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"She was a cruel creature from a cruel world." The elemental plains were plains of extremes, with properties that were in contradiction to the very nature of the material plain. Only creatures with which properties that were similarly extreme could prevail there.
"I would have preferred to banish her to where she belongs rather than killing her. She might even have liked that - this world must have appeared as painfully absurd to her as would hers to us; it does not sound like being summoned here met her consent. Who was her summoner?"
Nathara tries to sooth Lily who must notice the stress, but lack the understanding to understand the fighting between the bipeds (winged or no). As she steps closer she steps closer and hears the reports.
"It does not appear like he was execting a ... 'mephit', or any flying creature whatsoever to attack." For a moment she pauses looking at Inire, who records everything in her book. To Tiferet she asks: "Do we have any indication of who he was?" And points with her nose at the little black book Tiferet is holding.
"I am going to have a look at those arrows"
Nathara holds two arrows with red feathers as she slips back out of the tent. "Those are enchanted to hunt wild animals. That fits with the bear traps. He must have been hunting something big, but natural. What does the journal say?"
Tiferet was looking quite puzzled at the strange-looking arrows before Nathara's superior knowledge of the arcane chimed in.
"And then the hunter became the hunted when he met something small and unnatural instead. Bear traps are not much use against flying fey. Or mephits" she states bitterly.
"Let's see if this can give us some more clues" she says, browsing the journal.
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Vosi nods. "World is cold in more ways than one. No point in thinking otherwise." He shifts a little bit. "Hommelstaub must have summoned her. Teb's magic advisor, touched by powers of winter. Makes him powerful."
Lily doesn't seem too bothered, though she seems a little tired of picking her way through the snow. She also doesn't seem to want to get too close to the dead body, but she doesn't try to bolt or anything of the like.
Tif picks up the journal and flips it open. It quickly proves to be extremely informative. The man's name was Dryden Kepp and he was a hunter who lived in Heldren. His journal details his first experiences with the strange snow, though it doesn't seem special in any way at first. After a day or two, he begins to describe a huge white weasel that he spotted while scouting the edge of the Border Woods. His writing becomes bitter as it reveals that he told the other townsfolk and people didn't believe him. He tracked the beast and almost managed to catch it, but it escaped his traps before he could kill it. He journeyed deeper into the woods to hunt it down. His last entry becomes... odd. He mentions leaving his camp to set up more traps and finding a cabin he was sure was abandoned. However, it now had a strange maze of ice walls preventing him from getting closer and when he got close to the entrance, he swore he could hear a child crying. In panic, he fled back to his campsite. The journal ends with him wondering if he should return to town for help.
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"His name is... was Dryden Kepp. A hunter from Heldren" Tiferet says as she reads on, without averting her eyes from the book. "This must have been his campsite. It says he was hunting some sort of giant weasel, but it managed to escape him. Explains those arrows. Also, he probably laid down more traps, so we should be watchful."
She falls silent for a while, frowning a little as she tries to make sense of the last entries. "Huh. That's weird. Apparently, there's a cabin deeper in the woods, surrounded by a maze of ice. He claims he heard the wail of a child coming from inside. Normally, I'd call these the delusions of a man cut off from civilization and lost in unfamiliar woods, but given the present circumstances, I can't bring myself to discard them outright."
"That's all" she declares, closing the journal and handing it to the others to inspect. "Alas, it seems he fled from the frying pan only to fall into the fire."
Inire pencils in another line in the back of her book and nods to first Nathara, then Tiferet appreciatively, but frowns as she concludes her... or rather, his story. She looks over to his body, and sighs.
"What do we plan to do, now?" she asks, quietly.
As he tries to remember anything he knows about giant weasel, Eirikr hops down from the tree and walks over to where the rest of the party has gathered.
"A child? Have the fey been stealing children?" says Eirikr, glancing over at Vosi. Stealing children--that definitely seemed like something fairies would do. "None of the villagers said anything about a child being lost--maybe they just live in the woods."
Vosi shrugs. "Most fey don't steal children. What would we do with children? Smell, loud, and useless as servants. Waste of fey time. A few fey might eat them, or witches might want children. Useful for experiments, materials, or blackmail. Lucky magic child might be taken as apprentice."
Nathara shifts uncomfortably on her feet and tries to shake the images Vosi's explanations created off. "Whatever there was, I doubt it was an actual child, but rather an expression of the evil that resides there in the guise of innocence. We will not know until we bring light into this maze, should that be where our path leads us."
She looks around and takes a deep breath to become aligned with world around in the here and now again, to hear the whispering wind in the trees, the rush of little animals in the forest and her own place in conjunction with all this. Her voice becomes softer, but less thoughtful and more confident as she continues.
"We might try to find a hiding place, but our foes must be aware of our presence by now and our passing will be hard to veil in the snow. We could make this our resting place. It did this good hunter a disservice, but we have deeper insight into what troubles the land." She looks into the eyes of her comrades and despite her relative calm the ferocity, maybe even blood lust, of the demon can be seen in her eyes. "What do you think?"
Tiferet nods as Nathara suggests the presence could be far less mundane than previously thought of. "Remember the snowman" Tiferet says. "Some fey take delight in concealing their mischievousness under the regalia of childish candour. It might even be a trap to purposefully lure the unsuspecting traveller into the maze."
She stares back at her dusk-skinned sister with no less determination in her eyes. "We're in no shape to wander through these woods any longer. Eve still bears the wounds of our encounter with the skeletons, and both Eirikr and I haven't fully recovered from the beating we took. I too say we rest here. And if they come, they'll find us ready."
She casts a long glance at the unfortunate hunter who had braved the perils of the frozen Border Wood only to be murdered in his sleep. "First, I'd like to give this man a proper burial, though. His body belongs to Heldren, but we lack the time to carry it all the way back there; and once we reach the portal, the Heavens know where our path will lead us."
That said, she grabs the spade from Lily's load and starts digging where the fireplace used to be, hoping the ground there would have somewhat thawed.
Eirikr and Ashen assist Tiferet in digging out the fire pit; once it is clear, Eirikr holds his hands over the pit and sparks begin to fly out from his hands onto the pit--soon the fire has started again.
Once the fire is started, Eirikr walks to where Inire is standing, though he still keeps a good distance from her. "I see you writing in that book a lot--what are you writing about?"
Inire's thumb runs across the closed book's pages, front to back, letting it mostly rest in her lap. "The things that have happened, the things that are happening, the things that will happen... and the things that will never happen again."
"It's to keep everything clear in my head... so notes, mostly. Basic rundowns of things... nothing special." she says, shaking her head, and looking towrads Tiferet, "I'd probably just be in the way, digging a hole."
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"Is it for the Pathfinder society? The gazetteer you're writing?" he says. He hears the sting in her words when she says "never happen again" and for a moment he considers asking her what she means by that--but considering all that has happened since they met he decides not to press her any further. He walks to the fire and sits down, Ashen curling up beside him, glad that his master has abandoned the treetop. He stares up at the sky, towards the moon, and then he begins to speak again, quietly this time, not to anyone in particular.
"Once I had a dream--or maybe it was a story someone told me--there were two sisters, one bright like the dawn and one dark like the night. The sisters loved each other but so different were their natures that they could rarely be together. Still, once a month they would meet each other in a forest, without fail. The bright sister was beloved because her face guided travelers in the night; the dark sister was feared because of how she led men astray in the shadows. The dark sister longed for just a bit of her sister’s light, so one night she stole just a mote--then two, then three--for herself, to accompany her when she danced in the darkness."
"This changed something in the bright sister. She was still beautiful to behold, but terrible now, as frightful as the dusk, and the ones who loved her changed too, becoming the sort of thing that people call monsters. When the dark sister saw this, she ran to try to give the motes back but the bright sister fled, for she found her new form better, because people are inconstant in their love but constant in their fear."
"The dark sister looked for her sibling among her former paramours, thinking they would be easy to find in their new forms, but in her presence they changed back and looked just like anyone else, and every time she drew close her sister hid her face so she could not be seen. So the dark sister still wanders the shadowed parts of the world, followed by the motes she stole, and the bright sister and her followers still revel in what they have lost."
He had known what this meant, Ashava and Jezelda but now--now he was beginning to wonder, about sisters bright and dark, about things that have become lost in the night, about whether the dawn was more frightening than the dusk.
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Nathara first unloads Lily and gives her a bit of her feed, then she goes on to help Eirikr and Tiferet digging a grave for the hunter; she is one of the few uninjured after all. She briefly smirks at Inire's remark what she's writing, but seems a bit restless.
She feels horribly exposed out here, but for the time being there does not appear a meaningful alternative.
When they are finally ready to put the body into the ground she knows little to. She takes an upright stance and whisper. "Fare thee well, hunter. I did not know, but I think you were a brave man. I hope no one else will have to fall for the disbelief of others. May the Forests of Elysium become your home."
She stands back and waits, so she can help close the grave once everyone who wants to had the chance to say anything if they desire so. They still have a camp to set up, a fire to make and to figure out how they can better secure their position. And that's not even mentioning food.
"I hope being ambushed by the undead falls into the latter category" Tiferet can't help but quip as she digs.
Once Dryden Kepp's body has been lowered into the cold, frozen ground, Tiferet remains kneeling for a while. "Night comes, and now your Hunt is over. Rest in peace, old hunter, for come tomorrow, those whose Hunt is not yet finished shall rise to hunt again. Rest in peace, valorous hunter, for tomorrow, you will ride with Erastil's host."
"Yeah. It's for my gazetteer, mostly." she responds as he moves away. "Hopefully it's for the society." she offers a small smile. "Not everything that's written winds up in the open."
She listens to the story, head tilted slightly; it wasn't one she had heard before. "It makes sense. That your mother would wish for you to be a bard. You have a way with words, when you do speak." she offers, quietly. "I don't think I'll be approaching mounds face first in the near future." Inire acknowledges.
As for the hunter... she oddly doesn't have anything to say. It seems like she's trying to stay mostly detached from the whole process.
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Morgraine watches the digging and burial, her face impassive. If one of the diggers stops for a rest, she offers to take their place for a bit while they catch their breath - though it does not take long for it to be obvious from puffing breath and stopping to peer at her hands that the fair woman had little experience with such labor.
Like Inire, she too has nothing to say or add at the makeshift funeral. Erastil did not have a large following in her homeland, save perhaps here and there among the peasants. Lamashtu and Zon-Kathon were far more common and, finding their cults distasteful, Morgraine herself had never been particularly religious. So, she stood still and waited respectfully. At some point during the ceremony, her white-furred fox companion materializes from out of the woods and sits on its haunches next to her.
As they set about making the camp she suggests, "Once we are finished and have eaten something, the wounded should rest and recover while the rest take watches. I can try to heal any who still need it when we leave again, assuming I get the chance to prepare."
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As the last shovelful of frozen dirt falls upon the mound, Tiferet drives the spade into the ground and whispers a silent prayer to Tolc to commend his soul to His guidance into the afterlife. Eventually, she wraps the journal in a piece a cloth she took from the hunter's belongings and places it on top of the grave and beneath a rock, so that anyone happening to stumble upon it would know the identity as well as the unfortunate fate which befell upon the courageous man buried underneath.
"It pains me how your bow is the only thing I was able to mend" she says as, with a few whispered words and a movement of her hand, the broken weapon becomes whole again. "I'll borrow it for one last hunt, and hope you would have considered me worthy of this honour."
The day's weariness finally catching up with her, she sits down on the cold snow to catch her breath. She listens raptly as Eirikr recounts the tale of the two maidens; the young man has a melodious, melancholic voice which adds to his rugged yet youthful charm, a stark contrast with the feral creature she has fought besides but a short time earlier. "It is a wonderful story" she says softly, still half-lost into it. "Gives one food for thought."
I wonder which of the two sisters holds the keys to his heart.
Evelyn will actively avoid the small funeral and focus on starting to build the party a small camp if they agreed to rest here for now.
"If the fey were using children cries to bait a trap they'd likely use a spell to make the noise, much easier that way. Unless they are using live children for something besides bait which is worrying."
Evelyn mostly keeps to herself but she'll occasional chip in on conversations if she has something to add to whatever the others are talking about.
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Nathara pictures the story Eirikr tells as motions in a dance; the story is already a dance within itself, given the way the two sisters twist and wind around each other and through the rest of the world.
She tries to share a look with Tiferet, wondering what she is thinking. "Thought... or dance and song", she merely remarks. "Would you like to play it? I would very much like to dance it."
There is much to do in their little camp side and Nathara is glad that Evelyn is already setting up things. Nathara helps her with the tent and then takes care of Lily's hooves and fur. Before she finally sits down by the fire she tries to figure out what the best obvservation spot in the camp might be and whether there was anything they might do to make their position more defensible. Finally she sits down by the fire.
"It is strange how my things changed since that night when I met you in that tavern in Heldren, but for all the hardship, the wounds and the death, I would not wish it were otherwise, as selfish as that may sound, since that would mean we would have never become a company in arms."
She makes sure she includes everyone, humanoid or fey. "I noticed you didn't have a bed roll, earlier, so there is one for you, Inire. Along with the additional furs (those were pretty expensive) we should have enough to keep everyone warm. How are we going to go about the watches?"
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Tiferet's response to Nathara's desire is a languid, nocturnal tune which whispers of ancient things wandering in the dark, cloaked and unknown; suddenly, a joyous crescendo, as those who once were lost have stepped into the light, and bask now in its glory.
Then, the lyrics begin, a song of sadness and betrayal as the darkness longs for her missing children. A song of jealousy, of yearning for the tiniest fleck of her sister's light, so that her creatures would learn to find their way back to her, and no longer walk astray into the night. A song of madness and fury, twisted beings engaging in a frenetic and beastly dance under a cruel light, a mutilated chiaroscuro which longs to sculpt monsters out of men.
And lastly, a song of love, for that shining beacon which used to be whole and now is whole no more, and for a man, a single man within the beast, for him to turn his back to the fury, and once again embrace the peaceful stillness of the night.
Nathara was both charmed and surprised when Nathara Tiferet started at once. To create an actual choreography for something like this would take Nathara years... but she can hardly back down now. The elf with a bit of a demon touch takes her time and listens to her friend, but she does not dare taking off the chain shirt in hostile territory.
Finally she raises to dance, takes a few steps and listens to Tiferet again. The wild and untamed sister who steals the light, is full of motion, roguish, teasing. As soon as Nathara picks up Tiferet's song she dances her spinning and wild, often asymetric, the motions not precisely defined, but often drifting into each other. She is a but sultry at time, baiting with her female attributes.
The other sister is beautiful smiling and moves way slower, but precise and elegant at first.
She starts to mix the themes from that point on like executing the two themes of a sonata. The are phases right after the theft one the stealing sister does not realize what she's done and hops around in joy, and the other sister crumbles in sadness while a few indications of aggressive motions of head and arm weave in.
The part of the beast comes painfully natural to her and she uses a bit of the demons ferocity to display it. Similar to the other sister in the beginning, but edgier, more painful and way more aggressive. There is no joy in it. The other sister chasing her is more sincere and there is little of her wild spirit in the beginning left, but still some of the motions are still there, transformed from passion into compassion.
Inire nods her thanks to Nathara as she collects her bedroll and furs. "I can take an late or middle watch, since I don't have spells, and I can see better by moon and starlight... If its there." she offers, though she doesn't seem to have a preference, though.
The night watch passes uneventfully for the most part, though the watches can hear the sounds of a few animals moving out in the woods. Perhaps the local beasts are finally getting used to the cold and starting to venture out. Or perhaps they've simply become hungry enough to ignore the freezing temperatures. Soon enough, morning comes and the sun rises over the tree tops, reflecting off the snow and making the clearing almost blindingly bright for a few minutes before your eyes adapt to the light.
A quiet night is a welcome blessing in a stranger land, Tiferet reflects as she's in the process of putting her clothes back on and donning her armour, her devotion concluded. This time, she didn't bother finding a secluded place for her meditation. Familiarity breeds intimacy, they say, and crossing swords together is the surest way to build up familiarity Tiferet has ever experienced – after all, the lack of any privacy tends to make modesty among comrade-in-arms an unnecessary burden very quickly.
As the sun dawns, she wakes up her companions one by one, and immediately starts dismantling camp.
Before it becomes time for the rest of the party to sleep, Eirikr heads into the woods with Ashen to try and gather some food. Once he's out of sight of the others, he shifts into his more feral form, making it easier to find the little holes and burrows that prey animals tend to hide themselves in. When he returns (after having turned back to his human form), he has enough food to feed almost everyone.
The next morning, when he is awoken by Tiferet, he assists her in clearing out the camp before they depart.
Like last time, when Eirikr went on his hunt with Ashen, Inire follows after. She's sure not to be any louder, and unlikely to slow down the tracker. She pays careful attention to what he wants her to look for, and does so. Unless he objects. Either way, she doesn't seem bothered by his change, now.
The following morning, Inire moves out to disable the bear traps, so they could take them with them. The hardest part for her is pulling up the stakes so they could be moved, but she doesn't complain.
Once she brings the traps back, and sets them down, she looks over to where she'd left her sword, and looks crestfallen. With a sigh, she crosses the middle distance... and finds that at some point the majority of the frost had left it. She had expected for it to become like the man at the wagon, trapped in ice with no way to take it out. She takes her time, while the others break camp, performing a thorough maintenance on it - as usual, quietly.
Eirikr and Inire's hunting trip turns up and entire den of rabbits, one of the few animals still hanging around that they have time to hunt before night falls. Eirikr and Ashen take them down quick and easy, capturing nearly half a dozen of the animals. The last one tries to flee, but Inire, following quietly behind him, catches it on her own. With the fresh kills, they have plenty of meat for the next day.
In the morning, Inire is fairly easily able to take the traps apart. After all, they're meant to stop wild animals, not humanoids with thumbs. She packs up all three traps, but finds that they're rather heavy. Carrying them might be difficult for someone of her slight build.
Tiferet tries to the best of her abilities to help Inire with the heavy lifting, but keeps a cautious distance from the deadly mechanisms to allow the nimble half-elf to do her job without hindrance. Once they're done and everything has been loaded up on Lily once again, she regards the fallen hunter's remaining possessions. Leaving the rations to rot strikes her as terribly wasteful, so she packs them and adds them to their own. As she does that, she notices the flask she spotted yesterday but which she immediately forgot about. She pours a drop of liquor on her tongue, trying to discern the flavour.
The hunter's tent is pretty much intact, as the fey simply slipped inside and killed him quickly. His bedroll is undamaged, but a bright red bloodstain decorates the top half where he bled out from a slit throat. The flask has a distinct smell of apples, reminding Tif of fall orchards and swirling orange leaves. It's almost certainly a local version of applejack, a popular brandy all along the Inner Sea.
Nathara speaks a prayer to Sarenrae as she watches the sun rise. After a moment in which focuses only on herself and her breathing, she gets her spellbook and prepares her spell, the same as the past day.
After that she helps with disassembling the tent and makes sure Lily is properly tended for and the weight evenly distributed on her back.
She holds the bow in her hand as the leave and after a moment of thought attaches the string. She does not say a lot in the morning but seems to be of good mood, nevertheless.
Evelyn would offer to try and cook the rabbit, and any other wildlife, they brought back in hopes of making it last a little longer and taste a little better.
With the limited supplies they had she wasn't able to make much besides but with a little help from Prestidigitation they're hunt should result in a decent meal for the party before they head out.
Eve prepares the rabbit quite well, considering she has very little to work with, and very soon the camp site is filled with the smell of roasted meet and mild spices. Once the party finishes their meal, they tear down the camp site and prepare to move out.
Inire will once again slink off ahead of folks, slipping amongst the trees to hopefully stay out of direct sight for whatever might be waiting for them ahead.
Eirikr follows after Inire, giving her enough room to scout but still staying close enough that he can catch up to her if something happens.
Evelyn will offer herself as bait for a forward approach, if the party accepts she'll be up front if not she'll want to be somewhere in the middle or back.
Moving through the woods is beginning to get harder and harder as you get closer to the center. The snow is beginning to get deep enough to slow you down when walking , even on the more worn down path.
Fortunately, nothing appears from the trees to take advantage of the party's slow pace. You can see the sun rising higher through the clouds and it takes almost two hours to get down off the High Ridge from the hunter's camp. As you come back down into the woods proper, Inire can see the icy walls described in the hunter's journal ahead.
Inire will slow down to let the others catch up... as usual for any dramatic changes in scenery.
Eirikr soon catches up to Inire, but stops when he sees the wall of ice. He surveys the area, trying to see if he can spot anything unusual, or if he can hear anyone nearby.
"This--this is definitely a trap," says Eirikr, looking down at the wall of ice below them. "Do we try to scout it first? Maybe Vosi can fly over it to see if he can spot anything?"
Once she's done whetting her axe, Tiferet quietly approaches Inire who's also in the process of carefully yet (as it's usual for the demure half-elf) discreetly taking care of her weapon.
"This will keep the edge sharper" she says handing her the whetstone. "Won't last after the first couple of blows, but in the meantime it will help your swings sink deeper into your foes."
She lingers for a moment, though careful not to overstay her welcome, eyes fixed on the Tien-looking woman's unusual sword. "It is a beautiful, elegant weapon. The hand that crafted it obviously thought of combat as an art rather than the brutal, messy thing it too often degenerates into."
Eve's roasted rabbit is easily one the tastiest meals Tiferet has eaten in a long time, beating even Menander's cooking back at the Silver Stoat. That, and the fact that the pain in her ribs barely bothers her any more, give her a new-found sense of vigour as the party moves out down the ridge and into the woods.
As they move closer and closer to the source of the unnatural winter, however, she starts struggling to keep her companions' pace, her comparatively heavier armour weighing her down and causing her legs to sink into the snow almost to her knees. Once Inire halts, she's among the last to reach her, flushing and panting.
"We're getting" pant "closer to the Portal." pant "It stand to reason they would ramp up their defences."
"I still have the scroll Fawfein gifted us, but a flyover would be even nicer. Vosi?" she says, eyeing the diminutive fey interrogatively as if to gauge his disposition.
Inire nods, taking the honing stone; the first strike always seemed to be Inire's most effective, so, making it more effective was simply wise. She started by using the whet stone wrong then realized her mistake and changed directions with it.
Once they arrive at the next lodge of what would likely be many, after the others have gathered with her, she speaks "How could they create mazes of ice?" she asks of the others, who were more familiar with magic. "Will it hurt us? What happens if we simply choose to go over the top? Besides standing out, of course."
"Lily can't climb the walls" responds Nathara as she catches up, holding the horse's reins in one hand and her bow in the other. "But I would appreciate very much if we managed to avoid playing the enemy's game."
She looks around. "What say you, Vosi? Do you know anything about the maze? Do you think you can risk flying over it?" She squints her eyes as she looks closer at it. "I cannot say anything about the wall's arcane properties from this distance, but it appears like it was at least shaped with magic." Either that or they had a lot of slaves to their avail. However, even if it was formed with magic it did not necessarily have to be magic any longer.
While she does not dare to give away that the fortress in which she was raised was situated in a cold environment, even though within a sphere of eternal spring, she has seen what spells can do on snow and ice. Statues so beautiful that it would make anyone cry who first saw it, if their heart was not similarly frozen. In a way, a maze presented an intricate design itself and a riddle, a challenge for the mind and the body.
"If it was not meant to be our death, I would admire its artful making. However tasteless the things we find in there may be." She thinks of the child's laughter again.
Vosi nods. "Vosi will look." The sprite flies up over the maze, disappearing over the ice walls after a minute. He's gone for several minutes before he makes his way back. "Hardly a maze," he declares. "One path going through toward the cabin. Looks like it was meant to let flying fey ambush while intruders worked their way through. No fey though. Izoze's death left it undefended. At least until cabin. Something in cabin, but Vosi didn't want to get close."
"I do not trust the piece. Nevertheless, I suggest we move on. Thank you, Vosi." She considers for a moment longer.
"There will likely be traps on the way. We could pick through the wall, but that would take some time and alarm the our adversaries."
She takes a look at Tiferet catching her breath, but does not desire to embarrass her by taking too obvious notice of it.
Something in the cabin. The source of the weeping sounds, in all likelihood.
"Yes. Thank you Vosi. Should we get lost, you can always be our eyes."
"It might be their failed ambush has left them in disarray" Or perhaps that's what they'd like us to think. Trolls aren't very bright, but if they have advisers capable of summoning outsiders... She doesn't want to voice her pessimism out loud, though, especially when there appears to be little choice on the matter. "We should capitalize on that."
Inire nods to the others. "The ice will make it harder to see through, but not impossible. We should keep our eyes to our sides as well. This would have been a better place for Fawfein to attack, I think. The elementals would have blended in." she says, noting the environs being excellent for an ice elemental ambush. "Maybe watch the ice for movements?" With that, she slips forward across the snow. Her focus on the shadows cast upon the ice making her usual job significantly less effective.
Eirikr and Ashen follow after Inire, moving as quietly as they can--and for once, that is fairly quiet. Eirikr continues to scan the area for any sign of movement, and once he gets closer to the ice he uses his magic to see if there are any lingering enchantments.
As Inire enters the maze, she hears a laugh, like a small child and she sees something move across one of the ice blocks. Then she hears small foot steps. Just ahead, a young blonde haired girl runs between two ice blocks, heading off in one direction through the maze-like ice. Her form is indistinct and hazy, like she's not quite there. Just before she disappears from sight, her voice echoes off the ice. "I'm sorry! Don't hurt me! I never meant to call you names!"
"Magic," whispers Eirikr to Inire as the girl runs off into the ice maze. "Necromancy. Might be--a ghost? Something Rokhar didn't tell us about?"
Inire starts to speak to the girl, but realizes two things - not only would it give away her position to those that were listening, she'd likely be unable to communicate properly with the girl through a block of ice. Then Eirikr speaks, and she nods. Necromancy was the dead one. Why was everything about death here..?
She continued forward through the 'maze', keeping her eyes out for the little girl that was in danger from necromancers.
As Inire moved forward around the first corner, she sees the girl again, now sitting against one of the ice blocks and curled up. "Please don't keep me here. It's so cold. Please, I miss my mother."