"As good a time as any," Kieran concurs with a nod. "Better to be well-rested as I have a feeling we will need all our strength for what lies ahead."
"I'll see to it that ye'll sleep well then. The inn has a couple of rooms available, and I'll pay the price of the room and an early breakfast," Olaf informs you, leading you out into the growing twilight and to the rather whimsically named Gray Fey Inn. An old elf who has indeed gone gray is the innkeeper and sees you to your rooms.
The night passes and you are awoken by the innkeeper just as dawn begins to lighten the eastern sky. The air is cold and the first snows of winter fall outside the window. None sticks, yet, but the flakes are just a harbinger for things to come. Olaf gives you a map and sees you off after you've had breakfast. The trek to the woods is a little more demanding since you are walking. The wagon would be too cumbersome to use among the trees, and Olaf had promised to find buyers paying fair prices for the goods it carried.
The sun rises just as you crest a hill and see the boughs of your destination. The sky is cloudy, and it won't be long before both sun and sky are hidden. Mud cakes your boots and weighs the hems of your cloaks and, for those of you wearing them, your skirts down.
A bit more accustomed to harsh outdoors terrain, from going on hunts with their father, Olyenna makes her way through the muck, keeping an eye on both her sisters and their surroundings. She smiles at Idana's shift in mood with the falling snow, her older sister clearly in her element.
Despite the harsh conditions and the fact that they me anywhere from minutes to hours away of coming face to face with orcs, Kieran is in high enough spirits. He moves gracefully despite the mud and snow, taking care to keep his eyes not only on the ground lest he lose his footing but on his surroundings as well.
Despite preferring the life of a citygirl Elyana had become no stranger to traveling the wilderness since she and her sisters had been exiled. Still, the environment had become ridiculous and she found that the mud was caking into her clothing and slowing her horrendously. It was getting so bad that her skirt was in danger of falling off and taking her dress with it. Still she kept trying to slog through and continued to step in the deepest mud pits and nastiest downpour of water from tree limbs. She was cold, she was miserable, and she very much wanted to go back to that nice warm inn.
.
The news of the Battle of Gray Fork had spread quickly despite the onset of winter. The fighting was bitter and none knew the fates of a small band of heroes that had agreed to help the village in its time of need. The raiders were sent back to the Rise, and the people of Gray Fork mourned their dead and settled in for the long winter months.
Other tales are being told. New sagas to be sung and new champions to immortalize. This is Nordholm, a land of heroes and legends. Some of which still live and are still being written, while others have yet to begin.
The small thorpe on the Shield Coast midway between Frostwall and Everwatch was battered by howling wind and waves of freezing spray. Hoarfrost covered the rigging of many ships and caked the eaves of buildings lit by warm fires that crackled merrily in their hearths. It is here, in the inn known as the Rusalka's Den that you find yourselves. Norden and Imperials both drink here, but each keeps to themselves.
A young serving girl, no more than eight and being run ragged by near constant stream of orders and demands from the patrons trips with a tray full of mugs brimming with ale and mead in her hands. Mugs and tray sail through the air, soaking a trio of imperial men, an elven woman, and an imperial woman dressed in fine clothes.
"You lowborn b~&*$! How dare you embarrass me this way," the finely dressed woman snarls as she lunges to her feet.
"Yes, perhaps a lesson in proper etiquette will teach her better," the elf adds in an icy tone, sparks of arcane power dancing on her finger tips.
The air grows heavy with the tension now building, and more than one of the norden grumble and shift to be better able to get to their feet quickly. The young girl mutters apologies as she hurries to gather the mugs and the tray.
Kresh, seeing the debacles potential too turn violent, and on a youngen no less, shakily rises from his seat near the bar. Making his way slowly to the young girl that spilled the drinks, he lays a hand on her shoulder while stepping between her and the two threatening women. "Now, now. We all saw the poor thing bein run ragged, ain't her fault she made a mistake." He says in a very calm tone before adding. "Side's, its right freezin out there now an I don't much like your chances of gettin too stay if you maim the serving girl. So how bout we all just accept apologize, clean up best we can, an get back too drinkin."
Schandra had been at the inn for only a day or so, it had taken her a while to get there and it was a relief to find civilization after her rather trying ordeal. She had gotten any number of strange looks from people who couldn't understand how she dressed in such light clothing. Of course maybe it was the fact that her red hair looked like it was aflame and her eyes aglow. Anyway you go she was a striking woman and she had quickly managed to earn her keep by dancing for the entertainment of those present.
She hadn't gotten to know anyone yet, not really, but the young serving girl was nice to her, fascinated in fact, and Schandra felt a rather protective urge towards her. When the finely dressed woman and the elf threatened the child Schandra's instincts flared up, she didn't like bullies and these two definitely fit that category. She rose and was about to approach to demand they apologize when the short man intervened, helping the child up and trying to mollify the angry patrons. Shcandra would have preferred a more...direct approach but she knew it wouldn't be appreciated. She moved over to help pick up the spilled items and was prepared to intervene if things got anymore unpleasant.
"The old dwarf is right."
The voice, soft and calm, is coming from a fair-skinned and silver-haired half-elf, apparently unarmed and unarmored, sitting at a nearby table and enjoying a meal. Well, enjoying until this moment at least.
"Now, perhaps I would have put it a bit more eloquently, but still, his reasoning is sound. An honest mistake. No reason to... escalate things. No reason at all." He does not appear to bother getting up, although he has stopped eating and instead his attention is on the unfolding scene. He does turn to the young girl though, offering her a warm smile and a wink.
"How about this? How about I pay for your drinks and the cleaning of your fine clothes? And we can put all this behind us. Yes?"
Rodok watches the whole affair with interest from his nearby chair --comfortably overstuffed and thankfully, dry-- as he passes a small polished stone back and forth between his fingers. His initial concern starts tapering when he sees the old dwarf step into the scene.
'Good to see there's a few reasonable folk down here,' he thinks, thankful for his elder kin, who appears to be wise, or at least, kind. As the others step in to diffuse the situation further, he keeps a particular eye on the elf as he ominously shows off his magic.
'This won't do...' he thinks, counting the numbers on either side as a standoff begins to take place. With a casual toss, he throws the stone into the air where it joins a swirling cloud of other small gems, each moving at its own pace and orbit.
"Seems like a reasonable idea to me," he says, stepping up with the others, to push the numbers a bit closer to even. "No sense in things getting messier than they already are."
Between words and numbers, the two women back down.
"Keep your hands to yourself, peasant," the richly attired woman spits at Vaen before she and her entourage move further away from the norden. Tensions begin to ease and the serving girl thanks Kresh and Schandra for their help.
Not too long after things have calmed down, the same serving girl comes to each of you (Kresh, Vaen, Rodok, and Schandra) with a message.
"Come to the last room on the right upstairs."
Sitting at a table in the corner, Ygnvild was about to get up when she saw a number of individuals come to the girl's defense. The dancer.....Schandra ...she wasn't much of a surprise, it was clear she was fond of the girl, looking after her on busy nights when she wasn't dancing. The others she didn't recognize as regulars, but it said much that they stepped forward.
Gods she hated Imperials.....it was almost a shame she didn't have a reason to blood her axes.
She watches the stuck up dandies as they move to another table and goes back to her drinking. Powerfully built and imposing in both demeanure and appearance, the scar across the bridge of her nose giving her a sort of noble savage type of mystique.
Schandra nodded at the serving girl and then reached out towards her ear as she said, "What's this?" She slid her hand towards the child's ear and then seemingly into her had as she said, "It looks like you have a coin in there." When her hand reappeared Schandra had seemingly pulled a silver piece out of the child's very head and handed it to her as she said, "There, I guess you lost that didn't you?" She gave the child the coin and patted her head as she nodded towards the Imperials, "If they try to hurt or threaten you again come get me alright?" With that Schandra rose gracefully and headed towards the stairs and the last room on the right.
Listning to the little girl's message Kresh simply nods his head. Standing again, he says. "Right then, have some honeyed mead waiting for me when I get back wouldya. I'm parched." Making his way up the stairs l he heads towards the last room on the right.
Seeing Schandra at the door Kresh rushes fast as a aged dwarf can rush to hold it open for her. "Ladies first." He says with a kindly smile.
Arradir, for his part, is taking his meal as quietly as possible. Although he spends plenty of time in towns--not everyone is willing to come to an out of the way cottage to speak about training their hounds or birds--he doesn't like the crowded atmosphere, particularly of a tavern. But the food is good, the fire is warm, and usually there isn't much trouble.
Of course, tonight is an exception to the last. He regards the exchange between the Imperials and the serving girl with a furrowed brow, and a low rumble rises in his throat, too quiet for anyone to hear. He sets his mug down just as the others step in, and things seem to diffuse quickly after that. With a grunt and a shake of his wild mane of hair, he returns to his meal. Maybe he'd be lucky and avoid trouble yet...
The half-elf raises an eyebrow at the serving girl's message. 'Curious,' he ponders briefly before finishing his meal and rising from his seat. Hardly a difficult decision truth be told; the last few days were uneventful, which by itself is not really a bad thing, but it is a tedious thing. And the silver-haired man does find boredom not much to his liking.
"My my my," he mutters to himself as soon as he reaches the room and sees the old dwarf and the red-haired woman already there. "Well met."
"Well met, indeed" Rodok interjects, from behind Vaen in the doorway. "And fancy seeing you all here. It's nice to see there's respect and manners enough to counter them rotten folk back there," he continues, some of his Iouns flying dangerously close to Vaen's midsection before retreating to a closer orbit of Rodok's own head.
"I'm Rodok, or course," he says, glancing up skyward to the roof and nodding at some imperceptible detail, "and you all are a wonderful surprise. What Fate awaits us, do you think, back in this room? I must say I'm excited!"
Rodok seems, to those familiar with dwarves anyway, to be rather verbose and filled with a strange energy, far from the stereotypical conservative stoicism associated with his people.
The girl watches Schandra's act in amazement and quietly thanks the fiery woman before scurrying off to her next task.
Inside the room is a man dressed in rangers' garb smoking a pipe by the warm fire crackling in the small hearth. His eyes are hidden by the shadows of his hood, but as the tobacco in his pipe flares to an orange glow, you are able to see the scar over his right eye, though the dimness hides many of the other details of his appearance.
"I thank you for accepting my invitation," the man says in a deep, resonant voice, "I saw what happened earlier, and I felt that if I need to take a gamble, you four would be a good bet."
The man sets the pipe down on the table by the chair he was sitting in and motions for all of you to come into the room.
"Have a seat, please," he offers, gesturing to the other chairs and bed.
A little while after the excitement had died down and the tension in the air had relaxed, a girl, or a very young woman, slides onto the bench next to Yngvild.
"I hope you don't find this rude, but are you new in town," she asks cheerfully. Despite being on the "norden" side of the tavern, she's obviously an imperial from her accent and her dress. She is an attractive girl, and the younger lads are almost too busy ogling her to pay much attention to what they are doing, or what their somewhat wiser friends are doing as you spot a couple slowly moving to snatch the chair from underneath one of their friends that's lost in his own fantasies.
She was clearly imperial, but with none of the usual arrogance that radiated off of most who shared her descent, and pretty too, with a smile that Yngvild found disarming despite herself.
"Surprising, but not rude." she replies taking a swig of her ale. "You could say that. Been here about a week. Haven't seen you before."
"Are you offering us... a job?" He sounds at least a little bit incredulous. "You do not really know us, yes? I do not really know us." He smiles and shrugs. "For all you know, I am just a guy who pays his way out of trouble...," he adds, referring to the way he attempted to defuse the situation earlier.
"Ah, well this is the first time I've been able to come here in about that long," the young woman replies. She looks to the side for a moment, thinking then asks, "would you mind staying with me this night? I'm sure that the beds will be more comfortable and the storm will blow over soon enough. I'd love to hear about your travels."
"Ah, an old habit of mine," the man says before pulling his hood back. Now that his face and head are uncovered, you see a man in his thirties before you. His black hair is threaded with silver and his short beard is streaked and peppered with it as well. His eyes are dark, almost black, but warm and despite the scars, the most prominent being the one over his right eyes, the lines in his face indicate a man more used to smiling than scowling.
"As the lovely young woman says, if you were that type of person, then you wouldn't have involved yourself in that mess," he continues before settling back into his own chair. "I am Fanir, also known as Shadow to some who have trouble pronouncing Norden names. I have called you here to offer you a job, yes. You four seem to be capable and kind at heart. I'll pay you, handsomely, for your troubles, and there will be trouble."
He looks at all four of you, his eyes hard and his expression serious. He waits a moment, wondering if you'll flinch then, with a shrug more felt than seen, dives back into his explanation.
"I've been looking for my nieces, a pair of twins in their fifteenth winter. I believe that they're in one of the large manor houses the imperials live in outside of town, but unfortunately for me, they have a wizard that cursed me. They always know where I am and I haven't been able to get any closer to the place. If you choose to accept this, I'll need you to sneak into the place and find what you can. It'll be dangerous, so don't feel as if you have to."
'Well, I came here to learn; guess we'll be learning by doing,' he thinks.
"I'm all for helping you Fanir," Rodok says in reply, "but I feel obligated to ask: Have you tried breaking the curse? I've shattered a few in my day, you know, and if you think it'll help, I can give it a try."
"Bold, definitely bold, but not rude. In fact, I'd wager you're the most decent person I've encountered since I got here. I'd be a fool to turn down a warm bed and a roof on a night like this." the battle hardened warrior says with a smile. "I'll accept the generous offer....and the company. The name's Yngvild."
The man seems preternaturally calm for someone with family missing, especially someone who is apparently as close as he is to finding them, but then you see his eyes. Those eyes are not the eyes of a man who is calm, but one with an iron grip on his rage and frustration.
"Unfortunately I have, and it's a lucky thing my friend is so skilled with the arcane arts, otherwise we might both be dead. I would not ask you to attempt it, but if you happen to find the wizard or their notes, perhaps you can find how to break the curse. I am not worried about that, though. I would rather you focus on finding my nieces," the man answers before sighing and leaning forward in his chair.
"Thank you both," he says to the two dwarves. "Might I have your names?"
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Arradir continues to keep to himself during this new exchange, but he listens in with some curiosity. It isn't often an Imperial girl so willingly--and brazenly--approaches a Norden, and her offer only further steps from the bounds of normality. Maybe times are finally changing, after all. The towns always progress before the outlier villages. Who knows? Maybe it's even become normal by now.
The man chokes back a chuckle at the last thought, and spoons more stew into his mouth to mask the sound. Imperial and Norden mingling isn't normal yet. Keep your britches in place, Arradir. But as he takes another bite, his thoughts turn to the prospect of a warm bed and a solid roof. It might be a nice change of pace.
"Gavia Arvina," the young woman introduces herself. "And–" she begins, but stops as she hears Arradir's snort of amusement. She turns and with a smile calls to him.
"Hello! I haven't seen you before either," she says as she moves to straddle the bench. "Do you have a place to stay? There's plenty of room for you, too."
"I don't know," Fanir answers, "they don't have any talent for the magic they practice, and a small one for music. I took them in after my brother and his wife died in an orc raid some years back, but they have no lands or wealth to their name. I don't know why they'd be taken."
Arradir outright chokes on his soup, and he lets out a cough. Fortunately he's quick enough to keep from spraying the young woman with his meal, and he takes a moment to clear his throat and swallow before he turns his eyes on her. "Propriety ain't taught by the Empire these days?" The skinwalker maintains his stare for a few moments, and shakes his head with a snort of laughter. "If your friend is fine with it, I won't say no to a warm room. I'll even welcome the company. But I'm not one to intrude."
"Never been to the Empire. I was born and raised in Norden," she replies with a grin. "We have plenty of warm beds and rooms, so if you want a lady or a lad over, I'm not going to judge. I think the storm's beginning to let up, so we can be off soon, I think."
"A pleasure to have met all of you," Fanir says earnestly. "The storm should be letting up soon, so I'd get some rest while you can. You're welcome to stay here. I'm sure the bed's large enough for most of you."
The bed in question is indeed large enough that three could lay in it comfortably, four if you squeezed together.
"I have to admit, this is a curious situation," he comments conversationally. "Are you certain your nieces did not go willingly? Although a curse does make such a thing unlikely, I have to ask nevertheless. As you said, they have little magic to speak of and no wealth or land. That leaves little reason for them to be taken." he pauses, then adds, his expression growing a little darker, "Not that other unpleasant reasons do not exist..."
Arradir weighs the decision for a moment more, and raises an eyebrow. "How about a faithful hound? If that's alright, you certainly have a deal." Even if the woman declines, he heaves a breath and nods his agreement. Hard to pass up an offer like this, if only for the story to tell... whoever.
Fanir returns Vaen's smile,but as the half-elf asks about his nieces going willingly, it disappears and the ranger shakes his head.
"No, I found the spot where they were taken before the snows covered the trail. There were signs of a struggle. I couldn't follow the tracks very far before the first storm of winter forced me to find shelter," he answers.
A short while later, the wind dies down and the storm passes.
"Time for you to get ready," Fanir says as he rouses you. "I'll show you as far as I can, then you'll have to make your way from there."
"Of course! I wouldn't mind at all," Gavia answers. The storm passes barely an hour later. As the winds die down, you both find yourself in a finely made coach that carries you out of the small town and to a large manor built in a mix of imperial and norden styles. The steep roof has eaves decorated with carvings of fey creatures and the door features an ornate crest with two fiery birds flanking a young woman carrying an amphora.
"Welcome to Manor Arvina," the young woman says as she shows you inside. The welcoming hall is richly decorated with furs, trophies, and tapestries and a blazing fire burns away in the hearth, warming the hall to a comfortable level, even with the chill outside. An older man, imperial by dress and features looks up as you walk in.
"Ah, Gavia. I see you've brought guests! Please, allow me to introduce myself. I am Brutus, Lord Arvina. My I have the names of those I have the pleasure and honor of entertaining this evening," he inquires politely.
He could call himself Lord all he liked but shed be damned if she would bow and scrape for an Imperial. She'd rather sleep put in the cold than that.
Inside, he seems no less tense. He glances at Yngvild as it becomes apparent they're in the presence of Imperial nobility, and he does take some heart in seeing he isn't the only one put off by this development. "Arradir. Some call me Beastspeaker."
"Be welcome Yngvild and Arradir," Lord Arvina says gesturing widely as if showing off for some jarl or thane. "You are my guests this night, though it would have been nice to know ahead of time," he says, giving a pointed look to Gavia who only smiles sweetly at him. "I shall have the servants prepare your rooms. Tell me, have you eaten supper yet?"
A lord he may be, but Brutus is proving to be a very gregarious man.
She had to admit, this Lord didn't act like the typical Imperial. He didn't even seem to bat an eyelash at the great shaggy beast of a dog Arradir had with him, which was more than could be said for even the tavern.
Once you all are ready, Fanir leads you to a manor house outside of town. The storm had broken and a waxing moon was high in the sky, casting all about it in an otherworldly blue glow.
The ranger stops at the edge of the woods around the manor's grounds and whispers.
"This is as far as I can go," he breathes, his breath steaming in the cold night air. "Ware your step. There's a darkness about the place."
"Well then, would you both do me the honor of joining me and my family for dinner," Brutus asks.
You are both seated at a large table that could easily hold ten times the number seated at it tonight. You are joined by Brutus; his wife, Augusta; his son, Gaius; and his two daughters, Gavia and Galeria. Ylva is also invited, being allowed to sit on a large cushion next to her master and feed with fine cuts of raw venison, a luxury this time of year.
"Please," Augusta pleads as the first course is served, "would you mind telling us of your travels? What brings you here?"
"Oh yes! I would love to hear about any adventures you've been on," Gaius beams, unable to take his eyes off of Yngvild.
The skinwalker catches Yngvild's glance, and his eyebrows rise and fall in a moment. It's strange, sure. But not sure what we can do. Or what we should.