Ironveil Party

Leaving Karagorn Hold

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For three days, your entourage has travelled the rugged roads winding away from the Dwarven enclave of Kargorn Hold, the journey marked by a steady rhythm of creaking wagon wheels and the clink of armor. The cold mountain air remains ever-present, biting through layers of cloaks and tunics, as the distant peaks loom like silent sentinels watching over their passage. Though the path has been uneventful thus far, the somber weight of your mission lingers, casting a shadow over the group.

The wagon carrying Belnar’s coffin is in the middle of the convoy, its canvas cover protecting the honored dead from the elements. Each jolt of the wheels on the uneven road serves as a poignant reminder of the fallen warrior whose memory you bear to Mosstone. In contrast, a smaller wagon at the rear holds a goblin prisoner, its eyes narrowed in silent defiance as it watches the entourage with calculating wariness.

Entourage

Thaldric Ironveil

Race: Mountain Dwarf
Class: Cleric (Domain of Light)
Age: 265 years old
Alignment: ?

Personality: A steadfast and pragmatic dwarf, deeply loyal to his kin and his duty. He values tradition and honor, often serving as a voice of reason and authority among his companions. Though stoic and reserved, Thaldric possesses a sharp wit and a dry sense of humor that occasionally surfaces. He takes pride in his craftsmanship and heritage, viewing the safe transport of Belnar's body as both a personal responsibility and a sacred task. His determination is unwavering, and he doesn't shy away from tough decisions if they serve the greater good. 

Physical Description:
Thaldric Ironveil stands at a sturdy 4'6", his frame stooped slightly with the weight of years yet still powerful with the vitality of dwarven resilience. His long, braided beard is a silvery white, adorned with intricate golden clasps that reflect his devotion to the divine. Deep wrinkles carve his weathered face, and his piercing blue eyes glow faintly with the light of his deity. His bald crown shines in the sunlight, symbolizing his wisdom and asceticism. He wears ceremonial robes of gold and white, layered over chainmail, with a radiant sunburst amulet hanging from his neck—a holy symbol of his patron.

Brynna Emberforge
Underling for Thaldric Ironveil

Race: Hill Dwarf
Class: Cleric (Life Domain)
Age: 90 years old
Alignment: ?

Personality: Brynna Emberforge is a spirited and fiercely determined dwarf with a sharp tongue and a fiery temperament. She has an unshakable sense of duty and loyalty, often serving as the heart of the group, inspiring others with her passion and resolve. A skilled blacksmith and warrior, Brynna takes pride in her abilities, but she’s also deeply compassionate, showing great empathy toward those in need. She has a no-nonsense attitude when it comes to threats or challenges but balances it with a warm camaraderie among her allies. Brynna sees the transport of Belnar's body as not just a task but a moral imperative, honoring her people's traditions and the sacrifices made during the war. 

Physical Description:
Brynna is a stout and sturdy young dwarf, standing at 4'4" with a round, freckled face framed by fiery red hair braided into twin plaits. Her hazel eyes are warm and curious, reflecting her eagerness to learn. She wears practical, travel-worn robes in earthy greens and browns, accented by a simple copper holy symbol pinned to her cloak. Despite her modest appearance, her mace and shield are polished and well-maintained, hinting at her dedication to her role.

Keldric Stonegrip - RETURNED TO KARAGORN HOLD

• Role: Wagon driver and laborer

• Personality: Gruff and practical, Keldric speaks little but works tirelessly to ensure the wagon and its load stay secure. He has a knack for handling animals, especially the donkeys pulling the wagon, and often scolds them in Dwarvish mutters.

• Appearance: Shorter than most dwarves, with broad shoulders and soot-blackened hands from years of smithing before becoming a hauler. His braided beard is streaked with gray.

Loryn Frostforge  - RETURNED TO KARAGORN HOLD

• Role: Cook and camp steward

• Personality: Jovial and sharp-tongued, Loryn serves as the group’s morale booster, always ready with a quick joke or a hearty meal. Despite her cheerful demeanor, she’s fiercely protective of her companions and will wield her frying pan in a fight if needed.

• Appearance: Stout and round-faced, with fiery red hair tied into a single braid down her back. She wears a well-worn apron over her armor and keeps a small assortment of cooking tools on her belt.

Durdrak “Dusty” Emberholt - DEAD

• Role: Scout and lookout

• Personality: Quiet and observant, Durdrak has a knack for spotting trouble before it arrives. His sharp eyes and keen sense of direction make him invaluable on the road. Despite his skills, he’s superstitious and often mutters prayers when things feel amiss.

• Appearance: Lean and wiry for a dwarf, with sandy blond hair and a short, scruffy beard. His leather armor is patched and dusty, earning him his nickname.

Gorla Heavyhelm - DEAD

• Role: Guard and packmaster

• Personality: Gruff and no-nonsense, Gorla is a stalwart defender of the group. She tends to the pack animals and keeps them in line with a firm hand. Her sharp tongue often puts others in their place, but her loyalty to the group is unwavering.

• Appearance: Broad and solidly built, Gorla has dark brown hair streaked with silver and keeps her beard neatly trimmed. Her heavy plate armor bears the scars of many battles.

Varnok Bronzemantle  - RETURNED TO KARAGORN HOLD

• Role: Apprentice to Thaldric and scribe

• Personality: Eager and curious, Varnok sees this journey as a learning opportunity. He constantly asks questions, whether about Thaldric’s spells or the stories of the older dwarves. While his optimism can be grating, his sharp mind and quick hands make him useful.

• Appearance: Young and fresh-faced for a dwarf, with dark auburn hair and a short, barely-there beard. He carries a satchel full of scrolls and writing tools, always ready to jot down notes or draw maps.

Odran Flintbarrel - DEAD

• Role: Blacksmith and repair specialist

• Personality: Pragmatic and resourceful, Odran handles any repairs needed on the wagon, weapons, or armor. He’s often found tinkering with tools by the fire, muttering about how poorly things are built these days. Despite his grumbles, he’s dependable and quick to help in a fight.

• Appearance: Stocky and muscular, with arms like tree trunks. His face is darkened by soot, and his beard is singed at the ends from countless hours at the forge.

The Parents

Through the trees ahead, two figures stumble onto the road. They’re not dressed for danger—no armor, no weapons drawn. The man in the lead is rugged, his clothes travel-worn and dusty, a thin scar running along his jaw. His face is lined with worry, exhaustion plain in his dark eyes. A short sword hangs at his side, but it looks like an afterthought, not a threat.

Behind him, a woman emerges, younger, wiry but trembling with tension. Her dark hair clings to her face, damp with sweat, and her eyes are wide with panic. “Please,” she says, breathless and frantic, “have you seen her?” She stumbles toward you, her voice catching in her throat. “Have you seen a little girl? She’s—she’s only ten. Black hair, green eyes. She was wearing a green cloak with a silver clasp. Please, we’ve been looking for her for days.”

The man places a steadying hand on her shoulder, though his own voice trembles with worry. “I’m Ralven,” he says, his tone weary but kind. “This is Tessa, my wife. Our daughter, Emeline, ran off into the woods two nights ago. We—we think she got turned around in the dark.” He glances at the forest, his face grim. “We’ve been searching ever since.”

Tessa wrings her hands, her eyes darting between you and the surrounding trees. “We heard wolves last night,” she whispers, voice cracking. “We didn’t know where else to look. Please, let us travel with you. We don’t want to be out here alone anymore. We can’t—” her breath catches again, “we can’t lose her.”

Ralven’s voice softens. “We’re headed toward Mosstone now, hoping she might have made her way there.” He looks to you, desperation clear in his eyes. “Could we walk with you? Just until Mosstone. We’ll stay out of the way.”

There’s no sign of weapons drawn or threat in their words—only fear and exhaustion. Tessa’s panic feels raw, real, and her plea tugs at something deep. (Still, something about the situation gnaws at the edges of your instincts.)

Do you trust their story and grant them the safety of your company, or does something about their sudden appearance make you wary?

The Unraveling

The fire burns low, its embers glowing faintly in the chill of the night. The forest around you is silent now, save for the occasional crackle of wood and the soft, rhythmic breathing of the donkeys nearby. It’s the kind of stillness that makes even the smallest sound seem louder—like the quiet shuffle of footsteps.

Your eyes flick open. There’s Ralven, moving near the wagon, his back to the fire. His movements are slow, deliberate, the soft scrape of his boots barely audible. Tessa crouches near the fire, her face bathed in its dying light, but she isn’t tending it. Instead, her eyes are locked on you, sharp and predatory, her hand resting on the hilt of a knife tucked into her belt.

For a moment, everything is frozen—until Ralven lifts the canvas covering the wagon, revealing Belnar’s lifeless body beneath. His expression darkens, the warmth and kindness from before melting into something colder, more calculated. “Dead or alive,” he mutters under his breath, barely loud enough to hear.

Tessa’s voice breaks the silence, softer than it should be but laced with menace. “You should’ve kept sleeping,” she says, her tone no longer trembling with fear. “Would’ve been easier that way.”

The Confrontation

Ralven turns back to face you, his scar catching the dim light. “It’s not personal,” he says, almost apologetically. “We need the bounty, and he’s worth more than we’ve got to lose.” He pauses, glancing at your weapons. “Now, if you don’t want this to get ugly, just lie back down.”

Tessa’s eyes glint, her previous panic replaced with cold confidence. “We’ve been at this a long time,” she adds, her fingers tightening around the hilt of her knife. “Don’t make us kill you both. It’s messy, and we’d rather not.”

But despite their calm demeanor, there’s a tension in the air—something desperate. They didn’t expect you to wake. They didn’t expect you to fight back.

Decision Point

You have only seconds to decide: will you strike first, turning the tables on them, or try to negotiate, hoping to buy time? The firelight flickers, casting long shadows, and the forest holds its breath, waiting for your next move.