We six heroes were summoned by the Waterdeep Council. The Lord of the Council had for us a quest: to go north, to the Sea of Moving Ice.
There will be a boat, you see, and this greatly pleases Clonk. However, there will be no moss up north.
The quest, clearly, would be quite arduous. We were to take the boat, Ross Skimmer, to these cold seas, in search of a sort of iceberg-castle in which a dragon resides. We also were to look for more information regarding Maccath the Crimson Failure to vanquish this foe is not an option.
After five days at sea with no sight of the castle, I started to get horrible dreams of white fire burning moss. Soon after, we dock the boat, and at night, while Charimon and Belkira stood watch, they saw a polar bear chasing a human, who spoke some incomprehensible Uluic tongue. Luckily, a crewmate could more or less understand him -- it was clear enough that his village was wrought with death, and that we should follow him, but not then, rather the next morning. I could not sleep.
His advice was quite effective. After some scouting, we found the iceberg-castle atop an ice plateu. Though we had to retrieve our boat from the other side of the glacier, delaying our journey by a day, we soon made it atop the plateu, only to be greeted by what seems to be many villagers, none of which speak any common tongues with the party.
I have not written a poem about moss in over a week and I grow weary, but my visions of the flora's destruction compels me forward.
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