Despite the oncoming unnatural winter drawing near, the festivities in Heldrin begin. Heldrin has rarely seen so much excitement or concern. Hunters from the nearby Border Wood speak of unnaturally cold weather at the height of summer that descended on the forest just days ago. Heavy snow followed, and those who returned spoke of an uneasy presence in the woods. as well as new, dangerous predators. No one knows what what this means, but the town's sooth slayer, Old Mother Theodora, claims dark times ahead.
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Heldren’s town hall boasts a clock tower overlooking the town square. Its clockworks were imported from Quadira some time ago, and are kept in working order by Orillus Davigen who can usually be found up in the tower tinkering with the machinery. The clock tower’s bells ring every hour from 6 am to 6 pm, and can muster the militia in case of attack. On the wall outside the front door hangs a notice board with local news, job openings, and goods for sale.
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A dirt path winds its way up a low hill west of town to the single door of this square stone tower. The tower is 30 feet high, with battlements on its roof and arrow slits along its walls. It is completely open on the inside, with no interior floors—just a wooden staircase running along the walls to the roof. The tower serves as Heldren’s armory and a place of refuge for the villagers in case the village is ever attacked. In times of peace, the tower is usually unoccupied, but a selection of simple arms and armor is stored inside for the militia.
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Although he spends most of his time shoeing horses and repairing farm tools, Heldren’s blacksmith, Isker Euphram, is quite skilled in battle. A veteran of Taldor’s army, Isker served in Zimar and on the Qadiran border for years before retiring to Heldren. His chain shirt, pike, and short sword are still in good condition, oiled and wrapped in a chest kept in his house behind his shop, and Isker has taken it upon himself to oversee the training of the village’s militia. He keeps a few weapons for sale in his shop and could craft other suits of armor if needed. His daughter, Xanthippe works as his apprentice. When not at her father’s forge, Xanthippe’s likely to be found at the Silver Stoat, holding court with her numerous suitors. Although widely considered the village beauty, Xanthippe is as proficient with her fists as with her hammer, and those few of Heldren’s young men who have tried to woo her too aggressively walked away with black eyes for their troubles.
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Heldren’s general store carries everything a villager needs, as well as most gear an adventurer requires. Heldren sits on the road to Zimar, so plenty of trade passes through the village. The store’s proprietor, Vivialla Steranus, takes advantage of this brisk trade to stock her shelves.
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A well-tended garden sits in front of this equally neat house, the home of Tessaraea Willowbark, Heldren’s resident apothecary. Tessaraea is a relatively new transplant to Heldren, having arrived in the village only 25 years ago after a failed adventuring career up north in the River Kingdoms. She is quiet and somber, and most of the villagers believe she suffered some great tragedy in her past, such as the loss of her one true love. In fact, it was Tessaraea’s brother who died on an ill-fated adventure, slain by a group of trolls. Devastated by his death, she gave up adventuring and moved south, settling in Heldren and taking a human-sounding surname when she opened her apothecary shop. Tessaraea sells a variety of herbs and all of the special substances and Items and a surprisingly large stockpile of alchemist’s fire—since her brother’s death, Tessaraea has had an unreasoning fear of trolls, and almost obsessively crafts the stuff for the inevitable moment when she must face them again.
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An artist with razors and scissors, Argus Goldtooth offers shaves, haircuts, and dentistry, as well as “leechery and other surgical proceedings.” Argus is a fair healer, though he’s prone to prescribing leeches for most maladies, from stomach aches to broken bones. Argus also offers gold teeth to replace extracted ones, and is his own best customer—his easy smile reveals more gold teeth in his mouth than original ones. Though he would never admit it to anyone, Argus has something of a crush on his neighbor, the apothecary Tessaraea Willowbark. Argus has never acted on these feelings, but the two have struck up an unlikely friendship, and it’s not uncommon to find Argus helping tend Tessaraea’s garden on Sundays or sharing a pint with her at the Silver Stoat in the evenings.
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Heldren’s only tavern, the Silver Stoat, stands right on the town square across from the town hall. A fixture of village life, the tavern fills up with patronsin the evening as they gather to share gossip, hear news,and reward themselves for a hard day’s work. Anything that’s worth knowing in Heldren gets talked about here, and if asked where he got a particularly juicy bit of gossip or information, a villager will likely say, “I heard it from the Stoat.” Husband and wife Menander and Kale Garimos run the Silver Stoat as if it were their family kitchen—there’s always a seat at the table or a space by the hearth for a guest, or a warm bowl of Menander’s hearty stew for an empty belly. Menander works in the kitchen, cooking up his famous venison flank steak and numble pie. Kale tends bar, serving up the tavern’s signature brew, Three Devil Ale, which she brews in-house using imported Chelish hops. Heldren doesn’t get many visitors, so there is no true inn in the village, but travelers are welcome to a spot on the floor of the Stoat next to the fireplace for a night, as long as they’re up early and on their way. Those who linger risk a rude awakening from Menander’s wet mop in their faces.
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At the stable next door to the Silver Stoat, Sophia Imirras offers horses for hire or sale, as well as stabling and grooming. Royal couriers on their way to or from Demgazi or Zimar often change horses here. None of Sophia’s horses are combat trained. Sophia also has two carts, a wagon, and a carriage for hire. A traveling noble gave her the carriage as a reward when she managed to calm the newly broken stallion he was riding before it could trample him. Both luxurious and ostentatious, the carriage sees most of its use at village weddings.
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The most notable feature of Heldren’s town square is the large statue of a beautiful woman rightin the center of the town. Usually just called “the Lady,” thestatue has been here for as long as anyone can remember, and no one knows who it actually represents. Some believe the Lady was the founder of Heldren or some ancient, forgotten Taldan noblewoman or even a mysterious fey forest goddess. Others have more sinister theories—an evil witch turned to stone for her wickedness or a magical statue through which the satrap of Qadira can spy on Taldor. On any given day, a few entrepreneurs selling goods or produce can be found on the square, and a market is held on the last Fireday of every month. Elder Natharen Safander also hosts the annual Harvest Feast in the town square, during which the people of Heldren erect a giant bonfire in the square and bedeck the Lady in garlands of flowers.
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The leader of Heldren’svillage council, Ionnia Teppen, lives in this simple two storyhouse just off the town square. Ionnia’s family has had a place in Heldren’s politics for generations, and her membership on the town council was all but assured. She is by far the most influential member of the council, and most villagers consider her the de facto mayor of Heldren.
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Although Elder Natharen Safander is a cleric of Erastil, he tends to all of the village’s flock regardless of their faith. Though most of the villagers follow the teachings of Old Deadeye, the temple also contains shrines to Abadar, Gozreh, Pharasma, and even Sarenrae. Natharen doesn’t much care for the Taldan government’s intolerant stance on the faith of the Dawnf lower, and believes that in a village like Heldren the sun goddess is as important as the god of agriculture. Natharen’s wife, Zaarida, is a Qadiran transplant and faithful worshiper of Sarenrae, and assists him during services and with the temple’s upkeep.
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Heldren’s foremost woodworker is Tengezil Frimbocket, a gnome with a wildshock of electric blue hair. He decorates his creations with delicate and elaborate trim he calls “gingerbread,” a style that has proven quite popular among the well-to-do of Taldor’s southern cities. Tengezil claims to be from Wispil, but he is in fact an exile from the land of Irrisen, far to the north. Tengezil has a twin brother named Arbagazor, but the two were separated when they were young. Tengezil assumes his brother is dead…
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Heldren’s sawmill stays busy day and night cutting timber harvested by the village’s woodcutters into planks for shipment to Zimar and other cities, and stacks of lumber are always heaped outside. Partners Alexius Demetri and Lycio Vallant oversee the sawmill’s operation, which makes them two of Heldren’s wealthiest residents. Their large house on the north side of town is easily Heldren’s largest private home, nicknamed “Sawmill Manor” by the town.
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The name of this butcher shop refers to the supposed nickname of its proprietor, Perkin Tarimm, who claims to be a retired Zimar corsair. In fact, Perkin was nothing more than a common river bandit who took up the safer trade of butchery when the real Zimar corsairs almost caught him, and he has never butchered anything beyond the chickens and pigs that inhabit the yard behind his shop. Customers are welcome to enjoy one of the pickled sows’ ears in the large jar on the counter while they wait for Perkin to prepare their cuts of meat.
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Every village has its resident wise woman, and Heldren is no exception. No one in the village is sure just how ancient Old Mother Theodora is, but she’s been around as long as anyone in town can remember. Old Mother Theodora is Heldren’s most skilled midwife, and she helped deliver just about everyone currently living in the village. She’s also a soothsayer and hedge witch, and villagers come to her to have their fortunes told or buy love potions or herbal remedies.
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The mayor, Ionnia Teppen, would rather not have fatalist ideas circulating through the village. If the people are doomed, why not at least try to survive? Perhaps a person's thought contributes to his or her destiny. The sunshine will not be here for long.
People move around the town square to talk and socialize during the festival.The festival is a celebration of the day that Heldrin was founded. Vocalists perform select tunes on a improvised wooden stage.(Singing) Drinks and food are being served outside on behalf of the Silver Stoat. Some young men and women are sparring outside with wooden swords, while listening to the instruction of Isker Euphrim, the only truly experienced veteran in the village. Isker continues to instruct, "No not like that! A bandit would easily stab you blind at the least. If your opponent fears the blade, they have already lost." A old lady is telling stories to group of children on wooden benches. She speaks with a sense of comfort, "Oh dear, when you grow up you will be fine maiden. No need to stay still when your older, adventure abounds in far away places." The village carpenter obsessively shows his built models to anyone that passes by his booth.
The day bears fruit.
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Maybe you have heard some rumors among the townsfolk already.
Walking around the square during the festival is an extremely pale elven woman garbed all in white and wearing a kind of white linen cloth across her eyes. Though one would think she were blind, she moves with far too much surety to be unable to see. They say this is unseasonably cold weather? Doesn't seem like it, miserable heat wave if I was at home, I don't see how they can stand it, nor why I came here in the first place. Mirri looks around for a place in the shade to sit in for a few moments and goes to it when she finds one.
Tiferet wakes up early that morning, woozily rising from the bedroll she haphazardly laid down in one of the Silver Stoat's more inconspicuous corners. Giving a look around while donning her armor, she notices some of yesterday's patrons still slumbering around the dying fireplace – a spot she politely refused, much to the landlord's perplexity. She tries to recognize some of their features, though she soon realizes that, especially after the fourth pint of that delicious Chelish ale, her memories of the evening before are indeed quite fuzzy.
Stepping out into Heldren's main square, the first thing she becomes aware of is how yesterday's evening chill hasn't subdued; indeed, it has grown even harsher (not that she was complaining – up until that point, she has been hating how hot summers could get in Taldor). The second curious thing catching her attention is the unusual amount of activity in the streets this early in the morning – mainly in the form of people going to and fro carrying tables, building stages, setting up stalls and the like.
One of those town festivals, most likely. Let's see. I'm not due to arrive in Zimar for a whole week; indeed, I'm traveling ahead of schedule. Even then, I'm sure Father would have it so that I'm stuck into supporting roles. The High Heavens forbid that her precious little girl actually sees some front-line action! Why train your daughter as a warrioress and lore-keeper if you didn't want her to march into battle?
She knows the answer – tradition. What she doesn't understand is what good tradition is when they've been exiles for centuries upon centuries. Perhaps it's just a matter that no-one in our clan has ever bothered learning any new trade. Like an old dog that cannot learn new tricks she muses. She finds herself very loathe to follow this particular train of thought, though, and after a short internal deliberation, she decides she can very well spend a couple of hours enjoying the festival, and depart for Zimar in the afternoon, or even tomorrow.
As she correctly surmised the day before, the village is very small, barely more than two dirt roads crossing in the square she's presently standing in. However, she tries to make the most out of what Heldren has to offer on the anniversary of its foundation. She breaks her fast at the tables outside the Silver Stoat, enjoys some wooden sword sparring ( ) while trying to avoid the worst of the smith's scoldings, and even come midmorning steps on the stage to deliver some impromptu performance, a rowdy song she once heard in a not-so-reputable tavern in Oppara.
The Qadiran's wife was as fair as the sun,
and her kisses were warmer than spring.
But the Qadiran's blade was made of pale steel,
and its kiss was a terrible thing.
The Qadiran's wife would sing as she bathed,
in a voice that was sweet as a peach,
But the Qadiran's blade had a song of its own,
and a bite sharp and cold as a leech.
As he lay on the ground with the darkness around,
and the taste of his blood on his tongue,
His brothers knelt by him and prayed him a prayer,
and he smiled and he laughed and he sung,
"Brothers, oh brothers, my days here are done,
the Qadiran's taken my life,
But what does it matter, for all men must die,
and I've tasted the Qadiran's wife!
More focused on enjoying herself than anything else, she doesn't have the chance to pick up too many rumors during the festival – everybody seems mostly concerned about the strange weather.
"Desna weeps," Svartokshe groaned as he was woken to a mop in his face. He glared hatefully up at Menander, who returned the glance with a smirk.
"Up ye git, stranger, the sun already has."
Not bothering to wipe his face, the Irriseni boy sat up and checked his gear. His axe laid beside him, with his cloak wrapped round his hammer, serving as a pillow. Satisfied that his effects remained with him, he stood and equipped himself. As he did so, he managed to overhear the rumors the morning patrons discussed among themselves.
"It ain't natural, none of it." One said, "It's never been this cold in the middle o summer."
Another piped in, "People have been seeing things lately. Creatures, white as the snow now in the Border Wood. Other things as well."
As he passed, these gossipers cast uneasy glances at Svartokshe, noting his heritage and how he ignored the cold by not wearing his cloak, as these peasants did, huddling by the fire.
He came up to the bar and asked for coffee, which he took outside after paying for it. He breathed in the crisp morning air, noting that though the smell was different, it carried the familiar yet hated bite of home.
He took to wandering the town before stopping to marvel at the creations of the gnomish woodcarver, the detail and care put into the creations called to him somehow.
He frowned, however, when he recognized why, for there were Irriseni symbols hidden within the carvings.
"Thinking of home?" the gnome asked, his eyes keen.
He sighed, "Aye, you?"
The gnome shrugged. "This weather does that to us, does it not? How long has it been for you?"
"Three years, to the day." Svartokshe realized that it was his eighteenth today as well, and a sadness took him. "How much for the butterfly?"
The rest of the morning he spent staring at the carved wood, mentally comparing it to the rusty holy symbol of Desna he carried in a pocket.
On the morning of the festival, Gii wakes in the small hut he is renting from the people of Heldren. After taking care of his morning rituals and making himself and Matias, his companion wolf, breakfast, the dark-haired man leaves the hut, intent on doing more research into the people and practitioners of Taldor. 'Maybe these folks have heard more about the snows near the Border Wood? I cannot think of anything that speaks more of magic than unseasonal weather...' the Nethian thinks to himself. Clad in his unusually heavy clothing, Gii appears well-dressed for such cold weather, even though it is still summer. Hanging from his neck is a holy symbol of the All-Seeing Eye, Nethys. Following along quietly, his soft footsteps padding alongside the man's own, is Matias.
Gii and Matias wander about the festival, talking with the locals and trying to gauge the people's understandings and opinions of magic. Though still new to the town, many are familiar with the striking animal and its friendly but soft-spoken master. Gii, who continues to introduce himself as Doctor Gii is a man of average size, with a thick head of black hair and piercing sapphire eyes. Matias is a reasonably large wolf, his fur white as the driven snow. On the creature's forehead is a patch of silver fur that resembles an arcane rune.
Once the pair grow tired of asking the people of Heldren about the events in the Border Wood, they move on to enjoying the festivities. Matias finds himself quite popular with the children of the town, ending up with at least one or two rambunctious kids hanging off of him or riding around on his back, while Gii sits back and watches. Despite being a wild animal, Matias is nothing but calm and gentle with the youngfolk.
As she enjoys her rest in the shade, Mirri notices two people in particular, one is the man with a well behaved wolf playing with the kids, the other is the Irrisini man, sitting alone. She finds herself drawn to the play of the children and, despite the heat, gets up to go sit with Gii who's companion is entertaining them, "Your companion seems to have a way with the kids doesn't he, the winter elf says, "Is this seat taken?"
Gii looks to the elf, before shaking his head. "By all means." Once the woman is seated, he continues, "Matias has been like this since I found him. He's strangely friendly and obedient, despite being wild." Gii whistles softly, and the wolf's ears perk up. He comes trotting over, a pair of boys mounted on his back. When he gets into range, Gii pats his companion on the head, ruffling Matias' fur. The boys giggle and follow suit, rubbing at his sides and scruff, to which the wolf lolls out his tongue and makes a happy sound. "See? Not normal for a wolf at all. But he's been a great help," the Nethian says, patting his left leg, "and I'm glad for him."
Cautiously reaching out, Mirri scratches Matias' ears, "I've never seen a wolf this close before." She frowns thoughtfully, her eyes still hidden behind the cloth across her eyes, "He's smaller than I would have expected, though I think what we have to deal with are a different breed, I believe they are called worgs?" She seems to relax a bit as she continues to scratch the animals ears.
Volaticus makes his way through the people of Heldren as best he can. Snow in the Border Wood? That has to be magic. I wonder if anyone knows what's going on. His towering frame and wide build make it easy to move through a crowd, people tend to move aside when a 6ft 8in person is walking towards them. Throughout the four months that Volaticus has been living here he has become moderately well known, if only for his prodigious size. He does his best to listen in on any conversations about the weather but eventually gives up when he can't pick up anything of value. Volaticus then begins to drink some ale and actually lets loose for a while.
Tiferet wanders around the festival for a while, mixing and mingling with the locals without truly striking up any meaningful conversation. She has almost made up her mind to press on to Zimar when she bumps into dark, spectacled figure of prodigious height towering head and shoulders over her.
Not used to having her 6 feet of stature feel comparatively diminutive, she tries to recollect any piece of information that could be useful for placing the peculiar figure, but she soon realizes she's never met or heard about anything similar in her travels. She acts as if to turn and mutter something, when her curiosity is suddenly drawn by what looks like a savage wolf placidly carrying children around, even allowing them to ruffle his fur while his tongue happily dangles out of a row of sharp, white teeth. Wanting her share of the fun, she takes a few strides in their direction, kneeling on one leg to pat the fierce beast on his side.
"He's smaller than I would have expected, though I think what we have to deal with are a different breed, I believe they are called worgs?"
"They are. Fearsome beasts, though their northern cousins – the Winter Wolves – can grow to even larger sizes" the statuesque Ulfen woman says standing up once again. "Of course, no-one has ever seen one this far south. But then again, one could say the same thing about this weather – or even about a blindfolded elven woman whose hair is chiseled ice and skin is the color of a winter morning" she adds somewhat lyrically, fixing her gaze on the willowy, almost diaphanous figure in front of her.
She extends an open hand in a friendly gesture. "Pardon the intrusion. Name's Tiferet, by the way. Daughter of Odin. Warrior-poet I think I might have been called, if we were in much colder lands. Here, I'm just a mercenary, sometimes a performer. A pleasure to make your acquaintance" she says addressing both the elf and the dark-haired man sitting beside her.
Smiling at the Tiferet's words, "Those are exactly what I mean, big, white, and vicious. They were rare at home, but we always had to watch for them." She blushes at the observations of Tiferet, "Yes, you could, as one could of a being such as yourself. The blindfold is not so thick, only enough to cut the harsh glare of the sun, it's bright enough to hurt my eyes badly if they are unprotected." She takes the woman's hand when it is offered, "I am Mirri, good to meet you."
It has been a long year, Arthorion thinks, watching the Irriseni boy talking to the gnome woodsmith. Tracking down the boy, all the way from Irrisen, has been a taxing and difficult task, full of hearsays, misinformation and hope. No one had been able to confirm or deny the boy's race, but the story still merited his attention—after all, how many orphans had been able to escape Irrisen, tricking the border guardians? Somewhere along the trail, he found out that the boy called himself Black-Ice. It has been only a week since he arrived in Heldren, only to learn that his quarry was indeed spending time in the quiet and remote village.
Arriving in Heldren, Arthorion had seen the nearby woods and heard the rumours about the strange summer snow, but those issues had remained a minor distraction, secondary to his main quest; in fact, the elf had hoped that the unnatural winter could be a sign of his late lover's winter magic manifesting through his long-lost child. What a foolish idea, he now thinks, staring at the human boy in disappointment. For a moment, he curses the people who led him to believe that there might be a touch of elven blood in the somber Irriseni traveling south; eyes white as snow, they said. But they are a superstitious folk, the humans, and any strangeness is swiftly credited to magic or the exotic touch of other races. To Arthorion, it took but a glance to dismiss the possibility of having found a son in Black-Ice. Yet, the kid had still managed to escape from Irrisen, and who knows white he might know. That should still warrant a talk. Later.
He passes by the boy and his gnome interlocutor without disturbing their conversation, and walks up to the Silver Stoat. For some reason, they always gather in these sort of places, humans, and there is always a festival of some sort. He spots an elf woman talking to a man and a woman, and notices that every once in a while, they look at the unexpected docile wolf playing with the kids. He thikns of Zoren and is glad about his decision to leave the lynx wandering the woods around town, seeing how the children seem to pester the poor wolf. No respect at all for the fine beast.
He sits at the bar, next to the group, and orders an ale, which he has come to learn is the expected behavior in such places. His mug remains untouched as he observes the townspeople having a good time, without understanding why. Suddenly, he speaks, to no one in particular. "You'd think that, with such short lives, they'd spend their time doing something more productive. Festivals, always festivals", the elf says shaking his head.
Gii calmly watches everyone play with Matias, resting comfortably in his chair. For his part, the wolf seems to revel in the attention he's receiving, making contented noises deep in his throat. "He isn't a worg or even one of these White Wolves I've heard about, so far as I can tell. Just a normal wolf... though normal probably isn't quite the right word for it," the doctor says, a calm smile on his face. Matias barks happily in response, nuzzling into the hands mussing his snow white fur. "But you must forgive me. I seem to have forgotten to introduce myself," the man says, using the chair behind him to help heft himself upright. He leans heavily on his right leg as he continues, "I am Gii, devoted servant of great Nethys. Matias, here, is my companion. It is good to meet the both of you. אליך במיוחד, גברת טיפאראט," The Nethian's smile seems to grow ever so slightly as he speaks in bell-like tones to the Ulfen woman.
Tiferet is still struggling to recall any notion she might have learned about the God of Magic when she's visibly taken aback upon hearing Gii's word in Celestial, a development she finds most unexpected in a place such as Heldren. And yet, at the same time she perceives a strange feeling emanating from the man, one of... could it be – familiarity? She rapidly pulls herself together, though, and she smiles back at her dark-haired interlocutor.
"תודתי, אדיב אחד", she answers making an almost crystalline sound. "It is safe to assume then that you also know what my name means. Beauty" she blushes slightly. "How embarrassing. In my defense, it's my Father's fault. That's what happens when a daughter is born after three male children – all the good names are already gone, and your parents have gotten soft-hearted in the meantime."
She then turns once more to Mirri. "Indeed, I've heard tales about reclusive arctic elves inhabiting the Crown of the World, how they cover their eyes with bandages to avoid getting blinded by the light reflected by the snow. Their sightings are so few and far between, even among Ulfen clans roaming on the very edges of the eternal ices, that never I would have though to meet one in Southern Taldor" she states, rhythmically caressing Matias' back.
"In comparison, my appearance is not as uncommon as it might seem. In Heldren, perhaps. But in places like Oppara, tall, blond Ulfen soldiers are not that rare of a sight. The Grand Prince has his Ulfen bodyguards, which in turns makes my kind somewhat highly sought after by ambitious nobles who want to emulate their sovereign." She shrugs. "It can be good money, if nothing else. Though I personally prefer real battles; not that I've seen many, and those few I've been in I was mostly confined to support roles. Another thing I have to thank my Father for, I guess".
Eventually growling at himself, Svartokshe decided that the coffee wasn't strong enough. Standing and placing the wooden carving in a pocket, he headed back to the Stoat.
He passed by the group surrounding the silver wolf, and his frown deepened. That beast ... no, this isn't Irrisen. He thought. A winter wolf would never submit to that kind of foolery. He observed the she-elf and the two who seemed too ... perfect to be human. He slowed his walk, but only long enough to place at least two of them as being from the north as he was.
Entering the Stoat once again, he casts a glare at Menander, who smiles sheepishly in return. His wife, Kale, smiles at the boy as he entered. "Welcome back, lad. Will you partake in breakfast with us?"
"I thank you for your offer, but I'll just have a warm ale and some meat and bread at the bar." He felt like the woman was trying too hard to play a motherly type with him, but he tried to be polite in return.
Menander met Svartokshe at the bar, bearing a mug and a plate. The boy paused, debating if he should pray first. Deciding against it, he began to eat slowly.
He then noticed he was sitting next to another elf. Hmm, elves aren't that common in Taldor, I thought.
Catching the elf's comment about festivals, he nodded, "I'll drink to that."
"We are raised hearing tails of the Ulfen and Irrisini, but rarely meet them. As for you, you are not Uflen? I was unaware of that." Seeming puzzled, "I am not sure why I came here with the whole of Golarian to choose from, but I was...drawn...to this place, likely because of the strange cold in the woods." Saying a few words and holding her hand out, she hits the ground with a ray of frost. "I have a strong connection to winter and water both, it's very distracting at times, but it has it's uses."
"We are raised hearing tales of the Ulfen and Irriseni, but rarely meet them. As for you, you are not Ulfen? I was unaware of that."
"I am, though perhaps only technically. I was born in Varisia, and have been wandering around Avistan ever since. My extended family is scattered all over Golarion, in facts, so that wherever one of us would stumble upon a profitable contract, he'd spread the voice so that the others would follow suit. Presently, I'm heading to Zimar. My parents are already there; there were talks about Taldor wanting to strengthen its southern borders after rumors of a gathering of Qadiran troops just south of the river. We'll see."
With that, her expression turns into one of longing. "But I've never been even remotely close to my ancestral lands. I hope I will one day. In the meantime, all I have to show for my Ulfen heritage are my features, and a general distaste for how hot Summers can get this far South."
Arthorion is somewhat surprised to see Svartokshe standing next to him. He seizes the opportunity to engage the boy in conversation without having to stalk him any further. "Not much reason or time to celebrate in the north, is there? Southerners have it easy." He looks around and takes a second glance at the elf and Ulfen women a few feet away. "It seems this town has something that attracts northerners", he adds, pointing at the women with his nose, moving slightly his head up and down.
Smiling slightly, "Compared to my homeland, I imagine that even the winters are miserably hot here." Looking around a bit, "I have to admit, there seem to be a lot of people with northern ancestry here, if I'm not mistaken, that man is irriseni," she nods towards Svartokshe, "I wonder if this unnaturally cold weather drew him here like it did me?'
As the children rush off to their waiting mothers, Gii shrugs. Matias curls up around the Nethian's left foot, his bright eyes scanning the area as he calms down from all the attention he'd been showered in. "Possibly," the doctor replies, reaching down to stroke the wolf's fur once more. "Though who can say for sure? I suppose you could just go ask him."
"Aye." He took a long draught of the ale and then sighed. "I tried to escape the cold, but it followed me anyway."
Noticing the elf and two "perfect" people looking their way, he sighed. "It's always the weird ones." He muttered into his mug.
Looking back at Gii, "I'm not that curious. We were taught not to trust the irriseni, nothing good ever came from our associations with them. I suppose you could call it misfortune, though I don't know if I believe it counts in this situation."
Rapidly averting her gaze from the pale youth - but not rapidly enough to prevent their eyes from locking, albeit shortly - Tiferet turns to Mirri once again. "A cautious stance, and one that explains all the myths about your people's elusiveness." She then shrugs. "In the end, though, your average Irriseni is just a regular person, probably not vastly different from those same people around us busy enjoying their festival. It's the Witches who rule the land that gave that nation a sinister reputation" she says, her previously light-hearted expression suddenly turning sour.
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Strangely enough, many people did not remember much of last night in the Silver Stoat. Alcohol beavarage consumption was at a all time high. However, Argus Goldtooth remembers the great tales that were told last night. "Ahh, Tiferet, glad to see you are awake. I very much enjoyed your stories last night. If you are in need of a haircut, I will give you one on the house at my barbershop..."
With a quick dart of his head and eyes, he makes sure no one is listening. Argus whispers, "And... perhaps... you can help me with my girl trouble... Tessaraea... has been eyeing me lately..."
He quickly stands to his feet, "But no matter! Enjoy the festivities! We are friendly bunch here in Heldren." After a sharp pat on Tieferet's back, he happily walks out of the Silver Stoat with the intention to jaunt around.
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Tieferet's sparring opponent was a boy of 15 years. He had a certain quickness in moves, but could not deal with Tiferet's more heavy handed swordplay. "Ouch, where did you learn that? Don't worry I just got few bruises."
He is clearly lying...
Isker observes the match, "Boy, you spent to much time dodging. Not enough striking! Consider this, if you step back to dodge a blade, all your opponent needs to do is walk forward and gut you. Your doing all the work for her. That is why you have the welt. Now, strike!"
After a few more rounds the boy thanks Tiferet for sparring with him. Hopefully, the boy will learn better next time.
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The singers step aside for Tiferet's performance. The performance earns some clapping and hollering afterward. One of the singers congratulates your performance, "Excellent use of multitasking. I am not a drummer myself, but I can feel the rhythm."
She continues, "My name is Ionnia Teppen. I have not seen you around here before. Please do enjoy yourself in Heldren. Looked like you were having a good time on stage."
She smiles and begins the next song.
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The gnome responds, "Well, I think you ought to have it for free, lad. I have seen you staring at the sky for long periods time. As if the winter has cursed you for eternity. The winter can be very cruel. I feel that the cold has not shaken off of you. If this object helps to distract you from it, then please take it. Making and building things with my hands has made me certainly distracted. I mean, I can't stop thinking of new things to build or to do. The people around here say it is my nature. But I feel like I got it from my brother."
The gnomes face returns to a solemn state, " I have not seen my brother for so long. I don't know if he died or what. He was all I had... Heldren has become my family now. My only advice.. is you ought to find people that you care about. Here, take it."
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Most of the local's seem to have not really any strong opinions about magic. Except the town's butcher, "Magec fer wht? Don't need no stinkin magec! U understand me point. I chop, simple. Magec, not simple. Dannger in magec! No dannger in I choping. Magec boook lys, kheats, and steels. Heer wht me sey magec men."
And on he goes...
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Strangely enough, many people did not remember much of last night in the Silver Stoat. Alcohol beverage consumption was at an all time high. However, Argus Goldtooth remembers the great tales that were told last night. "Ahh, Tiferet, glad to see you are awake. I very much enjoyed your stories last night. If you are in need of a haircut, I will give you one on the house at my barbershop..."
With a quick dart of his head and eyes, he makes sure no one is listening. Argus whispers, "And... perhaps... you can help me with my girl trouble... Tessaraea... has been eyeing me lately..."
He quickly stands to his feet, "But no matter! Enjoy the festivities! We are friendly bunch here in Heldren." After a sharp pat on Tiferet's back, he happily walks out of the Silver Stoat with the intention to jaunt around.
Passing her hand through her silvery locks, Tiferet smiles at the gracious proposal. "It has become a tangled mess, hasn't it? No time to get a decent haircut when you're always on the road, I suppose. Well, Master Goldtooth, I still don't know how much time I'll be spending in your delightful little town, but I might want you to make good on your promise sooner or later. As for Lady Tessaraea... First, she's a lucky woman for having one such as you as her suitor, let me tell you that. Second... I don't know how good can a mercenary be at dispensing love tips, but should I chance upon her, I'll make sure to at least put in a good word for you. Agreed?" she winks.
Tiferet's sparring opponent was a boy of 15 years. He had a certain quickness in moves, but could not deal with Tiferet's more heavy handed swordplay. "Ouch, where did you learn that? Don't worry I just got few bruises."
He is clearly lying...
Isker observes the match, "Boy, you spent to much time dodging. Not enough striking! Consider this, if you step back to dodge a blade, all your opponent needs to do is walk forward and gut you. You're doing all the work for her. That is why you have the welt. Now, strike!"
After a few more rounds the boy thanks Tiferet for sparring with him. Hopefully, the boy will learn better next time.
"You've almost had me a couple of times, lad" she gracefully lies, though perhaps not very convincingly. "One day, you'll become a mighty warrior, the dream of every girl in Southern Taldor" she says, patting him on his back as she departs .
The singers step aside for Tiferet's performance. The performance earns some clapping and hollering afterward. One of the singers congratulates your performance, "Excellent use of multitasking. I am not a drummer myself, but I can feel the rhythm."
She continues, "My name is Ionnia Teppen. I have not seen you around here before. Please do enjoy yourself in Heldren. Looked like you were having a good time on stage."
"Indeed, I've arrived just yesterday, just a traveler on her way to Zimar. But the joyful spirit of these celebrations has persuaded me to enjoy your hospitality a bit longer. A most charming community you have here, Ionnia."
"Yes, it always comes back to the witches." Looking at her companions, "So, do any of you have any idea what this festival is about?"
"Can't say I do," Gii replies to Mirri. "A break from study is good for the mind, though, so I cannot say I am not enjoying it. Whatever the reason, Matias and I are glad for it," the dark-haired man says, his soft grin still in place.
"Well spoken!" Tiferet stretches her arms and legs. "Whatever recurrence these good folks are celebrating, it's nice to be part of something joyful, for a change. Let's enjoy it as long as it lasts..."
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Darnen talks cheerfully, "You ought to see Heldren, ain't much. But my own father raised me there. I miss my sister the most, a fierce one she is."
This was Darnen's first outing as a member of Lady Argentine's guard. Yuleg approaches the group of well armed young people. Yuleg exclaims with a loud bellow,'Your father is near isn't he lad. Aw, what a chump!" Yulegs laughs with a friendly wit about him.
"I heard from him some tales of what my father had done with you."
Yuleg replies with a smile, "Have you? Well go on, tell me."
And so went a grand night of conversation over a campfire. Lady Argentine was well protected in her cart. She had no need to be outside or in other terms, she did not want to because of the cold. The warm company around the fire was not strange, but the winter was. He did not remember anything close to this near Heldren in the summertime.
"With the weather like this, I have a feeling that the my birthplace festival will not be celerbrated tomorrow."
But then... A large group of well armed bandits with tattered rags slammed into the campsite without any hesitation. Blood begins to fly and spray over the fight that has just ensued. Within a second he feels a strong piercing pain in his front side. He drops to the floor with a hard impact. Under his grasp for air he croaks, "Yuleg." He hears the cling of metal and roar between both sides.
Suddenly... he finds himself moving. Yuleg is dragging him to safety, "Hold on! That wound can be taken care of. You said Heldren was in the north, right?"
The dwarf continues to drag him toward the horses. With a hard lift, he finds himself on the horse. Yuleg yells towards Darnen, "With me." Yuleg is on his own horse.
Darnen suffers another intrusion from a well thrown spear. His arm was removed from his body. Darnen screams in pain and falls off his horse.
The bandits catch up to him. His vision is merely a blur as he loses more blood.
"Looks like the one of them got away."
"No matter, I will be having a private conversation with Lady Argentine in her cart soon. Viktor, Take 50 well armed men and women in 2 days time and sack Heldren."
"Yes, Sir!"
"We need as much supplies as we can to survive this strange winter. Leave none of them alive. Like this one."
Darnen's head leaves his body.
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A dwarf comes to a abrasive sounding stop on his horse in the towns square, "I bring news! Where is the mayor of this town? Is this Heldren? Bandits are a day away from sacking this town. They march, well armed."
The dwarf is well armed and wears finely made armor. He bears a sign on his left shoulder plate.
The butcher approaches the dwarf, "Badits? I dont tink thy be badits close."
"Here. What was I saying?" Tiferet mutters, almost to herself, as the sound of hooves furiously galloping and then suddenly coming to an abrupt stop has everyone turn their heads towards Heldren's latest arrival.
"Wait. I think I know him" she whispers towards her companions once the dwarf is done delivering his gloomy tidings.
"Hey! I believe I've seen you before, in Oppara if I recall correctly. You were escorting your mistress along Senate's Hill. Aren't you the captain of Lady... Lady Argentine's guards?" the icy-eyed Ulfen woman asks, taking a few step towards the mounted dwarf. "If so, where is she? And where's the rest of her retinue?"
With the sudden ruckus, Mirri tenses and starts listening and watching her surroundings. When there seems to be no no imminent threat to her, she relaxes some but still pays attention to what is being said.
Gii raises an eyebrow as Matias suddens sits up, ears perked towards the dwarven man speaking to the long-winded and very oppinionated butcher. "What's the matter, boy?" the Nethian asks his wolf, resting a gloved hand on the canine's head. Matias simply growls low in his throat, the sound one of worry.
Volaticus turns his head at the sight of the dwarf. That armor looks too well made for him to be a lowly warrior, but who is he? he thinks to himself. Walking a little closer so as to hear what he might have to say. "Bandits? Are you sure?" Volaticus asks the dwarf.
The dwarf steps off his horse and lands on the ground. He looks at Tiferet curiously, " Dead! By the bandits under Rohkar Cindran. He is not a man to cross blindly. He was previously a acquaintance to Lady Argentine, but now he is mad, hiding along with whoever worshiped his leadership. Obsessive would be a mild word to describe him. I would doubt he would kill Lady Argentine given his previous association with her. But, I would rather not imagine what he would do. Does not make it any better that there is snow in the border wood."
Her attention fully caught now, Mirri loos at the dwarf, "You said snow in the woods? How? It's miserably hot in this country so how could there be snow anywhere near here this time of year?" Pausing a moment, "At least the snow should make them easier to track anyway."
Gii rubs his chin. 'Snow in the summertime sounds like the work of magic, to me,' the Nethian ponders, grinning. "Very interesting," he says, standing and moving over to Mirri. Matias also hefts himself up, padding along behind the doctor.
Snow? What the... Svartokshe listened as the dwarf warned about the incoming attack, his grip on the tankard causing his knuckles to whiten. Bad things happen no matter where one goes, I guess.
Downing the rest of his drink, he checked his weapons and then walked over to the growing crowd, figuring strength in numbers.
Snow? This cold is surely unseasonal, but this is pushing it... Tiferet ponders, crossing her arms. Briefly turning around, she notices how Mirri and Gii have also stood up and are now expressing their puzzlement. She turns towards the Doctor with a raised eyebrow.
Perhaps the Nethyan might have some clue about what's going on.
Before she could give the matter further thought, though, her mind suddenly snaps back to the more urgent topic of the town being under imminent attack.
"The news you bear – unnatural weather, lady Argentine kidnapped – are grim indeed. But there's little we can do about it if we don't survive this incoming raid" Tiferet states in a dry, matter-of-fact tone. "We should start setting up defenses right now. How large are their numbers? I take it they're consistent, if they're willing to attack a Taldan village so close to Zimar, one of the most fortified cities in southern Golarion. Either that, or they think that whatever is causing this weather will also shield them from retaliation" she says, her military training kicking in.
Arthorion notices the fuss caused by the the anxious dwarf. He looks at the crest on his left shoulder plate and recognizes it from somewhere; when he hears the group talking about Lady Argentine, he connects the image to the name he's heard a few times while traveling south to Hedlren. Local nobility, he acknowledges. The news of bandits coming to raid the town are indeed alarming, and he steps up to offer help to the Ulfen woman who seems to be organizing the defense.
"Walking around town, I've noticed a shortage of military talent among the people. I can help you fight the bandits, I figure you will need anyone who can wield a sword competently. Yet, you should maybe send scouts to assess the situation, since Lady Argentine's guard lacks in information what he spares in aprehension." He pauses for a moment, as if considering something, and then speaks again, this time to the dwarf. "I suppose you would want to have Lady Argentine rescued? I believe nobles demand special attention and care among you humans, isn't that so?"
Looking at the Arthorian,
Arthorion hears Mirri's question and ponders for a moment, looking for words to explain his perception of human society. When he finally speaks, he speaks sure of himself.
"প্রকৃতপক্ষে, তারা না. কিছু কিছু মানুষের তারা মূলত তারা ধনী পরিবারের জন্মগ্রহণ করা হয়, যার মানে, আর্যা বা রাজকীয় রক্ত কল আছে দাবি. এই দরিদ্র মঙ্গল প্রায়ই সাহায্য বা কৃষক শাস্তি মানে রাখা মালিকদের, চাষী মানুষের কিছু অভিজাতদের জন্য স্বেচ্ছায় এবং নিয়োজিত পরিবেশন করা কেন এই বিশ্বাস."
A quizzical looks appears on Tiferet's face as she listens to the two elves debating human customs. Her lips stretch into a bitter smile as she chimes in.
"আইন পুরুষদের জমি, আইন এবং যতদিন সবাই তাদের গ্রহণ করে, যেমন একক ব্যক্তি তাদের শাসনের বিরুদ্ধে কিছুই করতে পারে যে বিশ্বাস করার অধিকার দিতে. এটা সত্যিই একটি স্বয়ংসম্পূর্ণ স্থায়ী আখ্যান এর. মানুষ তারা অন্য সবাই ভালো কাজ, এবং তারা যে খুব দৃঢ় সীমা মধ্যে কি কি করতে পারবেন শ্রেষ্ঠ আউট করতে চেষ্টা করা উচিত বিশ্বাস করে কি মনে করেন অনুযায়ী কাজ করতে থাকে. আমি তার দিন এর শ্রমের ফল একটি অংশ প্রদান করা কিছু কৃষক তার পূর্বপুরুষ এর জমি চাষ হতে পারে, ঠিক মত সাম্রাজ্য এর বলেন, একটি ভাগ পেতে সম্রাট এর যুদ্ধ যুদ্ধ."
The cynicism in her voice is very palpable, though as she switches back to Taldane, her tone also reverts to its previous straightforwardness. Nothing but a rapidly fading veneer of sadness is now clouding her austere expression.
"I'll be happy to delve deeper into this particular matter at a later date – once the more pressing matter of this incoming attack is dealt with." She gives an appreciative look at the elf's features. Fit, trim, and armor clad. She remembers how elves don't build up strength by adding mass to their bodies like humans do, and realizes how her interlocutor might very well compare favorably to some of the strongest warriors she's ever met. "I appreciate your offer. Funny thing is – I'm not even from around here. I was just passing by on my way to Zimar. But we can't leave those good folks to their fate, can we? Especially since I'm afraid you're right when you say there aren't many capable fighters among their numbers. Indeed, the only one who strikes me as a veteran is Isker Euphrim, the sparring teacher. As for scouts, you're certainly right. Do you have any candidate in mind, though? I'd volunteer, but I'm afraid they'd hear me coming from a mile away."
Arthorion is somewhat surprised to hear a human speaking the tongue of elves, though the sudden instrusion does no offend him a bit. "আপনি মানুষের ঠিক কোন আচরণ সম্পর্কে ন্যায্যতা আইন করতে হবে. কিন্তু আপনি সঠিক, আমরা মূল গতিপথ থেকে সরে."
Turning his attention back to the matter at hand, Arthorion listens intently to Tiferet. "I'll go. I doubt they could keep up with me if I was discovered. I have a friend in the woods who will join me, though a scouting party would be more effective if we gather enough people to ambush the bandits before they get here." He speaks to Mirri again. "আপনি আমাকে, একটি তুষার নিক্ষেপকারী পরী কি? আমি দূরে দীর্ঘ জন্য করা হয়েছে করেছি, কিন্তু আপনি আমাদের মত চেহারা. আমি আপনি পরী জাদু কোবিদ করা আশা করতে চাই, এবং আমি এখানে যে কেউ আমার পাশে আপনি বিশ্বাস চাই. আপনি আমার সাথে সাহস করবে?"
Seeming confused by Arthorion's initial question, "স্নো নিক্ষেপকারী পরী, আমি আগে যে বিশেষ শব্দটি শুনেছেন মনে করি না. আমি আরও উত্তর থেকে সম্ভবত এবং আপনার উপজাতি থেকে কিছুটা আলাদা শীতকালীন পরী, এর একটি উপজাতি থেকে এসেছি."
Tiferet nods as she listen to the elf's plan. A preemptive strike? Surely they won't expect that. The way he approaches warfare – this one must be a hunter.
"Hit-and-run tactics can very well be the smartest choice against an enemy who's probably convinced he's holding the upper hand. If you and your... friend... can locate them without being discovered, we could swoop upon them before they even know what hit them" she says, with a hint of growing enthusiasm in her voice. She extends her right arm towards the elven warrior, her palm open in a sign of friendliness and respect. "Sorry, I still haven't had the chance to properly introduce myself. Let me make amends. I'm Tiferet, and I'd be honored to be part of your ambush team".
"অন্য কোন কারণে তাপ থেকে দূরে পেতে চেয়ে যদি আপনার সঙ্গে হিসাবে, আমি খুব খুশি হবে. যে কেউ এটা সহ্য করতে পারে কিভাবে আমি বুঝতে পারছি না."
Elven:"As for accompanying you, I would be glad too, if for no other reason than to get away from the heat. How anyone can tolerate it I just don't understand."
"কখনও কখনও সূর্য অধীন একটি দীর্ঘ মার্চের পর আমি ইচ্ছুক যদিও যতটা আমি উদ্বিগ্ন হালকা কাপড় এবং ঘন ঘন বাথ,. বর্ম আমার বাণিজ্য যেমন একটি গুরুত্বপূর্ণ হাতিয়ার ছিল না."