Nadya looks at Chiquq with new intensity, as if understanding something for the first time. "Perhaps this is why you are here..." She nods. "Yes. I will accept your help, and then I shall help you further. All the way to Whitestone, if need be."
She takes the Kellid's hand. "By all the powers that may aid us, I swear it, and for all that oppose us, I do swear to make our doom difficult to come by." She grins at that, and gives a firm brisk nod to the Southerners.
She looks around the room. "Do you need supplies? Waldsby is small, but it has a few things."
Yrja gazes towards the porch for a moment. "Nadya, can I leave Momo here? He is a faithful beast, but I'm afraid that our future path will lead to his death." She takes mental stock of their inventory. "As for supplies, if we are likely to encounter any more fey, cold iron would be very welcome, if it's available. And some healing poultices wouldn't hurt."
"Of course, Hatch will make a kormushka for your Momo. As for cold iron--" Nadya shakes her head. "Hard to come by. None that I know of in Waldsby. And potions, I don't think so, but that nasty woman, Emiliana, at the tavern, she has scrolls." Nadya looks disgusted at the mental image of the tavern-keep.
"Chiquq speaks for all of us. You shall have your revenge. As for supplies, we do have some things we would like to sell, which will affect what we are able to buy. Where would be the best place for that?"
Chiquq grips Nadya's hand strongly when it is offered. "Sisters for this hunting, then. You mourn your daughter, I mourn my Ila, together our tears." Remembering there are men in the group, Chiquq adds on hastily. "--brothers for the hunt, too, of course."
The Kellid woman resumes squatting on her heels by the fire and rubs at her jaw. "I will have to look at what I can sell. What do you know of this place where we find our enemy?"
Nadya answers the tiefling. "Verana's Sundries for general supplies, and she may buy things. For iron, not cold, I apologize, but steel, Izamir the Blacksmith. Arbazagor the Carpenter will have things of wood."
Nadya squeezes Chiquq's hand back. "We'll join in blood shed, ours and theirs," she affirms. "The Pale Tower has many levels. Nazhena comes and goes, and in her stead is the Master, and that cleric with her crows. Many guards. It's a huge, terrible place, built from a stalactite of ice brought forth from the air itself, they say. Anyone who is brought there is blindfolded and, they say, covered in ice from time to time, which makes you freeze solid for a short time. No one has seen much of the place save for an interrogation cell." She shivers. "Very few return."
She thinks a little further. "The Tower is signaled by a mirror when you approach, else the crows come. No one has seen a stair in the place--"
She stops, surprised. "Hatch," she says, wonderingly.
A tiny, hairy bearded man, perhaps knee-high, more beard than anything else, has suddenly appeared behind Chiquq, in the sights of Nadya. He carries a thimble-sized bucket of milk and there is a tiny broom, horse hair brush, steel headed scraper, and other cleaning implements neatly braided and tied into his bluish-gray hair and beard.
His eyes are filled with tears and he kneels on one knee before the mistress of the house.
Yrja watches Hatch with wonder, trying not to stare. She stays quiet for a few heartbeats, to leave the little man space to say what he wants to say, if anything. Then she turns to Nadya. "It sounds like approaching unseen will not be possible. How about a ruse? We pretend to be mercenaries coming to speak with the mistress of the tower for employment. Or does anyone have other ideas?" It sounded like assaulting the tower would be a futile endeavour, and one that would end in their deaths. They had to be smart about it, instead.
Dez too watches Hatch with great curiosity.
Thoughts spill out of Dez in response to Yrja: "I too am concerned about the likelihood of success in either a direct assault or by sneaking in, given Nadya's description of the place. Nadya, did you have any thoughts as to how to proceed? In regards to Yrja's suggestion, I'm concerned about its prospects for success, given the seeming powers of knowing of these witches. Also, are we concerned Mierul will have reported any suspicions about us, as well as our association with Nadya? Nadya, it seemed you had a lot more to tell us about Mierul than you could share before..."
"It's hard to say, Dezső. Mierul probably was spying for them. What she determined, I do not know, but we'll know soon enough. There's not much else to say. I don't trust a forlarren as far as I can spit. Yrja, that is an interesting possibility, but I suppose you are already marked. If there was a way to get around..."
Hatch makes a coughing noise. Nadya turns to him.
"Yes, Hatch?"
The furry little domovoi--it appears he has no clothing whatsoever, although it's hard to tell with all the hair and tools--sidles up to Nadya and whispers earnestly for quite a while in her ear.
Her face turns red with rage, then wrinkles into some sadness, and then begins to unfurl into thoughtfulness. This takes a few minutes.
Hatch then looks at the group, bows, and disappears.
Nadya clears her throat.
"Well. Ok. First. Hatch is shy. He doesn't trust you entirely--yet. But he is grateful that you have told us what happened to my Thoraskaya. And...he feels guilty. He was telling jokes about Nazhena, The Mistress, in this house. Thora heard them, and repeated them where Nazhena's spies could hear. He saw her take my child..." At this point Nadya chokes up.
She recovers in a moment, her face steely.
"But. Hatch knows his way through the Tower. He has been there, invisibly. He knows the keys to teleport between levels. That's the ice freezing thing, that stuns people when they move from place to place. And he also said that the Soldiers of the Pale Tower are still searching the Hoarwood for...The Black Rider, if what you say is true. This means that the Pale Tower has fewer warriors."
Her eyes gleam. "We should go now, or as soon as you can resupply."
Something pokes her ear, and she grimaces. "And Hatch will come. Hatch, you can talk to them, you know."
"It does sound like now is our opportunity. Is there anything we need that we can get in town. Anything we can use to attack with fire, other than Braegan's spells?"
"Torches, firewood, oil." Nadya shrugs. "Waldsby is small town."
Chiquq stays crouched on her heels at Hatch's interlude and disappearance, watching the domovoi but keeping her hands to the fire for the warmth.
"Please tell him we thank him for his information. This too will be used to avenge your daughter. Do you think we can sleep before we go? We have been traveling now what seems like a long time..."
She nods a little at Dezso's words. "What about the little flasks of fire, maybe they have those in town."
"Or maybe we can make them... a leather pouch, filled with oil and fitted with a strip of cloth." Yrja shrugs, the making of burning devices is not her specialty. The news that there may be a way into the tower has her eager to get going. The rest of the previous night was enough for her, and she is burning with curiosity to study this ice magic, although of course she won't tell the others that.
Waldsby's General Store, a place called Verana's Sundries, has all of the mundane gear one might expect to find in Taldor.
Verana, a strong looking woman, brings out a few more items from the back, seeing that you are doughty adventurer types: studded leather armor, a belt ["Make a person very stout! Not get sick!"], one of these apparently ubiquitous potions of feather step, and a masterwork shortbow. The belt and armor radiate magic.
Verana's daughter, an almond eyed, attractive looking girl, is also there to help.
Chiquq lugs the armfuls of things they've found and looted into the store, and sort of aggrievedly dumps the tiara and a decorated scabbard onto the wooden counter in the manner of a woman tired of hauling things. She used to have a mammoth to help with this, okay.
"There will be more," she says laconically, as the glint of precious metal and jewels probably catches Verana's eye. "We wish to sell, yes?"
Some transactions later.... with coin piled on the counter, Chiquq distributes it between her fellow travelers in even piles. "Now... for the buying... And I will buy some drinks!"
***
Chiquq seems a different person out of the woods and the snow-- less the stoic scout and huntress, more the woman who had cheerfully spent the last of her coin in a tavern far to the south of here. And if her cheer has a determined, brittle edge to it-- if she pounds the drinks fervently and buys rounds in the White Weasel for anyone in Waldsby who dares try the dwarf's vicious heated jenever-- then this too is a way to mourn her dead friend. You beat death by living hard, and living well, when you are not traveling.
"Dwarf," Chiquq says to Caelum, if he has accompanied her into the White Weasel. "...Caelum. We have traveled now several days with you, and there has not been much time for talking. I know you as brave as all others of your kin I have known, and I know you were held captive. What else should I know of you? How came you into that position?"
She asks no questions of her cousin-- she knows him well enough, after all-- but her gaze lingers on Yrja and Dezso, the two strange spirit-folk. They have proven themselves too. "You said... something about ...leppid-stat. Where is that? Far away?"
As for the fire-singer... Chiquq glances around, bemused, he seems not to have come in with the others. Perhaps he is off talking to Nadya.
Dezső will buy two doses of alchemist's fire and one tanglefoot bag (if available). In his downtime, he will work on making more alchemist's fire (or something else if someone has a favorite alchemical weapon).
Dezső will happily accompany Chiquq to the tavern and gamely try all the drinks offered his way. He clearly lacks a great deal of experience with nights of revelry and quickly becomes intoxicated. He loses some edge off his serious demeanor, but still shows little aptitude for easy camaraderie and humor, despite his obvious affection for the group. In response to Chiquq's question, he responds with enthusiasm: "Yes, far away. Lepidstadt is in the Kingdom of Ustalav, far to the North and West of Taldor, at the edge of the terrible land of the Orcs of Belkzen. Lepidstadt is a great beacon of culture and learning in the haunted lands of Ustalav! The University is famous throughout Avistan, especially in medicine, mathematics, and science... and, of course, dueling!" With his last comment, Dezső draws his sword and makes two quick dramatic slashes -- he then re-sheathes it with some embarrassment at any disapproving looks.
More calmly he continues: "I grew up in the shadows of the University halls and library stacks -- literally -- until... I had to leave. Since childhood, my dreams have featuring snowy landscapes, tinged with recognition and fear, and I've never much been bothered by the cold. So it makes some kind of sense I've ended up here."
He lowers his voice: "But here is in Irrisen? How odd. If so, Lepidstadt is closer to here than it is to Taldor."
"How about you, Chiquq? Where are you from? What brought you from your homeland?"
Chiquq is also eager to see if the little vials of fire are for sale... and cold iron arrows. She definitely want some of those.
As Dezső drinks with the enthusiasm of only those who haven't really experienced hangovers, Chiquq finds a touch of wry amusement to go with the complex arc of wariness-->> respect she has experienced regarding the horned man. The kind thing to do would be to caution him to slow his drinking, she supposes, but she can't help but buy another round for the tiefling, while judiciously nursing her own.
Many of the place names and other terms he lists are unfamiliar to her but she listens gamely. "Mathematics?" she says slowly. "This is... sums, yes? What are the lands haunted by? --careful with that sword...
"Irrisen, yes. The land borders my own people's tribal grounds, what you southerners call the realm of the mammoth lords. Imendri is also from these lands," she says with a gesture at her big kinsman. "For many years now I go back and forth between the southlands-- between Taldor, mostly-- and home. I work as a guide. Rich men like to hunt the beasts of the north. I take them, guide them to prey, make sure they go home to their warm lands with stories and trophies. If they listen to advice," she adds on, drily.
"There is not much else to tale. It is a good life. ...It was, anyway."
She looks to Yrja and Caelum to see if they have anything to add.
Chin propped into her hands, mug of ale forgotten by her elbow, Yrja absorbs the words eagerly. Mahb wasn't a particularly good conversationalist, and she hadn't met many other people aside from her, so this is rather new to the tiefling girl. People talking about their homelands, about their life before this... It creates a link that had been missing before. Sure, they are all connected now that they had fought together and survived many hardships, but she realises how little she actually knows about these people.
"Irissen, is that where we are...? My mother's family was from here, I think. I never knew my mother, but Mahb told me a few things. They fled to Taldor many years past. She lives still, in Heldren, with her husband. She has children, beautiful ones, not like me. I'm sure she didn't want me to die, when my father took me into the forest after I was born..." She trails off, looking into the distance with forced cheer on her face that makes her look like she's grimacing. "I know I'm ugly and cursed, so I don't blame him. And it is how I met Mahb and learned some of the things she knows, so it wasn't all bad in the end."
She smiles more genuinely, smoothing the chipped and scratched wood of the tavern table with her hand.
"There is a sort of beauty here, with the ice and the snow, but so little colour! It would be nice to see more green, and pinks and reds and oranges. Are there colours like that in Ustalav?"
The drink makes Dezső talkative, and sentimental.
"Hah, not so much! Ustalav is a famously fog shrouded land of dark forests and craggy mountains. Even our lands that grow crops are shrouded in mists, and our fields of wheat manage only a pale yellow. And, yes, Chiquq, it is is most certainly haunted, and not only by the memory of The Whispering Tyrant who plunged Ustalav into 600 years of undead rule nearly a thousand years ago. We have the Shining Crusade led by Taldor to thank for ending his reign, but the lich king remains, trapped in his tower in the ruined lands of Virlych.
So many years of the Tyrant's rule left Ustalav a land still shadowed by horrors: ghosts, ghouls, wraiths, spectres, and other undead of every description claim the lonely places of the land for their own -- it is even rumored that vampires lurk beneath the streets of our capital, Caliphas. It is no wonder that the worship of that most severe Gray Lady, Pharasma, who abhors the undead, dominates.
So, Yrja, Ustalav is not a place of easy joyfulness, but the university provided me another sort of joy -- that to be found in books. But I did not really have friends there. I was treated more like a... mascot. Now, though, despite the unceasing trials, I have found the joy of companionship with all of you, and the joy of acceptance as an equal.
And, no Yrja, you are not ugly. You are beautiful. And it is the best kind of beauty, because it is utterly unique."
He raises a glass and reckessly swallows it down: "I drink to your beauty!"
Chiquq looks between Yrja and Dezso when he starts toasting her beauty. Then she lifts her drink to hide her smile. It won't do to start chuckling at the spirit-folk...
"Yes, Irrisen. We are very far north from Taldor. Your mother's family fled a long way south."
Chiquq looks to the dwarf, but so far he seems content to keep his own council. And her kinsman, well... his gifts are not hers to talk about. She knows outsiders-- southerners-- often think her kinsman to be simple because of his speech, but none in this group have spoken ill of him, at least.
She returns her attention to the spirit-folk, amusement creasing the corners of her eyes. Amusement, and a certain level of plotting-in-progress.
"It is fortunate that the two of you should find each another of your kind, on this mission. Perhaps the gods intended it."
"Very true. It has been a long time since I have resented what I am, but it still is comforting to know another of my kind."
Yrja's face turns a darker shade of lavender as Dez toasts to her beauty. Does he really think so...? To the other tiefling, she says. "Are there many... like us, in Ustalav? How, um, how do the others view us?"
She feels encouraged by the kind words and slowly her posture becomes more relaxed, with the hint of a smile now and then.
The drink has brought out Dezső's loquaciousness, and he muses at length in response to Yrja's query, oblivious to the reaction his prior comments might have caused:
"You, Yrja, are the first of our kind that I know. Although I have read much and seen drawings, there were no others with me at the University of Lepidstadt. But I found mentors there who taught me the world has much more strange things than myself, and that my destiny was my own. I have read that many of our kind turn to wrongdoing, probably in part because of how they were treated from the start. I do not believe evil is in our nature, despite what history may course through our veins. Are the children of evil men bound to do evil? I think not.
I did see one other tiefling in my journey to Taldor from Ustalav. He was a dockworker in Druma. A fearsome fellow, with great fangs and claws. I approached to say hello, and found he had a smell of sulphur about him. But he was a rough and ignorant sort, who showed little interest. I have read there are many more of our kind in Cheliax, but I have little interest in meeting them, in that devil-enthralled land.
I think of us tieflings as like the gnomes, who also vary wildly in appearance. Their hair and skin varies as much as our own. Some have overly large eyes and mouths, while others have extremely small features. Some are pleasing in appearance, while others look disturbing. This is also true among humans. When I first left Lepidstadt I traveled with a troupe of entertainers who called themselves The Crooked Kin. All were humans, but all were in some way physically different such that they did not find easy acceptance in their places of birth. In truth, some were disturbing to look at, but for others, their differences made them more intriguing, not less so.
And, you, Yrja, are most pleasant to look at. You are a lovely shade of lavender -- not nearly as diabolical-looking as my rust red, your features are nicely arranged, your clothes are clever and distinctive, and, like me, you have a charming tail. And in the time we have traveled together it seems to me you have started standing a little straighter, which only enhances your beauty. I am sure most you have met and will meet will be surprised by your appearance and unable to see beyond that initial reaction. But I can assure you that you are a most striking tiefling, and there are many in the world wise enough to recognize the beauty in uniqueness, when packaged so pleasantly.
Of course, in the our present predicament it is your talent with magic that we are all appreciating most immediately!"
Chiquq listens to the red-skinned man talk... and talk... with a little drink in him, he is quite the chatterbox. She vacillates between amusement and weariness. The tieflings and their situation at least serves to take her mind from Ila, but the thoughts creep in regardless-- a reflexive mental note to check on Ila's feed, tonight, and then the following thought that she will never again check that Ila has feed, or water, or any other thing.
The absence of the fire-singer makes her chew her thumbnail briefly. A song would be good, to drive away the thoughts of grief. As her cousin and the dwarf seem content to keep their own counsel, she is left to refocus on the tieflings.
"I myself have never seen such as either of you. Among my people we would say you are spirit-folk. And yes, it is probable that if you were born to our people you would not be... welcome." Chiquq peers down into the depths of her mug. The truth is that a child so marked would be left out on the ice, returned to the demons that birthed it... but it doesn't seem politic to say such.
And for the first time Chiquq wonders if that practice is... fair. These two have stood honorably with her, risked their skins to stop the evil.
The Kellid woman knuckles at her eyes and sets down her mug, having no taste for further drink. "--we should sleep. Tomorrow will be busy. Stay and drink more if you wish, but be careful." This is directed more at Dez than Yrja. "You drink like a man who does not know what tomorrow morning is like. I will return to Nadya and the.... hatch, thing."
Dezső, analytical to a fault, may not be fully self-aware about his emotions, but he has enough sense to know that remaining at the tavern would leave him in very bad shape. When Chiquq communicates her intent to leave, he takes it as a signal to the whole group and shakily stands and waits for all the others to rise as well before exiting the tavern. He feels a tinge of embarrassment for his exuberance, but he tries to reassure himself that he is among friends with whom he can speak openly and honestly, even if he surprised himself. Ultimately, the whole experience was so foreign to him, that he has no choice but to try to shake it off and act normally...
Yrja blushes even deeper at Dezső's discourse, but in the end she is smiling radiantly, although she welcomes Chiquq's suggestion that they withdraw for the night and get some rest. This evening has been a welcome diversion from the things that they still must face, and she is grateful to her companions for, well... their companionship.
As they slide out of their chairs and prepare to leave, Yrja gives Chiquq a quick, heartfelt hug, perhaps sensing the mood of the other woman.
Dez and Yrja and Chiquq, deep in their cups, look up to realize that Braegan, Caelum, and Imendri haven't been at their table for some time. You vaguely recall the barkeep, Emil, showing them to the cellar, as Caelum was quite interested in cracking open a cask of bootlegged ice wine from the city of Hoarwood. That must have been a few turns of the glass ago, and Emil is back at the bar, polishing glasses and serving up winteryew moonshine to some hearty-looking woodsmen.
Dezső steadies himself on the bar and glances around, noticing the absence of the others. The surprise restores some of his awareness and he turns to Chiquq and Yrja, "Uh, where are the others? Are they still in the cellar?"
Emil does his best to ignore his wife, Katrina, and her flirtations with a man with the woodsmen. The fellow chats her up almost under Emil's nose, his keen eyes surveying her figure, and she laughs and sashays up to your table. "Yes, outlanders. More to drink?" Her tone is merry, with the usual coldness and rich rolling consonants overlaid in her tone that you've come to expect from Irriseni.
"No thank you. We are looking for our other three friends. Are they still in the cellar?"
"Cellar? No, no one has been in there. " Katrina shrugs and laughs and saunters back to Emil and her other man.
Dezső, suddenly alarmed, walks over towards the cellar stairs and looks down there and calls, "Hey Braegan, Imendri, Caelum -- you down there?"
There is no reply.
Yrja's sudden hug makes Chiquq blink, and momentarily tense up before offering the spirit-woman an awkward smile and a stiff pat to her arm. For all her thoughts on what is fair or not fair, Chiquq supposes she has a distance to travel yet in accepting how strange they seem, up close.
Chiquq is nearly at the door, but Dezso's question makes her look back, her brows furrowed. "Chek? ...Imendri?"
She walks back to the tiefling's side, her face drawn into a frown. "What is going on, Dezső?
"Bartender-- my cousin, and the two with him-- did you see them?" she says to Emil. "Your village is not so large, you remember the other outlanders, yes?"
As Chiquq engages with the bartender, Dezső slowly walks halfway down the stairs, drawing his sword once out of sight of the main room.
Dez does not immediately notice anything amiss in the cellar. It's fairly large down there, with many barrels of icewine and also various pickled good, and is not a standard rectangular shape.
Aboveground, Emil shrugs. "I think they stepped out? Maybe to do more shopping."
Dezső calls up to Chiquq: "We would have seen them if they went out the front door and they would have told us they were leaving. I'm going to take a look down here, but it's a big space."
With that, Dezső proceeds to the bottom of the stairs and looks around.
Dez, using his darkvision, can see steps at the very end of the spiraling cellar, leading up to a hatch, and can see darkvision-cancelling shafts of sunlight penetrating through the gaps in the diagonally sloping double doors. There's some snow on the steps, and a pleasant smelling samovar still steaming next to them, on a barrel of something pickled--turnips, perhaps.
"Chiquq, Yrja! There's a hatch down here leading outside, so they might have gone out this way. But I can't imagine why. I'm going to investigate further."
Dezső moves cautiously over to the steps, sword in hand, and examines the scene more closely.
Dez notices drained cups of wine on the floor and the slight scent of icewine in the air, but the last bit of dregs in the cups is not wine. It has a pleasant barklike scent and looks like some sort of tea.
And several people went up those stairs, surely.
"Chiquq, Yrja! It really looks like they went out this way. I think you should join me."
"Any idea what this drink might be? It smells barklike."
Yrja hurries down the steps to the cellar, taking the empty cup from Dez and sniffing at it. "What have you found?"
Why would the others leave without telling them?
Yrja and Dez are not able to tell what the tea is. It's not a poison, that's for sure.
Chiquqs, slower to rise from her chair after a bit too much drink, sees the door to the tavern swing open. Six soldiers enter, armed with longswords that have the smell of cold iron. Katrina lazily swings her eyes away from her woodsman and somewhat cuckolded husband (still puttering at the bar) and over to Chiquq.
"That's the one. Her friends threatened us and went to the cellar to steal things," says the barkeep's wife, with a cold expression on her face, her mouth a line. "They have been making trouble for some time now."
The guards file in, drawing their swords, looking menacing.
Round 1 - The White Weasel Tavern
Yrja (downstairs)
Dez (downstairs)
Chiquq
Guards
All party may post before guards. Go team!
Chiquq, hearing Dezso's call, is getting ready to come back inside and go to her companions' aid, but the sudden appearance of the guards-- and the blatant lie from the woman's mouth-- has her own mouth dropping open in an expression of incredulity.
"Woman, I hope every coin I've paid you tonight for drinks chokes you," she says darkly. "She is lying, if any of you care to listen. My friends went down to the cellar looking for my cousin, not to steal. We have made no threats, and only lined your purse with the rounds I bought."
"Hospitality is sacred," the Kellid woman growls at both Emil and Katrina as she backs towards the cellar. "I'll remember how you betrayed those under your roof as visitors. So will the spirits. Dezso! Yrja! Trouble up here!"