Jorvik listens to the old crone's words. "A cat you say? Is it safe to assume that there is only one cat in the Hut. I had just always heard that older people, women especially, usually tended to have multiple cats. And you do not age. And live in a magical hut. So there is that."
Weary. I need rest. Too much fighting, too much emotion.
"Ishbaad, you look resplendent in your armor. Truly a sight to behold. Let us hope we don't all need to be so heavily armored as you to catch a cat.
"Before we begin, did we find anything useful on Nazhena or the First Worlders that would aid us? And where did Auraenos and his companions go?
"Well, when you are all ready, I for one would like to start in the library. Knowledge is power. To know what we face, what we can do before we secure the cat would allow us to concentrate on it and it alone when we have it."
Ishbaad stifles a chuckle at the old cat lady reference, despite the crone looking like some strange bird and animal amalgamation.
"Library is good enough for me to start. The sooner we get this hut out of whitethrone though, the better in my opinion."
Turning back to the strange creature as she helps finish latch on his star metal armor, Ishbaad conveys his gratitude. "Thank you, I feel honored to have been outfitted by one who helped the Black Rider. Ah..." he pauses momentarily, "Do you mind if I ask what you are? Aside from a creation by Baba Yaga, your physiology has me curious."
"Were you not listening, master goblin?" Zorka sighs, "The cat is in the attic, locked away by Queen Elvanna and with a guardian placed there to protect against those who would free it. The guardian is beyond my art to defeat, but perhaps those who have already thwarted Irrisen's Queen will manage to beat a simple bone golem. So strange that you face off in a pitched and protracted battle against one of Elvanna's most trusted witches, the Baroness who has plagued you and your friends from Waldsby - yes, I saw and heard your fight - but your final battle is against a mindless construct protecting a cat. How anticlimactic that must feel for you.
"As for the Hut," she continues with a cluck, "It is always as big as it needs to be, and it is simultaneously always as big as it is. Are you so sure that you are as big as you think you are? Who is to say what has changed upon your entry here, you or the Hut? Heh. Probably the Hut, but do not be so quick to decide."
Zorka clucks again as Jorvik makes his assertions about crazy cat ladies. "I have lived a long time by your reckoning, it is true," the woman - if so she may be called - tucks her beak to her breast and appears to bite down on some unseen parasite before continuing, "But I am as young as the day Baba Yaga's imagination birthed me. I shall be just as young when you are nothing but dust. Aeons from today, when I look back upon this era of my life, I will perhaps think of myself as younger still."
When she is through with philosophizing, Zorka quietly exits to the map room.
The companions eventually make themselves ready and step through the secret door to the library beyond. The room smells of dust and old paper and far of scents unrecognizable to the companions. Towering wooden bookshelves seemingly hewn from a single tree stand row upon row like gnarled soldiers amidst a chaos of tables and partially read books. Ink, quills, parchment and various other writing materials are strewn about the place. The heat from the fire in the hearth emanates unnaturally far into the rest of the library. Throughout their time here the companions do not see the wood that fuels the flames diminish, though its appearance does shift and change with each viewing.
Standing out to the companions are a pair of strange spectacles that bear alien runes about their frame. Holding them up for further inspection, Kuragin notes that any writing viewed through the lenses transforms to his native tongue, Skald.
The second, and last, item that is of any significance to the companions is a large tome that contains a painting of the library's layout on its central spread. The painting is incredibly detailed, and surprisingly includes paintings of the companions themselves! They are painted as stationary in the middle of the room viewing this very book. As they move, the image does not animate... but when they look away and then return to viewing it, their positions have indeed been updated. The writing is indecipherable scrawl, until Kuragin views it with the spectacles he found earlier. He discovers that the other pages of the tome seem to contain an index of the library's contents. It is the strangest and yet most accurate index the male witch has ever seen. The first few entries he scans are as follows:
- Musings on Functional Mutism - Row A, Shelf 3, 5 books from the left.
- The Whispering from Ya-Thul Shubburath - Row F, Shelf 10, 120 books from the left, improperly replaced upon the shelf with its spine facing inwards.
- Koshchey the Deathless: Methods of His Expulsion - Left partially open, second table on the right.
- Two Thousand and Ninety Three Uses for Phoenix Feathers - On the floor, just next to your feet.
The rest of the index is written in much the same fashion. One thing is clear to the companions, however, it would take days - maybe weeks, or months - to fully appreciate the library's contents. Nothing here would seem to help them in their quest for the cat.
Ishbaad stares at the map, confused at first, but once he catches on, he looks with curiosity. Again and again he tries to see the map move, but inevitably he blinks or gets distracted, and by the time he sets eyes on it again it has already changed.
Curious again, he bends over and picks up the book titled, Two Thousand and Ninety Three Uses for Phoenix Feathers and flips through the pages, giving a few random ones a cursory glance. He then looks back at the ledger to see what it says about the book's location.
Who in this house would put a book back the wrong way? Strange...
Ishbaad wanders over to Row F, looking up to where shelf 10 is, then slides his eyes along the shelf until he sees the book placed in backwards. He pulls it out, careful to mark the correct place that it should return, then slides it back in with the spine facing out correctly.
His curiosity almost overwhelming, he shuffles back to the ledger to see what it says...
Suddenly realizing that Aoife had taken the journal back before he had taken the time to look through it, he begins scanning the ledger to see if somehow, someway, there was a copy in this vast library.
Stranger things have happened. I mean, I thought that journal didn't even exist to begin with...
"Most strange place is this library, and also the most fascinating. I wonder if there are any limits to the knowledge contained within these shelves?" Kuragin tries on the spectacles and takes them off, and puts them back on. He barely remembers to breathe in this scholastic exaltation.
"Perhaps there would be books about the Hut itself! But ... I suppose it can wait. We should make the Hut move, so any Elvanna's remaining lackeys do not follow us here. So I think we should confront this bone golem, and get the cat. "
But before his is ready to go, curiosity takes hold of him, and Kuragin quickly scans the open book mentioned in the index - Koshchey the Deathless
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- The Whispering from Ya-Thul Shubburath - Row F, Shelf 10, 120 books from the left. Thank you for putting it back properly.
- Two Thousand and Ninety Three Uses for Phoenix Feathers - Held by Ishbaad the Chosen, who is located at the center of the Great Library of Baba Yaga.
- Tighearnán Limerick's Second Journal - Held by Aoife Limerick, who is located out of bounds.
- The Dancing Hut of Baba Yaga: History and Creation - Row A, Shelf 1, first book on the left.
- The Dancing Hut of Baba Yaga: Field Operation Manual - Row A, Shelf 1, second book from the left.
- Koshchey the Deathless: Methods of His Expulsion - Held by Kuragin Kseniya, distant descendant of Baba Yaga, standing adjacent to the second table on the right.
Koshchey the Deathless: Methods of His Expulsion
Whereas most are given to believe that Koshchey is indeed immortal, due to his persistence throughout Russian history, this is in fact only partially correct. His body bears not the semblance of a normal soul, but should one locate said soul, it would then be possible to expel him from this plane of existence and trap him in another...
Kuragin continues to read for a time, but eventually tires of reading about postulations on how to expel a mythical figure who is derived from a the lore of a civilization he has never even heard of... at least, he tires of it while there are more pressing matters to attend to.
Ishbaad's mind whirls with the excitement and the revelation, step by step as he reads through the ledger.
You're welcome. Who... or whatever you are.
Very clever, it seems to update automatically like the map.
Oh...
His heart nearly stops once he realizes the implications of the entry of Tighearnan Limerick's Second Journal.
So this library does not contain copies, but it knows where books are!
"What does Out of Bounds mean?!" Ishbaad cries out suddenly, worry beginning to gnaw at his mind. It doesn't occur to him for several moments that there is no one here to answer.
"She isn't in here... Aoife. She wasn't in the forest, but we watched her go in. The ledger here..." Ishbaad points to the entry, hoping someone else will offer an explanation that makes sense.
Where could she have gone? Maybe the boundary is just the library...
The four heroes eventually take their leave of the library - no doubt planning to return at their earliest convenience - and resume pursuit of the imprisoned pussy. The ladder leading up to the attic is rickety, and Ishbaad worries several times that his armored bulk will be the end of whichever rung he then occupies. All is well, however, and the ladder holds while the companions scale up to the attic.
The floorboards here all creak as the four adventurers step upon it. Sunlight streams in through the nearby window, through which may be seen a gathering crowd. The triangular silhouettes above and below the window tell the viewers that this particular window must look out from the 'beak' of the Dancing Hut itself.
At the far end of the room, a creature shaped from bone into a roughly humanoid form begins to lumber towards them. It seems not so much skeletal, but as though a complete and animate suit of bone armor. While numerous barrels, boxes, and crates are arrayed around the room’s walls, the only thing of consequence behind the bone golem seems to be locked chest, covered in ornate runes and carvings and buckled by aged brass.
Ishbaad remembers the title a book that he saw on the shelf in Baba Yaga's Cauldron Room that disturbed him at the time, mostly because he did not think that 'curing' was used in the restorative sense (confirmed by the book's location next to the sack of salt):
So much information. Time, ever my enemy. Mayhaps this will be the end of my adventuring days, enjoying reading all the books of the library.
Shaken from his daydream by the movement of the others, Jorvik nods and rises from the overstuffed comfy chair he had been occupying a moment before.
He shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot as Ishbaad tries to bend his poleyn enough to give his leg an angle in which he can ascend the ladder.
Seeing the man struggling a bit, Jorvik bends his knees with his back turned towards the large oread. He cups his hands below the man's mailed buttock and give a slight heave. With the small acceleration, Ishbaad is able to use the momentum to move from rung to rung.
Following closely behind the man, Jorvik's hammer peers out from behind one shoulder, while the tips of Hearseeker rise from the other shoulder. He is constantly shifting to make sure it doesn't get caught in his climbing.
Emerging in the attic, he sees the bone monstrosity amble towards them. Drawing Frostreaver, feeling the familiar metal and suple leather of the grip in his hands, he smiles. No chasing, no stumbling through ice storms and hail. Just a straight up fight.
"Come brothers, it is time to end this farce. Let the power of the north, the black riders, guide your hands as we shatter bone, crack skulls, and break legs. The time is at hand."
His companions move towards the golem as the ringing works of Jorvik's speech infuse their hands with added power.
Circling counter clock wise, Jorvik readies his swing for when the creature is distracted by Ishbaad.
Seeing an opening, he swings Frostreaver and is pleased with the crunch of bone under its large metal head.
"Yes!" Ishbaad cries, reveling in the adrenaline of the chant and the fight. He knows that the hammer on his back would be better suited for this foe, but it would be sanctus custos that would take part in laying this guardian low.
With the Bloodspeaker's chant ringing in his ears he takes the first swing, closing uncomfortably close to the bone golem. His swing is high, intentionally so. The golem ducks, right into frostreaver's deadly arc.
Splinters of bone fly across the room in an unholy shower. The champions of Baba Yaga trade blows for a mercifully short time before the cat guardian is no more.
-Posted with Wayfinder
As the last chunk of bone and dried marrow hits the floor of Baba Yaga's Dancing Hut's attic, the companions hear the growing noise of the crowd outside. More and more people are gathering to witness the gruesome remains of Baroness Nazhena Vasilliovna and the now freed Dancing Hut that she once guarded. The four must put it out of their mind for now, though, as they have more pressing matters requiring attention.
With a sack of onions propped up against it, the strange chest sits innocuously in the corner of the room. Chains and magnificent locks bind it but it does not take long for Sanctus Custos and Frostreaver to hack through them like they did the golem. Within the wooden box is a strange, hairless cat. Its bones jut out at odd angles and it gets to its feet in a jarring fashion - as though it had completely forgotten how to move and was relearning as it went.
Gradually, the cat's face becomes humanoid. It takes on a beard and gains the wizened features of an old wizard... an old, familiar wizard...
The clear blue eyes of friend Coramus Thallon peer out at them and the strange cat cocks its human head to the side. "Well, thank you very much for freeing me," its says, using Coramus's voice but none of his regular speech patterns, "I take it you did not go to such trouble for no reason. What is it you need from me?"
Ishbaad swallows hard, realizing the correlation he has discovered.
I know that book isn't in the hut. Dammit... His pulse quickens until he realizes that Aoife must still be alive, else the ledger likely would have referred to that, as detailed as it seems to be.
True or not, that is what I will go with for now...
Ishbaad is stopped in his tracks as he takes in the sight of their old friend, Coramus. He looks furtively over to the goblin, curious and simultaneously worried about how he will react.
"It cannot be... A remarkable creature you are, but surely you must be taking a form familiar to us, from our memories?" he half asks, half declares for fear of another alternative.
Thank the gods it isn't Aoife... Or Tighearnán... I'm not sure how to handle that...
"It can as me anything it likes, solve any problem it has," groans the cat, rolling its borrowed eyes, "And it chooses to ask me something so obvious? Yes, I am taking the form of a trusted friend from your memories, a wizened one that you would listen to. Though, apparently, you prefer to ask him things that do not help your cause at all."
The cat yawns and licks itself - an act strange both for the fact that it has no hair to clean, and also because it bears Coramus's face.
It walks around the room, taking in the sights both inside and outside the hut. The cat seems to maintain its awkward, limping gait. It seems as though, perhaps, several of its bones have ben dislocated.
"You have defeated one of Queen Elvanna's brood, it would seem," the cat nods with a haughty sense of mild approval, "That in itself is a worthy deed, but you have also freed the Hut. The only reason to do that is to also free my mistress, Baba Yaga. The only way to have done that would be with some of Baba Yaga's power, and since she was captured the only creatures able to bestow upon another a portion of her power would be... her Riders. I'll assume her Dark Midnight was the one who did so, as he was the most capable of the lot.
"Hmmm..." the cat strokes its bearded chin with an emaciated and flaccid-skinned paw, "You will no doubt then also have the Keys to the Hut that Baba Yaga gave him. Ha! The answer is obvious then: you must use those two keys."
The cat looks around at the slightly bewildered companions. "Oh, I see..." it adds condescendingly, "You do not realize that the other keys are deactivated yet. Well, Elvanna could not allow me or Zorka to pilot the Hut back to our mistress - or away from the Market Square where she chained it - and so before she boxed me up, she deactivated all of the keys in the Dancing Hut. Now, however, two keys have been returned - unless you managed to lose them? - and those two keys will get us on the trail to Baba Yaga!
"Wherever they take us, it will likely be somewhere Baba Yaga has hidden more keys... and they will be guarded against just anyone coming to claim them. Only ones worthy of Her will be able to find and retrieve them. I hope that is you," the cat looks around doubtfully, "Because if not, we're likely to get stuck wherever those two keys set us down!"
With that, the cat with the face of a friend tries an ungainly saunter toward the attic ladder.
Just before the cat leaves the attic, Ishbaad gazes out the window one more time. Perhaps looking to see Greta, perhaps to see the growing crowd, or perhaps simply staring off toward nothing in particular. Suddenly, he gets a flash of a cottage in a rural setting. A group - a family of three - stands at the edge of a great forest that seems to be suddenly becoming wintry. The transformation reminds Ishbaad of the Border Wood outside Heldren where they found the Winter Portal that took them to Irrisen in the first place.
Then, with remarkable clarity, Ishbaad realizes that he recognizes the family: Aoife, Tighearnán and Nadezhda. All three, standing there, gazing out over the wintry forest and... and happy.
Before his eyes, the tableau changes slightly as the family returns to the cottage. Nadezhda waves off the other two as she seems to have some chores to complete. As ever, the winter chill didn't seem to bother her as much as it does the others, and she heads off to the barn. Then again, perhaps something else was warming her blood. Perhaps the thought of...
... Ishbaad remembers.
Ishbaad keeps his face impassive as the cat-in-Coramus’-clothing chides him for the obvious question. He does not get a chance to feel relieved that it is simply a trick of the mind and illusion magic before the sound of the cat’s voice fades, and becomes muffled, like cotton has filled his ears.
The smell of the storeroom trickles into his nose, igniting senses and memories. The smell of hay in the cool, dry air causes him to close his eyes for a moment, so heavy do his eyelids feel suddenly.
No, not cotton in his ears, it is flecks of hay and dust. Of course the room smells of hay, he is standing behind a neat stack of it, piled and stored for the various animals at the Limerick homestead. His heart is racing. He is in the corner of a somewhat newly constructed barn. Light reflects off of the snow covered ground outside, streaming in through the slivers of space between the wall boards, faintly illuminating the dust that hangs in the air. The contrast between the bright outside day and the darkness of the corner is stark, and adds to the rush of adrenaline he feels just being here, hidden in this corner.
He is still looking outside, and he can see that Father and Daughter have run off on some errand or game together, while the Lady of the house begins walking a worn path towards the building he hides in. For a split second he wonders where the crowds went, but shakes his head and rids himself of the feeling, wondering where such a thought would even come from, and why he would think of something as out of place as a crowd of people outside the barn.
It seems to be only moments later he hears a familiar voice, elegant and sweet, calling out to the chickens that flock and congregate in the area and breaking his odd reverie. ”Pay no mind to me little birds, there is no fox to chase you away today.”
Ishbaad’s heart leaps, threatening to beat out of his chest at the sound. With that phrase, he knew that he was alone in this secret space, with no prying eyes to interrupt the secret meeting. Seconds later, Nadezhda glides around the corner with a smile on her face. Again, he feels the heat from the rush of blood through his cheeks, his palms get clammy and his mouth is suddenly as dry as the desert. He reaches one arm out, tentatively, as the woman approaches. To his delight, she eagerly places herself in his embrace, not bothering to speak lest words ruin the moment.
The scent of this woman, the feel of this place, the rush…
The secret lovers embrace with passion, and Ishbaad lowers her carefully to the hay covered ground. He can feel the soft bedding beneath his arm, and the soft woman beneath his body, sense her heat and smell her nervous excitement. Somewhere in the back of his mind the Oread feels a nagging sense of deja-vu, but the exhilaration of the forbidden tryst is too sweet, too intoxicating to pay any mind to such thoughts.
One last time the prudent part of him mind tries to cry out in warning, What if someone found out?! What about Jewel?! This is a bad idea!
The inviting smile of the woman in his arms pierces through any hesitations and swiftly drowns out that voice of warning until all he can hear is the thrum of his racing heart in his chest, and the matching heartbeat beneath him. The nectar of the forbidden fruit was too much for Ishbaad to listen to reason, or resist the temptation.
Ishbaad lies back down, exhausted with Nadezhda lying over him. Suddenly, fear grips his heart as he spies the silhouette of a small girl outlined against the barn door. He does not know how long she has been there, but if it was even a second, she would know all that had transpired. The figure steps back involuntarily, and the setting sun catches upon her face.
Aoife.
What devilry is this? Coramus, but not, and who in their mind would shear a cat? What good is it's hair? Desna knows it will just throw up an endless supply of it.
His internal thoughts betraying him, his exhaustion overwhelming, Jorvik shakes his head. Once more he looks at the apparition of Caoramus, missing the grouchy wizard.
"Yes, we are the iterations of the new Black Riders. Yes, we have keys. The two keys you refer to. I am Jorvik Rybalt, son of the north. Yet you might already know that.
"Zorka informed us that you can discern the keys, and the map room. What can you tell us about it? How do we activate it? Where will it take us?
"Though my questions are straightforward and plain, we are woefully ignorant to the power of Baba Yaga's hut. You must instruct us like new born babes just off the teat. If you will."
Jorvik ends in a short bow.
Gods I need to sleep.
"How in all of the planes would I know your name?" the cat puts a quizzical look upon Coramus's face as it jerkily descends the ladder, "Everything else I can infer, but I cannot read your mind nor discern reality from nothing. The map room will tell us where the keys will take us - if I can read them properly - but such an ancient art as mapping the planes is rarely one hundred percent accurate. Still, it should allow us enough information for you to learn the local languages while we travel there.
"As for using the keys, that is relatively straightforward," the cat smiles broadly, "You just throw them in the cauldron and mix them in. The Dancing Hut will do the rest. The hard part is knowing which combination of keys to use. Since you only have two, that decision is made rather easy."
The cat passes by a mirror on its way and curls up its face in disgust. "This is a wise face that you would listen to? Oh dear me. This man looks like a fool."
The child stumbled backward from the door, her small frame recoiling from the sight before her. A moment ago, she had been walking with her father, hand in hand, and approaching their home, but suddenly he was gone and the black aperture of the structure yawned open before her. Over the pitched roof, the glinting sun hit Aoife's eyes and she shut them with all her might trying to not understand the scene that lay in front of her. She did not want to process any of what this sight meant, but her mind was already turning the facts over and over, pouring through the slight glimpse in the finest of detail.
It had been a blur, but it's significance was unmistakable.
The snow was as tall her her knees as she crept away, though she could not remember if it had been only moments before. In the distance the trees fluttered and flung their dead branches in a chaotic whir of motion as though caught in a terrible gust. Billowing up over the forest, a rolling and foreboding cloud of dense white looked to be sweeping across the land.
Turning fully away from the barn, the child could see her father in the distance. He stood motionless, staring at her with a face etched in sadness. The barn was directly behind her now, and Aoife was as near to it as to Tighearnán.
The racing cloud of white blotted out the forest in an instant and swept across the flat land, slamming into the child and causing her to drop into the snow at her feet. The biting chill made her every inch of exposed skin burn as if put to the flame. She could feel her strength fall away as the cold drew away the precious, living warmth, but somehow managed to stand on shaking legs.
Ahead of her, the figure of Tighearnán was beginning to fade behind white veil of driving snow, and the child pushed forward toward her father, sheltering her eyes against the gusts. As she stepped forward the direction of the wind turned behind her father, arcing around his body and began to push directly against the child, which meant it pushed her away from him. As the gathering rush of snow stung her eyes and pelted her face, the form of Tighearnán was consumed by the rising tempest of pure white and lost to her sight as if he were erased from existence.
She dropped back into the snow, crying uncontrollably, the depth almost to her waist now. Turning away from the incoming winds forced her vision back on the structure where they were. It was her mother, Nadezhda, that was laying with a man. Aoife was sure of this. But the man, she could not fully remember him, but she was sure she knew him, and she knew it was not her father.
No matter how cold she was, no matter if she was going to die in these rising banks of snow, she would not got back to that barn. With slow, aching movements, the child attempted to crawl back from the barn, further into the heart of the driving wind. The tears coming down her face were freezing to her cheeks now, and at that moment the man's identity crystalized in her mind and this caused more pain than the cold crippling her fragile body.
Ishbaad had been inside that structure with her mother.
The child rose with a sudden strength gifted by fear and disbelief and tried to run headlong into the blizzard.
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A painful stabbing sensation radiates from the center of Ishbaad’s chest, radiating outwards, making his fingers and feet go numb. Dread washes over his face, seeming to drain him of any strength when he sees the child’s face, clearly in the light.
This is not how I remembered… But is this a memory? It cannot be, I am here, this is happening right now!
Ishbaad scrambles to his feet, pulling his breeches on as he goes. He plunges out through the barn door, scattering the chickens in a flurry of feathers that blends seamlessly with the driving snow as he pushes through the threshold. Snow, wind and ice pelt his face, nearly blinding him, and forcing him to double over to take even a single step forward.
She did not know, no one ever knew. We were careful… How could she have seen?
Somehow he knew what damage he had done. It didn’t seem possible, but the reality of his sins and it's repercussions reverberated in his mind, step by step. His mind went back to Nadezhda, still in the barn, probably unaware of why he left in such a hurry. That thought was overwhelmed in an instant in his worry for Aoife, and the reality of what she had seen; just what that would do to her heart and innocence.
That little voice in his mind that had been trying to warn him only moments before was now rebuking him. See what you have done! This cannot be undone! Why are you even chasing her? What would you say if you caught her?
Still, Ishbaad pushes forward, determined to confront the victim of his transgressions. I must find her. Apologize. Beg for forgiveness. But where could she be? What has happened to her? She was here, moments ago, under his care. Now she has flown into the ether, swallowed up by the storm, and he is helpless to stop her pain.
Even worse, he knows beyond all doubt, he is the source.
”Aoife!” he shouts into the storm, but the call is muted by the raging winds. Desperation fills his lungs.
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The sound of Ishbaad's voice cuts through the blizzard like a knife.
The little girl stops suddenly, shocked at the change in tone.
There is an echo to the voice, like it is coming from within a small room.
The voice is all around her - as is the snow. Aoife feels as though she is in the eye of a whirlwind, her whole world spinning like the snows surrounding her small, child's body.
A hand reaches through the wall of wind and snow... a massive hand. She reaches up and it grabs her. She feels the stony flesh beneath and realizes whose hand it is.
The girl tries to let go and resume her flight, but the hand will not release her.
Suddenly, Aoife is pulled through the window, shattering it. Glass falls about her and sprays everywhere. Aoife looks up to see that she is in an attic. Still holding her hand is Ishbaad, looking just as bewildered as she is. Both remember what had happened in there so vividly. It all seemed so real, but both know somehow that this, this is now the true reality. Neither are certain how they both became covered in fresh snow.
Behind them, the shattered window gradually begins to reknit itself.
The child's face turns upward to regard her surroundings, her confused gaze eventually meetings Ishbaad's, and at last falling upon their hands, clenched together. Her face remains impassive for moments that seem stretch on forever as the youth's mind tries to process and grip what has just happened to her, and what she was watching only moments before.
There is a curl of her brow and Aoife's eyes narrow at her guardian.
With one abrupt tug, the youth pulls her hand free of his tender grasp. Turning now toward the window and stepping through the small piles of snow clumped on the attic floor. She meekly approaches the reforming panes as a fluttering, but pained sensation rises in her chest. Gazing out through the dissapraring fissures, Aoife looks outward, beyond the glass, and her mind thinks it may have caught the faintest glimpse of a man's figure, standing stoically in the biting cold, looking back at her, and the figure of a woman at his side. A moment later the shapes are washed away by the blowing white before the image fades entirely.
I had everything I ever wanted there. It was perfect, she thinks to herself, casting a sidelong glance over her shoulder. Until you arrived...
She remains silent for a moment more, before releasing a long, ragged sigh.
"Just go," she says at last, looking back out the window.
Maybe it was just my dream. Surely she did not share in that vision, or was it a vision?
Ishbaad looks on at the girl in front of him, silent and confused.
A thousand times he tries to summon the courage to say something, but cannot find the words.
"I thought you were lost, Aoife. I do not know how it is you came back, or what just happened," Ishbaad lies, attempting to deflect the strange vision... no, not a vision... alternate reality, "But it does my heart good to see you back."
Gaining courage from his continued words, unsure if the girl is even listening. "I do not know what you went through when you disappeared into the thorns, but we have been searching ever since." Ishbaad continues as if the alternate reality was not something that they both experienced.
Though I deserve it for my transgressions, I hope to the gods that was not really her I saw. I hope she did not see... The Journal. I need to get my hands on that journal.
"Is this a trick of the hut? Are you an illusion, like the cat who appears to be Coramus? Or are you real?"
"Am I real?" she quotes her guardian, not turning to look at him. The image beyond the now fully-fused panes has long since vanished, the two figures are, she fears, forever gone.
"I'm here," says again. "I must be real..."
"If this..." her voice calls questioningly while both her arms raise and motion to the attic surrounding them. "If this is also real."
Absentmindedly Aoife now moves one hand forward and exaggeratedly drags a finger down the length of the window. As she moves the sound of her finger sliding along the pristine, clean pane squeaks aloud. "Where I was... it was a every bit as real as here."
"It was better than here. I had everything I've ever wanted. I had my parents."
"They were with me and loved me. We were together at all times. And we would have been together for the rest of time," Aoife says, pausing to lower her head. "If you hadn't shown up."
"You probably didn't mean to ruin everything... And I'm not even sure what I saw while I was in that place, because it's so blurry now... But maybe you were trying help." She cannot bring herself to think more about a certain fleeting memory poised on the verge of comprehension.
"... But I'm so scared that you rescued me from a lifetime with my parents."
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Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight watches and listens to what is going on around him, not quite understanding any of it. When he sees the cat turn into Coramus, his breath is ripped from his chest. "Boss, you was comatose, I had to leave you there. Why are you here now?" He almost goes for his bomb purse, but holds back at the last minute. "Why you come here now?" he asks.
Emotions wrack the small goblin, as his mentor for so many years has appeared. In front of him. Finally, he collapses, overwhelmed by emotion. "Me learn to control bombs, so me no burn friends no more. And me learn lots of new things. But, most of all, me miss you, Boss Coramus!" He sobs on the floor, not trying to figure anything out, but allowing all of the emotion that has been. Holding for three last week or two flow out.
Then Aiofe flies through the window, breaking him out of his morose mood. He flies overt to his bestest friend, and gives her a hug. No words come out this time. As he is simply happy to see that his friend is physically ok.
The cat sneers and turns his wizened human nose up at Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight's display. He doesn't seem concerned about the threat of a bomb, nor relieved when the goblin doesn't pull one out.
He looks on with mild curiosity as Aoife is returned. "Ah, yes. Such a strange thing to happen. That mirror is mundane as far as I'm aware. However, Baba Yaga's Dancing Hut was ever a place to attract small children. Without Baba Yaga herself at the helm, it appears as though her magics have been allowed to wander somewhat. Aoife, is it? I would avoid thinking over long about pleasant memories for a while. I can only imagine the powerful bond that you and this oread must share. Nor, I should say, can I imagine the powerful wrong he has done to you in order to shatter a fantasy visited upon you by the Queen of Witches herself."
The cat seems to shrug before saying dismissively, "I will be in the map room figuring out where these keys take us. A frost giant's beard and a doctor's mask. I don't recognize them immediately, but something seems familiar about them..."
The cat continues to muse to himself as he walks - again, as though his legs were stilts - back down the attic ladder, then up the stairs and into the map room.
Oh, I'll just peek into one more book..
A hefty pile of books has been gathered on the table in front of Kuragin. The witch isn't really reading them, rather just browsing through the tomes. But the titles sound so interesting, he cannot refuse the temptation for a quick look inside. And always when he would be ready to leave, there's a new book capturing his attention.
But then a shattering of glass brings the witch attention back to this world. He realizes he is the only one in the library, others have already left somewhere. This time for real he closes the book, and starts walking slowly towards the noise. His own powers all but gone for the day, and his blade-wielding comrades nowhere to be seen, Kuragin is slightly worried for his own safety.
He climbs the stairs to the attic, carefully peering inside. And then, his eyes widen in surprise. "Aoife..? But how?"
The child clutches the golbin in a long, drawn out hug. After releasing the creature, she holds her hands on his shoulders, looking directly into his eyes. "I missed you, Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight. It's been so long..."
The child pauses for moment, looking quizzically as if she were processing a very complex thought. "At least, I think it's been a long time since we saw each other. Though, it may have only been an hour for you..."
It was years for me. I was reborn in that place and spent my entire life there, her voice had trailed off but it was clear the child's thoughts had continued on.
Turning now to the jadwiga who had entered, Aoife ran across the room, skirting around her guardian, and latched onto Kuragin's leg with a mighty hug. "I missed you too, Mr. Kuragin. I'm glad you're alright and safe. For me what happened is a bit... fuzzy. I think I felt drawn to this place, like something was making come here. I didn't know you all didn't feel it, or that you wouldn't follow. Then, before I knew it, I was in the room with the cauldron, but every door was locked. I went up the stairs and came here, to this attic. I looked out the window and I think I saw a battle. I might have watched you all fighting... but then I wasn't here anymore, and when I got to where I was going, it was like I had always been there..."
Her eyes suddenly look up to the witch, as memories of before her second childhood begin to pour in. "What happened to the baroness?"
Turning now to the strange cat-creature with the oddly familiar face. "Thank you for the advice. I don't want to think about that place, or the happy memories from there, though I don't know if I can help it..." The child does not acknowledge the creature's reference to a powerful wrong, but deep down knows this truth will eventually rise to surface no matter hard she might want to suppress it.
"Wait!" she stammers, shock and fear lacing her tone. She turns now, spinning to look at those in the room, and realizing that one is missing. "Where is Jorvik? Where is my... brother?!"
Ishbaad watches Aoife run around the room, greeting the other companions. He winces involuntarily when the cat references the powerful wrong, his blood pressure and heart rate spiking momentarily.
The simple statement is enough to confirm for Ishbaad that Aoife had most likely experienced the same world he was in. That was a fact, however, that his mind was unwilling to accept, no matter how true it was, no matter how close to truth that strange re-living of the past actually was.
I may still yet be able to convince her it was all imaginary. We are in Baba Yaga's fabled hut. The magic of the Queen of Witches is powerful and unpredictable. It isn't so hard to conceive. The oread continues to watch the reunion while attempting to convince himself of his own lies.
After all, if Aoife's world was as idyllic and perfect as she says, what could possibly make her want to come back? Why, some awful nightmare would shake her from that. If I can convince her it wasn't as real as she felt it was, then I can convince her that the nightmare ending was just her mind's way of bringing her out of that realm, and back into the real world.
"He must have already followed the cat down to the map room, we should do the same." Ishbaad offers, by way of answering Aoife's question.
Yes, yes, yes. It could work. If she sees her heavenly place as only a creation of her mind, then it would only make sense that returning to conciousness, and being torn away from that heaven was the equivalent of something terrible, her worst fear. Her mind must have manifested that fear as seeing the people she had grown close to betray her.
Ishbaad offers a thin, patient smile as he walks towards the ladder and begins his descent. Running through his plan again in his mind, the lie begins to take root. By the time he reaches the map room, it almost feels like the truth.
The doors to the map room lie open. Within, five iron thrones are arranged around a circular map that forms the floor of this large room. Translucent, three-dimensional images of cities and villages hover a few inches above their locations on the map. Behind the central throne, columns set against the wall form a semicircular alcove filled with a swirling mass of white mist.
Baba Yaga's cat sits in the central throne, and is busy touching glyphs on the throne in order to manipulate the image shown on the floor. The style of painting is identical to that found in the central fold of the book in the library. Currently, it is showing swirling mass of trees - growing very closely together and appearing to be many hundreds of miles across - broken by frozen mountain peaks and a central, dark spired castle. Zorka stands back and simply clucks or nods along with anything the cat says.
"Aha!" Baba Yaga's cat says at last, "Oh, this makes perfect sense. Of course it will... of course! These keys will take us to the First World! Not far away, either... somewhere nearby, as the folding infinite planes of simultaneous existence can be said to be 'near'. Likely, we'll find Irrisen's anchor on that world a place that Baba Yaga has set up as a sanctuary.
"Now," the cat looks suddenly serious, "It would not do to send you there unprepared. First, tell me what you know of the First World... and do any of you speak either Aklo or Sylvan? They are both similar enough to the universal language of the First World that you will find yourselves both able to understand and be understood."
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Jorvik is just trying to figure out this strange hairless puss feline when he hears the widow smash. Swinging Frostreaver from his shoulder and holding it in front of him in the ready position, he sees a small child-like creature appear. As the child stands up, Jorvik can clearly see that the child resembles Aoife.
He quickly turns to the feline, "What devilry is this? First our feeble minded wizard Coramus, and now Aoife? What is your end game creature?"
Then he hears it. The soft voice. The innocence that they had all tried to preserve in their wandering in this harsh land. Aoife. The real Aoife. The feline had only take the visage of Coramus, but not the voice, not the soul. More than anything Jorvik wants to drop Frostreaver, his instrument of death, to embrace the child in a warm hug of greeting, but his feet were frozen in place.
Where was she? What happened to her when she was lost to us in the forest? Why does she not look at Ishbaad, her guardian?
Jorvik approaches her and kneels down so they are at eye level. He does this out of respect, to show that they are equals.
"Aoife. It warms the heart to see you, to hear your voice again. We have lost much on this journey to to have your back is a better gift than I imagined. You and I shall always share a bond little sister.
"I know not where you have been, and I know not what magic are in play here. Yet we all wished and prayed for your return. Though it is bitter sweet, to find happiness and then return to here, to us. It is selfish of us to have wished your return when you were so happy. But I cannot lie, to have your with us once again feels right, feels complete. Promise that you shall never leave us again." He ends with a large grin.
Though caked with blood, his own and the enemies he slew, Jorvik extends his hands in handshake to the newly returned child.
"Is this Numerian magic? How can we see the images of cities like that?" Jorvik lets out a slow exhale, shaking his head in disbelief. "And what is in that white mist?"
Listening to the feline use words he is unfamiliar with, Jorvik is able to understand enough to know they were in fact returning to the First World.
"I speak elven, language of my father. And little do I know of the first word other than it is the home of fey and faerie creatures."
Ishbaad looks on with a genuine smile as Jorvik welcomes Aoife back with an eloquence only he possesses.
"It is selfish of us to have wished your return when you were so happy. But I cannot lie, to have your with us once again feels right, feels complete..."
Yes yes yes. That is the sword I can fall on. I will blame it on my selfishness of wanting her back by my side. The magic of this hut is strange. Who knows what we saw and why we saw it? Can we really trust that it is true? I selfishly wanted her back, and that must have been powerful enough to draw her from her valhalla. Of course I will be sorry for whatever she encountered that ripped her from that, but even she knows her mother left when she was only a babe, so how could all of what she saw have been true? Good or bad, it is all a trick of the magic of Baba Yaga's hut.
...
... all a trick of the magic of Baba Yaga's Hut... Ishbaad is interrupted from his repetitive reverie by the cat's declaration.
"Well our unlikely traveling companions, wherever they are, should be happy to hear that our first stop is their home plane." Ishbaad clears his throat and leans over to get a better look at the strange picture.
"I do not speak either of those languages, and I fear my knowledge of the first world is equal to my skill in their native language. I know that Aurenos is a dawn piper, who hails from the first world. If I understand things correctly, the Queen of Witches has numerous allies that hail from there. " Ishbaad searches his brain for more tidbits, but comes up short. He shrugs his shoulders, admitting defeat in this arena, and hopes that some of the others might be able to offer some insight.
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When the cat asks about languages, Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight starts bouncing up and down, raising his hand. "Me! Me! Me! Me know both Aklo and Sylvan. Me very clever, you see!"
When he hears what Ishbaad has to say, not understanding the profound sadness in his voice, he says, "Yes, make promise to Aurenos. We use hut to bring him home. Maybe that why magic show us First World to bring him home and to fulfill our debt to him." He stands there a moment, pleased with himself. "Me also know much about First World. Me study nature and all its wonders, so me can use nature to blow things up! Well, not always to blow things up, but sometimes. When the time is right. Me promise not to blow you up, Boss Kitty Coramus!"
He still hasn't figured out how to deal with the fact that his mentor now sits before him, or at least a copy of him. But, he does seem truly happy to be doing his best to impress the being that at least looks like his first 'boss'. "So Boss Kitty, you no longer sad and morose? You find yourself again? Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight tried very, very hard to heal you, but the restoratives we used in the past no longer worked. Me tried new things, careful not to make bad potion and kill you, but still nothing worked. Now, you are here, so what ended up working?"
The cat sighs heavily as he is interrogated by the goblin. "You, oread. You seem to have grasped the concept of my face - eventually. Please explain it to this creature with a massively overinflated impression of its own cleverness. I have neither the time nor the inclination.
"As to the more pressing matters," the cat continues without bothering to see if Ishbaad agrees or not, "The half-elf seems to have asked a vaguely intelligent question. I know your kind prizes yourselves on your keen sight, so perhaps this will be somewhat deflating to your ego. The so called 'mists' behind this throne are not mists at all. Each particle emits its own light and is in fact a representation of a star. If you gaze close enough within, you will see tiny planets, meteorites and various other celestial bodies represented within. If you shift your vision, you will note the other planes also represented. I know, I know... the planes are infinite, so how...? Right? Well, this isn't a full representation. Mostly, it shows the planes as they relate to this universe, and the few billion light years nearest to Earth. I use these controls to navigate through it to display what I need to on the map.
"But Numerian is an interesting guess," the cat smiles very condescendingly, "At least that ancient, albeit barbaric, culture is associated with alien artefacts and so on. You are thinking in a far too limited fashion, however. Suffice it to say that Baba Yaga painted it long, long ago."
The cat strides right into the middle of the map, looking as unstable as ever on its feet as it does so. "Perhaps I need to share with you some information on the First World. It is not complete. It will never be complete. Some say that it was the Gods' roadmap for this universe and the shadow universe combined. Entropy is the norm there, and those with sufficient power - such as my mistress - can bend the very reality of that world to their will.
"Many areas of the First World mirror places in this universe also. As infinite as it is, you will find a mimic of almost any locale - though various living, chaotic differences will always exist. These keys, for example, will take us to one such place. A place anchored in Irrisen or perhaps Whitethrone specifically. Concepts of distance, persistence and even time are mutable on that World.
"Also, First Worlders cannot die. This is only true while they are on the First World, but if they ever lose their life, their essence is reformed elsewhere on that most infinite of planes. As such, do not ever trust a First Worlder who has not ventured beyond their home. They do not respect life in the same way you do - and will not think twice about the loss of yours, even if they truly like you (which is unlikely to ever occur)."
The cat licks its hairless back with Coramus's tongue and continues, "It is good that at least one of you speaks a similar language. You can translate. If you succeed in finding more keys there, you may need to learn the language of the next place you go to. It is imperative that at least one of you understand the locals - and always better if more do. There are tomes in the library that can help you with that. I'm sure they will appear when you need them.
"Now," the cat steps forwards toward the double doors leading to the cauldron room, "Do you have any more silly questions, or can we drop the keys in the cauldron and get moving on finding my mistress?"
Ishbaad leans over to whisper in the goblin's ear. He almost wishes he could see his facial expressions as he tries to explain the predicament.
For such a smart goblin, he sure can be a goblin sometimes...
Eventually giving up, Ishbaad listens intently to the cat's lesson on the first world. He mumbles something about the apparently missing dawn piper when the cat speaks of why it is wise not to trust a first worlder.
"Jorvik. Didn't he say they were in essence, kidnapped from their home? I wonder if this was the first time they had ever left? We will need to continue to watch our backs for treachery, but they may prove to be valuable allies where we are going."
Eventually Ishbaad turns back to the cat. "How long will the journey take?" he asks offhand while walking over to Kuragin.
"Here, you are both the proper lineage and vocation. You should do this part." Ishbaad extends his hands, holding both of the keys out.
"How long?" the face of Coramus purses its lips, "Who can say? It is both near by and practically impossible to reach. How long does it take to fold one dimension over onto another and then step onto it? I shouldn't imagine more than an hour."
The cat's smirk is the widest the companions have seen thus far.
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The child listens intently to her brother, nodding ever so slightly to Jorvik's loving words. As the man holds out his hands to shake hers, she slaps his palms away and lunges forward to embrace him. She squeezes Jorvik with all her strength, unable to hold back a few welling tears.
"I missed you..." she says the words quietly, her voice cracking and on the verge of failing. Though not intended to be a whisper, this seems to be loudest Aoife is able to speak at that moment. To her own surprise, she finds that she has almost missed another of her companions, in spite of her own brooding anger at him. The child holds the hug longer than her brother expects, almost uncomfortably long, before at last letting go.
As the others discuss the mysterious First World, Aoife cannot help but think of a memory of her second childhood and that strange forest which sprawled beyond the creek beside their house. Her mother, in that life, had said it was like another world entirely, and crossing that small line of water was as a gateway. There was a brief glimmer of hope within her that she quickly washed away, that maybe this First World was one in the same with the rivalwood forest from her second childhood, and that maybe, just maybe, through the First World she could find her way to the creek and the small house that sat upon the small hill. The house where her parents were waiting for her.
The child does not speak to the odd cat creature, and remains standing very close behind Jorvik. It is clear she is confused about what is happening, in addition to being lost miles within her our twisting, labyrinthine thoughts, which is causing her fragile mind to ache at processing the destruction of one world, returning to another, and next stepping through a gateway to a third.
The child had already travelled far this day, and seemed to have much further to go.
Jorvik warmly returns the hug. "We missed you too."
"Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight, your command of languages will be invaluable, as are your bombs, and other attributes. You be you. Always be you."
Jorvik stands impassively to the side, silently pleased that the feline's derision seems abated at him for the moment. Shifting from foot to foot, he remembers the hex nail in his boot and wonders how it will react in this other plane, the place of the First Worlders.
"By all means, we have a long and proven track record of terrible, impulsive decisions. Why should this be any different?
"Master Kseniya if you please."
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Kuragin squirms uncomfortably in Aoife's embrace, wondering how to politely remove her from his leg. He moves his hands nervously back and forth, and finally he pats the child on the head a few times. The gesture is not without affection, but is so alien to the witch, it looks a bit clumsy. This seems to do the trick, however, and Kuragin is immensely relived having escaped the awkward situation.
"It is good to have you back. I am no word-smith, but Jorvik said it so well: We are more complete, now you are back."
"And the baroness? She met her end." Kuragin spares the child from the details, but thinks she is happy with the knowledge of Nazhena's death.
"The fey are not to be trusted, that is known," Kuragin agrees, and cannot help to glance behind him. Aureanos and his companions are not present, but having them in the Hut makes the witch nervous. The sooner they get rid of the dawn piper, the better.
"I do have mastery on Aklo and Sylvan languages, along with several others. And if we come across tongues I do not know, I have spells that makes one speak all the languages in all the planes. We should be fine."
Although it is ironic, that the ones who have mastery of words fail in the languages. So it is up to the tight-lipped witch and the erratic goblin to do the talking.
A bitter smile is accompanied by a sigh, but then Kuragin decides to leave worrysome thoughts for later. He focuses on the map, listening to the cat's explanations and marvelling on the display, and the mist of stars. This is how the Hut moves, and soon he will see it himself. The keys are placed into his hand, and absent-mindlessly his eyes drift to his companions. "Thank you, Ishbaad, Jorvik. I think it is time." Kuragin moves his hands over the cauldron, holding the keys gently. He looks once more at cat who wears Coramus' face, and for a moment he feels the heroes of Heldren are assembled once more. Then the cat's unnatural smirk breaks the illusion, and Kuragin says a wordless farewell to the wizard, whom they are now leaving truly behind.
And then he opens his fists, dropping the keys to the cauldron.
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Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight gives Jorvik an odd look. "Who else can me be, Boss Jorvik? Me no understand?" He then gives him a wide, toothy grin.
"Boss Kuragin... you have spells that can make you understand languages? Me would love to read your spellbook, but me no think Pushkin will like that. Me think that like you need to feed him spell soup, maybe me would have to make Pushkin soup, and he is good weasel. So, unless you can put spell on scroll, that be hard for Ice Melts Silently in learn the spell. That be too bad, 'cause me think having a drink to make Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight understand all languages would be a really, really good idea!"
'Me think me would never be left out of a conversation, and me would know when fey and other peoples are getting all sneaky on me!'
"Where we going?" he asks all involved. "We gonna go to Aurenos's home. Wait... wait! We need to invite Aurenos in. We promised!" The group then realizes that he is holding onto a set of panpipes, probably ones that were taken off of the dead body of one of the dawn pipers. They weren't there a moment ago, but who knows what is stored in the many pouches and other storage items that the goblin keeps on himself.
As if on queue, as soon as Kuragin throws in the keys and Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight mentions the fey... a trap door appears seemingly out of nowhere in the corner of the room. It makes a loud deep creaking sound that is eerily similar to a burp, and suddenly Auraenos and his two companions are disgorged from the cellar below.
"We tried to activate the cauldron," he says by way of explanation, pale and fearful at the same time, "And roots flew out from below and pulled us in. They held us there for what seemed like an hour and then... suddenly... threw us out!
"Why didn't it do that when you activated the cauldron?" he adds imperiously, noticing that the cauldron now glows and a swirl of activity can bee seen within.
"Roots grabbed you from below?" chuckles the cat, clearly amused, "I guess that makes sense. It is a root cellar. Ha! Ho. Ho hee. Ha!"
It is some time before the cat stops laughing, much to Auraenos's chagrin.
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The hut begins to shake and become almost... blurry... as the miniature whirlpool inside the cauldron spins faster and faster.
Ishbaad chances to gaze out the window. Perhaps he was looking for Greta, prehaps his mind was drifting back to the last thing he saw through a window in Baba Yaga's house, but his eyes are drawn outwards. Most of the crowd seems to be fading as though ceasing to exist. One man, however, Ishbaad can see in stark, clear detail. The man pulls his spectacles down an inch and, impossibly, stares directly into Ishbaad's eyes. He seems incredibly familiar.
Suddenly, Ishbaad remembers who he is, and the last thing he remembers saying to the man:
"Uh… Gauntlets? Odd question. Sure, they come with just about every suit of armor. I’ve got mine right here… Wait, who are you? Why do you care about Tighearnán’s…"
No sooner does Ishbaad remember this than the mysterious stranger, and indeed all of Whitethrone, are gone. Ishbaad is left with one burning question, no doubt one among many: How did this man find me here, in Whitethrone?
The child watches as the strange, unfamiliar creatures pour out from beneath the trap door. As they scurry to their feet, and exchange remarks with the odder-still cat-thing, Aoife looks up to her brother, watching for Jorvik's reaction. Not making a sound or motioning to get his attention, she waits and watches to see if Jorvik conveys anything she should know. These newcomers are unfamiliar to the child, it is true, but she does not see any of her companions startled or surprised by their appearance. In fact, her friends were acting as if they were expected, even welcomed.
If her companions trusted the strangers, or at least were not afraid of them, then Aoife would follow their lead.
After a moment she catches a glimpse of Ishbaad looking steadily out the window, though he seemed lost within his own mind.
Jorvik places a reassuring hand upon Aoife's shoulder. "We made a pact with these First Worlders when were were fighting towards the hut. He actually helped us destroy some of Nazhena Vasilliovna's magical barriers.
"Though after what the feline has just told us I am rethinking keeping that bargain."
Jorvik's face is creased with lines of worry. Gone they are from Whitethrone; gone from the North. And Ishbaad is gone from them, lost in his own world of thought.
I do not understand, Aoife returns and Ishbaad retreats unto himself. Where is the joy; the jubilation for the return of his ward?
Jorvik's cannot seem to focus at any particular one place, the blurriness of the hut playing tricks in his head. He retreats to a corner, sits down cross-legged, and lets the weariness of battle fade from him as he steadies his breathing.
"How did he follow us here? Who are you..." Ishbaad mumbles out loud, involuntarily.
Shaking his head as the world around him blurs, he tries to dismiss the unsettling possibilities. Instead he follows Jorvik's lead and retreats to a corner of the hut, closing his eyes for some rest.
When rest does not find him, he pulls a tattered book from his magical bag.
it has been far too long since I have spent time in this divine book...
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