15

4-6th of Nightal, 1489 (New Moon -15)

The End of Ten Towns (Saga)

Sahnar's messages:

The Other Verbeeg

Olivessa Untapoor

Mead Hall Push?

Back to Bryn Shander

Whose votes are in play?

We need six votes if all ten speakers show up.

Bremen will follow me. That's two.

I have good relations with Lonelywood and so do you. I would count on them unless something has happened I don't know about. That's three.

Trovus will probably follow us, especially if you can win some hearts in Caer Konig. That would be four.

I don't know who won the Good Mead election. If Shandar Froth, then he will oppose us.

Targos is out with Naerth in control and maybe even without him.

Dougan's Hole is out absent some kind of miracle. They might now even show to the Council, which would be good for us. But they will if Naerth asks them.

No one has seen the Caer-Dineval Speaker for months but the communications coming out of that town have been distinctly pro-Naerth. I wouldn't count on him.

That leaves Termalaine or Easthaven. They won't follow me just because I ask. You would probably need to win over one or the other, or both.

Termalaine is a mess. Speaker Masthew is a good man, or half-orc or whatever, but he is feuding with the militia. I understand someonme from the Arcane Brotherhood had to clear out their mine when you four didn't take them up on it. There may be some hurt feelings.

Easthaven is a wild card. Do you have any relations with them?

Saga Rewards

I want to thank you for your service to Ten-Towns. I've taken the liberty of obtaining some magical items uniquely suited to each of you and your duties in the days ahead.

Orion

Duvessa pulls out a small amulet, a brilliant starburst of silver and sapphire, gleaming despite the dim light.

"In these dark times, it is easy to be lost. Easy to falter. Easy to let the cold creep into our bones, to sink into our hearts, to convince us that we are small, that we are alone. That the storm is greater than us, and that we are powerless to stand against it."

"But you, Orion, have been a beacon. Not just in battle, not just in victory, but in the quiet moments, when courage is tested, and duty is heavy. You have shielded the weak when others would have fled. You have carried burdens that were not your own. And when your allies stood on the edge of despair, you reminded them that they were not alone."

"Icewind Dale is not a land of comfort. It is not a place for those who shrink from hardship. It is a place for those who endure, who protect, who fight—not just with steel, but with heart."

"Tonight, I give you this amulet—the Beacon of the North. It is not a weapon. It is not armor. It is a light in the darkness, a symbol of the warmth that lingers even in the bitterest cold. A reminder that, as long as you stand, your friends will never stand alone."

"Wear it with pride, Paladin. For you are not just a warrior. You are a guardian of the North."

She steps forward, placing the amulet over Orion’s head, the sapphire catching the firelight like a frozen star. The hall erupts in cheers, voices calling his name, their faith in him as steadfast as the walls around them.

Beacon of the North

Bragnar

Duvessa pulls out a set of heavy iron gauntlets, perfectly sized for Bragnar with etchings of him running in to battle an enormous yeti with only his axe.

"There are those who see strength as mere brute force. Who believe that might is measured in muscle alone, in steel and blood, in victories won through sheer power. But you—" she pauses, a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips "—you have shown us that true strength is not just about striking the hardest, but about standing when others fall. About laughing in the face of the storm, charging into the jaws of death, and daring the world to strike you down."

"There are legends in the North of the giants that once roamed these lands, their footsteps shaking the very earth. The weak feared them. The wise avoided them. But the warriors of Icewind Dale—she lifts the gauntlets slightly "—they slew them."

"You are such a warrior, Bragnar. You are the hammer that shatters the unbreakable. The avalanche that buries those who think themselves immovable. And so, it is only fitting that you bear these gauntlets—"

"The Gauntlets of the Giant Slayer—forged not just for strength, but for those who fight without fear, who stand against the towering might of their foes and win."

"Wear them well, warrior. May they serve you as fiercely as you have served the North."

She steps forward, placing the gauntlets into Bragnar’s outstretched hands. The moment they touch his skin, the weight of them feels familiar—like they were always meant to be his. The hall erupts into cheers, the sound echoing like thunder, like the laughter of giants who have finally met their match.

Gauntlets of the Giant Slayer

Merken

Duvessa holds a ring shimmering with an almost unnatural warmth, its design reminiscent of intertwining vines and blooming flowers.

"Merkén, also known by many names—some whispered with admiration, others with exasperation."

A chuckle ripples through the crowd.

"You have walked a path unlike any other in this frozen land. Where others see only cold and death, you find warmth and life. Where others see enemies to be slain, you see hearts to be swayed. And where others curse the Everlasting Winter, you—ever the contrarian—have found something within it worth admiring. You have seen the quiet beauty in the snow-covered wilds, the strength of the creatures that thrive in the ice and cold, and the balance restored where once human hands reached too far."

"Some call it charm, others call it folly, and yet—somehow—it always seems to work. I have seen you turn blades aside not with steel, but with words. I have seen you soften hearts that were long frozen. And I have seen you wield persuasion as deftly as any warrior wields a sword."

"So, it is only fitting that I grant you this—she lifts the ring slightly, its delicate design catching the firelight "—the Ring of the Amorous Grove. A symbol of your unique magic, not one of spells and incantations, but of connection, of persuasion, of the undeniable force of personality that makes you, well… you."

"With this ring, may your words carry even greater weight, your presence stir even colder hearts, and your charms… well, let us just say I doubt they need any further enhancement."

A smirk tugs at her lips as laughter spreads through the crowd. She steps forward, placing the ring in Merkén’s hand.

"Wear it well, Druid. And if you must keep finding beauty in this endless winter, try not to let it freeze your heart completely."

The cheers that follow are laced with knowing amusement—after all, if anyone could turn even the harshest ice into something warm, it was Merkén.

Ring of the Amorous Grove

Johnny

Duvessa Shane steps forward, a small but weighty coin resting in her palm. Worn at the edges, its surface dull from years of handling—but as she turns it over, it catches the light in a way that suggests it holds more than mere metal.

"A rogue, a scout, a marksman—titles that only begin to scratch the surface of who you are. Some would call you a thief. Some would call you a lawman. And in truth, you are both."

"You are a man who walks the line between shadow and honor, between the pursuit of wealth and the pursuit of justice. You understand the value of a well-placed coin as much as a well-placed arrow. You have danced on the edge of the law and yet never broken what truly matters. When others hoard power for themselves, you take what is needed and deliver it where it belongs. When others turn away from risk, you step forward, because even if the job is dangerous, it must be done."

"That is why this coin belongs to you—she holds it up between her fingers, its weight seeming to carry something more than just gold "—the Coin of the Honest Thief. A reminder that wealth, like power, is not an end but a means. A tool, as sharp as any dagger, as swift as any arrow."

"With this coin, may your hands stay quick, your aim stay true, and your choices—whether made in the light or the dark—always lead you down a path you can walk with pride."

She steps forward, pressing the coin into Johnny’s palm. The moment his fingers close around it, the weight feels right, as if it has always belonged there. A murmur of approval ripples through the gathered crowd—because in a place like Icewind Dale, where survival is won by wit as much as by strength, even an honest thief has his place.

Coin of the Honest Thief

Loot