The snow goblin's rage at being bound is obvious to any observer, as is the struggle he is having getting out. It is also apparent to all that his scrawny limbs are not up to the task of breaking out. He does not appear to have been hurt by the cold, but neither is he in any danger of escaping.
It looks like Ishbaad has the other direction well covered, so Kuragin starts walking clockwise around the hut. He might be at the end of his powers, but so must be Nazhena.
While Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight languishes in his prison, the icy energies lapping at his magical protections, Kuragin advances on Nazhena. Both witches look spent, but Nazhena has her wand. She seems to be considering dealing with Kuragin, but turns her attentions back to Ishbaad instead.
With a wave of her wand, two more icy spears erupt from the earth. This time, both angle forth to strike at the large Oread.
"One last chance, Kseniya," the Baroness spits as she floats nearer to her fellow Jadwiga, "Your spells are spent, and your friends cannot triumph here. Submit, and I will take you as my apprentice after some mild punishment. Be to me what Radosek will never be again." Kuragin's resemblance to Radosek Pavril must be strong indeed for her to offer such generous terms.
Meanwhile, Auraenos skulks off back to his crew. The sounds of battle beyond the ice wall do not sound much to his liking.
With Heafoc breathing shallowly, and Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight seemingly back from death's door, praise Desna, Jorvik lovingly drops Frostreaver on the frozen ground before bulling Heartseeker from his back.
Lining up Nazhena, he lets fly hoping to bring the witch down and end this conflict.
"For Thora, and all you have killed!" he shouts.
Ishbaad growls as he tries his best to dodge the dangerous frozen spikes, grimacing as they glance off his legs and back once again. Internally he breaths another sigh of relief as one spike glances off the rear guard plate of his armor, knowing that had it caught him square, he would be square on his rump.
Ducking towards the thorns, Ishbaad runs around the pillars and around the corner of the hut. He smiles another wry grin as he seeks Kuragin closing in from the other side.
"You cannot stop the black rider! You cannot stop the inevitability of the north, and Baba Yaga who has come to claim you! I would demand that you come down here and die with dignity, but this is much more fun!"
"Bah, be like Radosek the goatf*cker? I'll pass, thank you. I choose the winner's side, and since your reign is about to end, I know which side that is."
A bit of lies there... Kuragin has never really been on the winning side. Not before meeting these adventurers from the faraway lands. And he really doesn't feel like going back to serve the Jadwiga rulers.
Still he has some powers left, at least. Kuragin squints his eyes, and gives the baroness his evil eye - a real battle between witches.
Nazhena's face reddens as she goes over the response to being called a goat in her head... and then she remember's Radosek's familiar was a goat and calms. "You die, then," she says at last.
The Baroness shakes off Kuragin's stare, though she is still rattled briefly, but her eyes widen as Ishbaad continues to approach and as an arrow streaks past her head. Deciding quickly between her targets, she decides to go for Ishbaad again.
Two more spears erupt from the cobblestones to a height matching the gigantic Ishbaad's own. This time, he is unable to jump backwards in time and they get beneath his feet.
Ishbaad is hurled onto his rump by the force of the spears. Other than the pain from the spears themselves, only his pride is further hurt... well, that and his tactical situation. Nazhena flies over Jorvik, deliberately on the opposing side to the giant inquisitor.
Jorvik watched the witch fly around the battlefield, again casting her magics at his friends.
Yet this was his time, he was of the north, and it was time to bring northern justice to this evil woman. Death.
Lining her up in his sights, a flood of memories come rolling past him, Heafoc falling from the sky, Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight encased in ice that he cannot melt, Alofie, Coramus, Thora, all gone.
It was time. Time for the witch to die.
With an unceremonious thud, Ishbaad creates the main body of a snow angel, though not by his own choice. It was not the first time in combat he had been knocked on his rump. In fact, it wasn't even the first time this fight.
"You will find, wicked witch, that I am as relentless as the mountain itself." he grumbles as he rolls over, then hoists himself to his feet.
Keep focusing on me, oh wicked and beautiful one. You will soon find that unlike so many of your selfish minions who wish to take credit for things done in any way they can, I am perfectly content letting you focus on me while my friends cut you down.
With a grin, he plots out his next move. They could play this game for a long time, running in circles around the hut. Cut off by the thorns on the outside, and the hut in the middle she was...
The hut in the middle.
Could I pass close by? Mayhaps it is time to test the power of the Black Knight.
Planting his right foot, Ishbaad swings his left over the fence, approaching striking distance of the clawed feet of the seemingly powerful hut, closing the distance between himself and the witch by going straight through, instead of around.
Jorvik's arrow flies trie and strikes Nazhena. She doesn't even bother to dodge out of the way, but her face shows a look of stunned surprise as it pierces her flesh. "I should have known you'd have a magical bow..." she grunts as her blood drops the twenty feet to the ground below.
Meanwhile, Ishbaad straddles the four-foot high bleached-bone fence . The Hut seems to sense his intention and steps to the side. The enormous chain attached to its leg snaps taut when it does so. Ishbaad can feel something magical coursing through his veins... strange and yet familiar. A faint yellow glow radiates from his body, and an opposing blue glow emanates from the chain holding the Hut in place.
Ishbaad's heart skips a beat when he sees the magical glow on the chain, and the reaction of the hut.
Stupid idiot, why didn't I do this sooner?
Despite his internal chastising, he begins to feel a strange sensation come over his stony skin. Goosebumps, or Goosepimples as Aoife calls them.
Perhaps the excitement of the possibilities was more than his physiology could hide...
"Try to release the chains!" Kuragin shouts. It's evident that the flying baroness can easily outmaneuver the lumbering giant inquisitor. So it's best he focus on the thing they came here in the first place. Meanwhile, maybe Kuragin and Jorvik can harass Nazhena long enough for Ishbaad to release the hut.
And to execute this plan, Kuragin follows Nazhena, to prevent her from escaping his hex. Coming close enough, he chants loudly to empower the Evil eye hex.
Panic streaks across Nazhena's face as she hears Kuragin and sees the glow coming from both Ishbaad and the shackles. "No..." she mutters, "No, you couldn't! It just isn't possible!"
With that, she decides to deal with the man shooting at her and places a hand over her eye, closing it in the universal 'go to sleep' gesture.
Almost instantly, the half-elf suddenly feels very drowsy, drips his bow and then drops to the ground in a deep slumber.
Then, worried but no longer harried by an archer, she flies over to the oread to ensure that her great grandmother's chain remains intact.
Ishbaad puffs out his chest, swelling to his magically enhanced giant size.
"Ha! Hahaha! An army of frost giants you say!? When will you learn? "
Stepping forward, Ishbaad wraps his glowing hands around the chain staking the hut to the ground, and pulls with all of his considerable might.
"Today, we all meet our destiny!" he growls as he strains, muscles bulging at the effort.
Black Rider don't fail me now...
-Posted with Wayfinder
As the oread's hand graces the chain, he is thrown back slightly by the energy flowing from him. Energy flows also from the unconscious Jorvik, lying there on the ground. Kuragin finds that a yellowish glowing energy also joins Ishbaads and snakes its way toward the chain. Even Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight produces a tendril of glowing vapor that bypasses his icy prison and joins the others. Unseen by all, a small glow of yellowish energy seems to be escaping from the door of the hut itself.
The yellow glowing energies surround the blue glowing chain, forming a pearlescent green coating over the chain. This coating darkens more and more until it becomes pitch black. Suddenly, a man clad in ebon black armor forms from the black energy, leaving nothing but a mundane chain beneath him. Though he is much younger now, the companions instantly recognize him as Illarion Matveius, the Black Rider of Baba Yaga. In his hands is a massive greatsword which he brings down upon the chains. They explode in a violent burst of white light. When the conscious companions blink the stars from their eyes, Illarion is gone and not a trace remains of the shackles.
"Nooooooo!" screams the baroness, hardly believing what has just happened. Unknowingly, she drifts closer to the Hut to inspect what is going on. She still falls short of the bone fence. The Hut, however, does not seem to care. It lunges forwards and leaps into the air. One of its gigantic chicken feet snaps out and bursts past the implied barrier of the fence. It snatches Nazhena by the foot.
"Aaaah!" she screams, panic and fear filling the air. Her flight hex is unable to support both her weight and the Hut's, and they both crash to the ground, shattering children's femurs beneath the weight of the Dancing Hut. It holds her down beneath two gnarled toes and seems to wait, turning slightly toward Ishbaad.
"No! No! Please!" the helpless baroness wails as Ishbaad advances...
"And now your folly is finally laid bare before your eyes! Did you not see him? Though he was run through, still he managed to give his power to us. We are the new bearers of the mantle of the Black Rider. Now do you finally believe?" Ishbaad drops his hammer to the ground, tired of using his backup weapon. He speaks as he walks deliberately over to the spot on the ground where his mighty greatsword, sanctus custos, lay in the cold snow.
The baroness' whimpers and pleas for mercy do not cause him to hesitate or think twice. He reaches down for the elegant, leather wrapped handle on the giant blade. The leather is a deep reddish hue, flecked with golden threaded inlays. It blends into the dark sheen of the cold iron of the pommel.
"It is ironic. I am a servant of Iomedae. One would think that the outright destruction of a place such as Whitethrone would be in keeping with her tenants. Yet she continues to give me power." He says, inspecting his magical blade closely as he stands next to the pinned and helpless witch.
"So perhaps ask yourself this. Why would Iomedae, goddess of justice and enemy of tyranny and those who impose fear to rule, send me on this course? To ally with the queen of witches? Simply destroying your tower, killing Logrivich and avenging Thora make sense. But to go this far? To take the hut and set her free?" Satisfied with the shine and edge of his blade as he finishes his questions, he squats down to get closer.
"When you meet her, the queen of witches that is, would you ask her for me?"
His words are simple, delivered without malice or frustration. The day was won, and there was nothing left for him to gloat about.
He nods to his companions, giving them their opportunities to say their piece, standing tall and raising the blade above his head like the executioner he was becoming.
If only Aoife were here to finally see justice done for Thora... Where is she?
"You should feel honored. You are to be slain by the same blade that removed the head of Logrivich the Arrogant. The Winter Misfits send another rebel to the embrace of Baba Yaga."
As Ishbaad begins his speech, Kuragin shakes Jorvik awake. Both Jadwiga see the apparition of Illarion Matveius, the Black Rider, appear one last time to smash the ice binding their goblin friend... who spills out onto the ground amidst shards of ice. Illarion smiles broadly at the current situation before dissipating into motes of light reminiscent of sunlight playing off an ice shard, while it gradually loses volume, drip by silent drip.
All hear Ishbaad's parting words to the witch. Nazhena manages one last act of defiance to spit at Ishbaad's feet, then Sanctus Custos, his mighty cold iron greatsword, flashes down without mercy or hesitation and cuts clean through her neck. As though gleefully, the Dancing Hut pounds the headless corpse into the ground before flinging her out of the fenced area and settling down so that the steps of its porch touch the ground, allowing the companions ingress. They notice that the gnarled, wooden front door is slightly ajar.
Almost immediately as the hut sets down, several figures enter the clearing. On guard, the companions prepare for another battle before they realize that the figures are none other than Solveig, Ringeirr, Prvan and an enormous winter wolf, that only Ishbaad recognizes as Greta. Somewhere in the background, eight goblins also enter, bearing Momma Melts Quietly in Sunlight upon her couch like shield bearers.
Ringeirr speaks first, "We did it! We f!$*ing did it!" he cries, jubilation removing all but the most instinctual gruffness from his voice, "We've won the day... and it seems you have freed the Hut. I don't know how, but you did. I'm still not sure if it's a good idea, but I now believe that anything you four set your minds to can be achieved."
"Milani smiles upon us all," says Solveig, her joy overcoming her trepidation at speaking her goddess's name in public, "That was some army you conjured!"
"We were here all the time," notes Prvan wryly, struggling with the instinct to simply arrest everyone in the clearing, "But yes, you do have Jorvik and Ishbaad to thank for convincing me to fight for the cause of the Queen of Witches and not the current Witch Queen."
"Indeed," Greta almost purrs, a strange sound for a wolf to make, "Ishbaad is quite convincing." She nuzzles uncomfortably close to the oread. Not for the first time, he is surprised to find her fur and breath are frigid and cold rather than warm to the touch. He is thankful, again not for the first time, for his magical protections.
"You done did it!" cries Starseer from the back, "Chil', you makin' me so proud right now. Git over here'n give yo momma a hug." The awkward bending of the couch-bearers almost topples the obese goblin onto the snow.
The corpse of Nazhena Vasilliovna yields the following items of interest:
- Noblewoman's outfit (suitable for Irrisen court) worth 80gp.
- 1,500 gp in gold, jewelry and gems.
- Hyperboreal robe
- Potion of barkskin (CL 6th)
- Potion of invisibility
- Potion of shield of faith (CL 6th)
- Potions of protection from arrows x 2
- Potions of cure moderate wounds x 3
- Icicle wand (CL 8th, 9 charges remaining)
- Emberchill
- Unconscious and stable owl familiar.
"Quite a servant of the Queen of Witches you are becoming, Ishbaad," Kuragin remarks, witnessing the execution of the witch.
He and the late baroness seem to share a liking to bravado and monologue... I suppose that's just how some people are
He turns away from the inquisitor, just in time to avoid the oread from seeing him rolling his eyes. Now, he stands next to the Hut, freed from it's chains. The Hut! The fabled artifact of Baba Yaga. It almost feels absurd, now that Kuragin saw the hut moving. Legends becoming true, right before his eyes!
"This is why we came here, and it is inviting us in..." Kuragin sighs, barely acknowledging the other people arriving on the scene.
Ishbaad allows a thin smile in response to Kuragin. Servant of the Queen of Witches, perhaps. But so far, everyone one of his goals and purposes has aligned with the quest to free Baba Yaga. He had not yet been truly tested, to weigh the merits of his calling as a soldier of Iomedae and the Mantle of the Black Rider, which he willingly accepted.
His trysts with Greta? Opposites attract, they say. No harm done, no innocents trampled underfoot. Only mutual affection.
Freeing Waldsby from the grip of the Baroness and avenging Thora? Why that pursuit could not be more noble in the eyes of The Lady of Valor.
Executing Nazhena? If only the others knew what Ishbaad was capable of, long before he had heard of any such thing as a winter portal.
Ishbaad reaches out for Greta, suddenly unsure if stroking her fur would be seen as an insult or a caring gesture.
She is a winter wolf... Tender signs of affection probably aren't really her thing.
His hand hangs in the air awkwardly for a moment before he wraps his arm all the way around her neck, allowing the space between them to disappear.
I'm such a softie...
"Thank you all, for your help. If we even live to see Baba Yaga, we will be sure to include your portion of the tale, so she may favor you as appropriate." Ishbaad winks at Solveig and Ringeirr, letting them know that they will conveniently be left out. Their boldness to appear here in the presence of the Iron Guard and the Winter Wolves would have to be their own to deal with, but he was grateful they could speak one last time.
Ishbaad flashes the I probably won't ever see you again look to Greta, a silent goodbye, before turning towards the hut.
"Aoife is not out here, and we have been through every portion of this forest. The only place left she could be is in the Hut. First Worlder, gather your things. It is time to leave."
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Jorvik stares at the witch, another arrow nocked and ready to fly. He stares deep into her cold, uncaring eyes. Before he can aim and let fly, he sees something different in her eyes.
Are they deeper? Clearer? More blue if possible? Did she just proposition Kuragin. Why not me? I am a good looking man, virile and strong. True I am a half breed in her eyes, but Jagwdia all the same. What does he have that I do not?
All this the northman thinks as he slowly falls towards the cold, hard, white ground. As his body slumps, his mind wanders to life back in Whitethrone. The taunting, the hiding, the cold winter nights staring into the deep black sky, watching all the clear white stars twinkle.
Then we could feel part of his life-force ebbing out of him, flowing like a tendril, connecting with the one coming from Ishbaad, and Kuragin, and even Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight, and from somewhere far off, distant, from Cormaus, and Aofie.
The essence of the black rider, free at last, wakes the man up.
He groggily glances left and right before spying the hut on top of the witch that had caused so much pain.
Raising from the snow he draw his handaxe. Tool. Weapon. Life giver for the rugged northman living on his own. Gripping the well-worn handle in his hand, he can feel each ridge, each chip, each part worn smooth.
He scrambles to one knee, then to his feet. He purposely walks over to her, not too fast, but deliberately.
Standing above her, he looks her right in the eyes. The eyes that moments before had caused him to fall asleep like a newborn babe.
"I am Jorvik Rybalt the Bloodspeaker. I am Jagwida. I am a snowcaster elf, born and bread. I have always wondered if you truly have a heart, or if it just an expression. I guess it is time we find out. This is for Thora and all you have slain for no other reason that you are pure evil."
Jorvik brings the axe down on the witch's breast, shattering the bone. Reaching in he grips her still beating heart and squeezes.
"Huh! You do have a heart. I guess I lose the bet."
Ripping the still beating muscle free from the woman's chest cavity, he holds it aloft for all to see, blood dripping down his arm in rivulets.
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The child crept along the winding, meandering waters of the crick, a few paces from the bank. From behind came the muffled sniffing of an old dog, its shoulders stooped and nose hovering just above the muddy shore. With one arm, Aoife reached forward and leaned against the gnarled trunk of a twisted tree which diverted the trickling, babbling waters around and through its massive, sprawling roots. Taking a moment, she reached back and petted the dog's wet coat, whispering for Deputy to keep quiet.
Looking up to meet her gaze, the dog did not reply.
Her tiny, fragile fingers found their way between the craggy fissures of weathered bark and braced her weight as she peered further down the stream. As her head craned forward the darkness of the night was momentarily brightened by a pulsing glow that floated interspersed throughout the forest. Recoiling slightly, Aoife waited for the glow to fade and could not help but look up and see a squadron of pumpkin-sized fireflies drift lazily by on a current of night air. When darkness returned and the passing lights had faded the child peered onward.
Ahead, the child could see a woman crouched on the edge of the bank, leaning forward over the water. Ahead of the woman an enormous bullfrog sat perched atop a lily pad that should not have been able to support the creature's weight yet somehow stayed afloat in the gently flowing waters. Its skin held a faint purple hue that was noticeable even in the dim light, as were the oddly sized blue splotches that dotted its body. On its back was a small pair of wings that would never be strong enough to lift it from the ground.
The child watched as her mother sat, nearly tucked into a ball, and either stared or conversed with the creature. Overhead there was another gradual brightening as a lone firefly passed through the boughs of the forest above Nadezhda and her amphibious friend. As growing light fell upon Aoife's mother, she turned slowly and cast a smile in Aoife's direction.
Aoife could not help but smile back at her mother. Somehow Nadezhda was the only one who could ever get close to the wily bullfrog which they lovingly deemed Toad. Ahead, Aoife mother continued to smile at her daughter, then stood and walked in the opposite direction. As Nadezhda moved away, Toad's attention followed her, and the woman left a lingering, hidden gesture that only Aoife could see. Nadezhda's signal was for Aoife alone, and it clearly meant that now was the time for her daughter to at last catch the creature.
Not more than ten paces away from the bullfrog, Aoife watched as her mother was scooped into the arms of her father, and held her aloft while the two twirled together in the moonlight. Slowly their motion stopped as Nadezhda pointed aloft toward the stars above, drawing Tighearnán's attention toward a pattern of faint pinpoints of light dotting the heavens. As the man gazed up, Nadezhda gently described to her husband that his people would call the geometric constellation the daughter, and that it would forever be special to him.
Looking back to the bank, Aoife could see the bullfrog was also watching her parents, and the child took the opportunity to bound around the tree and rush toward Toad. In a splashing clatter of steps she ran through the crick. As the bullfrog turned toward the sound of her approaching steps the child leapt, diving face first in an explosion of water and mud.
She could feel the brilliant chill of the cool waters rush over her skin, even atop her entire body, and Aoife burst up through the surface with a gasp. She was soaking wet but the creature was nowhere to be seen. As another warm glow fell upon her, a courteous spotlight from another passing family of fireflies, Aoife looked up to see the unmistakable scowl of Toad looking down from an impossibly high perch in the tree's branches.
As she stood in the creek looking into the boughs at her escaped prey, with Deputy splashing around her and howling into the night, Tighearnán called for his daughter. Up the grassy hill, Aoife could see her parents laying on a blanket, gazing up and pointing at the stars. Her mother would only have picnics at night and under a full moon, it had always been this way, and Aoife loved this about Nadezhda.
Moments later the child was wrapped tightly in her own blanket and laying between her parents, snuggled and comforted by their warmth. As the night's chill began to leave her, Aoife looked on as her mother's fingertip traced a set of fourteen stars forming the faintest resemblance of a man on horseback.
The last thing Aoife heard before her eyes were too heavy to keep open was her mother describing to Tighearnán that his people called this cluster the rider, and that it would...
Before she could hear the last of her mother's words, Aoife fell into slumber.
Greta doesn't recoil from Ishbaad's affectionate hug, instead she nips at him playfully. Not for the first time, the oread is glad for his tougher than usual skin. Even still, Greta has yet again managed to draw blood.
"What a display," she mutters while she eyes Jorvik tearing Nazhena Vasilliovna's heart out, "Perhaps I chose the wrong mate." In her wolfen form, Ishbaad cannot tell if she is looking at Jorvik with lust, admiration or indeed if she is smiling slyly at Ishbaad's expense.
Auraenos and his companions nod in their approval as they pass the companions and head up the front steps of Baba Yaga's Dancing Hut. It seems as though the dawn piper pauses to offer some kind of prayer, similar to what a pious man might do before entering a temple or shrine of his god.
Ishbaad grins, all to willing to play along. "Sure, a witch's heart is great. But chopping Logrivich's head off in one or two blows must be equally impressive. Especially when he was still trying to kill us..."
The man of stone chuckles at the banter before turning back to Greta. Staring into the eyes of the deadly wolf should seem odd, but not during the moment.
"You have done things for me that I did not think possible before I arrived in Whitethrone." He chuckles again at the strange look on Greta's face, indicating that for once he didn't mean that. "There is still much of this story to write, but if the end does not see me in the next life..." He trails off for a moment, unsure of what to say.
"I'll be back." he finally offers after an uncomfortable pause.
"We have freed the hut, but there is still the matter of the Queen of Witches to attend to." He catches eyes with each of the others who have helped them to this point to convey his gratitude before ascending the stairs. In his off hand he fumbles with one of the keys to the hut, activated by the blood of the black knight.
I just said goodbye to a winter wolf, who somehow has become my mate. And that isn't even the strangest thing that will happen today. With that he hoists his magical bag on his shoulder, restraps his hammer and hefts his greatsword, stepping onto the stairs towards the door that hangs ajar.
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Rising from the blood soaked snow, Jorvik feels the adrenaline slowly subside from his limbs. His breathing slowed, his eyes rim-shot-red, Heartseeker fallen in the snow, Frostreaver lying cold on the hard packed earth, Jorvik drops his hunting axe and rushes forward to the small brown feathered mass. Whipping his magical cloak off his shoulders, he lovingly wraps the falcon like a swaddled babe.
"Desna, heed my prayer. Let your curative magics flow through me and into this noble warrior."
Head bowed in supplication, Jorvik can feel the flow of magical energy through him and into Heafoc.
Slowly the falcon begins to come around, heart beating unnaturally fast. Turning her head, she lets out a shrill "Skkkkrrreeee." before hoping, spreading her wings, and taking to the air. She circles high above the battlefield, spying the remains from the battles with the fey and the detritus of the battle with Nazhena Vasilliovna.
Eyes welling up with tears, Jorviks whistles and holds out a dead ferret. Heafoc wheels from the sky and dives straight for the outstretched rodent. Claws extended, she plucks the ferret and heads back to the sky before dropping lightly on a branch. Still gripping the ferret in one claw, and begins to peck and tear the meat in strips before meeting Jorvik stare.
Once he is assured his ever loyal companion is healed and properly fed, he moves to retrieve his weapons while making his way back to the others.
He nods to Greta, the wolf that has healed his friends heart.
He spies Prvan and the last of the Iron Guard. He nods to the man, and his childhood friends returns the nod. Men of war. Men of action. Though there was still much left unsaid between the two, and much Jorvik wished to ask and know, they both knew their lives were only meant to overlap for a short time. Those seconds were precious. Prvan was needed here in Whitethrone. To rebuild the north. To keep Princess Cassisoche, and Queen Elvanna at bay until they could free Baba Yaga. While Jorvik must fufill the wishes of the black riders and enter the Hut. Both had a job to do and both were ready to do it.
With sadness Jorvik remembered the days sheltering with Ringeirr. He hoped the men of Summer's Return and all the Ulfen would see less brutality in the chaos to come, as the warring factions of the Jagwida had more important matters to attend to.
And what would come of Pavel Turosky, the stilyagi prince? Would he continue to live his foppish lifestyle, or would this wake them from their perpetual slumber.
Jorvik once more surveyed the battlefield. From their storming of Logrivich's tower, to their flight and fight in the forest, this would be a day to be long remembered in Irrisen. And he was just the man to write it all down.
Just not today. Just not today.
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The child opened her eyes, but it took a moment to focus on the room around her due to the golden light streaming in through collosal bedroom window. While the room was still fuzzy to her gathering senses, Aoife sat up, pulling off the thick covering of blankets and reached toward the foot of her bed for the sleeping form of the aged dog. To her surprise, Deputy was gone and as her vision began to focus she could make out that he was not in the room at all.
As she sat, staring at the empty indentation upon the bed where the dog had been, a muffled shout made its way through walls and fell upon her ears as a faint grumbling hum. A moment later, another distant cry found its way through the walls of her bedroom, a slightly different pitch than the first, but a bellowing yell nonetheless. It was then that she realized this sound was what must have awoken her and had probably been what drew Deptuty from the room only moments before.
Cautiously the child stepped into the hallway as another booming yell shook the house, now much louder as it funneled down the hallway directly at her. It was then that Aoife could at last distinguish that her father's voice composed one of those yelling, and that he must have been shouting with all his might, though the child could not make out any of Tighearnán's words. Following her father's exclamation, there was an unintelligible and muffled discussion, apparently back and forth between Aoife's mother and father, then followed by her mother shouting in turn.
Back and forth the cries rang out, echoing throughout the house, intercut with muffled discussion and then followed by another fresh set of shouts.
When at last Aoife's cautiously sliding feet carried her slowly, reluctant step after reluctant step, to the living room, the child came to the source of the noise. Her eyes could not fully make out the scene unfolding before her. Sight of her parents was blocked by an interposing column of the morning's light that flowed through the eastern set of windows and laid at an angle to the room around it, setting a thousand tiny motes of dust alight. The beam of glowing air appeared to give the golden shaft density and weight, and laid like a tangible thing jutting through the center of the space. Beyond the pillar of light, Tighearnán and Nadezhda seemed to stand facing each other, their chest's heaving as each took in ragged gulps of air while each kept their feet planted and ready to cry out again at any moment.
After passing through the glowing column, and just as she caught full sight of her parents, Aoife could see with surprise that both were grinning from ear to ear and on the verge of laughter. Tighearnán placed one hand on his torso and simulated the rise and fall of his chest. He explained that no one would ever be frightened by his lovely wife's battlecry if she did not learn to gather the power of her shout from deep within herself. Continueing, he described his meaning in an intentionally silly way, that newborn pups growl from their throat, but truly scary beasts release their roars from someplace deeper.
Tighearnán demonstrated again, and Aoife could not help but picture a lion in her mind's eye, recalling their family's visit to a zoo in Oppara the year before. Taking careful mental notes, Nadezhda collected her composure, then released a surprisingly feral and terrifying shout of her own. It was then that her parents noticed Aoife standing nearby, and both encouraged the youth to try as well. As the child roared, her father explained that one should never underestimate the importance of a powerful, monstrous battlecry, and that just such a shout has saved his life on more than one occasion.
Round and around the family went, each calling, yelling, and shouting. After each set of cries, the three would laugh and giggle, even encouraging Deptuy to join in, having found the old dog looking on from the corner of the room with his head tilted in confusion.
Later, Madame Jar of Pickles wandered into the house, finding the family shouting with all their might at one another, and in a fit of frustration made all them, even the adults, sit at the table to have breakfast.
No one dared disobey the nanny's orders.
As the nanny set about the preperations of cooking, she rallied and complained aloud to herself, detailing that it was bad enough to be led each morning to a basket of eggs near the creek by an odd, purple frog, but to have a family acting so much like barbarians on top of it would one day drive her mad. She continued on with her complaints, centered on the fact that that they had all built this house together, but questioned why they could not act more normal within its walls.
Aoife and her parents each exchanged satisfied smirks with one another and tried their best to contain laughter while Madame Jar of Pickles continued her seemingly unending list of complaints about the Limerick family.
Kuragin turns away from the hut for a moment, and walks slowly towards the fallen baroness.
"She was a true Jadwiga. Hungry for power, and never hesitated seize the opportunity to grab more of it. She just chose wrong. Thought she could beat the one who crafted this nation, to rule forever in her stead."
He looks at the motionless corpse, almost pitying her. Such beauty laid to waste. But she chose wrong...
Kuragin reaches down and lifts the sickle of ice, which he recognises as the fabled Emberchill - a winter witch weapon of legends. He draws his finger across the icy blade, finding it as hard as steel.
One more look at the baroness, and then Kuragin turns towards the gathered crowd."We are the Black Rider," he declares. "We have found Baroness Nazhena Vasilliovna unfaithful to the true Queen of Witches, and in punishment we have stripped her of her title and life. That is the fate of the unfaithful!"
Then, in silence, he walks away. After a few steps he notices the unconscious owl familiar, and picks it up before walking to the hut.
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Along the bumpy road the wagon wheels bounced through potholes and ruts, while ahead the steady incline was at last beginning to level out. To each side, the sweeping landscape was yawning out in all directions when the close standing forest covering began to fall away as they neared the balding hilltop. The two horses pulling the wagon seemed to be tiring, and almost looked pleased to see the path ahead was smooth, flat and open to allow a free flowing breeze to sweep over across the grass. Tighearnán and Nadezhda sat at the front the cart, their discussion stopping for a moment while the picturesque vista materialized from behind the receding forest. Aoife was laying behind her parents in the bed of the wagon, sprawled amidst a collection of their belongings and using a half-opened bag of her mother's clothes as a pillow. Above the child, the sun's rays struggled to weave through dense boughs still reaching out over the cart and providing Aoife with a gentle and welcomed shade.
Nadezhda gracefully outstretched an arm and pointed to the dense sea of trees that reached as far as their eyes could see. Mr. Clip-Clop and Dwayne slowed their pace as Aoife's father pulled gently on their reins. The wagon came to gradual stop and allowed the sounds of nature to once more be heard, previously drown out by the din of rolling wheels and creaking wood. As the family dismounted and took a few steps out onto the grass, each stretched and looked up the sky, taking in the sun's rays.
Far to the south, and just beginning to start their trek up tiring switchbacks of Lucian's Rise, a convoy of wagons followed along the same path that Aoife and her family had traversed nearly two hours before. The column of horse-drawn carts were only dark specks sliding along a finger-wide stripe of dirt amidst the far reaching swath of green. Tighearnán had called in nearly every favor he was owed and recquisitioned a surprising amount of the local pathfinder lodge's supplies in order to get this many goods and builders this far out into the wilderness. He did not care or worry much to this fact, and who could worry when these favors meant a veritable army of worker and enough supplies to have their house built within the week.
Pulling her husband's attention from the convoy following in their wake, Nadezhda pointed to the sprawling forest to the west, and traced with her fingertip an exaggerated, meandering bend in the river splitting the forest below. Almost encircled by the arcing path of the river, a smaller hill than where they currently stood sprouted up from within the forest, and was bordered on three sides by the winding creek. Nadezhda's finger was superimposed on the smaller, treeless hilltop in the distance as she explained that their house would built on that exact spot. There was a sense of awe in her voice as Aoife's mother talked about this nearly endless woods, and how their house would be bordered by a section of the forest that had always been there... before men or elves or dwarves had even set foot in this world, even before the great calamity had fallen from the sky. Rivalwood Forest had always been there, and would always be there, standing a few hundred yards from their doorstep, waiting for her on the opposite side of sunderglen creek.
And Nadezhda would be able to visit rivalwood whenever she wanted.
When the horses were rested, the family continued on, eventually winding their way down the opposite side of Lucian's Rise and making their way toward the bend in the creek Nadezhda had pointed out. Within a few hours their wagon had reached its destination and the family eagerly stood where their house would soon be built.
They waited for the convoy to arrive, but first the floor plan had to be created.
Tighearnán took a sizable branch and drug it along the earth, directed by both his wife and Aoife, tracing an outline and creating the basic schematic of what would soon become their house. When enough detail was put into the perimeter, Nadezhda encouraged Aoife to grab a stick of her own and map out where she wanted her own room to be, and more importantly, how big. Nearby to the child, as she drug the dulled end of the broken branch through the dirt, her parents laughed as they too sketched the plans for what would be their bedroom, whispering loving but secret things to one another. Once the basic outline of the house was drawn, the family spent hours detailing out where every stick of furniture would go, and then passed the time waiting for the convoy to arrive sitting in the living room, before the walls were ever built.
The companions finish their goodbyes and make their way cautiously up to the steps of the Hut. Auraenos and his fey friends are less circumspect and simply walk in ahead of the heroes.
Following the bold feys' example, Ishbaad, Jorvik, Kuragin and Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight push on the warped wooden door of Baba Yaga's Dancing Hut and step inside.
The first thing they notice is that the initial room is bigger than the outside of the hut itself is - and the doors and windows inside do not match the ones visible from outside. Secondly, the room looks very cozy - in stark contrast to the fearsome exterior of the hut. Thirdly, the fey are nowhere to be seen... presumably they've exited through the set of double doors on the far side of the room.
Bundles of dried herbs hang from the rafters, and along the walls are numerous shelves holding a stunning variety of glass jars, bottles, and vials containing all manner of strange herbs, minerals, liquids and things beyond the ken of the compnanions. A massive cauldron sits in the middle of the room. No fire burns under the pot, but the liquid within it bubbles and churns, and white fumes rise and lap over the brim. A large stove, writing desk, bookcase, and fireplace complete the room, along with a number of crates, barrels, and sacks.
In addition to a short flight of steps leading up to the set of double doors in the north wall, a small ladder climbs to a trap door in the ceiling in the northeast corner. Two windows flank a door to the south.
Suddenly, the double doors open and a strange humanoid creature steps forth. He.. no, wait, she has the appearance of a hunched, old crone with a long bird’s beak, donkey ears, horns, and stringy black hair. She wears a peasant’s dress with a red shawl tied tightly around her wizened head. Still visible beneath her outfit are clawed hands and scaly bird talons serve as her feet.
"Greetings travelers," she squawks, her voice a mixture of a raven's caw and that of an old lady, "Now, tell me why you have presumed to enter the Dancing Hut of Baba Yaga."
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Upon entering the hut, Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight sees the variety of bottles and jars everywhere, and starts rummaging around. He is startled by the strange creature, but typical for him, but it doesn't last long. "We supposed to be here. We is the Black Riders, and we gonna save Baba Yaga. B#+!+ Queen Elvanna gonna go down, so the old crone can come back. Me is Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight who is you?"
He bows, amazingly gracefully.
Then, without waiting for an answer, he goes and starts looking through the reagents and other things all about the hut.
Jorvik, with Heafoc in tow, hesitates at the door jamb. Am I really doing this? Am I entering into Baba Yaga's hut? The stories, the legends.
Offering up a swift prayer to Desna, Jorvik crosses the threshold and enters the hut.
He is not surprised to find the interior much larger than the exterior. As Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight introduces himself, and moves to explore the jars and containers, Jorvik places a restraining hand on his shoulder.
"A moment my friend." he cautions his friend.
Turning to Zorka, "Well met. May we ask what it is you are doing in the dancing hut of Baba Yaga? We have recently liberated it from Nazhena Vasilliovna and Queen Elvanna. I must say we are surprised to find it .... inhabited."
She must be some avatar of Baba Yaga.
When the greedy goblin goes to grab something, even though his friend restrains him, Vorka lashes out with her broomstick and whacks him on the back of the knuckles. In a sharp, staccato voice like a mother hen admonishing an errant chick, she cries out, "Manners! Bad, bad manners! Naughty boy!" Though she is not a small creature per se, her diminutive frame and hunched shoulders make her little taller than Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight.
"And you!" none of the scalding tone lost from her voice, she rounds on Jorvik, raising a bony finger almost to the point where she could twitch and slice a nostril, "Do I come in to your home and demand to know who you are? No! If I were your unwelcome guest, discovered in your entryway, I would introduce myself quick smart! Your grabby goblin has done that much at least.
"You are Black Riders, so you say, but I know the Black Rider and there is only one of him," she breathes deeply and lowers her beak in sadness, "There was only one. I sensed the passing of Sir Matveius some time ago. Yet, I smelled him on you, and that is why I came to greet you.
"My name is Zorka. This is my home. Thank you for liberating it," she steps back and brandishes her broom for all the world as though it were the mightiest instrument of death - and for all you know, in this strange place, it could be - and demands with deliberateness, "Now, who are you in here?"
Ishbaad steps forward after the back and forth, holding his hands out from his sides to appear as non-threatening as possible.
"My name is Ishbaad. Some say Ishbaad the Chosen, though I may now be called Ishbaad the Dragon-Slayer, or Ishbaad, Chosen of the Black Rider. That last one carries some consequenses in Whitethrone these days."
The oread regards the old crone with curiosity, then continues. "It is true, Sir Matveius has passed from this world. I cannot explain the magic behind the shard of ice that penetrated his chest when we met him, but I know his final moment was on his own terms. After we agreed to help free Baba Yaga, he cut his throat and soaked these keys," Ishbaad pulls out the two keys given to him by the black rider, "and gave us a measure of his power. We have finished the first step in freeing the hut from the clutches of Queen Elvanna."
Though I have no idea what the next step is... he conveniently leaves out, though it would not surprise him in the least for this woman to already know that little detail.
"May I ask, what is it you do for this hut, and for Baba Yaga? Also, if you pardon my inquisitiveness, what is it you do... ah... did for Sir Matveius?"
"And another, more personal question, but have you seen a small child, dressed for war pass through here? Her name is Aoife, and I have been searching for her. I noticed that some of the others who came in with us are conspicuously absent, and I fear for the child's well being."
Ishbaad's words, chosen carefully, give the subtle hint that her safety is less of a concern. Hopefully the old crone will understand that the child is quite capable of protecting herself. Perhaps he will have to explain it though...
Face flushing scarlet, Jorvik looks abashed. He bows deeply, right arm crossed over his heart. "My apologies. It was rude of me to not introduce my self. I am Jorvik the Bloodspeaker. Formally, I am Jorvik Rybalt. This is Heafoc, companion and warrior.
"Who am I in here? I am a man. I am a snow-caster elf. I am a son of the north. I carry the legacy of the Black Rider.
"I wish to know the will of Baba Yaga. Did we do right by her and the Black Rider, or have we failed? Do you know of me? Us? My father?"
Still awed by actually being inside the legendary Hut, Kuragin stares silently at Zorka for a moment. Then he remembers his manners and bows deep.
"I am Kuragin, of Kseniya lineage. Like others, I carry the mantle of the Black Rider, which Sir Matveius passed onto us before he died."
"With the mantle, we seek to free the Queen of Witches, and put an end to whatever Elvanna is planning. Will you help us?"
Zorka seems mollified by the obeisance shown to her and struts back and forth around the cauldron like a rooster inspecting his brood of hens.
"Well," she clucks, "That is much better. You have done very well in freeing this hut. Sir Matveius chose well, it seems. How he convinced to Jadwiga no less to rebel against the queen, I have no idea. Certainly, you were far more successful than Red Sun's chosen servants. Then again, you din't have to face her.
"Now, now, now... no time for such idle chit-chat," she turns her head just as quickly as she changes the direction of the discourse, "You are here, and you are tasked with finding my mistress Baba Yaga. Yes, I am her servant... perhaps more of a house-keeper than servant. Do not have pity, though, she created me for exactly this purpose and I am happy with my lot. Besides, I have eternal youth on my side, which is more than I can say for you." She gobble-laughs happily as she grips her broom with wrinkled, gnarled fingers.
"I will indeed help you, though it is you who must help me, in reality," she continues to pace as she muses, making a low warbling sound in the bottom of her throat as she does so, "You will need to retrieve my mistress's cat from the attic," she points to the ladder leading upwards, "...and then return to the map room so that the cat can figure out where to go... then, you can go there in search of my mistress."
Zorka turns to go back up the stairs and to the double doors before the silence and inactivity behind her gives her pause. "Confused are we?" she asks, and the clucking that follows sounds as much like a chuckle as she is like to be able to imitate, "Baba Yaga's cat is an incredible problem solver, but it has been locked back up in the attic by Elvanna. She has also set a guardian to watch it, so you will have to look out. Would that Baba Yaga had thought to ward the Hut from unwanted entry by her daughters... heh, but that would defeat the point, now, wouldn't it?"
It is a little while before Zorka realizes that she hasn't finished saying all she needs to, "Oh, and we will need to follow Baba Yaga's trail in order to find out where Elvanna intercepted and hid her. I may be inside the Hut, but I do not know where my mistress sends it. The cat will be able to use the map room to find the trail, and we can start to figure out where she has gone. You see, each time a key or keys are mixed within the cauldron, the Hut travels to a predetermined location. However, Elvanna has disabled all of the keys in this room," Zorka gestures to the shelve upon shelves of weird but mostly mundane items surrounding the cauldron, "So we will need the cat to figure out what to do and how to get there."
Zorka taps on a panel of the eastern wall and a door appears. "Oh, and also... this door leads to the Great Library of Baba Yaga. Within you will find many answers to your questions, and much knowledge of the worlds beyond your own. You may enter and explore as you see fit. Take your time, we are quite safe in here for now."
"I imagine nothing is always as easy as it seems, but the tasks seem simple enough. It is a relief of sorts to at least know how to go about learning where we must go. Do you know anything about the guardian of the locked cat?" Ishbaad brushes off his armor, suddenly thinking of something and turning to his companions.
"Would you mind helping me out of this? There is an exquisite set of adamantine plate in this bag of holding that I would prefer to be wearing. Jorvik, It appears we will have some time here, I would like to talk to you about that elegant carving you do with heartseeker and frostreaver."
"Zorka, pardon my persistence, but do you know if a small child, Aoife, has passed through here? I know we followed a small group of fey into this hut as well, they were with us. I don't see them. Do you know what happened?" Ishbaad hopes his ignorance of the hut and its capabilities doesn't offend their host.
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"Sorry, my hearing isn't what it used to be... you have keys to the hut?" Zorka has a double take, "Well, that should help, I'd say. I guess you're left with a choice - you could simply put the keys in the cauldron and see where it takes us, or free the cat first and get a better idea or what you're doing. Personally, I favor the fun approach... but you will need to rescue the cat eventually. At least here you know where the cat is. If we go elsewhere, wickedness knows which room the cat will be in - or even if that room will be available!"
"Oh, and I did not see a child enter... mind you, I do not come out of hiding for just anyone!" Zorka scratches her long beak, "Mayhaps she entered and went another way or another when. It is hard to tell what is where in this place. You get used to it. As for any others, I did hear some scuffling around here before you came in, but they probably went out the way of the library or up to the attic - as none came through the map room - where I was."
When Ishbaad asks for help into his armor, Zorka steps forwards, "In answer to one of your other questions, I often helped Sir Matveius and the others into their armor. I have grown quite adept at it over the centuries, and I would be happy to help one of his successors." Zorka works the straps with a speed that must be enhanced by magic and in very little time at all - just over a minute - Ishbaad stands resplendent in his new star-metal suit.
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"OoooOOOooooOOOOoo! Where kitty? Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight wanna find kitty!" Rather than taking the time to start brewing a mutagen, the little goblin starts searching around the room that he can see. "Boss Zorka, how big is hut? Me think it not so small on the inside as it is on the outside... very sneaky that is!"
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Aoife and her parents stood on the shore of the river amidst the towering, gnarled trunks that twisted over the water. To the child the creek had never seemed to babble, but felt as though it were whispering with great care and measured purpose in an eon-forgotten language that was as old as the world was itself, it was just that people didn't understand its words any longer. Tighearnán shifted his weight, stepping on the scattered, technicolor bed of fallen leaves that blanketed the riverbank and all of the forest floor. Overhead, Aoife's father watched as the thin, leafless branches swayed and shuddered in the cool fall gusts. Beyond the trembling boughs, which seemed to reach upward, finger-like toward the heavens, a thousand pinpoints of light twinkled faintly above in the dark, cloudless sky.
On the opposite side of sunderglen creek every tree in the ancient forest somehow retained their leaves, though all were garishly colored, showing a spectrum of scarlet, yellow, and orange. On their family's side of the water, not one leaf still clung to any branch, the last of which had fallen days before. Tighearnán could never get an exact answer from his wife, but he knew this dealt with the fact that Nadezhda only ever referred to the forest on the opposite side of sunderglen creek as rivalwood. The forest surrounding their house was safe, and simply a woods like any other, but on the opposite of the creek it was another place entirely. The flowing waters of the small river might as well have been the banks of a great, endless ocean. Nadezhda always insisted that while only separated by a few feet, the two halves of this forests were worlds apart.
This was probably also the reason that Nadezhda was insistent that neither Aoife, nor her father, ever cross over the shallow water and into rivalwood unless she, or toad, was with them. Like an ocean, the ancient forest was safe for though who knew its secrets, and more importantly, held the proper amount of fear of it. But as like an ocean, those unprepared could venture too far into its depths and never return.
As Tighearnán stood and pondered these things, his attention was finally drawn to Nadezhda poised at the water's edge. She stood motionless, as if waiting for something. On the opposite side of the creek, the purple colored form of the bullfrog, toad, appeared and took a few casual hops across a dense patch of clustered lily pads.
Before Aoife or her father had realized what was happening, they were beckoned to follow Nadezhda, and what was more, they watched as the woman skipped easily across upon the lily pads herself. There were moments spent in contemplation and hesitating before eventually Aoife and her father tried the same, and found, to their surprise, that each lily pad supported their weight as if it were a solidly placed stone.
Hand in hand in hand the three moved from the shore and into rivalwood forest, passing beneath the colored boughs deeper into the woods. Their path turned and wound, up small hills and through densely packed glens, yet in spite of the setting beneath the darkened sky, all three laughed and spoke merrily as they travelled. They were together, and that was all that mattered to them in that moment.
Entering a clearing, Aoife paused for a moment as her eyes fell upon wide circle of standing stones tucked just inside the tree-line. Indeed, the entire glade sat within the encircling border of those elder stone sentinels. In the center of the expanse, the three collapsed in the dewy grass and looked at the stars above, each still clasping one another's hands. Again they found themselves giggling and laughing, telling stories until the child could not tell how much time had passed.
Raising a hand toward the sky, Nadezhda traced the shape of a seven starred constellation, the mother, and remarked of its resemblance to a cauldron. Next, she pointed to the close standing, clustered grouping of the patriarch and the bridge, and described how one of these patterns meant a great journey for the other. Nadezhda ended her lesson with the five stars composing the follower and its resemblance to that of a human skull. To the child these stars seemed to tell a story, but one she could not grasp or could not remember properly. She felt that if it were a story, she had indeed heard it before, but where or when that might have been was lost to her now.
From the north the wind began to rise, and Nadezhda's grip tightened on the others, it was clear there was a sense of excitement rising within her. She muttered quietly under her breath that it was coming, and that it would be here soon. The trees sheltering the glen began to rock now, swaying in the mighty breeze that to Aoife seemed to carry a bitter, stinging cold. As her jaw began to chatter, set into the motion by the dropping temperature, a final gale swept across the ancient forest, and the sudden tempest unmistakably carried pristine, white flakes of snow with it. In unison, every leaf within the rivalwood forest ceased their clinging to the twisted, gnarled trees and took to the air as one mass of kaleidoscopic color.
Aoife clenched her parents' hands in fear and wonder.