After a few seconds of silence, however, the carnival slowly returned to normal. No one seemed willing to investigate the source of the scream.
When the heroes investigated, Gradzaal was easy to find. His first kill rested just around the corner from the entrance, and his bloody hoofprints were easy to follow from there as they headed deeper into the maze. When the heroes tracked him down, they found him standing over the lifeless corpse of his most recent kill, smiling as he licked the blood from his axe. Gradzaal laid waste with his greataxe. He fought until rendered unconscious. The heroes defeated Gradzaal before he killed everyone inside the maze.
The master of the carnival was nowhere to be found during most of the festivities, but shortly before the fireworks display, Namdrin Quinn treated the patrons of the carnival to an impressive sword dance.
Namdrin is a sinewy half-elf of corded muscle and bone, with a long haunted face. His sunken eyes did not fix on an who attempted to speak with him, instead staring off.
He strode down the main thoroughfare clad in a heavy black hooded cloak, moleskin gloves, gray-black clothing, and high hard boots. Namdrin suddenly flourished his cloak, cast a spell, and drew two shining silver blades out of nowhere. For the next five minutes he blended graceful twirls and acrobatics with a dazzling display of unsurpassed swordmanship. His dance concluded with a slow twirl that ended with Namdrin sheathing his blades smoothly and striding away, heedless to the din of applause that erupted around him.
Just before the fireworks display was set to begin, a red fox delivered a note to the heroes:
"Hail Champions,
A bleak and bitter frost has fallen across the forest, and I fear it has reached even into the hearts of my people. Aided by agents of an ancient evil, they are about to visit such destruction upon the people of your community as has only been seen in nightmares. If you would aid me in combating these villains, please come quickly to the grove beyond the west entrance of the carnival. Do not be startled by my appearance.
- Syntira"
When the heroes reached the grove, on the western edge, a pinprick of yellow light flared suddenly against the darkness. From the smallest flash of color, it silently increased in radiance until it seemed as if the sun itself had come down from the heavens into the grove. Suddenly, directly in front of the light, an alluring female form appeared. The intensity of the light made it almost impossible to determine any of her features, but it was clear she must be stunningly beautiful, and completely naked. The only part of her that was clearly visible was her eyes, which were liquid brown and seemed to draw in the light. Her voice chimed with the crystal beauty of a mountain spring on a summer afternoon:
"Please do not fear. I will not harm you or any other mortal. I am Syntira, nymph queen of Darkmoon Vale, and I am of the First World. My court of fey lived in these dark woods before the first of your kind set foot upon its verdant green. For an age or more we have watched you from tree and shadow, through spider's eyes, underneath the wings of sparrows, and behind the grub worm and acorn. Long have we watched as your people bled the land with axe and flame. For a spell my anger grew such that I would see you all pay for such scourging of the forest. When I wallowed in the deepest pit of hate is when a cold wind blew down on my grove. A rider came with the wind; atop a dead stag and sheathed in frozen blades he came, and with a voice like steel on ice he promised me revenge. I agreed then, but now I know this course is ill. I only hope I have not awakened to the truth of this evil too late. When the rider came, my people changed. The cold froze their flesh; their hearts turned to ice. They forgot the green, forgot the woods. They forgot everything but hate. Now they come with the wind, led by their cold rider. They come to the carnival to butcher you and the rest of the mortals, and the only one who could stand against them is chained by bands of love stronger than iron.
"You must act quickly. My kin already begin their slaughter. Your people bleed - I feel their pain as I once did the torment of the trees. Pain is evil. Tree, beast, or man, it makes no matter, and no measure of cruelty can repair what has come before. Your kin suffer for nothing but spite. Save them, and save yourselves. But take this with you, lest you offer yourselves to the frozen fey as lambs to a butcher."
The intoxicating woman waved her hand across the snow, and a small collection of vials appeared. She continued: "Drink this and you will not fall prey to the rider's magic. He carries an iridescent purple flower of living ice called the Eye of Rapture, enchanted to cloak horror and agony in a guise of mirth and merriment. So long as this crystal remains unspoiled, your people will continue their revels as the fey cut them down. You must stop the slaughter. Only by frustrating the cold rider can you force him to appear so you can end your people's suffering once and for all."
Syntira supplied the heroes with vials of a liquid that counters the Eye of Rapture's effects. She prepared one vial for each hero but had no more to offer. After she delivered her speech, she lingered for a few moments to answer questions.
When asked who is this one she spoke of who could stand against the cold rider, she answered: "The master of the carnival, the half-elf for whom steel and shadow dance as one - he is their slave now. The rider has his wife imprisoned in a shard of deep black ice. Namdrin Quinn swore an unbreakable oath of the old world not to interfere with the cold rider's revenge, and in return his wife will be free of the ice shard prison that binds her fast. But Nmadrin is betrayed. The crystal feeds on his love's soul, and the only freedom she will know is horrid death, her soul consumed by the evil of the shard. Namdrin cannot break his oath, but you could free him of his bond. If you can destroy the shard and free his wife, the compact will be sundered, and the half-elf will rise against his tormentors and aid you."
When asked how could the heroes kill the cold rider, she answered: "The rider is a fell foe. His antlers twist, stab, and pierce the flesh of mortals with a life of their own. His glaive freezes blood in the vein. As long as ice is near, his wounds knit and seal, and he cannot be easily slain. Fire and shattering force, or the vibrations of sound, can destroy him best. His armor is thick, but can be sundered by magic if you know the proper spell."
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