The children run and hide as Pems asks them about the tower, but Kashka answers, with a shake of the head.
"They know not to meddle in the affairs of witches, a wise lesson for us all."
Pressing her, though, she tells you what she knows, though it's not much. The Pale Tower is a witch's stronghold made entirely of ice, less than a day's ride northwest of Waldsby. In clear weather, its battlements command a 6-mile view of the surrounding terrain, so it is impossible to sneak up on it before the ravens see you. Many soldiers stay there, as well as Nazhena Vasilliovna and her apprentice, Radosek Pavril.
"How long ago was the child taken?"
Tsin continues to listen, growing more unsure of the path laid before them. "Should we tell her of our encounter then? Nadya?" Tsin paces a bit, as the conversation continues.
"We should find out if there is any resistance to the witches' rule. It's suicide to march on that keep, just our ragtag."
"She was taken several weeks ago," Kashka replies.
Malavarius chews his lip and continues to stroke his beard, oblivious of the light chatter around him as he thinks hard on the names Pemsworth just related. His eyes have a unfocused, far-off look to them as he tries to recall memories he'd previously tried his best to forget.
You don't recall every hearing of anyone named Radosek, but the name Vasilliovna does strike a chord, even if Nazhena's name doesn't. You recall it belonging to a tall, attractive blonde woman, a great-granddaughter of Queen Elvanna.
You don't recall much more about the Pale Tower, than Kashka could relate, but you do seem to remember hearing stories of it being carved from a single, massive pillar of ice.
As the party relaxes Quinn has a devastating thought, "If Nadya wants to trade her food for her child and the witch says no, then what else will she trade in hopes of getting her child back?" Quinn looks to each of his companions until they realize it's them that will be traded to the wintery witch. "Do we need to flee from this home? She seemed genuine, but women have fooled me before?" With a nervous glance to the door, Quinn makes sure all his gear is secure for flight.
"Settle down, Master Kestrel, settle down. It's only been half a century since I've tried to forget those white witches, but I still remember some. Elvanna, as we've been told, rules from Whitethrone - where we want to get. This Vasilliovna is her great-granddaughter. Or perhaps twice great if the Vasilliovna I'm thinking of had a daughter herself." Still frowning, the old wizard pinches the bridge of his nose as he continues on wearily, "We do still want to get to Whitethrone, yes? If so, then I think dealing with the occupants of the Pale Tower may be the best way to secure our road while also weakening some of the influence Elvanna wields through her descendant. It's also the source of the portal bringing all this blasted cold and snow to bright, sunny Taldor."
He looks up at Quinn, "And what better way to infiltrate an unapproachable tower than to be walked up to the front door and invited inside, hmmm?"
"I'm confused, Master King. Did you just suggest that we make ourselves known to the occupants of the Pale Tower at their front door? Is there any way we could learn more of the Tower by other means? Perhaps a guard patrol that visits Waldsby might lend us some information. Or mayhaps a small, undetectable feathered scryer could circle it several times in the day, and report back."
"Well of course we'd be announced and known if Nadya presented us rather than foodstuffs in exchange for her captive daughter. If she's at all like some of the other mother's I've met, then she might even jump at the chance to help us perform such a deception if it means a chance at getting revenge for what we suspect has been done to the sweet little girl."
Quinn wants to be very subtle about it, asking his companions to create a distraction, as he casually leans on the closed door with a single hand. Using his door sight ability, he attempts to look through the closed door and into the room on the other side.
Hektir again almost spits but, remembering he is inside, instead dribbles drool down his chin and on his shirt.
*urkp*
Wiping away the spittle, Hektir gets back to talking.
"I think we should talk to Nadya. She seems like a decent woman and there is no way she'd invite us to meet her sons and brood if she meant ill of us. Uh uh...no way."
Hektir paces about, eventually settling up next to Tsin.
"If we need to take the witch head on, we will. Or maybe we'll find aid here in this village. Maybe these people would like to be free of the yoke of witches. Like me, maybe they have a yearning for freedom."
Hektir looks at Zeno.
"And yeah, a scout...a lovely scout to see what's going on would be keen. That might really help us. We should hear what Nadya has to say."
Quinn, the room appears to be that of a young girl, with several dolls, stuffed animal toys, and dresses.
Almost as if Hektir's name summoned her, the door opens, letting in a blast of chill air. Her cheeks flushed, Nadya enters, her arms full.
"Here. These clothes will help you blend in. It might be too late for the village, but you will look less like strangers or Jadwiga in local garb."
She has a pile of furs and various accoutrements that she offers you as she pulls her own fur cap off, shaking out her red hair.
"You have eaten?"
Hektir nods the affirmative to Nadya.
"We've eaten; we've discussed," Hektir says, thanking her for the clothes and beginning to strip before her and children...before realizing his mistake and going into the next room.
Hektir comes back out, still feeling like the same ol' Hektir.
Clothes don't make the man, the man makes the clothes.
Hektir gets a quizzical look on his face.
What the hell are you talking about?
I dunno!
Okay...just go with it.
Hektir cinches up his new clothes.
"Quinn had something he wanted to ask you Nadya. What was it, Quinn?"
"Quinn had something he wanted to ask you Nadya. What was it, Quinn?"
Quinn blushes furiously as he tries to look at Nadya, but his eyes continually cast downwards. "Oh, gosh, dang, Nadya, I'm so sorry! It's this wintery nonsense, got me all discombobulated! I was worried that you would give us up to save your child, I mean, heck, I'd do the same in your position, ah jeez, don't hold it against me!" Quinn peers plaintively at he northern woman, "I'm just weirded out by this wintery nonsense, these witches have to go, even more so if they've stolen away your child!" Quinn drops to a knee before the northern woman, "On all my honesty and as sure as Hektir wants to marry you and raise your children, we'll help bring your child back from this wintery witch and her nonsense! Why the old codger there has done more in younger days than we youngsters can even imagine, and a witch ain't nothing for a rabbit master like Pems, and even if she was, the Butcher would surely strike her down good!" Tears streaming for being caught in his doubts, Quinn prostates before Nadya, "Oh please, don't hold my outburst against Hektir, he'll be a fine father to your children!"
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Pemsworth slowly puts his face in his hands and sighs very, very softly.
Hektir looks at his pants as Quinn begins to speak, thinking that he might have them on backwards.
Hard to tell with all this fur...which side is front?
As Quinn continues to speak, Hektir's attention focuses from his pants (which are decidedly on backwards) to Quinn, then to Nadya.
Has he started drinking without me?
Hektir jaw drops, just a bit, this time with no spit to follow.
"Yeah, what he said. Well, mostly what he said. We're going to get your child back, I'll say. I think we will, anyway," Hektir thinks about spitting to make his point.
"One question, though...and I'm not sure how to say this, but what happens to the children at the witches take? We met this one 'child/doll' thing on our side. She tried to kill us all, she did. Is that what could happen to her? Because that ain't right."
Hektir looks serious.
Nadya looks stunned and confused by Quinn's outburst."
"I do not understand your humor, I guess, stranger. Why would I marry someone I just met? I swear I will not turn you in -- I owe you my life, I think, for your help against that beast in the woods. Even if we were to escape, I think we would have lost the food, which I hope will convince Nazhena Vasilliovna to let Thora come home."
She looks confused at Hektir's question.
"I do not know what she will do with Thora. Witches can be unspeakably cruel, but I hope she still lives. I appreciate your help, of course. Do you need any supplies? I can show you where to go around town. I see Hektir has snowshoes, but I have another pair I can give you if you think it will help, and there are sure to be more available at Verana’s Sundries."
At the mention of supplies, Tsin perks up. Finally. Talk of preparation.
"Nadya, we would be grateful for such assistance." Tsin takes some of the thinner furs, and pins them over her Cloak, trying to look more uniform with the others.
"I would have someone as knowledgeable as you in this land prepare us. Snowshoes are a good start. We are well-guarded against the weather, but we've had difficulties with the creatures that have plagued us. We need weaponry." Tsin draws her blade, and sheathes it again. 'I would speak to your blacksmith."
Tsin closes the distance with Nadya, speaking softly. "Pretty women make these men lose their minds. Do not think too much on what they say. They would promise the world if they thought you would take them to your bedchambers."
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At the mention of town Quinn quickly picks himself off the floor. "Yes, please show us where to go in town, especially the tavern, the lack of drink is addling my thoughts." Subtly, Quinn winks at Nadya while pointing at Hektir then giving a thumbs up. yep, I'm the best pal ever, Hektir is sure to find a wife with my help!
Hektir nods to Quinn, a look of confidence on his face.
This one is totally into me.
At the mention of blacksmith and drink, Hektir gets excited and drops his pants...to put them on in the correct manner.
"Yeah, let's get into town. We'll blend right in," Hektir says while tucking his furs into his stockings. "I could use a few drinks and a trip to the blacksmith."
Malavarius turns and regards Zeno, perched contentedly on his shoulder, as Quinn and Hektir launch into a seemingly endless sequence of buffoonery and foolishness.
"Tell me, Zeno, what do you make of this?"
"Mmmmm. I thought the very same. Look at him. His pants are on backwards."
"What's that? Quinn? Balderdash. Too many words in not enough breath, I wasn't even listening. What's wrong with Quinn then?"
"He's doing what? That- that- that idiotic inebriate! Making oaths about things he knows nothing of to a woman he's just met in a land he's not from? Has he gone mad, Zeno?"
Pemsworth sighs. In Skald, just so the others are less than sure about what he's saying: "I apologize for my larger friends. Cold and solitude do strange things to men in our region. I think they suffer from a lack of civilized company. Please tell me: what happens to the children the witches take?"
"I do not know, master Pems," she replies in Skald, her voice troubled. "I know some witches keep a whipping child but I don't know what else they might do. Honestly, I try not to think about it as much as I can. I can't do anything else."
She continues to give Quinn and Hektir confused looks, but agrees to take you out to see the village.
"Remember, be careful what you say here. Irrisen is no soft, safe land, like in the south."
She leads you back to the center of the village, where you realize the large statue of a beautiful woman in the center of Waldsby’s town square curiously bears a strong resemblance to the statue in Heldren’s town square -- if it’s not the same woman, then it was certainly crafted by the same sculptor.
She first takes you to Verana’s Sundries. Though not as well stocked as village stores in the south, Waldsby’s general store seems to have the bare necessities. You're greeted by the store’s proprietor, Verana Stolya, a plump, older human woman. She carries plenty of winter equipment, including cold-weather outfits, furs, skis, snowshoes, and winter blankets. In addition, she has a suit of studded leather armor, and what looks like a masterwork shortbow for sale.
Verana’s adult daughter, Milivsa, putters around the store, ready to help her mother if you need anything.
Next to the general store is the smithy, a wooden shield hanging outside the door. Inside, it appears to be a typical smithy.
Finally, when you finish shopping, she leads you to the White Weasel, the only tavern in Waldsby. A large mirror behind the bar shows you as you enter, looking oddly Irriseni in your winter furs.
A waspish looking woman greets Nadya as you enter: "Ah, Nadya, jeg ser du har tatt dine fremmede for en drink. Jeg håper mener ingen av dem noen problemer for oss."
"Ah, Nadya, I see you have brought your strangers for a drink. I hope none of them mean any trouble for us."
A man behind the bar starts pulling out drinks, calling out in broken Common. "You want food? Tea? Winteryew moonshine?”
"Jeg forsikrer deg, god kvinne, mener vi ingen skade på deg eller din. Vi er bare reisende, tatt en feil sving og på jakt etter trygg havn." Pems replies, bowing deeply to the woman.
Tsin takes advantage of Nadya's generosity. "Thank you for your use of the snowshoes. I hope I can return them in good enough shape."
Tsin also does her best to inventory the smithy's wares, seeking the special metals. With someone at her side to translate, hopefully, Tsin will inquire about cold iron, and the slim chance that they have a falchion ready for her purchase.
...
The White Weasel proves to be more relief than Tsin initially expects. The smell of food, and the sound of community, however foreign, bring Tsin to a warmer place than she's been for days.
Problem for us? They really don't take kindly to strangers around here. Is she offering to make trouble for us in turn, I wonder.
Hearing the broken common, Tsin moves to the bar. "Yes, please. Tea sounds divine."
Hektir peruses the selections in both the Sundries and the Blacksmith and takes mental notes on what he'd like to purchase.
I'll have to decide what to buy after a few drinks. Don't know what I want to need yet.
Iziamir Polovar shakes his head sadly at your requests.
"I am sorry," he says through Nadya's translation. "We mostly make arrowheads and sharpen axes, plus fix some sled runners. I do some repairs for the Pale Tower, if you should need anything of that sort. I do have that shield I would be willing to trade. Legend says it catches arrows sent toward it!"
---
In the White Weasel, the bartender nods eagerly, stopping only at a sharp look from the woman.
"Just hours, just hours," he says, making a placating gesture and retreating to the rear.
He returns with a steaming cup -- made of surprisingly delicate porcelain -- which he hands to Tsin.
Hektir takes the gems and jewelry into the Sundries shop and sees how much he can get for the horde of gems and crap that they got off the ice troll.
Hektir will put out feelers for some wands of cure whatever...light or moderate.
Pems goes along with Hektir to ensure they get appropriate trade value for the gems...
The woman's eyes widen as she looks at the items Hektir displays, her daughter coming over to look as well.
"I have no use for painting," she says in Skald, "but I can give you 2,000 gold for rest. Or have items that are magical if you want. Suit of armor has extra enchantments woven into it and belt makes you healthier. Potion can help you walk in snow. Shortbow is not magical, but is very nice."
No one seems to have any healing magic, though the local priest of Pharasma does offer to sell you an oil of protection from evil or a scroll of goodberry if you should want it. He also has holy water.
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Hektir drinks his moonshine and recalls a happier time when back in Taldor, back when it was warm and the sun shined for days...every day, it seemed.
Hektir remembers the day Pinkie Guaffmelons came to town. She was a husky lass, but one that could still turn a head when the light caught her just right. Her family were seeking a good place to settle, and Taldor seemed as good as any. Pinkie's parents were ready to find a good suitor for her..and Pinkie herself was ready to marry and move on.
<Hektir sips a bit more moonshine and breathes deep to alleviate the burn as it goes down his gullet.>
Hektir camped not far from the Guaffmelon caravan, not out of interest, but because Hektir sleeps where Hektir wants to sleep, of course.
Now, the Guaffmelon's appearance just happened to coincide with a rather dubious gnome...Pert? Pox? Cent? Something...Hektir can never quite remember, who sold the Guaffmelons on a lovely rosehip extract that was sure to make the debutant Pinkie very desirable to a potential mate.
As if anyone needed another lesson about why you never trust gnomes, the extract was actually pretty potent...and did attract a pretty desirable catch at the time: an aspiring Cayleanian named Quinn. And Pinkie was interested too...so interested that she liberally sprinkled the extract *everywhere*.
The courtship between Quinn and Pinkie went quickly, very quickly...Quinn may or may not have been interested in a long term romance, but he never really got that far. One night after a pretty spectacular date at the Pub wherein Quinn was able to impress Pinkie repeated with his downing of honeysuckle schnapps, Pinkie and Quinn stumbled to a local tree for a more 'private' encounter.
Things got increasing amorous and Quinn's lips (and other body parts) found more and more of the rosehip extract upon them. It would have been wonderful if only Quinn wasn't terribly allergic to rosehip (or something else within the extract). Everywhere where the extract touched caused Quinn to swell and turn a fabulous shade of purple.
The night (and the 'blossoming' relationship ) endly quickly for Quinn and Pinkie after that as the swelling turned from good fun swelling to near explosive painful swelling.
Quinn spent the next week walking funny as the allergic reaction slowly faded, but Pinkie's family never quite recovered from the stain upon Pinkie's honor begat by the incident. Rumors that if you so much as put your hands (or other body parts) near Pinkie you'd contract the plague got around pretty quickly.
The Guaffmelons moved on pretty soon after that. And Quinn, well Hektir still remembers Quinn's screams as he tried to remove himself from Pinkie's embrace.
<Hektir drinks the rest of his moonshine in one gulp, trying to re-bury the memory in alcohol.>
Pems smiles at the shopkeep and examines the armor and belt with interest. "Hektir, this might keep you alive a little longer next battle!"
Hektir looks at the belt and nods to Pems.
It would serve me well, wouldn't it? And it would help me hold up these funky new pants.
Hektir tests the belt in all sorts of manly ways and poses, and nods to himself vigorously.
"You think we can afford this, Pems? What about the Butcher? What does she want?" Hektir asks Pems.
Tsin will go so far as to inquire about various daggers or balanced knives with either the smithy or the barkeep. Should have never thrown away my cutlery.
...
Tsin undoes her ponytail, and lets her hair drape over her shoulders. There's no work here that requires me to keep it out of my face, so I should enjoy this while it lasts. She returns to the tea, finishes its current tepid state, and asks for another cup by hand gesture.
Perkin is likely kneedeep in pig's blood, and somehow, I miss it.
As you relax at the inn, the blonde woman walks over to the counter where Tsin is drinking tea.
"You should leave Irrisen as soon as you can," she whispers. "It is dangerous and you will bring trouble for everyone in Waldsby."
You feel as though you should probably leave .
Tsin rummages through her pocket for a couple of coppers, and places them down on the bar. She nods at the barkeep, wordlessly thanking him for the brief respite from the harsh clime, and leaves the White Weasel.
Quinn has little understanding of the conversation and continues drinking to make up for lost time.
Malavarius emerges from Nadya's hut a short time after the others have already trundled off around town. He smiles brightly, having found a new and glorious hat in the pile of clothes provided by their hospitable hostess.
Knowing the white witches will have spies and informants everywhere, he does his best to remain cordial and polite and not draw attention to himself. His frequent whispered observations and questions to the plump little thrush perched on his shoulder work against him in this regard, but Zeno does well to act the part of a normal bird.
He sees Pemsworth hustling after Hektir and Quinn in the distance, the two grown men poking their heads into doors seemingly at random until they finally stumble upon the White Weasel and its tavern. He chuckles quietly to himself as Hektir emerges and walks off with Pemsworth, the halfling looking positively burdened by the unwieldy rolled up painting they'd found earlier.
At last noticing Tsin, Malavarius walks with her for a time before the two end up at the White Weasel, Quinn already having become a well established figure within.
---
As Tsin rises, "My dear girl, where are you going? It's a little too early to retire, wouldn't you say?"
"We are not welcome here..." Tsin manages to mutter as she departs.
Hektir orders two more moonshines (one for him, one for Quinn) while he admires his new belt. Feeling so good, he even offers a drink to Pems, hopeful the loquacious halfling will stop and chat (and possibly help he and Quinn pick up the local ladies).
"You want another, Pems?"
Hektir offers a friendly wink to any of the local lasses around.
As Tsin turns to leave, Hektir gives her a nod.
"Where you going? Can't you handle your drink? I'll buy your next, if you want. You did save my life, I think. At least once." Hektir says belatedly as Tsin walks out the door.
Quinn keeps drinking and extolling the merits of his traveling companions, inflating their heroics with each telling. Hektir's addition of the moonshine just makes things better!
"The wizard's bird can launch fireballs! I've seen it, been saved by it! Imagine the might he must carry in those gnarly knuckles, if just his bird can cast forth balls of flame!"
Always glad to have another drinking companion, and thoroughly convinced of his stalwartness by their recent adventures, Quinn welcomes Pems to the bar.
"Come on Pems, thimble to shot I'll match you! Cayden bless my liver, else I'll take a year off my life tonight." Quinn toasts to the degradation of his liver and drinks down the moonshine round from Hektir, then orders another for all three of them, and the lasses, if their drinking.
"That Mantis was huge! Lords, did you see those mashing mandibles! What the hell was that thing doing in the snow! OOhh, she's hot! Pems, tuck that in, and slick that back, then give that girl a wink and invite her over here." Quinn continues rambling a litany of hyperbole until either the drink or his companions stop him.
Malavarius frowns as Tsin leaves while Zeno maintains the appearance of a simple, normal thrush. The old wizard than dismisses Tsin's curiously early departure with a bounce of his bushy eyebrows and turns his attention back to the group, just in time to catch Quinn bragging about Zeno's magical powers to everyone within earshot who might understand the language.
A second later and Malavarius' staff rings off Quinn's head with a loud RAP! as the elderly old man fixes the younger one with a stiff stare. "Mind your tongue and your drink, you... you... oh I'll think of something. Give me a moment, but stop blabbering nonetheless!" Zeno, for his part, continues trying to look as unable to cast fireballs, or any other magic for that matter, as possible.
Tea! After those adventures? Trying to hide his disappointment, Quinn steps away from the conversation and fails to see or hear what transpires with Tsin.