Act II, Chapter One: Between Stone and Snow

Seelah briefly inspects the shield and the sword. Tucking them away, for now, and then helping move the desk for kindling.

After completing his sweep around the crumbling tower, Varin steps inside without a word. He moves with quiet purpose, setting the overturned brazier upright and giving the narrow arrow slits a quick glance—checking sightlines, judging visibility.

Seeing Jasir already heading up the stairs, Varin nods slightly and lets him take the lead on whatever needs figuring out above.

Instead, Varin turns his attention to the broken furniture. He moves to the rotted bed frames, wrenching the weaker joints apart with practiced effort. The wood groans and cracks as he breaks it down, piece by piece, then tosses the usable scraps down the stairs toward the brazier.

Next, he gathers the ruined, dusty linens—torn sheets and fraying blankets—and carries the bundle back down. He tosses the fabric into a separate pile nearby, careful to keep it dry enough to catch flame.

With everything in place, Varin kneels beside the brazier, pulling out flint and steel. Silent and focused, he begins the slow work of coaxing a flame to life.
Nodding to the pile of cloth "Don't use that for the fire. A few of us might need it for insulation to keep warm in our travels."

Seelah holds her head low, in sorrow. A soldier herself, sympathetic to battles and martial ways of old. Gauntleted hands place the old graying sword inverted, with the old shield propped beside relic bones.

We must observe an Honor Watch, says our ebony erelander. A Dorn-minded ritual, a funerary rite for the fallen. Let us align our evening Watch around this area, friends, a single soldier watching silently, a watch rotated at set bells and tolls.

Who will join me in holding an Honor Watch tonight?

Jasir moves to stand beside Seelah, given that the Erenlander has taken similar interest in the remains of the fallen. "This place we have found ourselves... This is Halvardsen’s Vigil. And this... if I am reading the heraldry right, is Captain Rurik Halvardsen."

After a moment more his eyes slide to the side and he adds. "Local's say that this place is kept by at least one guardsman whose spirit lingers... We should see to it that the captain is allowed to seek his rest." He then produces he ring he had found from the ground and stretches it out towards Seelah. "I will join the vigil. But first place over the hilt of that blade and recite, 'Guard until dawn, that others may live'. It is the honor afforded to a captain." The Sarcosan then moves to start arranging the remains respectfully.

"Never swung a sword formally, but if you know the ways I'll follow your lead and do it for honor... rucking tired tomorrow will be a snow bear's mother, though. Bracing, blasting, biting cold brings me to pine for the fjords again." He dons a genuine smile, with a wink, settling into eyes of reverie.

Azote who prime concerns are enduring the cold and the night takes full attention to Seelah's request. Although Azote is really only knowledgeable about those matters of Caraheen. Still, she fully agrees with comrade Seelah. She replies to her, "What every you wish of me for respect."

Guessing that Azote cannot setup her tent inside, she instead offers it up as a tarp to cover all against the cold. She still intends to be warm in her bedroll that is actually oversized to smaller stature and may share it and extend it to Úlfr.

Everyone gets a goodberry for the night meal instead of dealing with rations. Still Azote agrees to fire for warmth. It is obvious that this is the way Azote normally travels since she can't expose herself to more civilized area's. She is very used to traveling alone.

Tork is a cheap lookout now and then for the night. Whenever he wants to check and when not then he is in close contact with Azote.

Petra thanks Azote for the tarp/tent cover and goodberry, and Varin and Jasir for sharing their findings from the second floor.


She listens wide-eyed and with a pang in her heart as everyone speaks of the noble fallen watchmen of Dorn.


"My people are keen of eyes even in dimness and I am willing to take a watch shift. Perhaps if we're taking two hours a piece, we can all get a chance at eights hours of rest?" she offers.

Unsure if she'll be taken up on it, as their (to put it mildly) least battle-ready of the group.

Varin remains silent throughout the vigil, his head bowed low, eyes fixed on the floor as the others speak their words for the long-fallen guardian. His hands rest clasped in his lap, scarred knuckles pale in the dim firelight. He doesn't offer prayers or platitudes—only a quiet, respectful stillness.

When it ends, he rises without a word and carries his empty cookpot to the tower’s entrance. Opening the door with a creak, he sets the pot just outside, angling it to catch the falling snow.

Returning inside, Varin grabs his worn blanket and wraps it tightly around his shoulders. The fabric smells of travel and smoke, but it's warm. He settles down beside the door, back braced against it, where he has a clear view of both the room and the whole above them

"I’ll take first watch," he mutters, voice low and tired but steady. "We might think about doubling up. Just in case someone—or something—was watching us before we found this place."

His eyes don’t blink often as he begins his silent vigil, listening to the wind outside and the quiet crackle of the brazier’s flames.

"To do the ritual correctly... I think several of us must stay up all night."

Úlfr takes part in the ritual if given direction.

"A single soldier keeps silent watch while others rotate at set bells, is what I heard the rite entailed. Sounds to me like you are supposed to change out the watch at each bell so more can participate in honoring the fallen and deceased? And further it sounds like the watch is meant to be a single person at a time?" Petra offers in response to both Varin and Ulfr.


If given the opportunity, the dwarrow stands a silent hour of vigil imagining the life and final night of this Dorn captain.


Her shift is either second since the first has been claimed, or anytime after Varin takes the first.

THE ISHENSA RIVER | HALVARDSEN'S VIGIL | EARLY NIGHTFALL
Outside, the blizzard claws at stone and flesh alike, but within the ruined tower an old vow stirs to life.
Snow-scoured stones form the shattered remains of what once was a stout battlement. A crumbled wall opens to the wind-blasted plain; within the circular tower, bone-white frost clings to broken parapets and jagged masonry. Embers of a once-bright hearth cold, the only light now is the pale moon gleaming off ice-laden shelves of rock.

In the budding frozen tempest, Seelah steps forward, the ritual words rasping through lips numbed by cold. "Guard until dawn, that others may live."

Her breath hangs like pale incense as she finishes the ritual and places the sword, tip-down, upon the fallen captain’s shield in reverence, the fallen man’s sigil barely visible beneath the rime.

For a heartbeat nothing happens.

As her cadence fades in the frosty air. Ice flakes drift from the shattered lintel as a tall figure of pale blue ether coalesces above the weather‑scored plinth. The translucent Dorn captain, helm crested, cloak in tatters of moonlit frost, reaches down. His spectral hand closes round the rust eaten longsword, draws it free with the ring of his oath, then plants it, point-down, before the crumbled wall. Steel bites stone.

A low, resonant thrum rolls through the hall. The wind dies. Heat, gentle as an early spring sun, washes outward, melting frost and warming stiff fingers. The blizzard still howls beyond the walls, but here in the tower the air settles into comfortable calm.

The captain straightens, eyes like banked coals upon the company. He gestures once, an invitation. Seelah steps beside him. The ghost loosens the sword from the stone and in solemn silence, he presents the sword across an open palm. She accepts, plants it as he did, and the soothing aura blazes anew. The captain nods, approval and trust mingled, and resumes his silent watch.

So the vigil passes. The Dorn’s ghost stands unwavering, sentinel and symbol both. One by one, the companions claim their turn at the sword. Each feels, upon gripping the hilt, a pulse of enduring strength, not a mind or soul, but the indelible imprint of Captain Halvardsen’s will, steadfast in the steel. Outside, the blizzard intensifies; within, the barrier holds, hearth‑warm and windless. The spirit never speaks, never moves, except to mark each change of watch with a sharp, silent salute.

At last, a pale dawn bleeds across the snowbound hills through the broken wall. Seelah returns the blade, completing the circle. As the first light strikes the broken tower, she salutes. The captain receives the sword, pressing fist to chest, and in solemn ritual intones the words of the ancient border creed, "I stand relieved. Maintain the Watch, that many may live."

With a final nod, the phantom dissolves into morning mist. Yet the Dawn-Ward thrums with quiet power in Seelah’s hands, its new covenant born, its oath unbroken.

Though his spirit is gone, his presence lingers in the steel, a bond of vigilance and honor renewed.

Seelah alone stands with Dawn-Ward. The storm broken, the long watch begun anew.

---

Seelah recieves:

Those of you trained in the skill, give me survival checks once you head outside.

Elven Azote has a 19 for survival check.

Jasir is content to assist where he can in the rite and the watch at night. As he is the second to the last one on watch he spends time following his shift in consideration of the cloak he'd retrieved the prior night. The necessity for warmer gear was all the more apparent to the Sarcosan and the idea of risking a little bit of magic before they depart and work their ways northwards has him contemplating the mildew-y garment.

The morning would otherwise see him simply making ready to depart up until the results of the ritual bear out. That sees him joining in the motion of saluting the spectral captain, his gaze lingering on the departing spirit... it leaves the Sarcosan reflective this morning. He records portions of it within his lorebook, which he closes when the group is marshalled for the coming day.

It's a gentle surprise to Petra how spiritual it feels standing watch with the Dorn Captain.

Afterward, instead of her usual nightmare she dreams of valor and fellowship among the Dorn sentries.


* * * * *

In the morning the dwarrow wakes to witness Seelah with her new sword and tells her, "It is a fitting honor."


Well-rested, Petra emerges into the snow and gazes around, ready to depart and try to keep their passage onward to Giant's Teeth a subtle one. "Perhaps now we could try the trick of walking in the same foot tracks to confuse patrols or pursuers?"

Azote rises to find Tork already awake. She decides to travel with her bedroll wrapped around her. Mumbles something about Winter Clothing. She packs up her tarp for her tent.

She asks Seelah kindly, "May I see your new sword. It rather fascinates me."

A good question for GM: What region are we in? Smiles. We all have favored ones for a healthy +2.

Our ebony Erelander is different now. Seelah has seen battles, experienced victory and pain. But never before had she encountered a martial spirit, or been blessed with a covenant item. She’d spent most of her career honing prowess with Bladeguard, and now Seelah has a new weapon to learn, and eventually, to master.

Maintain the Watch, that many may live, Seelah commits quietly to herself.

You’re not the only one fascinated by it, Seelah replies kindly to Azote. Seelah carefully hands ta Dawn-Ward to Azote. It’s truly an honor for me to wield it, she says. Most soldiers never have moments like this. It’s as though, my life has built up to this moment. I don’t want to over-dramatize, but…well, it’s very special, for me.

Úlfr surveys the snowy landscape and plots the course.

Azote takes a feel of the sword in her hands with a few rather military like swipes before returning it to Seelah, "It is a fine blade indeed. You're well blessed."