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Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight wrestles the corpse that had moments earlier managed to suck in a single breath. He pours liquids down its throat and mutters assurances and instructions to it. All the while, the liquid pours out freely onto the stony ground of this open cavern. It mingles with the blood there, belonging to half-elf, monstrous centaur and giant-god alike. Not one drop finds its way down the dead body's crushed esophagus.
A gnarled, withered old hand grasps the goblin's shoulder. The strength of that grip is incredible and seems to snap Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight from the delusion that had come over him. He sees properly for the first time since he heard the breath. The very still, crumpled corpse of Jorvik is below him, and spilled potions are all around.
"He is still dead, child," Jadrenka says simply, "And it will take a little more time to rectify that. His body is ready for him to return, but sometimes the spirits of the dead need a reason to come back. Can any of you offer that to your friend, Jorvik the Bloodspeaker?"
The corpse on the goblin's lap twitches slightly and then remains still.
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The little blue goblin looks up, tears in his eyes. He looks down at the body of one who was, at times, not to happy to be traveling with him. Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight remembers how he had wronged the big half-elf, over and over, catching him in the bursts of his bombs, putting him at risk. Tears flow faster, as he thinks back on the stern talks Jorvik gave him, trying to teach him to be more careful.
He thinks back, again, after he put the cursed ring on. Jorvik was extremely cross with him then, but then there was compassion. Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight had learned a tough lesson that day, and Jorvik ended up helping him through the turmoil.
"Boss... I don't know if I can do this without you..." he whimpers. "You made me become a real hero. You help all of us become heroes. You have to come back... help us be heroes. Me not know if me can do it without you. First, Coramus left us. Me not know if me can survive that, but you help me through, and make me strong. You make all of us strong. Please come back, Boss Jorvik. Please..."
Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight starts going through his pockets and pouches, lining up everything that he owns, everything that he has claimed during their adventures. "Me not be selfish no more, see? Me give you and our family everything me own. Our family needs a dad... Uncle Ishbaad, he no dad at all... he struggle as much as Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight does, me can see it. Kuragin, he is not strong like you. Oh, he strong in mind, but you strong in mind and body, just like me. And what will Aoife do without you? You need to be our father-figure. We need you!"
He breaks into tears as he neatly arranges everything. An amazing number of potions and reagents is laid out, showing how industrious a saver the goblin has become. When he sees everything he has, and that Jorvik hasn't come back yet, he starts working with pieces of wire, and semi-precious stones. The incredible dexterity of goblin fingers guided by the strong mind of Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight start to form a delicate filigree, perhaps a broach or a pin, in the shape of a falcon.
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Cresting the lip of the Eon Pit, Ishbaad looks down at his weather-worn, aged hands, the horror of what has instantly happened finally setting in. Over his shoulder, Kuragin flies out of the pit with nary a scratch or liver spot to show for his brief time in the pit. In front of him, Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight wails in his grief while Aoife continues to cradle Jorvik’s head. Vsevolod and Kostchtchie both lie dead as a backdrop to the macabre scene.
Isbhaad feels and hears a buzzing, ringing sound in his ear that crescendos until he can hear nothing else. His vision blurs at the edges, first obscuring the backdrop of dead deity, then the grief filled scene of a brother who has fallen in battle. All that is left in his vision is his cracked, worn hands, with crystalline nodules beginning to form at each of his knuckles and joints. Time, you see, affects a man differently than an Oread. Ishbaad is made from the stone, but even the mountain bends to the inevitability of time. Small fissures appear all over his visible skin, and the crystalline growths that now cover his joints threaten to steal his mobility and strength. His breath seems harder to draw somehow, as if the very effort of lifting his chest to suck wind has become its own grueling process.
Old Age? This is not fair… It cannot be like this. With old age is supposed to come the wisdom of experience, of seeing the world as it changes. The mountain trades its strength for knowledge, the knowledge that can only come from being witness to the world around it. Where did my witness go? Only moments in the pit, he looks back at the black hole, as if the hole itself is the monster, and not the evil demon god that crawled out of it, and my youth is sapped, but there is no experience to take its place.
”No. No no no no no…” Ishbaad continues to look at his hands, shaking his head and repeating the word, trying to relegate the reality in front of him to his imagination by sheer force of will. His hands tremble while he waits for the visible signs of age to disappear, but they do not. He looks up in confusion, but no one else is paying attention, and for good reason.
Jorvik has fallen. Aoife, Icy, Kuragin… What is happening to us? A knot forms in the pit of his stomach, his earlier thoughts about how they would not be able to leave Artrosa the same as when they entered echoing in his mind again. Back when he thought that, despite his conviction, it was still a thing that was off in the future. A reality not yet experienced, and therefore of far less importance. Now it was here, and Ishbaad did not want to accept it.
”Is this the price, Jadrenka? Is this the price of service to Baba Yaga? We each accepted this quest as a means to our own ends. Yet it threatens to consume us. Why were we so blind to think that… that… That there would be no other cost… Why was I so blind?” Ishbaad trails off, staring at his hands, then to Jorvik’s body, then back to Jadrenka with moisture rimming his eyes.
He finally trudges over to where Aoife and Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight weep over their brother. He collapses to his knees, with sudden new pains arcing up his back and in his joints for the effort. ”I do not want you to leave us friend. No doubt wherever you are, your hunter’s soul has found peace. Why should you give up that peace for us? For this torment?” For a moment, Ishbaad wonders why they should bother to ask Jorvik to come back. For their sake? Such a selfish request. ”I cannot bring myself to beg you to return. If you do, I should like to apologize for not standing next to you. For not dying with you, as it should have been. I was not where I should be, and you paid that price…”
Ishbaad looks up to Jadrenka again. He glances at Jorvik, then at his hands, then back to the changling in crone form. ”Must we truly pay this price? Is there another way?” He holds up his hands, aged beyond what is natural, and covered in Jorvik's blood.
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The youth held up the small, white rimmed hand mirror. A youth such as himself at this stage in life should have possessed a full length mirror, complete with whale bone inlays. But this was just an ordinary hand mirror with a hairline crack spidering down the right side.
The youth thrust his chin out, fingering the peach fuzz there, searching for the tell-tale signs of a manly whisker sprout. Try as he might to concentrate on his chin, his eyes inevitably rose towards a paper thin white scar bisecting his pointed ear. He sighed audibly and placed the mirror down.
Moments later the door to his chamber burst open with a loud bang. In stepped a beautiful woman richly dressed and adorned with jewels. A bystander would be hard pressed to determine her age. High cheekbones, unblemished skin, and almond shaped eyes all spoke of her great beauty. Yet her face was twisted in an angry look that chilled all who passed her.
"Jorvik. I was told that you were injured and I should see you. How many did you kill?"
"None, mother." the boy replied sheepishly.
"What do you mean none? Then who attacked you? I need to know so we can exact revenge upon them. No one touches one of my blood unless I permit it"
"It wasn't like that mother. I did it. To myself."
The blow came swift and hard, like a viper of the Mwgani Expanse to the boy's head. He crumpled like a doll carelessly tossed in the corner.
"What?!? That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard. To yourself. What did you do and why?"
Rising slowly to his feet, the left side of his face turning a crimson red, "The same boys, mother. You know they mock me, and my .. heritage. I thought if I could hide the more obvious features I would have a chance to be more accepted. So without my pointed ears. ..". Another blow, as hard as the first sent the boy once again to the floor.
"If I did not carry you in my womb I would never have believed that you are my son. You are a fool. This is the north. You take what you want. You fight for what is important. I have tried my best to rear you" I haven't seen you in three weeks "cared for you" you beat me every chance you get "provide for all your needs" my hand me downs are one step better then the Ulfen slaves "and given you a name" yes, mother. Bastard
"If they call you names, hit them. If they hit you, stab them. If they stab you, kill them. That is the way of the north."
"But mother, there are five of them.". This time he expected the blow and was able to mime a worse hit.
"Then be faster, stronger, more cunning. Or die.". With a flourish, she spun to leave the room.
"And bring five knives." she spoke matter of factly as she left the room.
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”Is this the price, Jadrenka? Is this the price of service to Baba Yaga? We each accepted this quest as a means to our own ends. Yet it threatens to consume us. Why were we so blind to think that… that… That there would be no other cost… Why was I so blind?” Ishbaad trails off, staring at his hands, then to Jorvik’s body, then back to Jadrenka with moisture rimming his eyes.
Jadrenka looks amused as Ishbaad struggles with his new situation.
"Price? No, this is not the price," Jadrenka solemnly shakes her head, "But you should not expect to find the Queen of Witches, traveling as you are across the planes and all of reality in her legendary Dancing Hut, and remain completely unchanged by the experience!
"Baba Yaga left that dragon scale in the pit for you," Jadrenka says with certainty, indicating the silver sliver that Ishbaad holds in his hand, "But why there? Did she mean for you to go down into the pit and suffer the effects, or was it ever your destiny to do so and simply a place for her to leave the scale where she knew you would be and none would follow?"
A low groan can be heard from the side of the cavern. The philosophical discussion is cut short as Jorvik's body releases the breath it drew a minute ago. A spasm overtakes the corpse and its eyes flicker open momentarily. All, even Jadrenka, are taken aback by the sheer frosty malevolence evident in those glowing orbs. The whites are gone, replaced by a pale, deathly blue. Just as suddenly as they opened, they close again, but the occasional jerk wracks the corpse.
"Hmm," the old crone looks casually - too casually - over to Jorvik's twitching corpse, "The Blood of the Deathless threatens to overwhelm him, even as it works to return him."
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Walking down the hallways Jorvik ignored all the beautifully carved sconces, intricately woven rugs, and priceless vases. He had a determined focus today, more so than any other day. Today he could ignore the brazen looks, the open mocking, "Mommy, I though we leave defects in the snow to die as babies. Did that one live in the snow?" "Mommy are my ears pointed like that?" wept one child.
Rounding the corner, Jorvik found the boys, as he knew we would, by the fountain. For everyday Jorvik passed this fountain to attend his morning tutelage with the aged master Sloveng. And every mooring they all showed up late to their tutor appointments so they had the opportunity to harass him. This was as much a part of his life as food and water.
"Ah, right on time. Jorvik Half-bastard. Wonder what other unnatural beasts his mother f~$*ed this week. She is probably in the stables right now looking for a donkey dick to suck. How funny would he look if he had donkey ears instead of pointy efly ears? Or a pig tail? Or a goose butt?" the four boys all guffawed and slapped their thighs in exaggerated frivolity.
Gogarto. His nemisis. And his four friends. The boys looked to be cut from the same cloth, dark hair, dark eyes, hairy arms.
"Today is a different day, Gogarto.". Without waiting, Jorvik drew his long bladed dagger, and stabbed out at the boy's face.
Caught unawares, Gogarto still only took only a slice on the cheek. Jorvik's thrust was more ambition than skill and Gogarto besides being a bully possessed a bit of skill. The look alone on the boy's face should have been enough to dissuade Jorvik, but the blood was in his eyes. There was only attack. As he pressed forward in an upward stab towards Gogarto's soft belly the boy lept backward as the other boys rained club blows up and down his back and arms. One shot broke his wrist causing the dagger to clatter to the floor. Using his other hand, Jorvik drew a second dagger, but by this time the boys had formed a circle defense preventing Jorvik from moving forward. Secure in their defenses, the boys were restless in their beatings. The sound of clubs hitting soft flesh, sometimes the sharp crack of bone, then another dagger had fallen to the floor.
Jorvik dropped to one knee, then to his belly. Covering his head with his hands, he tried to keep conscious under the rain of clubs. The entire fight lasted only seconds, but Jorvik felt like he had been beaten for a week. Barely able to hold onto consciousness, his battered body was unable to even rise to his knees. Drooling blood, spitting out cracked teeth, Jorvik could barely hear the laughter from the boys. It was as if cotton was stuck in his ears.
Subcoming to the pain, Jorvik fell once agin to the floor. Unable to close his swollen eyes shut, he saw rims of light and dark before blacking out.
How long he lay unconscious was anyone's guess. He woke up with dried and crusted blood on his face. Every inch of his body was in horrendous pain. If he'd removed his shirt he would see purple and yellow splotches up and down his body. Framed in the one eye he was able to open was a beautiful woman. She bent down and looked him in the eye. Softly she spoke to him in a caressing tone, "Jorvik. You are and always have been a worthless piece of s~$#. I am forever embarrassed that you share my blood. I should have left you to die the moment you were born."
She drew a wicked spiked club from her side and bashed his skull in.
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The child sits in a slump, resting on her knees with the pale and motionless body of her elder brother propped against her small frame. Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight had worked feverishly trying to bring Jorvik back from beyond, back from wherever his soul and fled after the onslaught of the monstrosity. She should have been surprised, elated even, when her brother's body had moved and stirred, but she didn't trust what was happening. Aoife couldn't trust that he was coming back, or if he'd even be the same if he did return. Around her, the others had each said their kind words and vows of love, pledging their friendship and respect to the last, and even as Jorvik's body showed another fresh sign of movement his eyes had become different, becoming a shade of blue that seemed to mirror his state of unlife. Her brother seemed between worlds now, maybe lost forever, maybe never to return.
Raising a hand now, the child strokes his face and gazed into the deathly blue orbs that should have been his eyes. "You're gone... somewhere far from here," she mutters to Jorvik. "If this place truly is a dream... I hope you are in someplace better..."
"I have no magic about me," she states, looking at the dirt and grime caked hand brushing the man's face. "I wish I could save you... but I'm too weak... I don't know what to do... If the other's magic and spells could not return you to us, then what can I do..."
Leaning forward now, the child presses her head against his and cries. There isn't much noise that escapes the child, the only real sign of her emotional shattering is the repeated rise and fall of her shoulders as she weeps, letting the hopelessness and darkness swallow her whole.
She had felt something this crippling break before, a feeling that had crushed her soul and changed her outlook forever, and it had happened when she lost another in her life. It was then that Aoife realized just how much this friend, this brother, meant to her. Jorvik's passing was tearing her soul apart just as her father's death had. This thought caused her to weep all the harder.
I'm glad this hurts so much, she confesses to herself. I need to be sad and hurt and lost... because it means our friendship was as meaningful and important to me as anything has ever been. You were Jorvik the Bloodspeaker... You were my friend... You were my brother...
Still stroking his face, the child reaches her other hand to her backpack and fishes around for a moment. Her head rises but her eyes remain locked on Jorvik's. After its fumbling search, Aoife's hand pulls two small crumpled lumps into view. She takes both hands and wipes them on her pants, ungracefully clearing the blood and tears from her skin. Then she uncrumples the flesh colored wads, and begins to mold them and apply one to each of her ears.
Looking back to Jorvik now, the child's ears are pointed, resembling that of her favorite half-elf. She hadn't worn or seen her fake ears since the last time she had presented them to Jorvik.
His words echoed in her mind...
Take these ears back, keep them safe, always remember that Jorvik the Bloodspeaker was your true friend, and always will be...
She stares into his cold eyes, "You were and are my friend. And will be forever..." the words can barely be understood through her crying. "I don't have any magic about me and can make you come back.."
"So I'll just keep asking you," she pleads. "Please come back, Jorvik. Please come back," the now pointy eared child continues to beg.
"Please..."
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Darkness
Stillness
Quietness
Floating through the ether was a shapeless, formless mass. It possessed no defining characteristics. Just a floating blotch.
A loud voice was heard, This voice carried weight where there was no weight.
Another loud voice boomed for nowhere and everywhere. . This voice carried cold where there was no cold.
A third voice joined the conversation. . This voice carried the feeling of loamy soil where there was no earth.
came the cold voice.
came the weighty voice at the same time.
came the cold voice.
Silence once again
came a fourth voice. The voice carried cold and electricity where there was none.
came the cold voice.
came the earthy voice.
came the weighty voice
came the earthy voice.
came the cold voice.
came the weighty voice
came the earthy voice.
came the cold voice.
came the weight voice.
came the cold and earthy voice together.
came the voice of cold and electricity.
came the weighty voice.
The shapeless, formless mass began to swirl and form in a humanoid shape. The form of the fourth voice, of cold and electricity, strode into the middle of it. The shapeless, formless mass began to dissolve into the fourth voice, penetrating every opening.
It began to vibrate at an incredible speed forming and reforming faster than the blink of an eye.
came the voice of cold and electricity.
"You are wrong. This is ME. It has always been ME. It will always be ME." came a voice form the merged masses. A voice true and strong. Confident. Familiar.
came the weighty voice.
In a flash, the mass was gone.
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Kuragin barely registers the crone's chanting, as he struggles to fly out of the pit with Ishbaad. But once his feet are once more touching the cold ground, and when Jorvik draws breath, he understands. Too awed by the miracle of resurrection, his mind puts aside the strange effect the pit had on Ishbaad (and not him), and the witch starts softly walking towards the once-again-breathing half-elf.
Kneeling down next to the motionless body, there is mixed feelings of sadness and relief within him. Kuragin touches gently the half-elf's cheek, and call out to him. "Jorvik, countryman. Old friend. Did you hear the crone's words? In this place, filled with Baba Yaga's magic, you will not be given rest. You took the mantle, and the quest continues. Your saga has not ended yet, Jorvik Bloodspeaker."
Not knowing if the words would actually reach Jorvik's spirit, Kuragin waits by the hostless body, listening the steady breathing. There, he also overhears the exchange between Ishbaad and Jadrenka. And he finds he must agree with the crone. "Ishbaad, ever since we set our feet in Whitethrone, we have been defying powerful entities. It is a small miracle we got this far relatively unharmed. But we must accept that perhaps all of us will not make it through all the dangers to come."
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"I suppose you are right." Ishbaad says, hanging his head. His shoulders are bowed with an unseen weight. He stares again at his aged hands, his breath coming in shallow, steady draws.
"Some part of me knew this was the case. That the price would be high, yet time and time again we pushed through, coming out victorious and not much worse for the wear." Ishbaad looks up through eyes rimmed with dried tears, the somber scene like a painting, frozen in his memory. "Or perhaps I was blind to the gradual change, like a river carving a canyon from the mountain that takes centuries to do. Each victory came with a small price, imperceptible and easy to reconcile. Yet those small costs have worn us away in ways we couldn't imagine, and now there is a piece missing that I am afraid I cannot accept."
Ishbaad takes a deep breath, his chest rising out. He holds it in for a few moments and closes his eyes.
"Kuragin is right. I accepted the Mantle. We all did. There is much yet to do." He holds the ancient dragon scale in his hand, a small part of his mind wondering if it aged naturally or due to its time in the eon pit. That thought morphs into the mind bending question of why Baba Yaga placed it where she did, though he quickly shakes that off.
"We have one key. We still need the other." Ishbaad looks to the crone expectantly. Even still, he makes no move yet to leave.
Jadrenka hobbles over to the ageing oread with a thin smile on her face. "A bargain well made and a bargain done," she says as she draws a thumb-sized golden nugget from her robes. It looks unremarkable in every way. Its purity isn't even particularly notable, and Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight later estimates that it would be worth barely 25 pieces of gold in most cities.
Meanwhile, the corpse of the floor sits up suddenly and its blue-glowing malevolent eyes pop open. Just as quickly as it sat up, it suddenly straightens, causing Jorvik's still-dead head to crack alarmingly on the stone ground. The eyes remain open, however, and stare blankly at the ceiling.
"Something is happening," Jadrenka notes ominously, "For good or ill."
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Silence fills the chamber, the cloying stench of deaths hangs still in the air. The small child kneels in the river of life blood, potions, and tears. Through swollen eyes, she looks for signs of life. Moments before, they though that they saw his chest move. Now they wait with baited breath for any signs of life.
Without warning, Jorvik farts. As body system after body system ceases to function, built up gas is slowly released into a comically long flatulence. The sound rises and falls, emitting a foul odor.
But the corpse simple lays there, shrouded in giant blood. Instead of running off the body, or sinking into the clothes, it just envelops the corpse in a thin blanket of death. Starting where Jorvik's heart is, the blood shroud begins to move. A small, circular opening in the blood shroud forms, Other small circles appear as it seems the demon god's blood is slowly absorbed into the corpse.
As the blood seeps in, the corpse's skin changes color to a dusky blue hue punctuated by white spider web cracks. As the right arm is encapsulated, it begins to throb with a rhythmic movement, each beat the arms grows larger, then smaller, then larger again. This is repeated with the other arm, and both legs. Neither appendage is morphing at quite the same time so the corpse jerks on the cavern floor as if demon possessed.
Aoife is pulled back as they watch the scene unfold. The corpse begins to jerk and flop around the cavern floor, still enlarging and shrinking. The entire skin is now a pale blue while the white streaks shifts around the skin. The corpse's mouth opens as far as physically possible to emit a silent scream.
Then it all stops. The corpse once again lays motionless on the cavern floor. Skin turned blue, white colored cracks still moving about the skin, the corpse goes stiff and rigid. Then the chest rises, falls, and exhales a breath. And another. And another.
Turning its head, it's eyes open now and bulging in their sockets, terror framed in its face, one word can be heard escaping its lips.
"Eoferwic."
The gravity of the moment is nearly overwhelming for Ishbaad. After having just grabbed Aoife's shoulders and pulling her back away from the thrashing body, he looks on with a mixture of awe and revulsion.
He looks to Jadrenka, his face twisted in confusion. "What did we do?" He subconsciously takes another step backward, his strong grip pulling Aoife back with him, as if the added space between them and Jorvik's body were some layer of protection.
Eoferwic? What does that mean?
"Kostchtchie's soul has perhaps found purchase within your companions' body," Jadrenka mumbles, fascinated and completely unafraid or ashamed of the scene before her, "Or perhaps this is simply what happens when one is restored to life by the blood of a demon-god of giants. I've never done this before... but something is clear, your words touched something, some soul from beyond. Your love for your friend brought life to this... whatever it is. It cannot all be Kostchtchie. You friend is there somewhere."
Jadrenka taps her chin thoughtfully. "And he looks scared."
Ishbaad approaches the blue-ish body on the ground, unafraid for himself and his own well-being. He steps over the body of Jorvik, straddling the prone figure and towering over him. He leans down to grab his shoulders, forcing the bulging eyes to look at him.
Jadrenka's words and admitted inexperience in this... whatever this was... rang in his ears. None of them really knew what to do, and so the man made from the mountain did what he always did when someone he cared about was afraid. He chased away the fear with the vengeance of a righteous goddess.
"Jorvik my brother. Are you in there? Whatever is left of you, whatever still clings to this body, come out and claim your rightful place over your own soul. Have courage! Do not be afraid, for we are with you."
Is this even still Jorvik? What could possibly be left of him after this? He may be in there somewhere, somehow, but this is not Jorvik.
Ishbaad looks quickly to Aoife and Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight, concerned for how this might affect them. Kuragin would likely find it more curious than appaling, though Ishbaad was not foolish enough to doubt that what continues to happen to Jorvik has cracked the cold shell around his heart.
No, certainly Jorvik the Bloodspeaker is dead. The Jorvik we knew is gone. Even if it was his soul that has returned to this body, no man, even half-elven, could possibly be the same. Jorvik the brother we knew is gone.
"What is Eoferwic?" He asks to the body of his friend.
Uncomfortable moments tick past with no answer, and no signs that an answer is forthcoming.
"Come child," He says, reaching down to gently touch Aoife's shoulder, compelling her to rise to her feet. "Help Jo.... *ahem* Help him to his feet. There will be no more questions answered here. We must go to the hut, and hope that as we continue our journey we will find what we are looking for."
He turns to Jadrenka, bowing slightly. "Thank you for your assistance, and for these," he says, holding the precious keys in his hand. "May Baba Yaga continue to find you worthy to reign over Artrosa forever."
That felt awkward...
He smiles a half smile that has no mirth or joy behind it. To much has happened here to feel like that just yet. He then turns around, slinging the right arm of the body of Jorvik over his shoulder. One step at a time, he begins to walk towards the hall that will take them one by one through the Crone, Mother, and finally the Maiden aspects, and back to the real world.
Whatever that means anyways.