At any rate you begin the task of drawing a little nearer - circling the town to look more closely at the fortified building that Skane spoke of. There does not appear to be any guardsmen standing nearby, and none upon it's battlements. The front door is sealed by a stout door though - and it sits near to the city square.
Skäne eyes the structure, looking for any movement of men... or signs of life within;
:
"I could get us through that door, but not in broad daylight. Perhaps the general store and inn first? I've no doubt this group will draw the attention of the guard sooner than later."
Annalisa will note what entrances are possible into the guard tower should they need to enter it, and if any one near by seems to be paying particular attention to them, or for that matter doesn't appear to be paying enough.
Annalisa picks over the building and confirms that there does not appear to be any significant points of guard upon it's roof. If anything the building merely looks to be a converted guard-tower turned storage.
She also sees a few guardsmen with blue clothing and conical helmets among those in the city square. Rikka and Skane confirm that they were not there before...
Skäne nods toward the tower;
"If we burn the tower it will kikna these folk... turn them against us..."
The turns his helmed head toward the guards with a wolfish grin;
"... better we remove that lot? Those pretty lérept und styri will make for fine disguises in these lands nei?"
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Kló returns Skäne's grin, shaking his head. "The more I think on it, I'm not sure how much value there is in hitting this town's tower... except for picking up some possibly very useful disguises."
He stops, idly patting his pocket.
He looks at the group, his grin nearly as dark as Skaäne's. "I say we figure a way to take those guards' clothes and then we go bloody the queen's nose."
Annalisa responds somberly, "As you say."
Kló's eyebrows climb up his long forehead, "You disagree? Let's make the right decision now, then do it. I don't care about that town or how much it resembles Heldren. I'm gonna bleed the witch if I can, though, and hitting them before they know we're coming seems smart."
"Not at all. Just tell me who to hit first."
Skäne nods at his chief's words;
"Nor do I care chief... We either gather what we can from Waldsby... supplies, items or information... perhaps even fangir ... Or we raid the White Tower blindr and hlíta in the Vættir you all hold so dear..."
The vikingr shrugs his broad shoulders with a smile;
"I am bound for Hel regardless so care little either way."
"No sense wasting time with prisoners, if we're going to declare war we should leave no enemy behind us."
Skäne hacks a bitter laugh;
"Feh. What do you know of fólcvíg sna-troða ? Eh?"
The vikingr grits his teeth and spits before continuing;
"Hurt a man the right way he will loosen his bowels, then loosen his tunga, afore he pleads for fjǫrlag. Blod-Orm. ."
The brutish warrior draws his hand in a cutting motion across Katherson's back, afore turning to the group's jotunn-blodded leader;
"Chief... If we can taka one of the Pale Tower's folk... I will make them sing their rúnr afore granting them the release of fjǫrlag..."
"I want information and a way into the witch's Tower. The guards seem like our best source of both. We need a way to get a few of them somewhere isolated and quiet. Then we grab them, take their gear, and get our information."
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"Oh I know little of war, Black Hand, but torture I know well. You spend some time with creatures that consider time to be something manipulated as easily as human flesh, and you'll learn something of torture. Centuries of it. Speak not to me as if you are a hard man, you they would break quickly."
Kló momentarily ignores the back and forth between Katherson and Skäne, instead turning to Annalísa. "They said this town reflects your hometown. You know any good places where we might lure and ambush a couple of guards? Some place quiet, out of the way, and that offers us a quick exit route?"
Skäne shoots Katherson a wolfish grin and feigns a shiver;
"Your bogeymen and hveðrungr do not scare me Sna-Troða ... but perhaps they should fear me... nei?!"
The warrior claps the frosty Oracle's shoulder and moves toward where the others stand;
"So Finnrsdóttir what can you tell us of this mirror town of yours?"
The guardsmen / soldiers that you did see are not patrolling beyond the town center area - so if you want to ambush / mug them - you'll need to draw them off from there.
The town is 'eerily familiar' sort of mirror, not 'identical' sort of mirror, so Annalisa wouldn't be able to use the similarities to provide differences... but...
As to thoughts of dark deeds and the ability to hide them, you wager that if you find means of drawing the guardsmen away from the town square, then the snow and trees would provide much of what you're after for secrecy. The mere fact that you're close and observing without being seen is evidence of that.
"Anyone have any good ways of drawing a few of those guards out here for us to grab them? If their business is keeping the peace, we could try starting a brawl at the local tavern, then trying to make off with a couple when they come to calm things down."
He looks around at the group with a shrug of his heavy shoulders, "Best I can come up with."
Skäne nods once then pulls his gear together;
"Aye we could head for the tavern, perhaps hvílð there and maybe dust a few feathers... or if the others still want to keep a neðar profile there is a hus there... on the útan ..."
(The vikingr jabs his sword tip into a building on far east of the town)
"... we enter... taka it if needbe... nice and kyrr like... then hunker down til morning and head for the Pale Tower? I care nei which"
"Let us make for the inn. Little point in killing the residents of a random house, in a town this size we'll be noticed no matter what."
Just glad that a decision has been reached Skäne says little more;
"Finn , Hvíta Visla it is."
Hunkering into his cloak, he trudges toward the Waldsby and the White Weasel, pausing only to wryly add;
"Mind, folk can die in an ǫl-hus too Sna-Troða..."
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"Aye, they can at that, but I hope the risk of spilling your ale will slow your spilling of blood. Once we're warm and your family jewels have recovered from their many shocks you'll perhaps be less keen on violence."
The big vikingr barks a laugh at Katherson's wisdom as he wanders into the town;
"Har! We'll see Sna-Troða... we'll see..."
Your group begins to make the wary walk into town, and find that though your presence draws some questioning eyes... the purchased furs fulfill most of the purpose for which they were bought. The passage to the inn is relatively slow, but made without precipitation of a situation that needs attention.
The White Weasel is the name of the tavern, and after entering you find yourselves outnumbering any other patrons at this hour. An Irriseni lady with blond hair and piercing eyes looks on you from behind the bar - calling out "Welcome... you come for food, drink or sleep?"
The bar is sparsely appointed, the only real standout decoration being a large silvered mirror that hangs behind the bar. Apart from the common room that you are within, it looks as though there is a single private room to one side, and behind the bar is entry to likely the kitchen. From deeper through that passage you can hear cooking noises, but the only other occupants are a pair of farmers at a side table with a pot of hot tea shared between them. They look up briefly, before returning to their own conversation.
Kló’s discomfort had grown with every step, and as they step into the White Weasel, he’s clothed in an uncomfortable quiet that is far more thick than the many furs he wears as protection from suspicion and weather.
He takes a few moments at the tavern’s entrance to beat some crusted snow from his boots, the wood floor protesting to his weight as his dark eyes take in the building’s occupants. After their quick sweep, they land on the Irriseni lady. "Warmth, mostly. Got something to drink? And maybe a place to sleep?”
As the group navigate the town, Skäne casts his own baleful gaze at any gawkers and onlookers;
:
Through gritted teeth he hisses a warning to his companions;
"Grunr hangs around this place like the stink in a trow's dungheap. And a vǫrðr runs to tell what he has seen. Expect starf ..."
The vikingr spits before the porch of the tavern and enters.
Inside the Hvíta Visla the vikingr eyes the farmers briefly... Feh. Svīn-svella . Nothing to fear or gain from those two
...before adding his order to Kló’s answer;
"Mjoðr if you have it. Mungát if not."
Annalisa doesn't catch who exactly Skane is talking about but heeds his warning. She looks around the room to see what other people are eating and drinking before requesting the same for herself.
The barmaid eyes you hawkishly "For warmth, have tea... no mead, but have winteryew moonshine." not waiting for confirmation and instead moving to retrieve a clay jug and metal teapot.
"If wanting for sleep... for silver you can sleep on floor here... for gold you can sleep in there" jerking her head towards the private dining room to the side of the tavern.
Katherson follows into the bar, not seeing what Skäne sees but trusting his instincts.
"Tea for me please."
Best we keep clear heads.
Kló nods a 'me, too' to Katherson's tea request, then looks over at Skäne. "Main room's fine for us." He looks over at Rikka, Annalísa, and Katherson, "Will you be using the private room? And where do you want the gear?"
Having no need for privacy of any sort, and not liking the idea of the group splitting up, Annalisa says, "I believe we shall all be fine in the main room."
Kló grunts in acknowledgement before paying the tavern-owner for the tea as well as use of the common room for sleeping. He looks up at her as he takes his drink, "That storm surprised us. What's the best place to re-outfit for getting back on the road?"
Skäne sneers at any offered tea before grabbing the jug of moonshine.
"Tea. Feh! You auld crones!"
He takes a deep draught before offering it to Annalisa with a grin and soaked beard;
"Finnrsdóttir! You at least will drink with me nei?"
Annalisa smiles and chuckles lightly before accepting the moonshine from Skane and drinking deeply of the liquor. "Let us be sure to keep our wits about us, though, nay?"
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Skäne flashes a dark smile;
"Wits a sharpa as minn blade..."
His gaze falls over the other patrons, then the owner; attempting to discern more about them:
:
Kló looks at Skäne and Annalísa, then down at his tea, his thick features pulled into a confused frown. "Crones?"
Skäne nods with a sly smile as he packs his pipe;
"Tea is for the auld women... guðsifjar by the hearth..."
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"Don't worry Kló, I thought he said scones. Which I doubt they have around here."
Katherson drinks his tea, content with something warm.
Rikka doesn't have to feign her tiredness. "All I need is a hearth and a place to lay down. The main room is fine... for us and the gear."