Lost in Realm
24
Iceflow River is an almost freezing river spanning from the southwest of the Spine of the World, the mountain range stretching across the northern Sword Coast, to the Trackless Sea, the ocean set at the west of the Continent of Faerun. It coursed through a great gorge of ice. In summer, huge ice boulders would break off the walls of the gorge, plummeting into the river. The large ice chunks moved through the gorge and floated out to the sea. Many monsters suited to cold climates dwelt near the banks of the river. According to the travel plan, the expedition crew would turn northeast from the river, off the main Northern Means highway and towards Klauthen Vale, their destination. If any of them thought the Black Raven Tribe was dangerous, what they might encounter from here on would be ten times worse.
In another life, in many one on one tabletop roleplay games Nhilva and her grandfather had played, they had only covered this area twice. And none of them were at the level she was at now. It made her nervous. She could only make up one or two spells so far, her melee skill was good, but not excellent, and her eye weren't completely recovered just yet. She wasn't very optimistic about this part of the journey. Was she behaving too hasty when Bastian invited her on this expedition? Many doubts filled her head as they woke up the next day and prepared the day's journey.
The morning's travel was uneventful. Aside from a small pack of wolves, which they handled without even breaking a sweat, they encountered nothing else. However, the weather changed from the reasonably pleasant one the day before to something that would make one coursed in every language known to men. Wind picked up a notch. Not very long after they embarked on today's trip, it started to snow. It wasn't as bad as a full on blizzard, but it was still quite a bother to people who were on the road. They were all prepared for something like this to happen, but it didn't make the trip more enjoyable.
By midday, they arrived at the Iceflow gorge.
Large chunks of ice blocks filled the river, slowly moving along the narrow canyon. Echoes of rocks and glaciers hit together were so loud, it made the hailing wind sound like quiet whisper in comparison. Before them, where the Northern Mean was meant to be crossing, stood a large rope bridge. Poles only giants were able to carry deeply embedded in the frozen ground. Presumably there were two on the other side. On them, tied cables braided of ropes as thick as a child's arm, forming a suspended crossing over the gully. Icicles formed on the whole structure. It looked solid and sturdy. Nhilva wondered if it had ever broken.
"They have repaired this multiple times. Every time there was magic involved," explained Bastian, sensing the drow's pondering.
"No magic or force is as strong as nature, mate," sighed Greg, his arms crossed over his broad chest. "All you need is one full grown Ice Spider, or a particular strong gust, and it's done."
"Fortunately, we don't have to cross this bridge," Nhilva grimaced, pointing at their right. "We are going that way."
"Aye, thank goodness," Boyle also joined the commentary. "How's your eyes, by the way, N-Nhilva?"
"You got the name right. Cheers. My eyes are better. Still watering when looking about too long. Can't see beyond a horse's length."
"We don't have a horse."
"A measurement figure of speech, Boyle."
"Oh."
"And I am still seeing duplicates of you."
"There are two of us, chicky." Greg laughed.
"Ah, right. Then I am getting better."
They turned and began to travel along the gorge. Soon, their surrounding landscape started to change from barren, snow covered ground occasionally giving grass here and there, to low shrubs and small trees on both sides of the tracks. Howling wind was getting quieter, but loud cracks of ice chucks hitting things could still be heard. They stumbled upon one Ice Spider, then two. And not very long after that, A Remorhaz.
Oh, goodie.