The child finds her mood brightened on the morning the group prepares to set out for the winter portal. Ishbaad's words seem to comfort her, even though the depth and gravity of his meaning and explanation is, in all likelyhood, lost to a greater (or lesser) extent upon the child. She is also infatuated with their fortunes having been laid out before them, and for herself to included, intertwined into each of her friends vague yet disparate destinies.
While the group continues from the town, the child's eyes seem to continually fall back, far over her shoulder toward the soothsayer's dwelling. All the while, her pace quickens as the town begins to dissolve, fading from sight through the murky blanket of white falling from the sky, and before long, Aoife is leading the way while striding ardently into the winter-clutched woods.
Watching the others spring into action, and hearing the ever encouraging words of Uncle Ishy, the youth draws her newly forged blade. What failing light has diffused through gusting torrents of snow reflects off the keen, cold iron edge. As always, Aoife lithely tumbles through the snow, hearing the words of her guardian, and slashing out relentlessly until the creatures are no longer moving.
When the last of the creature's has fallen, the youth finally realizes there was almost no fear in her heart during the course of the struggle, only quick, automated muscle memory controlling her strokes to aid her friends.
Was I not scared only because Unle Ishy was here, she questions to herself, scanning the site of their victory. Or, am I learning from him, and the others, to be stronger...
"Uncle Ishy!" the youth exclaims after the man has collapsed. "Didn't we hear something about this man when we first made it to Heldren?"
"We have to help him! Ice Melts Quickly in Sunlight, can you make a great, roaring fire?!" she questions in an excited shout, turning to scan the area for branches to begin pilling up.
After Dryden Kepp mentions the weasel again, the youth draws her greatsword and refocuses her glances on spying for potential, white-weaseled-threats.
"Nay, nay, let us not turn back! Let us go forth to battle this king of weasels, then we can drape this man in the creature's stolen coat, the warm blood of the varmint serving to warm him on our travels!" Coramus nods sagely at this, stroking his beard in a wizened gesture if someone looks his way.
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Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight finally hears the oread inquisitor, and sheepishly moves up to the man, drawing the wand. "Yes, boss."
He then starts rummaging in his belt pouch. "Me have drink to make cold go away... want it?" He holds the potion out to the shivering man. "The maybe we make nasty weasel dead, and then we eat it at the lodge. Me think that good idea, right Boss?" The latter is said to Ishbaad. Obviously the stern voice worked on the goblin.
"Excellent memory Aoife, yes we did."
Ishbaad favors the goblin with one of his warm, genuine smiles.
"That is a great idea! Which way is the weasel then Dryden?" He says, while indicating that the man should take the potion from Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight.
Dryden Kepp's wounds heal over, but he looks hardly any better than before. His nose and ears are an uncomfortable shade of blue, and it becomes clear that he has fallen over a number of times in the snow - causing the powdered ice to wedge itself under his clothing. Alarmingly, some of the snow that is touching his skin has yet to even melt.
"Th-th-thank... you," says Dryden, shakily taking the potion from Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight. He spills some of it down his neck as he drinks, but after a smile crosses his face, "Oh, that feels... so much warmer! That is amazing. No wonder you don't wear furs!" Dryden turns to Kuragin as he says that.
Unsteadily, he gets to his feet. "The weasel is back that way," he points the way he came, "Oh, it seems you can just follow the trail of my blood. Come, let us go."
With Dryden Kepp in the lead, still limping from his frostbite, the companions soon find the location of the weasel. They can see the well-made trap, a hatched cage with a spring-loaded locking mechanism. Inspecting the cage, the heroes and Dryden soon realize that the weasel did not escape, it was set free. Many of the sides have been brutally bashed in, seemingly by a club or some other heavy object, to allow the creature to escape. As to which creature could possibly want to set a giant weasel free, those assembled cannot begin to guess. The fey are not powerful enough to break the cage - and are intelligent enough to have opened the hatch normally.
The reverie is broken as a grown can be heard from a copse of trees to the right. The largest weasel anyone has seen before crouches there, slightly wounded and with its teeth bared. "Don't be fooled, friends," says Dryden, "Most of that blood is mine own. Funny, I don't recall those fir trees being there before..."
As if in response, two of the trees seem to shift. Their bark sags and then disappears in places, revealing a horrifying visage. Evil eyes with amber sap pupils fix themselves on the heroes, and gaping maws dripping more of that sap, like blood, move hungrily as though in anticipation of a meal.
As the wintery trees begin to lumber forwards, there can be no doubt that these were the things that set the weasel free. Weapons already drawn upon seeing the smashed cage, the heroes spring into action.
"Trees, I have never killed trees before. This shall be quite fun I believe."
Drawing his hammer, he strides into battle, swinging his hammer, laughing, and singing a song about chopping down trees.
"Do not worry, Mr. Dryden. We will do the fighting for you. Now someone tell me if your southern weasels normally grow so big?"
Pushkin, the distant relative to this monstrosity shivers in terror as it gets a scent of the giant weasel. Kuragin, remembering the ermine familiar is a very sleepy type, believes hexing the furry creature into slumber is a good course of action at the moment. The witch walks closer, and invokes his hex on the weasel.
Following closely behind Jorvik, Aoife rushes through the deep snow ahead of Ishbaad heedless of whether or not her guardian is in pursuit. Stepping under the mighty swing of Jorvik's hammer, the youth slides between her northerner-friend and the towering tree-form, swinging with all her strength.
Giant Weasel
- It has amazing senses: low light vision, scent.
- Oops, forgot it's large. Map updated. Despite its size, its arms are small and only has 5ft reach.
- A successful bite attack from the weasel, and it is unlikely to let go: attach.
- The weasel secretes a de-clotting agent in its saliva: bite attack causes 1d4 bleed.
- In all other respects, it's a standard animal (bite attack, two claw attacks, no intelligence to speak of, etc).
Frost Firs
- These creatures are like treants in many respects, but are found only in northern climes - especially Irrisen.
- Anything touched by a frost-fir's bashing branches (slam attack) or attacking the frost fir could also get coated by the frost fir's sticky resin: DC 13 reflex save or suffer -2 to attack rolls and concentration checks (doesn't stack).
- The sticky resin grants frost firs a +2 bonus on grapple, disarm and steal combat maneuvers and imposes a -2 penalty for creatures escaping a grapple.
- The bark of these trees is tough, and provides it with protection from certain types of weapons: DR 2/slashing.
- They are vulnerable to fire.
Jorvik strides forth, appearing as fearless as ever. He slams the frost fir with his hammer. It sends a jolt running up his arm as the tree's bark protects the frost fir. He still mages to crack its trunk, though, which sends a spurt of sap flying out at him.
Luckily, the skald is able to avoid the worst of it.
Kuragin recognizes the weasel and sings it a short lullaby - the one he uses to send his own familiar to sleep.
It does the trick and the enormous arctic weasel falls to sleep.
Aoife follows Jorvik's lead, losing herself in her anger and hacks into the frost fir with a vigor that would put any woodsman to shame. She pounds into the same spot that Jorvik weakened, and nearly cuts the tree down in that single blow.
As Aoife easily ducks the flying resin, she sees the creature set its roots down into the snow-encrusted earth as whatever fell magic animated it dissipates. The newly rooted tree sits there, very still, looking for all the world like an incredibly strong wind almost snapped its trunk in twain.
Coramus skirts around to get a clear shot on the weasel, unsure of what might harm a tree thing. Mystical words expel from his mouth as he waves his arms in the air, conjuring a large globe of ice and snow and sending it hurtling towards the giant creature.
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"WEASEL!!! Me gonna cook you good!! BUUUURRRRNNNNNNNN"
Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight moves up, and throws a bomb at the weasel (target square on the large critter is marked with the 'splosion).
Aoife, Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight, the two trees, and the weasel all take 5 damage (DC14 Ref half)
"Eefie!! ME sorry!!! NOOOO!!!"
Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight nails the weasel with a bomb, setting its fur alight.
Coramus' snowball strikes the prone weasel just as it is awoken from its slumber by the goblin's bomb.
Angered, the weasel leaps to its feet and rounds the dead frost fir to snap its jaws at Aoife.
Luckily, the young girl is small and nimble enough to dodge out of the way and the enormous weasel's teeth close harmlessly above her head.
Incensed by the flame licking at its branches, the remaining frost fir goes directly for Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight, flailing madly with one of its branches.
Amazingly, the tree misses the goblin. Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight feels pine needles scratching against his nose as the animated tree madly strikes out at him.
Aoife somehow manages to stand her ground as the enormous creature lashes out with its fierce claws. Where initially she had charged ahead without waiting for her guardian, she now feels a latent fear of panic taking hold that he has not yet stepped to her side. Suppressing this fear, Aoife allows the fury within her to coalesce the twinge of panic into blinding strength.
She draws her blade back and strikes out at the creature.
Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight hops back and quickly brews a dangerous, unstable concoction. In a practiced, swift movement he hurls it at the tree. It writes in the flames until all that is writing are the flames. The frost goblin notices that the tree's feet have become roots once more and it is simply an out-of-place fir tree ablaze in the snow.
Aoife moves from the dead tree to strike out at the weasel, opening a vicious gash in its side and staining the snow with blood. The creature is definitely slowing, but continues to snarl at Aoife and her friends, clearly still spoiling for a fight.
Drawing upon his innate powers, the old wizard falls back on one of his basic powers, drawing an acidic dart out of the air and hurling it at the weasel.
Kuragin grumbles something in Skald when the goblin's bomb wakes the weasel. Still estimating that one as their worst opponent, the witch hexes the overgrown weasel with Misfortune.
Jorvik steps around the young girl. Hefting his hammer, a smile on his face as the snow billows around him, he lets out a great laugh, and swings.
Acid spews forth from the wizard's hands but it goes a little wide. Amazingly, though, a winter breeze blows it back towards the weasel at the last moment and it strikes the creature's rear. The acid quickly sets about dissolving the enormous thing's tail hairs.
Jorvik attempts a mighty swing, but cannot land the blow and instead strikes the ground adjacent to the weasel.
Kuragin mutters a curse and waves of poor luck assail the beat.
However, the weasel shakes it off easily and returns to its prey: the small girl in front of it.
The last claw smashes into the young barbarian and she has to reach deep within her inner reserves of rage to stop herself stumbling backwards. She holds her ground however, as the companions prepare a renewed assault upon the weasel that is now fighting without its friends, the animated flora.
Ishbaad struggles to move through the snow, but plows forward anyways. He steps up next to Jorvik and Aoife, his magnificent long spear at the ready. "Watch out for its teeth. I doubt it bites as hard as that alligator." he says to the girl.
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Ishbaad continues his guidance as he steps just to the side of Aoife, then pauses long enough to lunge forward with 'sanctus custos'.
for
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The youth stands her ground, bolstered by the presence of her guardian now standing at her side. She grinds her teeth together, half-questioning what has taken Ishy so long to catch up and half-rallying to push onward as her resolve strengthens for another strike. Following Ishbaad's precise stab against the enormous weasel, Aoife swings with her greatsword, following his lead.
Ishbaad spears the weasel through its sternum and it howls in beastly rage. While it is transfixed, Aoife strides forth and hacks at its neck. Blood gushes forth and it falls to the ground and lays still.
Dryden stands agog at the side of the clearing. "My, you lot are capable," he says admiringly, "Less than fifteen seconds between spotting those three and killing the lot of them, by my reckoning! Shorter than it is going to take me to finish talking. Well done indeed! Now, to collect my evidence." If no-one objects, Dryden Kepp goes over and works to remove the weasel's skin. As his knife sritch-scratches away to remove the sinew under the thing's hide, his hands tremble and shake. Clearly the man still suffers from the cold he experienced earlier.
"Cabin's just up this way," he says part-way through his work, "It's got to be at least five hours till dusk, but you're welcome to spend the night there if you like."
"Methinks we should press on, but you should get yourself to that cabin soon, young man, lest we find your frozen corpse on the way back. Then again, we hope to rid this land of its unnatural winter, so depending on the timing, we'll find you alive and well and thoroughly defrosted, or nice and ripe and flocked by flies in the baking summer heat." The wizard looks up, deep in thought, then smiles, waving cheerily.
"Well, anyway, see ya later!"
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"You gonna get the meat off the weasel, too, Dryden? Can't waste that, no can we?" Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight is practically drooling over the prospect of more fresh meat.
"So why big weasel wanna make you dead, longshanks? You hunting it, or it hunting you? And what were tree things that moved and then burned and stopped moving? You know where portal is? What we have for dinner?"
Coramus sees the goblin start in on his flurry of questions, and comes up behind him, putting a hand on the goblin's shoulder, obviously having seen him do this before. "Let the man answer your questions, young one. He cannot answer when you don't stop asking."
"Thank you - Coramus was it? - yes, I should try to warm up in the cabin. I've got a potion there that should help," he smiles, "And as for your questions, Ice Melts... erm... - sorry, forgot the rest - I'm assuming the weasel didn't like that I was trapping it in this cage. It struck first, though, taking some of the local farmers' sheep with it. They figured it was wolves, but I know what wolf footprints look like and it weren't no wolves. No-one believed it was a weasel, but I showed them! Well, I guess, we all did. Thank you!"
Dryden considers the other questions, "No idea what those trees were. I'm guessing they were the fabled treants - but they looked scarier than I've heard those things being... and that kind of tree ain't native to here. Your friend in the Summer garb seemed to know a thing or two, mayhaps you should ask him. I don't know anything about no Winter Portal, either, but I guess this weather had to come from somewhere. Based on the spread, I'd say it'd be south and a little east of here. Though, to get to it, you'll have to continue along west a ways. The ridge is too shear to head directly south.
"... and I'll eat some of this meat, but it's like to be very stringy. Best cuts will come from next to its spine. I'll carve you off some if you like," Dryden smiles at the goblin and his companions, "If you're ever in Heldren again, please seek me out. I owe you for saving me. Oh, and if you're headin' west, look out for a strange hut there. It's right on the path and you can't miss it. It's got legs carved to look like a chicken's. I didn't have time to investigate further, but I meant to go back there. I laid some bear traps there tryin' to get the weasel, too. Avoid the area near any tree that looks like it has an iron spike stickin' out of it. Heh. Maybe that's why the tree-things attacked!"
"A house with chicken legs you say?" Jorvik momentarily flashes a look to Kuragin.
"We should be wary of such a hut. Those of you who have spent any time in the north know of what we walk in to. I see see no other course, but to push forward.
Dryden, may Desna see you safely back. And are you just going to use the pelt to prove you were indeed correct? We wary of pride friend."
"The pelt will at first prove I was correct," says Dryden, "And if it is pride to not wish to be called crazy and not be laughed out of a tavern, then I'm happy to be proud. After the proof, though, it will make quite a few very warm cloaks I imagine. Single piece, pure white, unstitched ermine cloaks? Provided you don't manage to close that portal too quickly, I figure I'll get quite a good price on them."
"Aye, the offer is tempting to sit and warm ourselves, but our needs are pressing. We have taken better care to make sure we are warm on this trip, and so we should be pressing on. To be sure, if we see you again in Heldren I just may purchase one of those ermine cloaks from you. Be safe, be warm."
Ishbaad echos the wishes of Jorvik as they prepare to move on.
"One last thing... Did you notice anything else around that chicken-leg hut? Besides gigantic ermine tracks?"
"I surely hope not. Perhaps we should just go to Katapesh, instead. Winter surely would never come to such a hellish place." The wizard peers into the white wonderland, wondering what they were walking into.
"As for that doll, I hope those fool adventurers got rid of its soul gem before it was too late for them."
Finding herself dismayed and a little frightened by Dryden's description of the odd hut, Aoife fidgets uncomfortably. She cannot help but squirm as a strange feeling of discomfort settles upon her while imagining a hut with chicken legs carved into the side, and she questions why anyone would take the time to etch such an image. She had never heard of any such art or strictures within this kingdom, in any of her (albeit limited) knowledge of Taldor.
Even as she feels such a mix of repulsion and fear, she finds what she thought was a rising tide of distress within her soul to in fact be draining and fading away. Moreover, the frightful feelings were being replaced with each passing moment by intrigue and hope that this might be something, or a place, where she could learn more about the encroaching and unnatural winter.
Where she might learn more about her father's disappearance.
"How far of a walk is it, Mister Dryden?" Aoife asks. "Could we make it, to the hut at least, by nightfall?"
"One last thing... Did you notice anything else around that chicken-leg hut? Besides gigantic ermine tracks?"
"Well, yeah," says Dryden, "There were a pile of massive blocks of ice around it. I guess that's the main reason I didn't investigate, would have had a maze of icy boulders to navigate before I could get a look in."
"How far of a walk is it, Mister Dryden?" Aoife asks. "Could we make it, to the hut at least, by nightfall?"
"Absolutely, you little fiery warrior-child," says Dryden, nothing but respect in his eyes as he addresses Aoife, "You should be there in just over an hour. If the portal is where your friends here say it is, you may even be able to make that by nightfall."
The companions say their farewells to Dryden Kepp. He has almost completely skinned the weasel by the time everyone is ready to leave. The lack of skin lends it quite the fearsome aspect and the heroes are glad to be away from the freakish sight.
The snow begins to fall again, as it seems to do more often than not, and vision is limited to about a hundred feet. Despite the short distance travelled, the companions are constantly fighting the cold. The travellers' faces are freezing, while the effort of ploughing through the fresh white drifts of snow causes sweat to appear in the more well-sheltered parts of their bodies.
True to what Dryden Kepp said, about an hour further along the path the way is marred by a series of strange chunks of ice shaped like boulders that appear to have been carved from the ice and deliberately placed here. The forest is thick nearby and the ground either side of the path drops off steeply. The only apparently safe way to continue is to pass through.
As the companions near the boulders, the outline of a hut becomes visible through the snow and gradually comes more into focus. It appears freshly made, with the wood showing little sign of wear or sun bleaching. The natural color of the trees that made it still shows through clearly. The hut is a tiny cube, barely more than fifteen feet wide. The roof is made from a patchwork of shaved bark shingles and the overall effect is that it could be an ordinary hut on four stilts - if those four stilts did not resemble so uncannily the legs of a giant chicken.
As Ishbaad eyes the small structure warily, he thinks he spies a tiny human silhouette in the doorway. A fleck of snow enters his eye and he blinks it away. The figure is gone and he puts it down to a trick of the mind and the increased tension everyone is feeling.
Moments later, as they round the first boulder, the adventurers see a girl who is probably only a couple of years younger than Aoife sitting in the snow, shivering in a servant's outfit that is far too thin for her to survive much longer in this snow. Her hair is slivery-blonde and her skin is almost as pale as the snow that surrounds her. The girl turns her bright blue eyes upon the companions and they can see that she must have been crying.
Upon spying the approaching group, she starts and leaps to her feet, "I'm sorry! Don't hurt me! I never meant to call you names!" she yells, a frightened tremor in her voice. She glances fleetingly at the companions before running off into the stand of boulders and out of sight.
Aoife looks up in dismay, her eyes welling with tears which immediately begin to freeze at first sight of the pathetic creature, alone and afraid. Her own face is etched with horror for fear of the poor girl's safety, the youth knowing the stranger's feelings all too well. She glances up to her guardian for the briefest of moments before staying her tongue, thinking better of asking permission, and instead springs forward after the child. Her strides are quick and purposeful as Aoife calls after the young girl, leaving her sword sheathed, and reaching forth with an outstretched hand.
"Wait!" Aoife calls, her own voice laden with panic and seemingly on verge of tears. "We can help you! Please, wait for us!"
Moments after girl had disappeared from sight, Aoife too passes between the large outcropping of massive ice-boulders. "Wait! We can help you! Whatever you need! We are not here to hurt you, I promise!"
Coramus indeed follows Aoife, but keeps a little ways back. Somewhere deep in his mind he knows that the image of a bearded old man chasing after a pre-pubescent girl-child is not one he wants associated with himself.
Ishbaad picks up his pace , quickly following Aoife. The image of the child nearly elicited a similar reaction, but somewhere in the back of his mind, he felt like something was wrong here, he just couldn't explain it. His following of the girl was less a sudden rescue, and more the need to be close to her if indeed the illusion shattered like he feared.
"Aofie! " he calls out, thinking to stop her, or at least slow her down, but in his heart he knew she wouldn't listen. Because he knew he wouldn't listen either.
"I'm right behind you!"
Iomedae, protect her heart... I cannot bear to see it shattered...
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The little girl is crouched down just around the next boulder, shivering even worse than before. She looks up pleadingly at Aoife when she approaches, "Please don’t keep me here. It’s so cold. I miss my mother."
The girl is scared and looks as though she may run off again at any moment. When she looks at Aoife, it is as though she is actually looking at someone else, someone taller.
"You don't have to stay here, if you don't want to. We won't make you," Aoife says, turning to look over her shoulder, and then upward, expecting to see someone taller a pace or two behind. "Here," the youth begins, pausing to begin unbuttoning her heavy, winter coat. "You can wear my coat, it will warm you up until we can find your mother."
Aoife struggles as her giant, gauntlet-clad hands fiddle with the buttons and straps. As she attempts to manipulate the seemingly miniscule fasteners her tongue waggles sideways from her mouth.
"I know what it's like to miss your parents," she says, finally managing to free herself from the heavy fabric of her protective jacket. "I've been looking for my dad for a long time..."
"... and I've never really known my mom," Aoife finishes, holding out her coat while its delicate fur inlays rustle gently in the chilled breeze.
"Indeed. There's a cabin not far from here, plus this strange hut! Do you know if anyone lives here, young woman? If its abandoned, perhaps we can go in and warm up for a bit before we continue on our way. Are you hungry? I'm sure we have some spare food for you, as well, if that is your desire?" Coramus gives his best friendly old man smile...which sometimes is mistaken for his creepy old man smile. There are subtle differences, but can be quite confusing to the untrained eye.
"Mummy's all I have, since Father died. But the mean Lady Nazhena won't let me go!," the girl cries in response to Aoife, finally meeting the gaze of someone in the party, "And it's all my fault."
The girl sobs and wails, turning deftly away from Aoife as the large-gloved girl offers her a cloak.
Jorvik recognizes the name "Nazhena" as that of one of Queen Elvanna's descendants, though which one he isn't sure. Kuragin, spurred on by that information adds that he's pretty sure it's her great-great-granddaughter. She has been granted the title of Baroness, and lands in the Hoarwood, including the village of Waldsby. Waldsby is a small community that ekes out its living through hunting and foraging in the nearby Hoarwood forest. They are forced to rely on trade for most of their provisions - and they must travel far to do so, having no nearby natural waterways or major roads.
"Yes, I am hungry, thank you kind sir," says the girl, reaching for the provisions that Coramus has, "Lady Nazhena lives here, of course, silly. Oh, sorry! I didn't mean to call you that. You won't tell, will you? Oh, I'm so sorry... wait... what do you mean hut? Who are you, where am I? Oh, I must get back!"
With that she flits away once more. Following her, they find her again. She is standing defiantly, legs apart. Her face is screwed up in anger. "“I don’t want your stupid doll! I want to go home! Take me back!”
Ishbaad follows Aoife as she and the rest of his comrades follow the girl.
Something is very wrong here... the warning bells in his mind continue to flare. Thigh there is no outward sign of any emotion, internally his frustration mounts as he struggles to put the pieces together.
"Please tell me your name, sweetheart. We can help you. Who are you talking to?" he says, looking around to see who might be offering this mysterious doll.
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Nazhena .... where have I heard that before? Hoarwood? Maybe the baroness of Waldsby?
Quickly growing frustrated with the situation, "Come girl. We can get you away from the Baroness. Come now, Calm down, and stop being scared. You are from the North. Pull yourself together."
Jorvik moves forward and extends his hand towards the girl.
Jorvik's words about the North seem to hit home, and the little girl stares at him and straightens her back. "No-one can get me away from the baroness. Mummy needs to bring the tribute, and then I will be free," she says, responding out of order, before turning to Ishbaad, "My name is Thora... but wait... why don't you know that?"
Her face becomes frightened once more and she rushes off again, this time reappearing at the top of the hillock and about twenty feet from the hut. She sits down and begins sobbing once more, streams of tears and snot mar her face. "I just want my mother..."
"You are far away from Hoarwood, child. Uh... Where is your mother, what tribute she needs to bring?" Kuragin says. He feels awkward speaking to children, even with the last days spent in the company of Aoife.
"Not that far, just in the Pale Tower," she replies to Kuragin as he comes up the path. The normally unflappable winter witch is taken aback as he notices craggy lines appearing on the girl's face. Her eyes seem a little duller and sadder as she looks up at him.
"Mother will come with the tribute soon, food and supplies enough for everyone in the tower for a year! I promise she will," tears run down the odd cracks in her face, "Please, don't hurt me anymore. Just let me go home. I really am sorry... truly I am."
The Pale Tower must be what Nazhena calls her residence. Likely, it will be quite a way away from the "rabble" (ie. not close to the town she is actually ruling).