Catching the inhuman construct by surprise, Sven wraps his massive thews around the ice-cold flesh. The mirror man makes no sound, but does turn his mirrored face to stare at Sven.
Ankih Tohep
Avora Teremocles
Shanya
Kalt Ìsson (+2 in cold)
Lana Shahakh
Sven Bjornson
Ringeirr
Without hesitation, Kalt darts to the far side of the mirror man from Sven and swings his club at its head, in a powerful two-handed grip.
Lana moves up to it and starts clubbing as well, though she seems ill at ease with the awkward weapon.
Kalt's club crashes heavily into the mirror man; the creature struggles but Sven's grasp delays it before it can dodge out of the way.
Gasping in horror at what has been done to this man, Ankih never the less attempts to stop him without hurting his companions.
" Korvak!" He intones while gripping his dagger and pointing at the construct.
Children into dolls, Men into cursed guardians, bones into meal for food? What horrors these folk must face in their everyday lives. Even if we save this Baba Yaga, we may have to fight her to truly help these people.......
The creature does not cry out or flinch with pain when struck. Instead, it stares steadily at Sven. The warrior can see with perfect clarity his own reflection: sunburned skin, shocks red hair, and a nick on his left cheek from a forgotten lover's tiff.
With lazy, slow arcs, the creature swings its sword at Sven. One of swings lands painfully against Sven's thighs.
Ringeirr is clearly unsurprised by the turn of events. With remarkable speed he has his sling in hand and loaded; the precision with which he slings his stone is even more remarkable, and the stone knocks the mirrored head back, ruining its eerie gaze upon Sven.
With no time to retrieve her mace, Shanya readies her borrowed club and moves up to the mirrored man.
Mirrored face--Witches scry through there. Break it immediately.
She swings her club...
Ankih will move forward, Sliding to a stop next to Sven.
" Bess this warrior Milady!"
Kalt once again raises his club in a two-handed grip and swings it at the mirrored man's head, saying as he does, "You might want to keep a bit quiet calling on that blessing around here, Ankih".
With Kalt's great strength - and some assistance from Sven holding the creature still - the final blow shatters the mirrored face into a hundred pieces.
Ringeirr wastes no time in congratulating the group on their victory. Quickly replacing his sling into his pouch, he strips the weapons from the body, hides them in the cart and moves to pick up the body. He brusquely grunts orders to Sven "Warrior, quickly, help me hide the body in the alley. I don't suppose anybody has magic to clean this blood?"
If nobody volunteers after depositing the body he directs Sven to pick up a handful of snow and vigorously scrub the blood off his trousers. "No need to catch the eyes of the guard, or the nose of the worgs. Lets us be away from this place!" He shoos the group along.
It is only a short distance before he stops the cart in front of an unremarkable gingerbread trimmed house. He knocks on the door, and an Ulfen couple peer out, and then quickly open the door when they see your guide. They thank Ringeirr profusely and he exchanges a few words with them regarding the distribution of the food.
"I think now is the time to retrieve your weapons. We are far enough into the Howlings to avoid the gate guards, and it is only a short distance to where we may get papers."
Shanya gets her gear together, thankful to have her mithril chain shirt on under her clothes once more.
Ringeirr replies to Sven as he helps dig the gear out of the fish and unwraps them from the oiled paper.
"Unless someone has a better idea, the papers will name those of you with fair skin as Jadwiga, blood of the witches and so-called nobles. As to those of you who look exotic - " he looks a moment at Ankih and Lana - "well, the Jadwdiga youth form gangs of the Stilyagi. They throw off the dress and manners of their witch mothers and affect the ways of foreigners. They also favor keeping foreigners as guests." He nods in the direction of Ankih and Lana at the last statement.
"Among the Jadwiga, the daughters are most favored and feared; if you have a woman to speak for you it may go better."
Shanya smirks. "Oh, I think we can manage that, Ringeirr." She looks at Avora and Lana.
Avora collects her gear and arms herself, surprised by how comforting her spear is.
Kalt slips his armor and weapons back on as if donning an old comfortable shirt, they feel so right. In response to Ringeirr, he says, "I learned a long time ago to let the women do the talking. Tends to work out better for everyone."
Nodding to Kalt about being more discrete, Ankih will help with the clean up.
Donning his Scimitar and crossbow once again, and covering all with the Yeti fur cloak, he is prepared to continue.
" I fear I may be a liability. I am most definitely foreign, and have a difficult time with discretion towards my beliefs. It is near impossible for me to hide my faith...It..it just slips, or shines out as the case may be."
He carefully tucks his holy symbol under his shirt.
" You may be forced to leave me to my fate, if I inadvertently give myself away. Also the way these people are treated, makes my blood boil like the fury of the sun. May Sarenrae forgive me.."
The party leaves the hut of the thankful family, with their many assurances that they will distribute the food to their neighbors. They start towards the forger's house.
Ringeirr motions down an alley about a quarter mile's distance from the house. "Come on, it is a few block this way. Let us quic..."
The fates, deeming the travelers unworthy of a moments peace, don't even allow Ringeirr to finish his sentence. A younger man in footman's clothes rounds a far corner in a panicked run. He sees Ringeirr but loses his footing in the snow before he can stop; he crashes into the older man and they both go sprawling.
He looks up and pants in Skald "My apologies... master's.... in a rage.
Not more then a 10 seconds later a large winter wolf bounds into view, his majestic white fur in bristles and snarling in anger, frosty breath thick in the air. He stops and sniffs the air, staring at Sven.
“I am Korgin. This man is part of my household, or was, until he decided to question how I manage my affairs. I’m sure you understand. Sometimes you just can’t break that defiant streak, and they’re good for nothing but a bit of sport.”
Kalt moves a hand toward his hilt, then stops himself, giving Sven a quick glance. Is Sven going to offer this one a date too? Not sure it'll solve the servant boy's problem. I think we'll see blood on the snow, the wolf's or the boy's, before we're through.
Kalt catches Sven's eye and gives the faintest of nods. Well played, brother, he's clearly saying.
Shanya just glares at the winter wolf... seemingly trying to stare it down.
The wolf half-growls, half-laughs a Sven's boast. He changes, were-like into a human form, dressed in fine furs and and jewelry, well muscled with white hair.
"I like your style, red-headed stranger." He stops and looks the Ulfen warrior in a challenging fashion. "I need to *grrr* recover my losses. I will sell him to you for 50 gold - far less then he is worth, even if I sold him to the bone mills. The idea of you breaking him amuses me, so I will make this generous offer. Agreed?"
A cheap price for a life!, Kalt thinks as he steps forward, pulling his pouch off his belt. Bowing his head respectfully and holding it out to Sven, he says, "Your purse is here, sir, should you want it." The emphasis he puts on the words is gentle, but his intent is clear - he wants them to pay to free this man.
Shanya says nothing, but continues sizing up Korgin.
Was able to get here in ten seconds... legs are in good shape. Throat is a vulnerable point, but he's doubtlessly aware of that...
Approaching the fallen man, Ankih helps him to his feet.
"Get up you fool. The master REALLY can't stand to be slowed down!"
Keeping his head and eyes averted, he drags the man into lime with the others.
The wolf walks over and snatches the pouch, not bothering to look at Sven. "Hmm, you servants are well trained to be walking around so heavily armed. Perhaps you will have better luck then I."
The winter wolf kicks the man in the stomach and begins to walk off. He shapes into a wolf mid stride and picks up speed as he goes.
The man rolls over onto his knees but doesn't look up at Sven.
"Thank you sir, for sparing my life; this servant's name is Jorhan."
Ringeirr chuckles and gets up, helping Jorhan to his feet after finding his own. "I think I have an idea. Jorhan, there is a bath house near the Hidden Gardens; ask the attendant "When is summer?"; he should reply "Summer is always here". Tell him Ringeirr sent you, and ask him to take you underground. Look for Solveig."
The man looks confused. "Wait... what is going on? You are revolutionaries? Heralds? And your are working with a winter wolf?"
Ringeirr laughs. "A sheep in wolves clothing, I would say."
Shanya smiles. It's rare for her to do that nowadays...
"Indeed." She starts moving again. "Now, let's get a move on."
"And he was a cruel, cruel master, this sheep," adds Kalt, nodding at Sven. He takes a quick look around to make certain no one will see Jorhan's departure, then says, ""Good luck to you, Jorhan, and may you find summer. Go, now."
" Fear not friend. Sven is more a Royal Hound than a Winter Wolf. Steadfast and loyal, not cruel and capricious. Now do as Ringeirr bids. Be quick and safe."
Ankh looks worriedly around.
" We should continue."
The group presses on into the Howlings as the day drags on into early afternoon, tantalizingly close to its goal. As it rounds a final corner, there is a sight that chills the bones - two enormous ice trolls, bearing large snowflake-shaped badges, seem to be interrogating two white haired men - winter wolves, one might guess.
Ringeirr motions to a door and whispers "There, that door; it is the home of Mortin the Forger. Get inside and out of sight quickly, while the wolves and trolls argue!" He quietly runs over to door and tries it, but softly curses when he finds the door locked. He knocks hurriedly (if softly), but nobody answers.
"We must open it quickly! Help!" he implores. The door appears to have a sturdy lock upon it.
"On it."
Shanya produces her thieves' tools and gets to work on the lock.
Although Shanya's hands are deft, the lock proves tricky indeed, and the moments creep by agonizingly as she fails her attempt at picking.
"Blast Mortin! Why won't he answer? Here..." Ringeirr pulls out some oil for the lock.
Shanya curses under her breath. "Come on, you stupid thing..."
Click
The door opens gently. Ringeirr motions all of the group inside, while the worgs and trolls are still heard heatedly arguing through the door. A few moments later, the arguing subsides and the heavy crunching of snow can be heard outside the door. After a moment, the sound recedes until it is once again quiet outside.
Almost a shadow, a bald man with glasses on a thin nose crouches nervously in the corner. He wears a stained purple robe and looks exceedingly pale. In the room is a desk with stacks of papers and pens, alongside a modest bed and a number of arcane reagents in bottles. The man looks nervously around at the different people in the room. He speaks in a hoarse whisper, his Skald hard to make out. "Oh... Ringeirr. Hello Ringeirr. Who are these... people... in my home."
Ringeirr gets a furious glint in his eye. "MORTIN! The trolls almost had us if not for this woman's quick fingers! The Heralds bring you food and clothing and pay your rent so you NEVER have to leave your little cabin, so that you never run afoul of the Queen's Guard again. But you would leave us to the same fate? Bah, why do we continue to support you when you won't even ANSWER YOUR DOOR for us."
Mortin stammers apologetically in his whispering Skald. "I wasn't expecting you; I thought you might be the Iron Guard again. Please, don't stop sending the food and the payments; I can't go out there again..." Ringeirr towers over the man, and Morin shrinks back in physical fear.
Shanya's glare immediately melts away as she takes the sight of the man.
"Ringeirr, give the man a break. He looks like a wreck--he's been through so much, he's mortally afraid of even setting foot out of doors." She walks over to Mortin. "As it stands, since we were not discovered, I'm inclined to give him some slack."
She stops in front of Mortin. "What did they do to you? Have we been compromised?" She asks in a soft voice.
"Compromised? No, no they have not found me again; they will never find me again. Yes, I am a legend. They want me for my hands, for my head." Mortin, holds up his hand and removes his gloves. His hands are a pitiful sight, with several wooden, artificial digits filling in the place of missing finger joints.
Ringeirr grumbles angrily and breathes heavily for a few minutes. "Mortin was taken in by Iron Guard years ago due to his special talents and hobbies. He was treated to the hospitality of the witches and their servants. Unlike some, however, he escaped their cells." Ringeirr unconsciously handles a dull wedding band on a chain around his neck as he relates Mortin's story. "The Herald's took him in and have kept him safe."