And here we are again, attempting to keep a record of a solo session for the UMPTEENTH time. Wow. So many stories told, so many things experienced, all of it in my stupid ol’ noggin. What I’ve found works best for these things so far is a kind of recap, or retelling of the adventures long after they’ve happened. But I miss out on a lot of the detail with that style, so here we are AGAIN trying to document it as it happens.

The game: D&D 5e. Playing an Adventures In Middle Earth module called Eaves Of Mirkwood, but heavily reflavoured to fit into the world of Empai Tirkosu – specifically the elemental plane of Ice.

The characters:

Kolem Teargown Alagatholu. Big, easygoing Golath dude who’s as chill as his home plane. Used to be part of a tracker team duo with his best friend before he lost him to gnolls, which he now hates with a vengeance. Kol for short.

Natina Mageheart Makuliko. Reserved, stately Golath girl who hides her exuberant personality behind a respectful exterior. Servant of Nivak, an ice archomental. Actually an astral mage, but she doesn’t know it yet. Nat for short.

Cloules. Timid, almost cringing Aarakocra with deft fingers and a habit of using them to snatch shiny things. Believes he’s an iceborn (he isn’t). Got into some trouble in his hometown, so he jumped ship to the plane of ice to be among “his element”. Clou for short.

Thulia Farlander Inulugonu. One of the Stonik guardians of the northern mountains, with the tall height and intensity that comes with that way of life. After the death of her father and subsequent disillusionment with the tribe’s duty, she left to find a new purpose. Thu for short.

Cue the music (Frostpunk soundtrack).

* * *

Gorodok. One of the few towns this far from the plane’s centre warm enough for a forest to grow. The lives of the Golath villagers is a harsh one indeed, but their struggles give them purpose. The will to survive is ingrained in every icefolk and iceborn. That will is about to be put to the test for our band of heroes.

Cloules tramps through the snow in the centre of town, clutching his far too thin travelling gear around him, beak chattering from the cold. A harsh wind cuts through the air as he makes his way towards the tavern. The interior of the log cabin is somewhat warmer than outside, although still far too chill for the Aarakocra’s liking.

He scans the room and picks out a group of three Golath poring over a map at one table. He asks if they’re the party headed for the town of Gorozere – they are, and introductions are made. Thulia, a tall, long-haired warrior with too many weapons to count stashed over her white-fur camouflage. Natina, a girl wearing the colours of a noble’s servant and currently nibbling on some boar jerky. Kolam, the bearded guide smoking a pipe full of a fragrant weed. He nods to the map, inviting the newcomer to glance over their route. Cloules gives it a cursory glance before approving it, without really knowing what he’s agreeing to. He just needs to get out of this tiny little village before his gold runs out – there are few inattentive people in Gorodok, and even less with full pockets.

Kol wraps up the meeting – they leave at first light tomorrow. Clou find himself in the position of scout, which he isn’t too sure of. Unlike Nat and Thulia, who readily accept their roles of lookout and hunter, respectively.

The tomorrow arrives, and the group sets off at a healthy pace. Kolam smokes his pipe while he walks, leaving a trail of the sweet scent behind to the other three. Natina drags behind after several minutes walk, to inquire with a worried tone whether Clou is warm enough: he isn’t, beak clicking away like a phase spider’s mandibles. Kolam sighs, and they head back to town to purchase a warmer garment. Thulia glares with disdain at the birdman all the way there, but stops when Kol calls her out for it. “Do not be harsh like frostbite on outplaner. Is not big deal.”

Clou rips a hole in his new travelling gear so his wings can fit through, and they set off again. Natina stumbles along beside him, giving encouraging words in broken common. Thulia occasionally strays from the group in search of game, her keen sense of direction always guiding her back.

* * *

On the second day of travel, the party stumbles upon a single tamed wolf. A mere minute later, the owner appears on the horizon – a sled runner who’s pack broke loose and scattered into the forest. Clou and Thulia tell the Golath it’s not their problem, but Kol just laughs and sets off to help find the lost beasts. The other two follow him and Nat, somewhat begrudgingly.

They quickly find the wolves, Thulia and Kol making good use of their tracking knowledge, while Clou takes to the skies to gain a height advantage. With the pack safely hitched back to their sled, the sled runner departs with a grateful thanks. The company presses onwards, even the most reluctant hearts warmed by the praise.

* * *

The sixth day of travel. The trees grow close to the path here, and Thulia keeps finding herself whipped by branches springing back from Kol as he pushes through. “Damn this!” She rubs a blueish line on her cheek. “Why must they be so spiteful?” Kol shrugs. “Trees do not spite, nor feel. Just grow. Watch careful, please.” “And burn. They do that well.” She shoots a narrow glare at the greenery before a shout from Cloules draws everyone’s attention: “Rocks! Stone man!”

Following the sound of his voice, they find themselves in a kind of clearing. What looks like the remains of a stone wall lies scattered among the pines, trailing off into the forest. But the object Clou is perched upon is of real interest – the giant stone head of a statue, staring serenely up from the snow. Kolam inspects it. “Is probably chief of old clan. Old, before planar war, even.” Nat glances around at the walls. “This must have been a shrine, or a settlement?” “May be, but no food or warm welcome now.”

“Quite the reverse.” Thu beckons the party over to see what she’s looking at: a large paw-print, bigger than an ordinary wolf’s. Kolam notes the particular shape of the heel with a grim face. “Gnoll.”

The group suddenly become aware that the sun has dipped below the treeline, leaving only dim light with which to see by. At the same moment, a cackling screech fills the air along with the ring of metal on metal. “Stay!” Kolam thunders off towards the noise, unslinging the greataxe from around his shoulder. Thulia ignores him, and the others follow her into battle after a brief hesitation.

A trio of woodcutters face off against a sizeable pack of the horrific creatures. The blood of every party member run cold as they watch one of the hairy fiends tear a mouthful of flesh from one unfortunate Golath, blood spattering its skull-like face. It turns to Kol as he crashes into the clearing, and charges with a leaping bound. A spear thrown by Clou knocks him back. That draws their attention – a portion of them break away from the lumberers, one for each member of the group.

The battle is short and tense. Kolam takes on what seems to be the leader while Clou snipes them from behind a fallen tree. Nat stabs an ice dagger conjured from thin air into the skeletal folds of her adversary, tumbling away as the weapon explodes into lethal shards that shred the creature. Thulia peppers the final one with arrows as Kol takes the leader’s head off with a powerful chop.

One of the foresters approaches them, a wrinkled balding man with an eyepatch, to shake Kol’s hand and introduce themselves. A light snow began falling almost immediately after the final blow was delivered, so Sorren, the elder, invites them to stay at their camp for the night. They all agree with as much aplomb as a Golath is expected to show – Cloules somewhat more than the others.

The woodsmen have made camp beside the ruins of a stone wall, underneath the roots of a long since felled fir. A large boar crackles on the merry fire, stoked by the youngest of the trio. The party gathers around in a friendly circle, eating the delicious meat and sharing stories of what brought them to this point in time. Kol takes out his pipe after dinner, and Sorren challenges him to a smoke-ring blowing game. They rope both Thulia and Clou into playing, the latter of whom actually wins by sheer beginners’ luck, leaving him very chuffed for the rest of the evening. The bearded woodsman sings a tune of stirring solemnity before bed, leaving Natina curled up by the fire on watch.

Not long before her fellow travellers drift off into slumber, the keen ears of the servant girl pick out a deep, powerful wolf howl – far enough not to alert the group, but nonetheless sending shivers down her hunched spine.

* * *

Morning creeps upon the camp, the pale blue light of the sky making the land seem darker than during the night. Clou sits watch, having taken over from Thulia a few hours ago. His consciousness is waning, too sleepy from yesterday’s walk to stay awake for much longer. He slips into an uneasy sleep that only lasts a moment: a hide sack is pulled over his head as strong arms seize his claws. He screeches for the others to wake, but too late! The rest are already bound and hoisted onto the backs of the unseen men.

They walk for a short while, Barhvan (the youngest woodman) explaining over the victorious shouts of their captors that he’s the one at fault here: he discovered the boar they’d feasted on the previous night tied to a tree not far from a nearby village. Apparently the inhabitants had found out and tracked them down. Kolam tries reasoning with them, but his mild entreaties are met with shouts for justice and a rap on the head.

The bags are finally pulled off their heads in what appears to be a storehouse, and they are unceremoniously dumped on the floor – the door locking behind the retreating villagers. Clou is just happy to be out of the cold, while Thulia inspects the corners of the building. “Sturdy beams. This place must be used to keep supplies safe. We’re not getting out of here without our weapons.”

Two hours pass, Barhvan looking rather miserable. He meekly explains that he hadn’t intended to steal the boar – he thought it had been caught in a snare. Soren gives him a withering look. “Liar! You told us you captured it with your bare hands!” Nat steps in: “He made a mistake, yes? Do not chide him for so small a folly.” “Small folly, pah!” Soren spits. “Look around you, girl! They may skin us alive!”

At long last, their captors return and usher them at spearpoint to an expansive, smoky building at the centre of the small settlement. On a fur-laden throne sits the village elder – a wizened old woman with silvery hair. She bids them explain themselves, threatening to keep their weapons and banish them if their excuse proves unsatisfactory. Kolam starts to try and distance him and the party from the woodmen, but the elder isn’t having any of that: “You eat offering, you pay price! Now, give your names.” “Kolam Alagatholu, I travel to Gorozere with these three.” “Natina Makuliko.” “Thulia Inulugonu.” “I am Cloules!” The elder gives him a stern look. “Ignorance no excuse, Stolokch.” Natina quickly interjects. “O wise one, strange as it may seem, his name truly is Cloules.” “Hmm.”

Natina inquires what the offering was intended for. The elder explains that long ago, the village was threatened by a Kaltund – a malevolent ice elemental taking the form of a wolf. The villagers came to an agreement with it to leave a live animal outside the village every week. The Kaltund’s unnatural thirst for blood quenched, and peace reigned. Until last night.

“Why not kill beast?” Kolam inquires with mild confusion. The elder’s eyes take on a hunted quality. “Many battles fought against it, I have seen. Kaltund claimed lives of two sons, one, two.” The party grows silent for a moment in respect for the dead. Cloules breaks the silence, surprising even himself with his words. “We… We shall slay this ice wolf for you! It’s the least we can do.. Right?” He turns to the rest of the party, all of whom are giving him very “no!” looks. The elder smiles, and nods. “So be it. You shall have weapons back, but hist! Flee, and we will find.”

As the words leave the elder’s mouth, a guttural howl cuts through the wind, followed by screams from outside. Thulia yells for the villagers to cut their bonds so they may fight, which they do before handing them their weapons. The doors burst open with a flurry of wind and snow, revealing a small gaggle of mephits and the hulking form of a massive white wolf. It speaks one Golath word: “HUNGER”, before pouncing towards the party.

A hail of ice spikes pour from its baying mouth, slicing into Kolam and Cloules – the former of which is pierced badly and falls prone, bleeding out. The latter… is not so fortunate. An icicle stabs right through the young birdman’s heart, leaving him only a moment to blink in shock before the cold embrace of death takes him.

Thulia draws her longsword with a roar, but her following blow simply glances off the creature’s glistening hide. It pushes past her to pin the elder against the far wall, staring at her with its hateful blue eyes. One ear flaps, drawing her eyes: a ring adorns it, one that the elder apparently recognises. She dies like her sons before her, in the icy breath of the Kaltund.

Thu charges behind the beast, while Nat unleashes a torrent of powerful ice magic that sadly is only somewhat effective. The creature turns with a snarl and catches Thulia’s blade in its mouth, trying to wrest it from her grasp. A blow from its claw sends her reeling, but Nat runs up to distract it with a smack from her staff. The Kaltund lets out a disdainful growl. “I have yet to taste Stonik flesh. This is a fine day indeed!” Thulia scrambles to her feet, blade poised. “Taste steal, foulness.” She drives the weapon clean through the mouth, dispersing its form into a cloud of howling icicles.

A rousing cheer goes up from the villagers, who by themselves have taken care of the mehpits. Nat rushes to Kolam’s side – he’s stable, but has a mild hypothermia. She rushes to get him wrapped in a blanket before he gets any worse. Thulia plants her shortsword beside Clou’s frozen corpse, spending a few moments of respectful silence in his memory. “At the end, he found courage.” It’s just a pity that courage wasn’t enough.

* * *

While the village celebrates, the heroes rest up and recover from their battle wounds, hearty heavy from the fall of their one. The following day they prepare to head back onto the road. The woodsmen explain that they’ve decided to stay in the village a while, to help repair some of the damage done by the Kaltund.

Kolam decides he needs to switch up his equipment a little, so he sells his gambeson for a studded variant, and his greataxe for a one-handed battleaxe and shield. All set to continue, the party begins the journey back to their original path, with the elder’s promise of a better welcome if they should return ringing in their ears.

And thus, the snowy peaks of the plane of ice claim yet another unfortunate soul who dares brave the everlasting winter. The three surviving Golath put their best foot forward as they head into the snow-choked forest, with heavy hearts but grim determination. For they know in their hearts that even though the ice will test them, even if it matches the full might of its hardships to end them…

…It will find their will equal.

* * *

Epilogue

A brilliant white sun shines off the sparkling snow, so bright it would blind one not accustomed to the glare. Kolam stops in his tracks, sniffing the air. “Something ahead.” The girls ready their weapons out of caution.

Over the snowbank rises a helmeted reptilian head followed by the dragonborn it belongs to. White scales radiate a sheen similar to the snow through which he tramps, leaning on an ornate black glaive tipped with pale quartz. The elderly but still fit dragonkin makes his way past the party with a simple nod – an acknowledgement of their struggle, and a gesture of encouragement. He knows well of the power this plane exudes, for he draws his own strengths from it. He is Pekeski, the Tsethem of Ice, and the weapon he wields is the legendary Black Icicle. He travels to the far reaches of his element-plane to learn more of the Gnoll threat: Where they come from, what danger they pose, if they are another force sent by the Ancient Tsethem to wreak havoc on the realm.

The party knows none of this. They see an elderly dragonborn in fancy plate mail, another soon-to-be victim of this frozen land. They return his nod, and press ever onward.

So…. That went a lot better than I expected. I actually kind of enojoyed it, even though it still took way longer than a normal session. I’m gonna try and reaaaally cut down on the description stuff for the next adventure, see how far I can take it before it becomes not worth the bother.

Anyway, this was fun. Hope someone gets something out of this.

Side note: Damn. Of course the one time I draw characters at 1st level, one of them has to go and immediately die. That being said, I’m honestly surprised they didn’t all kick the bucket – that Kaltund was enough for two deadly CRs. Beginner’s luck, maybe.