The youth slowly walks up behind Jorvik, her gestures and motions mimicking that of her friend. With her hands spread wide, yet kept low to the ground, she attempts to show the wild creature that she is not holding any weapon while at the same time keeping her actions unthreatening, though how threatening a child could be was yet to be seen.
"You are a magnificent animal," she says, her tone is both reverent and awestruck. "I have never seen another animal, nor beast, nor monster to match you..." By now the child has finally caught up to the half-elf and within two more steps she will be at his side.
"So precious and beautiful..."
A freshly fallen branch breaks beneath the youth's step and she looks down in horror knowing she has just ruined her chance at helping Jorvik. Looking up to her friend, her eyes are wide and panic is etched on her face. It is clear she hopes she has not just spooked the majestic beast.
As Kuragin concentrates on the magical emanations of the clearing, he finds that it glows in a moderate aura of abjuration and not the transmutation magic he was expecting. Could simply protecting this are be enough to allow summer through?
The elk does not shy away as Jorvik approaches, and it sniffs experimentally at the grass. If the beast were awakened, it might be thinking something like: Why is this man-thing trying to feed me grass from his hoof? There is plenty of grass on the ground.
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Looking at the megaloceros he can almost feel the indifference, that he is about to loose this creature. He cannot lose it. Reaching into his inner reserves, remembering all those times spent in the Realm of the Mammoth Lords, Jorvik once again tries to sway the creature to come to him. This time it works. He walks to the megaloceros and begins to pet it between the eyes, speaking in low soothing tones.
He turns to his companions and mouths the word, "Sweet Desna, can you believe what just happened?!?!"
Ishbaad's heart rate is quick, surprised as much as Jorvik is. It takes all he has not to allow others to read his emotions on his face, though he realizes he is probably doing a poor job.
"Iomedae, your blessings are unique, and unlike anything I could think to ask for. Thank you for the favor you have shown us." Ishbaad murmurs a quick prayer to his goddess.
With Jorvik having appeased the creature for now, Ishbaad looks around, feeling the pressing need to look deeper for answers to the unnatural weather.
Well, the unnatural break in the already unnatural winter.
"Kuragin, should we look deeper into this warmth? Or should we simply count our blessings with our new friend here, and move on? I for one, wouldn't mind another potential ally behind us."
Jorvik keeps rubbing the megaloceros. He motions for a rope and a nice treat, a root vegetable or a dried tree fruit. As he continues speak soothing to the megaloceros, he tries to slip a rope over the megaloceros's head.
"I can hobble this magnificent creature, and we can continue to search this area. Then I agree to push towards Whitethrone."
The pair of dire wolves see that, rather than the expected combat, these men have joined forces with their powerful prey. Not able to attack a wounded party, and having their prey easily outnumbering them now, the massive wolves slink off to find an easier meal.
The megalocerous does not wish to be hobbled, but it willingly follows along. After exploring the verdant area and finding little of note (certainly nothing of more note than a patch of Summer in the Land of Eternal Winter), the companions return to Nadja, Orm and Mjoli.
The boys are marveling at the unfrozen patch of Summer: rolling in the grass (eating the grass and pitting it out), waving their bare arms through the warm air and giggling... and complaining that it's too hot.
"Wow! You've convinced a dire elk to come with you?!?" asks a surprised Nadya, "You certainly have a way with beasts, Master Jorvik. Please, we've caught some rabbits and a goose. We should eat well today!" Nadya also managed to forage for some herbs and tubers. After two days of winteryew seeds, a king's feast could not compare with the meal that is laid out before the heroes.
Orm and Mjoli eat their share, but are constantly distracted and look over their shoulders at the massive elk as often as they chew.
Ishbaad is still buzzing about Jorvik's ability to calm and subdue such a mighty creature. He catches the boys looking at it with awe, and constantly asks them questions, or mentions little tidbits about the creature to continue to stoke the fires of their imagination.
Eventually the group packs up, full of roasted meat goodness, and continues their journey through the bitter cold, though this time with a full and warm belly.
"So what else can you tell us southerners about Whitethrone? You have hinted at its cruelty, but what must we know to avoid standing out like a sore thumb?"
And how do we make it clear that we cannot save everyone and everything that is being oppressed? I know that goes against what you taught me Jewel, but one man, or even one thousand could not topple the way of life in Whitethrone. We must focus on why we are here, and not get distracted.
"And how exactly do we plan on finding this hut whose keys we hold? There are still questions we must find answers to about what might have happened to Baba Yaga. I feel this is not much different than our search for Aoife's father. Little information to start with, other than what city to start in. What are your thougths, my friends?"
"Wonderful. We are trying to pass unnoticed into Whitethrone, and you decide to keep a dire elk as a pet." Kuragin is grumpy as ever, but the smell of roasting meat lures him closer to the others. He attacks the food with good appetite, and soon lies on the ground with full belly.
"It ... it was very good. Thank you." The witch yawns, and his eyes feel heavy. No harm in taking a small nap...
The youth plays happily with Orm and Mjoli after the group's return and triumphant reveal of the majestic creature brought in tow. Aoife, like the two other children, continues to ask Jorvik if they can approach and touch the creature and are sure to not stop until he relents and allows such an action. With great reverence the youth places a hand on the sturdy, corded muscles of the beast's leg, as this is all her short height will allow, and continues to gently pet its furr.
"Are you going to name it?" Aoife asks, looking at the animal's long face. "Or perhaps, it already has a name. I wouldn't be surprised by anything in this place anymore."
"I think you should name him... err... her... umm..." Aoife pauses her speech to bend and look underneath the creature toward its hindquarters. "I think you should name it something to do with warmth or summer, or something to do with stopping that mean witchy-poo," she says, still crouching and her voice rising slightly muffled from beneath the creature. "But it has to be a majestic name, no matter what you decide." She doesn't actually think her suggestions will be listened to, but she wanted to say them all the same.
After looking over the creature, the child moves a short distance away and lays on the grass. She is on her back with her arms and legs pushed wide to the side, taking in each moment as the aroma of grass passes over her and the warmth of the ground beneath her radiates on her skin. At this moment she feels comfortable and unafraid, even though all the same tasks and dangers still lay before them as they always had, and yet she allows herself to doze off and fall fast asleep.
She knows the others will wake her when it is time to leave the summer clearing.
Jorvik takes his time looking over the animal. He feels down the legs to make sure they are sturdy and free of breaks. He runs his hands over the animals coat picking out burrs and small parasites. He tries to continuously use soothing words to calm the animal. He also attempts to inspect the hooves to make sure they are free of rocks and other objects.
Again Jorvik tries to place a rope about the animal. After some time it seems that it is content to just mill about and gaze on the unusual greenery around them
Jorvik uses the time to empty his pack, take stock of what we has, and repack it.
After many questions about Whitethrone, Jorvik combs through his hair with his hand before beginning. "Entering Whitethrone will not be easy. We must decide on a stealthy approach to keep our quest hidden. Though much may have changed in the years I have been away, know it will not be easy. But then again nothing has."
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The air is still, the sky is dark, littered with a million tiny points of light as the heavens put on their nightly show. Everything is calm, even the creatures of the night seem to have taken respite from their eternal search for food and shelter. It is the time between night and day. When the sun hasn’t yet begun to rise, but the earth yearns to burst forth with life and light again.
”What are we doing out here again Jewel?”
”Hush dear, you will see. This is important.” A lithe figure with long, flowing hair turns to look over her shoulder, smiling at her grouchy husband.
Even a priestess of the Lady of Valor can let her hair down once in a while my stubborn rock. She winks at the Oread behind her and continues to walk forward through the tall field grasses. Her light gown flows as she moves forward, giving the illusion of an apparition floating through a tranquil countryside scene.
”I can think of a dozen things that are also important that I could be doing right now, sleeping being chief among them.” Ishbaad grumbles behind her. She giggles at his mock grumpiness, and his shoulder sag, knowing she has him pegged.
He looks around him, taking in the sights, the smells, the ambiance of a warm summer night at the edge of the forest. In this cleansing moment he doesn’t see that Jewel has stopped in front of him, and he nearly knocks her over from not paying attention to where he is walking.
”What is it dear?” he whispers to the woman who is standing perfectly still, staring into the soft darkness of the early morning hours.
”There, this is why this is so important…” she whispers back.
She reaches out her hand, wrapping it around some of the field grasses that gently bend and wave at her waist, and pulls them out of the ground as she begins to walk slowly forward. She whispers unintelligible murmurs that can barely be heard but are undoubtedly prayers to her goddess, Iomedae. With each step, she moves closer to a massive elk, a Megaloceros that grazes peacefully in the meadow.
”What are you doing? Don’t go near that thing, it could kill you!” Ishbaad whispers forcefully, trying to speak in hushed tones, but not wanting to spook the majestic creature. It stands easily six feet tall at its shoulders, and Ishbaad is certain he would need two of himself stretched fingertip to fingertip to be able to touch both sides of the massive antlers. It seemed so large it could crush Jewel, or himself with hardly a thought.
His wife does not listen and continues to move forward, quietly walking and praying, completely entranced by the powerful animal.
”What does Iomedae care about an animal, impressive as he may be? I don’t get this. This is foolish!”
Jewel ignores her husband. It hadn’t been so long since she had converted him to her faith. It wasn’t too hard, his infatuation with her was painfully obvious. She herself never thought she could love someone who wasn’t even human, but her goddess had opened her heart, and if there was one thing she was strong in, it was faith. These two were meant to be. For what purpose, she did not know.
It certainly wasn’t easy, they were the center of almost all the gossip in the tiny outpost, farming community. But people tend to fear what they do not understand, and it wasn’t her place to judge. Ishbaad was caring and tender-hearted once you got past the stony exterior. It’s just that no one ever seemed to get past that part. Except for her.
After what felt like hours, but in reality was only a few minutes, Jewel finally closes in on the magnificent creature. Chewing on some of the field grass, it looks up for a moment, seeming to acknowledge the woman, and goes back to picking more grass from the ground in front of him. Jewel reaches her hand out, slowly and confidently, offering the grass she has picked.
From a moderate distance away, Ishbaad watches as the massive elk lifts up its head a second time. It takes a step forward towards his wife, huffing as it does. The sight of 1500 pounds of muscle and antler suddenly shifting forward has him reaching for his longsword, but he holds as he sees the creature sniffing at Jewel’s offering. In a few moments it is eating from her hand, and she has stepped closer to stand next to the kingly elk, stroking its neck and whispering sweet things into its ear.
Ishbaad stands back up straight, crosses his arms over his chest and smiles, and his wife turns her head to smile back at him. Her frame is dwarfed by the massive creature, but her joy is unmistakable, even over the distance between them.
The scene that had been so clear moments before is faded, swirling into a fog, though the voice remains as clear as a bell.
This is why this is so important… It has nothing to do with Iomedae, or the watch, or the council, or anything going on in this wild war that threatens our town. This is peace my dear. This is why we do what we do. Because no one should be afraid. Life should be this simple…
In a sudden turn, the vague cloud swirls and voices shout in panic, the din of a raging battle. It’s clear this is no longer the tranquil field. A singular, high-pitched scream pierces through the veil of shadows and smoke before…
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The scream rings in Ishbaad’s head as he snaps awake in the middle of the night. He looks all around, his heart racing for fear of some unknown danger, some evil lurking at the corners of his mind. All he sees is the walls of his tent, and hears Jorvik and Kuragin talking over the fire that crackles in another of Irrisen’s frozen nights.
Breathing a sigh of relief, he shakes the dream turned nightmare out of his head and flops back down onto his makeshift pillow, which is really just his yeti cloak tightly rolled up. Then with a grunt, he flips his bedroll off, unrolls the cloak and pulls it over his shoulders. Sneaking out the back side of the tent, away from the fire, he creeps off a short ways to relieve himself. When he is finished, he turns back around to head to his bed, and catches sight of the majestic elk as it peels bark from the low hanging branches near their campsite.
This is not how I pictured you speaking to me my love. Is that you in there? Are you somehow in the spirit of this wild animal, returned to me somehow? Or is it just another reminder of your innocence, of your beauty, of the peace you longed for so much? That peace seems so far away now.
I’m so sorry I failed you my dear. Thank you for this sign. I will not fail again. Aoife is who I must protect now, and I will not fail her like I failed you. You may not approve of some of the things I know I must do, but this time will be different. This creature… you… will be my constant reminder of what should happen if I fail again.
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Aoife stirred and stretched, the lids of her eyes slowly spread apart but required a great amount of concentrated effort to remain open and looking about. She was so tired, more tired than she had ever been in her life, but then again, this was always how she felt when she was waking up. Every time she woke up, without fail, she was more tired than the time previous. It was odd though, she couldn't remember falling asleep, but it had happened at some point, the blurriness in her eyes and slow forming, nonsensical thoughts were proof of this. Stretching slightly, she moved her arms under the blankets of her bed, reaching for cooler areas, and flipping her large, feather-stuffed pillow as well so she could rest against its refreshingly chilled surface. The three blankets covering her now were far too much, but they were only ever too much after half the night had passed with restful slumber. Her feet were also warm, but she knew this could not be helped. Deputy, her father's dog, a massive wiry-haired hound, always slept at her feet atop the bed, curled into a ball with its tail draped its over snout, causing only the twinkle of deep, voluminous eyes to shimmer at her from out of the blackness.
With a start she attempted to sit up in bed, but found the multiple blankets piled atop her arrested this progress in a quite jarring fashion and she fell back releasing a sigh. With a squirm and a struggle, she wormed her way out from under the covers and crawled toward the dog. Deputy in the meantime only raised a curious eyebrow at her approach, though the slight tremor of a tail-waggle betrayed the dog's gathering excitement. She leaned in close to the floppy, folded ears and whispered a secret word with all the excitement and enthusiasm she could muster. It was a word that only she and Deputy knew the the true meaning of. And once spoken, the animal rose from the bed, its old bones cracking and popping in the darkness, then bound to the floor and slipped out the door that hung slightly ajar.
From another room further in the house the clatter of falling objects and breaking glass found its way through her open door, and the next moment, the approaching curses of a woman found its way to Aoife as well. The gruff voice that was nearing the youth's room belonged to her stern but loving nanny, Madame Jar of Pickles. Of course this was not her real name, but Aoife had seen the older woman's hand sloshing around inside too many glass jars in search of her favorite knobby-slimy-green treats, for Aoife to think of her nanny any other way. Perhaps it was unkind, but the child did not mean anything cruel by the nickname, and she never called the woman, Madame Jar of Pickles, to her face. It was all but a loving pet name for her caretaker. The real issue with Madame Jar of Pickles was that she loved Aoife too much, and would never let the child leave and go in search of her missing father, and to make matters worse, Madame Jar of Pickles always slept in the same ratty old armchair right beside the front door with her knitting supplies piled messily in her lap. This was why Aoife had spent the better part of a month training Deputy, day by day instilling within her loyal companion the thought that their secret codeword meant a delicious treat was tucked away behind the great shelves of dishes and highly regarded jars of pickles in the kitchen, which just so happened to be on the opposite side of the house from the door Aoife hoped to escape from.
Struggling against the panic of knowing Madame Jar of Pickles was coming straight for her room, the child crawled back across the bed and managed to slip once more beneath the covers before the elderly woman opened the door and looked in. With her head pressed against the pillow and covered by the blankets, the child attempted to ask in an exaggerated tone what was happening and wondered aloud what could possibly cause the racket. By the time Aoife finished her plainly over-acted questions, she realized that her nanny was already gone from the doorway to her room and could be heard calling after Deputy, perhaps even struggling to settle the beast down. Without a second thought Aoife slipped from the mattress, already fully clothed, and pulled a backpack from beneath her bed. Seconds later she was out the front door, sprinting with all the speed her waking legs could rally, in order to carry her across the dewy grass and into a darkened patch of woods nearby.
She did not stop running until she reached the house of the only one she could trust with such a request.
After rummaging through her poorly supplied and packed bag, she managed to eventually find and pull free a crumpled letter. She had received it from a pathfinder lodge in Heldren, and to the child, this was the best chance she had of finding her father. The lodge had her father's gauntlets after all, the words were written there plain as day, even she could read them. But she knew she could never get to Heldren on her own, and there was only one person in the world, beside her father, that she could trust enough to take her.
Taking a few breaths, she collected her courage, and knocked on the door to the small house in the middle of the night.
It took longer than she expected for Ishbaad to finally come to the door, but when he appeared before her, she was welcomed by the same calming smile and warming gaze as he always looked upon her with. There seemed to be no anger or frustration on his face, not even concern, just a glow behind his eyes that seemed to speak for itself that he wanted to help her no matter what the task. He was already fully dressed, even in the middle of the night, and was now cleaning his hands with a towel, apparently just having returned from a hunt and wanting to clean the animal in his kitchen instead of waiting for morning. This was Aoife's assumption based on the faint speckles of red on his hands and arms that he continued to clean with the cloth, but she could not wait to speak about normal matters, and so the child launched into her story, her plan, and most importantly, her request, though when she was finished speaking all the words had blurred together so much that she could not say for certain if she had in fact requested he come with her, or if he had freely offered his service before she had even made the ask.
He asked Aoife to wait outside for a moment, stating that he would pack and be ready to leave within minutes. She knew as she waited for him that soon enough they would be in Heldren and she would be one step closer to finding her father. This thought kept her warm against the cooling air of the night, and as she looked up to the heavens and pinpoints of light littering the night sky, she made a promise to anyone or anything that might be listening.
The child promised she would find her father some day.
With a start Aoife woke up on the grass of the summer clearing, nudged awake by the others because they were beginning the next leg of their trek to Whitethrone. What she had been dreaming about she could not remember, but whatever it had been, the obscure memory still gave her comfort.
"Me have good name.... 'Not Stomping On Goblins'. Or Sven. Sven good name too. Or maybe 'Dinner on Future Day'? Maybe 'Stays Clear Of Goblins?'No, no,no! 'He look more like an Ole'. Yeah, that's it. We call him Ole."
Ishbaad chuckles at the goblin's antics.
"Perhaps, Hooves-stomp-goblins-in-moonlight?" Ishbaad says, nudging the goblin in jest.
The sun is shining again, causing the reflection from the snow to be almost blinding as the group continues to walk, the patch of summer well behind them. Jorvik is speaking to the giant elk again as it follows dutifully behind the group. Ishbaad moves over to stroke its side and neck, running his granite skin through the dark, wiry overcoat, then patting the side of its face.
"No, I think Onyx is an appropriate name. Rare and dark, just like the jewel, and equally as mysterious. You shall be Onyx the Magnificent."
Onyx the Magnificent and his twelve strange companions exit the summer clearing. Taavi shies away from the elk, but he says nothing and constantly finds himself accidentally wandering toward it. HIs wits have yet to return, but he at least knows enough to stay clear of Onyx's antlers.
For the first time since the companions left Waldsby, the twin boys begin to complain about the cold. Now that they have experienced true Summer, their lives will never be the same. Hopefully they are young enough that the memory will fade.
The journey passes relatively uneventfully. Heafoc, Jorvik and Nadya occasionally find some game to supplement their meals and they took as much vegetation as they could to feed Onyx along the way. The cold is as bitter as ever, but no ill weather befalls.
On the sixth day since they set off - the third day after the pocket of Summer - the companions come upon the site of a ruined village. Nadya, Jorvik and Kuragin are able to tell the others that this place was once a small town or village prior to the Winter War, 'Ulsgaard' if Jorvik remembers correctly from one of his old battle hymns.
As the legend goes, Jorvik recalls, fourteen hundred years ago, during the first week of the Winter War, a mass exodus of native Ulfen flooded south before the might of Baba Yaga’s army of giants and trolls and the onslaught of unseasonable winter. As the invading army approached, the adults of Ulsgaard left the village to search for a place where the community could hide and regroup with other survivors. They planned to return for the village’s children, who were entrusted to a pair of clerics of Desna, once they located a sanctuary. Tragically, for reasons lost to history, no one from the village ever returned. Abandoned, with no place to hide or run to, and with children they could not protect, the clerics lost their faith in fear and madness. They conspired to offer the children as a sacrifice to Baba Yaga, and foolishly pledged their souls to her in exchange for mercy. But when the armies of the Witch Queen arrived at Ulsgaard, no one was spared.
Most of the buildings are little more than piles of snow- covered stones, with crumbled sections of their walls rising from the ruins. The only structure that might offer temporary shelter appears to be an old temple inside a walled circular churchyard with an arch at the entrance. The front door of the temple has rotted away, but a smooth stone circle engraved with the outline of a butterfly is mounted above the doorway.
"The marks of your goddess are still here Jorvik. I pray that is a good omen for us."
But do not hold out hope in these frozen lands...
Ishbaad pats Onyx on the neck, then moves out into the ruins, pulling his yeti hood over his face. He hefts his spear, in case there are other predators in the area, and begins to look from building to building for anything that might be useful, particularly food for the giant beast they have added to their load of hungry mouths.
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Seeing the mounds and the ruined buildings, Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight rushes forward, not quite forgetting about the curse that he carries. 'Maybe I'll find something that will help me!' he thinks, his goblin optimism returning at least for the moment. This is what he does best... scavenge... it runs in his blood almost as strongly as the cleansing fires of Zarongel!
With the odd gait that a goblin in snowshoes makes, sort of like a chicken with its head cut off, he hurries across the snows. He leaves his friends behind, but soon stops and looks back. His familiar smile back on his face, he removes the snowshoes, and instead starts sneaking, which is yet another facet of his racial heritage. 'I show them! Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight will help! He will protect them all! And I now know I should wait to talk to Coramus, Kuragin, and Jorvik before I put things on.
'Oh, Coramus, why do you not talk to us? Why are you so sad all the time?'
He moves forward, making the best stealth he can. The snow goblin disappears into the snowbanks as the others watch him.
Nadya stays behind to look after her children, Coramus and Taavi. Cautiously, the remaining companions make their way around the deserted village, eventually walking towards the abandoned Church of Desna. Kuragin and Jorvik both in particular are curious as to how or why this House of Dreams, monument to a heretic religion, has been allowed to stand so long.
A sudden wind howls from the direction of the church as the quintet near. Onyx whinnies and plants his feet. He will not move any closer. All but Aoife figure out why seconds later. In addition to the expected high-pitched whine, the wind carries with it the screams of children to the ears of those gathered.
Ishbaad quickly calls the group to a halt in the courtyard in front of the temple doors, recognizing the screams as a telltale sign of a haunt about to manifest.
The wind eddies and picks up whirling piles of fresh snowflakes into the air all around the courtyard. These whirls take on form, becoming small and humanoid in shape. Suddenly, the faces of human children twisted in terror an agony can bee seen and the snow licks up over their bodies like a blazing fire.
"I don't like this... Not at all. Positive energy to hurt it, you say?" Kuragin tries to breath steady, not panicking. Absolutely not panicking. This is a very bad time to panic. Ishbaad mentioned something about positive energy. Healing spells do that, don't they? Do I know any healing spells? Oh, wait.. the wand
With a quick flip of the wrist, a Wand of Cure Light Wounds snaps into the witch's hand from it's sheath. But where I should point this? They're everywhere!
A flash of fear grips Ishbaad, not for himself, but for his friends, and for the poor souls locked in this eternal torment.
"A Haunt! Get back! Get away!" he shouts. "There is nothing we can do right now..." He finishes, forlornly as he looks at the tortured souls.
Oh know - what else caan this frozen hell throw at us? Desna, protect your servant once more.
Uttering a prayer through chattering lips, a look of horror etched on his face, Jorvik calls upon his patroness' blessings.
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Seeing both Jorvik and Ishbaad being so heroic, Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight changes his mind from running away as fast as his feet can carry him to pulling out his wand of cure light wounds, pulling a charge from it, and attacking with it. He pulls out all of his heroism into the attack and manages to touch it.
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Seeing both Jorvik andIshbaadKuragin being so heroic...
Kuragin reaches out a hand and touches one of the whirling snow children while waving his wand and completing the command phrase.
"Mummy, no... " the child - a small boy - shouts, terrified. The top half of his face suddenly sheared off as though from an unseen blow with an axe and he flops to the ground in a shower of powdery snow.
"It's so cold, and I'm scared. Please, don't go. We'll be good - we promise. Just don't go! No! Please! Mercy, daddy! Mercy! I'm sorry! I'll be good, I swear!" wails a little girl that Jorvik reaches out to touch with his spell. Her eye suddenly becomes a bloody, open socket as though pierced by an arrow. She falls back and her body dissipates in an icy cloud.
"Desna save us!" screams another girl, down on her knees, "Please, shine your blessings down upon us. We are your children now. Strike down the priests who left us here to die... who locked us out of the church. May they suffer for an eternity for what they have done... but more than anything, Desna, please... save us." Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight reaches over and touches the child with a save of his own wand and a gout of snow falls from her belly as though she has just been eviscerated. Eyes wide, the girl also becomes nothing more than a burst of snowflakes.
Children all around suffer similar fates, but in the end they all disappear. Other than a feeling of almost unbearable (and mystical) sadness, the companions are none the worse for wear as the haunt leaves to return another day. Suddenly, the aged doors of the church burst open and two men in the rotting and once-bright robes of Desna rush out to greet the companions. Well, not so much greet as devour. Each cleric's mouth is open in a scream that has long since ceased to make noise.
Jorvik and Ishbaad recognize them immediately: "Huecuvas."
These heretical priests abandoned their children to die, and now spread their disease and faithlessness to all those unfortunate enough to get too close.
The young girl turns and reels away at the sight of each horrific effigy pleading, begging for its life, and then seeming to meet a terrible end. It is too much to process for the child, as her companions reach out with healing wands only to see each snow-formed mockery of a child recoil away and showing signs of terrible wounds. All around her, the children composed of churning eddies of snow fall and cry out in agony, begging to Desna to no avail. As each image finally begins to dissipate, Aoife at last hears the sound of the church doors opening and realizes aside from these doors, the only sound previously breaking the cold, winter-silence was that of her own heavy breathing and the thunderous beat of her heart.
Ahead she can see the vaguely humanoid creatures stumble out toward her and her friends, and Aoife swallows hard, fear seeming to grip tight on her throat. The mouth's of these creature hangs open and slack-jawed, but seeming to utter no sound, yet Aoife's mind tricks herself into thinking a faint but terrible scream is piercing the silence just beyond the edge of her comprehension.
It is a struggle for the youth to draw up her greatsword, but somehow she manages to free the blade from its resting place strapped to her back. Her actions are purely mechanical, with no grace or will driving the motion, but simply a reaction at seeing such horrific monstrosities in the flesh. With concentration she tries to focus her resolve and let the building rage at seeing the unforgivable fate of children replace the fear twisting her stomach into knots. Slowly the greatsword draws back behind her, and she waits for one of the creatures to shamble close enough to strike, so she can release the raging torrent of anger and cut the monstrosity into pieces.
She hopes that once the creature are removed from existence the others will be able to explain to her what happened here and to somehow make sense of the terrible sights that have passed before her eyes.
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Ishbaad has heard of the barbarians, particularly those of the north. The rage that overtakes them, and the havoc they can cause. Aoife has a temper, a ferocity that when unleashed generally leaves destruction in its wake.
In this moment, Ishbaad believes he knows now the type of pain one must feel in order to let loose a river of that kind of rage. Tears fill his eyes as he watches the children destroyed. Never once in his life has Ishbaad cried, much less showed emotion. But the sight of the horrors that took place to create such a haunted place tear at his heart like nothing has before.
Iomedae taught him to eradicate fear. But anger... not so much.
With a primal scream Ishbaad rushes forward with his spear. He calls upon his goddess for divine wrath and then wreaths his spear in flames of the faithful. His attacks are swift and brutal. He does not stop until the area around him is splattered in gore and blood, the bodies of the Huecuvas are obliterated, and hardly recognizable. Only then does he finally stop, breathing heavily, and look around him.
"Who would slaughter children like this? Is this the work of Whitethrone? Why did that girl scream for mercy from her father?" The questions nag at his mind, along with his own disappointment at revealing emotion for the first time.
Perhaps I need to learn more self control before we enter whitethrone. Thank you, goddess, for showing me my weakness before I allow that weakness to be the cause of harm to my friends.
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Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight doesn't even bat an eye. His hand immediately goes to his bomb pouch, and as he growls "filthy abominations! FOR CORAMUS!" the throws explosive bombs, carefully missing his companions. The vile things start on fire as his bombs hit them, but he does not stop until they all have burned to the ground. A rage seems to have come over him, and one wonders if Aoife's combat style has influenced this, or his goblinoid nature is coming out, now that his mentor is incapacitated. He seems to have no fear for his life.
Drawing frostreaver, Jorvik advances towards the undead. The horror of the screaming children fresh in his mind.
Desna they called to you. They begged for your help as they were slaughtered like sheep. Now your warrior is here. Guide my blows, use my weapons, extract vengeance for those who you were unable to save.
Swinging right and left he advances through the undead, leaving smeared bits of gore and flesh in puddles as he drops the unnatural creatures.
Finally finished the task, he breathes in long blows, chest rising and falling as he tries to calm both the battle lust and the fatigue from the many hammer blows.
He looks to his companions. "The deed is done. We have done what we could. Come let us put this foulness behind us." With a quick glance at Aoife, Jorvik shakes his head and begins to clean his weapons.
Is it worth it to even try anymore? Is she past the point of no return?
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Having dispatched the undead, Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight sees the depression coming over Jorvik's face. He walks over to the big half-elf, ears drooping. "Me know. This hard on all of us. Me sorry if me ever cause you pain, Boss, but me try to be strong hero now. We survive together, and we protect Aoife always."
He thinks for a moment, realizing something. "People say we should protect those we love with our lives, but I think that wrong. We protect others and our lives, because if we die, then those we love will be hurt... sometimes more than if they had been the one to die. She is vulnerable, and could turn bad easy. Me know, because in my blood is fear and rage and deceit, and me must fight it all the time. Me not always win," he holds up the scarred hand with the cursed ring on it, "but me always try. I trust you and Ishabaad, and we three will protect Aoife. And we make sure we all survive. You and me have deal?"
Jorvik, thinks back to what the ice goblin has been doing on the trail. Each night, he searches the wastelands for herbs and reagents. When he gets back, he doesn't talk, but spends hours mixing different concoctions, medicines, and tonics. Every night he tries a different mixture, feeding his mentor his new alchemical treatmemt each night. When the next medicine doesn't help Coramus come out of his catatonia, he cries himself to sleep, cuddled up against the unmoving conjurer. "Me try harder, Boss. Me heal you up good. Me make you better."
The child can hear some of the words which pass between the goblin and Jorvik, but not all, and certainly does not grasp the profound meaning of Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight's implications. Even so, Aoife cannot bring herself to speak and interrupt their conversation, even if she thought she may have heard her own name mentioned. Before she can speak to others on any topic beside the terrifying sights of children plagued by such dire, horrible ends, she would first have to understand what happened here.
"What happened to the children..." she mutters to no one in particular. "How could such a thing happen to kids..."
"Who would allow such a things to happen..." she continues to speak, uttering questions but not truly expecting any of others to provide any satisfactory explanation. This felt like an event in her life that would change her, though she did not know in what way this change would manifest, but something about seeing such sights, sights she felt no one should ever see, would certainly alter her forever.
The bodies of the faithless clerics lie dead for the second time in their existences. A small whirl of wind picks up some snow and the face of a smiling boy appears. He nods knowingly as the last of the huecuvas falls and then he is gone.
"Who would allow such a things to happen..."
Their parents... the thought comes unbidden to more than one of the companions, remembering Jorvik's tale.
The travellers look through the church, but find that it has been looted long ago. They also discover that the doors and windows had once been locked and barred from the outside. Scratch marks on the inside of the doors give some clue as to the grisly fate that befell the priests who left the children of their parishioners to die... and why the flesh was stripped from the tips of the huecuva's fingers.
As the five adventurers make to leave, Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight spots a loose flagstone. He gives it a sharp kick and it comes away completely, revealing a lockbox. It does not take long to open the ancient and rusted container. It was clearly a stsh that the priests must have hastily hidden from their foes before realizing that they were not going to be attacked, rather entombed. The companions find the following items inside:
- A scroll of hold person
- A scroll of resist energy (cold)
- Both scrolls are in an engraved scroll case worth 100 gp
- A bladed belt
- A ring of feather falling
- A potion of cure moderate wounds and 3 x potions of cure light wounds
- 2 x fire opals worth 250 gp each
- 220 gp and 27 pp
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Nadya, can I ask a favor of you?" Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight asks, hoping for help. "My boss, Coramus, is not well. He cannot come with us where we need to go, so I need to find someone who can care for him. I know your family are good people, and though I am loath to add any burden to you, given your hardships and you recent loss, but I have no where else to turn."
He holds out a small pouch, containing 50 gold, a potion of cure light wounds, a potion of enlarge person, and a potion of endure elements. "Please have this gift to help you take care of yourself, and your family. I know it isn't much, but I think it is all that I can afford, because I have to protect Aoife and my bosses on the road ahead."
He implores for support one final time. "Please. Boss Coramus needs help, and I cannot give it to him. I don't have anyone else to turn to!"
Ishbaad puts the grisly memory of the slaughtered children behind him, his mind quickly refocused on the monumental task ahead of the group to infiltrate Whitethrone. To the best he can tell, the group was able to release the chilren's souls by destroying the heretical clerics, and that did give him some comfort.
Ishbaad is also preoccupied as they travel, speaking with Onyx, and watching Jorvik and Nadya as they care for the animal. Ishbaad proves to be a quick learner, picking up on the nuances of handling, grooming, feeding, and most importantly, carrying himself with confidence, which helps keep Onyx calm.
Feeding the mighty elk, however, has been another challenge. Ishbaad accepts Kurigan's disapproving looks without complaint, understanding the extra challenge with feeding another very large mouth. All in all, it seems to be going very well, and Onyx already has been willing to carry much of the groups burden as they walk.
"How far from Whitethrone is Ellsprin, Nadya?" Ishbaad asks, breaking the silence during one particularly long stretch later that first evening. "How long has it been since you have seen your family? This will be a good reunion, I sense."
With a heavy silence seeming to hang over the child, she set about packing her bag, securing her enormous greatsword to her back, and then strapping down the snowshoes to keep them from clattering as she moves. With her gear tied to its proper place, Aoife takes a moment to be sure as much of her skin is hidden beneath her large winter coat as possible and sheltered by her scarf wrapped around her neck and head. Though for all her winter clothing the massive leather gauntlets which had been her father's kept her warmest of all, yet she could not place why they retained the warmth of her body so efficiently. It was true the supple leather was inlaid around the wrist with a white velvety fur, but even so, the gloves themselves seemed thin and relatively unprotected. Her eyes looked over the shiny red jewel affixed to the glove at the back of her hand and wondered if some latent magic in Tighearnán's gauntlets was the true reason the unnatural warmth they provided. No matter what the cause, she was grateful that even when every other part of her body ached from the stinging cold, and all feeling seemed sapped from her legs and arms, that her hands never quite hurt as much as the rest.
Finally getting better at wielding the skis purchased what seemed like ages ago in Waldsby, the youth slalomed up through the column of her companions trudging through the deep snows of Irrisen, weaving in between them, misjudging her turns, falling over in the snow, and then finally rising behind everyone to start anew though never reaching the front of the marching order. When at least she reached her guardian, and heard his question to Nadya the child's ears perked.
"Miss Nadya," Aoife joined in, though her voice seemed reserved and sorrowful following the sights at the church. "Ellsprin is a few days from here... Will we stop and stay there long, before heading to Whitethrone? "
I hope that Nadya will come with us all the way to Whitethrone, she thinks just after asking her question of the lady. I don't think I'm ready for us to part yet...