The young woman strikes out with powerful arms, kicking out behind her and undulating her torso for maximum pull. She glides under the water with ease, turning to halt her motion before scissoring off in a new direction. She feels her lungs begin to burn and raises her arms over her head. The motion bends her rib cage toward the surface and she begins a rapid ascent. The clear, cold water allows her to see a considerable distance, even beyond the surface. She notices movement near the shore, which startles, then annoys her.
She thought she was alone.
She exhales in a burst of oblong bubbles, which break on the surface as her arms and head burst out of the water. Her ascent has carried her close to the bank, so she finds footing and rises partway form the water. The air she breathes in is freezing, burning, clean. Her black tresses fall around her pale face, running into the water and floating away from her body.
A man. He wears a dirty wool coat and boots stuffed with fleece. The wagon behind him is laden with deer carcasses. A poacher.
He speaks. Lass, I think that water's a bit too cold fer ya. Best come on out and I'll fetch you yer clothes.
She cocks her head. She'd left her clothes on the soft grass between the road and the bank. It was late fall, past the first snow east of Encarthan. The road was mostly barren.
She advances just half a step, her bust just below the surface, for all the good that did. The water is fresh and clear - melt off from the hills. The man is leering and she knows his mind.
Just leave the clothes where you found them, and be on your way. You've got cargo you'd best not be caught with. Leave me be. Her long white hair floats around her, as agitated in the current as the girl herself.
He smiles, all menace and gap-tooth. Pretty girl like you, naked in the cold waters, vulnerable at the side of the road? Think what could happen? Couldn't let that hang on me conscience, right? I'll just dress you and roll you up in blankets and take you somewhere safe. Come, now. I won't come in after you, and you'll freeze to death in a minute.
He wasn't wrong. The girl enjoyed the icy waters where most could not, but she still felt the cold. Even now the chill was uncomfortable. Her skin and fine hair prickled into goosebumps and her toes were going numb.
Al..alright. She stammers, taking a slight step forward. The swell of her breasts emerges from the waterline. The man's expression is almost enough for her to dive back into the water. Her irritation turns to anger. As she steps forth again, her black hair drains the water down her body, winding around her curves and hiding her charms. When her waist nears the surface, the man looks eagerly. She feels less violated than outraged, but she does not let it show on her face. Instead, the dripping blue-black hair wraps around her hips in a great ebony rope. She stands fully out of the water and says in a timid whisper. You..you promise not to hurt me.
The change in the man's face is sudden, startling. His lust turns to violence in his eyes. To the girl, it signals he has made the decision to die.
Don't think I will...promise, girl. You'll does what I say and then you'll come wheres I say and that's the end of it.
He reaches for her, but then things change. Her hair turns white in streaks. Like snakes, thick strands curl around his wrist, bending it at the elbow. He sputters in protest and jerks his arm away, but the girl's hair is too strong. Wha-let me go! What's that you're doing? It hurts!"
The girl's eyes turn a bright, royal blue, the color of ice caked over mountains for a thousand years. They darken to purple, and then a deep navy. They are mesmerizing. Her hair is snow white, and moves of its own will. She eyes the man with a crooked, cruel smile. She looks like a schoolgirl playing a cruel joke just then, as his feet leave the ground, forced by that long magical hair. Like a thick tail, it lifts him five, six, seven feet, over her head until the poacher wriggled above the water.
His fear becomes a full panic and she smiles - a crooked, mean curl of the lip. As he blubbers incoherently, her hair brings him closer, until his face is inches from hers. His breath stinks, but she ignores it. She purrs at him affectionately, viciously. [b]Well, if you won't promise not to hurt me, then I can't promise not to hurt you. She leans in and kisses his forehead, his head dropping lower after the kiss. Their noses touch lightly as the man begins to pull at the thick rope of white hair holding him aloft. One of his arms touches the icy water, and the cold shocks him. He begins to beg.
No! Miss, I'll be on my way. I'm sorry! The tops of his heads chills, and he cranes his neck to stay above the surface. The naked girl, still covered in long strands of wavy white hair, stands out of reach. His weight does not burden her neck at all. Her eyes are alive with malice. He looks to see the water around her churning, reaching up for him as the girl cranes him into the water.
The man pulls up with a final effort, trying to climb back to the girl. He takes a deep breath as he fails, more of him and the white cords descending into the water. He struggles as his head is forced under, his legs kicking. The water swirls violently, even frothing a bit as the man struggles and drowns.
She speaks in a low tone, barely audible above the bubbles and the current and the thrashing of her captive. Grandmother. Hanspur. River spirits. Whatever your name I offer this sacrifice, this mortal fool who thought to poach your land and your servant. Let him who has breath have eternal rest in your name.
The churning stops. Bubbles rise form below and the man kicks out a final time. The girl knows, his lungs are freezing, his arms numb, and his head buzzing and aching as sleep spreads from behind his eyes to consume his life force. After a few more seconds, she releases his from her strong locks and he begins to float. As his body rises and moves with the current, her hair shortens, straightens, darkens. Her eyes return to speckled green-and-amber and she stands naked, with black hair down to her waist. The calm waters move past her as if a man had not just died there.
The girl steps fully onto the bank, bending slightly to lift her dry clothes from the man's cart. Four dead deer lay within, wounds from arrow and blade visible in the bright morning light. A skinny, weak mule stand in front of the cart, eyeing her nervously.
Fear not, she cooes, reaching out to pat the scared beast. You'd have promised not to harm me. Let's walk. There's a town not far from here, and we have to strip this meat so it sells.
The donkey takes a few steps until the cart gains momentum. Walking more easily, it moves quietly beside her, moving down the road and oblivious to all else.
Shalewigg folds her clothes over her arms as she walks. The sun is warm and her fingers and toes still ached from being overlong in the cold waters. As she walks she wriggles her shoulders, wringing the water from her long black hair.
He remains hidden in the woods, watchful. It is a simple house; wooden walls, thatched roofing, not particularly well-made. In a matter of minutes, she will leave to tend to the pigs, and the girl will be alone inside, knitting or perhaps cooking. It has been like that for the past couple of days, since he found them. As soon as the old hag leaves, he will be able to move in, and take a closer look.
The wrinkly, hunching woman walks out carrying a large basket and heads to the pig stables. He quietly step out of the bushes. A magnificent lynx threatens to follow him, but he stops the beast with a hand gesture and some soothing words. “No, Zeldax. You stay here for now.” The creature makes a turn and lies down obediently amidst the undergrowth. He licks his paws absentmindedly as the elf walks away.
The door is ulocked. He tries to be as quiet as possible, but the rusty hinges give his position away. From another room, a soft, melodious voice acknowledges his presence. “Mother? Did you forget something?” He closes the door without saying a word. He can hear the girl’s steps coming to him. Could it be her? His heart races in anticipation. “Mother?”
He sees the girl turn the corner, and jumps at her before she can even see he is there. She is pressed against the wall, her eyes wide in panic, her voice muffled by the powerful hand covering her mouth. She sees a strong, lean elf, white hair, delicate features, a cold stare in his face. He holds her down until she stops struggling, his eyes locked at hers all the while. The two stare at each other for a long minute, breathing heavily, before any of them moves again.
Blonde hair, almost white, but not quite. Dark eyes, like his. Other than that, little to no resemblance to either him or Naryanne. Not nearly as pretty. It takes little to confirm his fears: he runs his hand through her hair, moving it to the side and uncovering her left ear. No sign of elven blood whatsoever. Just a regular human ear.
So the fat man back at the city was lying, or this was simply another false lead. He is tired of false leads. Of false hopes. Even if this girl was kidnapped from Irrisen and given to this old pig farmer woman, she is not it. His daughter. Or his son, for all he knows. Twenty years now, and he still doesn’t know. His muscles relax, and he lets the girl go, disappointed. She is about to scream for help when he stops her, pressing his index finger against her lips and throwing her a menacing look. “Quiet. I am leaving already.”
It is a long way back to town, but Arthorion Aegas does not rush. He walks calmly by Zeldax’s side. “Let’s find that crook”, he says agressively, referring to the fat man at the tavern. The white-and-grey lynx hisses in support.
Yahn trudges through the cold streets, his feet heavy despite the lightness of his purse. He tries to hurry as fast as he can to reach the shelter of the Silver Stoat up ahead; he knows there can't be much time before his illusion fails him.
Shortly before he reaches the door, he reaches down and scoops up some dirt to smear on his clothing and skin. It's difficult, because the mud, like his fingers, is stiff with cold. After a few quick strokes, he stumbles into the tavern. At the questioning look of the barkeep, he holds his grimy hands out in disgust. "Washroom," he growls; the fewer the words, the less likely he is to let his disguise slip.
The barkeep gestures toward a half-open door in the back, and Yahn slips inside. Just as he closes the door, he can feel the illusion of his city guard attire slough off of him. Perhaps those men weren't agents of Galt, but their looks were too suspicious for Yahn's comfort. As long as he could still feel their eyes following him, he'd have to continue pressing North.
Step follows step follows step.
It was already a long way travelled from Kalsgard. His stick had crunched through the hoarfrost on the banks of the Rimeflow before he trekked through the Kodar mountains and into Varisia. Some noblewoman had said they would only marry such-and-such the son of so-and-so if he gave her a flower - a flower that only grew at the edge of the River Porthmos. In Taldor. Perhaps he'd annoyed the wrong people once too many, but the gardener was despatched in short order.
Step follows step follows step.
There was a long way still to travel; Taldor was half a world away. A ship could have taken him, but the idea of weeks on a boat was more than the half-orc could take. He might have preferred to go along the north first, but Irrisen would be nigh-on impossible to cross and he'd then face undead, arcane gods-know-whats and elves. Avoiding the elves alone was worth a detour, so the scholars in Svein Blood-Eagle's palace had plotted a route that would take him around the southern edge of Lake Encarthan. Plotted was perhaps to generous a word. Groflek had ranged far enough to know most of the Lands but, outside, he knew little and the maps little more. His route had become to head south east.
Step follows step follows step.
He avoided civilization, living off the land. When he needed something he could not make or repair himself, he would head into a town, but otherwise his journey was long enough without pausing. He was happy enough with his own thoughts and what company he needed came from the bear. "I wish I had your nose, Farrak", as the bear found him again after having hunted. The bear, already growing large, nuzzled against him. He made camp in short order. He reckoned himself to be close to Elidir. Hopefully, a half-orc with rings set in his tusks with a polar bear walking behind would only raise curiosity there. He would stop there and look for directions. Dawn broke, he rose, and his staff crushed the grass beneath as he headed down from the mountains.
Step follows step follows step.
The sleepy village of Heldren has rarely seen so much excitement or concern. First, hunters from the nearby Border Wood spoke of unnaturally cold weather, descending upon the forest at the very height of summer. Heavy snow followed, and those who returned speak of an uneasy presence in the woods - as well as new, dangerous predators. No one knows what this event means, but the town's soothsayer, Old Mother Theodora, claims dark times lie ahead.
The unnatural weather was itself enough to attract the attention of Groflek and Yahn, tempting them into a short detour on their path. The half-orc insisted, saying a two-day journey was more than worthwhile just to see some snow again.
But as they drew near, the news from the village grew more dire. The story being told is that a noblewoman, the Lady Argentea Malassene, was travelling on her next leg towards Oppara. Her caravan stayed safely beond the edge of the forest - until strange, wintry creatures swarmed out of the woods, and dragged her away into the forest. In Heldren, the two travellers find a fearful townsfolk, their eyes constantly drawn towards the snowy forest, and their minds towards the question - what next?
This is not Arthorion Aegas's first failed attempt to cross into Irrisen, but it has proved by far the most disasterous. His memories of the sudden pursuit are vague and bloody, and his last recollection was falling broken into the snow.
When he awoke, Zeldax was lapping at his face, his entire body kept vacillating between complete numbness and searing pain - and he was somewhere utterly unfamiliar. A forest, with a bright sun shining above, but without a hint of warmth. The place was cold, cold as Irrisen, though it looked anything but.
Although eager to nurse himself back to health, getting out of these unnatural woods was also a priority. Over the course of several days, Arthorion dragged himself through the forest, growing only more concerned when a heavy snow began to fall. Soon he was clear of the woods - and past its edges, the chill was gone.
Though it took him some time to recuperate, Arthorion is now fully himself again. He has determined that he has arrived, somehow, in Taldor; there is a small village just a few miles north, but he has not yet ventured to enter it. Meanwhile behind him, the forest grows colder and more menacing with every hour.
Arthorion stands at the edge of the forest, watching the distant road that leads north to the city. He feels the warmth of the sun and removes the furs from over his shoulders, unused to this kind of climate. There shouldn’t be snow back there, not with the air this hot, the sun burning this bright. He looks up to the sky once more, checking the sun’s position, and then his own shadow. How did I get so far down south?, he wonders. Maybe a mishap with the Icegate? That would be unlikely; the snowcaster wizards have it well protected and always functioning. Besides, there are no elf-gates in Taldor – at least none that he is aware of.
Winter magic, he ponders. The winter witches prove once more that their powers are far beyond my imagination.
His body still aches from the escape, but nothing compared to his condition a few days ago. It’s been a while since he ate, and game has been hard to come by in these icy woods – then again, Arthorion never really looked for it. The fasting doesn’t bother him much, and he and Zeldax have been able to keep hydrated drinking the snow. Zeldax, however, has been increasingly affected by hunger, and it hasn’t gone unnoticed. Right now, the easiest way to find food and regain their strength is by venturing into the city; plus, the Taldans will probably know the quickest way to return to the borders of Irrisen.
“Come, Zeldax. We will find you some food soon enough.” He walks to the road and starts following its path north until he spots the settlement. Before getting any closer, he kneels before Zeldax, grabs the lynx by the cheeks and stares seriously into its eyes. “Stay by my side and attack no one unless I tell you to.” The lynx hisses savagely, showing its sharp teeth. Arthorion holds the Lynx head down for a while, and keeps doins so for as long as the lynx resists. When Zeldax gives in to his command, the elf releases the hold and pats the beast affectionately.
The pair resumes their stride and quickly approaches the gates.
[dice=Handle Animal, start teaching Zeldax the "down" trick, should take about a week - DC 15]1d20+7[/dice]
Soon enough, Arthorion's path trails into a large village. The first structure appears to be a sawmill, and the elf can clearly see humans bustling about dragging lumber to and fro.
But as they continue towards their goal, a tall figure stations herself in the middle of the road, by the sawmill and clearly positioned at the very entrance of the village. By the time Arthorion and Zeldax are near enough to see the individuals distinctly, a full contingent is assembled - three humans and a elven woman. They mill in place, all but the elf whispering among themselves. They make no move towards Arthorion as of yet, but their attention is clearly focused upon him and his companion.
The gentle waves lap at Shalewigg's bare feet as she walks along the riverbank. Her footprints fill with brown water as she lifts her feet from the river and places them down again absently. Her soaked breeches tighten around her calves as she walks away from the water's edge and approaches a group of fishermen. The men fairly freeze as the comely young woman with waist-long raven hair hails them.
Beautiful day, gents. I have heard that there's a village near, and the river here needs taming. Tell a girl the way?
The girl has a curved dagger and a few supplies. A number of tiny leather pouches adorn her hips. Her tresses are long and wavy, but the interior must be damp. The shoulders of her tunic are darkened with water where her hair falls.
Arthorion keeps walking towards the group gathered at the entrance of the village. When he gets near, he stops and takes a careful look at each of the villagers, measuring them up, and finally holds his stare at the elf woman. He then addresses her in elven.
"ຫມູ່ເພື່ອນຂອງທ່ານແມ່ນກ່ຽວກັບວິທີການຂອງຂ້າພະເຈົ້າ"
He puts his hand on Zeldax's head and waits for her reaction. The fur on the lynx's back stiffens.
"I hear there may be ice magic afoot, Groflek, among other things. You're acquainted with the North; is this anything that you know?"
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I know that I'm happier with this weather than the heat! Ha! I know enough about ice and a bit about magic. Maybe if I saw something, I could work out what it was. If it's just a bit cold for the time of year, I'd just be grateful.
Groflek orders more ale and a hunk of meat for Farrak.
The elf rolls his eyes, annoyed by the woman's reluctance in letting him through. He looks down and breathes in and out deeply, and then raises his head putting on an evidently fake and defiant smile.
"Indeed, I am not from these lands and I do come from the forest, where I've been lost without food for the past week. I seek only a meal for myself and my friend here, and a good night's rest before I set out to the north. Now would you show some kindness to a tired traveler and get. Out. Of. My. Way."
Arthorion lets the smirk linger and tilts his head to the right, staring intently at the woman.
"Please."
He winks.
Yahn catches the barmaid as she walks by, keeping his voice low as he orders. "I'd like something stout to drink, to keep off this chill."
Yahn grins widely right back at her, and tilts his head to the side in a show of curiosity.
"Impudence is one of my favorite qualities in a young woman. It saves me the trouble of being impudent myself. Go ahead and introduce yourself."
Farrak raises his head at the intrusion and then goes back to his hunk of meat.
And why would we want to introduce ourselves to you?
Sense motive to see if she means us ill:
"I can offer no assurance but my word. I have accidentally stumbled upon this place and got no acquaintances inside; likewise, I have no affiliation, either here or elsewhere. My life is my own. I tell you this, though: we seek no trouble and mean no harm, and you have no reason to fear or shun us. I am Arthorion Aegas of the Snowcasters, and I bid entrance."
He leans forward and whispers to the elf woman. "What could possibly be the reason for such suspicion, I ask you?" His tone of voice seems to demand an explanation.
The girl with long black hair cocks her head a bit. You say the road is dangerous? I have only found poachers and men who can't take no for an answer. She hardens her look a bit, rocking her stance as she gestures back down the way she came. Unless a girl insists.
Border Wood? I'm trying for the River Porthmos and I could go that way. What's there?
Yahn winks at her. "I'm not half as interested in where I'm going as I'm interested in where I'm staying. Any suggestions?"
Under his breath You're bloody incorrigible.
Arthorion frowns. "So the people of Heldren are colder than the winter they fear. Though we are evidently unwelcome, I am in no position to decline your offer." The elf reaches for his pocket and pulls out some coins. He opens his hand and shows one gold piece and a few silver and copper pieces resting on his palm. "This is all I have left. We will take whatever food and shelter this can afford, and then you won't need to ever see us again."
Arthorion looks over his shoulder, staring back at the woods from whence he came. Maybe going back there is my best shot at going home, after all.
He looks back at the group. "Which of you shall escort me, then?"
The half orc sighs and turns to Yahn:
Fancy a trip to the woods?
You say a noblewoman was seized and taken into the forest? I will not see any woman seized against her will when I could help. I appreciate your offer, and I would not go alone. Where are her rescuers being conscripted, may I ask?
The half orc sighs and turns to Yahn:
Fancy a trip to the woods?
"I could be persuaded. This was a noble who was attacked, presumably with pockets of some notable depth?"
"Very well, Mistress Willowbark. Like I said, I was born among the Snowcasters elves of the far north. My people call me Arthorion." He offers his arm for her to take. "Though your customs are foreign to me, I believe it is safe to assume that Heldren harbors at least one tavern that wouldn't mind serving a hot meal to me and my friend here," he says pointing to Zeldax. "Will you take us there?"
As the two elves move away from the rest of the group, Arthorion inquires "...ແລະເປັນທຸລະກິດຂອງທ່ານແມ່ນຫຍັງໃນຕົວເມືອງນີ້, ເປືອກຕົ້ນໄມ້ແມ່ຍິງ?"
Xanthippe grins widely. "I like the way your mind works, sir. That does seem like a safe assumption. Of course, for specifics, you might want to ask the bodyguard."
"The Lady was taken, but the bodyguard returns to tell the tale? The plot thickens?"
Shalewigg and her new entourage follow the road to investigate. The witch keeps her guard up in the company of men, looking to identify the one most likely to take advantage. Whatever her conclusions, she pushes forward toward the woods where the noblewoman was taken.