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Slowly rising in the air, Jorvik is stunned into silence as Logrivich tears Aofie to shreds. So much pain, so much loss.
He shakes his head as the cold blast rolls over him. Spinning away as lithely as a dancer, the blast seems to only partially strike him. Heaofc however freezes momentarily and begins to plummet before thawing and gliding away. At a whistle, she flies straight up to escape the wrath of the mighty dragon.
Thank Desna
Shaking off his stupor, Jorvik draws and pulls an arrow, simultaneously taunting the mighty dragon. "Beast, though you speak as a man, you are but a beast. You reign as captain is over as are those abominations you serve. The North will return to its ways, and your head shall hang from my halls."
Incredibly fast, Jorvik pulls back and unleashes another arrow.
Heafoc takes to the sky, screaming quickly as she gains altitude. She circles high above the combat, waiting for a chance to dive and attack the dragon.
Heafoc readies her razor sharp beak an claws should Logrivich attempt an escape.
The icy breath forms over his invisible form, creating a shell of solid ice, not unlike the death shell that surrounds Granny Nan. However, the magics that protect him create a barrier, and that icy shell is quickly shattered, with the Inquisitor not at all worse for the wear.
Ishbaad pushes all thoughts from his mind. Thora and the injustices of that little town, the dangers and inherent cruelty of the north, Aoife's battered form that skitters across the room and through the trap door, and his rage at the icon of fearful submission that Logrivich stands for. All of it is cleared from his mindspace. There is only one singular focus, and all of the Oread's divine wrath is focused.
The creature is massive. Knowing intimate details about a white dragon's physiology is one thing, but staring into the icy blue eyes of a living, breathing, muscle rippling dragon is entirely different. It's head seems at least as big as the giant Oread's torso, even in his enlarged state. Greta was not wrong to mock his bold assertion that they would be able to kill the wyrm.
Death or Glory. His mind is already made up, and so the magic that keeps him afloat swirls, and the Inquisitor of Iomedae rises to meet this mighty foe.
Ishbaad's fully armored, giant form flashes into view, the invisibility magic cut off with his forceful attack on the dragon. The mighty greatsword flexes against the crystalline, white scales for a moment, and Ishbaad worries if they will break through.
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Jorvik's first arrow strikes Logrivich dead in the chest, but the closely knit dragon scales do not allow it to achieve a purchase on his flesh.
A second arrow fired by the Bloodspeaker thuds into Logrivich, just next to where the first hit but this one finds a gap in its scales. Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight's bomb follows shortly afterwards, and Logrivich screams in pain. The mighty white dragon's face is ablaze and the almost constant flurry of ice surrounding him melts in the heat. The bomb that follows it tears into Logrivich's wing and he falters in mid air.
The dragon fixes his evil glare upon the goblin, and all know that Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight will be the target of Logrivich's next attack. That in mind, Ishbaad strides forwards and buries his spear in the dragon's neck. Not only does the weapon find purchase, but it explodes out of the other side. Sub-zero temperature blood sprays the oread's stony arms as a look of shock and utter disbelief falls over Logrivich's face. The light in the dragons' eyes winks out and it plummets to the ground, almost taking Ishbaad's spear with it.
There is a silent pause before the massive serpentine corpse hits the ground below with a thunderous crash. More of Logrivich's blood sprays out, covering the yard below as well as the caryatid columns guarding the clocktower and the bleached-bone fence.
Shocked onlookers point up to the open-faced tower where four figures can be seen floating four floors above the fresh dragon corpse.
Not so sure of yourself now, are you?
Like a force of nature, Kuragin’s companions unleash their fury on Logrivich. If it was something less evil, the witch could almost feel pity for it. But the captain of the guard is getting what it deserves.
And best not get cocky. The battle hasn’t been won yet.
Keeping his mouth shut, Kuragin guides the winds to move him closer to the dragon. The transformed snowball spell worked well last time, so no reason to change tactics now. He repeats the motions from last time, and sends the fire towards Logrivich.
Ishbaad the Chosen. Ishbaad the Dragonslayer.
Righteous fury and adrenaline not yet unleash rushes through Ishbaad's veins as he watches his weapon plunge through the neck of the massive beast. He yanks it roughly from its place, unwilling to let the monumental weight of Logrivich tear it from his grasp now that the wyrm can no longer keep itself aloft.
he bellows, trying to find release for the pent up energy within him. Unsuccessful, he flies as much as allows gravity to pull him back to the earth, following the death arc of the doomed dragon. His feet send shudders through the ground beneath him as he lands, his blade poised above his head. With another mighty chop, the flaming brand finishes the job, cutting through bone and sinew, severing the mighty Logrivich's head from his body.
ISHBAAD THE DRAGONSLAYER! The title echoes in his mind again.
Ishbaad looks around him, linnorm ichor dripping from his magnificent armor and tunic, blood smeared on his face while his chest heaves from the effort and rush of adrenaline that is only beginning to wane. In the back of his mind, he hopes, subconsciously, to see Greta appear from the crowd of gawkers.
Later he would internalize the shame and guilt of not rushing to Aoife's side, but the bloodlust in him was far too great in the moment.
Aoife staggers up the ladder and out the trap door. She appears to have forgotten she can fly. "Did we get him?" she asks, downing a potion to heal herself.
The companions set to sorting out the treasure. Kuragin either understands or guesses at the function of most of the arms, armor and other significant magical items. Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight unerringly figures out what is in each potion vial, and even manages to decipher the arcane scrolls. All in all, it takes a bare two minutes before everything is either cataloged or stuffed into the newfound bag of holding (which the ever vigilant-for-treasure goblin confirmed was empty).
Ishbaad and Jorvik search through the rest of the tower. They leave the small purses of the trolls and go straight for the treasure chests and footlockers. For the most part, they pour whatever they find straight into a magical container for a later accounting. Under Granny Nan's writing desk, the pair find hundreds of letters in childrens' scrawling handwriting. Next to those letters is another box filled with requisition orders to orphanages, each with a number of certain aged children. Each has been stamped with the seal of approval of Queen Elvanna's office. Chillingly, the requisitions seem to be filled out just like any other. Interspersed with the orders for children are also orders for troll-sized weapons from various smithies around the city. Each is an identical form and stamp of approval.
In Granny Nan's kitchen, a small cauldron of brewing is discovered and taken for Kuragin to mull over. At the bottom of the albino bugbear's footlocker, Jorvik discovers an artist’s sketchbook filled with provocative illustrations of several women - that he recognizes as members of the Jadwiga Elvanna - in various states of undress. The artist is extremely talented, to the point where it may seem as though these Jadwiga actually posed for the pictures. Should this sketchbook ever get out, it could cause quite the scandal with the right political spin.
At last, the party exits the tower (or flies down to the bottom - Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight shows Aoife how to do so). There, they are greeted by quite the scene. A few members of the Winter Guard has rushed in to see what has happened. However, an entire contingent of Iron Guard has also come to view the demise of Logrivich. Both sides have weapons drawn, but the Winter Guard are outnumbered at least ten to one. At the front of the fray, Captain Pvran notices Jorvik and Ishbaad and snaps a friendly salute in their direction.
"Well done there!" he shouts over, "Reports say Logrivich barely got a breath in before you dropped him out of the sky. Truly impressive. You may be a match for Elvanna herself, were she here. Alas, your quest lies elsewhere. Speaking of... beat you there?"
With that Pvran whistles and the hundred or so Iron Guard completely overrun the Winter Guardsmen and lone Winter Guard troll in their way. In seconds, the entire contingent is trotting off towards the Market Square.
Ishbaad helps Jorvik as they blast through the pillaging of the troll tower, upending chest after chest into the bag of holding. There is very little cataloging at this point, just hustle and empty. Who knows where their wild gamble with the dancing hut will take them, and so they might as well take as much as they can.
Ishbaad stuffs his yeti cloak in his personal magical container, already missing the fun he has gotten out of it, but at the same time excited about the pauldrons he slips on his shoulders. The bull shaped shoulder guards compliment his full plate armor quite well, and he is eager to see what the magic in them will do for him. His mind wanders for a moment to the star metal set of armor that was sitting in the pile of jewels and magical goodies, and he allows himself a momentary indulgence of how wonderful it will be to don that magnificent set.
Exiting the tower for a second time, he smiles first at Aoife, tussling her hair. "Yes we got him. I figured for a moment I should be worried about you, then I remembered how tough you are." Ishbaad smiles again, standing back up.
His warm smile turns into a mischevious grin as the Iron Guard shows up in full force. Ishbaad returns the salute. "The battle plan may often be the first casualty of war, but only when Murphy of Murphy's law fame has time to rear his ugly head. There is a tired and overused saying about preparation and luck, but rather than figure out what it is, I'll take you up on your race!"
With the dragon's horde in their magical bags, the tower ransacked, and a few tokens of thier conquest over Logrivich stowed in pockets and pouches, Ishbaad whistles for Onyx. Together, the motley group begins to push forward with the rush of Iron Guard towards the forest, and the hidden hut within.
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"Boss Uncle Ishy-baad! We should fly to the square. Would be fast, and a lot of fun! See!" Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight takes advantage of his heightened agility by literally flying circles around Ishbaad. "Me got plenty of bombs for bad ice fey we gonna see there!"
Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight would have shoveled all of the books into the bag of holding. In fact, I would imagine that that thing is full, 'cause he would have tried to get EVERYTHING into it.
Most of the looted equipment will only serve the warriors, but among Granny Nan's possessions there was something associated with Kuragin's witching ways. The blouse is rather grotesque with all it's fetishes, and knowing Granny's taste in victims, Kuragin can very well guess the origin of those small bones. He hopes with time and a little effort he could replace the bones with something less offensive, and still have the magic running within the garment.
Worst of all, it has the stench of an old woman all over it!
Then he sees Ishbaad running past him and jumping on Onyx, and urging the rest to follow him to the forest. Quickly he pockets the sketchbook Jorvik was showing. Some of the ladies there looked quite familiar, so those drawing might prove to be quite useful at some point.
And then, the winds raise him up in the air, and the flying witch starts following the inquisitor and his beast.
"Is everyone all right? Anyone in need of healing? Aoife?"
The mighty dragon falls from the sky. Jorvik states at the quivering shaft piercing its white breast.
That is mine. S*~$ from my bow. Piercing the dragon. We did it. Now none will stand I our way.
"Friends. Look long and hard. For that is a sight that few will ever see again. Your prowess your hard work you resilience has made this possible. The guardians of the North will fall one by one. None will stand before us."
Looking at the frozen cracked version of Old Nan Jorvik walks over to her.
"What you did to those helpless, innocent children. Whatever rest Pharasma has given you is too kind too nice for what I would have done to you."
Jorvik brings his foot back and kicks her head off the tower.
Following Ishbaad down the steps he breathes a sigh of relief seeing Aofie well. "Little one. I am so glad that you are well. Come there is still much to do and we cannot do it without you. Take this. It will aid you.". Jorvik hands over the sword.
Throwing open chesty and dumping drawers, Jorvik throws the papers in the bags and other times of value. Except the bow. This he slings on his back. "Fitting companion you will make.". He also throws the other arrows in his quiver.
Once the tower is mostly worked over the exit the tower to see Pvran.
"Ah. See old friend. We did exsctly what we said we'd do. Triumph. We will return the north. Now let us see what you can do. What men of the North can do. Men of the Iron Guard. Let us see what you can do!! Come time to reclaim what was yours. Time to kill the interlopers. Time to take back what is ours. "
Ishbaad tries to remain stoic, but the excitement and rush of the battle is still giving a certain electricity to the air.
The goblin's enthusiasm is infectious.
Ishbaad flashes a smile at his little blue friend. "You think someone will be able to do that where we are going?" he says, only giving a mocking effort at being serious. "I sure hope so..." he finishes with a grin.
Onyx laps up the offered potion. In the brief minutes of looting the tower, Ishbaad has returned to his normal size, and so the Oread swings a leg over the saddle.
"Take it easy at first boy, this might feel weird..." He whispers to his giant elk, patting him on the side and urging him both forward, and up.
The companions fly directly for the Market Square. It would normally take ten or more precious minutes through the crowded and winding streets, but the five will cover the 12,000 feet or so (as the adventurer flies) in just one minute. Pvran looks up and curses loudly as he sees the companions - including the magnificently mounted inevitable winner of the informal bet - soar overhead and speed off. "Cheater!"
The scene below the dragonslayers is one of utter chaos. The Winter Guard run this way and that, as the Iron Guard drives a wedge through their ranks. From the North, Winter Wolves pour forth from the Howlings in wolf form, tearing into anyone or anything unfortunate enough to get in their way. Ishbaad fancies that he spies Greta in the lead, ripping an arm from a confused ice troll. In truth, though, since the rimepelt lost its magic, he mostly cannot tell one winter wolf from the other... and certainly not at this distance.
From this height, they can see the true extent of the forest surrounding the market. It extends in a circle roughly 250 feet in radius, covering the entire square and many of the surrounding buildings. A 100 foot high dome of dense thorns tops off the scene providing a significant barrier to anyone approaching from the air. The line of Winter Guards that surround the edge of the forest and pointlessly cut it back every day all have weapons out and are either engaged in a fight or looking for one. Snow goblins are flinging bombs at the scene, igniting the enormous piles of wood around the forest. Flames leap high into the air and there is little the Winter Guard can do about it. Soon, the Winter Wolves and Iron Guard will be upon them... and then the fight will turn into a massacre.
"Let's just go straight for the hut!" cries Aoife. Before the companions can say otherwise or stop her, the impulsive nine year old dives straight for the eye of the forest. The four remaining adventurers expect the child to be rebuffed or get stuck in the thorny branches, but the forest seems to part to allow her passage. No sooner has she gone through the hole that it closes up behind her, seeming to snap shut. Try as they might, the four cannot follow... the forest has sealed itself off to them.
Despite Ishbaad coaxing and cajoling, Onyx is not happy without solid ground under his hooves. Nevertheless, the pair streak through the air above the boughs of the magical forest alongside their friends.
"Aoife wait!!" Ishbaad shouts, much to late to stop the girl.
Be careful in there...
"There, an opening!" Ishbaad points out, once he realizes they are not going to get through the brambles. He nearly does a barrel roll trying to turn Onyx to make a beeline for the one place they can get through. He grimaces as Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight manages to take a flight path much like an actual bumblebee, and still outpace the struggling rider.
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Taking to the skies Heafoc looks at her companion, if a huge, deadly hawk could look surprised one would think she would. But no. Opening her beak she gives a shrill "Ierrrreeaaa"
Circling, gaining a bit of height, she flies upward until she can feel the warming currents lift her up. Turning her head, a predatory look upon her face, she banks sharply and follows the group over the crowded markets and through fares of Whitehrone.
Her sharp eyes can easily distinguish between the different folks shuffling about, her anima listing brain quickly categorizing between predator and prey. Noticing the migratory pattern shift the prey moved away from the mass of well arm and organized trips advancing, predator.
Another group of predators emerged on the other side of the prey, this one the same, but different. This one moved more fluidly, in concert.
Pack Hunters she though. Deadly and dangerous are these
The predators met in rippled, uneven waves. Noise, human though they were, Heafoc recognized the cry of pain, despair, death. One killed or one died. Down there many are dying.
She turned her head to glance at her human, to see if they would kill anyone of these predators.
But no. He continued on a different path. Larger prey. More deadly prey. This will be fun.
Before finishing her thoughts the four legs pours forth.
Too loud. Show offs. Trying to scare their prey. But this time their prey are predators. One that don't care or don't scare.
The wolves torn into the beasts and the bloody meele continued.
The companions tumbled and floated toward a thorny dome.
An hour old chicklet is more grateful.
As the approached the dome, the pip human sped up.
Fool!
Amazing the girl was swallowed up. Perplexed Heafoc orbited her human waiting for commands.
The companions swoop down to the only visible entrance of the forest. The shops and homes of the Merchants’ Quarter stop abruptly at a towering wall of evergreens that has burst through the snow-covered cobblestones of the city’s streets. Ahead, the trees part to form a path winding into the dark forest that has replaced all sights and senses of the city around it.
Three ice trolls in the uniform of the Winter Guard stand sentry at the entrance to the forested area and move to block the companions ingress. Had they seen what had happened at the Clock Tower, had they seen six trolls and their minions taken out in under a minute, had they seen an ancient cauldron of evil put down like a misbehaving kitten, had they seen Logrivich fall before he could even take a second breath... these trolls would have run. As it was, they foolishly thought themselves superior to the companions.... who carved through them in moments, following it up with a quick blast from Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight to end them permanently.
Stepping over the troll corpses, the heroes look left and right.
To the left, a pool of strange silvery water stands in a clearing. On the pool’s surface, ripples begin at its outermost edges and rush inward to a single point, where drops of water fall up toward the sky. The entire pool rains skyward while snowflakes float down between the droplets. A brisk wind rustles through the trees. A path continues on to the north out of the clearing.
To the right, the four remaining adventurers who set out from from Heldren see a house perched precariously in the branches of the trees, apparently lifted into the air from its foundations. The branches creak as the house teeters and sways with the wind.
Ishbaad scans the area, ever watchful, and now slightly paranoid about the dangers of some of the fey they have already encountered. He does some mental math to see if his blessings of protection from evil are still active on his companions, which would give them a little better chance of resisting the charms and wiles of the dangerous first world creatures.
He guides Onyx to the left to investigate the pool of water, the reverse rain mixed with properly falling snow, checking over his shoulder to see if anyone is following him.
As the companions approach the strange upward-flowing water, two figures can be seen through the anti-gravitational mist. One of the figures has a head of flaming (literally flaming hear) and wears long flowing silvery robes and carries a pipe in his hand. He looks up at the approaching adventurers and sighs. The other, a muscular bald grey-skinned individual with long ears, simply grunts and stands beside his companion.
The one with flames for hair greets the new arrivals, "I am Auraenos, and this is Wortleby, my little steward from the Dullard Lands. What is your business here?" His voice is mellifluous, but caries with it an undertone of menace.
To be coy, or blunt? Does it matter at this point?
"We are here to unshackle Baba Yaga's hut. You would be wise to stay out of our way, lest you suffer the same fate as Logrivich. Unless of course, having your head separated from your neck isn't quite as deadly for one such as yourself?"
Ishbaad puffs out his chest while Onyx shuffles in place anxiously.
"Just try it," mutters the strange small grey creature called Wortleby, who Ishbaad recognizes as a spriggan . To prove his mettle, Wortleby suddenly grows in size to tower over Ishbaad and the others. He draws his now massive short sword and grips it tightly, but otherwise makes no further threatening moves.
The taller, flame-haired individual seems less bothered by Ishbaad's threats. "What a coincidence. We are also here to free the Hut. I must confess, though, I have no idea who this 'Log-ree-vitch' is," Auraenos seems sincere in his ignorance, "But as for staying out of each other's way, that should be simple. You see, you need not go any farther. The hut is back in the clearing you came from and due directly north from there. You may also feel free to travel past us and up this path, but it leads nowhere you'd be interested in going, I'm sure."
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"You no scare me, you fey bastard. Me sure you work for the Witch Queen... but you not know that her time is done. We gonna take the hut, and there is nothing you can do about it. You wanna fight, we fight."
To the woman with the flowing red hair, "You very pretty. Me like your hair. We gonna free the hut, but maybe you work with us? But you keep your Wortleby under control. Me no like people who threaten my friends."
Ishbaad lets out a big belly laugh at the bravado and machismo being spit back and forth, that he of course started.
"Logrivich is the former captain of the winter guard. The White Dragon that bent to the call of Elvanna, the queen who has stayed past her time. Tell me, do you treat with Elvanna? If you do, then we may as well stop talking and get this over with. If not, well then we can all just move on, as I would rather not waste our time here."
Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlights threat is met with a quick grunt of laugh from the spriggan. The goblin eyes the flaming haired humanoid, trying to recollect what he knew of the fey. Then it comes to him. With the flaming hair and the pipe, he must be a dawn piper. Yes, Auraenos's eyes burn with a strange green light and his unblemished skin is clear evidence that he is a dawn piper.
Strange and enigmatic creatures from the First World, dawn pipers are unmistakably humanoid. Their hair moves constantly, like the flickering flames of a torch in the breeze. While beautiful physically, it is through their haunting melodies that dawn pipers' true beauty becomes evident.
Dawn pipers have:
- Darkvision.
- The ability to create an aura of terrible beauty: Terrible Beauty (Su)
As a standard action, a dawn piper can surround itself in an intense aura of magnificence that is too potent for non-fey to withstand. Non-fey creatures within a 30-foot radius of the dawn piper must succeed at a Will save or be blinded or deafened for 1d4 rounds (the piper’s choice, but the effect is consistent for all affected creatures), and take 1 point of bleed damage from their eyes or ears (depending on the specific effect). This aura lasts 1 full round, and a creature that succeeds at its saving throw cannot be affected again for 24 hours. This
is a visual or auditory, mind-affecting effect. A dawn piper requires a musical instrument in order to create this aura.
- Damage reduction 5 / cold iron.
- Spell resistance 16.
"Well, little goblin," Auraenos begins, his voice soothing to the ears, "I am a 'fey bastard' also. You might do well to watch your tongue. My steward Wortleby has a short fuse. As I said earlier, you may pass freely, but if you want the hut you need go back that way a little and then north. I doubt we can find enough common ground to work together, but you are most welcome to try to free the hut. I doubt you will be able to.
"As for Elvanna, Logrivich and the 'Winter Guard'," the piper turns to Ishbaad, "These names mean little to me. Elvanna is the queen, you say? Of this city, I assume. Well, she is welcome to it. We shan't be here for long.
"Now, I grow tired of this discourse. Be on your way and cease your interruptions or I shall change my mind about letting you pass."
It occurs to Ishbaad that these particular fey creatures are not winter fey. Their coloration is regular and not tinged with white and blue like the other fey creatures they have encountered in Irrisen thus far.
"You.." Ishbaad stops for a moment, just before turning Onyx towards the direction the strange fey have indicated.
"You did not come here by your choosing... Did you? You are as unnatural to this place as this forest. And, you do not want to be here I take it?" Ishbaad asks, unsure why he cares to find a thread of commonality, but unable to resist the search anyways.
Auraenos finds it hard to hide his surprise. In fact, his face turns into the perfect depiction of surprise, mouth open eyes widened, the pupils of his beautiful green eyes dilated and everything else that one might expect.
"And what do you know of how we came to be here?" he asks, collecting himself, "Of course we do not want to be here. But soon enough, we shall be home. Now... begone!" As his surprise was perfect, so too is Auraenos's anger. His face is contorted into one of unbridled rage and loathing.
Seeing the shock on the creature's face, Ishbaad keeps his own impassive, so as not to tilt the volitale creature the wrong way.
"I cannot be sure, but I believe this forest, and you apparently along with it are here to protect the hut. By your reaction I would say against your will. I believe you were somehow summoned by Baba Yaga herself, or some very powerful agent of hers. We are here to set things right, which is why we seek the hut."
"We may not be allies, and our problems are vastly different, but I believe the solution to yours will come when we have solved ours. Once we unlock the hut and escape with it, the forest will no longer be needed to protect it. I would strongly suspect then you would be returned from whence you came. Unless you had other ideas of how to make that happen?" Ishbaad asks, geninuely curious, and hoping beyond hope that his suspicions are correct.
Have I peaked enough interest? Let us see if the hook is set...
"You have made it clear you do not mean to stand in our way, and even more than that, have been helpful in guiding us on ours. As you wish." Ishbaad nods his head in respect to Auraenos, and pulls Onyx's reins, turning him back where they came from.
If they arent interested enough to follow us, at least it seems they will stay out of our way. Good enough for me.
Kuragin hovers nearby, keeping distance to the odd fey. Usually, he is more than happy to let Ishbaad to handle the talking, but this time the talky inquisitor seems to be angering the strangers. So he is very glad to see him let the fey be, and turn around.
"So, if he spoke the truth, we should move to north to find the hut."
But can a fey be trusted, ever?
The Dawn Piper scoffs at Ishbaad's suggestion and simply shakes his head as the companions back away.
The exchange between the fey and his friends has afforded Kuragin the opportunity to inspect the phenomenon of the upwards-flowing water in greater detail. He believes that it is some kind of elemental font connected to the plane of water. It is similar to something that the dawn piper could effect with an ability they all possess. Each dawn piper can tap into one of the four elements with a musical instrument and one of four rituals (taking many hours to perfect, and requiring daily maintenance). As Kuragin inspects the font further, however, he notices the reflections of the surrounding trees in the font turn upwards before being sucked up into it. He turns to look at the trees and for a moment, out of the corner of his eye, he can see straight through it. When he looks closer, however, the tree appears solid again.
Suffice it to say, this elemental font is not typical of those usually created by a dawn piper. However, not wishing to engage the newly arrived fey in combat nor able to parley any further, the companions move on.
Making for the path suggested by the Dawn Piper, they pass by a strange thing indeed.
Perched precariously in the branches of the trees here is a small house, apparently lifted into the air from its foundations. The branches creak as the house teeters and sways with the wind.
"Help!" comes a cry from the treehouse. Two grubby-faced children can be seen from the shadows within, calling out, "Our father is hurt... the other Winter Guard won't help us... and the tree is gonna fall! Please help!"
'Other Winter Guard'? It takes the companions a moment to realize that Ishbaad and Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight still wear their stolen uniforms.
Ishbaad grips his greatsword and floats up behind his eager goblin friend, ready to provide whatever martial support might be necessary, or perhaps simply a strong arm to ferry the children down.
"We must be quick." he says curtly, paying no mind to the heartless sound of his words. They were on a mission, after all, and were already accelerating the clock.
Their flight from the tower, the parley with the Fey, it all seems a blur to Jorvik. Gripping Frostreaver in his hands tighter, turning the cold-iron hammer head in his hands, he cannot wait to smash some fey.
Yet the scream from overhead, the children.
We lost Aoife, we lost those children in the tower, Hells we lost Thora. We cannot lose more children.
"Hold tight children. We shall save you." Jorvik flies up with Ishbaad and Ice.
Children... Always in trouble, in need of help. And slowing us down.
With disdain, Kuragin flies closer to the house to inspect the scene. Most likely the house has been in the tree for a while. Why is it just now that the children need to get out?
"We have a mission to accomplish. Are you sure you want to waste time, and..." But the witch doesn't even bother to finish his sentence. Of course these heroes want to rescue children. "Bah, fine. Ishbaad, can you put the children on Onyx,and grab their father?"
Keeping his distance, Kuragin casts Detect magic to study the tree, the house, and whatever he can see from the windows. Best not to trust anything in this forest. Then he takes one crossbow bolt from his possessions, and casts the spell of light on it.
"No harm done? Ha! We shall see. You are clearly not going to flee... so face the wrath of Ravathiel!" screams the flame-haired dawn piper in response to the companions questions, clearly growing tired of the conversation. The earth around the altar begins to rumble and rocks fly upwards as though in response to his unconscious command.
"Why don't you just step aside, and let us proceed to the damn hut..." Kuragin sighs, shakes his head, but proceeds to fight the creature. He keeps flying, guiding the winds to take him to safe distance from the dawn piper, to a position where he can launch his assault. And he casts a spell. No gestures needed, just words. But words so vile and poisonous, that the air he breaths turns into poison. And these arcane words Kuragin spits at the dawn piper, and everyone can see the words changing into a stream of poison as it travels towards the flame-haired creature.
"You cannot get to the hut without destroying the siphon, fool!" cries Ravathiel, "And you will die before I allow you to do that!"
The venom from Kuragin's mouth catches the dawn piper unawares and it seeps into his eyes, causing him to flail about madly - clearly blind.
Cursing, the piper puts the pipes to his lips and plays a haunting melody. It suddenly becomes rhythmic and very low pitched... faster and faster until it is a rumble. Suddenly, the ground beneath Ishbaad, Onyx, Jorvik and Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight disappears completely, leaving a 10ft drop filled with spikes.