The remaining patrons in the tavern begin to drift out as the travelers find their way to bed one by one. The owner locks up the tavern for the night and lowers the fire in the hearth before wishing everyone a good night and disappearing to his room in the back with his wife. The room is quiet and only dimly lit and it doesn't take long for everyone to drift off.
The Next Morning
Your wake-up in the morning is significantly less peaceful. A bit more than an hour after dawn, a loud commotion in the town square in front of the inn wakes you. The shouts of people gathering and the sound of feet thundering against the pavement stones out front are difficult to ignore.
Tiferet wakes up to the bright morning light filtering through the windows and the ever growing sound of a hubbub coming from the town square just outside the Silver Stoat. Her head still slightly throbbing from a couple too many ales she had the night before, she slowly gathers the resolution to leave the makeshift pallet she's spent the night in. Watching the other guests stirring in their blankets, their sleep no doubt also prematurely interrupted by the uproar, she grabs her things and begins the process of donning her armor; she's still busy adjusting the straps as she makes her way out of the tavern to investigate the commotion.
Mouse likewise awakens and having simply slept in the supple leather armor she wore, has plenty of time to help the others into their armor, greatly speeding the process. Heading out ahead of them was certain to cause problems... as despite the sword on her side, she didn't fancy herself to be much of a fighter.
She doesn't bother to ask as she does this, either, instead simply going through the motions of speeding their dress. If they protest, she goes to someone else's aid.
She follows after Tiferet, though more slowly, as she adjusts her sword's positioning.
Tiferet heads outside once her armor is on, while Mouse sneaks along behind her, keeping in the cover of the tavern doorway as she examines the scene. Outside, a crowd has already gathered near the feet of the lady around the source of the commotion. A tall armored man is leaning heavily against the statue, clutching a longsword in one hand and allowing his other arm to hang loose at his side. His long braided hair and well kept beard are sure signs that he's an Ulfen. A trail of blood drops lead up from the south road to the center of the square. It's obvious to see that blood is dripping slowly from his arm and from a savage gash along his face. He shouts something in his native language, clearly slightly delirious. "Hjálp! Skrímsli í skóginum!"
Tiferet authoritatively makes her way through the crowd, covering in but a few strides the distance between the tavern and the statue.
"Þú ert öruggur núna, bardaga bróðir. Láta mig hafa tilhneigingu til að sár þín."
That said, she places her hand over his face, a slight hum coming from her half-closed lips.
"Borða og hvíla nú. Þá verður þú að segja okkur um þessar skrímsli."
With that, she offers him her hand, gently helping him take the few steps that separate them from the Silver Stoat. As they walk, she addresses the people gathered in the square. "Please, this man is tired and wounded. Allow him some space to breathe."
"He says there are monsters in the woods." Mouse says, translating for the benefit of the crowd. "Find your children, make sure they're near." She says, her voice significantly more silk than squeak.
She begins to ask the man what sort of monsters, so she could relay that as well, but the strong authoritative woman has already taken charge...
The man calms slightly at the sound of Tiferet's voice and he takes a few panting breaths to calm himself. The magic seals the worst of his injuries, stopping the slow flow of blood from his arm, but he still seems unsteady on his feet. "Þakka þér ungur maður."
Whispers begin to spread through the crowd and a few people rush off, likely to warn their families. One of the locals is dressed in armor, likely a member of the small local militia that serves as the village guard. "I'll fetch the apothecary. She'll know how to treat him." He runs off to another building on the square and begins pounding on the door.
A few moments later, a slim elven woman appears and joins the group in the square. She hurries over to the injured man. "Take him inside," she instructs Tiferet. "Once we've got him comfortable, I can go over his wounds."
"Gladly" she replies.
"Komdu. Halla á mig. Hún er heilari, þú ert í góðum höndum."
A lot of questions start to crowd Tiferet's mind, but she rationalizes they can wait. The first thing to do is to make sure this warrior is properly healed.
"Thank you," the Ulfen replies in slightly accented Taldan. Tiferet helps him inside and the apothecary quickly finds a bed of furs to lay him down on while she begins examining his wounds. Now that she's had a closer look, Tiferet notices somethings strange. The tips of his fingers and nose are almost black.
Nathara was all warm and comfortable in her last phases of sleep. It had been a while since she had some nice company and song and dance for the night and the prospect of having a travelling companion who was naturally inclined to inspire confidence was most charming.
However, she was not in a rush to get up, so she let a grunt, but her hands moved virtually on their own as she slipped into her chain shirt, grabbed her spell component pouch and the buckle with her sword.
She followed the others down. Her hand raised to cast a shield spell, she beheld the strange warrior. Likely one of Tiferet's people - not her tribe, but her people. It looked like something had attacked him. She lowered her hand again.
Curiously she approached, but Tiferet's call to show compassion was so overwhelming that she made a few steps back before she even noticed what she was doing. Her new companion seemed to have the situation under control.
Nathara looked into the direction from where the blood trail came. It was a amazing that he had made it here loosing so much blood. She made a few steps and peered into the twilight of dawn.
"Have you been followed?" she called over her shoulder. Insecure of whether he understood it she rather turned around and looked at Tiferet.
"I don't think they know I survived," the man says. "I got lucky. They missed a lethal wound and I played dead until they left. Then I ran here as fast as I could. If they followed me, I didn't see them."
The alchemist pushes him firmly down on the bed. "No talking. You've still got some nasty bruising on your side and I'm not sure that you don't have a broken rib somewhere." She gently presses her hands against his side in several places, eliciting a wince of pain or two from the man. She pulls out several bottles and begins to mix reagents together for some kind of potion or alchemical concoction.
Eirikr awakes to the sound of the commotion outside and Ashen yelping at him. After a moment of grogginess, he heads towards the direction of the noise, Ashen trailing closely behind him.
"What's going on?" he asks no one in particular as he tries to figure out what is happening. He notices the wounded man being carried off by the woman; he seems to have already been healed and he's speaking in a language Eirikr doesn't understand.
Nathara stepped into the building into which they had brought him. "There may be other survivors and if there are monsters bold enough to attack civilized people, who knows what else they may do." Nathara angled her head a little. "He is in safe hands, but I need to heed his warning. Will you join me?" A brief smirk, if a painful one given the circumstances, indicated that she considered that a rhetorical question, she didn't think that a woman like Tiferet would shy from putting her axe to use. Her look also included the other strangers with whom she had spend last night. Two pathfinders and a man who certainly did know the ways of the wild.
Nathara's eyebrows narrowed as she saw what the alchemist was doing, but she did neither want to disturb him nor scare the patient. Still she had to ask: "Against what shall we protect ourselves if we face those... monsters?"
The potion he used was not primarily meant to heal physical wounds but conditions beyond that.
Morgraine awoke to the sound of the door banging closed and the buzzing of a crowd outside. She groaned and sat up, still dressed in yesterday's clothes. She was not going to strip down to her shift while sharing a room full of strangers, one a man after all!
After a moment of bringing herself to full conscioussness, she got up and headed to the window to look out as she tried half heartedly to brush a tangle from her hair. "Looks like quite a bit of excitement" she murmers, mostly to herself, and clearly still partly asleep. But she sees a few of last night's companions milling in the crowd and decided to head outside to try to learn what might be happening.
Evelyn joins the crowd but unlike the others she stays in the back watching the man without making herself known.
Mouse for her part, was content to stay out of the way, and translate if there were rough patches. She'd just be in the elven woman's way if she approached.
She watched the woman as she mixed the vial with interest. She'd seen others do such things... it was akin to magic, but not quite the same. The barrier to entry, for one, was much lower. Applying it to another was a different story, though. She hadn't seen much of that at all.
Tiferet doesn't quite get what the apothecary is doing, but she recognizes the ingredients as being often used to heal people's bodies when their ailments run deeper than simple flesh wounds – a far more difficult endeavor requiring a far more refined mastery of the mystic arts than that which she displayed earlier.
"It is still possible he might just be delirious" she whispers to Nathara, albeit unconvincingly. "Yet, those look like the signs of frostbite. Something doesn't quite add up".
I wouldn't know about summer snows in Southern Taldor, though. Sure, it's been uncharacteristically chilly around here, but snow? Her own words spoken the night before now sound far more ominous. "I was looking for work and now it looks like work has found me" she sighs. "Obviously, I can't let the servants of the Dawnflower take all the credit. My axe is yours. Free of charge" she states, feigning resignation.
"Wait!" says Eirikr, finally remembering what seems strange about the man's injuries "Black on his fingers, black on his nose! Frostbite. Shouldn't have frostbite here. Something cold, something ice, something wrong. Wrong here, not in Taldor."
Nathara nodded. "I have a feeling that Sarenrae smiles upon you regardless whose name you wield. I need to go fetch my equipment. Shall I bring yours? It may be better when you muster additional support..." Many people thought of her as a monster; well, in a way she was one, but no more than anyone else is. It may be tricky to get people to follow her into a fight.
She smirks at Eirikr. 'Looks like we found some help.'
"Something very wrong" Tiferet absentmindedly muses, echoing Eirikr's statement.
"Thanks, but everything I own, I already have with me. Just a little bit of paranoia. When you hear a tumult brewing outside, you never know how those things are going to turn out" she says in response to Nathara's gracious offer.
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, though. We should let our good Lady here do her job, and then hear what our valorous friend has to say before we can start making plans" she adds.
Nathara opened her mouth, found herself speechless and closed it again.
She turned to the alchemist instead: "Good woman, do you have an estimate how long it will take until we may talk to your patient?"
The alchemist finishes her extract and carefully tips the vial down the Ulfen warrior's throat. "As long as this works properly, he'll be able to talk in a few minutes. But keep it short and don't let him get too excited. I don't have enough ingredients to patch him up in one go. I'll have to go back to my shop and get more." She pulls out another extract and feeds it to him, closing more of his wounds. Satisfied, she begins bandaging his remaining injuries.
By the time she's done, he has a bandage wrapped around his forehead and another binding his arm in a sling, but his eyes are more focused and her looks much calmer. The blackness recedes from his fingers and nose a bit, but his skin still looks distinctly unhealthy. "Thank you kindly," he says to the healer with a nod. "But I fear my injuries are the least you will see if something isn't done."
Nathara goes fetching her equipment in the mean time and straps everything tight.
Once she comes back she takes a position near the door. She prefers to leave the talking to Tiferet in this matter.
"What's happened?" asks Eirikr. "What is happening? What will happen? Something in the woods, something cold, something that hurt you, gave you frostbite. And it's coming here?"
"My name is Yuln Oerstag. And I feel like I've stepped into one of my grandfather's own tales." The Ulfen man shakes his head grimly. "I was part of the escort for Lady Argentea Malassene. We were traveling up past the edge of the Border Wood toward town when we were attacked. At first, we thought they were just bandits, brigands hiding in the woods with the wolves. But then their allies came. The cold fey, the winter-touched sprites of the north. My people have known of these monsters for generations, and have fought them countless times. And we know never to underestimate them. My grandfather would ridicule my lack of valor when I chose to flee rather than fight, but at least I slew one of the creatures before its kin wounded me."
Tiferet folds her arms and takes a step backward as Eirikr questions the bandaged Ulfen warrior.
Just yesterday, I would have called his visions a soothsayer's ramblings. And yet, now we're dealing with a big, strong guy suffering from frostbite in the middle of summer... It's all too strange to be a coincidence. This lanky yellow-haired boy is probably the one with the best chances to shed some light on the matter.
Instead, she opts to address the elven lady who's just finished treating the man's illness. "I never would have thought to find such a skilled healer in such a small village as Heldren. I understand the weather's been unseasonably chill around here, but have you heard any rumors about monsters roaming the woods? Anything that substantiates his claims?" As much as the idea of stepping into her own grandfather's tales intrigues her, she still can't help but feel a bit skeptical about the whole thing. A skepticism which is, however, quickly waning.
"Name's Tiferet, by the way." she hastens to add, as if suddenly remembering she hasn’t even properly introduced herself. "And my ash-skinned friend is called Nathara. At your service."
"Where were you traveling that folks would be aware of your path beforehand?" Mouse chimed in, asking the stranger a question that wasn't entirely reasonable to ask. She compounded it though, "And why? What would they gain by taking your Lady?"
Eirikr wracks his brain, trying to remember anything he can about the fey and their nature. While he thinks, he asks the man, "Stealing a princess--but why? Do you know what they would want with the lady?"
Nathara curtseyed as she was introduced - a slow gesture and her face remained serious. "There is no valour in throwing one's life needlessly away. You did the right thing in face of death and adversary, without which gives us a chance a chance to fight those of the first world. That's valour." Nathara remarked, but held herself in background.
She could not say why, but she felt uncomfortable with referring to fey as monsters, not even those of the unseelie court. She could not say why. With drow it was the same. She could not say exactly why she felt that way; maybe because their creativeness outweighed their destructiveness, at least in Nathara's mind. Maybe it was merely because she respected grace. But then again: Orcs could be creative. Demons could be graceful. And they were clearly monsters - demons more than orcs, of course.
In many ways fey were to elves what elves must be to humans. Elves (including Nathara herself) liked to look down on humans. Their art, their songs, the way they kissed. Unrefined and in ignorance of the deeper beauty. Elves liked to believe they invented all this, but once you've met a nymph or danced with a satyr every elf had to realize: They did not. Those were gifts of the first world, which the elves had long left behind and all their art was but a shallow reflection of true understanding.
The alchemist chuckles. "Tessaraea. And I'm not that skilled. I'm simply a former adventurer that decided it was time to settle down. As for the chill... well it's been odd. We've been getting frost in the mornings and I've had more than one farmer coming in looking for herbs for a sick animal and the like. It makes no sense, but I've seen the results with my own eyes. I haven't seen any unusual injuries or anything of that nature, but you might want to try the priest as well. He handles as much of the town's healing as I do."
The warrior scowls. "I'm certain most of the lady's servants knew she was traveling this way, as well as a few of her friends. The worst threats near the Border Woods are suppose to be bandits and occasional Qadiran raiders. As for why they'd take her... I can't say. If the stories are true, the damned fey could want anything from a slave to a meal. And that's if the damned winter witches aren't commanding them."
"I could try to find her. Follow her in the woods. I can do that. Ashen too. He can smell things. We can try to find her. Do you have anything of hers? It would make finding her easier," says Eirikr to the injured man. "She needs to be found, right? Nobles don't usually like the woods, especially if they're forced to go there."
Mouse grimaces slightly. Either he didn't know, or he wasn't telling.
"If they wanted a slave, they wouldn't have tried to kill you and your men. If they wanted a meal, they would have eaten you once you were dead." she says, leaning against the wall, and adjusting her bag. "They wanted her specifically, I would think." she didn't seem to be paying attention to anyone in particular as she spoke.
"We should do something." she said, looking to Evelyn over her shoulder.
"The winter-touched are servants of the winter witches. If they ordered her kidnapping, then I doubt we'll know the reason unless you manage to pry it from the damned witch herself." He tries to shift position, but groans in pain again. "I'd go back out and try to find her, but I'm don't think I'm getting out of bed for a while. If you'd be willing to rescue her, I'd be grateful."
** spoiler omitted **
"Thank you kindly," he says to the healer with a nod. "But I fear my injuries are the least you will see if something isn't done."
Morgraine appears at the door, slipping quietly inside with Kettu ever-present at her heel. She listens quietly to the warrior's tale and to the inquiries of her new acquaintances as they question him. Her eyes dart occasionally to the blackened extremities of the man's fingers and she nods once approvingly of the treatment Tessaraea prescribed. While Morgraine's talents weren't exactly focused upon the healer's arts, she had received some training still. Besides, frostbite was by no means unheard of in her wintry homeland, despite the number of denizens which had developed resistance to the cold there.
Her face almost imperceptibly darkens however at mention of fey and witches.
"You say your people have fought them for generations. There are many types of fey, each with their own natures, yes? Do you know what species they were? What did they look like? How did they fight? How many would you say attacked you?"
;
"Hear that, Eve? Our princess is in another castle." she says, her grimace becoming a grin. Then her head tilts slightly.
"Aren't the Winter Witches a bit... outside of their environment?" she says, looking back to him. "They're acting... pretty much across the whole of Avistan.."
Yuln shakes his head. "I've heard many stories, but it's difficult to identify them on sight. They were small creatures with wings for the most part. And unnatural blue skin, just like all of their kind."
He shakes his head. "The witch's grip is long and their power is great. I wouldn't be surprised if they're trying to gain footholds in other parts of Avistan."
"On the bright side if they wanted to kidnap her she's still alive so we should have some time, if you want to join the hunting party I'll follow. Not sure what if I can do much to a fey but it's worth a shot."
Nathara applies the words spoken to the theories she has formulated in her head. Verify and falsify. As a faithful believer in Sarenrae, she believes in the truth. As someone trained in the mental discipline of an elven wizard she is an empiricist, and even though she believes in the truth, she knew she could only say what was not wrong.
She pressed her lips tight as Eirikr jumps to the conclusion that Lady Argentea had been abducted, but she had to admit: To make an unverified claim and see whether it leads to a contradiction is a viable way to verify a theory.
"So, to sum up: Lady Argentea Malassene traveled with an escort through the woods. The group was attacked, in a first wave by a group that might be take for bandits, then by fey, little blue creatures with wings, who are known servants of the winter witches. Lady of Malassene was taken alive."
Nathara folds her hands as she often does in order to make her claws less apparent and continued: "Mister Oerstag, by your description I guess the attackers were deliberately trying to leave no survivors and Lady of Malassene was the only one taken alive. Everyone else is dead, is that correct?" The reason why she has wanted to leave as soon as possible is because of the possibility that there might be survivors bleeding to the death right now and every heartbeat they wasted might bring someone else closer to their last. If there are no other survivors and no reason to believe another attack was pending the issue was a bit less pressing.
"Is House Malassene a Taldan House from this area? And... is she actually a princess? Are there any rumors regarding special circumstances of her birth or does she have any unusual abilities?" Nathara has no idea which lord or lady ruled over this specific area of the land, who the royal family was and to which duchy it belonged. If she is a "princess" that would mean in most feudal societies that she was at least daughter to a duke and duchess, which was very well possible.
She can not exclude blackmail as motive for the attack, but it does not quite feel right. It seems more likely that there was something special about Lady of Malassene herself. The winter witches ruled over Irrisen, they have taken that land centuries ago and then stopped their invasion for reasons unknown. They certainly have the power to drive their invasion further, which was the reason why the Order of the White Rose, based in the Twilight Rose Keep, keeps watch over them. No one really knows what they are up to. But it seems unlikely they had a reason to involve themselves in Taldan noble affairs.
Nathara included the healer in her look, even though she was shy about it. Elves tended to react stronger to elven tieflings than humans because they created a dent in their self-image of immaculateness.
"There is a trail out there which Ashen should be able to follow easily to the point of the attack." A trail of blood, that is, but she does not want to emphasize on that in the presence of the man whose blood it was."But I would like to move there as soon as possible. I am not so sure she was brought to a castle. Fey are connected to the first world and in the depth of forests the borders between this world and the first blur. It is possible that the captive lady is not in this plane of existence any more. The relation of space between this world and the first world is not linear, however. They might be anywhere relative to this world by now. It's a realistic possibility, anyway."
She turns to the wounded warrior again: "The attack occurred on the main road?"
"You served your mistress well. Let us take this matter into our own hands as you recuperate."
Tiferet casts a wide glance over the apothecary's interior, and sees how the unlikely group who had randomly met in the Silver Stoat the night before has spontaneously recreated.
"It looks like our farewells were premature, Inire" she says, addressing the bookish chronicler. "Instead of you going to Irrisen, it seems Irrisen has come to you. Very fortunate, but the questions stands: how? How did they cross thousands of miles in the middle of summer?"
Yuln's description of the attackers rings no bell in the Ulfen's head. But one thing she knows: if arctic temperatures and winter fey are involved, their little ragtag party of volunteers is woefully unprepared. As part of her education and despite her protests, her parents have progressively exposed her to harsher and harsher environmental threats to fortify her temper, just like every Heaven-talker since a time before the Witches came; and it seems plausible that Nathara shares some of her supernatural imperviousness to elemental energies as well. But the others? Except for the girl with the fox, their garments are very much reflective of the actual season and place they're in – just as one would expect.
They need heavier clothes. And fire.
"My thanks, Tessaraea. Say, do you know if there's someone in town with some leftover winter equipment?" She doesn't let her hopes get too high, though. In southern Taldor, it's very rare to go below the freezing point even during the longest nights of the year, after all.
Yuln nods slowly. "Aye. The bandits took no prisoners and showed no mercy and the fey picked off anyone that tried to escape. My lady was the only one spared." He shakes his head at Nathara's next question. "My lady is a landed noble, but she's not that important. Distantly related to a few more powerful nobles in Oppara if I recall, but that's about it. She's beautiful, but not special. No magic powers, no mysterious birth signs, no strange events." He trails off with a shrug.
Tessaraea nods. "The general store generally stocks that sort of thing. I don't know how much he has in stock right now, but he probably has some left over from last winter."
Mouse looks a little uncomfortable when the topic of buying warm clothes comes up. The proper furs for that was a little beyond her means and she'd hoped to make up for it on the way north.
"I think it should be fine." Mouse says as she watches the exchange. "We won't be out for long. We should just hurry after, we may cause problems if we don't hurry." she says as she slips out the door.
"Won't be much of a rescue party if we freeze before we even find her. Come on we can pick some clothes up then head out with the others, We'll need them later anyway." Evelyn heads to the general store to gear up before returning to the gathering rescue party.
"Your friend is wise, Inire. If the Irriseni winter has crawled all the way south to Taldor, you'll need every resource at our disposal to shield you from its bitter bite."
As Eirikr, Inire and Evelyn head to the store, Tiferet addresses the elven lady one last time. "Tessaraea, I could not help but notice your expertise in the alchemical arts runs deep. As we march against the winter fey, I have one favor to ask you. Do you know by any means how to procure some vials of liquid fire?" Her expression suddenly turns contrite, as if she's not enjoying the words that are coming next. "I must confess, though, that I lack the gold to pay for them. Should we succeed in our endeavor, I believe Lady Argentea's generosity will not let this debt go unpaid. Should we fail – I promise we'll use every one you can spare to bring down as many of those bastards as we can."
******************************************************************
Upon leaving the apothecary, Tiferet shakes hands with the wounded Ulfen warrior. "Goodbye, my friend. We'll carry your axe from now on. Pray that we return triumphant, or not return at all."
While waiting for the others to return, she briefly makes her way toward the local temple to discuss with the priest any strange occurences which might have happened around Heldren recently.
Tessaraea hesitates a moment. "I have a fair few in stock yes. They're a bit of a specialty of mine. I... I suppose I could lend a few for your mission, but ingredients are expensive. I can't just go handing them out willy-nilly, so don't expect me to go handing them out for free." She digs into her pockets and draws out three vials full of orange-red liquid. "Just handle them carefully. I'm not responsible for what happens if you get too excited tossing these around."
"Hold a moment," Yuln says as the group prepares to depart. "I can't go with you, but I have something that might do you good." He offers his sheathed sword to Tiferet. "This blade has been my family's for generations, all the way back to the Winter War. It's cold iron, made to slay the foul winter-touched fey. I can't wield it myself now, but if it will slay the sprites in one of your hands, then I'm willing to part with it for the time being. Just promise me that you'll keep it safe and that the fiends will pay for my comrade's life with their own."
The trip to the general store is short and simple. The proprietor, a young woman, does her business briskly and efficiently, digging out warm fur outfits for anyone who wants one and taking their gold with nothing more than a short nod of her head.
Directly across the town square from the Silver Stoat, the Temple of Erastil stands. As Tiferet comes to the front doors, she can see several shrines along the walls with a slightly larger shrine to Erastil at head of the room. A woman is wiping down a shrine with a brilliant sunburst above it while a man with pointed ears is near the alter at the front. "Good morning young lady. I assume you're here about the injured man at the tavern. Zaarida, would you grab my healer's kit dear? Tessaraea will likely need a hand."
Nathara joins Tiferet as se walks to the temple. She remains silent as her thoughts drift. She is biased about the conclusions of the others. It was extremely hard to believe to Nathara that cold weather gear would be of much help to them in southern Taldor. Yet, there was a possible link to the winter witches now and the wheather had been odd. But to influence the weather on such a level...
In the temple she passes by the priest with a polite: "Good morning, father", thankful that Tiferet keeps him occupied. She kneels down to pray in front of the shrine with the blazing sun, undos her armored glove and begins to pray subvocally. She raises slowly after her prayer in a kind of curtsey, but without the usual artistic and even playful attitude.
"Clothes. For when it's cold. I already have the other kind. And a compass, if you have one." says Eirikr to the woman at the general store. He didn't think he was likely to get lost himself--but there were going to be five other people and groups of six had a tendency to wander in woods like these--and they were looking for something specific, not just wandering around the way he used to. A compass would help, no matter how much Ashen insisted that they'd be fine with just his nose.
"Just warm clothes." Mouse agreed with Eirikr, as he started asking for clothing. She waits for the woman to reveal what she has before she begins to work through it.
Mouse is a bit uncomfortable accepting gifts from Evelyn... but she knows everyone else is right. And besides, her idea for making living wages as they head north via tips isn't panning out at all. There's not a chance she'd have made any money in that small tavern last night. As she hears the bill, and Evelyn hands over the money, Mouse slips her journal out of her backpack and makes a few marks inside, before reloading it. "Thanks, Eve." She offers after a bit of work getting everything settled, before paying more attention to the clothing they're purchasing.
She tries to take the most ordinary of the furs, leaving the rest for Evelyn; Mouse preferred very much to be in the background, and given the size of the village, looking for a specific sort of fashion seemed highly unlikely. 'Fey are warded against weapons not forged of cold iron.' lingered in her mind as she carried the furs back to the tavern to get changed, and onwards, as she paid attention to the sword's positioning once more. She sighed softly. She'd have to work with the mantle to get it fitted comfortably later; she could already feel the weight hanging mostly on her shoulders. With a little work, she manages to distribute it a little more evenly, using some of the straps. She's quiet during most of the changing process, but she doesn't seem too shy about doing so in the common room.