Sleetmouth was a fairly normal city, all things considered. There were streets, there were buildings, there were people going about their everyday business. People ate, drank, worked, and played. There were children running around. Everything looked pretty normal.

Of course, there was also the stink. You couldn’t really get away from it, and most people probably wouldn’t notice it once they’d been in the city for a while, but the stink of human habitation was all around. Even in a fantasy world, some things don’t change, and one of those things is that people in any kind of large concentrations stink.

“First time in a city?” I looked over to see Wilmot smiling at me, not unkindly, while we walked through the city. “You have the look of someone seeing something new.”

Smiling back at him, I said, “First time in this life, yes. And in my last, well, the cities were very different than they are here. My old world was not one of monsters and magic, but one where technology advanced further than it was here. So, a city here is far different from any city I’ve seen before.”

“Ah, so the stories of the Twice-Born are true, then? Your souls are really reborn from other worlds? And you remember your past lives?”

“Yes, the stories are true. From what I was told, by one of the gods of my world, it is done so that the worlds do not become… complacent, I guess. A stagnant pool, stinking with muck, compared to a flowing river. One is much healthier for people and creatures than the other, no? So Twice-Born come with ideas and concepts that are alien to their new worlds, and, when their time is done, they return to their old worlds with the same.”

Wilmot nodded to himself. “Which is why a girl who is clearly not yet fifteen winters old speaks and acts so maturely, and civilly, despite being raised amongst the Tribes of Frostwind Dale. It will be interesting to see what comes of this.”

He led me to a large house, one of the few two-story buildings I’d seen, and the only one that wasn’t a church of some sort. It was clearly the nicest house in town, and obviously where the man in charge lived. Inside, we were shown by a footman to a sitting room, which was well-appointed, for a place out here in the wilderness.

I was warming myself by the fire when I heard a startled noise behind me. (Just because I could withstand the cold did not mean I was immune to it, after all, or didn’t feel its bite.) I pulled in my wings, which I had spread out a bit to relax, and turned to see a man in finely made clothes of red and gold colors, which matched the colors of the family crest on the hangings, wearing an ornate longsword on his belt. Looked as though it were, if not for show, then at least primarily there as a status symbol, since he was not wearing any armor. So, an everyday carry piece, instead of preparing for battle?

The man’s brown eyes looked me over quickly, though I could see that it was my wings that fascinated him the most. But, when he muttered something, I could see his eyes glow momentarily, which caused him to frown, and reach for his sword, which forced me to drop into a more defensive stance. Fortunately, Wilmot was there, and he coughed once to break the spell. “My Lord, this is Melinda Eriksdaughter, a Twice-Born from the Tribes. She has news I think you should hear.” To me, he said, “Melinda, this is Sir Arnaud Emberlash, Paladin of Lathander, Lord and Protector of Sleetmouth and the Nine Towns of Frostwind Dale.”

Emberlash took a breath, and straightened slightly, no longer looking as though he were about to draw his sword. “And what news would a child touched by Evil and born of the Tribes have to tell me, then? Give me a reason why I should not purge your unclean existence from this world for daring to step across my threshold.”

Melinda’s Will Save: 1d20+9 = 25 (Success)

Right. Religious nutjob all on about good and evil. I’d learned about the existence of Paladins in my time in this world, and had realized early on that I was going to have to find a way to deal with them. Unfortunately, I was pretty sure that fighting both the paladin and the guard captain was a losing proposition, so it looked like I’d have to talk my way out of this.

Worse, without even waiting for me to give a response, even before I could open my mouth, this Lord Emberlash cast a spell, which felt like a compulsion to speak the truth. I felt the spell wash over me, but the compulsion didn’t take hold. No matter. I wasn’t planning on lying, anyway. I didn’t have a reason to, not at the moment.

Melinda’s Diplomacy Roll: 1d20+13 = 18

I took a breath, and then said, “I am a Twice-Born in the service of Auril, the Frostmaiden, Lady of Winter. I was born into the Tribe of the Elk, of the Tribes of Frostwind Dale. Yesterday, the tribes met at the gathering place of Indsamling, at the call of Yorlunn Bloodaxe of the Tribe of the Bear. Yorlunn wished to unite the tribes for war, as has happened before, to win glory for himself and his son.”

“This son was a brute that believed because of his father’s power he could take what he wished, and was not amused when I did not find his company enticing. Words were exchanged, as were insults, and satisfaction was demanded in the ring of Indsamling. I won the honor fight, and, when Yorlunn offered to ‘let’ me be his bride in exchange for his son’s life, I refused, and killed the fool, as was my right.”

“Unwilling to let this loss of face go unchallenged, Yorlunn then conspired with other leaders of the Tribes, convincing them to offer a blood sacrifice to the Great Spirit that guards Indsamling, hoping for an augury as to the outcome of their war. He wished to use me as a sacrifice, but others, who did not wish to share in his dishonor, warned me about this before he could enact his plans. And so, I struck first.”

The paladin, eyes narrowed as he watched me, looking for any trace of dishonesty or ill intent, despite his spell, frowned as I got to this point. “The tide of magic… what is it that you did, child? No one of your age should be able to summon magics of that level.”

Looking him in the eye, “I called upon the Spirit of Indsamling and the Goddess Auril, and invoked their power in a Rite of Sundering. I am no longer of the blood of the Tribe of the Elk, and may never again call myself their tribeswoman. The powers invoked in the rite granted me a great boon, and placed a curse upon the blood of Yorlunn, the Tribe of the Bear, and all those who sided with him in the Council.”

I took a breath, and continued, “No longer a part of the Tribes, I took wing, and flew away from Indsamling in the night. The next morning, I flew again, crossing many miles as I made my way to Sleetmouth. I came to seek shelter until the next caravan heads to the Southlands. But it would seem that my flight did not go unnoticed, and someone set off an alarm.”

“I know not what will happen in Indsamling, or what the Tribes will decide, now that the curse has been laid upon them. However, stubborn old men can often be overfull of pride, and may risk ruin to avoid losing the respect of their people. Or they may think it better to take to the field and die in battle rather than suffer under the Curse. I cannot say, as I do not know their minds. They may decide to go to war, or the curse may frighten them from that path. I have told my story, and given what warning I can, out of respect for Captain Wilmot, and that is all I can do.”

Lord Emberlash frowned as he looked at me. “I detect no lies in your words. And yet, you have not said everything you might.” He took a breath, and shook his head. “As Lord of Sleetmouth, I will thank you for this warning. Word shall be sent out for a muster, as a drill. If the savages wish to attack, we shall be ready, and if not, then the practice will still do them good.”

The Paladin paused, and then looked at me directly, “As a servant of Lathander, I shall not hinder you in your passage to the South, unless you break the laws of my lands. However, neither shall I aid you in this, as you and your dark mistress are both creatures of evil. This is the best I can do for you, and remain true to my oaths. Captain Wilmot, see to it that this exile from the savages is rewarded as fits her station, and see to it that she finds the inn without wandering into any trouble or tempting danger.”

Taking that as a dismissal, Wilmot led me out of Emberlash’s house. Looking a little nonplussed, he said, “Sorry about that. Paladins take oaths that prevent them from associating with those who fall too far from the ideals they set for themselves and everyone else. The Lord is a good man, but the constraints of his faith and his role as the leader of the town sometimes leaves him caught between two dragons.”

I shook my head. “I may have been born from the Tribes, but I am not ignorant about how the world works. I will do my best to avoid him, from here on out, and that should serve to keep him from having to strain his oaths regarding me. I won’t be staying in Sleetmouth long, though. In the spring, the caravans from the South should come, yes? I was not lying when I said that I intended to join the first one heading back to the South. I would fly, but my knowledge of the world outside the tundra, outside Frostwind Dale as you call it, is low, and it is dangerous to go alone through the wilderness.”

Wilmot nodded, and set off down the street. I followed, assuming he was leading me towards the inn that Emberlash had mentioned. “Well, you’re not wrong about the caravans. The first of the season is expected in two months, at the latest, perhaps as early as a month if they were waiting on the melt in the pass. The Nine Towns make a good living from the fisthead trout that only spawn in the Five Lakes. That, and certain herbs that only grow properly in the cold, but have some uses in alchemy, are the primary exports of the Towns.”

He looked over at me as we walked. “So, yes, the caravans should be coming before long. As for passage to the south? Whether you have to buy passage or sign on as a guard depends on your strength, and what you can do to prove it. No offense, but you do not look like the kind of person the caravan leaders would hire as a guard. Not with only those two daggers on your waist, and no armor. Unless you could show you had magic, they would not even consider you as a guard.”

I nodded thoughtfully. “Well, it so happens that I have magic, though not anything as useful as a mage’s spells. One of the classes I gained as a Twice-Born is the Warlock class. So, I can contribute to the defense of a caravan that way, but I doubt blasting something in the middle of town to show off my power would endear me to the guards, hmm?”

He chuckled, and said, “As Captain of the Guard, I can assure you that using offensive magic as anything but self-defense would most certainly put you at odds with the Guard. I have heard that the Twice-Born gain two paths in life. So, if Warlock is one of your paths, what is the other?”

Now, I smiled. “I am also a Battledancer. I carry these blades as a deterrent, to keep people from thinking that I’m just some helpless waif. When I wish, my fist is a more potent weapon than either of my blades.”

“In that case, I don’t doubt you’ll find some way to make some coin until the caravan comes. So, as the reward for bringing us the information, I’ll give you this.” He pulled a map from his bag, and handed it to me. “This is a map of the Dale, and its surroundings. No doubt you’re familiar with much of it already, but it would be good of you to have. And second, here’s five gold coins. It isn’t much of a reward, but it will keep you in the Buggered Banshee inn, with meals, for a tenday, with some left over, which should allow you to find your footing well enough.”

As I took the coins, he said, softer now, “And, if you find yourself in a praying mood, there is a shine to your Lady in town. Not as prominently placed as others, perhaps, but close by the gate, where travelers venturing out can pray for safe passage, and those returning can give thanks. If you’re sworn to the Frostmaiden, then Priestess Emeline would no doubt be pleased to have another at her services.”