the distance. Méabh considered going for a hunt - she could have sold the furs and glowing antlers of the one that had given away the herds position to her, and fresh reindeer meat would have been a treat for her and the dogs. But she hadn't planned for a longer rest for the dogs - she would have to unhitch them and prepare shelter and bedding, which would take time - never mind the hunt itself and the preparation of the carcass. It was not worth the effort.
Turning her back on the herd Méabh made sure that each dog ate a handful of food and drank the water she kept unfrozen by keeping the waterskin beneath most of the layers of fur and hide that protected her from the cold. That done she wandered a few feet away from the trail, refilled the waterskin with fresh, clean snow, and squatted for a moment to take care of things the dogs - and some male mushers - did on the run.
All in all the stop lasted for only a handful of minutes - and even so the dogs had gone from panting in exertion to curling up against the cold with their noses beneath their tails. They came to their feet readily, as if glad to be able to run again, and the wheel dogs in the rear were already leaning into the lines to take up their slack when Méabh gave the command to move, running alongside the sled for a while to keep her own temperature up before deftly hopping onto the skids.

She could see Bremen's lights in the distance when they came across the lone figure. Méabh pursed her lips behind the furs, one hand on one of her swords. The Ten-Towners rarely went far from their homes, and even rarer did so alone and without a lantern for light and flame. The tribes rarely came this close to the towns, and a fellow musher would have had a sled and dogs with them. The redhead drew both of her swords an inch from their scabbard, making them quick to draw and ascertaining that they weren't frozen in place. She veered her sled slightly away from the figure and called her dogs to a slow walking pace, one that she could catch up to quickly if necessary, but didn't stop them entirely.
Then she hopped off the skids and walked between the sled and the figure, close enough to the former to allow for a quick retreat while keeping her dogs and possessions - and herself - out of the figure's reach. "How's the night find you, traveller?"
 
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The figure doesn't respond to Méabh's presence until she addresses them directly. When she does, the figure turns and looks at her, pulling down their hood to reveal a very old male dwarf. He is unarmed, but despite her hands on her own weapons and seemingly unexpected appearance, he looks unafraid. Instead, he squints at Méabh, as if he's not sure whether he recognizes her.

"Are you here to drop off the sacrifice?" he asks. He looks around with a dissatisfied expression. "There ought to be more people here. It's not just about giving up the food - she wants respect."
 
"Sacrifice?" Méabh keeps a wary distance from the elderly dwarf. He might be harmless, but she had never heard of the Ten-Towns practising sacrifices in their religions, animal or otherwise. Something was up, and she doubted it was something good. "I know not of a sacrifice, or what She you speak of. I am merely on my way to Bremen." The redhead threw glances to either side, without ever fully taking her eyes off the dwarf.
 
He pauses as his eyes light up with realization. "Oh, you're a traveler. Of course." He puts a hand to his chest. "I'm Dorbulgruf Shalescar, the speaker for Bremen."

He holds out a hand, gesturing to the river's shoreline. Méabh can see nothing but a few lonely wooden posts, about six feet tall, rising from the snow. "At the last council meeting, all the towns agreed to give sacrifices to Auril. At Bremen, we give up some of our food for the creatures of the Dale to take. We go hungry to show our devotion to the Forstmaiden, so she may choose to end the winter."

He lowers his hand with a grumpy humph. "They ought to put the sacrifices out here every new moon! How will Auril have mercy on us if we don't show the proper respect?"

Shalescar looks at Méabh with steady, seemingly unflappable stoicism. He does not mention or seem to acknowledge that the new moon is not for a few days yet.
 
Upon Méabh's closer examination, it seems like what had originally seemed like unflappable stoicism may actually be senility. The dwarf is extremely old. Most of what he's saying was probably true at one point, but he may be mixing up memories or confusing the past with the present.
 
Feeling no deceit from the dwarf, Méabh came to a halt and called for her dogs to do the same. Dropping her hands away from her weapons she took a step closer to the man, smiling amiably. "I am certain the Forstmaiden honours every effort done in her name. Would you like to accompany me back to the town? I have business there in any case. I could save you the walk back, and then we could investigate as to why nobody has yet brought a sacrifice - or go our separate ways, as you wish. And I will demand no payment for bringing you, either." She added with a chuckle. "My dogs are strong, the sled is not at full load, and it is no detour."
 
Shalescar blinks and looks around. "Hmph! That's very kind of you, young lady. I'm not getting any younger, you know. I'm glad to see some of the younger generation understand that."

Shalescar moves towards Méabh's sled, looks it over for a moment, and finds a spot to sit and grab hold. He moves slowly due to his age, but despite his earlier confusion, he seems to know his way around a dogsled. Once settled in, he turns his head to look at Méabh. "What's your name, traveler, and where are you visiting from?"
 
Once she was certain the old dwarf was both comfortable and secure, Méabh got the sled going again. For a moment she considered passing herself off as a musher from a different town, but quickly decided against it. Shalescar might be too old to notice the details, but her clothes, tattoos and gear, the sled itself and even the commands she used for her dogs all pointed her out as a Tribeswoman to anyone with enough knowledge on such things. The towns-folk might not trust her, but they'd trust her even less if they caught her lying - something she'd never been good at in the first place.

"I am Méabh of the Wolves, daughter of Fiske and Vaunea. I am here to trade and work, so I can buy for my clan those things we cannot produce ourselves."
 
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"The Wolf Tribe?" Shalescar turns on the sled, giving Méabh a pointed look before grunting and facing forward again. "I don't recognize your markings. You must have changed your ways without Beorg."

There are meanings to Méabh's facial markings and they differ from her clan's elders, so she knows do change over time, though none of the ones in her clan are unrecognizable from her own. She also knows the name Beorg: he was the king of the Wolf Tribe and died leading an attack on the Ten Towns. He also died over a century ago. His catastrophic, failed attack is probably the primary reason the Wolf tribe is so scattered and weakened today.

"If you're here to trade and work, then do your business in peace," the dwarf continues. "But if this is a trick, then save us both the time and end me now. Bremen is a strong town, and we don't negotiate with hostage takers. Not even for its speaker!" Despite talking about his own death, he seems completely unintimidated by Méabh, and sits in the sled as comfortably as before.

Méabh guides her sled into Bremen. Firelight flickers in glass windows where they are not obscured by frost or thicker rime, and smokes drifts from both chimneys to disappear in the clear sky above. Most of the streets are empty; few of the Ten Towners venture out into the cold without a good reason. Méabh knows Bremen is home to about 150 people, but the silent houses and empty streets make the town appear dead, its buildings - more permanent than anything her clan builds - standing like imposing monoliths in remembrance of the people that once lived here.

She finally sees people when she reaches the center of town. There, multiple people appear to be planning or preparing something. She can't hear them over the sound of her dogs running, but they seem to be talking hurriedly with each other, and one person in the center seems to be dividing the others into teams. Due to the heavy clothing everyone wears, it's impossible to discern any identifying details about the people besides a vague impression of their size, but they seem to be mostly human-sized, with a couple dwarves.
 
"No tricks. What trick would that even be, taking you hostage by my lonesome and then going into town?" Méabh snorts. "I was born a child of the Ten-Towns, if it makes any difference to you. My birth parents were killed on the road when I was very young. The Wolves found me, took me in and raised me. They are my people - but that does not mean there are idiots and black sheep amongst our ranks."

She keeps an eye on her surroundings, just in case the Bremer are getting any funny ideas themselves, but the streets were dead. She vaguely remembered living in houses like these, but nowadays the concept seemed strange to her. They did not offer all that much more warmth, just more space. They were durable, yes, but you could not pick them up and move them elsewhere to follow the herds, find new resources or avoid the warband marching for your home. Their safety felt like a false promise to her.

Seeing the people in the center of town, Méabh calls her dogs to a stop a short yards away. She hops off before the sled settles completely and steps up to where Shalescar sits, offering him a hand to get up - and putting herself in easier reach of her bow, just in case.
 
Shalescar gives a vague grunt. "A sad story," he says, and doesn't elaborate beyond that.

As Méabh gets within sixty feet of the townspeople, she can make out more detail. While they are bundled up tightly, she can make out enough of their faces under their hoods to tell they are a mix of men and women, mostly humans, with a few dwarves and one half-elf. She also hears the one in charge, a human man, talking.

"Last thing: you get even a sniff of a blizzard, drop everything and get back here," He says. "I don't want another Huarwar situation. If we - "

The man, as well as the other townspeople, look up as Méabh arrives. Shalescar hops off the sled unperturbed, but the townies watch Méabh with varying degrees of wariness; generally, the dwarves are the most suspicious, the half-elf appears curious, and the humans are somewhere in between. Those close enough to do so whisper to each other.

"Look at her face."

"One of the barbarians from the glacier."

"What's she doing here?"

The human in charge steps forward. "Speaker Shalescar," he says. "Are you alright?"

Shalescar gives a soft hmph, as if the question itself is absurd. "Just fine. This girl gave me a ride back. Her name is Méabh, from the Wolf Tribe. She says she's here to work and trade, and we're going to welcome her! Are you all still so afraid of Beorg that you forgot how to treat guests?"

The townspeople glance at each other. Most of the humans don't seem to recognize the name "Beorg" at all, but they all seem more willing to trust Méabh.

"Well, let's get you home, anyway," the man in charge tells Shalescar. The two of them begin walking off deeper into town, but the Méabh can hear Shalescar talking.

"Another thing! No one put out the sacrifices!"

"The sacrifices, speaker?"

"To Auril! The food!"

"That's...the new moon isn't for a few days, speaker. And we stopped sacrificing food, remember? Because of the problem at the lake? Do you remember?"

Shalescar gives another grunt as the two turn a corner out of sight. Meanwhile, the assembled crowd begins to disperse.
 
Méabh does her best to appear friendly and unthreatening without making it obvious that she does so. The townies appear mollified, though she probably has Shalescar to thank for that more than her people skills.

And apparently there is some kind of trouble. She should try to find out more. Perhaps she can help, garner some good will for herself and her clan. Or perhaps it can be exploited. Either might be useful. But not today.

As the crowd disperses she reaches out to one of them passing close by - not grabbing his arm and forcing him to a stop, but merely brushing her fingers against him, making it clear that she is not forcing anything. "I need a place for my dogs and my belongings, and a room to sleep. Where can I find such?"
 
Most of the townspeople seem to want nothing more than to get out of the cold as quickly as possible. The half-elf, however, looks interested by Méabh and approaches her. They look down at Méabh's dogsled curiously, then back up at her as she speaks.

The half-elf's face is covered, but Méabh can see them smile through the material. "Right here! You're standing in the Five-Tavern Center." The half-elf points at each of five surrounding buildings in turn. "That's Stones, Even Keel, the River's Mouth, the Grumpy Moose, and the Black-Bearded Brother. Local legend says they were founded by five brothers, years ago. They originally planned to found a tavern together, but each one thought they'd be the one in charge. None of them wanted to work for the others, so they each built their own tavern."

The half-elf leans in and puts a hand up to the side of their mouth, dropping their voice. "They're all terrible in their own unique way. My advice is the Buried Treasure Inn on the edge of town. It's run into some trouble lately, but Cora is a treasure. Why don't we go together? I'd dearly like to discuss something with you."
 
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Méabh glances the half-elf over for a moment. The description of the surrounding inns sounds... somewhat biased. But then, no one else seemed to be willing to take a step towards her. This could be her in, a place to start and get a positive reputation among the towns.
And if the half-elf had any untoward intentions, well... life in the Clans didn't foster weaklings, and Ma had taught her how to respond to such things.

"If they have room for my dogs." The redhead nodded, calling the sled team to follow her with a sharp command. "What is it that you want to discuss? Said trouble?"
 
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"Oh, there's room, alright," the half-elf says. "There aren't many travelers coming to Bremen nowadays. I won't be surprised if the stables are empty, except for my axe beak, of course. You could probably rent rooms for them in the inn itself, if you wanted."

They listen to Méabh's next question, then shake their head. "Cora's trouble, you mean? No. That's for her to tell, if she chooses. These are matters of my own interest."

The half-elf leads Méabh to a long building constructed of wooden logs at the edge of town, flanking the Shaengarne River - one of the first Méabh passed when bringing Shalescar into town. Hanging above the door is a sign that Méabh can only just make out: Buried Treasures. The hand-painted script is almost impossible to distinguish against the wooden background. Most likely, the painter relied on colours to provide contrast between the letters and background, but Méabh's darkvision is limited to shades of gray; this sort of oversight implies that the painter and the innkeeper do not possess darkvision. Orange-yellow firelight glows from the inn's windows.

A squat building, constructed of wooden planks, is nestled up against the main one. The half-elf describes it as the stables. As they predicted, it's empty except for a saddled, thickly-featured axe beak in one corner, which jabs its head in warning and stomps its large feet whenever Méabh or the dogs so much as looks at it. The stables are modest, but the walls keep the wind out, and there are stalls designed for sleds and their dogs, which waste no time huddling up against each other for warmth.

Almost as soon as Méabh and the half-elf enter the inn, a middle-aged woman in simple clothes scurries out from a back room. She looks tired and haggard, but bows at the two with a sort of frantic, desperate energy. "Tali, welcome back!" she exclaims, then turns to Méabh. "And I don't think I know you! Welcome, welcome! Are you a traveler? Please, sit down and make yourself at home. Are you hungry? Thirsty?"

The half-elf, presumably Tali, turns to Méabh. "Would you like a drink? My treat."
 
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"I see. Well, let me take care of my dogs, and then we can discuss your matters." Méabh eyes the stables and the axe beak inside with some scepticism. The birds were known for having a bit of a temper, and they were big and strong enough to take on a dog if they felt like it. Not a team of dogs all at once - but then they weren't really smart enough to know that. The redhead keeps herself between the bird and the dogs as she settled her team in. For a moment she considers going over to the bird and settling the matter of just who tops the pecking order in the stables now, but decides against it. It is supposedly tamed, and you never know with these things - it might be too dumb to understand that, just because she wasn't in sight didn't mean she'd skin it alive it hurt her dogs. Better to let it stay calm.

Once she steps inside she's just a little taken aback by the rather enthusiastic greeting, but nevertheless offers a smile to the proprietor. "Thank you. Something to eat would be nice. And yes, I've just arrived in town." She nods at Tali. "And I will take you up on that offer. Thank you."
 
Tali smiles in response, then turns towards the woman. "Two tankards of mead, please," they say, holding up a mittened hand, then pulling the mitten off and holding up two fingers.

"Two meads and a bowl of stew, coming right up!" The woman nods eagerly before disappearing into the back room again.

Tali removes their coat and other cold weather gear. Underneath, they are whip-thin, even by half-elf standards, and their skin is nearly as pale as snow. Their eyes sit above dark circles, but Méabh can see excitement in them, and a subtle smile of anticipation curls the corner of their lips.

"She calls them two meads, even though that's incorrect," Tali says apologetically as they sit at a table. "Mead is an uncountable noun."

Soon after they sit, the woman emerges, carrying two tankards of drink. Méabh can smell the scent of honey from her tankard even before she tastes it. As the woman leans forward to place the drinks on the table, she tells Méabh, "I'll have your stew out soon. We have rooms, too, if you want to spend the night! Warm beds, no drafts, and no fleas! I guarantee it!"

She nods and smiles, then scurries to the back room again. Tali sips their drink and smiles before putting their drink back on the table. "So. I heard Shalescar say you're looking for work. What do you know about animals? Perhaps...aquatic animals?"
 
Méabh cocks a brow at the grammatical correction. Not everybody is perfectly educated - and there is nothing inherently wrong with that. Different people have different strengths, and she sees no need to apologize for that. She smiles at Cora when the drinks are put down, accepting it with a nod. "Thank you. I think I'll take one of your rooms while I'm here." Correct declination or not, the mead is surprisingly good, and the redhead makes an appreciative grunt after her first sip, and immediately takes a second.

"I am, as long as it pays." Méabh nods at Tali, eyeing the half-elf. She herself has little of her half-elven birth parent's appearance, looking mostly human with the exception of a very slight taper to her ears - her darkvision is the dominant result of her ancestry - but even she can tell that Tali is built like a reed, and cannot help but wonder why. The rest of the town did not appear to be starving. "I'm a musher, and I trained my team myself. I know my way around animals." The tribes take great pride in their dogs, and Méabh is no exception. She has a good feeling for animals. "But I'll admit, I have little experience with swimming beasts, but that need not be a problem. Is there anything specific that you worry about?"
 
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"Oh, thank you, madam!" The innkeeper smiles in relief and bows gratefully to Méabh before returning to the back. "I'll prepare a room for you. It will ready when you need it!"

"That's unfortunate," Tali says. "I had hoped you would have fishing experience, at least. But then, much of Bremen does, and they don't want to help me. Maybe it's for the best."

Tali leans forward on the table. "Let me give you the context. Bremen is a fishing town. The townspeople rely on knucklehead trout from the lake of Maer Dualdon for food, oil, and even bones. The harbour is frozen, but the center of the lake is still fluid. I believe there are thermal vents at the bottom of all three of the Ten-Towns's lakes that keep them warm, even in this winter. Swimmers who have descended to the bottom of each lake report that the water's temperature is hottest there. I've wanted to ask the dwarves in the area if they know whether - "

Tali abruptly stops in mid-sentence, then holds up a finger. "I'm sorry. I got distracted." They take another drink of their mead before continuing.

"Bremen can't survive without fishing the Maer Dualdon. As of late, however, a monster has been attacking Bremen's fishing boats. Descriptions of the beast vary widely: some say it's the size of an ox, and others say it's the size of a house. Some witnesses identified it as a whale or large fish, while others claimed it was reptilian or amphibian in appearance.

"They say the monster capsizes the boats, but doesn't attack the passengers thereafter. That's still enough to prevent anyone from taking a boat out onto the water, of course. Even if they don't drown, no one wants to be soaking wet in this weather. The only reason no one's died yet is because people have changed to fishing from the ice's edge, but their haul is much smaller there.

"Now, here's the really fascinating part. I've interviewed those that survived the attacks, and they tell me the monster tests the boats before capsizing them. It's also cautious and adjusts its attack if the boat's passengers have spears. Finally, I've checked with the other towns that fish on the Maer Dualdon - Lonelywood, Targos, and Termalaine - and none of their boats have been attacked. My hypothesis is that this monster is more intelligent than most animals, is able to distinguish the boats of one town from another, and is targeting Bremen's boats in particular.

"I want to learn more about this monster. I want your help taking a boat out onto the lake so I can observe it and take notes. If we learn more about what's in the lake, the people of Bremen will be much safer - and, well, it bears the potential to be awfully interesting."
 
Méabh frowns as Tali tells their story. She knows that Bremen relies on fish, but she also is not particularly fond of boats - she doesn't trust anything without solid ground beneath it.
But on the other hand, helping Bremen with this problem is certain to put her in the townsfolks' good graces. And if that creature really is as peaceful as Tali says...
"I suppose that can be done. We can have spears hidden on the boat, to drive it off when things get dangerous. It certainly seems like a peculiar problem.
But even if we do learn - what do you plan to do with this knowledge? The creature is unlikely to change its ways just because you know about them. It seems to me that the easiest solution would be to organize a hunt, no?"

She eyes the half-elf once again - partially to see how they react to that suggestion, and partially because she has trouble figuring out if Tali is a man or a woman or something else, and it starts to irritate her. Not because it matters, really, but because it feels like the half-elf is hiding something, and it makes her hesitant to trust them - even though she is consciously aware that this reaction is irrational.
"How long has this creature been attacking? And are you certain it is only one, when descriptions differ so wildly?"
 
"I can't be certain," Tali says. "Like you, when I heard the differing descriptions, I did wonder if there were multiple monsters, but continued research led me to believe there is only one. Witness reports tend to be unreliable, and if the monster is usually submerged and the most of the townspeople can't see it in this darkness, then it will probably be more so. Reports of its behaviour are generally consistent, however, and no one has ever reported a boat being attacked by more than one monster. I've also heard of multiple boats being out on the lake at once, and them being attacked in turn. Finally, this behaviour is so aberrant, it seems hard to believe multiple animals could be so out of the ordinary, in the same place, simultaneously."

Tali cocks their head and gives Méabh a knowing smile. "Of course, everything is hard to believe until the first time you see it. Two years ago, I'd not have believed the sun would fail to rise in the morning.

"As for what I'll do with this knowledge...I've always been motivated to study the flora, fauna, and otherwise of Icewind Dale. In fact, this is something of a diversion from my primary interest, but I won't waste your time talking about that now. So, I admit my primary motivation is selfish. Whatever we do learn, however, can only help the people of Bremen. If we can identify it or the specifics of its behaviour, we may learn something that can help fishing boats protect themselves from it. It would, at least, provide more confidence in a hunt if one were to try and organize one."

Tali frowns slightly. "Even if it would be a shame to kill such a unique creature."
 
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