The mysterious chef has his finger in many pies it would seem. He chit-chats a bit with the party and expresses some alarm at the notion that the frostgiant-dragon hybrid is loose in the wilds and seems to take this as an important event – but neglects to go into finer detail.

He accepts the severed head of the giant leader as proof of completion and thanks the group for their efforts. Next on the agenda is an excursion that might be more challenging. On the far side of Black Angel Woods is a bog. In that bog there is a lair, a rare lair, a steaming lair. In that lair there is a crown. A rare crown, a witch’s crown. The witch’s crown is of some renown and the group is tasked with obtaining and returning the item. All other plunder is theirs to keep...

Advancing across the cavernous entry, the group enters the dining hall, just in time to witness an ogre disappearing into a room lit by flickering light – presumably the kitchen. They move as silently as possible to avoid alerting anyone important – but that plan comes to an end when one of the serving ogres exits into the dining hall from another direction.

Ok then – the silenced zombie giant moves to block the exit from the room while Digin leads the party in the wholesale slaughter of the trio of servants and a frost giant matron in the kitchen area. Along the way a pack of dire wolves join the fray, but are not able to knock down or damage the plucky dwarf. In fact, the only damage Digin sustains comes at the hands of his party members firing missiles into the fray...

The journey from the general’s lair is a bit of a sad one. There is some talk of future vengeance, and a half-hearted inquiry into how they might get the Church to sponsor their vengeance tour, but in the end they turn their magical mounts northward and have a nice slog through the increasingly chilly countryside. Luckily for the crew, they arrive near DaVost near the middle of the summer so the temperatures are cool, but not life-threatening.

Clearly – things get snowy up here – and windy, it would seem. While there are buildings all over the small town, most of the structures’ interiors are excavated and descend dozens of feet into the soil. The town is in a lull, preparing for the fall caravans that will haul away furs, timber and ore.

The party wanders about and heads into the Howlin...

After a nine day stint of observing the fort and surroundings, the group thinks they are ready to have a go at it. Under the cover of darkness, flying party members proceed to approach the fortified manor house. They are fairly certain the fort commander is here with servants, and possibly a cleric. They enter under cover of a silence spell and surprise the lord of the manor while he is carrying a plate of snacks out of the kitchen in the wee hours of the morning. They slay him swiftly, then fan out to kill all the servants – men, women and children – before plundering the easily identifiable goods from the upstairs bedroom and study. No cleric is found, and it is not clear where such a cleric would be housed in any event. That seems odd, but there is no time to waste.

They return to the...

Some light reconnaissance reveals squads of undead roaming around and a whole pack of them atop a high tower, armed with heavy crossbows. Well, the evil clerics see a free supply of cannon fodder and with the appropriate wards and wings, they soon have enslaved about 40 of the skeletal warriors between Bayga and Sniffles. Some taboo investigation leads them to an outbuilding away from the central ruin and there they find stairs that lead down into a frigid – like bone chilling levels of cold – complex.

They poke and pry – spotting a fire and an earth elemental as well as many corridors, doors and a not insignificant number of traps. They double back and begin exploring the doors closest to their entry point...