"Good goblin! I hope the wicked creature burns to death!"
Blind and burning... That's the best kind of fey.
Kuragin doesn't have too many means to hurt the quickling in the air, so he hopes Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight's bomb will be the end of it. At least it shouldn't be too much of a danger while blind. But wasn't there other such creature somewhere? Knowing how fast they can be, it can appear from anywhere. Best be on guard, Kuragin thinks, and prepares to shout his ear-piercing scream if the other quickling comes in sight.
Tindlecrick leaps down from the 15ft high eaves of the barn, relying on his acrobatic skills to keep him in good stead.
The evil creature waits with his claws behind Jorvik for the quickling to arrive and provide him with a flank.
Faernip once again streaks around the barn to strike at Jorvik. Before he gets there, however, Jorvik throws a bag of gooey glue but the goo goose is not with the skald this day, and the quickling is gone from the spot he throws the bag to before the bag is even half way. Ducking under the bag, Faernip prepares to hack away at the half-elf. First, though, Tindlecrick makes his move.
Faernip then tries his own luck against the beset skald.
Luckily, he misses. Jorvik does notice, however, that his previous wounds have healed up completely.
Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight has significantly more luck at lobbing things. "Wha'? Aaaahitburnsputitoutputitoutputitout!!!" The blinded quickling drops to the roof and rolls around in the snow, dousing the flames.
Looking up, the child can see the skylight above through which the treacherous, vile creatures had thrown deadly fire down into the barn. Pausing for a moment, she takes a few quick breaths, trying her best to remain steady and calm, knowing that at any moment the blinding rage building within was threatening to take hold and leave her as a machine with one soulless purpose, to dismantle these evils creatures limb from limb. Before this brewing anger could take hold, she wanted to make sure to put her best tactical foot forward, because she knew all too well that once the satisfying surge of rage was invariably let in, all thought and want of cunning plans would be lost.
Reaching up, she begins to clammer up the horse stall, gripping a crosswise beam and iron bar, stepping with one foot on a thin wooden sill until her body was rising quickly for the rafters. Her unnaturally long arms helped beyond measure, thanks to Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlights magical elixir, and within moments she was straining to grasp the skylight hoping to pull herself free of the aperture.
Stepping back, Jorvik swings out at the twig
While Heafoc attacks from behind
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The fire that Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight created continues to burn the quickling...
But, that isn't enough for the goblin. He has been hurt, and his friends have been hurt, so he decides he has to finish the deed. He moves in such as way that he can hopefully see the blinded, burning, and prone creature. He then throws a bomb, again hoping to not put the entire barn on fire (excludes as much as he can).
"Burn!!! Burn!!! Kuragin! Help the others! I think I heard Jorvik cry out!"
'Me need spider climb drink, so me can go up and kill nasty fey with my weapons. Me also need cold iron weapons.'
Without bothering to answer, Kuragin just nods and starts moving towards Jorvik's location. Very soon he spots the twigjack fighting the snowcaster elf and his pet. Kuragin twitches his fingers nervously for a moment, uncertain what to do. He was hoping to save his last scream for Faernip. But perhaps it is the best to take Tindlecrick out of action first. Thus, the witch makes the necessary arcane gestures and shouts the horrid scream, heard only by the twigjack.
Tindlecrick screams out in pain as Jorvik's cold iron hammer clips him in the shoulder. Heafoc, however, cannot penetrate its barky skin with its mundane beak.
The invisible Aoife reaches the top of the barn and looks around. She sees a small outline of glowing dust cursing and rolling around on the roof, and the footprints of the twigjack who just jumped off clearly outlined in the snow.
The second bomb thrown by the snow goblin slams into the quickling. She screams once in agony, and then is silenced. Her flaming outline stops writhing and simply lies there on the roof, quietly crackling away.
Tindlecrick turns his wicked attentions to Jorvik, and so doesn't expect the high pitched wailing scream from Kuragin.
Still, some small sticks and a thorn or two snap off the thing's brambly body.
Ishbaad stands resolute in his defensible position. He stares down the animated stick, and decided to taunt it a second time, this time so only it can hear.
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The twigjack is proving surprisingly resilient to the sonic outbursts. "You're next, fool!" it cries in response to Ishbaad's taunting.
Tindlecrick moves within Jorvik's reach and waits for Faernip to come back around the barn.
True to form, the quickling once more speeds around, spraying snow in his wake. Just as Farenip gets within range, Tindlecrick hacks at Jorvik.
A cold claw scrapes against the skald, drawing blood and freezing the droplets at the same time. Faernip grins and immediately afterwards stabs Jorvik.
"Justfallyoubastard!" he shrieks before streaking back around to the other side of the barn. As he disappears, so to do some of the wounds on the twigjack. Ice forms around the cuts and broken branches and they knit back together.
Garen the faun continues to cower in the barn.
Feeling the blood pour out of him, Jorvik knows it is fight or die.
Heafos again attacks the Tindercrick, this time lashing out with all its natural attacks.
While Jorvik steps in and swings Frostreaver with all of his remaining strength.
Frustrated that he cannot seem to help, Ishbaad decides it is time to bring the full brunt of his might to bear.
Pounding through the rubble he created he blasts around the corner of the barn to come to his friend's aid. He drops his spear as he moves and draws his faith's weapon, the longsword crafted from cold iron.
"If you will not come to me, then I will bring justice to you!" he shouts.
Ishbaad summons some unseen, internal power to push himself around the corner, still in time to swing his sword and cut the twigjack in half.
for
The child stands to her full height, the safety and shelter of the barn now falling away as her boots plant firmly on the sloping, snow covered planks. A freezing wind slams into her as it whips up and over the structure, immediately sapping what little heat and warmth Aoife's body had gathered while inside. Her hair and clothes flutter in the chill breeze, though still invisible even to her, and the child can feel the gusts pushing her back.
Ahead she can see the outline of a motionless corpse and the cleansing licks of flame still burning away its unseen body. A silent curse passes her lips as no other targets on the roof can been see, and Aoife laments for a moment that she had climbed up to this perch for naught, but then realizes she might still be able to use this height to her advantage.
Sprinting across the slanted roof, the child passes the corpse of the fey and stops on the corner overlooking the rear of the structure.
"Fall back, Jorvik! These creature's will kill you!" Kuragin knows Jorvik is a tough one, but no one can take such assault for long. He hopes Ishbaad can deal with the twigjack, so he best prepare for the quickling. Taking a deep breath, the witch prepares to hex the quickling into slumber as it approaches.
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Bloodlust taking over the goblin's mind, he is out for revenge for everything that has happened to him and his the last several days. He sees another of the quicklings looking ready to run around and hurt his friends. He's heard the warning to Jorvik, and he isn't going to let that thing hurt his friends, even if it costs him his life. He still tries to avoid the barn and any friends.
"Jorvik!!! Me save you! Me be hero! You see!!! Well, not see, 'cause you around corner, but you get to safe place! Me BURN nasty feys"
Heafoc yet again cannot penetrate the twigjack's skin, and Jorvik's shot goes well wide of his intended target. Ishbaad, too, misses Tindlecrick but by a narrower margin.
The flames from Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight's bomb lash the quickling's skin and it squeals in pain and falls to the ground. The snow soothes its skin and it wakes briefly. "Youkilled Zzababa!! Diegoblinscum!"
"मी या मूर्ख माणूस जरुरी आहे!" cries the twigjack. Seeing his foe is nearly down, Tindlecrick steps forwards and lashes out at Jorvik with all he has.
After taking a savage clawing to his throat, Jorvik passes out from blood loss. A growing patch of red stains the snow beneath his body.
Faernip thrashes around on the ground briefly trying to put the flames out. The effort causes him to lose consciousness... but not before he extinguishes himself. The quickling's body flickers and will soon become invisible .
Seeing the cleansing flames of Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight's bomb scorch the creature's body 15 feet beneath her, Aoife watches with slight sense of enjoyment. Realizing she still has not helped her friends at all in this fight, she turns away from the pleasing sight of its crumpled body, running along the edge of the roof with all the speed she can muster. At her feet, the deep-formed drifts and angled surface of the roof slows her progress, but she manages to continue on.
At the far edge, down the opposite side of the slanted roof, she can make out the fallen form of Jorvik and the remaining standing foe. Aoife can only hope she can get to the creature in time to slay it and help keep Jorvik safe.
The inspiring words of Jorvik still ringing in his ears, Ishbaad's eyes turn red at the sight of his friend falling facedown into the snow.
No more words, just simple, righteous wrath as he brings his cold iron longsword around again hoping his strength is enough to cut the wooden fey in half.
for
Only a grunt emerges from the northman as the fey claws into him. He falls to the snow, warm blood meting the cold white snow forming a pink soup around him.
Ishbaad steps in and swiftly beheads the twigjack . The quickling slowly recovers consciousness, but is tackled to the ground and tied up before he can speed up. He sulks invisibly in his bindings.
"Thank you, thank you!" cries Garen in a sing-song voice, "They were monsters. Ye gods, and they said they were doing it for me. They said my mother had to pay for what she'd done... and the whole village too. Thank you!"
With the twigjack dead, Ishbaad drops his sword in order to more quickly begin the motions of his prayer to Iomedae to stop Jorvik's bleeding.
He takes one of the wands and steps closer to his friend, kneeling in the crimson snow.
"Wake up my friend. It is not yet time for you to leave us."
Ishbaad stands back up to his full height, and offers his hand to the snowcaster elf, when he is ready to stand again.
"I've had enough lies for today. Pray you are not adding to the list. Let us go find your mother, and you can tell us your tale with her present. Then we will decide how truthful you have been. If you are smart, you will not hide anything, or leave anything out, or else we will simply leave you and the whole village to your fate." Ishbaad emphasizes his last point by roughly nudging the bound quickling forward, forcing it to take a few steps and reveal its fuzzy self for a few moments.
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Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight moves up to the helpless quickling, pulling his Morningstar. "Aoife, these are evil and tricksy. The must be killed or they will come back to hurt us, or these people "
With that, he swings the weapon. It is not cold iron, unfortunately.
Pushing himself off the bloodied snow, Jorvik grabs Ishbaad's hand. Getting pulled to his feet, the blood still trickling from his many grievous wounds, Jorvik thankfully accepts the oread's healing.
Once again you need to be saved by these southerners.
"Thank you all. I fear these creatures were too fast for me. They cut my armor like a paper sack. I will do better next time. I will make you proud. What have I missed in my absence? Oh, the faun. Come faun, my life was almost forfeit for your sake. What say you?"
Jorvik gives the faun a menacing stare.
For a while Aoife stands poised above the others, perched atop the roof and peering over the edge intently with the piercing eyes of a predatory bird. She remains unmoving, letting the magics modifying her body run their course until each withers away and is no more. When at last she feels complex magics of Kuragin's invisibility spell degrading, she turns and makes her way for the skylight. She is beyond pleased that Jorvik is alright, she did not know what she would have done if he had truly fallen, nor did she want to think of that awful thought now.
After making her way, clambering down through the rafters and horse stalls, the child wearing the enormous, titan-sized gauntlets steps from inside the barn to join the others in the drifts of snow. "I am happy we were here and could help you," Aoife says to the faun but is not yet able to muster a smile or warm gaze so close on the back of almost losing Jorvik, her elder brother. "After we check on your mother, perhaps you could tell us your tale?"
She pauses for a moment longer to stare toward Ishbaad and processes his harsh words toward the faun. She knows in this instant the man before her is Ishbad the Chosen, and not simply the kind and caring Uncle Ishy she was truly fond of, and though there were similarities between these two halves of the same person, their differences were also plentiful and profound. "He will tell us what he knows, Uncle Ishy. He has been through a lot and wants to see his mother now, to be sure she is alright. Then he will tell his tale..."
Turning now to Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight, Aoife's face now shows a sad countenance. "I cannot accept that we must outright slay this last creature," she begins, pointing to the bound and secured quickling. "He should be judged by whatever laws of the north there are, or by the family of the fallen man. Our number of friends remains the unchanged... we have not lost our precious Jorvik this day." Aoife does now turn to her older brother and manages a smile. "I don't think it is for us to decide this creature's fate, vengeance is not needed for us this day for we have triumphed and all of our number survived."
"This faun, the widowed wife, and nearly orphaned children should decide what becomes of this pitiful creature," Aoife adds.
"H-h-hide something?" Garen quakes, "Never! I just want to see m-m-mom again. I'm not like these others... and you nearly died for me - mister....? - well, I am truly sorry to hear that." The faun starts sobbing, tears streaming down his face too fast for even the Irriseni winter to crystalize them before they leave his chin.
"Oh, and thank you," he remembers his manners eventually, "Thank all of you for rescuing me. I thought they were my friends... they said they were my friends."
Ishbaad emphasizes his last point by roughly nudging the bound quickling forward, forcing it to take a few steps and reveal its fuzzy self for a few moments.
The moment the invisibly bound quickling has his own feet under him, he slips his legs free of the hobbling, leaving his arms bound, and speeds off into the distance. As he becomes visible again the companions note that the burnt flesh Faernip had earlier has all but healed.
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The Quickling gives himself away, confident that his speed can save him. Ishbaad doors not hesitate to dole out northern justice and jabs his sword forward, slowing the thing enough to take a second swing at it.
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Ishbaad manages to slice the quickling in two with his second stroke, leaving a bloody smear on the ground.
"Probably for the best..." mutters Garen, "He could only have brought more evil to Ellsprin."
The group notice Borvald's body is gone from the front step when they near the house. Maret must have moved it so her children didn't have to stare at their dead father. Maret rushes out of the house when the companions approach. She and Garen stare at each other for a very long time. As one, they rush forwards and embrace.
"Never leave me again," insists Maret, hugging her son tight.
"I won't, I won't," Garen promises.
The tearful reunion continues for many minutes before Maret turns to the companions.
"Thank you, thank you so much," she smiles and invites everyone inside her humble home, "Now, what brings you heroes to Ellsprin at such a fortuitous and how can I ever repay you?"
Ishbaad looks to Aoife, hiding the sadness in his eyes.
This is the innocence you knew she would lose. This is the part that will feel foreign to her. Iomedae please don't let it break her, or change who she is.
"I am sorry Aoife. I am failing in my efforts to teach you. I realize this is hard to understand, because it took me a while to come around as well. This is the justice of the north. This is a place where evil little creatures like this are encouraged by the law to kill and destroy, just as they did here. What it seems I have failed to help you understand is that the law of this land would not only exhonorate the quicklings for killing this man, but would more likely execute the rest of the family for fighting back. Or, would execute them because we fought back for them. In this land, people like us are dogs. Animals. A thousand humans are not worth the life of a fey, or a Jadwiga in this land, to their view."
Ishbaad stops, avoiding eye contact with Kuragin. He is unsure what to say next, and so simply stops speaking, and follows the group towards the house.
He watches the reunion with caution, and allows others in his group to take the lead.
"Yes, this was justice of the North," Kuragin confirms. He doesn't even pay particular attention to the rest of Ishbaad's speech and doesn't notice anything special in it. The order of things in the north is so natural to the witch, he just understands Ishbaad stating the obvious truth.
The Jadwiga uses one of the healing wand on himself, and contemplates on the outcome of the battle. Jorvik almost fell to the combined assault of the two fey, but otherwise they did good. The child even rescued the faun from the burning building. "Good work, team! " Kuragin has to admit openly. "They were formidable enemy. But they were no match for us. Now, let's take the faun back to her mother. You can talk to it on the way."
Ishbaad takes a deep breath, brushing away the recent moments from his mind. They all survived, and none of the enemies did. It was in the past, and it was time to focus again on getting to whitethrone.
Ishbaad approaches Onyx, the wild, yet now obedient Megalocerous who is calmly chewing the bark from a nearby tree. He brushes his dark fur, picking a few burrs out near his neck and chin.
"You are welcome Maret. We are simply passing through to Whitethrone. Perhaps as a way of repayment, you can help us restock our provisions. This one," Ishbaad pats Onyx on his rump with his left hand while he scratches his ear with his right, "Eats as much as all of us combined."
"It was our pleasure to help, ma'am," the child's voice calls honestly as she appears from behind Ishbaad's form. "I'm sorry for your loss... if we had gotten here sooner..." Aoife's words trail off as she thinks about what might have happened had their band arrived even a few minutes sooner than they had, and if they could have saved the poor man from death. She thinks about how the lives of this family might have been changed forever and how long these events would echo through this family's bloodline for generations to come.
"I hope your children are alright... I mean... I hope they're... safe," the child speaks and corrects her words halfway through speaking them. She knows, of course this woman's children are not 'alright', their father was just slain before their eyes. The best that can be hoped for is that the children are are physically without injury. Aoife cannot help but think it will be years, perhaps more than their lifetimes to overcome the events which transpired around them today.
"Is there anything else we can do to help you?" Aoife asks, turning with a serious look to the other companions, essentially casting a determined look that begs them to challenge her offer aid to the woman.
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Saddened by the families loss, Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight takes some time to rummage, and puts together a few dolls for the children. He tries hard to not use sharp bits of metal and wire in the dolls, since he has learned that Longshanks children don't expect dolls that bite. He works hard on them, but quickly... His nimble fingers and mind working together as one.
When they are done, he brings them to the children. "These dolls represent the heroes that rescued you all. This little one with the big ears, he wanna be big hero, but he just little goblin with hands that work faster than brain. These heroes will protect you from the band things. This hero is the best... " he says, pointing at one dressed in what looks like the kids' father's clothes, "He big daddy. He strongest of all heroes, and keep bad spirits from little kids."
Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight stands there, with the little dolls, hoping to see a positive reaction.
"...Perhaps as a way of repayment, you can help us restock our provisions...."
"Provisions? Oh, yes," Maret nods eagerly, "We have plenty of winteryew nuts saved up, and Garen was always a good forager, so we can get more." Ishbaad can't be certain, but it seems Onyx turns his nose up at the thought of more winteryew nuts.
"Is there anything else we can do to help you?"
"More? Well, aren't you sweet," Maret smiles at Aoife, "No, nothing more. Would you like a boiled treat?" The expressions on the faces of Maret's children suggest that Aoife perhaps would not enjoy the flavor of such a treat.
"These dolls represent the heroes that rescued you all. This little one with the big ears, he wanna be big hero, but he just little goblin with hands that work faster than brain. These heroes will protect you from the band things. This hero is the best... " he says, pointing at one dressed in what looks like the kids' father's clothes, "He big daddy. He strongest of all heroes, and keep bad spirits from little kids."
The kids are scared stiff of accepting something from a snow goblin, but Maret nods and they accept the toys with a muttered "Thank you."
Nadya later explains to Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight that non-humans are treated with more respect than the Ulfens who live here, and even more so than the traders who travel to Whitethrone. Unlike Nadya's boys, living this close to the capital would expose these kids to the cruelty of Whitethrone's class system: Jadwiga, fey, non-humans, traders then Ulfen.
* * *
The companions spend the night at Maret's house. After a tearful burial for Nadya and Maret, Nadya and Maret soon become fast friends. Maret offers to look after Orm and Mjoli while Nadya completes her business in Whitethrone and Nadya gratefully accepts. Maret agrees also to leave Coramus here, and Nadya suggests that some of his consumables and less precious gear might be sold to help maintain his upkeep.
On the morrow, the group strides off for Whitethrone. It takes almost two days. Only one hurdle stood upon the road: a group of freshwater merrows who had taken it upon themselves to charge tolls to cross a bridge. They had made a mistake when they tried to tax Kuragin and Jorvik, however, as both Jadwiga were familiar enough with the law to realise that this was nothing more than banditry. A small show of strength and a promise to report these activities had the trolls jumping back into the water and abandoning their 'post'.
Nadya leads the group to the fishcamps, the place from which Whitethrone's primary fishing industry is based. Arctic gulls fill the overcast sky with their cries over this small shantytown. Ramshackle huts are erected on the cold ground, hard packed and barren from generations of foot traffic. Dories and other small fishing boats are moored to dilapidated piers nearby or pulled ashore on the gray pebbled beach of Glacier Lake. The pervasive smell of fish is everywhere, sometimes fresh, but all too often with the underlying stench of centuries of decay.
Non-Jadwiga guards, who look little better than thugs, wander through the camps harassing citizens. These "Fishcamp Guards" have been recruited by Whitethrone to enforce the law, and they have taken this as equivalent to being elevated above their fellows. In actual fact, the Whitethrone Guards simply cannot stand the smell of so much fish.
"Here we are," says Nadya, indicating a well maintained but modest hut close to the main market, "Uncle Ringeirr's house!"
She indicates that the heroes should wait outside as she enters the hut without knocking. Muffled voices can be heard within, and it is many minutes before Nadya emerges once more to usher the group inside.
A man with a dour face and a permanently snow-burnt face sits inside the hut, glowering at the five new arrivals. He reserves a particularly piercing stare for Kuragin and Jorvik. "My name is Ringeirr Malenkov," he begins "Nadya tells me much about you, but I want to hear it from you myself. Who are you, and what brings you to Whitethrone? What do you hope to achieve there?"
As he waits for replies, his gaze falls upon Aoife and his eyes widen for but a moment.
Civilization, at last. Or, the outskirts of it at least...
Kuragin's steps seem to lighten as the group approaches Whitethrone. The days in the wilderness should be at end for now, and the comforts of the city await. Except... they need to get the outlanders inside unnoticed. But still, the brief respite from their hiking gives the witch enough joy to forget the possible dangers that might be waiting for them behind the city walls.
Following closely behind Nadya to the fishcamps, Kuragin soon notices he is very much an alien here as are his companions. No Jadwiga here, and for the time being perhaps it for the best. But he cannot deny the small pleasure he gets from the way the local Ulfen are looking at him - very similar to the effect his bloodline drew from the trolls by the river. Sometimes, it is very good to be one of the privileged..
"Malenkov," the Jadwiga gives a small nod to the smuggler as he steps into the man's house. While it is very must against his whole upbringing and nature to be polite for the man, at least he doesn't have any typical Jadwigan scorn in his voice. "I am Kuragin. Me and my associates are looking for a something and a someone we believe to be found within the city walls. As you can see, some of us do not quite have the local look on our faces. And therefore we suspect difficulties getting in through the main gates. Your nevestka," he points to Nadya, "mentioned you have ways getting inside the city, unnoticed. And so we come to you, asking for your assistance."
The child watches the man with the snow-burnt face, knowing he has been the target and aim of their wanderings through the snow-clad north for so long now that Aoife almost felt this moment would never come. Not sure what she was expecting when she and her companions finally arrived, and now staring this moment square in the face, Aoife looked at the man while he seemed to look intently back at her. It had been so long traveling and waiting for this very instant in time, now that it had finally arrived, she was at a loss for words. Somehow in all the time spent along their journey, the child had not thought to ask if this Ringeirr Malenkov could be trusted implicitly, and now that she was standing before the man, she was unsure if speaking their plans and revealing the utter importance of their task was wise.
Stepping cautiously to the side, the child sidles up to Nadya, tugging on the woman's leg slightly in an unspoken request for the woman to crouch beside Aoife. As Nadya leans down, the youth pressed her face tenderly and ever close to the woman's ear.
"Can he be trusted with all of our... secrets?" the child asks, too naive to know that the act of whispering to Nadya plainly betrayed her question to the stranger, even if her words could not be heard.
"I am sure that by now you can see our prowess, damned fey notwithstanding, so I wish to know more about these riders you speak of. How did you come by this information and what do you purpose to do about them once we part company, which should be soon in my estimation?"
Jorvik turns to Nadya, "You know much more than I do of child rearing." he chuckles as he states the obvious. "Yet you think it wise to leave your children with .... her? She seems an unfit mother in my estimation. Both Ishbaad and I almost lost our lives 'rescuing' her child, and her missteps have cost her husband his life. I pray Desna you return safely to Orm and Mjoli."
So we have traded the sweet smell of pine for the foul stench of fish guts and unwashed people.
Jorvik begins to tell a brief version of their story when he hears Kuragin talking.
Once finished, Jorvik's eyes are was wide as saucers. I don't remember Kuragin ever asking before. This journey has really changed us.
"I am sure that by now you can see our prowess, damned fey notwithstanding, so I wish to know more about these riders you speak of. How did you come by this information and what do you purpose to do about them once we part company, which should be soon in my estimation?"
"We don't know much, really," Taavi admits, "It came directly from Whitethrone, orders from Queen Elvanna herself. We have descriptions of them and were told to slay them on sight. We were also told that it was our highest priority, even over collection of taxes and ensuring the peace in the local villages... but please don't tell anyone I told you that!"
Nadya nods to Aoife. "He can be trusted with it all," she says.
"Yes, Kuragin, I know you want to get into the city," says Ringeirr simply, speaking to Kuragin in a voice devoid of fear or the usual respect shown by the peasantry to the Jadwiga, "And I can help you. But I wish to know why and I want to know who you are. Nadya has told me much already, but there is value in hearing it from your own mouths."
"Your enthusiasm does you credit," replies Ringeirr, "Unfortunately, you are hiding a deeper truth. You five will not free Irrisen of tyranny. What do you hope to achieve in Whitethrone."
The man is obstinate, and refuses to listen to any shallow explanations for the expedition to the capital of the Land of Witches. He wants to know all. The companions assembled get the feeling that Nadya might have revealed more to him than they wanted her to.
Ringeirr looks again to Aoife, and Ishbaad sees a flash of pity in his eyes.
"Go on," Nadya begs, "You can trust him. I promise."
"Thank you Nadya," Ringeirr adds, "Perhaps it would help if you started at the beginning. This is only one step along the way of your journey - perhaps nearing the final step - but how did your journey begin? Then try telling me why two Jadwiga, a snow goblin and two southrons want so badly to get into Whitethrone of all places."
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Ishbaad feels a flood of... something... spread through his body as his blood pressure shifts momentarily upon Ringeirr's reaction.
I will ask him, but not yet. he looks around to see if anyone else saw what he did.
"I pray the security of this hut is good, because prying ears is not something we need right now. Our tasks before us seem to have precious little chance to succeed at the rate we have been going, but as of yet we have kept our purposes to a minimum number of extra ears." Ishbaad takes a deep breath, staring at Ringeirr as if trying to find out what the man's story is by simply boring a hole through him with his eyes.
"Queen Elvanna has put a price on the heads of Baba Yaga's black riders, I am sure you have heard. Well we know that they are all dead. They have, however, transferred their power and purpose to us. Perhaps I should start from the beginning." Ishbaad sits down, rubbing his hands together.
With the help of the others, Ishbaad tells of Heldren, of Aoife's father and their original purpose that set them on the road to begin with. He speaks of the winter portal, and how they have discovered so many others like it across Golarion, and of what they have discovered of Queen Elvanna's treachery in keeping Baba Yaga sealed. He then tells of their encounter with the Black Rider, and their oaths to see his will fulfilled. It ends up being a collaborative story, with each member of the unlikely party interjecting their portions as they see fit. Finally, he tells the story of meeting Nadya, and freeing her hometown from the grip of the wicked Baroness, who happens to be in Whitethrone currently.
"Our part for the task given to us by the black riders will end when we have freed Baba Yaga from whatever prison the Queen has put her in. We are unsure exactly where to start, or where to go, other than that we have the keys to her dancing hut. For that, we know we must enter Whitethrone."
"So you see, Aoife and I came here in search of her Father, Tighearnán, and have been swept up in the innermost schemes of this madness. Our only hope has been that somehow, knowing he was investigating the same thing as us, that we might cross paths with him." Ishbaad pauses for a moment, looking at Aoife, then back to Ringeirr, not sure if he is ready to expose her to this information yet.
"I can see plainly that you recognize Aoife, and therefore have some knowledge of who she is. I hope, for both our sakes, it is because of her Father. We have much to discuss, but if you would please, start with how you know who this child is." Ishbaad leans back in his sturdy seat, waiting anxiously for an answer.
Ishbaad speaks a little lower, both for dramatic effect and for constant paranoia of people listening outside the walls of the home. "We have, in effect, become the new black riders. Should Elvanna and her forces figure it out, we will be the new targets of her wrath and focus."
Upon hearing her guardian's words, Aoife's eye widen with a start, and she turns quickly from Ishbaad to Ringeirr. Her gaze holds a wild, hungry sort of stare that is both pleading and demanding as it falls upon the man.
She steps forward, a few awkward paces toward Ringeirr, as her voice cracks while forming the simple question. "You... know... me...?" there is a latent eagerness underlying her words, but still she remains hesitant and skeptical, as if allowing herself to get her hopes up for naught would be too crushing.
"You know my father?" she stumbles over the question. Her eyes squint as she tries to recall if she should know this man before her. "Tighearnán... you know him?"
Even trying to keep from letting the excitement and flourishing possibilities from getting out of control, her little heart is set to fluttering, beating thunderously in her chest.
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"Thank you Ishbaad - and all of you - for telling me plainly why you are here and the peril that awaits you," he stares intently at all in the room but Aoife, "And anyone who helps you. There is nothing that bands a group together better than mutually assured destruction - at least not in Irrisen.
"So, let me impart upon you my tale. Some years ago, I had a wife and son," the sadness on his face allows all to know their fate before Ringeirr has to say it, "In this harsh land, you have little that you love and even less that is worthy of it. When I tell you that they were the world to me, I do not want you to think in hyperbolae: they were the world to me." He pauses to regain his composure and pour some tea for his guests.
"They died at the hands of the Jadwiga. Those b*~&~es killed my family and tore my soul apart. It was not long after that when I joined an organization known as the Heralds of Summer's Return."
Nadya's eyes go wide with surprise. Evidently, this information is very new to her. She looks doubtfully at Kuragin, a hint of fear in her eyes. Perhaps she worries about what this pure blooded noble of Irrisen might make of such information.
"The Heralds of Summer's Return were born from the embers of a failed rebellion. The martyrs of that day have not been forgotten and we have strived ever since to make the lives of all Ulfen living here better whenever we can... however we can. It is a very careful and painstaking process, and we make only a very little headway each year. If we are ever discovered... well, for those who don't know," Ringeirr looks in particular to Jorvik and Kuragin, "There is much pain before death is allowed to embrace a captured member of our organization."
Ringeirr downs his tea and pours another. "So... now you can ruin me just as I can ruin you," he says plainly, "Let us not talk any more about mistrust. I will help you into Whitethrone... but you may not need exactly the kind of help that I have to offer. I know a very good forger, but you two will hopefully have kept your papers..."
"You know my father?" she stumbles over the question. Her eyes squint as she tries to recall if she should know this man before her. "Tighearnán... you know him?"
Ringeirr opens his mouth in shock and disbelief. He claps his hand over his mouth almost straight away and slowly shakes his head. Tears form unbidden at the corners of his eyes.
"Oh, you poor, poor child," he reaches out for Aoife, "You should not have to learn it this way. Your father, Tighearnán, he was here and... I am so sorry to say... well, I'm afraid he's dead."