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At the Doctor's call for Ehren and Marina, the changeling waves for the ifrit to follow her and lunges out into the freezing storm. Her hair immediately overtakes her face, and she pulls up her hood with a flummoxed expression. The cold, so deep, almost feels like it burns her, invisible knives nicking and slicing just skin-deep. She sees the others out in the storm, mentally counting who is out there so that she can make sure they all return safely.
And Neela. White and blue speckled, the kobold comes out of the storm like a ghost, and it honestly surprises her. Not that anyone would know, with Marina's arm up over her face, hair in her eyes and hood over her head.
Following Kaelifax and the Doctor, she clutches her silver holy symbol tightly. She helps them get the door, and struggles with hefting the heavy-set stranger.
Catching Marina's gesture, Ehren heads on out the door. He looks like a madman, running out into the storm's fury without so much as a fur coat. Surely enough however, he does not so much as flinch when the wintry winds blast against him; it might as well have been a spring breeze. A stupendously forceful one, at least. Upon hearing the man's mantra, the ifrit grimaces, for a moment believing that his condition has kicked in again. Fortunately, the ongoing banter and Neela's translation alleviate his worries. Wait, where did she come from? The kobold runs off before he can voice any kind of concern.
"Are you sure about this, Doc?" he asks, joining the others as they move the Ulfen man away from the tavern. Noting the man's injuries, he subtly brushes his hand against his back, muttering something under his breath.
Vanya leads the mare to the stables without issue, reassuring the chestnut along the way.
"I can't imagine the kind of beating this poor horse took in the storm. She may not be much better off than her rider," the silver-haired man says, his hand constantly stroking along the horse's neck maintaining contact with the beast.
He leads the tired horse into the stable and looks around for a light source to find an empty stall for the beast.
Kyrianna refastens the tarp and shuts the paddock gate. "I believe I've bothered with tarps more today than I ever want to again," she sighs, and lights one of the hanging lanterns.
"Don't stable her just yet, she's all wet. Here, catch." The woman tosses a brush to Vanya and pulls out a dry towel for herself. "Get the snow and ice out of her coat with that, and I'll dry."
She works silently for a few moments as the snow melts and drips to the floor. "The rider.... He looked like he was from the north, didn't he? Do you think he rode in that storm the whole way here?"
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Montgomery pushes through the snow to his front door. The hanging sign advertising his services - painted white, with "Dr. M. Montgomery, Physician" in black block letters - threatens to blow off in the frigid tempest. Letting Ehren take most of the man's weight, the doctor opens his front door. The small residence - purchased with the remnants of his veteran's pension - was outfitted to act primarily as his office, with hardly more than a bedroom and a privy in the back to himself. The front room serves as his examination room, with an old dining room table in the center. "Put him on that," he directs. "I need some light to see how bad it is. We need to get him out of his clothes and into a hot bath. I have a large tub in the next room. His body temperature needs to go up. I may have to amputate if any of the flesh is insalvageable."
As he begins to look over his patient, a look of confusion crosses his face. "That's... I must be..."
Stables: Kyrianna and Vanya
The Doctor's House: Kaelifax, Doctor Montgomery, Ehren, Marina
The Silver Stoat: Neela, Ilya (I'll assume you're still there unless you make a post saying otherwise.
Kyrianna manages to bind the wound and treat the wound so it does not get infected while Vanya dries and tries to get the poor girl warm. It doesn't look like she's in danger of dying. Luckily there were supplies in the stables for treating horses of injuries (healing kits).
...
Neela, you burst in through the tavern's front door as the wind sweeps in with you, nearly knocking several patrons over. They manage to get the door shut behind you.
Asking around, you get few answers from the men and women looking down on you, only mumblings of distracted unknowing. From among the crowd however, Sophia Immiras speaks up.
"I know she was speaking with Councillor Teppen before. She might be holed up in the town hall with her there. What's happening, Neela? They find anybody out there?
If you go out to brave the storm again, you find yourself running across the square at full sprint and making your way to the large front doors of the town hall. It takes a full minute of knocking, which feels much longer due to the biting cold and raging storm, but eventually a thin woman swings opens the portal and quickly brushes you inside. She has a stern face, well-groomed graying brown hair tied in a bun and is wearing common clothes. You know her as Ionnia Teppen, foremost of Heldren's councilors. In the foyer, crowding around a small fire at the fireplace is Orillus Davigen, the town hall's curator, the rest of the village's council and, sitting in the middle of the group, close to the fire, old, crotchety Mother Theodora.
"What is it Neela?" Ionnia asks sternly but with compassion in her voice. "What are you thinking, wandering out in the storm like that?"
...
The doctor's confidence erodes as he sees the extent of the man's injuries. You are practiced in your craft enough, however, that you can tell the basics of his injuries: Frostbite on the outer extremeties (nose, fingers, toes, ears), a large laceration on his right arm hastily bandaged but still leaking blood and most likely infected, a bruised, swollen face that most likely took several hits from a blunt object.
Ehren's preemptive healing magic may have helped save the man from succumbing too early. Some of the lesser scrapes and wounds have begun knitting themselves together. He still needs much further care, however.
However, when you peel off the outer layers of his clothing and armor, you see a sucking wound in the center of his abdomen. The wound has not closed off and looks not like a scar, but it does not bleed. Around the wound you can see the flesh has started to blacken too, but you have no idea why this would be.
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Marina sees the confusion on the Doctor's face and moves abreast the man, taking his hand into hers. Her other hand, she places on his shoulder.
"Don't worry," she says to the man with a calm, steady voice. "You're going to be fine. You're going to be okay."
"Mr. Montgomery is a good doctor. He knows all sorts of things. I guarantee this isn't even the worst thing he's seen, and that guy probably made it." She looks into his eyes, nodding, trying to keep him with them.
On the inside, her very being is twisted in panic, turmoil and confusion. But she does her best to remain steady-- Like an old stone in the forest. Like an animal skull, treated and ageless, hung on the wall of a great hall. Like a hand holding the draw of a bow, breathing taut, controlled. Marina tries to be these things. To be strong. To be calm.
Marina prays.
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Montgomery pulls out his equipment and begins methodically treating the frostbite. He has to decide what needs treatment first. The injuries range from severe to tolerable, but the frostbite will kill him if left untreated. With the help of Ehren and Marina - both capable of magical healing that tends to the worst of his immediate injuries - he quickly has the Ulfen man in a tub of hot water. He looks for the telltale signs of frostbite - yellow, hardened skin, especially at the extremities - and spots them. As he warms up, parts of his frostbitten extremities turn black. He will have to amputate them soon, but for now Matthew can turn his attention to the other problems. It will be many hours before his temperature is back to normal.
Montgomery removes the sticky, bloody bandages on his arm. The wound itself has begun to heal thanks to the magical treatment from the gods. He uses a scalpel to open the wound back up. "Sometimes an infected wound that receives magical healing will seal in the infection. I've seen many a man think they had survived battle thanks to the blessings of the divine, only to have their blood on fire within days." He has Ehren and Marina hold the rider down while he scours the wound with a sulferous combination of minerals and herbs. He quickly stitches the wound back up after finishing its cleaning. "It will leave less of a scar as well," he says to the clerics.
With that done, he turns to the wound to his stomach. He begins to probe it, running his finger along the edge and trying to determine what the nature of the wound is. He hopes that it is not a magical wound, as that may be beyond his skill as a surgeon.
"Even divine magic can't fix everything," Ehren agrees humorlessly, disposing of the bloody bandages before holding the man down. "Except when it can."
He did not exactly have a weak stomach, but the sheer extent of the man's injuries was absolutely revolting. He did not have to be a doctor to know that it was a miracle that the Ulfen was still alive. Ehren was not smiling - from the look on the doctor's face, his patient was not out of the woods yet.
Vanya calmed the horse while Kyrianna treated her wound.
"If the rider came from the north, this horse is lucky to have just the one gash on her side and not multiple contusions. Either way, I am not looking forward to what news this man brings when... if he wakes up. For now, we should get our horse friend here comfortable, and worry about the rest after we have a sturdy roof over our heads."
The Irrisenian man brushed the chestnut mare with warm strokes, his eyes looking over the stables appreciatively. They didn't compare to the stables of his mother's tower in the homeland, but they were definitely extremely well kept for a town of this size.
"I have not checked. Is Sophia safe and sound under cover? I begged Tessaraea to head home early the moment I saw this storm coming."
Kaelifax puts down the large man on the table as directed and steps away, his mind full of questions, not the least of which is: What else can I do to help? Discovering a small way to be useful, he whispers a few arcane words and conjures magical illumination to assist the doctor after his complaint about having difficulty seeing... and then winces at the sight of what his light shows of the man's injuries.
By the song! That man's body seems so broken that it can only be his spirit keeping him going. And what a spirit it must be. I only hope that I can learn the man's story -- and not only because he's so clearly a northerner...
Kyrianna finishes wrapping the clean gauze around the mare's leg, nodding along with Vanya's words, and cuts the remainder off neatly. Her hands busily re-align the contents of the first-aid kit as she watches the wound carefully. No blood seeps through to the outermost layer of airy cloth, and she smiles.
"Oh, Sophia?" She stands, brushing her hands together to clear them, and replaces the kit on the shelf with the others. "She's at the Stoat; I came here to help get the stables under wraps before the storm hit and we went for a drink just after. Far as I know, she's still there. I'll let her know there's a new girl in the stables when I go back."
They coax the weary chestnut into one of the few empty stalls, and Kyrianna forks in clean hay. The woman leans on the pitchfork as the mare begins to munch, and strokes the nose of the black horse- Ibris- nearby. "She's hardy, to have made it this far. I think she'll be just fine. Do you suppose we should go back to the Stoat, and let them know we haven't all stumbled into snowbanks in the dark?"
"You go back. I still have to try to save what's left of the grapes in the garden," Vanya says wearily.
The silver-haired man looks out into the storm with resignation.
"Should have done it sooner, but I was busy keeping Tessaraea company in the shop."
Vanya's eyes instinctively trace their way to the door of Tessaraea's small house and linger there a little too long. The hail smashing against her building reminded him just how quickly he'd have to be to avoid damaging himself in the storm instead of the grapes.
"Once I'm done, I'll head over to the Stoat with some tea leaves from the shop if anyone needs to warm up without alcohol," the gardener says before adding, "As silly as that sounds to me."
The Town Hall
The rest of the town hall's habitant's listen in surprised mystification. At your mention that Old Mother Theodora should try and accompany Neela into the storm, Orillus Davigen and another member of Heldren's council, Maeki Boltund both stand up and begin berating you.
Maeki, a rotund man with a ruddy face and a handkerchief always close to his nose, asks, "Is it your intention to get Mother Theodora killed? She is our eldest, and a frail woman at that..." but he is interrupted as, wordless, the Old Mother stands up and begins, with a haste rarely seen of her these days, to gather her coat and things together.
She takes Neela by the shoulder gently, leaning on you only a bit as she hobbles towards the front doors of the town hall. Ionnia, looking excited, sees the determination in the Mother Theodora's tired eyes and stifles a complaint she was just at the cusp of voicing. Instead, she gathers up her coat and gloves and begins making her way as well to the front door alongside Neela.
"Orillus," she says, "please take care of everyone here until I return. Do not exit unil you know for sure the storm has passed."
The three of you then make haste for the Doctor's house.
...
The Doctor's House
Through Marina's divine healing, Ehren's care, the Doctor's heal-craft and Kaelifax's assistance the northerner looks to have been pulled back from the edge of the shallow cold grave he was almost certainly destined for just an hour ago.
You have treated the wound in his arm and, having had to amputate some parts of him unfortunately, have managed to spare him from the worst of the frostbite.
The wound on his sternum, however, is another story. You've helped clean the wound and bandage it, but whatever disease afflicts him is petrifying him from within.
Minutes after finishing, the door to the doctor's house is thrown open violently. In walks first councilor Ionnia Teppen, trailed by The Old Mother Theodora leaning now heavily on Neela's small shoulder. Theodora, seeing the patient on the table in the center of the room, quietly walks up to the rest of you and begins asking questions about how you found the man, what kind of wounds he had and how they were treated.
She scowls as you tell her about the wound you were unable to diagnose in his sternum. She motions you all over and steps her small legs on top of a box next to the table to bring herself up to equal height. Mumbling to herself, the Old Mother runs her hands along the wound and casts a simple spell.
[spoiler=GM Screen]
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Old Mother Theodora turns back to the rest of you. Her voice is small and squeaky, but surprisingly determined. "Doctor, I have always admired your craft. If all of you were not here, this man would have died an hour ago. He is suffering from a rare disease I haven't seen since my days in the north. It is called Glacier plague. I'd advise us all to scour ourselves with water and soup as to prevent us from contracting the disease. It's curious. While it would have been normally within any of our ability to heal, it seems the blade which gave him the disease has also poisoned him, but with what I cannot say. We must hear his story first before we can jump to any kind of conclusion. I suppose we must wait until he is conscious again before we can discover such things."
Ionnia looks cross at these announcements, but says nothing, looking deep in concentration.
"Glacier plague?" Ehren looks down at his hands, which had inevitably gotten the Ulfen man's blood on them. Not nearly as much as the good doctor, but it was enough to make him just a tad nervous. Just a tad. "Uh, what exactly does that do to someone?" he asks over his shoulder as he glances about for a clean basin to wash his hands in.
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"Nothing good," Marina says, respectfully, hoping not to step out of line around Mother Theodora. "But, you'll be alright." Her hands are steeped in blood as well, quickly drying crimson droplets running wrist to elbow.
Questions like "Where do you think he came from?" and "How long was he out there?" flit about in her mind, but she doesn't voice them. Best to ask the man himself. And mixed into her thoughts are thanks to Erastil and other gods for helping them save this man's life, but she doesn't say that, either: the Doctor has a peculiar sense about him concerning divine magic, and she doesn't want to offend his sensibilities.
"If the good Doctor wishes, I can supply the water if he has soap to share," she says. Looking to the Doctor, she finds a question rise uncontrollably. "What do you think happened, Doctor? I don't think the storm did all of this."
Kaelifax looks down at his clothes and hands, a similar expression on his face to the one on Ehren's face. He waves a hand over himself and asks, "Is there a special way I should clean my clothes and gear to make sure it's plague-free?"
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Montgomery doesn't shy away from the disease. He has been around plenty of diseases in his time, and his sanitary practices have kept him from infection most of the time. He finds the soap and water near the stove and gives each of his helpers soap and a bowl with which to use. He scribe his hands thoroughly, preparing himself for the long night of keeping the man in good health.
"I expect he was attacked," he answers Marina. "These contusions on his face would be difficult to come by through something mundane like a fall. The laceration doesn't have jagged edges, so it appears that he fell victim to violence at the edge of a sharp sword. I can't say much about the plague he carries, as I am not familiar with it. Theodora, what are the symptoms, so that I can treat them?"
“Looks like he is with Doctor.” Ilya says, standing tip-toed on one foot. Keeping his cheek pressed against the window pressing his cheek against the window. Menander and Kale listen to his updates only half-heartedly, only asking questions sporadically. “I hope they help him.” “Looked in bad shape, yeah?” “You think they get Theodora to help?” Ilya asks, not waiting for answers.
Around him people shuffle around, finding themselves places near the fire. He draws back from them to look for a moment, counting the heads of everyone he would most likely be serving bread in the morning. “Is funny.” he says, after counting. “Freaks from out of town are ones who rushed to help poor man on wounded horse. Guess they're all more sympathetic to strangers.” turning back to the window he glimpses himself, face painted and hair patterned with white curls so tight, they look like icicles. “All except freak in window.” he adds with a sigh. He then starts to pull the curls loose.
Almost on cue, his gaze is broken as Theodora and a posse of townsfolk walk past his window. Reflexively he ducks when he sees the old crone, drawing his knees into his chest and hoping she did not see him. He looks up to see people staring, then looks away slightly embarrased. “You would not understand…” He says softly to everyone and no one. Leaning his head back agains the wall under he window he tries to listen in on what is being said outside, and only peeks his head back up to look after the pitter-patter of feet in snow grows distant. “Am not liking this one bit.”
Old Mother Theodora turns to Neela. "Yes, my dear," she says, sounding shaky as the determination that seemingly possessed her before slowly ekes out of her. "You are always free to do as you wish, Neela, as always. Just do be careful. I admire your bravery for seeking me out through the storm."
She then addresses Ehren, Marina and Kaelifax. "Our dear cleric is correct. We must all wash thoroughly those areas of our bodies that touched or were touched by that man. I am glad the doctor keeps things here sterile. If not, we might have an epidemic on our hands."
Old Mother Theodora finally addresses the doctor. "It is a certainty that he was indeed attacked, but by who or what I doubt anyone but himself could say. Glacier plague can hardly be found around the likes of southern Taldor, unless some hapless northern adventurer brings it back here accidentally. I spent some years in my early youth around the Lands of the Linnorm Kings, studying their ancient histories. Glacier plague often erupted in small areas there, though apart from chillbane fever, which in a sense is far more deadly and easily spread, it did not nearly have so much a capacity for being a plague.
Glacier plague causes the infected to slowly freeze from the inside out. Internal temperature drops and a sort of necrosis of internal tissue also arises, not unlike frostbite. It's usually contracted from ancient ruins long since buried by Irrisen's supernatural cold. He should be kept warm at all times. There are draughts and tinctures that should be able to cure him of the affliction, and a proper cleaning of the wound followed by bedrest should help him survive. However...
There is a poison in him that entered through the narrow blade that pierced his chest. Notice now..." She opens up the bandage on his chest and shows the necrosis of that area has begun to creep back. "The poison has accelerated the disease and made it difficult to treat. I can't tell what poison it is, however, and without knowing what poison it is, there can be no way to fashion an antitoxin."
The Old Mother looks weary at this point and moves to sit down on a nearby chair. "Now, if I might intrude further on your hospitality, Doctor, I'd very much like to rest before this storm ceases. I don't believe my old bones would very much like another venture outdoors in this weather."
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A bit proud at being correct, Marina excuses herself from the conversation, sitting down to begin laboriously scrubbing away at her hands and forearms. "Poisoned and attacked," Marina wonders aloud, chewing on the words of the Doctor as she works.
The changeling strips off her thin jacket to scrub at the menagerie of blood stains on the sleeves to no avail-- with a heavy sigh, she disposes of it in the trash pile of bloody bandages and other things so fouled by their use on a human body.
She looks to Ehren with approval. "Thank you for coming to our aid. I think, from here, we'll be alright if you want to go home or return to the tavern."
Marina doesn't say she's staying, but she doesn't make a move to leave, either. Tying her hair back, Marina seems to be ready to make vigil over the man for the rest of the night. If what the Old Mother says is true, then the man could die at any moment-- and if he began to die, she knew that she would appreciate a priest to help guide her soul to the afterlife.
Ilya’s reflection pouted at him, not at all masking its annoyance. The paint had been wiped from Ilya’s face only a few moments ago and his reflection had not yet forgiven him. It watched as he wet the cloth; then gazed sadly as the butterfly was squashed into streaks then nothing as Ilya finished removing the paint. At one point, he even promised that he would draw it again one day, but his reflection’s eyes showed only disbelief, and besides, Ilya found himself involuntarily flicking his eyes toward his reflection’s ever stranger hair.
White streaks slivered in his reflection’s hair, weaving their way in and out of its windswept tangles, curling and bouncing with them. Ilya, feeling as exasperated as his reflection looked, watched as it moved to take a brush to the tangles, staring at him with thin determination for a moment before Ilya’s eyes averted to the strands of hair being worked by the brush. “No good.” he says, speaking deliberately in common. “Beast not show this much since we left Irris..AHHH!” Ilya groans as he finds himself caught, finally, in the clutches of the silent assassin, Sevastjan. The little crab had made a play for his side, and pinched Ilya where there was fat. It was within microseconds that the pest found himself victoriously flying across the room, bouncing off of the wall, and plunking unceremoniously into a bucket of water.
Ilya’s hair was once again tangled and his reflection gave him a worried look through long white bangs. “We’re in trouble…” he says, watching the strands that tossed his crab retract back to a reasonable length. He winces as he touches his side and curses Sevastjan, who he knew was gloating in that little bucket. Sighing, he says a little incantation and watches his reflection’s hair straighten itself. The result was not as good as it would have been if he had done it by hand, but it was decent. He finds a ribbon and ties his hair up into a loose ponytail, finishing to find his reflection staring at him, hands on its hips, judging him silently. His reflection then stands and walks towards Ilya, pressing its chest against his as the sylph picks up the mirror and slides it behind his bed. He blows out the candle in his room, more of a pantry really, and goes to sleep.
Ehren takes his time scrubbing his hands and forearms, having rolled up his sleeves before assisting in the man's treatment. He had managed to avoid getting his clothing splattered with blood, but he figured that he had better give them a good washing as soon as he was able. He briefly toys with the idea of stripping down and climbing into the fire, figuring that it would be a good way to kill off whatever germs or the like that caused the plague. The thought brings a wry grin to his face, but he shows no sign of carrying it out. Maybe later. He did not much like fire baths anyway.
"Much obliged," he replies to Marina with a smile, clearly more than happy to have helped. He was satisfied with the precautions he had taken to avoid infection, for the time being, at least. "I wouldn't want everyone to worry about me, after all. Who else would provide entertainment?" Nodding to the others, more reverently so to Mother Theodora, the ifrit opens the door and steps out in haste, so as to avoid letting in too much of the weather. Not everyone could shrug off the cold so easily.
Left alone outside with the arctic gale, Ehren's mouth stretches into an even wider smile. The underlying feeling of foreboding he felt before had subsided somewhat, allowing his inexplicable excitement to bubble to the surface. He laughs out for a moment, a somehow inhuman sound drowned out by the storm winds. Perhaps the holy woman was right - he should enjoy this while it lasted. For now, he did not have to worry about anyone else. With a cheerful gait, Ehren takes his sweet time getting back to the tavern, humming a tune all along the way.
Kyrianna sends the lantern with Vanya on their way out, and finds happily that pulling the front door shut against the wind is a lot easier than wrestling with the tarp. "Take care in this storm: it's easy to get lost in the cold and dark," she warns, her words of caution a farewell. As an afterthought, she shouts after him. "Good luck with your grapes!"
Back at the Silver Stoat, she and Sophia push tables and chairs to the walls to make room for the folks who will be sleeping on the tavern's floor. She informs her friend of the new arrival in the stable, her voice relaxing into the casual drawl of Sophia's: "I expect Doc and the others're fixin' the rider up, he was in a state of shock or somethin'. But the mare's jus' fine, only had a scratch on 'er other'n being exhausted from the trip."
When Mereander offers her a blanket, she declines respectfully, thoughts of the nights spent tossing and turning on the Stoat's wood floor making her neck ache in remembrance. "It's nice of y'all to do this.... But I think I'm gonna wait up. The others might come back soon, and I'd like to know what sorta fool drives a horse that hard in a hailstorm."
Silver Stoat: Kyrianna, Ehren, Ilya(asleep)
Willowbark Apothecary: Vanya (going to the stoat?)
The Doctor's House: Matthew, Marina, Neela, Kaelifax(?)
The Silver Stoat
The storm seems to have hardly let up, taking a turn for even harder cold. The patrons at the stoat can feel it through the wood walls and most huddle around the fire. Mercifully, however, the hail and sleet mixture transforms into gusting flurries of snow, making outside sight now nigh impossible, but easing on the noise, allowing some to finally get some rest.
Kale watches Ilya retire back to his quarters with a concerned expression. She hugs the sylph in a one-armed embrace before trying her best to console him. "Thanks, Ilya, for all the effort with the people here. If it's the snow that's upset you... well, I jus' want you to know, me and Menander, we're here for you if you'd like to talk." She then lets Ilya go and returns back to collecting the used soup bowls from the bar's patrons.
Kyrianna is the first to arrive back at the Stoat, whipping in through the front door amidst a heavy downfall of the angry, swirling snowfall. Mounds of night-darkened white have already begun to pile up outside the door and snowdrifts threaten to enter along with those still coming in from outside.
Sophia slaps Kyrianna on the back. "Hell, Kyrianna. Never knew you were a natural stable medic. I've gotta say I'm proud of ya'. Lets say I owe ya' a pint. I'll be sure to take a look at 'er once all this blows over."
Some time after Kyrianna arives, Ehren storms in much more dramatic fashion, easily stepping through the drifts as if he were born in snow.
Many of the patrons who heard Kyrianna's tale of the pale rider near-death who came sweeping in with the storm come immediately up to Ehren, excitedly asking questions along the lines of "who was it?" "where did he come from?" and "is he still alive?"
It is Argus Goldtooth who ends up being loudest among the group. "So what is it wit' the ruddy bloke? The way I hears it, man comes sidling all 'come as you may' like into town, but who knows where he come from." The balding Dwarf runs his hand along the length of his coarse, dark beard.
"The way I hears it, man was wounded in some kind of battle, but who knows how far away. Man could be one of them bandits we been hearing about in the border wood. Now, see, the High Sentinels, they the ones who're supposed to curb the fighting out there, but we ain't hear nothing from them since the weather started acting up. So what is it? The man start talking yet?
Vanya ran hard to the apothecary's door, the hail pounding on him the entire way. When he finally managed to slide his way inside, the big man slammed the door shut behind him and let out a sigh of relief.
Common sense nagged at him that he should have joined Kyrianna and Ilya at the Stoat. At this point, he was just being stubborn. Yet, Vanya had run a long way from Irrisen. The cold of his homeland would not take his garden from him. Not completely.
He couldn't explain to the others why it hurt so much to see the frosted soil damage his plants. It all just felt so... inevitable. Of course the cold would come for him.
But it sure as hell wouldn't take his plants. Not all of them.
So, he grabbed a nearby basket and rushed back outside, not allowing himself time to realize how dumb this was. Thankfully, the garden was small, and the grapes were really all that still needed to be saved. Everything else was already gone or safer from sudden changes in temperature.
As the hail pummeled his body, Vanya picked grapes off of the vines. Some of them wouldn't even be edible, but, at this point, he wanted to save them for his own mental well-being.
After a minute or so of picking, he looked over the rest of the vine and decided that he had saved enough. The hail helped make the decision much easier for him. The run back to the apothecary was short and he was indoors with not much effort.
Placing the grapes next to the window, Vanya looked for the tea leaves he had set aside earlier. He had meant to bring them home for his own use, but the people at the Stoat would get much more utility out of them tonight.
Locking the apothecary door behind him, the Irrisenian made one last desperate jog to the Stoat and managed to make his way in, tea leaves intact.
The run home would be pretty bad tonight, but a little hard alcohol would make the process much more seamless.
"I bring tea for the Stoat, and myself for the liquor. May Gozreh swallow this damned storm whole."
Date: Wealday the 16th of Erastus, 4714
Time: Mid-Afternoon
Weather: Blindingly Sunny
Place: The town of Heldren in southern Taldor, next to the Border Wood
The town of Heldren awakened the next day to silence. The piercing shriek of the wind had ceased and the snow had stopped falling sometime near daybreak, as those of the town who elected to stay up through the night attested to. As the hail and sleet slipped behind a vast curtain of snowfall, the drifts of snow began piling up, reaching almost four feat by daybreak. The town, as you saw it before in the summer, with its green pastures and shining wood houses, looks almost unrecognizable dressed underneath an impenetrable blanket of snow.
The mood of the town seemingly changed as well. Filled with trepidation at the coming storm, the town had grown sullen, tired and irritable. Since the storm passed beyond Heldren's reaches, and as the wakers exited outside to see their houses still intact (though damaged by the high winds), their distraught behavior too had vanished. Children played in the snow as parents set about clearing paths through the streets with shovels and fixing damaged windows, doors and other property. Their crops were dead, their livestock sheltered underneath hastily built barns and what the future might bring they had no clue, but they were alive; their children were alive and that was enough.
With the threat of the storm gone, gossip quickly took a turn towards what townsfolk have been calling the "pale rider" who entered town in the middle of the storm. Who or where he came from, nobody knew for certain, and, as was the nature of small towns and gossip, rumors began flying. Someone came up with the idea he was a Quadiran agent, sent to summon a storm and freeze the southern reaches of Taldor before quickly subsuming the frozen resistance. Others, most principle among them Argus Goldtooth, said he was a mercenary, run afoul of the which he once guarded who desired to use the border wood as a new playground for her foul magics.
Still, for the next day, nobody but those who had gotten close to the lone stranger dared get even close to the Doctor's house. For most of the next day, the man remained in the same condition, muttering only here and there as his beleaguered body fought fever, infection and blinding pain.
After that horrid the sky cleared. The sun shines as brightly as any other summer day, and with it comes the blinding reflection off the waist-deep snow. Villagers stumble about squint-eyed and cursing at the cold. Among them, Councilor Ionnia Teppen, followed manically by her aid, Jacke, moves swiftly under her wool cloak, hurrying past groups of 'hallo-ing' townspeople towards the Doctor's house. She had just gotten word a commotion was occurring at Doctor Montgomery's house.
...
He mumbled in his sleep, the northerner. The work of the night before had taken the man out of the endless woods of his imminent demise, but he was by no means well. Throughout the day he had gone periodically from high fever to shivering cold. The Doctor, Marina, Old Mother Theodora and Neela did the best they could to settle his many afflictions, but it was primarily a waiting game. He would have to come out of this himself.
It was at midday on the Oathday after the storm that the man awoke screaming.
Eyes still closed, the man thrashes about on the table. It starts with a low babbling murmer, but quickly transforms into a roaring shout."Die þú fryst hunda. Þú getur ekki drepið mig. GAH! Ég get ekki deyja hér. Forfeður mínir ... Ég mun ekki deyja hér!"
[spoiler=Hallit]"Die you frozen dogs. You can't kill me. Gah! I can't die here. My ancestors... I will not die here!"
Shaking, the man's eyes violently latch open. All you can see of his eyes are a panicked expression. The man leaps for the sword that was once on his hip, but, grasping at air, he slides clumsily off the table with a loud smack, nearly upending several other tables nearby. He fumbles with his hands as he grabs the nearest weapon he can find, a surgical saw, and points it at the occupants of the doctor's kitchen.
"Move, nobody," he says in broken common. "Gah! I gut you like a frozen cattle."
Ehren made little to no effort to contain his excitement. Walking through the storm had in itself been an exhilarating experience, one that he had dreamed of for many years. But this, this was what he had been truly waiting for. Snow! Real snow! Of course, he did have the tact to avoid indulging himself this time, especially since everybody else in the village was working so hard to clean things up.
The ifrit lent a hand with the town's shoveling efforts, well aware that not everybody was happy about being waist-deep in snow. Or neck-deep, in the children's case. Still, at least they seemed to be enjoying themselves. Watching idly as a laughing boy is struck upside the head by a snowball, Ehren smiles inwardly. Perhaps he was little more than a child himself.
But that was not to say that Ehren was completely careless. Awesome as the storm had been, it had caused the townspeople a great deal of trouble. And of course, there was still the matter of the doctor's patient. Curiosity about the man and his bizarre affliction had nagged at him all night long. The paranoia around contracting the illness himself had completely subsided, or had perhaps just been forgotten. He glances at the doctor's house, contemplating the man's fate. Almost on cue, the shouting commences. Well, that can't be good.
Looking briefly at his pittance of a path (muscle work was not exactly his forte), Ehren tosses down his shovel and bounds toward the doctor's house, moving across the heavy snow with far more speed than the average villager could manage.
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Marina, drying her hands, stands frozen in the kitchen staring at the man. Paralyzed with fear.
Just then she had been saying something, but it didn't really matter anymore. The cleric waits, uneasy, for the man to make a move, wishing she wore her armor even though it would have been unreasonable. When he speaks, her surprise is visible.
Marina holds up her hands. "Calm down," she says, softly, trying to keep her cool.
Despite his fatigue, Kaelifax couldn't help but smile at the snow when he emerged from the Doctor's. Now this looks like home... or, at least, what I imagine home looks like.... Squinting against the sun, and the sun's reflection from the snow, he starts toward the Stoat, May as well get some breakfast before starting the --, but finds himself interrupted by the sight of children throwing snowballs at each other. That looks like a lot of fun!, he thinks, and watches them for a moment, seeing how two poor friends seem to be getting pressed from all sides and pelted so hard they barely have time to make snowballs. I probably shouldn't get involved, but that's hardly fair..., he thinks, and whispers the words to prestidigitation, using the simple magic to roll small snowballs to the two, giving them a fighting chance. Besides, it's not like I waded in and started helping..... as much as I might want to.
After another few minutes, the game breaks up as someone mentions the fun of sledding off a thatch roof into a snowpile and Kaelifax smiles again, That sounds like fun too.... I wonder where I could find a stronger roof?
Whistling, he heads over to the Stoat, then sighs as he sees all the work to be done and picks up a shovel to help. There'd better be oatmeal and coffee after all this...
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Montgomery snaps peevishly at the man whose life he had worked through the night to save. "Put that down! You won't have the strength to stand much longer, much less gut anyone! We saved your life, so show a little gratitude!" The doctor doesn't go for a weapon or instrument of his own, waiting for the man's reaction. "You rode into our town with terrible injuries. We did what we had to do to save your life."
The large man looks confused by his surroundings. He glances about, picking up on the medical instruments scattered about, the table, the tub of water and finally his nakedness, though he looks hardly ashamed at it.
He eyes you all with suspicion, but seeing as none of you decided to draw a weapon on him, he seems to decide better of making a run for it. His arm with the surgical saw drops to his side. He brings his other hand up to bear to point at Neela. That's when he notices the frostbite.
Most of his left index finger could not be saved. It had to be removed, using the very same saw he held in his other hand. He realizes now he is also missing the entirety of the little finger on his right hand and half his left ring finger. He brings his hand to his face and feels the mark where half his nose was removed.
"Forfeður..." he mumbles before collapsing to the floor.
After helped back onto the table, the big man asks for water. He turns his head groggily and looks impressively at Neela. "Þú, litla, tala þú tungumál norðarlega. Hesturinn, gerði það að lifa?"
The Old Mother stands up and moves over to the man. "Be calm," she says. "What is your name?
His head breaking into a sweat, he answers. "Mine name... my name is Yuln Oerstag. Where am I? Who are you all?"
...
Kaelifax, as you work on clearing out the area in front of the Stoat, you see, approaching you from the opposite side of the square, Vivialla Steranus and her daughter.
If you don't try to get out of there right quick, Vivialla gives you a sly smile and a wave as she approaches you, squinting in the bright light. "Kaelifax, my dear. You left so suddenly last night. I had hardly the opportunity to wish you well. Still, I am oh so glad the storm has left you unharmed. Hrm, you even seem to be enjoying yourself."
Violetta, shyly, turns her head and giggles aloud. It's good to see you, teacher," she says.
Vanya awoke with a minor headache and a growl in his stomach that threatened to descend into a roar. Sitting up groggily, the woodsman allowed his left hand to slide blindly along his night stand until he found the bowl of apples he had picked last week.
Devouring his makeshift breakfast, Vanya stood up and approached the door to his small house. He almost didn't want to look outside. When he had stumbled home late last night, the storm had begun depositing snow instead of hail.
So, when he did look out, his heart plummeted to join his stomach in the depths of his gut. The entire town was covered in close to 4 feet of snow. His mind immediately flashed back to the frozen wastes of Irrisen, and Vanya nearly trembled out of loss.
The moment of weakness lasted only a minute before it was replaced by rage and indignation. This was mid-summer, and he'd be damned if he allowed warmth and comfort to be taken from him again.
Vanya admitted his sensitivity on occasion, but he didn't live to be sensitive without being willing to adapt.
He opened the barely-used trunk next to his bed and began to dress in his long abandoned winter clothes and snowshoes. Adaptability meant you survived in Irrisen. He was always good at surviving.
Once fully clothed for the winter cold, Vanya opened the door pushing the snow drift that leaned against his doorway to the side with a bit of force.
The big man then walked over to the apothecary and began the slow, arduous process of digging the store's entrance free of its snowy prison.
Ehren could not understand a single word of Hallit, but whoever was shouting certainly did not sound happy. He grimaces, only able to think of one person who might be upset, if only because he had lent a hand in cutting off his fingers the previous day. He had left that particular tidbit out of the retelling of the dilemma he had given to the eager townsfolk. By the time the ifrit gets to Doctor Montgomery's door, the shouting is already over.
He hesitates for a moment, pausing to listen at the door, before casually pulling it open and sidling on in. Ehren arrives just in time to catch Yuln's name. Eying the man with interest, he speaks aloud to the doctor without looking at him.
"Hope you don't mind me dropping by, Doc. I heard somebody screaming bloody murder and thought that there might be trouble."
Seeing the ladies approach, Kaelifax quickly begins to look around for an escape route, Looks like there may still be some stormclouds, after all... Hopefully they haven't seen me just yet... But, sadly, that bit of hope dies as Vivialla waves. I suppose that it's too late to simply hide under the snow...
Upon hearing his name, the young bard uses the momentum from the shovel to spin himself around, ending up facing the women while leaning against the tool. He offers a friendly smile and says, "Good morrow, ladies." He then nods and says, "Yes, I thought it best that I leave before the storm began... I would hate to be forced to impede on your hospitality... and, considering the less weather-related events of last night, it seems that I made the right choice."
He then chuckles and says, "And now that the danger has passed, it seems to me that it would be criminal to not try to find some enjoyment at the wonder that's been given to us." He reaches down and grabs a handful of snow and rubs it in his hands, saying, "While I've read stories of people sliding down hills and making snowmen, I can't say I've ever experienced such things... and based on the delighted squeals of the children, I'd say that snowball fights certainly seem to live up to their reputation."
With that, he bows before Violetta and hands her a tiny snowman composed of three perfectly-rounded snowballs with a mischievous wink in his eye and a much more genuine smile, "And you as well...."
Yuln stares, mouth agape at Ehren's entrance. "First a small dragon creature and now a man on fire? You say that this is a town in Taldor, but you strange people makes me believe that I passed out in a tavern in Kaer Maga."
He laughs at this, but cringes and makes a mad grasp for his chest, feeling the icy wound there. His voice becomes more somber. "Fine, little one. I shall tell you my tale. I am Yuln Oerstag, son of Baldor. I was once called 'Yuln Icebane,' but that was some time ago. I spent my youth in the Lands of the Linnorm Kings in the settlement of Halgrim. I served in the service of my lord, a man named Gail for 20 years as a shield-warrior, but after my lord's death I decided to roam the lands to the south. I spent years working mercenary all over the Inner Sea.
I had distant cousin who served your Taldan prince in the Ulfen guard and he recommended me to a job preotecting some other Taldan noble. She was a duchess of some kind but refused to reveal her name. She took with her only mercenaries and none of her household guard. It was a strange happening and I would not have taken the job had the pay been so good. We were to take the duchess south to the border wood. She was to meet with some contact of hers, but the whoever that was had either died or betrayed her for we met nobody. We were making to return home when we were attacked..."
The big man stops and turns his head, staring at a newcomer who has entered into the portal. Ionnia Teppen stares with undisturbed expression at the mess of the room and at the man lying on the table. She makes a motion with her hands that seem to say, "go on," as she shuts the door.
Yuln continues. "We were first beset upon by a group of bandits it seemed, wolves that hid in the forrest and waited 'til we were open to attack, but they were cubs and frightened cowards with swords of s*%@-steel and they were no match for us. But then, of all things, came the cold fey of the North. I grew up near the border of Irrisen listening to tales told by the hearth of such creatures. They were evil things, pixies that haunted the dreams of naughty children. I have seen many things in my day, horrible things, brutal things, but I am not afraid to admit that it was these beings, the hauntings of childhood fairy-tales that made my heart seize at the sight.
They were small and so some of our band underestimated them. It was those who were the first to die. It became a slaughter. I was backed up against our wagon, fighting bandits and the small winter-touched fey when a man stepped out from the shadows and drew a dagger into my chest. I did not see where they had taken teh duchess, but they had not yet taken her horse. They thought I was dead, but I managed to crawl to the horse and ride hard whichever direction the road took me. I was half-gone, mad even. Those must have been hours, though they felt like days for I was hardly awake most of the time. That is the last thing I remember before I was awoken here, to find myself in the company of false-dragons, flaming men and," he stares bewildered at Marina, "beings that inspire in me all too familiar dread."
When finished, he does his best to drink a whole flagon of water before any of you ask him any questions. Ionnia has, all this time, been completely silent.
...
It is hardly noticeable, but you believe you can see Vivialla's smile wax just a tiny bit. "Yes, well," she says. "It's good we've found you unharmed and in good spirits. It seems to me the snow is your home, even if you haven't yet had the... opportunity to participate, I'd vouch for the unique fun a snowball fight can bring to children."
She claps her hands together. "Yet still, if we are to make Violetta into a proper adult, then we must continue on with her lessons. I would hope you might come to dine with us tonight. I'd not like to see you running off this time. We might continue with Violetta's lessons. She should be educated if she wants to have any chance of marrying. I've had many a passing nobleman remark on her beauty. To think, from a lowly town on the edge of a frozen wood to a seat at the right hand side of a fine noble in the capitol... it is every mother's dream."
Violetta rolls her eyes and stares upwards at her mother, her grip, unnoticed by her mother, tightening on the miniature snowman.
You become engrossed in your work. While the snow may have destroyed your crops and ruined a good night's sleep, there is something nostalgic about working in the snow. You don't even notice the woman approaching behind you until she taps you on the shoulder.
"Hello, Vanya," says Tessaraea Willowbark. "I'm so glad to see you well. I could only watch as the weather worsened, and I thought of you out there, holding together our shop with your bare hands against the icy winds... but it seems you're alright, and of better news, I have not heard in a long time."[b]
She eyes you up and down, squinting against the sun, and gives you a wan smile. [b]"I hope you don't mind me saying, but the bundled-up style looks good on you, fitting. So tell me, how has our gardened fared through the weather. Please tell me we haven't lost everything. That might just put a damper on this most beauteous afternoon."
She had stayed awake until the steady flow of folks seeking shelter in the tavern had trickled out, passing blankets and mugs of warm tea and cider alongside Mereander. And once all was quiet, the door finally shut for good, she'd slumped against the wall near it and fallen into deep sleep, numb to the wind that whipped through the cracks and touched her face.
Eerie silence greeted her as she woke. She stood, stretching, glancing through the window at the first rays of dawn breaking over the freshly drifted snow. As the half-elf stoked the fire, she heard Kale and her husband busily preparing breakfast in the kitchen. She folded her blanket neatly, bid them a quick good morning, and headed out into the cold air.
Her first stop was the stables, where she saw Sophia already awake and grooming the chestnut mare. "Ah couldn' help mahself, Kyrianna," she grinned, blushing slightly. "Had to meet our new guest mahself. You were right, she's gorgeous."
Kyrianna laughed, going to Ibris with her own brush. "How are ya, big guy? That storm wasn't so rough, was it?" The horse shook out his black mane proudly. "Yeah, you're tough, I get it."
---
She didn't feel a kinship with this snow, she reflected. Her skin simply ignored the chill, but did not welcome it. It was a foreign touch, the only remaining gift of a mother she couldn't remember, and hardly a useful one in the balmy climate of Taldor. Still, she was glad not to have to pile up with scarves and mittens- she barely recognized the townspeople trudging through the streets, so bundled were they by winter gear.
At the doctor's door, she paused a moment, hearing a rough voice she didn't recognize. I suppose our midnight rider's woken up. The word duchess made her breath catch, and for a moment Steriel's haughty face swam before her eyes, but she ground her teeth and collected herself. The man's tale was winding down by the time her mind had returned to Heldren. She rapped once at the door, waited a moment, and with false cheeriness entered the room.
"Hallo!" Kyrianna's voice was bright as she called to the unfamiliar man. "Welcome to Heldren, then. Saw to your horse, she's all safe and tucked up in Sophia's stable. She told me to tell you not to ride her like that without a little warning next time, eh?"
Her joviality is feigned, but the man's wounds cause no feeling of revulsion. She wasn't a field doctor, but she was not unfamiliar to the gruesome ways a body could be mangled.
The ifrit cannot help but to smile at the Ulfen's bewildered expression; it had been a while since someone last looked at him with such eyes. "Ah, you have nothing to fear from us, Mr. Oerstag. We may be odd folk, but we intend you no harm," he says reassuringly, crossing his arms and leaning against the door frame. "These creatures of cold on the other hand... they sound like a nasty lot. And they were working with bandits?"
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Her first instinct is to apologize for his fear, but Marina stops. The changeling stays quiet, folding the towel in her arms. It hangs over her hands and she remains quiet, listening. Was she ashamed? It was only a comment. No-- she wanted him to be at ease. Neela and Ehren were awe-inspiring, but he was only afraid of her. But was that really Marina's fault?
Neela's revelation receives a nod of recognition from Marina, and she finally interjects in the conversation. "Do you think there were any survivors?" she asks the northman. "You said you didn't see where they'd taken her-- what makes you sure they took her?"
Vanya had been working longer than expected and had gotten lost in his own thoughts. When Tessaraea came up behind him, it took him a moment to come to his senses.
"No worry, Tess. I valiantly saved what was left of the grapes. Unfortunately, most everything else has been smothered by the snow. You may have to depend on imports for a while."
The Irrisenian let the unspoken worry, that of the definition of a while, linger in his head. That is, until Tessaraea complimented his outfit.
"So the less of me you see the better? I have heard such things from Ilya before. Next time, I will wear a helmet too. Maybe a mask," the gardener added with a playful smirk.
After a shovelful of snow, Vanya's face grew sullen.
"I would understand if you do not need me anymore. Not much use for a gardener when the soil cannot be seen."
He would survive. He always had. But moving on from Heldren, from Tessaraea, would be almost as hard as losing his sister.
"Unless you have decided to grow snow. In which case, I am able to cultivate as much as needed and more so," he said, a sad smile stretching across his face.
Vanya looked at the snow covering Heldren for a moment.
"Have you heard about the rider from last night? He looked half dead. Old Mother Theodora saw to him at the Doctor's house. It looked like he came from the north. He may know something about the weather up there and where this damnable storm came from."
Yuln seems to have grown more patient after his last episode and answers each of your questions in turn.
"Welcome to Heldren, then. Saw to your horse, she's all safe and tucked up in Sophia's stable. She told me to tell you not to ride her like that without a little warning next time, eh?"
"Aye. Is good news. She wasn't my horse, but she was fine one. My horse was cut down by the fordæmdur fey. The duchess treated her well enough, and horse saved my life, so I suppose I owe the girl something. Never heard 'er name though, which is shame. Please give this Sophia dýpsta þakklæti mitt."
"Ah, you have nothing to fear from us, Mr. Oerstag. We may be odd folk, but we intend you no harm," he says reassuringly, crossing his arms and leaning against the door frame.
"These creatures of cold on the other hand... they sound like a nasty lot. And they were working with bandits?"
Yuln looks at the extent of his wounds. "You are right. ég afsökunar for the insults. You are strange folk, yes, but you save my life and I must be grateful."
Yuln winces as the memories of the battle resurge. Nasty... yes. They are cruel, and more besides. My ancestors would ridicule my lack of valor for fleeing rather than fighting to the end. But I faced enemies that even the greatest warriors in the Linnorm Kingdoms have faltered against, though I think I slew at least one of them before they dragged the Duchess away. They are the winter-touched, and centuries on centuries before we have been taught of their cruelty. It was they and the white witches that conquered a part of our kingdoms with frost and hatred. They enslaved those poor souls in what they now call 'Irrisen.'
He spits out that last word, as if he were speaking the name of his most hated enemy. "Mega kistur þeirra springa, hár þeirra ná tendrað og börn þeirra rotna fordæmdur hvíta nornir."
They are tiny sprites no taller than the length of a man's forearm. But don't be fooled by their small stature. They may be harmed by regular steel and magic, but cold iron, that is their bane..." He glances over towards Ehren. "That and fire."
"The Fey of the North? That's impossible - I've been to the border wood all the time looking for herbs and never saw anything. And why would winter fey come south to the warmth of .... oh." Neela draws the connection. "These fey creatures. They must have some connection to our unusual winter!"
"When you came here, delirious, you kept calling for Mother. Móðir. Who were you calling for? How many men did you have, and how many bandits and creatures did you face?"
"What is this word, 'impossible?' The fey are here. It seems it so. Your wrong winter must be reason they are here. I have felt such winter, back in the North, but never this far South, not never. From all I know, it was why the Duchess was there in the first place."
As you mention mother to him, Yuln's expression merges into an expression of shame and longing. He turns his head away to hide his face.
"Out there, in the cold, when I felt the cold inside of me and all around me, I knew I could live for only a few more moments. I thought of my ancestors, my northern brethren, but then I opened my eyes and there in front of me was an enormous woman. She was bathed in a halo of bright light and I thought then she was my mother, coming to welcome me back to great my ancestors in the halls of the afterlife." He pauses for a few minutes, turned away from you all, before turning back around.
"It was difficult to count the enemy's strength. They came streaming from the wood, swaddled in cloaks and brandishing their steel. They were piss-poor fighters, not fit to hold their swords. They were regular bandits, and I've slaughtered enough of them in my time to build a house with their bones and fill a dry lake with their blood. In large numbers, they can overwhelm you. Never let them press over you or flank you. That is when the battle turns. The real enemy, that is the Fey. Legends say they have taken a sliver of ice into their hearts, and their touch bears the harsh bite of winter."
"Do you think there were any survivors?" she asks the northman. "You said you didn't see where they'd taken her-- what makes you sure they took her?"
Yuln gives a hard, searching look at Marina before answering. "The svín skutpallur bleyður, the bandits, they swarmed over us. I knew the men little, but they were better than them, better fighters at least. Their numbers, though, they overwhelmed us. I do not know if any others but me survived, but I am sure they took the Duchess. If their goal was heildsölu slátrun they would have killed her first to demoralize. She was an easy target. I saw them take her and much of her treasure. They placed a bag on her head and placed her on a horse. What they've done to her, what they plan to do to her, I cannot say. They took her into the wood, and that was the last I saw of them. The only means to find her now is to track her."
Tessaraea Willowbark places a hand on your shoulder. "Vaya," she says, "the day I want you gone because of a little snow is the day hell's also frozen over. The snow will melt. The garden can be replanted. But you are one of my dearest... friends. Yes, we'll import what we need while the unseasonable weather lasts. You'll help me in the shop and if you ever think you should need leave, well then I'll thank you for all your loyalty and hard work and send you on your way. But for now, you'll stay here. Sound good?"
Tessaraea takes a moment to consider the northern stranger. "Strange tidings they may be, but that man must have some inkling as to this mess. He might very well be the key to ending all this."
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The grizzled doctor takes in the tale of the mercenary from the north. He'd fought alongside a few Ulfen over the years, and they were always extraordinary warriors. "Don't apologize for surviving," Montgomery says definitively. "Better to realize when you've lost a battle and make the decision to survive it."
He moves to check Yuln's pulse, pressing past his discomfort. "Tell me more about the man that did this to you," he brusquely demands as he checks the mysterious wound in his chest, "and the blade. Did he speak? Was the blade magical or poisoned? Mother Theodora identified the disease as glacier plague. Are you familiar with it? I don't know what it might be called in your language." He glances over at Neela for some assistance in translation.
Kaelifax chuckles and says, "It troubles me to think that anyone believes that having fun, even of the frivolous sort, should end with childhood. Having been raised in a noble house myself and being bearded, and having spent time in the hallowed halls of the Kitharodian, I would say that the worst possible life are amongst those who forget to take the time to find the small joys in life..."
He spins his index finger about, the light touch of his bardic magic still active drawing up wisps of snow, making the crystals shimmer in the sun, as he looks at the girl, "..or appreciate the beauty of life."
He sobers somewhat and says, "And I would say that, much like her mother, your daughter certainly qualifies. That there is already interest is a good thing, and I've no doubt that she would make a wonderful wife to one of the bearded."
...though not this one, sadly...
He shakes his head to chase away those thoughts and turns to business, "We'd had a full day of lessons before I left, do not fear. I was running off only in the sense of looking for safe shelter without further imposing on my patrons."
Of course, because of that, I've tied myself to something new, and possiblyl worse, because I truly cannot refuse this invitation for a late lesson, even though I doubt there would be much discussion of history at dinner, despite whatever pretenses...
He nods and says, "Assuming that the good Doctor doesn't need me after last night's excitement, I should think it would be a pleasure to have a dinner. We could use this as an opportunity to discuss the Chelish seccession, but following the rules of etiquette for a more formal setting rather than a voiciferous debate."
He turns to face his charge, ...the natural rosiness of her cheeks in the cold is lovelier than most women could paint on themselves... "Why don't you be prepared to defend the position that recognizing the 'Empire of Cheliax' was a mistake and that the lands could be retaken... and remember, you'll have to hold that position without casting doubt on your loyalty to the Imperial House or raising your voice."