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The unearthly roar of shattering boulders falling around them sets Aoife's ears to ringing and causes her hands to cup the sides of her head in a motion of instinctual fear and panic. Her eyes shut for a moment, but her feet can still feel the tumultuous thunderclaps of exploding stone and terrible vibrations propagating through her feet and up her legs. Her teeth gnash together as her frame drops slightly, beginning to cower.
Through the darkness now engulfing her, as her eyes shut out sight of the surrounding world, Aoife is surprised to catch a glimpse of something in the gloom. The more she looks, the shifting point of light begins to focus until she is at last looking upon her house nestled atop the small hill beside the rivalwood forest. Through the panes of glass, she even catches the briefest sight of her parents passing from one room to the next.
That is the real world, she thinks, feeling her grip on the sides of her head beginning to loosen. This place is the dream... it has to be...
I'm asleep there, in my bed, her thoughts continue. ... and if I die here, I'll wake up at last.
You can't truly die in a dream...
The child's eyes shoot open as her small frame bounds across the room, following a few paces behind the form of her guardian. As she moves, one of Jorvik's arrows whistles through air overheard, and Aoife keeps herself crouched low as her hands pull Eternity's End from her back.
Looking up she sees an arrow jutting from its chest, and then the same giant topple to the ground after a precise swing from her uncle's blade. The beast is not dead, however. As it remains doubled over, resting one knee on the ground, and one arm braces its weight while the other fumbles stupidly with the arrow lodged in its gut. The child jumps up and bounds off the creature's outstretched foot and uses her colossal gauntlet to grab hold of its tattered clothing to pull herself fully onto its back. As the giant reacts to feeling something scurry across its body, Aoife can feel the thing stir beneath her.
Starting to stumble as the giant tries to stand once more, the child skids to stop on its back, hoping she is just above where its heart should be, that is... if it has heart, then drives the blade straight-down through its rough, hardened skin.
The second giant pulls back on the boulder, split seconds away from hurling stony death at the open target that is Ishbaad. Jorvik's second arrow takes the brute through its massive eye-socket. The boulder crashes onto its own head. As the thing stumbles forwards, perhaps not realizing that it is already dead, it mutters, "Kostchtchie, we have failed you..." before tumbling face forwards down the gaping pit.
Meanwhile, the giant Aoife has mounted crashes immediately back to the ground. Eternity's End did indeed find its heart, and intermittent geysers of blood erupt from the wound once she removes her blade. They gradually become weaker and weaker until a massive pool of the giant's lifeblood begins to drip into the pit, no doubt splashing onto its former companion below.
Searching the room, the companions note that the game the giants were playing a version of 'pick-up-sticks'. Most are broom handles of varying lengths. However, the 'trap stick' (used in the crueler variants of the game) is actually a +1 Giant Bane Longspear.
The companions renew their efforts to head southwards and to the crone dungeon. Down a western side passage, they glimpse a grand chamber that has the hallmark appearance of a grand temple. Kuragin recognizes it as belonging to Mestama, the demon lord of cruelty, deception, and hags. On the floor of this temple, a the bloodied corpse of a green hag lies there decaying and quite dead.
Shortly after the temple, the passageway leaves the heroes no choice but to travel east - as Marislova had informed them. As she perhaps neglected to say, this way is barred by two massive iron doors - both securely locked and decorated with the witches' spiral-like symbol of motherhood, but also a straight line that suddenly drops directly downwards for a short distance. Kuragin identifies this as the universal witch symbol of death. Once more, they find that the key Jadrenka provided them with opens these doors.
Ten mausoleum facades protrude from the walls around the perimeter of this cavern. Above each door is a keystone engraved with a name. Throughout the room stand ten life- sized statues of proud, matronly women. The women are all barefoot and similarly dressed, but they each have their own unique appearance. Some are wear feathered cloaks or bone necklaces, others clutch gnarled staves or carry brooms, and a few have a raven or an owl perched upon their shoulders.
At the end of the small crypt, the five interlopers can see that the passageway continues to wind its way east.
Cautiously, the companions continue along the path to the standing stones and the portal to the Crone aspect of Artrosa.
A long and winding passage finally ends at a cavern. The ceiling of this broad cavern arcs upward, forming a narrow crown high above the cavern floor. In the center of the cave stands a ring of worn, moss-covered menhirs, their inward faces carved with mystic symbols.
This ancient feature seems to be roughly ignored by the current inhabitant, however, as the cavern's walls support rough wooden shelves piled high with all manner of weird bric-a-brac: tiny sculptures, fetishes, amulets of metal and clay, locks of hair, pin-riddled cornhusk dolls, and more than a few weathered tomes. Yellowed glass jars hold vile and suspect-looking samples suspended in unknown fluids, and small clay pots overflow with unknown dusts, powders, and sickly colored unguents. Beneath the shelves, a couple of crude worktables, covered in mysterious stains and clumps of aged tallow, hold more items of similar nature. A huge wooden mortar bound with iron bands stands near the tables, its club-sized pestle propped within.
A hunched, barely-humanoid woman with frostbitten skin is tending to some potions, flanked by yet another enormous frost giant. She turns from her brewing and snarls at the new arrivals to her cavern. She points a frosty-white finger, blotched with black at the adventurers.
"Prove your worth!" she screeches at him in the language of the First World, "Destroy these intruders and prove Vsevolod's worth to our cause."
"As you wish, Grishelmuk," it replies in a ponderous voice, moving with its club to intercept the companions.
Meanwhile, Grishelmuk quickly downs a potion and suddenly disappears from view.
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"Kuragin... One of these could be your ancestor. Are they former queens of irrisen? This is what I would expect for a former queen." He says as he passes by each one with a certain sort of reverence. Despite his disdain for the way they treat the common-folk, the ways of the north, he can't help but be impressed by the display.
"Watch from your invisible location, crone! By what power do you claim to have any hold here? Are you Vsevolod? No, you are his lackey! Another pitiful bit of fodder. You shall die and the Crone will see that the Centaur prince is indeed worthless, like the giants we have already slain. What cause could you hope to have against Baba Yaga, in her own prison of all places? Answer me Crone! Answer me while I cut down your pathetic minion."
Ishbaad's words are bold, but seem like bluster in the face of the behemoth that lumbers towards him.
Don't be stupid like last time. Might not survive it a second time...
Ishbaad sets his feet, allowing his enemy to come to him. The challenge of his words echo throughout the cavern, and the inquisitor focuses on the giant threat. With a quick prayer, his greatsword is wreathed in flame and he swings it in front of him. Black smoke trails in the wake of the flame, and the giant gets closer with each pass.
Diving forward as the club swings forward with a sudden and surprising speed, Ishbaad hits the deck, narrowly avoiding the deadly weapon. Someone as strong as him might even have trouble lifting it, so heavy it must be for such a large creature. As it stands, cracks are left in the stone floor where Ishbaad was standing only moments before.
That one puckered up my b~#!~@&@...
Scrambling to his feet beneath the giant, he shuffles and moves around, trying to stay out of the sight of the creature while his companions jump into action. The tactics of the dwarves serve him well as he slashes and stabs at the heel and knee of the giant, somehow avoiding each of the blows narrowly.
Bleeding from multiple cuts, along with the damage his friends are doing, Ishbaad loses himself in the flow, so focused on his part of the fight. Finally he sees it, an opening he cannot refuse to take. He rushes forward and plunges his blade deep into the space behind the giant's achilles heel, through his ankle. His eagerness is costly, however, as the blunt club rushes past, swatting him away like a man swats a bothersome fly. Ishbaad and his magnificent star metal armor fly across the room, crashing into the wall and floor in an unceremonious heap, Sanctus Custos remaining lodged in the giant's heel.
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When he sees the crone go invisible, Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight cackles with mirth. "You no can evade powerful heroes like us!" He gulps down his extract of see invisible, allowing him to clearly see the old woman. As soon as he sees her, he reaches into his bomb pouch, and pulls out a new toy.
He throws the bomb at the invisible creature, hitting her squarely. To the surprise of all but the goblin, there is no kaboom!, but rather a bright flash of light. When the light is gone, the crone is no longer visible. "Aoife, Ishbaad, show the not so nice lady that she no so smart."
Overconfident like many goblins are, he waits back for his friends to assault the crone, hand ready with another dispel bomb should she try and cast or drink another potion.
Again following closely at her guardian's heels, the child rushes after the man and pulls free Eternity's End. As the blade releases from its sheath upon her back there is a terrible crash which shakes the cavern floor with such force that her knees begin to shutter. Her heart rises, swelling with joy as she looks up to see the giant's massive weapon driven into the floor where her uncle should have been and she breathes a sigh of relief at seeing Ishbaad is safe.
To her horror though, a moment later her guardian is struck mightily with the beast's club, but after scoring a crippling blow of his own. Letting the anger take hold of her senses and reactions, she rushes forward and pulls back the massive, magical blade. As her strides increase in speed and resolve, the sounds of her companions onslaught thins and becomes silent to her ears. All she can hear at that moment is the thundering of her own heartbeat pounding in her ears.
When at last she reaches the giant, she leaps forward and lands solidly on her knees. The impact and gnarly scratches across her legs will be painful, she knew this to be true, but this would only be when the rush of battle at last released its grip on her. In that moment she felt no pain. The child's speed carried her across the floor, sliding upon her knees and skidding beneath legs of the giant, which rose above her like some ancient, arching monolith. As her speed carried her, sliding beneath the thing, Aoife raised the blade and swung hard for its body.
There was a sickening sound as the blade met the with the creature, but at the end of her slide, Aoife bound once more to her feet and never looked to she what damage had been done. Across the room a flash of light had caught her attention, now noticing that her younger brother had somehow revealed the old crone's hiding place and made her wholly visible.
At her feet, Eternity's End dropped to the cavern floor as the child now sprinted for the old woman. For this task, Aoife thought to herself as each step brought her ever closer to the figure of the crone. I will need to use my hands.
The gauntlets opened and closed menacingly as Aoife dove upon the crone.
The giant screams and wails from the blows dealt it by the companions. In the end, Aoife's blade strikes the killing blow, piercing a femoral artery and causing such a massive amount of blood loss that it can no longer stand. It blubbers incoherently a moment before it crashes to the ground, crushing a distracted Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight beneath its bulk.
"... no longer visible..."
The goblin has done his job though, as the suddenly visible and body-guard-less crone looks very nervous. "Against Baba Yaga? You are misinformed, foolish man!" screams the crone in answer to Ishbaad's earlier question, "We go against Jadrenka! We are children of the Queen of Witches all, and Caigreal is Jadrenka's mother. Jadrenka has not even undergone the rites to become a hag yet. Baba Yaga erred in appointing Jadrenka as guardian, and we sill show Baba Yaga so... by killing Jadrenka and all her allies!" Grishelmuk seems to be unaware of Caigreal's death.
Sneering, she prepares a spell and a massive spread of cold arcs from her hands. It strikes the companions with mighty force, chilling them to their very bones in a way they have not felt since first marching into the wilds of Irrisen. Only Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight with his giant-cum-blanket is unaffected. Grishelmuk laughs victoriously... and prematurely.
Sanctus Custos enters her side first, the cold iron blade burning her insides. Eternity's End pierces her next, from the front. Kuragin manages a withering stare that any Queen of Irrisen would be proud of, reducing her defenses while Heartseeker proves true to its name and pierces the icy cold, blackened lump that is the hag's heart. In a burst of energy, she becomes an ice statue. The heroes remove their blades, shattering the thing. Oddly, the pieces of her do not melt despite the moderate temperature in the cavern.
Searching the place, the companions find a broom of flying and a cookbook of arcane augmentation.
On a stone table in the center of the standing stones, a puzzle similar to the one found in the Maiden aspect of Artrosa can be found. Quartz figurines carved to match those in the entrance lie in a wooden bowl, covered in rose petals this time. Arranging the figurines correctly as before, Aoife - deliberately this time - spills the roses onto them. Slowly, the room melts away, as do the standing stones. Whereas before they were in a massive cavern, now they are within a much smaller, narrower one. Behind them is a long, snaking passageway leading to a blank wall where a door should be - and would be again with the waning moon.
The journey through the Crone aspect of Artrosa is a long and hard one. The rooms and passages of this dungeon are dark and cold, with a motif of winter, darkness, and death throughout. A darkness effect keeps all but the companions' brightest light sources extinguished.
The guardians in this dungeon are much less disposed to talk even than the others. They fight a strange creature covered in spikes that was bathing in a scaldingly hot cauldron. A diseased and half-dead rat, grown to the size of a pony, stalks the five and eventually they confront and destroy it. They come across a prison / school filled with the bastard children of Kyrisjana and Poryphanes, folarren all. There, they concoct infestations and poisons the likes of which the heroes have never seen. Demons and frost giants left behind by Vsevolod also harry the five bearers of the Mantle.
In the end, however, the companions are victorious and come to another enormous cavern near what they assume to be the center of this aspect of Artrosa. The darkness effect that has been an almost cloying presence throughout their journey is gone here.
A withered cornfield extends in all directions beneath a waning moon in a starry night sky. Dozens of dead ravens lie strewn on the ground among the shriveled stalks.
A bent and aged crone stands in the center the cornfield, leaning heavily on a staff. Her clothes are a tattered ruin. Her skin hangs loose upon her frail frame. Her movements seem painful to her as she limps slowly toward the companions.
"So, as all things end, you have come to the end of your own journey," states the crone simply in an old, tired voice, "Well done I suppose. You may indeed be the worthy ones my Mistress foresaw. You will need to prove yourselves one final time while here. The so-called Centaur Prince, Vsevolod, has taken the Eon Pit. Destroy him for me and retrieve the key that Baba Yaga left there. Only then, will you get the final piece from me."
The ancient woman points to a massive set of double doors to the south of the cavern and then moves in the opposite as though to walk away, but then seems to remember something. "A message. For you, perhaps."
She removes a simple empty and corked bottle and unstoppers it.
"If you hear these words, my own blood has betrayed me," whispers a voice from within the bottle. The voice is at once warm, inviting and stern. "This much I have foreseen. You are the keepers of the Mantle of my Black Midnight. I have left keys throughout all of existence, in places only the Dancing Hut can go. Follow my trail!"
The woman shrugs and stoppers the bottle again. She looks once more at the doors to the south and this time waits expectantly.
"I do not think this is where the former Queens will end their journey." Kuragin answers Ishbaad, deep in thought. He studies the statues, and the names above the doors, in case he would recognize someone. "Perhaps they are former guardians of this prison."
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"Was that... Baba Yaga!?"
Even if they have been trying to find Baba Yaga for a long time now, witnessing even the voice of such legend feels overbearing. How would it feel to stand in her presence, then?
Kuragin only nods when Jadrenka tells them what they must do. The path to the Queen of Witches is filled with bloodshed, and the witch doesn't see a way to avoid it this time either. All he can do is prepare for the upcoming battle, and so he starts casting protective spells on himself.
"Shall we..?
"Jadrenka. Baba Yaga has seen fit to appoint you rule of this place." Jorvik waves his bloodied hand in a wide arc. "We have fought for every inch of ground we have crossed in this place, killed giants, demons, and even your own coven. And you say we may be worthy. Ha. I tire of this place as much as I tire of the condescension we have encountered since the beginning. Show me this foe, this last test, and I will show you what a son of the north is made of."
His words full of boasting hide the fear that Jorvik felt deep down. The fear that was always there. Was he worthy? Is this the fight that finally does him in? Never to meet his father. Never to know who gifted him the mighty Heafoc. Never to finish his epic.
So be it. There will always be one more foe, one more obstacle. To fight. To live well. To die in glorious battle. What more can a son of the north ask for?
With a quick prayer to Desna, he unslings Heartseeker from his back and readies an arrow.
Looking to his friends, there is no other place he'd rather be. No other group of people he's rather be with.
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"Always fight. Always fight. Never ends. Well, good thing goblins like to fight, 'cause that seem like thing we do best. Me get ready."
In spite of his words, it is clear that Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight has become tired of the constant fighting. He checks his bombs, and then starts drinking some of his potions and extracts.
He drinks extracts of heroism, false life (), fly, expeditious retreat, shield and two i]alchemical allocations[/i] to reuse his protection from cold and tongues potions. . He holds back on drinking his displacement and targeted bomb admixture. He also consumes his mutagen.
Ready to fight like he has never been, the little blue goblin nods to Jorvik and Kuragin, with a somewhat forced smile on his face.
Jorvik drinks his potion of enlarge person.
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The child recoils away from the dissembodied voice rising from within the strange bottle. She is hearing the voice that is warm, inviting and kind, but her mind reels in disbelief. "That is really... her?" she asks aloud, as the sound of her own voice trails off. "That is really... Baba Yaga..." There is an underpinning of awe held steady in her tone, as if the words falling upon her ears cannot be truly real.
They had travelled so long, and so far, even venturing between entire worlds. Now, to her astonishment, the very voice of the woman, or god, or whatever she was, they had been searching for was speaking to them directly. Even with everything they had seen and experienced to reach this point, hear the true voice of Baba Yaga did not seem real.
"It makes more sense to me now," she says, the awe and wonder at hearing Baba Yaga still clearly evident in her words. "She foresaw what would happen... She is the one who set the keys for us to find... She knew we would come... Knew what would happen... Set us upon the path..."
Again the child could feel the chains of fate weighing heavily upon her, once more coming at a time when she felt they had overcome impossible odds of their own free will.
Looking at the potion handed to her by her younger brother, Aoife stares for a moment before speaking. "Thank you, Ice Melts Quietly in the Sunlight," she begins, but then hands the potion back. "But being big and strong is not really me. As far as we've travelled, I've always felt more comfortable being smaller than those we've faced."
Ishbaad opens his mouth to express to Jadrenka all that he and his companions had done to strengthen her rule, to eliminate the coup that was brewing beneath her nose, but stops short. He cocks his head to the side ever so slightly, re-evaluating the old crone, as she appears now.
She has known all along. Every step, every action. She knew before, and she has seen the aftermath. Has she seen it all, or has it all been foretold her by Baba Yaga herself? If the latter, then I have not seen such faith anywhere on Golarion, save perhaps Jewel herself.
Relaxing his shoulders, he nods his head in respect to the powerful crone, raising his eyebrows in silent agreement with Jorvik's statement.
"The baronness and her small army have fallen. The mighty Logrivich has fallen. The baronness herself has fallen. Giants, backstabbing fey, hags and other weaklings in our way have fallen. This Centaur Prince will fall as well."
Ishbaad begins to pray as the others prepare. He clutches the holy symbol hanging around his chest, and the light of Iomedae finds them in this dark place.
Jadrenka ignores the disbelieving questions at hearing Baba Yaga's voice. It is obvious to her that it could be none other, so she does not waste her time explaining it. She does, however, address Jorvik.
"Test? This is no test but a foe that fate has placed in your way," Jadrenka snaps at the skald, "I say you may be worthy because I do not know. Only when Baba Yaga is freed will your worth be truly told. By 'prove' yourselves, I meant in battle - you have nothing to prove to me.
"True, though, I will not give up the key to Baba Yaga's cauldron until you have fought Vsevolod," she continues, perhaps anticipating Jorvik's rebuttal, "But that is simply because I do not wish it to fall into the hands of Vsevolod should you fail. This key is also a bargaining chip for me to use to get you to do what I want... and what I want is for you to kill Vsevolod and prevent him from doing whatever it is that he has come here to do. I believe that you have likely already figured his mission out for yourselves.
"I understand that my manner and words could easily be interpreted in the way that you have, so I hold no grudge. I am too old for such silliness. I need to point out to you, though, that many things on your journey will be different to what they appear. Baba Yaga will not have made her trail an easy or apparent one to follow. You must look beyond the obvious if you are to succeed - and I sincerely hope that you do."
Ishbaad finishes his prayers, just before they are about to move into the room where the Centaur Prince awaits.
"You speak as if you do not realize the treachery of Caigreal, who hoped we would help overthrow you so she could take your seat of power. Vsevolod is part of that coup, and we have slain Caigreal and everyone here whom we have encountered that was loyal to her. But surely you know. You must know."
"You surely must also know of Marislova's love for you. She, or he, or... Whatever. She did not betray you, and only longs for you. She is loyal. A rare quality it seems, no matter where in the universe one might travel."
Ishbaad is not condescending in his tone, and his words sound more like he is convincing himself than trying to convince Jadrenka.
He turns to the door, nearly prepared before the gears in his head begin turning again. "The fact that the frost giants we slew were the minions of Vsevolod... I've just had an Epiphany." Ishbaad freezes in his tracks. "Caigreal and Vsevolod meant to release Kostchtchie from his prison. Perhaps that was only a means to more power for one or both of them, but that was their goal. Of this I feel certain. How could this even be possible?" He asks, as a student asks a teacher.
"Caigreal's coup began years ago," Jadrenka waves off Ishbaad's assertions, literally waving her arms in the air, "As you say, Vsevolod is here to release Kostchtchie. My mother believes that if he succeeds in this endeavor, she will be vindicated and prove to Baba Yaga that I was unworthy as appointed Guardian of Artrosa. Kostchtchie was banished here until the end of time. Only through the Eon Pit beyond those doors can that condition be met, and Kostchtchie returned from the Artrosa that must never be."
Jadrenka listens intently to the kind words of Marislova. "You perhaps speak true," she says softly, pursing her lips, "But who can tell in such times what is what? Kyrisjana is a skilled deceiver, this much is true - but a truly great deception has roots in truth. Perhaps when you emerge victorious, I shall visit Marislova personally and hear her story unclouded by the emotion of the moment."
Without further delay, the companions swing wide the double doors separating them from the Eon Pit and enter the cavern beyond.
This vast natural cavern is drowned in darkness. To the southeast, a ring of towering black basalt menhirs surround a great gaping pit torn into the cavern floor. Spiraling runes etched in white chalk cover the faces of the standing stones, which are painted with fresh blood. The bodies of two frost giants lie on the floor outside the ring. A border of countless skulls, both human and animal, surrounds the pit. A break in the border forms an entrance leading to the edge of the pit. There, a flight of stone steps carved into the perimeter descends into the abyss. The air above the pit seems to waver and ripple as if from heat, though there is no discernible change in temperature.
Slowly circling the perimeter of the stone ring trots a fierce-looking centaur-like creature carrying a great longspear, his body drenched head to hoof in blood. Unlike any centaur the companions know, however, this creature is enormous, sanding at roughly twenty feet tall . Its lower body is that of a massive stallion, but with eight thick legs pounding mightily upon the floor. A giant-sized humanoid torso completes the thing, corded muscles tense at the ready and its piercing blue eyes and bearded face project an aura of menace. Spiraled horns curl upwards from its forehead, and small icicles dangle from every overhang of its features, and a crown of ice tops its head, glittering in the artificial light brought by the companions.
it rumbles, causing the entire cavern to shake, There can be no doubt that this mighty thing is indeed Vsevolod, the Centaur Prince... but he is clearly not a true centaur. What creature he actually is can only be guessed at.
Heafoc takes to the sky, clearly outmatched, she knows no fear. Only attack.
Lashing out with he razor sharp beak, she tries to peck an eye out. Regretfully her beak is like a fly bite to the monstrous creature.
Heafoc's scratches and pecks do not come close to penetrating the behemoth's thick hide. It swats at Heafoc distractedly, but the bird easily avoids the clumsy - and likely subconscious - blow.
Sweet Desna. This might be the end. But this son of the north will show these soft southerners how a half-elf can die!
"Vsevolod. Know were are servants of Baba Yaga, her chosen. We mortals have heard the voice of a god speaking to . We have no fear. Prepare yourself for death."
Working himself into a frenzy, the magically altered northman grips the abnormally large handle of Frostreaver in his meaty hands. the sounds reverberates throughout the cavern as Jorvik hits the ground.
"AHHhahahah!" With a roar of rage, eyes bugging out of his sockets, Jorvik has eyes only for Vsevolod. Holding the head of Forstreaver high above his shoulder, his furred-boots stomp as his running stride covers the distance in a mere heartbeat. Holding the hammer high above him, Jorvik leaps up, and pikes his body all while swinging the hammer as hard as he can into the chest of this beast.
Unbelievably fast, uses the momentum of the back swing for the soft underbelly of the great beast.
The massive Jorvik rushes forwards to meet Vsevolod head on. He notes that his own torso is roughly the same size as this enormous centaurs, though with the horse-like body it stands at least five feet taller than him.
Both mighty blows hit, and the smacking sound they create echoes throughout the chamber. Some of the icicles hanging from the mighty thing's beard dislodge and crash to the ground. The towering monstrosity known as Vsevolod grits his teeth but shows no other outward sign of pain.
the giant grins,
For a moment the child can do nothing but stand dumbfounded and watch as her elder brother springs into action, fighting valiantly against the colossal creature. She breathes a ragged sigh, watching Heafoc diving at Vsevolod, risking life and wing. In reply, the towering monstrosity only grins and responds with threats.
Blinking once more, the fear gripping her is gone and in its place flows a seething anger.
Aoife bounds forward pulling the glistening blade from her back, and with each step watches the as the towering figure rises higher and higher, blotting out almost all sight. Its many stamping legs call up a sickening sensation in her stomach as she looks upon the unnatural beast, but her brewing rage keeps the sensation from sinking in.
"You're time has come, Vsevolod!" she yells as her path turns away from the creature and she begins to approach along and arcing path. "You're death is the proof we need to set us upon our way! You are help we need to find Baba Yaga!"
Knowing she cannot reach the Vsevolod before the he brings a mighty blow down upon her, Aoife continues to move about the outskirts of the room, hoping to get into a better position from which to attack.
Ishbaad nods with the crone, realizing he had expected her to know the details all along. The epiphany was his alone, but there was a measure of pride for figuring it out, even if only moments before they were to stop it from happening.
Hopefully.
With a final whisper of a prayer, the magical, giant-bane longspear is wreathed in flame. Ishbaad smiles as the new weapon has an old, familiar feel, then pushes through the door.
Entering the room, Ishbaad's heart stops for a moment. They have fought giants before. This creature's size is different. It is less about physical size, and more about presence. This will not be the same, and he will not leave the eon pit the same inquisitor he came in. Much like this quest, nothing of the old Ishbaad will remain the same. He suddenly finds comfort in the feel of his old weapon, like a link to his past he may never even feel connected to again.
Not for the last time, Ishbaad laments his trudging, slow speed as he begins to lumber across the room. Knowing he won't make it as fast as Jorvik, he begins to throw taunts right back at the beast, hoping his bluster and bravado hides his fear that this may be the end for all of them.
"His coming will be to late, foolish prince! You face the Judgement of Ishbaad, Dragon Slayer. Taste my wrath! Taste the wrath of those who bear the mantle of Illarion Matveius!"
Vsevolod booms,
As Jorvik stands before the mighty Vsevolod, he is heartened by the fact that his friends will soon join him in the fight of their lives.
Seeing the oread leisurely stroll into the room, and his little sister take a fighting stance behind the eon pit, Jorvik grist his teeth as he anticipates the mighty blows Vsevolod will rain upon him.
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The goblin giggles as he sees Jorvik carve out large chunks of the creature. So much so, that it delays his reactions, He debates throwing bombs at first, it going for the admixture to focus the bombs. So many options, all of which end up with a tremendous amount of fire and other elements being thrown against the centaur.
"A big voice you have..." Kuragin mutters as he joins the battle. Himself, he has little use for bravado - it's enough effort to make through the day. He takes a analysing look at Vsevolod, sharing anything he knows with his allies.
For the first time, Kuragin curses the limited range of his hexes. Vsevolod is too far for them at this moment, and the witch has little interest closing in without his allies in the front line. But, they do have the initiative on their side, and Kuragin does have clear visibility to the gigantic creature. So perhaps it's best to start the battle with an offensive spell.
All his arcane knowledge packed in to refining the spell, Kuragin conjures a snowball into his hand, and hurls it at Vsevolod.
The snowball pounds into the gigantic torso of Vsevolod, Kuragin proving that he can indeed hit the broad side of a barn. The cold energies, however, dissipate harmlessly across his enemy's flank, forming frosty circles that add to the frozen condensation already covering parts of his body.
Gripping the massive spear tightly in his white-fleshed hand, Vsevolod lashes out at Jorvik with all he has, stabbing again and again.
Not finished, the enormous eight-legged centaur lashes out with horn and hoof, first ducking to pound Jorvik with his goat-like protrusions and then rearing back to slam down with four hooves that are more like two pairs, with each pair acting as one.
Unrelenting, Vsevold smashes into Jorvik again and again, until all that remains of the half-elven skald is a shattered corpse upon the ground. The halls surrounding the Eon Pit grow infinitely more dark in the heroes' eyes. Even the thundering of Vsevolod's mighty hooves cannot break the palpable silence as a dull numbness comes over all.
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The child sees the brutal onslaught brought down upon her elder brother, and she cannot help from crying out in agony and thrusting an outstretched hand in a futile attempt to reach him. "Jorvik, nooooo!" her shout echoes off the chamber walls, funneling down and reverberating its way back up the dreaded eon pit. Tears are already in her eyes as she takes one labored step forward and can do naught but release a pathetic whimper.
It's only a dream. It's only a dream, she chants to herself forming a mantra that does little to reassure the child. He can't die in a dream. He will just wake up. The real Jorvik, I've never even met him. He's safe somewhere... far from here.
This can't be true. He can't be dead, she continues her silent chant to herself. As her eyes fall upon the pitiful form of her her elder brother the tears begin to flow fully, running down her face as the massive sword in hand nearly falls from her grasp.
He can't be...
With one arm she wipes her face and takes a deep breath, feeling the feuling anger bolster her resolve and turns her sadness into a desperate want for vengeance. Her grip retightens on the blade and before she knows it, her legs are carrying her swiftly for the beast. It's towering form yawns above her own tiny frame. It could kill her, she didn't care any longer. If it was all a dream and this demon could help her awake at last. If this wasn't all a dream, and she died for real, she didn't care either. She did want to go on living if her brother was truly gone. He meant too much to her now.
All that mattered was that this thing perish with her.
Releasing a terrible scream of her own, the child crosses the last few steps to the beast, waiting for its blows to rain down upon her, and then she swings with all her strength for its belly.
Though the demon towers before her, her eyes only see Jorvik kneeling before her, and smiling, with a hand resting lovingly on her shoulder.
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A spear drives home, impossibly fast, uncomprehendingly powerful. The sense of presence that caused Ishbaad pause moments ago? It suddenly feels like the weight of 10,000 boulders on his chest. Time seems to move in slow motion. Ishbaad sees the death of his friend, his brother, though it hasn't happened yet.
No, perhaps not. He doesn't see the future, only the inevitability of it.
The spear slams home a second time. Ishbaad's heart still has not finished its rhythmic cycle of the next beat. Gore sprays from the new wound, and the weight of inevitability crushes down all the more.
Suddenly Ishbaad sees a scene from not so long ago. He is skinning an animal with Jorvik as they make their way to whitethrone. I never finished my conversation with him... Jorvik, you can't die...
The spear enters Jorvik a third time, mid-chest, just off center. Ishbaad's mouth goes dry and a lump forms in his throat. The weight of the truth of fate crushes his soul even more. Each spear thrust pierces Ishbaad's heart as surely as it pierces Jorvik's broken body.
His muscles clench, beads of sweat form across his forehead and the palms of his hands feel clammy. His vision becomes focused, tunneled with Vsevold as its only focused. The blur of stomping hooves on Jorvik's broken frame is just that, a speedy blur as time moves fast and slow, losing all meaning.
Ishbaad shouts at Vsevold, at the fates themselves, at the gods who care not for minor things like this. His challenge uttered, he charges with abandon.
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"Boss Jorvik! No!!! Me avenge you!"
The smirk has disappeared from Ice Melts Quietly in Sunglight's face, replaced with a look of utter hatred. "You gonna die, you evil horse-man!"
The goblin flies up next to the probable corpse of Jorvik. He wishes he had thought to get a scroll of breath of life while still in Whitethrone. That not being the case, he throws a bomb at the huge creature.
"For Boss Jorvik!!!" he screams, as he throws another bomb.
He knows that the barrage of bombs will not save the life of Jorvik, but he now fights to save the lives of all of his friends. For the one of the first times, he realizes he values them more than he values his own life, that he still has wrongs to right against them. Nothing will now stop him from reducing the vile creature in front of them into a smouldering pile of flesh.
Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight's first bombs strike Vsevolod in the chest with incredible effect. His beard is singed and he grimaces, the pain almost too much for him to bear. The goblin judges that, while it appears Vsevolod is indeed vulnerable to fire, it is having some kind of diminished effect.
Aoife's blade strikes deep into one of Vsevolod's eight legs. It hits an artery and blackish blue blood streams forth to coat Aoife's face and arms in shockingly cold liquid. This time, Vsevolod screams in pain and the bellow reverberates throughout the entire cavern.
Ishbaad follows it up with an incredible blow from his now-enlarged giant-bane longspear. Vsevolod turns from Aoife at exactly the right moment for the oread to plunge the weapon deep into his chest, directly in the middle of the still-flaming scorch marks left by Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight. Disbelieving, Vsevolod looks down at the weapon protruding from his breast and swats ineffectually at it a moment before crashing down upon the ground in a heap. The thunderous sound of the Centaur Prince collapsing echoes throughout the chamber and is followed by complete and utter silence.
The crone enters the chamber of the Eon Pit in the wake of Vsevolod's death. A tear falls from her eyes as she regards the dead half-elf.
"I am sorry, truly, for your loss," she remarks, "But it will not be in vain. Here, this is yours, I believe." Jadrenka retrieves a large nugget of gold from the tattered remains of her robes and passes it to Kuragin, the closest of the now four heroes.
The companions do not have time to formulate a response, however, as mighty footsteps can be heard reverberating from somewhere deep within the Eon Pit.
*THUD THUD THUD*
"Sweet Baba Yaga, did Vsevolod complete the ritual?" Jadrenka looks to the eviscerated corpses of the two frost giants and gulps nervously. It is the first sign of human frailty the heroes have glimpsed in the typically overconfident guardian of Artrosa.
*THUD THUD THUD*
"He is close now, beware! Artrosa has been Kostchtchie's prison for millennia, I do not intend for him to escape now," a staff appears as though from nowhere, and Jadrenka brandishes it before the pit. Her movements are suddenly smooth and lithe, though her body still appears old and frail. "Stand with me, bearer's of Illarion Matveius's mantle, and let us put this upstart demon-lord back in its place."
A massive, balding blue head crests the horizon of the Eon Pit. From the blackness emerges a thirty foot tall frost giant. Its cruel laughter peals out from a face that seems to carry a permanent scowl.
he begins, his voice painfully loud, and seeming to penetrate the companions' very minds,
With that, he smashes the ground with his mighty hammer. A trail of ice snakes in fractal fashion from the point at which it strikes to rush towards Ishbaad, currently the largest of Kostchtchie's foes. The line of frost strikes his feet and explodes upwards, encasing him from shoulders to toe in thick ice. Were Ishbaad his regular self, he would not have been able to break free, as it is, however...
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Even as the thundering foot steps echo off the walls and shake the very floor of the chamber surrounding the Eon pit, Aoife cannot bring her eyes to stray from the form of Jorvik laying still on the ground. Tears still flow down her face, mixing with the dirt and grim caking her cheeks. Sniffing in vain, she cannot stop the streaming tears, not even the booming voice of the eternity-imprissoned giant.
She can barely manage it, but drags her feet along the chamber toward the giant and her companions standing in defiance against it. As she approaches, the towering behemoth brings down his mighty hammer and a moment later her guardian is covered in a coffin of ice.
Still the child drags herself closer, transferring the blade to her off hand, and reaching back with her right. The fingers of the massive gauntlet close, one by one, forming a fist many times too big for a mere child to form. Then, she punches the encasing ice and drives the leather glove through the thick shards. The impact causes a spider web of cracks to propagate outward, encircling the frozen shield that holds Ishbaad.
As a faint popping sound rises from the weakened ice, with each moment showing new and ever spreading cracks, she turns away from the giant. Again her feet carry her, sluggishly and with great effort. Walking step by step, away from the others and away from the giant, the child's muffled and pain-wracked voice can be heard.
"Kill him..." she mutters. "End his prison sentence... His punishment is now death..."
The greatsword then drops from her hands, clanking to the chamber floor as the child continues to walk away from it. Eventually her feet bring her to the still form of Jorvik, and she drops to her knees. With her teeth, she bites down on a few of the leather gauntlet's fingers, and uses her mouth to pull her hand free. After the second is removed, she reaches down and with great, struggling effort manages to scoop her elder brother in her arms.
"I couldn't protect you big brother..." she pulls his head into her chest, and leans her own head against his. "I left you alone when you needed me... It's my fault... I'm afraid I killed you... But you're not here to forgive me... or comfort me anymore... You're gone forever... because of me..."
"You were good... kind... loving..." she continues to mumble quietly, uncaring to what is happening behind her.
"If you're gone... I don't want to go on..."
If you're gone... I'll find a way to wake myself up...
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Heafoc looked over at her master. She saw the giant horse man thrust his spear into his side. A loud grunt emerged as he was lifted off his feet. The pained expression on his face told the story as the fire of his rage slowly started to extinguish. Then the spear came down again, bursting through his breastplate like a hot knife through butter. Blood and fluids erupted from her master's side spilling down his body, soaking his clothes.
Her master's eyes were now filled with fear. Real fear. The hunter had become the hunted. He turned his head right and left. Looking. Maybe for a way to escape, maybe for his friends, maybe for something else.
Then it came again. The spear. The metal tipped point of death. The large creature in front of Heafoc was grinning wildly. The spear once agin was thrust into her master's chest so far this time that the tip emerged in a spew of organ and a spray of blood out of his back. Gurgled cries could be heard from him as his body lost power. Once the massive creature removed the spear form his body, he slumped to the floor. Placing one had on the rocky floor of the cavern, he tried to rouse himself up. The grunts and groans of dying prey angered the majestic bird.
They were hunters. Strong and proud. Not prey weak and scared. This was not right. This was unnatural. She winged about to fly right at the horse beast's face once again.
Before she could close the distance she saw it raise a hoof. Crying out in rage, she knew what would come next. Looking down, she saw her master rise to one knee. He too knew what was about to happen. The grim determination on his face told the story. She heard him begin to shout in his foreign language.
"I am Jorvik Rybalt. The Bloodspeaker. Son of the North. Chosen of Baba Yaga. You. Will. Not. Win. " came his strangled cry through cracked lips, red spittle bubbles bursting with each enunciated word. Staring inevitable death in the face, he growled as the hoof descended.
The hoof came down with such power, such force, that the cavern floor shook. His body broken and crumpled melded into the cavern floor. The widening pool of blood and fluids radiating from his body spread thick. The light in his eyes faded like a snuffed out torch. His ruined chest stalled and remained unmoving.
Laughter. Laughter from the beast. Quick as a darting snake, the other hoof crashed down. The snaps of broken bones, metal creasing, wood snapping was drowned out by the massive of the hoof resting through the man, onto the floor.
Unrecognizable, her master was no more. A broken, bloody, ruined mass of red was all that remained.
Screeching in anger, Heafoc wanted to wing and dive. To peck and pluck. To claw and carve out this thing's eyes. But she felt a pull. A pull as if some hunter had laid a snare trap and tightened a rope around her body. As much as she struggled and flapped her wings she made no progress. No movement forward towards her prey. Slowly she was being pulled backwards farther from her master. The cavern, the ceiling, her prey all began to blur.
Her world shifting, Heafoc tried to blink the vision away and continue the hunt. For him. To show that they were warriors destined to hunt.
The world went blurry. Then reformed to a frigid landscape. Unformed and unfamiliar. Snow drifted down covering the fir trees like a white, fleecy blanket. The cool crisp air chilled her feathers before she could puff them out to keep in her heat. She took to the sky in a few powerful strokes quickly ascending above the tree line. She circled in long arcs, surveying her surroundings. A hunter never forgets a hunting ground and this one was all to familiar to her. Spotting a snowfoot hare bound through the powered snow, her hunter's brain quickly snapped on, gauging speed and angles. Folding her wings back she streaked downward. The ground approached so fast that an observer would never believe how quickly she pivoted her body to extend her razor sharp claws.
She struck the hare so hard that they both somersaulted a few feet before coming to a stop. The hare tried to hop away but the falcons claws were dug too deep, her grip too strong for it to break free. Before her beak could rip the hot fur and flesh, an elf strode forward. He bent down and plucked the hare, quickly snapping its neck. Drawing a hunting knife, he quickly field dressed the hare throwing meaty chunks to the falcon. Standing in the snow, she snapped the morsels up and quickly swallowed them down her gullet.
The elf deftly cleared some snow, piled some dead tree branches, and started a fire. Heafoc took to the lower branches of a fir tree to avoid the licking flames, but watched the elf intently. Se saw him spit the hare and begin to roast it. While the fat and juices crackled in the heat, he vanished into the woods. Moments later, he emerged with a a pair of flat top stones that he arranged on either side of the fire.
The elf gracefully sat down, slowly turning the roasting coney.
Moments passed.
Blinking the sight from her eyes, her master appeared. Naked and whole, lying on his side in the snow. She saw him push himself to his knees in much the same way while fighting the giant horse monster. Looking around he spied the elf.
He began speaking in his language again.
"Where am I? Who are you? What happened?"
"So many questions. Always so many questions. You cannot find the answers to this world by asking every single person you ever meet all these questions. Here you must be hungry."
The elf extended the spit to her master. Taking the end he began to slice off charred slices of meat. Melted fat and hot juices ran down his face and into his beard as her master devoured her prey. She had done well. She would be rewarded. Alighting off the branch, she swooped down ready for him to throw her the reward she richly deserved.
"Heafoc? What are you doing here?" he called as he threw her a hunk of meat.
"You really are daft boy. More questions."
"What do you expect me to do? One moment I can feel my ruined body in Artosa about to be trampled and now I am here with you. Whoever you are. Wherever I am. "
"Sweet Desna. Will you never learn? Eat."
Her master did as he was instructed quickly leaving only a pile of bones. She too was satiated as her master had given her as much as he consumed.
"What no...."
"Don't say it. Don't finish that thought boy. Come with me." he angrily pointed to her master.
Her master rose and made to follow. She would have liked to land on his outstretched arm like always, but he was still naked in his pink flesh and her talons would have shredded his arm. She contented herself with circling tightly over head, looking for more prey, but keeping her master in sight.
The slow elf and half-elf plodded along as she scanned the ground and sky.
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The encasing ice around Ishbaad squeezes his body like a vice, his body heat seeping out like so much sand through spread fingers. The tears that rim his eyes are frozen almost instantly, breaking away in flecks as he tries to blink. He suddenly feels the vibration from the impact that he would later learn came from Aoife. The vice grip of the ice squeezes, but he instantly feels its new weakness.
The booming voice of the giant god echoes in the cavern, but Ishbaad is too overwhelmed to be awed by the power. The centaur prince and his force of presence was an ant compared to this being, this demon deity, but it did not matter. Ishbaad's heart was too heavy. The burden was too great. His brother in arms lay broken at his feet. The powerful blow from the longspear he delivered to Vsevold satiated some part of his anger, slaking some rising thirst for vengence, but it did not bring Jorvik back.
Aoife appears in his peripheral vision. She cradles the broken bloodspeaker's head. They were all right. She should not have come. She will never be a child again. Her innocence... How did I know this would happen, in this place? No one would leave this place the same. For a moment, Ishbaad regards Aoife as she cradles her self-named brother, and instead sees a young, innocent child, plucking a delicate flower from the side of a worn path. The vision is gone as quickly as it came, lost to unrecorded history, forever buried in a place that seems impossibly long ago, and no longer reachable.
The reverberations of the giant-god's booming voice finish their echo as he makes his empty claims. Fresh tears flow from Ishbaad's eyes as the gravity of the last few moments overwhelm him anew. This time, instead of despair, he feels anger. So much anger. He strains with every ounce of his considerable power. He calls upon every drop of giant blood that flows through his veins. The fissures left by Aoife begin to burst, one, then two, then in an explosion of ice shards the Oread Inquisitor bursts free from the icy coffin.
"Oh shut up you overgrown blowhard. Go back to where you belong. Baba Yaga deemed you too pathetic to be of consequence, and so you were relegated to a prison that does not exist for all eternity. To be forgotten. Now you will have death, and you will still be forgotten. I too, judge you pathetic and insignificant." Turning his feet in perfect rhythm, perfect grace, Ishbaad leans into his center of power. The longspear is coiled to his chest, the blood of the dead prince frozen to the shaft. He explodes forward again, with perfect aim guided by divine forces, burying the spear into the giant-god's chest so deep it begins to break free from his back side. "This is your new gift. Not only are you cursed to death, but this thorn shall remain forever in your chest. You are eternally bound to this prison, and no one shall think on you, ever again." Ishbaad's voice remains calm and even. His tone is measured, though he cannot stop the tears from flowing.
He crouches down once again, digging his feet into the ground. His pauldrons flare and the flash reflects in his onyx colored eyes. *Thud*Thud*Thud his footsteps echo with the same inevitability that pervades this cavern and everything that has happened within. Ishbaad the Chosen, Dragon Slayer and Destroyer of Vsevold crashes into Kostchtchie with the force of the mountain. The reverberations of the impact are felt in each of those who witness the collision. One shoulder catches the mighty giant bane longspear at an awkward angle, and the shaft cannot withstand the pressure from being pressed against a rib. It shatters inside the ribcage of the giant as Ishbaad presses with all his might. In slow motion, Kostchtchie beings to lose his balance. Oread and demon god fall in slow motion.
Directly into the pit from whence the prisoner came.
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Why it always has to be Jorvik… Kuragin groans when Vsevolod's first strike draws the northman’s blood. Then comes the second strike, cutting deep but is only a small taste of what is to come. Kuragin tries to shout out a warning, but it is already too late. The massive spear enters Jorvik’s chest, and comes out from his back.
The gruesome image of Vsevolod stomping on the half-elf stays on Kuragin’s eyes while he tries to come up with a spell to put an end to it.
He is only a travelling companion, temporary ally until Baba Yaga is found, his mind tries to say, to calm himself down. But Kuragin’s heart disagrees, and his eyes start to moisten no matter how hard he tries to deny his feelings. Kuragin prepares to send fire and poison flying at the giant centaur, but his enraged companions are faster. Such fury is rarely witnessed, and Vsevolod falls easy.
Even in his death, he inspires us all..
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Brooding, Kuragin stands witnessing the sight of slain ally and enemy, thinking the ways he could have prevented this from happening. Jorvik always had ill fates cast upon him, and Kuragin felt it was his duty to guide the fortunes for better. But so eager was the half-elf for battle, that he ran too far, where Kuragin couldn’t follow.
Or he could have followed, but he was afraid of the huge centaur and did not want to venture anywhere near the oversized spear. And in this Kuragin feels he was wise, it could very well be him lying on the ground, bones smashed and heart pierced.
No, it was always Jorvik who the fates would so torment. I would not have been harmed.
So deep in his thought is Kuragin, he barely acknowledges Jadrenka speaking. And only when the immortal voice from the pit booms out it’s hatred and spite, the witch becomes aware from his surroundings again. And only to see Ishbaad beginning his fall towards the depths of the pit.
Without a second thought, Kuragin’s hex gives him the powers of flight, and he roams through the air towards the falling Oread. He grabs Ishbaad by his heavy armor, but with the inquisitors massive bulk, he is barely able to stop his descent, and actually lifting him is far beyond his abilities.
”Stupid southerner..! Let go of the demon..! Enough death for this day..!” Kuragin's speak is strained, but he has no intention of letting go of his friend.
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The enlarged oread and demigod tumble into the blackness of the Eon Pit. Kostchtchie's mighty hand lashes outwards to smash into the wall of the pit, and sticks there. Their momentum is halted, and Ishbaad is almost thrown free of the spear shaft that he clings to. The grasping, flying Jadwiga does not help the situation.
screams the demon-lord and would-be god, flecks of icy spittle flying from his mouth, Ishbaad looks down at his hand, which is wrinkling and sprouting age spots before his very eyes.
While dangling precariously from the giant form of Kostchtchie, somehow, Ishbaad's eyes wander to the wall of the pit. There, inlaid and surrounded by the patterns carved in the stone, is a singular shiny scale... larger than a man's fist, the scale of an elder silver dragon.
Ishbaad and Kuragin are suddenly slammed from the front and then from the rear. Dimly, they become aware that they have been swatted off Kostchtchie and into the opposing wall. The enormous frost giant once more ascends the steps of the Eon Pit.
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Jadrenka smiles as Kostchtchie crests the lip once more. "Quite the wound you have there," she grins, "A mortal wound for most." Her musing is quite pointed, and she doesn't even try to suppress her chuckle.
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Kostchtchie replies, predictably, He leaps the final distance to menace Jadrenka directly and raises his mighty hammer to strike what will surely be a mortal blow.
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Jadrenka simply reaches into her robes and retrieves a silver chain. At the end of the chain is an spiral silver medallion, encrusted with white gems around a central deep blue ice diamond. Kostchtchie's eyes and mouth go wide.
"Yes," Jadrenka answers his unspoken question, "A fragment of your soul - the fragment that was your mortality... and can be again. I need only release it." Jadrenka strokes the torc at the end of the chain lovingly, grinning cruelly all the while.
Kostchtchie holds very still, unsure what to do. In the end, however, bloodlust wins out and he pulls back his hammer to strike, hoping to end Jadrenka before she can do anything.
Jadrenka holds the necklace up to her lips. "Be free." These whispered words are simple enough, but carry with them power formed by Baba Yaga herself. A swirl of ice trails from the medallion and strikes Kostchtchie in the chest.
His mortality returned, the spear wound dealt to the demon lord by Ishbaad suddenly explodes in a fountain of blood. A veritable geyser of frosty liquid coats all nearby moments before Kostchtchie falls to the ground with a deafening thud, quite dead.
"Too soon..." Jadrenka mutters, looking at the crumpled form of Jorvik, coated in the blood of the giant-god.
Slowly, she hobbles over to the man, still holding the torc aloft. Almost imperceptibly, she begins a chant over the half-elf's corpse.
"Standing up so tall,
But still he fell.
The demon lord fought,
And died as well.
"Bathed in giant's blood,
On stone he lies;
Eternity's maw,
Open nearby.
"Rise up Blood Speaker,
Sleep here no more.
Your task is not done,
No peace before."
With that, Jadrenka breaks off a piece of the crystalline torc and crumbles it to powder. Slowly, she sprinkles the stuff over Jorvik's chest. Suddenly, the corpse of the half-elf, lying upon the cold, blood-drenched stone of the Chamber of Eons, takes in a sharp breath.
Ishbaad grimaces with satisfaction as the giant god falls dead above him, unaware of the other momentous occasion happening out of his eyesight. His eyesight, in fact, is rather focused on the shining silver scale embedded into the wall. Too stunned and full of adrenaline to take complete stock of how lucky he is, he scrambles around the edge to get closer.
His heart beats faster, suddenly realizing the strange aging taking over the skin of his hands, but this scale is to intriguing to not at least try to pry free. He pulls out a blade and tries to jam it underneath, holding his other hand over top in case it pops free suddenly.
The moment Ishbaad plants his dagger in the wall, the scale shakes loose. It is craggy and almost tarnished in appearance. The thickness, size and number of lines traveling down the scale tell the age of its former wearer at well over one thousand years. Later examination also reveals that it is nonmagical and mundane in every way save for the fact that it is a scale from an ancient silver dragon.
Sensibly for now, though, with scale in hand Ishbaad rushes up and out of the Eon Pit. The artificial aging stops almost immediately, but does not reverse. In addition to the age spots, rock hard skin can be found in Ishbaad's elbow, knee and knuckle areas. His joints ache, and not just from the battle.
Kuragin, on the other hand, seems largely unaffected by the pit. Perhaps it is because he is a witch... perhaps it is because, as it is for all Jadwiga, he has the blood of Baba Yaga in his veins.
Both men stand once more in the cavern when Jorvik's dead body sucks in a quick, ragged breath.
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The little goblin cries out in shock when he sees the big half-elf breath once more. "Boss Jorvik! You live! Me saw you die, and me take out rage on big bad horse-thing! Me so glad you live!"
He runs as fast as he can, and then grabs him in a big goblin hug (so, not really so big). He pulls out an extract, and forces Jorvik to drink it... followed by a potion (which he tells Jorvik to not swallow, but just swish and spit out). [ooc]alchemical allocation was the first one.[ooc] The potion of cure serious wounds goes a long way to heal the damage causes by Vsevolod, and then the goblin repeats the process, healing yet more damage.
"Me glad that you gonna be around for a lot longer. Me sad, though. Me thought you had died, and me react not like goblin hero you want me to be. We all got kinda mad, and took our rage out on big baddie."
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Lazily circling over head I easily saw the clearing they were headed for. Just to make sure all was safe, I winged in larger and larger arcs away form the clearing. There was little prey in the cold lands, and the prey that was there was difficult to find and kill. I spied some ground shrews, shaggy in their fur. A hunter such as I has no need to hunt prey that stupid. It is beneath me.
As the elf and my master emerged into the clearing more elves melted from the edges of the forest. I gave a shrill cry. These elves I had not seen. We're they prey or more friends of my master? With a few beats of my wing I gained altitude. Dipping my right wing I turned in a tight circle and shifted to streak for the elves and hunt with my master once again.
But these new elves were not prey. They began to speak in their language again.
"Jorvik. Part man. Part elf. You have been found wanting. You claim the snowcaster elf heritage yet you do not seek us out. You travel with your jagwida and southern friends. Even a goblin. Even after the gift of your mighty falcon you choose their life over our life.
"For this crime, you are no longer considered a snowcaster elf. We cannot remove your father's blood from your veins, but hence forth you are on your own and will receive no more aid from us."
My master looked as if he wanted to hunt prey. I was ready. Ready to fight alongside him once again. Then he stopped. He seems to do the unnatural. Surrender. This was not a fight he was going to fight.
"My father you say? Does he live? Is he here? Is he ready to face me?"
Again the first elf spoke. "My apologies. He is a thick headed as he human. Best way to teach him is to beat it out of him."
The elves all began to hunt at once, pulling long spears out of no where, plunging it again and again into his naked body.
I pulled my wings back in hunter's mode. To hunt once aging with my master, to fight against all odds. We win. We always win.
I did not see the elf to the side so transfixed was I with my master, nor did I see the half score of arrows shot so perfectly from elven bow. First my right wing lost power. I tried to beat my left to compensate but I knew it was no use.
More arrows thunked into me. Master. I had to get to him. To save him. To hunt.
With my last remaining strength I beat wings that would not move, and willed my body to go that last few yards. I landed hard on his pierced an bloody body, but at least I was with him, shielding a small part of him. Hunting one last time.