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Penny's Dungeons and Dragons: Black Ice

Méabh sits up, pulling the blankets with her to keep herself covered as she stretches, then methodically goes through all of her limbs and digits, moving them through their full range of motion. "A bit sore, but everything seems to work fine. I don't remember all of what happened after I went under, just flashes..." She glances over at Tali. "Are they alright?" Then she shakes her head. "And I've apparently forgotten my manners. I haven't even asked your name. I am Méabh. Thank you for helping us."
 
"Oh, that's quite alright, dear!" the halfling says, giving Méabh a wide smile. As she turns to look at Méabh, the half-elf can see that the middle-aged halfling is standing at her kitchen table, a bowl in front of her. "We at Lonelywood like our peace and quiet, but that's doesn't mean we never want guests, oh no. Certainly not at times like this! No, this is when we should all be helping each other, isn't it! With all of our problems."

Méabh can tell there is something hidden in the woman's words. She has something planned for Méabh, but it's not clear what. She turns back to her bowl, sprinkling something in it before rigorously mixing it with a wooden spoon. "Your friend's going to be fine, I'm sure. It'll just take time. Really, I'm surprised you're already awake!"

The woman sets the bowl aside, apparently satisfied with her mixing for the moment. She moves to the counter and lifts a teapot wrapped in a cozy. With precise and familiar movements, she pours a cup of tea into a mug clearly sized for human mouths, rather than halfling ones. Steam rises from the cup, which she takes in both hands and carries over to the easy chair. The house is shrouded in shadow, but the halfling navigates it as easily as Méabh would despite lacking her darkvision. From her movements, it's clear she's intimately familiar with her surroundings.

"Drink this, dear," she says, holding the mug out to Méabh. The fluid within is clearly thicker than most tea; if Méabh were familiar with such things, she might have compared it to the consistency of hot chocolate. If Méabh doesn't take the mug, the woman places it on a coaster on a small table next to the chair.

"Of course...I suppose you're made of tough stuff, aren't you?" the woman says in a carefully neutral tone. She gives Méabh another wide smile, and something twinkles in the eye closer to the fire. "You're from the Reghed tribes, aren't you, dear? We don't usually see you in the Towns nowadays."
 
The musher has spent plenty of time alone, travelling between clans and tribes, and to the towns, to carry messages and to trade. With her elven ancestry making light unnecessary and the tribes not caring a great deal for illumination when warmth is more important, Méabh has gotten used to the dark, so much so that it takes her a moment to realize that the house has no light in it. She ponders for a moment why that is, but turns her attention back to the halfling when she approaches.

Méabh accepts the mug, taking a deep breath of the steam rising from it. The smell of it is familiar, stirring up vague memories from long-gone times, when she was very young. Before her birth-parents died and she was rescued by her tribe. It gives her pause, for she rarely remembers these times anymore, and when she does it is not in any great detail. This scent doesn't bring forth any particular memories either - but it does bring with it a sense of warmth and safety that has nothing to do with her recovering from the encounter in the lake and the cold after.
The redhead takes a long, slow sip, eyeing the woman with a sort of bemused foreboding. "I am, yes. Though I was not born to them." She takes another sip before continuing. "The were always difficulties, but ever since the dark the world has become more and more hostile. Everybody needs, and few have. Not a good situation for trade."
 
"Really?" The halfling squints at Méabh, the first indication she's given that the dark impairs her vision. "I thought you looked like a Reghedman. I didn't realize you weren't born to them."

She leans her head to the side to inspect Méabh's ears. "But I've never seen an elf in the tribes, either. I've heard they're letting outsiders join them, though. Which tribes are you with?"

She covers her mouth. "Oh, I'm being rude, aren't I? I'm very sorry, dear! We just get so few visitors, nowadays. Not a lot of trade, as you say. Everything is so difficult now. But we could help you, couldn't we?"

She leans forward, placing her hand on Méabh's arm. "Why, it seems we saved your life. Now, I've heard the Tribes consider things like that to be debts, and that they're honour-bound to pay their debts. I don't want to put that kind of burden on you, dear, so I have idea. Really, it's the whole town that saved you, so if you could do the whole town a favour, that debt would be paid. It would even bring our people closer together, don't you think?"

Your tribe doesn't have any special philosophies regarding life debts or payment, and to the best of your knowledge, the other tribes don't either. Ten-Towners tend to have a lot of strange and incorrect beliefs about the tribes.
 
Méabh raises the mug for another sip, using it to hide her frown and remove the woman's hand from her arm without being impolite. She knows well that the Townies believed all sorts of strange things, and this concept of debts and their repayment is far from the most offensive thing she's ever been told about her people and is not the cause for her reaction. The old lady's behaviour is. Sure, whatever she is building up to ask for could be harmless. It might not be something impossible or outrageous or suicidally dangerous. It could just be something not too dangerous, easily done without taking too much of her time.
It absolutely won't be, but it could.

"Have you ever considered just asking if I am willing to help instead of immediately trying for blackmail and guilt-tripping?" The redhead asks, keeping her voice mostly civil. "Which won't work, by the way. The tribes do not treat such things any differently than you townsfolk do. So I'm willing to listen and lend help if I can, but I won't just rush to a foolhardy death to 'repay' you."
 
The halfling woman's face, previously cloyingly sweet, falls. After a moment, she recovers some modicum of warmth, now mixed with the canniness of an experienced trader. At least now, she looks genuine.

"Alright." The woman returns to the kitchen and pours herself a cup of tea, this one halfling-sized. With the cup in one hand, she pulls an uncushioned wooden chair - again, halfling-sized - next to the much larger seat Méabh is resting in and sits down. "We have an animal problem. A great white moose is attacking our woodcutters. I want you to kill it."

She gives her tea a sip. "Any questions?"
 
Méabh's brows rose in surprise. Moose could be dangerous, certainly, but mostly to the unprepared or unaware. A group of hunters, even Townie hunters, should be able to draw with it. "I believe that I can do. But I will get to claim what I want from the kill." She pauses for a moment, taking another sip. "What can you tell me of this moose?"
 
"Quite a bit, and not enough." The woman smiles wanly and sips her tea again.

"I haven't seen it myself. My hunting days are long gone, I'm afraid, and I haven't gone into the woods since the Rime started. But I'm told it's snow white, which is unusual, and hard to see against the snow. That's a problem because it's not just attacking our loggers, it's hunting them. We've tried cutting different parts of the woods, but it's very good at finding us. Our best hunters have tried to kill it, but it's smarter than most moose - they never find it unless it's ambushing them."

She puts her tea side and sighs. "You probably already know this, but moose usually don't attack people unless it's breeding season or they're defending their calves. I've never seen one go looking for people. The hunters think it's unnatural, and maybe it is. Before this started a couple of months ago, we hadn't seen a white moose around Lonelywood in years." She puts a fist to her chin thoughtfully. "Still, I think there's something they're not telling me. Maybe you can get more out of them. They're scared, but I think I can talk them into helping you, if you think it'll help. You'll still get your claim of the kill - we just want it dead."
 
Méabh thought for a moment, then shook her head. "I will gladly listen to everything they can tell, but I think it would be best if I were to hunt alone. If it is dangerous enough to elude and ambush experienced hunters, then stealth will be my best option. If it has some unnatural way of finding your people, that sense might not alert it to an outsider."
Granted, that latter assumption was something of a gamble.

"But before I set out for the hunt, I will need someone to bring me back to Bremen. I left my hounds behind, along with my sled and other belongings, all of which might prove helpful in finding and stopping that moose."
 
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"You want to hunt it alone? You're confident!" The woman raises her eyebrows and grins. "That's a good sign."

She reaches for her tea. "I'll talk to our hunters and have them bring you back to Bremen. That will give you a chance to ask them about the moose. Just remember to think twice about what they tell you. I think they're hiding something from me, and a lot of us here in Lonelywood aren't as friendly to guests as I am."

She gives Méabh a pleasant smile - though while the half-elf can see the halfling's face in the dark, the reverse is probably not true. She sips her tea, then asks, "Do you need anything else from me?"
 
Méabh cocks a brow at that warning. Within a single tribe, there rarely is division - unless a Speaker is trying to stirr up trouble. Which is not the same as there being no conflict. But conflict is between individuals, whereas the tribe is the tribe, and the tribe comes first. But among the Townies, things are different. Or maybe not so much. Maybe its the case of one town being home to several groups - several tribes, so to speak - which do not consider themselves part of a greater whole.
"I will certainly keep that in mind." The redhead empties the rest of her cup, thinking for a moment. "What about Tali? Are they injured? Well enough to travel? They could accompany us back to Bremen, save your people another trip."
 
"Tali's your friend, yes?" The woman nods in the vague direction of the easy chair, but doesn't look in its direction - another sign that she's probably navigating the house by memory, rather than any sort of darkvision. "Well, Tali just needs rest. I'm surprised you recovered so quickly, actually, but you're a healthy one. I got a good look at both of you, and Tali seemed a bit more...bookish, to me."

She shrugs and smiles. "If you're planning to start right now, Tali will probably be good enough to travel by the time you get done."
 
"Well, friend may be overselling it, at least for now. Tali offered a reward if I help with getting a good look at the sea monster sinking Bremen's boats. It - din't turn out as planned. But I don't make a habit of discarding decent people. If you could make certain they are cared for until I have dealt with your moose, I'd appreciate that." Méabh offers as she puts aside the cup and gets to her feet, then continues with a more formal tone. "Thank you, for your help and the shelter of your home. I will be on my way now." She inclines her head to the woman, then collects her belongings and sets off to find the hunters that can help her get back to Bremen to collect her dogs.
 
"Oh, don't you worry," the woman chuckles. "I've watched over enough of my own children that went swimming when they shouldn't have, or got themselves hurt doing something silly. I'll keep an eye on Tali until you get back - or until they get well enough to leave on their own.

"But I can't let you leave just yet!" She hops off the chair and walks back into her kitchen. "There's two things I need to do first. Number one, I have to go round up our hunters so they can walk you back to Bremen. It probably won't take more than an hour! It's...well, not daylight, now, but these are the times everyone is awake. Oh, these conditions have really changed we think about time, hasn't it? It never stops being night and it never stops being winter. In times like these, you have to appreciate the good things in life! And that brings me to number two."

She pulls on a pair of thick mutters, opens her cast-iron stove, and pulls out a metal tray. On the tray are a dozen cookies in the vague shape of halflings. "I can't let you leave without some of my famous Huddle family cookies!"

The woman will leave to collect the hunters. True to her word, she's back within an hour, though not by much. As near as she can tell, Méabh is left alone but for the unconscious Tali.

She also gets a dozen cookies. They are soft and moist and smell of ginger.
 
"I - thank you." Méabh chuckles as the woman puts down the plate of cookies. They smell delicious and make her mouth water, and she picks up one, giving it a bite. It crumbles easily within her mouth, the moist dough still almost too warm for eating. The Ranger's eyes widen in delighted surprise. "By the Gods, those are fantastic. Where do you even still get the ingredients for them?"
The redhead exclaims before finishing the cookie off and continuing with a bit more calm. "I'll wait here for you then. Thank you again for all you and your village have done to help."

Once the woman is gone, Méabh glances over at Tali, who seems to be out cold still. The wildling gets to her feet, letting the warm blanket that covered her slide from her shoulders, and inspects herself for injury.
The tall redhead's body is a delicious mix of well-toned muscle and pleasant feminine softness. The swirling blue tribal tattoos visible on her face continue all the way over her skin, running down both of her arms and down her back, hugging her ample chest and the luscious curves of her waist and hips, curling over her stomach and down both of her legs. In the intricate culture of the tribes they are more than simple ornamentation. They identify her allegiance in tribe and clan, and tell of skills acquired and notable deeds done in the name of either.

Finding herself free of frostbite or any injury besides a few scrapes, Méabh nods in content and wanders over to where her clothes have been drying by the fire, dressing herself and enjoying their warmth on her skin.
 
"Oh ho ho!" The halfling wags a finger at Méabh scoldingly. "I can't give away all my secrets. You just enjoy them, dear. If you take care of this moose, maybe I'll make you some more."

The cookies are not just delicious. Each one grants Méabh six temporary hit points, which lasts until they are lost or her next long rest. Note that temporary hit points are not cumulative; if she has three temporary hit points left and eats a cookie, then she'll still end up with six temporary hit points.

The light of the hearth's fire, silhouetting Méabh's tattooed body, would make for a beautiful sight if anyone were present and conscious to appreciate it. As it is, Méabh can still enjoy the lack of bodily injury. She has recovered from whatever hypothermia she experienced due to immersion in the lake water and feels refreshed by her rest. The clothes, though slightly stiff from the drying process, are pleasantly warm on her skin.

The house has a few books, but even with Méabh's darkvision, reading them is headache-inducing unless she brings them close to the fire, and they tend not to be very interesting - ledgers and records of Ten Town agreements and trade deals, going back years. One recent record that catches Méabh's eye is a list of sacrifices granted to Auril, the Frostmaiden: a day's worth of knucklehead trout, which is strung up at the town's outskirts every new moon. In between each sacrifice, the writer has recorded any phenomena they can attribute to Auril, trying to determine the effectiveness of the sacrifices. Their findings are vague, inconclusive, and unconvincing.

The halfling woman returns after about an hour. She has three hunters in tow, all male and approximately human-sized, though one is tall and broad enough that he might be a half-orc under his heavy coverings. The lead hunter pulls down his scarf to reveal a frown surrounded by a thick beard.

"You're the barbarian?" he asks gruffly.

"Leton!" scolds the halfling woman. "Where's your manners? She's a Reghedman. And her name is Méabh."

"Sorry." The apology is clearly directed at the halfling, not at Méabh. He looks back up at her. "You ready to go?"
 
"It's alright. I'm used to it." Méabh bows her head to the halfling. "Thank you once more." She then looks Leton over with a little smirk. "Are you? I would've headed over to Bremen on my lonesome, but Miss Huddle said you lot might know some useful things."
She remembers the earlier warning of the woman, about the hunters potentially hiding something, and maybe not being as friendly to guests, and makes eye contact with each of them before pushing forward with a slightly exaggerated swagger. She's aiming to make it clear that she's not prey by any definition, without trying to come over as over-confident. "Let's get going, then. I hear you can tell me more about the murderous moose?"
 
Leton's frown intensifies before he pulls his scarf up, covering all of his face besides his eyes.

"Good luck, dear! Enjoy the cookies!" If Huddle noticed Méabh's swagger or Leton's disapproval, she gives no indication. She waves and smiles before retreating into her house, shutting the door firmly against the cold.

"You got cookies?" asks the largest hunter. His voice is deep, halfway to a growl despite clearly just being surprised. He's almost certainly a half-orc. "We never got cookies."

"Let's get moving," Leton says dismissively. "Don't need to stand around in this cold, 'specially if we ain't good enough to deal with this moose. Apparently."

They start walking. As they move, Leton does all of the talking out of the three hunters. "Figure Speaker Nimsy told you everything there is to tell already. Some big moose in the forest thinks it's mating season and is all aggressve. Probably confused by the long winter, or maybe it was always busted in the head. It's albino, y'know - it's all messed up.

"Not a big deal, just people gettin' all worked up for no reason. Like this winter ain't enough to worry about."
 
Hearing the big guy complain, Méabh chuckles and hands him one of the cookies. "Dig in, Tiny. I don't mind sharing. Anyone else want one?" She asks, handing over a cookie as necessary before turning her attention to Leton as they start marching. "Hey, I didn't come here to stir up trouble. I was in Bremen, helping someone with their fishing problem, and things went sideways. The Old Lady was the one who brought up the moose. Even tried to strongarm me 'cause she thought I wouldn't be willing to help, otherwise." The redhead shrugs. "All I was told is it's big, white, actively hunting people instead of just being aggressive when randomly encountered, and she claims it's smarter than a moose should be. I would have dismissed it as something you local hunters could have handled easily if she hadn't been so ready to resort to underhanded tactics to get my help, and if Bremen wouldn't have had their own strange animal problems.
Besides, I need to get back to Bremen and get my dogs. Might as well see if I can pitch in and help. So, what have you guys tried to deal with it already? The Old Lady said changing hunting grounds didn't work, and it seems uncannily good at avoiding being hunted itself?"
 
"Thanks," says the large hunter as he takes a cookie. He pulls down his scarf, confirming he is a half-orc, and happily bites off its head. "Mmm."

As Méabh describes the moose, the two unnamed hunters exchange concerned looks. They try to do so with Leton, too, but he ignores them. The looks are secretive, as well, but not enough to escape Méabh's notice. Something in her description makes them uncomfortable, but they don't want her to know.

"Lumberjacks will say a whole lot of things," Leton says dismissively. "Scared of their own shadows, the bunch of 'em. A couple of 'em get attacked and they think they're being hunted, but it's just moving around, is all. Probably looking for food. Winter's got everyone hungry.

"Just a matter of time until we find it. Dark's making it hard, but we know these forests. Better'n any outsiders, anyway."

He's hiding something - Méabh can tell that. There's no hesitation in his voice, though; he's clearly prepared this story ahead of time. This may not be the first time he's told it.
 
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