Sugar Plum Yuletide (The Coming of Winter King)

Note: This adventure is based on the "Winter's Crest" module for 5e. It has been adapted for edition and level.

21 - 22 Frostkolt 348 AC

Grotto orders a nice meal and a couple mugs of ale. He tasks out his cook book that he was gifted and begins to read it fire a bit. He gets inspiration for new meals he could make his crew.

The workbook contains recipes for everything from pastries to stews, lavish dinners, and simple treats. There is a section on table settings, centerpieces, and advice on to seat guests who may have contentious relationships with other dinner attendees.

"If only I had a proper kitchen to cook these dishes in. I will have to do my best over a fire," Grotto thinks.

Grotto chats with Guildar. He loves seeing his people as there are no other dwarves in his party to share dwarven customs with.

"Well, my noble dwarf! Tell me the latest news. Any good times or adventures to be had," Grotto asks his fellow dwarf.

Guildar chuckles, "Well met, indeed. Don't see many or our kind 'round these parts." He pours enough ale to top off the scarred dwarf's tankard. "I can't say as I give much of a listen to rumors of adventure these days. I'm long since retired from that line o' work - too old to be sleepin' alongside a road or in some dungeon somewhere. No, I hung my sword up years ago. I did hear that Eldyn Brownee won the baking contest in town today. That was a bit of a surprise. That nasty slice o' cheese she puts on top of her pie just ruins the whole thing for me. What brings you to these parts?"

While Grotto reads Raven mostly glowers in a corner, annoyed by his seeming entrapment in Womford. He wonders where Marzipan is, knowing that his major domo is literally incapable of betraying him due to the magic of their position. He finds himself forced to consider whether or not he incorrectly performed the rite that allows him to contact the Gingerbread Manservant and resolves to learn the proper method if that is the case.

Over the course of the evening, the old halfling woman rises from her seat and asks if she can join him for some quiet conversation, as one should not spend the holiday alone. She introduces herself as Hazel Softhands. While they talk with each other, Raven learns that she is bound for a village on the other side of the mountain to visit her grandson, who has recently wed and is expecting the birth of his first child.

The man and boy keep to themselves, polite but aloof, barely engaging with Guildar as he circulates through the taproom, topping off drinks and bringing food orders.

The bard, a minstrel known as Dollis is a quick wit, sings an epic tale involving a giant named Urok who sleeps beneath the mountai, tree spirits who seek revenge on the woodcutters who felled them, and the Winter King who roves through the hills in search of the unworthy so he can slaughter them with gleeful abandon; especially on the night of Yuletide.

As the bard winds down his tale, he takes a lap around the room, hat extended in search of coin. Grotto notices that Dollis' raiment, though fine, is beginning to show its age and the small lyre he carries has several chips in its frame.

After a few hours of reading, he retires to his room. Grotto washes himself then prays to Hanseath to thank him for the day and get his blessings for tomorrow. Grotto prays for his usual compliment of spells. Feeling Hanseath's grace, he then goes to bed.

As the dwarf finally sits down on the edge of the cot in his room, he hears a loud BANG come from downstairs, along with yelling and shouting. This is immediately followed by the sounds of a brief scuffle.

Grotto, just finishing up his prayers to Hanseath, is startled by the unexpected noise. Grotto hurriedly walks down to the commotion to investigate.

Down in the taproom, Grotto sees Guildar, the elderly halfling, the minstrel Dollis, and the father and son standing behind Raven. Two bodies lie at Raven's feet with a third pinned to the wall, impaled on Raven's sword. The elf pulls his blade out of the corpse and it falls, joining those of the dead already on the floor.

The slain enemies are small, not much larger than the halfling woman, with pointed ears, and are clad in red and green clothing. Wickedly curved and hooked blades lie scattered around their bodies.

A voice rings out from outside, a deep and boom voice, "Children, do not fight it, do not fight me. I have come for the boy, and the boy alone. He has failed, he has sinned in my eyes. And tonight, on Yuletide Eve, his time is up. You have an hour to surrender him to me or my elves, else I shall submit you all unto my judgement."