The child follows the others around the small shop, watching their interactions with the shopkeep, and especially keeping an eye on the equipment they purchase. She sees Jorvik pick up snowshoes, her guardian procure skis, and the little blue goblin, her favorite goblin, buy snow googles. Once the others have made their purchases, the youth steps up to Verana Stolya.
"Grrrraaawwrrr!" the little girl covered in paint mockingly growls at the shopkeep, pretending to be a goblin, realizing only a moment later that she has never heard Icy make this noise. "Umm... ahhh..." she stammers, debating if she should continue to try and (poorly) act like a goblin, or give up and speak normally.
She opts to give up the charade.
"... Would you have supplies, like the others bought, but that would fit me?" Aoife asks, and proceeds to explain her purchases one by one.
Looking at everyone else, Jorvik adds, "My apologies ma'am. I had not meant to offend you or put you into a compromising situation. Judging by the variety and .... well no matter. I'd like to add on some skis, snow goggles, and cleats."
146 x 8% = 134
Watching the others pick up cleats, Ishbaad sheepishly goes back to the counter to add that to his list of items procured.
"Thank you, milady"
-Posted with Wayfinder
When the travelers have had their fill of goods from Verana's Sundries, she bids them goodbye and Nadya continues the tour. A few more villagers than before have come out onto the streets. Ostensibly, they're going about their business, but more than probably they have simply come out to have a look at the six strangers.
"Up on that hill," says Nadya, ignoring them, "Is the town storehouse, and while well stocked, its doors open far less often than they should. The Baroness has entrusted one Birgit Holorova to oversee it. Some say she has Jadwiga blood, but I think she's just mean spirited. Probably why she got the post. She's been even worse ever since her recent engagement was called off by her erstwhile fiancée." Nadya states the last as matter-of-fact, rather than by way of continuing a rumor.
"To the left, you'll find 'The Shorn Beard'. Good place to go if you're in need of a hair cut. The proprietor is a strangely clean-shaven dwarf by the name of Rusilka Sighjalmsdottir. Why she cuts her beard, well, you'd have to ask her yourself." This parallel to Heldren, in addition to the presence of the statue, is undeniably odd.
"I suspect, though, that you'll have more to say to this man," Nadya indicates a gaunt but tightly muscled smith, laboring at the anvil and forge under the eaves of his smithy, "Hey, Iziamir! Come and meet some friends of mine. I'll let them introduce themselves..."
Coramus nods attentively at the woman's words as she shows them around. His eyes flit to the storehouse, thinking it would be good to secure it should they attempt to fight against the Baroness and her minions. The dwarven barber is given less notice, but still warrants a small file in the wizard's mind.
As Nadya introduces the group to the smith, Coramus waves at the man. "Coramus, good sir. A pleasure to make your acquaintance." He gives an encouraging nod to Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight, smiling as he tilts his head toward the smith.
Jorvik strides bodily into the Shorn Beard. "Well met, Rusilka Sighjalmsdottir. I am Jorvik, the Bloodspeaker. One has told me that you specialize in cutting hair. What an odd vocation for the Jadwiga controlled north, but everyone grows hair I guess. Any I must confess, a beardless dwarf is almost as remarkable as surviving on people paying for hair cutting. Before you take offense my dear woman, I do not mock but marvel. For I am sure that your tale is as long and convoluted as my beard and hair.
To make matters simple, I am in need of a change. Simple, yet profound. Basic, but life changing. Though we have just met, I believe you are the dwarf to do it.
So what say you? Sharp scissors and your tale for me, and for you, a generous tip for services rendered."
Jorvik sits in the chair, glancing back towards the dwarf. "If you please madam, my pointy ears might not be so obvious, but I want them to be. I am ready for them to be. So a cut and trim, not too short mind you, as the north is a cruel b*~$@, and a bit o' hair to protect my head and face will be a necessity. Yet my ears, long may they be, need to be displayed for all to see, Can you do this mistress?"
I am an elf. A Snowcaster Elf, born and breed, and now all will know
"Good day to you, Iziamir. Well met. My name is Ishbaad."
The relatively smooth skinned oread walks forward and extends his hand to the man in greeting. The handshake is firm and strong as the two men squeeze, measuring each other up, as if the handshake is the crucial piece to the referendum on their character.
"Tell me, if you will, what types of things you can do here? Sleds and tack? Weapons? Armor? I don't see much farming in the area, which tends to be the lions share of the business of smithies in the south."
In his conversation, Ishbaad looks around the shop, inspecting the metal work with the eye of a potential buyer, picking things up to make a closer inspection and placing them back in their place. At one point, he nonchalantly picks up what he perceives to be the heaviest object with relative ease, turning it over in his hands before setting it back down.
A man who works with his hands often only respects another who also shows the calluses of a hard day's labor. Perhaps a soldiers hands will at least earn the chance to earn this man's respect. We still have much to do to get this town ready to turn against the witch.
-Posted with Wayfinder
"Well met, indeed," Iziamir greets the companions in a tired but friendly voice, shaking Coramus' hand first, followed by Ishbaad, "Friends of Nadya are friends of mine. You're right about the ploughshares, not much work in that respect. Mostly, I spend my time maintaining or repairing the weapons and armor of the soldiers from the pale tower. Not much call for making weapons or armor these days, but I remember how if you've the need. If you'll be wanting a shield, too, I've got an old family heirloom for sale." Iziamir gestures to a beautifully crafted wooden shield hanging outside his front door, "Was enchanted by a passing hedge wizard, and will actually make arrows fly towards it - instead of at your friends... or your face." .
Rusilka's face is as clean shorn as Nadya said. It actually lends her more of a feminine air than most female dwarves are possessed of. Her lady-like appearance is also helped by a relatively slim but curvaceous figure.
"Wanna show yer ears, eh?" she says gruffly, completely ignoring the question about her own grooming for now, "Ya thought o' just puttin' it up'n a pony tail? I kin sell ye a band if'n ye need one. Elsewise, I'd be happy t'make yer ears stick out. Bit off 'ere, bit off thar, and ye'll be more elf'n human in no time."
"Mostly soldiers of the pale tower? Is there much for banditry and wild animal incursions around here? I can't imagine the tower is assaulted by foreign forces often." Ishbaad continues the conversation in a friendly manner, trying to disguise his leading comments...
"So if the soldiers don't see much combat, then hopefully there is a decent lot of them, enough to keep you busy then. How many would you say guard the tower?"
You, my new smithy friend, have just become a critical information source for our assault...
The wizard makes a point of inspecting some of the more well-crafted wares in the woman's shop, looking thoughtfully at each piece. In reality, he is listening for her answer just as keenly as Ishbaad is, wondering how far people in the town will go to throw off the yoke of the local tyrant.
Iziamir looks suspiciously at Ishbaad, "It's not healthy to ask so many questions about another man's business, friend, nor about the Pale Tower. In any case, Sergeant Dultsev and Captain Orlov are fierce leaders and have as many as two score, perhaps more, men under their command. You're right about foreign invasions and banditry, but wild animals do get ferocious when they appear. The soldiers also do enough damage to their weapons and armor, as well as losing enough, during their patrols, training exercises and in cutting down dissenters that I am able to make a living. Well, between that and replacing sled skis and tooling up the occasional bracket or other part for a pair of snow shoes."
Once the companions are done grilling the smith, Nadya leads the companions down one side of the main street, "Just before the barn over there is the White Weasel, Waldsby's only tavern. They sell decent enough teas, and and a rather watery home brew called 'winteryew moonshine'. It's not much, but if you're after an alcoholic beverage to warm your belly, well it will do in a pinch... once you get used to the aftertaste. I prefer to stay sober, myself. Emil, the proprietor (well, co-proprietor with his wife Katrina) has access to a secret supply of icewine. If you get friendly enough with him, and have the outrageous coin required, he'll let you have some.
"I wouldn't rely on it, though. The Goltiaevas are a sour couple. They distrust strangers - probably with good reason - and if you want to stay at the tavern, you'll be sleeping on the floor. They're also pretty tight fisted, so I wouldn't rely on the fire staying on overnight. Many visitors have woken with the chills from the taproom floor!
"Still," Nadya adds with a sigh, "If you want to make friends around town, that's where folk gather of an evening. Nothing like being the only place for days around that will serve a drink - even only a close approximation of a drink."
Iziamir looks suspiciously at Ishbaad, "It's not healthy to ask so many questions about another man's business, friend, nor about the Pale Tower. In any case, Sergeant Dultsev and Captain Orlov are fierce leaders and have as many as two score, perhaps more, men under their command. You're right about foreign invasions and banditry, but wild animals do get ferocious when they appear. The soldiers also do enough damage to their weapons and armor, as well as losing enough, during their patrols, training exercises and in cutting down dissenters that I am able to make a living. Well, between that and replacing sled skis and tooling up the occasional bracket or other part for a pair of snow shoes."
"No offense intended sir." Ishbaad flashes a disarming smile. "I was merely asking out of curiosity. It seems you do some mighty fine work, and I know it takes repetition and experience to acquire the skill you appear to have."
Ishbaad nods, then breaks away from the suddenly awkward conversation, milling about the room to look at the goods before moving out and on with the tour of the town.
When the group passes by the tavern, he makes a mental note, expecting that visiting the tavern when it is busy would be a good idea, as suggested by Nadya. There is much that can be learned by simply making an effort to listen and observe.
Nadya leads everyone on past the barn where a humble cemetery pokes its white-capped gravestones out from beneath a carpet of snow. Precious few foot-prints mar the white perfection of the grounds. All eyes are drawn to an enormous skeletal tree keeps eerie vigil over the generations of Waldsby's dead.
"That tree is rumored to have been here since before the Winter War," says Nadya, noting the companions' gazes, "It is said that it died shortly afterwards when it succumbed to the eternal cold and hasn't grown since. That must make the tree ancient indeed. Also, don't worry about the skulls decorating the walls. I know other nations find them to be morbid, but at least in Waldsby we use skulls carved from wood. Other villages aren't so lucky."
Nadya allows the companions to view the grounds and ask any questions, after she says, "This actually brings us to Rolf Halzberg. He maintains the grounds here, and ensures that Pharasma blesses each body that enters the ground - as is proper. He runs the chapel just up the road. I know what you're thinking, 'Pharasma?' right, well I'm glad of it. Rolf is a good sort and comports himself well when the soldiers of the Pale Tower get drunk and cross the road from the tavern to harass him. I'd much prefer him than any priest of Zon Kuthon or Lamashtu, let me tell you! Those 'official' religions are best left to the witches."
Moving on, Nadya shows the group the local carpenter and the sawmill, "Arbagazor is the local carpenter. He's a friendly little gnome whose skill with the chisel is unsurpassed in all of Irrisen. Why he chose to settle down in Waldsby is anyone's guess. The owner on the sawmill, on the other hand, is a talentless hack who screws the lumberjacks of the region for all they've got. He somehow managed to secure the only licenses issued to Waldsby for logging the Hoarwood. Any who complain quickly lose their livelihoods." Nadya spits on the frozen ground as they pass the establishment.
"Now, that's about it for the town. Feel free to come with me back to my place after I've conducted my business with Verana, go there yourselves, or conduct some business of your own in town."
Coramus stares at the grim tableau of skulls, nodding at Nadya's words as she describes the process of carving them. An impassive glance is given when the priest of Pharasma is mentioned. He has neither love nor hate for the Lady of Graves, though at times he wished She had taken him before he had to endure the northern winter waste again.
He looks thoughtfully in the direction of the carpenter, trying to guess why such a skilled craftsman would settle in such a harsh, unforgiving country. The story of the sawmill owner is one he is well-acquainted with, and he scowls as they pass the structure.
Kuragin watches the others buying their winter gear. While those do have their obvious usage, they just feel ... wrong.
"Skis? Snow goggles? Bah... These items are to fight off the winter, not to embrace it. But I want to buy something else. Do you have vodka? Looks like we have a task ahead of us, which no sane man should try sober. Give me many of bottles of your strongest!"
When the tour is over, Kuragin looks at his companions impatiently. If they really are about to attack a Jadwigan noble, he'd like to get the task over and done with. Still, there are something that could help him in his task. "Tell me, Nadya. Is there anyone here with magical scrolls, and who would part of them in exchange of gold?"
The child looks up toward the grim sentinel, with its spindly dead branches swaying eerily in the chilled breeze, holding watch over the graves. Through the cold, Aoife shudders at a feeling of unease and sadness, looking out over the frozen ground, with its sporadic, protruding gravestones. The few footprints scattered throughout the graveyard call up feelings of loneliness, and for the first time, she feels a creeping sensation of abandonment. At her sides, she knows the others stand close, and would probably give their lives to protect her, but the feeling yet remains. Across the hallowed expanse, the frozen particles of snow tumble across the flat, buffeting and piling against the gravestones, and she finds the nearly crippling feeling of desertion is now accompanied by a growing anger, and what surprises her even more, is that it is leveled at her father.
She looks down to her enormous gauntlet-clad hands and the fur-lined sleeves of her coat tucked easily within the stiff, leather cuffs, but she finds no comfort in seeing Tighearnán's gauntlets, even knowing these could very well be the only tenuous thread that remains linking their existences. Aoife opens her mouth to speak, but find no words worth breaking the profound silence laying heavily upon the graveyard.
"Haha, Rusilka, you are quite the business woman. Few small business owners turn down clients, especially ones in the chair. Though I don't need much, a few nips here and there, maybe something to make me more distinguished.
There was once a man I saw in the southern lands, he had hair that was long, but not curled, twisted, but remained bouncy if you will. A chunk of hair was turned into tube-like is the best I can describe it. Then yes, i will take a holder to pull it all back from my face. And a generous tip for a story if you please." he finished with a grin.
"Master Iziamir, I am Jorvik the Blookspeaker. I know that you are a busy man, so I hope not to take too much time from your work. I have learned in a my travels a bit of artistry. I have been playing with craving into my weapons. I believe that this creates a connection with the weapon, maybe it become part of me. I know that there is no magical link that it makes, that it is all in my head, from where I act. Nevertheless, it makes a difference to me.
So if you could see me work, it you could give correction, if you had time, it would mean so much to me. I could compensate you for your time."
Jorvik takes out his Lucerne Hammer, and takes out a long leather bag rolled up. He unties it and spreads it out on the floor. Nestled inside are numerous odd shaped metal instruments fit in a singular pocket. Jorvik takes out a small hammer, and then a scans the pockets before deciding on one that ended with a small spiral. he begins to tap the head of the hammer on the blunt end of the tool, gently moving it up and down, slowly etching. After a few minutes, and a handful of implements later, a since elven rune is clear. Jorvik turns to Iziamir.
"That is the symbol for life, or more aptly the essence of life."
Ishbaad stares at the somber tree, reflecting on the tenuous hold on life that mortals like himself cling to.
For all the torture they endured here, in this land, at the hands of the ruling class, perhaps they are better off on the other side. Its not those who have died who suffer, is it Jewel? It is us, who are left behind...
Ishbaad ruffles the hair of his little charge and favors her with a reassuring smile.
"We have a long ways to go little one. Do not worry, we will finish what we set out to do."
The giant man of stone-faced emotions follows the group back to the warmth of their host's home.
Verana rummages around for a cloak of sufficient value, "I know it's around here somewhere... ah, there..."
The shopkeep produces a beautiful, if old and worn, wolfskin cloak. "If the man who sold this to me is to be believed, and I do believe him, then this cloak was made from the skin of a winter wolf. Normally, I would never relate such a tale about an item I had in my possession, but it seemed to me you'd be open to such... somewhat illicit goods. It is said that the skin of a winter wolf, when worn, has the power to transform the wearer into a winter wolf themselves. However, this one is quite old and the power has faded. It does still faintly detect of transmutation magics, which I'm sure you can verify for yourself. I also have some blue quartz dust that might be useful to you if you are trying to resurrect some kind of magical power within the cloak."
"I haven't a license to sell alcohol," Verana tells Kuragin with a sly look on her face, "But if you happened to overpay for some items, in the spirit of friendliness, I may have some exceptional home-made vodka to share with you."
"A story? Huh. You've been going to human barbers for far too long. But if it's stories for tips, then a story you shall have. One day, millions of years ago, the mountain was approached by a passing stream. 'May I pass through?' asked the stream, to which the mountain replied, 'You may certainly try, for I may not move quickly enough to stop you. I do not believe you will have patience enough to make it through, though, as you are a fickle stream - unlike the sea, which I respect.' And so the stream tried. It was angered by the perceived insult from the mountain, and tried for many thousands of years. It worked a series of holes into the mountain, which twisted and turned throughout it, but it could not find the other side. The caverns it carved with its flowing waters revealed the treasures of the mountain, and the stream in its anger carried some away to far of water-systems.
"Angered, the mountain tricked the stream by leaving a trail of gems and gold ever father down. Suddenly, over mere centuries, the stream found itself being sucked into the depths below, unable to overcome the mighty pull of gravity. 'You were impatient and greedy,' said the mountain, 'And now you must forever toil in the depths below me. You will never again glisten in the sunlight. This is the punishment for the treasures you have stolen.' The stream was defeated and became an underground lake.
"Many, many thousands of years later, dwarves came and inhabited the caverns left by the stream. They respected the mountain, and made it their home. The treasures they found were carved into beautiful shapes that pleased the mountain and remained within the mountains comforting stone walls. Further pleasing the mountain, the dwarves drank from the former stream, drawing nourishment from the fickle thing that had opened up the mountain they called home."
While telling her story, Rusilka does a more than adequate job, rubbing candle wax into Jorvik's hair in order to maintain the shape, "There. Now, whatever you do don't wash your hair and they should remain."
A little later, Iazmir inspects Jorvik's work as he goes about it, "Wrong tool, you'll need this one..." he adds here and there. Jorvik notes that Iazmir has little to contribute to the artistry of the item at hand, but much in terms of what to use in order to carve into the metal. In the end, Jorvik is more than satisfied with the magnificent symbol he has carved upon his hammer.
"Scrolls," Nadya purses her lips as she thinks deeply, "Well, Rolf would probably have a scroll or two. I think he was talking about a prayer of goodberry that he had written down. Not sure if you can make use of that, though. Katrina Goltiaeva, co-proprietor of the White Weasel, also is known to stockpile scrolls for 'the end' as she says. In her paranoia, though, she's unlikely to sell them for a reasonable price."
At Verana's, Coramus listens to the woman's words, nodding thoughtfully as she relates the story of the wolf pelt. At the end of her recital, he murmurs the words of the arcane, gesturing as he focuses on the pelt, finding the faint traces of magic he sought that would make this item perfect for holding his possible future enchantment. He smiles softly, satisfied that the thick cloak will work quite well.
"All old tales usually contain some trace of truth, ma'am. I doubt this ever had the power to transform one into a Wolf. But it does have some latent ability...and I might be able to coax it out with time. You have a deal."
The old man gladly hands over the five hundred pieces of gold, gathering up the cloak and reagents and grinning like a small child as he hurries out of the store towards his companions.
Once he gets around them again, he holds out the thick cloak, his spindly arms barely able to hold it aloft. "Look at what I found! And only five hundred gold coins!"
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Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight sees the magnificent cloak that Coramus brought back. "Boss, you gonna make something neat out of that? Me would help, but me busy brewing potions right now." In fact, the little goblin has been spending most of his time picking up reagents, and now has his gear spread out in Nadya's and is brewing some foul concoctions.
Freshly equipped and having offloaded some of their excess supplies, the companions return at separate times along the mixture of slush and hard packed snow to Nadya's house. Their freshly acquired cleats make it much easier for them to avoid sliding along the path and in the smaller groups, their passage attracts less attention from the locals. Still, eyes do peer out from shutters, and many passers-by stare impolitely long as the outsiders pass by. The only one who doesn't draw any glances is Kuragin, whose presence causes peasants to quickly look at the ground and hurry along.
It is mid afternoon when everyone finds themselves together again under the warm roof of Nadya's exceedingly well kept house. It seems her sons, Orm and Mjoli are off playing at Kashka's when Nadya returns home. She puts the kettle on. "So," she begins innocuously, "What are your plans from here?"
Ishbaad chuckles at the goblin while graciously accepting a cup of tea from their host.
"A frontal assault on the pale tower would be a fool's errand." he says, taking a sip of tea and showing Aoife how to do it.
Noticing her try to sneakily put extra sugar in her cup, he flips another cube that plops in the center, sending a few splashes onto the table that they sit around.
"We must either draw the guard out, and sneak in behind them, or draw the witch out herself and cut her down in the open."
He takes a sip and a deep breath before continuing.
"Drawing the guard out has the advantage of staging her death, and reducing the risk that the entire town might be accused of belonging to the heralds of summer's return and razed. It has the distinct disadvantage of assaulting the foul wretch in her own stronghold, where she is likely the most powerful."
Bringing his cup up for another sip, he realizes it is empty. Now where did that go? I don't think I drank it all...
"The advantage of bringing the witch out into the open is clear from what I just mentioned. However, what power source she may lack from being out of the tower, she will likely make up in sheer force of numbers."
"And while Nadya may think this a disadvantage, the fact that the witch knows my face through the mirror may yet still work to our advantage. It just may be what we need to enrage her into foolish action, when we have shaped the battlefield to our advantage, whatever that may be."
Ishbaad sets the cup on the floor behind him, and winks at Aoife. He looks down at the cup again, then back at her, then down at the cup again, indicating she should slyly keep her eye on it. Then he focuses on the table, getting everyones attention again, save for the intrepid, and curious little girl.
"One other card we have yet to play is the tribute. Nadya, what does the pale tower expect, and when do they expect it? If there is a chink in their armor we may be able to exploit it when they receive what they believe to be their extended supplies."
Ishbaad glances quickly at the girl, hoping to see the reaction of a child who has seen a magic trick. Or in this case, an invisible fey remove a cup from the floor...
Coramus listens to Ishbaad, his brow furrowed gently in thought as he ponders the man's stated options. When the man mentions the tribute, the wizard nods. "Perhaps we could merge two plans into one. The Baroness's minions likely collect this tribute with little fear of retaliation from the locals. When they collect, we can completely wipe out the tribute-collecting party, depleting the Baroness of some of her manpower, and possibly causing her to do something stupid. All the while we do not overextend ourselves by assaulting the Tower directly. This can be done even if the tribute is brought to the Tower itself, since the men collecting the tribute could still be ambushed and then we can make a quick escape."
"What!? Thirty gold pieces for the scroll!? Outrageous! Fine, take your damn gold and give the scroll." Kuragin rages, throwing the coins rudely onto the counter, and then pocketing the scroll he just purchased.
You should be flayed for you insolence! The Jadwiga does not say this aloud, but the angry look in his eyes betrays his thoughts. But soon he calms down, and is actually shocked of his reaction. How much alike he is to his brethren... The Jadwigan mindset is still there, no matter how much he despises them.
Kuragin listens to his companion's planning, pouring himself a full glass vodka and is happy to offer this northern delicacy to everyone else (except Aoife). One gulp down, and the man shivers equally in pleasure and the burning in his throat.
"Best would be if we can lure the Baroness out of her tower. Tower is her home and most likely her place of power. Many defences besides the guards. But what could lure her out, we need to investigate. If this cannot be done, we will have to go in the tower. Ahhhhh.." Another gulp of vodka makes breath wheeze for a moment. "We could either get rid of the guards a few at the time, or bluff our way in. I am a Jadwiga after all, maybe I could request for an audience."
"Nadya, could you bring some water and a plate? Doesn't matter if the water is boiling or cold." When the plate arrives, Kuragin places his newly-aqcuired scroll on it. He sprinkles some vodka on the scroll, and grabs a candle to set the scroll on fire. The hot, blue flame consumes the scroll quickly, leaving only magically-charged ashes behind. Kuragin pours some water on the ashes, resulting in plate full of murky liquid. Then the witch picks up a small, white ermine from his bag, lifting the animal on the table. "Here, Pushkin. Some new magic for you" he whispers to his familiar, who starts lapping the liquid with its tongue.
Katrina Goltiaeva is a stern looking woman, taking no joy in her tasks as she waits on tables and tends the bar. She is slim like most Irriseni, her long blond hair has a straw-like quality and a permanent scowl mars her otherwise attractive features.
When Kuragin enters, she turns her cold, wary eyes on him as usual for any new entrant to the tavern. However, when she sees his fine features, expensive clothing and utter lack of concern for the chill breeze that suddenly blasts in from the east, Katrina pales - a difficult task, given her complexion.
"I... I... erm, is there anything I can do for you, please have a seat..." the patrons of the tavern look surprised as the aloof woman suddenly begins fawning over a stranger, no less. Eventually, though, they realize why, scowl themselves and return to their watered-down beverages.
Kuragin's perceptive ears catch a hushed conversation in one corner of the room, "Why are Katrina's drinks like having sex on a barge?" asks one man, glancing up to make sure no-one but his comrades are listening, "Because they're f*cking close to water!" Muffled laughter erupts and is silenced with a glance from the blonde barkeep.
Kurgain also notices an enormous ornate mirror behind the bar. He cannot help but wonder if this one is used to communicate with some jadwiga or other. Certainly, the waitress is unusually obsequious to him, even for a peasant.
Once the negotiations for the scroll take the turn and Kuragin raises his voice, Katrina sobs as tears begin to run down her face, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I can't let it go for less... the dark times! I'm... so... sorry!"
Nadya looks with growing concern as the tea begins to slowly seep into the wood of the dining table where the companions gather. After waiting far too long for someone who is worried about stains, she hurriedly searches for a cloth - clearly not remembering where it is - eventually finds it, and wipes the spill herself. Concern causes her to furrow her brow, but she says nothing.
"My friends," she begins as Coramus finishes talking, "I am most honored by the vigor and enthusiasm you have shown to take this evil woman down. However - Kuragin and Jorvik can probably back me up here - I must point out that she is unlikely to be going out to defeat you herself. Jadwiga rely on their servants in general, and the winter witches do so almost exclusively. No, if you want your chance at her, I'm afraid you'll need to get inside the tower. They expect me to bring the tribute to them within the next few days, but they do not have that which I deserve in return. How they'll explain that, I do not know. What will happen when I demand to see my daughter - as I have done every time I have visited - I do not know."
Nadya looks around expectantly, but continues, "Also, and this surprises me somewhat, but none of you have even mentioned closing down the portal that is causing winter to encroach upon your lands. Surely this would be your priority and not avenging my daughter whom you've never met... while she was... alive," Nadya pauses at this, her lip trembling but no tears are allowed to escape, "Also, Aoife dear, it is probably what your father would have done when he arrived through his portal. If you are searching for clues as to what may have happened to him, attempting to do what he did - cautiously - would be a good start."
"Sorry, milady. Just a feeble attempt to catch a glimpse of your... Never mind. My apologies" Ishbaad tries to help clean up the mess a little to late.
At the mention of the portal, Ishbaad blinks once, then twice before continuing, allowing a rare glimpse at his slightly confused face, which in all truth isn't much different than any of his other faces.
"I suppose I assumed that when we killed the witch the portal would close. I feel embarresed now to have made such a rash assumption. Yes, That really is our primary goal. I suppose my desire to see justice served on the witch has molded those two goals in my mind into the same thing. Yes, so restarting this conversation, in a manner of speaking, how exactly do we go about shutting the portal down? And where is the portal located on this side?"
Ishbaad turns to Jorvik and Kurigan as he asks the last question, hoping they have a clue where it is, since they came through it once already.
"Is there any here who might know about how to close this portal? In this town or in the tower?"
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"Destroy the portal? Me wonder, how would me do that?"
"Hmm... me could always use bombs... and fire water... but not the fire water that Jorvik give me... well, maybe that too. Me have phosphorus, sulfur, and magnisium... could be a reagent to something even bigger. Maybe infuse the bomb with an oil of magic weapon to make the blast even more powerful..."
Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight and Ishbaad search their memories, and both remember these comments from the Black Rider. Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight believes that destroying the portal's focus won't be a simple thing. Usually, there will be some kind of ritual at work and its magic will need to be broken somehow. Inspecting the focus for the portal will hopefully reveal clues as to how to break the magic that binds it to the portal.
The focus is most likely in the Pale Tower, probably well guarded and close to the Baroness's study or bedchamber.
"I don't know any who would know how to close the portal," says Nadya, shaking her head, "Or where its focus might be, but inside the Pale Tower would be my best bet. If I were to try to figure out how to close it, I'd start with asking... a jadwiga spell caster, preferably a winter witch." Nadya looks meaningfully at Kuragin.
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"So, me thinks that our two missions are one. We must get into the Pale Tower, and find the focus. But then me think we will draw ire of the witch... so... huh. Ok. Guess we prepare to go to fight bad mama jamma in the tower?"
The little goblin looks a little concerned about that, and can be seen counting his bombs.
"Yes, my little blue friend, it seems both of our objectives lie in the same place. The only question left to answer is how we get in. I believe the answer to that lies in the tribute that the baroness believes will be delivered soon." Ishbaad stands up and moves across the room, taking the towel from Nadya's hands to wipe the counter down, hoping it makes up for his failed stunt earlier.
Turning back to Nadya, he asks, "How is the tribute delivered, or perhaps the more appropriate question, how is the tribute received in the pale tower? Could we sneak in, concealed in crates? The deeper we can get into the tower before blood is shed, the more likely we are able to make it to the magical focus, and the witch herself."
Ishbaad grabs one of the pieces of muffin, careful not to drop any crumbs, and makes his way back to his seat at the table.
"Well, the tribute is rather nonspecific," Nadya muses thoughtfully, "I guess we could make it anything you like. Broadly, they're expecting food and supplies. It would be easy enough to include crates that were big enough to hold you. I'm certain Arbagazor would be able to come up with something perfect for the job in no time. Yes, I'm sure that kind of plan could definitely work. Getting out of the tower will be tricky, though... but I guess if you're planning to take everyone who opposes you out of the equation, then extraction will simply be a matter of walking away."
Nadya thinks some more, "While I've never been allowed free reign inside the Pale Tower, I do know that the kitchen is on the second floor. I've often been required by those lazy guards to lug my own deliveries up those stairs. That should allow you to bypass the whole first level... if they don't sniff out the ruse!"
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"Me never had a problem getting out of a place. Me really good at locks, not that me would ever doing anything illegal, 'cause me good goblin! Maybe Eefie and me hide in crates, while the rest of you could be porters?"
Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight thinks for a moment. He then says to Coramus, "Hmm.. Boss, me think you might be a little scrawny to pull that off, though."
"Not to mention that we have no Oreada in Waldsby... or half-elves... and no-one so obviously Jadwiga would be caught dead helping peasants transport supplies," Nadya cannot help but maintain her somewhat harsh motherly tone when talking to the goblin, "In fact, Aiofe may be the only one of you to be able to conceivably remain outside of any crates."
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"Ah... me have GREAT idea then... me could brew up some potions of make me look like someone else... oh, wait... me cannot do that. Well, me can make drink that only Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight can drink, to make me look like a longshanks... and then me could stay out with Eefie. Boss just look like 'normal' longshanks, even if he be a scrawny weak old man. He could probably stay out. We can dress him up to look like old picked on slave!
"Of course, me know goblins are citizen in Irrisen, so me maybe no need to hide?"
"Oh yes. The witch knows my face. It would not do well for me to be recognized. At least not until I am plunging my spear into her evil heart. I vote we sneak in inside the tribute crates. Getting out may prove trickier, but if no one is left to stand in our way, then perhaps it won't be tricky at all."
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"Maybe I could be the caravan master, or something?" The old man strokes his beard, thinking over the possibilities. "And maybe Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight could brew a strength potion for me so I could help lift the crates."
He listens to the others, "Yes, yes, I've always wanted to play an old picked on slave. My life's desire." Coramus remarks dryly, his amusement showing. "Subterfuge can get us in...I just worry that we will be trapped inside when things start to get in motion. Still, it is the quickest way, and offers a possibility of quick victory. I say we go for it."
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The child looks back and forth at the others as they debate the various plans and strategies. Throughout the conversation she at first appears quite interested, but then her eyes glaze over and focus on nothing in particular for long stretches at a time. It is clear all the planning appears to be over her head, but the youth tries her best to remain focused, or at the very least, feigning interest. Though her face does brighten and her attention piques when Nadia references that she, a small and insignificant child, could remain in the open without drawing attention while the others could not.
"Umm..." she begins to speak, her tone cautious and quiet. "I don't mean to make you sad, Miss Nadya... since that evil woman took Thora from you..." Even for a child, there is a vast resolve behind her gaze as she thinks of the tragic fate of a friend she knew far too short.
"But would it help any of us to get inside... if I was offered to Baroness Nazhena... like Thora was?"
To his great shame, Kuragin does enjoy Katrina's servile attitude. While the behavior is expected, there is something odd about her. Could she be dealing with the baroness? The mirror in the back raises some concerns, and Kuragin thinks it is best to investigate it. The witch casts a spell of Detect Magic, not bothering to hide his spellcasting in any way.
"Yes, the Black Rider mentioned a magical focus keeps the portal active. Finding and disabling that should be our priority over killing the baroness."
"And I do like the goblin's idea of disguise much better than hiding in crates. This is a very dangerous enemy we will be up against."
"I think I could explain why we have an Ice Goblin along... probably... but I am not deceptive by nature and my lies could be detected," Nadya seems a little uncomfortable, "Most of you would be best served by being hidden. There is quite a bit of tribute to give and provided someone can help me with getting the crates upstairs."
Nadya's normally stoic face breaks into tears and she sobs uncontrollably for a moment when Aoife makes her innocent offer. "Sorry," she says at last, a handkerchief mysteriously appearing in her hand, "No, my dear. Please do not offer yourself. Even if it helps, it would break my heart to see it happen again."
When Kuragin mentions the black rider, Nadya's ears prick up, "'Black Rider', did you say?" she asks incredulously, clearly shocked before her curiosity overcomes her, "You met one? The Queen's guard and the Baroness's soldiers were all looking for such a rider. Do you know where he is? Is he safe? Can he be of use to us against the Baroness?"
Ishbaad does not allow the brief horror at the thought of Aoife being in the clutches of the witch show on his face.
"Nadya is right. Besides, something tells me the witch may be on to our schemes when a child walks in with a greatsword strapped to her back."
Changing gears for a moment, Ishbaad turns back to their host. "The black rider. Champion of Baba Yaga. He spoke with us when we destroyed the guardians at the portal near Heldren. He was mortally wounded when we met, so what aid he has already offered is, unfortunately, the last he will be able to offer. He has infused us with his power, and made the six of us much stronger, each in our own way. What do you know of the baroness' search for this black rider? Perhaps we can use this to our advantage as well."
Ishbaad stands up to pace back and forth as he thinks and the group continues to converse.
"Yes. Hiding in crates as the tribute is our best option to get inside the tower, in my opinion. I believe that all of us should hide. Nadya, are there any of the townsfolk who would be willing to help you bring us inside? Perhaps some of the men who were with you when we first met, destroying that gargantuan insect?"
"I must say, I have deep concerns about the retribution the aristocracy may seek against this town when we slay this witch. The more I contemplate this, the more I think we should destroy the entire tower. Perhaps even leave some false clues that it was a nearby force, such as a roving Ulfen band of marauders."
"I propose we hide in tribute crates and have Nadya, and some other willing dissenters drop us off. If we are lucky, we will be brought to the second level of the tower, where we can begin our assault. If we are unlucky, they will open the crates to inspect the tribute and we will begin our assault at the front door. From there, we make our way up the tower, searching for the focus to destroy it, and cut off the energy supply to the portal. After that, we methodically make our way through the tower in order to exact righteous vengeance on the baroness. Is Iziamir Polovar someone we could trust with out plans? Perhaps he could help us with items to point to an Ulfen assault on the tower."
"Nadya, for all of your pain and anger for what happened to Thora, what exactly do you see as your role in all of this? I would not deny you your chance for valor and retribution, but as of yet, we do not know your capabilities in battle. Would you be able to defend yourself against a soldier of the pale tower if you were pressed?"
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ON mention of the statue, Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight grabs Coramus's hand, pulling him to the door. He also grabs Kuragin's, his excitement overwhelming his caution around the jadwiga. "We go check out statue. Me bet they are magically bound to each other... that this may be part of the portal network. Me no believe in coincidinks... me think there is meaning there!"
He tries to hurry the three to the statue, and realizes (again) that he cannot see magic. "Huh... me need wand of detect magic, so me can use VAST intellect to determine what things are... oh! Me have drink to make Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight see magic dweomers!" He then gulps down a potion of identify so that he can see the magic.
"OOooooooOOOoOOOooo!"
Coramus again nods at Ishbaad's words. "A wise plan, should there be others that will assist us from the town. If not, I am not quite as weak as I might look, and can likely assist Nadya for the short time needed to pull off the ruse."
After that, the wizard is helplessly pulled after the goblin towards the statue, muttering about there being a time for studying such things. The old man watches with idle curiosity as Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight quaffs a potion, amused at the goblin's reaction.
Coramus patiently awaits any revelations Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight might have, confident that though the goblin was a bit eccentric, he was quite intelligent and could figure things out. In the meantime, Coramus studies the Jadwiga witch with them, a measuring gaze that reconciles what the wizard knows of the Jadwiga with the actions of his fellow here.
Nadya nods along to Ishbaads explanation of the Black Rider, and looks disappointed when told he is no more. "That makes a lot of sense as to why they were so dogged in their pursuit of this man. He would have made a powerful opponent to Queen Elvanna if he could have found and returned Baba Yaga to Irrisen. It also explains why the soldiers of the pale tower flayed those 'suspected' of harboring this rider - even when they laid their homes bare to the brutes who would whip them." Nadya's fists clench unconsciously at the last.
"If you're curious about the statue, perhaps you should see Arbagazor Frimbocket," Nadya suggests, "He is, after all, Waldsby's eldest resident and has lived here longer than anyone. Perhaps he will have heard some rumors about it that no-one else has."
Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight rushes out into the cold, too excited even to don his winter furs. Risking exposure, he investigates the statue curiously to the surprise of the ravens roosting there. Alas, it radiates no magic and his spells of identification lead him nowhere. Shivering, he returns to Nadya's cabin no wiser than he was before.
"... not sure if I'm willing to ask anyone to help us," Nadya seems to be saying as Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight comes back in, "It would mean death if they were discovered. Still, I feel certain I'll be unable to stop Borsk, Mikha, Grigor or Nicolai from helping even if I tried. They are expecting to take the supplies to the tower with me anyway. I will not involve them in an assault, though, and I would like for them to be able to maintain plausible deniability in all of this. It may not help them, but it is something at the least.
"All in all, though, I think we have a good plan. Would you like to talk to Arbagazor while I talk to Borsk and his men?"