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Mini Adventures #1: The Tower in the Glacier

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Place-Holder (Or how a certain minor mage, a runaway thief, a burly north-man, and a monk from Khitai, stalked the vile sorcerer Vul-Kazza to his ice-shrouded tower)

Rogues Gallery:
Kisanth, mysterious follower of Isis, lover of wolves
Ythedrir Tenstone, red-bearded, towering, axe-man from Vanaheim
Jakh the Foul, scar-faced thief from parts unknown
Xiahao, a motivated and single-minded Khitan avenger

Somewhere east of the Graaskal Mountains, and west of the Mountains of Gray-Apes, in the half-frozen southern reaches of weird Hyperborea...

The wind-swept, southern reaches of Hyperborea were lands best left untraveled. Witches, Ice-trolls, and Snow-apes lived here, and not much else did for long.

And yet here she was, her four-legged lover in tow, traversing the late-winter slush, the skies above, gray and leaden. Ravens, perched precariously on the withered branches of twisted dwarf-trees, and mocked her advance, cawing rudely whenever her wolf raised his snout to look in their direction. Only the incessant, howling wind and the cursed black-birds broke the silence of the dreary tundra landscape around her.

The creature suddenly paused, and sucked in air through its nostrils. A low menacing growl escaped the wolf's gut, and he looked up at Kisanth.

There was someone or something nearby. Wolf-sense was never wrong. There were not many places to hide in this flat, uninspiring land, yet Kisanth slowed her pace, and looked around her, peering intently in a wide-arc across the white-washed terrain

Only wind. But then she spied a figure against the whiteness of the snow, coming towards her. Slight and crouched. Aloneā€¦

Jakh was trudging forward, hunched up under layers of furs, cursing the cruel fates that forced him to flee his homeland for these grim northlands.  The cold ached, deep into the marrow of his bones, and he hadn't seen a soul for days.

Finally, looking up he saw a figure in the distance, with what appeared to be a mastiff or another large hunting dog.  A grin crossed his face, mutilated to the point where it would drive many a grown man to foul himself on the spot, and he continued forward, drawing into earshot of the other figure he yelled above the sound of the wind, "Peace of the Moon Goddess upon you.  What brings you to these wastes?"

Yethedrir, though endured to weather far worse then this, still wearied of it.  The hel-cursed Vul-kazza would pay in blood, if he could ever find the coward.  News was said to be found in a village nearby, but it seemed well hidden.

He pulled up on the reins, bringing Sridath to a stop.  Movement ahead had caught his eye, and he could make out Travellers ahead. Perhaps they knew of the village he sought?  Cautiously, he spurred Sridath forward.

Siren no Orakio:
Cold, bitter wind. It knifed through the senses, but within his mind, Xiahao set it aside. The cold in his flesh was as nothing before the slow simmer of hatred within his soul, warmer even than the thick fur cloak that enveloped his burlap robes. He hunted, and that was enough. He hunted for the man who had slain his students and stolen the Jade Lotus.

Ah, the sound of human voices? Is that what the wind carried to his ears? Shifting his course slightly, Xiahao went to investigate...


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