BY ORDER OF JARL SKALD THE ELDER

An elder frost troll has denned in the high passes above Dawnstar for months, ambushing supply caravans and miners between the grey coastal capital of the Pale and the interior. The Jarl has posted a bounty rich enough to draw every blade in the north, and copies of the notice have traveled the inland roads.

The kill must be made before the first snows of Hearthfire close the passes — a month out, no more. No warband can be mustered in time; the road is too dangerous, the troll's den unknown. What is needed is a small company: fast, quiet, and very good.

The Windpeak Inn has its hunters. There is room for one more.

Rei

HUNTRESS OF THE VELYN WOOD

Rei has spent more of her life in the high pine country than in any town that claims her. Milky-pale and amber-eyed with a tomboy's sharp grin, she is known across the Pale as an apex scout — the sort who drops a frost troll with a single enchanted bolt through the eye, then complains the hide is ruined. Fists wreathed in Shock and Frost for anyone who closes the distance.

Blunt, foul-mouthed, fiercely loyal, and soft-hearted in the way of people who'd sooner punch you than admit it. She drills her green knight so mercilessly that the fondness beneath it is an open secret to everyone but him. Dislikes aristocrats, Thalmor, being coddled — and compliments, which make her ears go red.

Ashe

SORCERESS OF THE OLD BLOOD

Ashe was born into the ancient nobility of the Summerset Isles and renounced all of it for the roads of men. Five centuries of arcane study sit easy on her: golden-haired, sapphire-eyed, serene as candlelight, she carries the quiet confidence of a woman who has outlived every rival's great-great-grandchildren. Her Destruction splits trolls like firewood; her Restoration knits flesh in seconds.

She is the expedition's anchor — gentle, warm, and relentlessly maternal toward her younger companions, delighting especially in mothering Rei into sputtering ruin. Dislikes pompous Thalmor, haughty nobles, seeing her companions hurt, and any mention of her age. Her ears are a closely guarded weakness.

Retan Htard

KNIGHT-ERRANT, SWORN & GREEN

Retan Htard is twenty-two years old and has looked fifty since he was sixteen — silver-streaked hair, a salt-and-pepper beard, a square jaw and steady gaze that strangers routinely mistake for the veteran leading the expedition. Then he opens his mouth: painfully formal, chivalrous to a fault, and greener than spring grass. Brave in the way of boys who haven't yet learned what fear is for.

Rei calls him "old man" while correcting his footwork. Ashe sweetly reminds strangers he's "only twenty-two." He drills daily, polishes his plate twice, guards a journal of terrible poetry like a daedric artifact — and is hopelessly, secretly in love with both his mentors, torn apart nightly and certain neither has noticed. Neither entirely has.

The bounty is pinned by the fire at the Windpeak Inn. Rei is already judging you. Ashe is pouring something warm. Retan is polishing his sword and absolutely, definitely not staring.

There is room for one more.

THE NORTHERN EXPEDITION  ·  WINDPEAK INN  ·  DAWNSTAR  ·  4E 201