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The child's eyes are bleak and unfocused, a glassy stare looking back at Ringeirr. She does not speak, nor move a muscle and appears to be almost frozen in place. Soon enough short, jagged rasps of air pass through her nostrils while her mouth remains locked shut, and as the seconds continue her breathing escalates until the child appears on the verge of hyperventilating.
"You... he..." Aoife struggles, her chest now heaving as her jaw begins to quiver. "Tighearnán's not..."
Her search had been so long in coming and the task of finding her father had been the sole force driving her forward, giving her what little strength she ever had. He couldn't be dead, she refused to believe such a thought. Of course she had always feared such a fate for her father, it was only natural for a child to fear such for their missing parent, but it had in no way helped or prepared her to hear such words to be spoken aloud.
Tears were now glistening at the corners of her eyes, and her labored breathing had settled none. "You lie..." the words barely passed her lips. "Tighearnán is a warrior... he's not dead... He was stronger than anyone..."
Beneath the child her knees were beginning to wobble, the strength of limbs draining away while the colors of the rooms swayed and blurred together. Black splotches filled her vision starting with the utmost periphery of her sight, creating a dark boarder around the kaleidoscope of fractal colors that was now the whole of her sight, tears degrading her vision and removing all clarity save swaths of color.
He could not be dead, this was something the child could not believe. Her father's death was something Aoife could not accept. She had come so far to save him, it was her fate and she had been so sure of that. If Tighearnán was dead then her entire journey had been for nothing. How gods or fate could be so cruel to her, she could not understand, and in this moment she hated both of these unfathomable entities for it.
"... there has to be some mistake..." her words were now pleading. "My father is still out there somewhere... you think he is gone..."
"He can't leave me..." the voice of the child was pathetic and barely discernible through haggard breathing and restrained sniffles. "...promised to never leave me like..." The child could no longer form words.
Her head hung now, limply from her shoulders. There might have been a faint and ghostly plea from her lips asking for her father's life, a pledge or vow just beyond comprehension as if it might only be in the other's imagination.
Dead... no... We knew it might be... but it still wasn't supposed to be. How? Why? How far did he make it?
The questions tumble through his brain like debris in a tornado. This was Aoife's quest, but Tighearnan was his friend too. His brother. The man he shared the wall with during the seige of '04. Now, after all of this, he was dead?
It takes all of Ishbaad's resolve to maintain a passive face. He internalizes his sudden grief, swallowing it down for fear it will show. He turns to the child he had been protecting, that he cared so much about.
Nothing could shield her from the worst of the world now.
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Turning to the man, Jorvik begins in a powerful, defiant voice. "I am a snowcaster elf, born and breed." He stares at the man, daring him to challenge his assertion.
"Yet Jadwiga I am also. I am a man, and an elf, in two worlds do I live.
I do this, this freeing of Baba Yaga because it is what should happen in the North. The North will be the North. Your Ulfen friends, they live as little better than slaves in the North. I do not fight to emancipate them, or to demand they be treated equally. I merely come to fulfill the quest. No matter the price. No matter the cost. It will be paid in full.
Tell me what this Herald of Winter's Return wishes of us. For everything has a price."
After hearing of Aoife's father, Jorvik turns toward the small child. "You are young but you have seen much. The pain you feel, the sorrow, raw and biting now, will ease over time. Your life is long, and can accomplish much good. You should remember your father forever, always in the front of your thoughts.
"Yet now is a time of weeping and gnashing of teeth, You should let your emotions flow. When you have exhausted yourself weeping, you and I shall talk. I wish to know of all your father's accomplishments. We shall compose a ballad to stand the test of time to honor the man that was Tighearnán."
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Slowly, Ishbaad places a hand on Aoife's shoulder. He whispers a prayer to Iomedae, summoning divine courage and allows it to flow through him.
He could chase fear away, monsters, and evil men. For all of his divine appointments, he had nothing to chase grief away. And so he stood, ready to be the rock that Aoife needed to lean on.
Suddenly afraid that he might not be capable.
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The child could feel a slight pressure on her shoulder and knows immediately that Ishbaad had moved in trying to console her. Her guardian, he had always been there for her, and she had known him for a long as she was capable of remembering anything. He always had some innate ability that she could never understand, and was able to drive away the fears and uncertainty she felt, calming her and leaving her at peace.
Now, in this moment, she did not want to have even the slightest amount of pain, hurt, or fear removed from her soul. The anguish had burrowed in deep and taken hold within her, and she had welcomed it. The child felt the drowning flood of emotions lay upon her with its impossibly heavy, crushing and consuming weight, but would not struggle against it. There was a saddening comfort and closeness hidden within the hurt, and it belonged to her like a gift given by her father.
She would not allow these feelings of pain to be diminished or lessened in any way, it was the strongest link she had felt for her father since the last time his powerful arms embraced and held her tight. Not once along this foolish quest had she felt as close to him nor missed him so much as in this moment with the crushing weight of loss and pain pressing down on her chest. If she accepted any help, or allowed her fears and pain to be magicked away, this was a disservice to her father. She would never turn away from this gift of pain and the closeness it so graciously leant to her. She needed to feel the weight of how terrible this loss was. Letting the pain be taken away was akin to forgetting and turning her back on the one thing that kept the memory of her father close at hand.
She would never allow the pain of these feelings to be apart from her.
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As the child struggles with her pain, a snow goblin watches. His prodigious ears droop as he sees her give into the weight of what she had learned. This is a pain he understands... one that the goblins deal with far more that the Longshanks understand. The goblins live such furious, intense lives, because they know their time is short, and they have to grab everything they want and enjoy life as much as they can, for they know that in an instant they will be gone. That is, of course, if they ever let themselves even think about it.
Some goblin tribes will even eat their honored dead, so that they become part of the village, continuing on in each of their relations. His family, being civilized goblins, didn't do that, but they did hand down their precious items, preserving them for posterity, even if some of the tall folks thought that they were just salvaging scrap.
He walks over to Aoife, and silently gives her a hug. He doesn't force it, and leaves it off as soon as she shows the slightest discomfort, but holds it just long enough to show that he understands and cares
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"Tell me what this Herald of Winter's Return wishes of us. For everything has a price."
"Price?" Ringeirr seems a little affronted, "No price, really. But if you wish to do me a favor in return, there is something that needs doing. My regular channels are finding it difficult to get food to the needy inside the city. Elvanna has the whole city whipped up into a fervor over these Riders. If you could bring the foodstuffs to a friend within the city, that would be wonderful. Her name is Solveig Ayrdahl, a fellow Herald of Summer's Return.
"It seems crazy to me to return Baba Yaga to this country," Ringeirr adds, having been troubled since learning of it, "But she at least will depose Elvanna. Once century is bad enough, but a Witch Queen on the throne of Irrisen in perpetuity? The horrible things she could achieve... and those portals to the southern lands... I would not wish our fate upon the rest of Golarion."
Ringeirr looks heartbroken at having to deliver such news to Aoife. He is powerless to ease the child's pain and simply sits in silence for a long while as her companions do their best to console her. He even leaves his tent for a moment and his muted voice can be heard outside.
"Tighearnán came to me a little over a month ago," Ringeirr breaks the silence, "Like you, he wished to end a winter portal - though he only knew of the one, in a land called 'Garund'. He and his Pathfinder friends had a few contacts in Irrisen, and they pointed him to me. I am, after all, the foremost expert at getting people into - and out of - Whitethrone.
"From what I understand, they successfully made it into Elvanna's palace, but were soundly rebuffed. As the Pathfinders fled, they bravely tried to bring the building containing the portal down. Tighearnán was the last to leave. He was accosted by guards... and his bomb went off. He and four of his companions were crushed beneath tonnes of ice. Only one of them escaped... and he left that night on a trade caravan bound for the Realm of the Mammoth Lords. I'm assuming tat, if he is alive, he has either reached or is headed to Absalom to report on their mission's failure."
There is a knock at the door and Ringeirr pauses a while to retrieve a cloth-wrapped parcel. He walks over to Aoife and passes her the cloth. "The forger I spoke of earlier is a man named Mortin. He looked into your father and his friends' deaths. He is a man of means and managed to procure these - among other things - from their possessions. These belonged to your father, I believe."
Within the cloth parcel is Tighearnán's Wayfinder and his journal. Both are worn and the Wayfinder has a sizeable dent in the side, but is otherwise exactly as Aoife remembers it. As she looks, it pops open and she is able to see inside - something Tighearnán had never let her do before. On the inside lid is a small and lovingly detailed painting of Aoife. This must be how Ringeiir knew Aoife's face.
So he is dead then. And he died a warrior's death. That is the Tighearnán I knew. My friend, you have done what I could not.
Images of Jewel flash through Ishbaad's mind, smiling and delicate. The thoughts are ripped apart suddenly by darkness, a scream and a rush of bodies. The images are blurred, but the feelings behind the memory are keen, and painful. Ishbaad winces involuntarily, and clears his mind of all of it.
Ishbaad moves the conversation along, trying to focus on the task at hand. He has known grief, and for him finding something to focus on helped to keep the pain at bay.
Ishbaad clears his throat. He stands near to Aoife, knowing she will come to him when she is ready. There is so much yet to absorb. "So we are to get papers to identify us as Jadwiga and deliver foodstuffs to Solveig Ayrdahl. My only question, no offense intended, is what we should do about me? Would you be able to get papers for an Oread? Or is another means required?"
"I know that non-humans are regarded above the peasants, so even Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight shouldn't have much issue, traveling with a group of Jadwiga and all."
"Once we are inside the city and have made the delivery, we will focus on our task. If it is as you say, and the whole city is in a frenzy looking for the black riders, then our task will be more difficult. The advantage we have, is that no one knows we are the black riders now. As soon as that secret gets out, we are doomed." Ishbaad looks back at Ringeiir and nods, understanding the dire position both of them are in.
Kuragin stays silent for a while, letting Ishbaad and Aoife receive their unfortunate new in peace. He isn't any more comfortable around children than he used to be, but he know's the girl well enough to understand her pain. He almost feels sympathy for her. But he doesn't try to offer any words of comfort - those would sound awkward at the least.
Then his attention is drawn back to the important matters, and the discussion between Jorvik and Ringeirr.
"As much as you stated yourself, our actions will hardly do much for the Ulfen populace. Their destinies is in their own hands. Should we succeed in our task, Elvanna's reign is over. What will the queen after her be like, I cannot know."
"Carrying foodstuffs inside seems a relatively small price for the papers we need. But Ishaab is right, he is going to need more than papers to get in. Either magic to alter his appearance, or he could pass as an exotic slave"
"You?" Ringeirr looks doubtfully at Ishbaad, "You will not pass for a Jadwiga! Ha! No, these two will need their papers. Aoife will pass well enough as a house slave, and children are ignored for the most part anyway. Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight can walk around relatively freely, but will be bullied without Kuragin and Jorvik's presence... or a sizeable group of his own kind. Luckily, you are not human and therefore will not be mistaken for a slave. You are obviously a southron, though, and so will be treated with disdain and not allowed into many establishments without an escort.
"So, my idea was that Kuragin and Jorvik could pass as Stilyagi," Ringeirr eyes Kuragin's clothing, "Which won't be hard at all. Perhaps you actually are... but in any case, this motley band can be part of your retinue. Living amusements and curiosities to parade before your friends until you grow weary and discard them. Sounding familiar?"
Ringeirr suddenly looks ashamed, "Sorry. Old enmities are hard to defrost."
That sounds like my dad, she thinks upon hearing of the valiant efforts to bring down Elvanna's palace. She continues to sniffle and try in vain to catch her breath. Her chest is still heaving in unnaturally short, stop-and-go breaths. He was the best dad...
He was a hero... her head sinks even lower now, and remains sunk until Ringeirr passes the parcel.
From amidst the wrappings and folds of cloth, the familiar metallic object appears first. It's smooth radiuses and gentle golden glow reveal her worst fear as Aoife recognizes her father's wayfinder. There is a large dent in its beautiful surface, but even so, she knows it was her father's. With a gentle click, the mechanism opens to show the likeness of Aoife and her heart stops beating for a moment. Seeing the painting of herself, something she had never been allowed to look inside to see before was both comforting and saddening. She questioned to herself when that painting had been made, as it was never known to her before this moment. But she thought it meant her father had missed her too.
Next she takes the journal and cracks the spine, letting the pages fall open randomly. As one finger traces down the lines of writing the child takes in the grand swoops and flourishes of her father's graceful penmanship. Looking upon the ink strokes, her eyes fall upon a cluster of words that stops up her breath.
... poor Aoife, she doesn't yet... the journal's text calls up to her like a beacon.
The words are etched plainly on the page, but its jarring sight causes the book to slip from her grasp and fall with a clatter to the floor. She did not see what her name was written in reference to, but it did not matter to the child, the only thing she cared about was that her father was thinking about her.
Knowing Tighearnán was thinking of her and writing about her was enough.
As Aoife studies the painting of herself, she realizes two things: first, it was definitely made in the last year - and probably more recently, in the weeks before Tighearnán set off to investigate the winter portal in Garund. Second, the dent has caused some of the paint to crack and almost flake off. She looks more closely at the flake and notices that there is another painting beneath her portrait.
Her eyes squint, observing the flakes of paint and what appears to be a phantom image beneath the painting of herself. The child leans over the wayfinder, crowding her shoulders and arms overtop the device, hoping to block sight of it from the others gathered around. Putting one of the enormous leather gauntlet's fingers in her mouth, she bites down and pulls her own hand from within the glove. She hesitates for a moment, her breath still running wild and showing no signs of slowing, then presses her thumbnail against the flaking chips of paint and begins to scratch.
Another image beneath mine...? she wonders as her fingernail scrapes back and forth. Could it be my... She does not finish the final thought, but continues to exhume the hidden effigy.
At first, Aoife thinks it is an image of herself... but the picture beneath is of a woman, a woman who strongly resembles Aoife. The child remembers back to the day when she was hiding from her nanny in the attic. This woman here, this woman is the woman in that old, covered painting.
"Child... Aoife. This..."
An image flashes through Ishbaad's mind of Jewel laughing, sipping on some tea. The memory pulls back, revealing Tighearnán laughing along. Further still, another feminine figure, her chuckle like the tinkling of fine bells on a warm summer evening. This other woman's belly is swollen, nearly complete with a pregnancy it appears.
"This is your mother, Nadezhda. It appears your father kept you both close."
"My mother..." the child says, though the words have barely enough strength to carry and be loud enough for anyone to hear. Her ungloved finger drags gently across the effigy of her mother, careful not to mar the woman's beautiful, gentle features. The child's shoulder's sag slightly and she exhales a long sorrowful breath.
Finally Aoife's breathing steadies, calming until all that remains is the melancholy, heart-wrenching sound of her gentle sobbing.
There is nothing left for her to do but grieve. Her father was gone. She had failed to save him as she had promised to do. He has died alone, without his daughter by his side. Aoife wasn't sure if she could ever forgive herself for not saving him, but for now all that was left was to grieve his passing and keep the hurt, pain, and sorrow fresh in her soul to keep his memory close.
"Well of course I have my papers with me, I'd never part with them!" Unconsciously Kuragin reaches into his pocket, and taps the papers that declare his identity. But the idea of marching in as Kuragin Kseniya makes him quite nervous. "It's just that... I didn't leave Irrisen in perfectly good terms - neither with the powers that be or my family. While I doubt I am sought after, false identity might spare us some trouble."
"Such irony... I flee the north for beingly mistakenly accused of treasonous activities. And now I return, with a true traitorous cause!" A hearty laughter follows this thought. So much has happened since his exodus, he doesn't even feel bitter about it.
"Jorvik, do you your papers? Are they any good here?"
Ringeirr gives Aoife and her companions as long as they like to process all the information. He moves into the kitchen with Nadya and they spend a while catching up on family and other matters. "I can't believe you're part of the Heralds..." Nadya can be overheard saying at one point.
Ringeirr comes back into the room and puts a hand on Aoife's shoulder. "These moments can help to break or define us, child. Your moment has occurred far too early in your life. I pray to Milani that you find comfort and solace enough in your friends to move on. For the here and now, though, it doesn't do to bottle it up so much. Find an outlet."
The man sits down and ponders for a while. "You have papers, so it would be best to use them," Ringeirr notes, "My forger does good work, but it won't stand up to close scrutiny. I doubt anyone in Whitethrone currently cares for your crimes with the hunt for the Black Rider and Baba Jaga's hut shackled in the middle of the city - but, if you are concerned I have a way into the city that bypasses the regular inspections: The Howlings. This place was gifted to the winter wolves and its magic allows them to walk as humans while in the city's limits. They are also granted autonomy to run it how they see fit. Enter Whitethrone from there, and you don't need to worry so much about witches and paperwork - just having your throat torn out by a wolf." Ringeirr grins to show that he is either kidding or has a strategy for avoiding it.
"I see you have a rimepelt with you, that is good. You can use the magics of that cloak to transform into a winter wolf - either human or wolf form. For a short while, you will have the appearance and scent of one of their own. With your genuine papers and that cloak, I am confident that I can guide you through the Howlings and take you safely to my contact, Solveig Ayrdahl. She will be able to keep you well and hidden - should you require - within the city limits of Whitethrone proper. Does this work for you? Any questions?"
"Sorry, Ringeirr, sometimes I am slow on the uptake. So we can go in as we are, with Jorvik and Kuragin using their papers to identify them, and the rest of us being their retinue. Or we can pass through the howling to avoid scrutiny. While I'll admit that being able to transform into a winter wolf for a period sounds... fun... We might not need that kind of deception. I suppose it is up to Kuragin and Jorvik, on whether or not they are willing to go as themselves into the city." Ishbaad says, looking at his companions.
He does not miss the weight that Kuragin is dealing with, knowing that he is going in as a true traitor to the city now.
"Papers? Yes I have them. Unlike Kuragin I did not leave under the same circumstances. For there are few there who would still know me, and even less that would care. Though I was raised here, the Hoarwood and campfires of the Mammoth Lords will always be my true home. This is just the place I was raised and tormented.
"Ringeirr if my comment was off-putting, well it is odd to find such altruism here in the north. This task, foodstuff, we will gladly accept.
"I wish to know more about the Heralds. I am an unbound man of the North and more than a few passing fancies have caught my eye. Purpose and direction would benefit one such as myself. What is it you wish to accomplish?"
Nadya notices Ishbaad's confusion, "Oh, sorry! I forgot to tell you that I had one of those. Uncle Ringeirr saw it in my pack. Hjalnek killed a winter wolf with mismatching eyes a while back and took its skin."
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"I have something else to say, too," Nadya looks serious for a while, "If you are happy to travel on with Uncle Ringeirr, I think I would like to return to my boys. They will surely be missing me and the sooner I start settling them in to Ellsprin, the better. Maybe I can find a job that doesn't involve long trade expeditions."
Tears well in Nadya's eyes as she kneels down next to Aoife. "Your quest to find your father is... tragically... over, my dear friend," Nadya gives her a big hug, "Please consider coming back with me to Ellsprin. Irrisen is perhaps not the nicest place to live, but you will always find love in my home - wherever it may be."
"I wish to know more about the Heralds. I am an unbound man of the North and more than a few passing fancies have caught my eye. Purpose and direction would benefit one such as myself. What is it you wish to accomplish?"
"I will tell you anything you wish to know," Ringeirr favors Jorvik with a rare smile, "The Heralds' short term mission is simple: we wish to make life better for all Ulfen in Irrisen. Our longer goals are far reaching, and almost certainly for later generations to fulfil: an end to the reign of the winter witches and removal of Baba Yaga's eternal winter. Lofty goals, we know, but we try to get a little farther each day.
"This usually means small things, like helping to hide temples to the forbidden gods such as Desna, Sarenrae and Milani," he explains, "But also in creating pockets of Summer around the realm where animals may breed - if only for a brief time - and provide Irrisen's citizens a taste of what might one day be.
"For today, this means I help you into Whitethrone to put an end to Elvanna's mad scheme."
The child does not look up from her crumpled position on the floor, sitting on her legs, but does reach out and hug Nadya strongly. Gripping the motherly woman's legs, Aoife fails to stop suppressing the tears for the loss of her father, and wails while hiding face the Nadya's pant-legs.
"Thank you, Miss Nadya," calls the child's muffled voice through the fabric and tears. "Thank you for everything..."
For a moment while continuing to cry, the child considers the woman's offer. Within her, there is the strong urge to abandon this quest and retreat away from the path they are on. The Black Rider's task be damned, this is now the urge building within her, knowing such a quest was nothing compared to the loss of her father. Yet, before she can answer Nadya and agree to leave with her at this very moment, Aoife cannot help but think about her father dying in the bowels of the queen's fortress. She imagines her father's last moments of life, and thinks about the wayfinder with her portrait inside tucked away on him when the cleansing fire burned away his life.
"Believe me, Miss Nadya," she now continues. "I want to go with you. I want to leave this place and never come back. I don't want to ever hear about witches, or black riders, or fate... they can all be damned..."
"But I need to continue what my father started," Aoife continues, a deep rooted resolve building in her words. "And I need to destroy anyone that had anything to do with his passing... Anyone that stood against my father or tried to harm him... They will die and know that Aoife, daughter of Tighearnán, was their downfall."
And in doing so, I will honor the memory of my father, she thinks, but does not say anything more aloud. Their destruction is now my quest. This will keep his memory with me until all his enemies have fallen.
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Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight contemplates the offer. "It should be as you say, Ringeirr. Me no need no papers... Irisini Longshanks know goblins would no keep papers anyway. They now can tell difference between us, so they no really care who we are... Just that we no make too much trouble. Maybe me sneak in and check to see if me mum still around, or me old pals could help us? But, maybe you right, maybe going in through Howling Gate best. It too bad we are not all snow goblins.., then this be easy!"
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Kuragin keeps on chuckling helplessly, and has eventually to sit down and wipe the tears of laughter from his eyes.
Hilarious! I was almost put to death for affiliating a group I had never heard of, and now I am risking my neck with the Winter wolves to help out the very same and real group. Oh, fates, you are really going to make me pay back all my fortune-twisting!
"Fine," the witch says once he manages to get hold of himself. "Let as move in through the Howlings, come what may. Maybe the rimepelt will fool them enough to allow us a safe passage, or maybe we have to fight our way through. Let us hope for the best and fear the worst... Now, who wants to play the part of the wolf? Ishbaad? Jorvik?"
"Best let Ishbaad," suggests Ringeirr, "Jorvik actually belongs." Ringeirr is obviously still struggling to keep the disdain from his voice.
"So it is decided then, we enter through the Howlings. Before we go, I have some things that might aid your quest." The grizzled Herald of Summer's Return moves a fur rug on the floor and twists a floorboard out of the way. He then pulls an entire hatch up, revealing a hidden chest beneath. Opening it, he produces a variety of potions and other sundries.
"Healing potions, mainly, but also things to help you survive in Whitethrone."
"These nails," Ringeirr adds, his voice more severe even than before, "They are considered treason to carry. If you are found with one on your person it will be death. If you are captured and searched, however, I'm assuming it will be death anyway. Should you choose to carry them, they will help to protect you from the witches' enchantments."
From beneath the chest, Ringeirr also produces a satchel. "This can carry much more than its volume inside it. Most folk call it a handy haversack. I call it a smuggler's blessing. It is yours."
Finally, he retrieves a studded belt from the chest, "This will grant you great physical might. I wear a better one already, so you can have this one."
"Well, everyone," Nadya begins in a trembling voice, struggling to hold back tears, "It is time we parted ways. Thank you so much for all you have done for Thora, for Waldsby and for all of Irrisen. I am so proud to call you my friends. Come and visit me when this is all over. I want to hear what happened. I want to know that you are safe."
Nadya kneels down next to Aoife and gives her a last, long hug. She fails in her task at keeping her eyes dry. When Nadya at last pulls away, she presses a fetish made from interwoven feathers spun over an ice diamond into Aoife's hand. "Carry this with you, my dear Aoife. When you need to get away simply attach it to your shoulders and you will be able to fly anywhere you desire. Fly fast, and be careful."
"The Heralds' short term mission is simple: we wish to make life better for all Ulfen in Irrisen. Our longer goals are far reaching, and almost certainly for later generations to fulfil: an end to the reign of the winter witches and removal of Baba Yaga's eternal winter. Lofty goals, we know, but we try to get a little farther each day.
"That is interesting. I am no abolitionist. Yet to end the rein of the winter witches. Much to think about."
Well, everyone," Nadya begins in a trembling voice, struggling to hold back tears,"It is time we parted ways. Thank you so much for all you have done for Thora, for Waldsby and for all of Irrisen. I am so proud to call you my friends. Come and visit me when this is all over. I want to hear what happened. I want to know that you are safe."
Bowing formally, "My lady. It has been one of the very bright fire in my life of darkness that allowed me to grace your presence these last several weeks. May Desna protect you and keep you safe, and your boys. One day I hope to call upon you again, to see your boys grown into young men.
"There is no thank you that is sufficient for all that you have done. No gift that I can bestow upon you to is equal to what you have given us. I will remember what you have done for us until my last heart beat. wiping silent tears, Jorvik walks off whistling to Heaofc.
The beautiful bird streaks down and alights on his arm has he walks towards a less populated portion of town.
"The Howlings then." Ishbaad is stoic about the decision, but secretly is excited about the prospect of posing as a winter wolf for a short time. He strokes his yeti cloak, thinking that once they get through the Howlings, he may spend the majority of his time in yeti form while they are in whitethrone.
The stranger you look in this city, unless you are Jadwiga, I am guessing the less you are noticed.
When Nadya gets ready to leave, Ishbaad waits his turn to say goodbye. The reserved Oread stands in front of her for a moment, before moving forward and wrapping her in a giant bear hug.
"Thank you for all you have done, especially for Aoife. Jorvik is right, we cannot repay you. We will find a way to send word to you when your daughter's vengeance is complete. You have my eternal respect. May Iomedae bless your path."
Aoife again leans forward pressing her face tightly against Nadya. "Thank you for everything, Nadya. I will never forget you and all things you have done for us." The child new reaches out and clutches her friend, holding the woman dearly as the child try to savors every moment of this final goodbye.
"Thank you for the gift. You have already done so much for me, and yet you continue to do more. I will use it to fly when the time comes," Aoife voice his hard to make out as her face is still pressed against the woman. "Please take care of Orm and Mjoli, and tell them I miss them."
When at last the youth is ready to pull back, she moves quickly away from the others while cover her face. With a quick tug she lifts her weatherworn backpack and slings it over her shoulder, then spends a moment winding the long scarf many times around her neck and head until all that seems to remain exposed are her eyes.
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Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight stays quiet when the gear is being passed around, but looks on... Expectantly... When the haversack is disclosed. It is clear that the little guy already hauls around a lot of stuff... But he says nothing.
When Nadya says she is leaving them, all Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight can do is run to her, and give her a tearful (and probably a bit snotty, truth be told) hug.
The imposing walls of Whitethrone loom as the companions approach the ramshackle arrangement of houses that form the district known as the Howlings. The corded muscles along Ringeirr's arms have his cart of fish sliding along the icy, muddy path straighter than the companions could have imagined possible under such conditions.
The walls of Whitethrone tower 30 feet high, and have the appearance of giant, sharpened femurs fused together, though closer inspection reveals only smooth stonework the color of bleached bone. Massive skulls of the same bone-white stone top the walls, staring with blank gazes outward from the city in all directions. A rough road of frozen mud, churned and trampled from the traffic of countless feet, leads through an opening in the wall, which appears to have been deliberately left unfinished rather than sundered.
The 'gate' of the Howlings is little more than a gap in the wall with a cluster of guard houses situated beyond the border. A lone, well armed and armored guard stands at this entrance to the city. She is tall with shoulder-length silver hair - despite her obviously youthful appearance - has a slender frame, piercing blue eyes and pale, unblemished skin. By any standards, she is strikingly attractive. She watches the companions approach warily and raises a hand as they near the gate. When they are close enough, they notice that her cloak is for style and not warmth. She does not feel the cold.
"State your business," she demands casually in a deep, throaty voice that sends shivers up the spines of all warm blooded men in the party.
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Ice Melts Quietly takes on an obsequious demeanor as he speaks to the guard. "Me live in town, though beautiful Longshanks such as you would not have noticed. But, me am herald for Jadwiga Kuragin and Jadwiga Jorvik. We are their servants, and question not their business. So, obviously, we belong here. Why you ask?" He indicates the two jadwiga, not mentioning the others.
"And before you ask why we use Howling Gate, which other gate would we use when we are with a Winter Wolf? It make no sense to use any other gate... all snow goblins know that."
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Just before they get to the gates, Ishbaad focuses on the magic of the wolf pelt he is wearing in place of his yeti cloak. He feels himself morph into a gigantic winter wolf. Staring at himself in a nearby sheen of reflective ice, he admires his multi-colored eyes and rippling flanks. Focusing again, he shifts into a human form, much smaller than he is used to in his larger, Oread form. But it will do.
Once they reach the gates, Ishbaad strides forward, stopping short when Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight eagerly offers an explanation. "Shut it, goblin." Ishbaad barks, hoping that his friend understands the need to play the part.
Ishbaad pauses for a second, then continues. "We are returning home. Our search for the black riders remains fruitless. I am accompanying the jadwiga here on their search."
In another world, would you be one to help me hide from my loneliness? What warmth in the bedroom does an ice cold woman like you hold? Ishbaad regards the elegant woman as he speaks, doing his best to remain aloof while they are judged by the gatekeeper.
"You you wish to detain us with more questions, guard? Or are we free to be on our business? " Kuragin's voice is full of annoyance, but there is wariness in his thought. He has never had much love for the winter wolves, unpredictable beasts they are. This individual however, captures the eye. Strikingly beautiful, in a distant, cold way. But surely the pretty form hides a deadly beast.
Standing a few paces behind her uncle the small child stands with a posture that seems almost uncaring and unbothered by the current situation. Since learning of the tragic loss she has spoken almost none and now stands silently, adding nothing to the conversation. In her hands, a tattered and creased harrow card is held tightly as if it were the most prized possession she could ever hope to own. As the card is passed from one hand to the other, and the youth's eyes stare tirelessly upon the image, the scarlet carapace of a majestically crowned ant ca briefly be seen.
The passing of her father had only strengthen her resolve and cast in stone the oath she had taken, pledged to the absent Tighearnán and a dying back rider to slay Queen Elvanna.
It looks as though the guard was about to step in and rebuke Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight herself, but steps back with a satisfied half-smile as Ishbaad does the job himself.
"Fair enough," she nods without seeming to pay too much attention to Ishbaad's half lie.
The female winter wolf gets uncomfortably close to Ishbaad, sizing him up. She sniffs at the air and seems to be satisfied with the result. "My name is Greta, by the way. Pleasure to meet you," she smiles somewhat flirtatiously, ignoring Kuragin's imperious questions, "First time in Whitethrone? I've not seen you around before. Enjoying being human? There are... other benefits than just walking on your hind legs you know... benefits that can best be discovered without the use of legs at all." Greta runs a finger down her neck playfully.
"You can go, if you like," she says dismissively to the others, "But I would love it if you could stay a little longer."
Ringeirr needs no further prompting and begins wheeling the fish cart through the gates of the Howlings.
The child strides forward passing inches away from the female winter wolf, nearly bumping into the woman with small yet stout shoulder. Without saying a word, the youth continues on and briefly glanced at the tattered harrow card in her hand when she is level with the winter wolf. The next moment Aoife is following paces behind Ringeirr and his aromatic fish cart, and passing through the open gate into the Howlings.
Aoife adjusts the long, heavy scarf to be sure its wrappings completely obscure her face, knowing that with the amount of gear and weapons she carries, in all likelihood she will be mistaken for a halfling to most inquisitive eyes.
Did she just say what I think she said? Ishbaad's heart skips a beat while other areas of his body begin to stir.
It's been so long...
The Oread turned winter wolf turned human form of said wolf looks on as Ringeirr promptly moves into the city, with Aoife quickly in tow.
With the girl already out of earshot, and not likely to notice, he moves backward to pull Kuragin aside and whispers to him, "I will be along shortly. I have... matters... to attend to." he clears his throat.
"Milady," Ishbaad gives a slight bow to the alluring woman in front of him. "My entourage and I have pressing business in the city, and so my time is short." Ishbaad clears his throat, pausing for effect. "But it seems something has come up, and there are things I would like to discuss with you. I'll do my best not to keep you all day..." he says, offering his arm to the enchanting, icy woman and allowing her to lead the way, and his eyes to convey the rest of his meaning and intention.
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Sitting cross-legged in the snow, felling the numbness slowly overtake him, Jorvik reflects on where he has come. Leaving Whitethrone, living across the frozen north, finding Kuragin and the others, and all they had accomplished since then.
Here he was, just on the outskirts of Whitethrone. Why am I back here? What do I really wish to accomplish by being here?
Pain. Pain and misery was all that he remembered upon leaving those years ago.
Do I care what happens here, what the fate of these people are. They never gave a damn about me when I did love here, now I return as their liberator. How ironic.
No matter, he had grown so close to these men, and Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight and Aoife, there was no way that he would leave them to the fates. To fight, to live, to accomplish something, to die. That was all he could ask.
He stands up and begins to look around for a fist sized rock. Finding one, he takes off his boot. Turning it upside down, placing the upper portion between his bent knees, the removes the Hex Nail and begins the process of pounding it in the sole.
*Bam* *bam* *bam* he strikes the head of the spike, driving the nail further and further in.
Why are they talking!? They are supposed to let Kuragin and I talk. Did we not discuss this?
Turning to the guard, "I am returning .... home." Thrusting his papers out,the turns to his companions and fixes them with a cold stare.
"They have grown lax on the road, a condition I aim to remedy sooner rather than later. What news in Whitethrone? We have been gone some time."
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Having been effectively shut down Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight mopes. He looks quite downtrodden, and gives Ishbaad a look of utter betrayal. It is clear to the Oread that he actually doesn't understand.
Once they are past the gates, and things are a little safer, he says, [smaller]"Maybe we find someone to remove curse of ring? Kuragin, you know someone maybe? Please?"
"Maybe we find someone to remove curse of ring? Kuragin, you know someone maybe? Please?"
Greta is about to leave with Ishbaad when Jorvik asks a question. She looks about to dismiss him, but decides that it would be best to remain friendly towards her would-be paramour's companions, especially one who asks so nicely.
"We tend to keep out of the city's business," the guard begins at first, flicking her silver locks back indignantly, "But Queen Elvanna has her ice-panties in a twist because her century is up. She's after Baba Yaga's Riders and doesn't mind broadcasting that fact. I've heard she has the Dancing Hut shackled up in the middle of the city. Not everyone's happy about it, though. Some fear the retribution of Baba Jaga. Some, including many winter wolves, remember their old loyalties - to the Queen of Witches, not the current and outgoing Queen of Irrisen." Greta looks furtively around after that revelation, but remembers she was careful not to let on about whether or not she shared that opinion.
"Anyway, she's having even more trouble than usual controlling her normally loyal fey and monstrous minions," Greta continues, "The Queen's Winter Guard have had to declare martial law (mostly just a curfew and you have to submit and show papers whenever they ask) to keep order. Oh, and the Market Square - in the center of the city where they keep the Hut - has somehow tapped in to the magics of the First World and is causing all kinds of havoc with plants and fey sprouting up all over the place. I think the Dancing Hut is defending itself. Elvanna... I mean, Queen Elvanna... had best keep her eyes pointed in both directions if she wants to survive this coup of hers.
"Now," she adds firmly, "Any more questions? I have business to attend to."
Picture of Greta on the Tactical. Also, Ishbaad - feel free to script this yourself. She's both willing and ferocious. Let me know if you can't come up with something and I'll figure it out. Oh, and also keep in mind that you're a shapeshifter now. Her natural form is that of a wolf... so things can and should get really freaky.
Ishbaad smiles internally at Greta's revalation. This may not be so impossible after all. And perhaps the winter wolves won't necessarily be enemies in all of this.
Ishbaad flashes a wry, knowing grin at Greta as they get ready to move off.
, and not awkward for everyone else.
, and not awkward for everyone else.
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"Greta, thank you much for the information, If only there was some way that we could repay you." Jorvik glances at Ishbaad.
One must never judge. That was something he hard learned long ago.
"Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight, you did well back there. Why so glum? You know we are in Whitethrone, and this is how people her expect us to treat you. You know that you are just as important as anyone in this party. We must maintain appearances. Come let us explore my home."