I realize I have never been cold. When you grow up sharing a monk’s cell, even a small oil lamp will keep you warm.

In the fall, my father and I hunted for the deer that would keep us fed through the winter. Leaving before first light I could often see my breath, but I wasn’t cold. I was free. We would stay in the woods all day, butchering anything we would take, and wrapping it in paper so we could smuggle it back in after dark.

Those were long days, but not cold days.

I know cold now. As we trudge towards the village, the the stinging salt spray quickly coats my robes. If this place doesn’t give us shelter, we won’t make it through the day, let alone the night.

I’ve heard of these islands of the far north, isolated, just the way the elves like it. Fortunately Kirrix and Elros speak elvish and secure us freedom to enter the village.

We bargain for cloaks, but the reality is I would have given the coin from my forehead for the warmth these cloaks provide. Lady forgive me.

Frankly the next hour is a blur, we trudge up to see the leader of this village, tell him our lie, tell him the truth, and he doesn’t slit our throats. That is enough.

Finally, as I lay down in their infirmary I feel some measure of warmth. As I see the others fall off to sleep, I pull out the lockbox we found in the temple. I want desperately to hear that tune again, but I have on idea if opening the box here wil make the entire structure collapse around us. And I’m too tired to find out.

I awaken to the chief telling us that few will stay and fight, and that blurry hour comes back to me. We’ve agreed to help this village fend off Lady Sky’s enforcers.

I’m wanted in Ostia and Rudainia, why not add Kaldygg to the list! I have no more home, and Lady Sky is a tyrant. Let’s see what luck the true Lady can bring this village at the icy end of the world.

I’m currently playing through a campaign DM’d by the indomitable Erik Maxwell. As a writing exercise I’m giving myself 30 minutes to recap our weekly adventures.