”If only it were that easy. No Inire, Eirikr has the right of it. We are what we are, no matter how hard we pretend. The question is, do we know what is real, or have we deluded even ourselves with our pretense?” She glances at the book as it disappears into Mouse’s pack and wondered briefly just how many 'strange' secrets had made it onto those pages, then shrugs tiredly. A faint hint of a wistful smile at the corners of her mouth. ”I am ready.” She gestures for Inire to proceed her out the door.
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Nathara watches the scene. Trust is a strange thing. And humans are strange indeed. Morgraine is a woman who fought by Nathara's side, who opposed the white witch behind all this. A single one expression, even one as frightening as "winter witch" won't change that. It is true that Nathara is curious about Morgraine's magic, but she would never be that indiscreet. Hardly any elf would. But then again, having grown up over the course of one hundred years rather than twenty probably gives one a different perspective.
Tá mná rúin dá cuid agus dá cuid ina n-aonar - A woman's secrets are hers and hers alone.
She takes a few careful steps closer to Morgraine, trying to meet her eyes and show her that she means no harm. She puts her hand on smaller woman's shoulder (if Morgraine lets her), careful to not cut her with her claws, and tries a smile. Sometimes words are not good enough, especially when words are the problem. Morgraine is more than a label one might put on her.
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"No." she says, softly, shaking her head. "I don't think you understand. I don't think Eirikr does, either. You are, in this moment, whatever you choose to be. I'm not a scribe sitting in a library, because I chose not to be. And you're a hero, because you've risked everything for one person, and now one village. I don't know why you're doing what you are, but White Witch or no... you're not one of them. At any given moment, we can choose to be a monster. But... if we keep pretending, eventually we become what we aspire to be through that act." she finishes, chewing on her lip, and staring into an empty space somewhere near the floor of the hut.
She slowly looks up, but still doesn't meet Morgraine's eyes. "What you were, you use for good, now. Just as what Eirikr is, he uses for good. And what Tiferet is, and Nathara, and Eve. Even Vosi. Anything we can pretend to be, we can aspire to, we can become. Some things are just a little bit harder." she says, one side of her mouth tugged upwards, though were it not for her eyes and cheeks, it could have been a grimace rather than a small smile. She finally slips out the door, quietly pulling her furs in close around her.
Tiferet sits alone in the maze, lost in the effort to quench her growing fury – and in her thoughts.
She remembers the conversation she had with Nathara – what was that? A week ago? – about their blood, and their heritage. Then, she said that their blood is what they are, but necessarily what they want to be; a promise, a pull, but not a destiny. And yet, never before she has felt her own blood boiling as it is now, screaming for justice, for vengeance. She closes her eyes, and visions of a long-forgotten hellish battlefield start swirling in front of her.
She's a Deva – an ancestor? – one among millions, but a single soldier in a glorious host swooping down on a legion of demons. She feels the elation as her sword falls upon her enemy, the jubilation as she marches forward, a song on her lips and death in her eyes – her wage for carrying out the mission the Higher Planes have created her for, a joy that doesn't fade even when a spear impales her, her own sisters dying by the thousands all around her. Instead, a glorious crescendo, her conscience filled with nothing but a righteous bliss just as her last fleeting moments approach. Then, nothing. Her eyes open. She gasps. It is over.
Is that my fate, too? What I was born for?
She has no answer. Her frustration only adds to her wrath. She rises and punches the icy wall as hard as she can, the sudden pain erupting in her knuckles bringing her at least a modicum of comfort as it washes away her thoughts.
I am Tiferet, daughter of Odin, and I am the Mistress of my fate she repeats like a mantra as she makes her way back to the hut. And if that fate entails slaughtering whoever did this, all the better.
She arrives just as Inire exits the cabin. "Found anything in there?" she asks. "Any Witches?" she adds jokingly.
Inire paused at the doorway, stepping to the side, in case Tiferet wanted to investigate on her own.
"Impossible to tell." Clever Mouse responds, her small smirk staying precisely where it is, as she shakes her head. "I don't think so, though."
Her eyes then fall upon Tiferet's hand, and she winces visibly. "Your hand." she states, tone surprised as her own fist falls into her open palm, gently caressing the knuckles thereof.
Tiferet doesn't really know what to make of Enigmatic Mouse's cryptic answer, but eventually, she decides whatever hides behind it must be nothing alarming. "I'll trust your judgement on the matter, then." Wise Mouse has never given her reason to do otherwise, after all.
"Oh, you mean this?" she says, noticing the slight swelling in her left hand. "It's nothing, really. Just a small reminder I'm human, I guess."
Evelyn watches Morgraine and Eirikr's conversation with interest but doesn't chime in any of her opinions, after they finish and she finishes her search she'll head back outside.
"Place is empty, looks like it was just part of the trap."
"Good" Tiferet says. "We're ready to move on then."
Once the others seemed ready, Inire nods, and takes one last look at the icy walls. She huffs a thin mist of white, and then turns to lead the way.
As the party leaves the now completely abandoned shack behind, they make their way deeper into the woods. The snow still continues unabated, beginning to make it outright hard to move. As they head down toward the valley where the Winter Portal should be located, Inire and Eirikr spot what look like the tracks of a large beast in the snow, still fresh enough to be visible in the snow.
Eirikr kneels down next to the tracks, trying to guess what might've left them--and where it was going.
"Food?" Mouse asks of Eirikr, quietly, as he investigates the tracks. It was a strange question, given that she'd once again been picky about the rabbit - despite that she had helped to catch the final one. Maybe she'd be more willing to eat part of a larger beast. Something of which she couldn't imagine the parts she was eating. Something less cute, at the very least.
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As delicate as Tifret's question was given, as delighted was Nathara she see her and she welcomed her with a smile. The warrior maiden of a tribe with an angel's blessing did spread an air of confidence which was hard to resist.
"Right." she answers, swings her sword and goes to leave with the others. "The thing about empty rooms is that you end up finding yourself in them." She holds Tiferet's eyes for a moment longer and angles her head slightly, but then breaks eye contact without saying anything further. Nathara would really like to talk to Tiferet about this tension in their little band of advnturers, but this does not seem like the time or place.
Outside she goes straight to Lily, makes sure the equipment is well distributed on her back and gives her a bit of sugar. When (and if) she sees Vosi nearby while she's busy with Lily she asks him in his own language, the language of the first world: "I think you mentioned it before, but could you tell me again what the name of the white witch behind all this is?"
As they finally walk back out through the narrow passageway in the ice she muses. Sometimes it almost appears like she was talking to herself, but then she suddenly looks straight at the one or the other of her comrades: "It's strange. For all our enemy's power and cruelty, her actions so for seemed quite random. Part of the reason why we managed our foes so far relatively easily is because we - particularly Evelyn, of course - managed to exploit the already existing dissent between them. And if this hut was supposed to be a trap, it obviously didn't work. The doll alone was not sufficient to put us into trouble, but the doll and the fey together would have been. Given the hunter's journal it does not appear like it was specifically set for us, though. It almost appears like all of this, this hutt, Vrixx completely meaningless death, abducting Lady of Malassene and murdering her escort, the means by which she keeps her own subjects in line, a cruelty fair with no visible purpose - which does not necessarily mean that there is no purpose.
I am not sure whether she was even aware of us until we met the doll; she certainly is now, but it is uncertain what she makes of it. Those walls of ice around us, the way the doll projected, the portal to Irrisen we're looking for, those all point to a foe with a formidable control over magic way beyond our reach. And yet... we have been amazingly successful so far. With every little victory I am getting more faithful that we will be victorious in the end. It feels like being in a gigantic board game of powers we hardly understand, but our enemy has not been playing against us, nor is there any superior force using us as piece. We were simply unaccounted for, dancing between the pieces."
She looks around between her comrades. "I am curious what you make of all this."
Nathara draws her sword as they find the tracks and pays attention to see whether Lily, Ashen or Kettu pick up a scent. While she realizes it might be anything, even food as Inire suggests, she has to think of the part of the hunter's tale which has not become reality so far.
Nathara's welcome manages to bring out the faintest of smiles as red and silvery eyes briefly lock. "That's what makes them pleasant, from time to time" she says. "Then again, it all boils down to how much you like what you've found."
I wonder if the beast who left those tracks is thinking the same thing about us Tiferet muses as she discreetly draws her axe.
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"Not random, no.". Little Mouse responded, shaking her head. "Each has used the greatest motivator of all: Fear. Of all that I know of Irrisen, I know that fear is the most common tool. Every conflict has used fear as a central theme in the story. Ransoming a noble to tie the hands of the people. Leaving behind a scene of such death and carnage that few would press on. Large, strange beasts and whispers of foreign unknown magics from the fey. The breaking of the ice. Rohkar's mastery over death. Izoze and the threat of an icy death. The unwritten threat within the little girl's continued existence. The promise that even should we endeavor to press forward, our ends will be assured by a creature that all of her army fears. And at each step, all who followed her do so because of that fear.". Inire says, quietly.
"But fear is double-edged. While it isolated us from the others that would otherwise aid us, our foes have been isolated and crippled by that same fear. The only reason they work together is their shared fear... But that is also what cripples them. None trust the others, because fear does not encourage trust. Each waits for the other shoe to drop, for the inevitability of her terrible wrath being visited upon them." Bookish Mouse adds, eyes lingering on Vosi. "From all that everyone we have met, and each of you have said... I think that fear is that tool which this woman leans most upon. A tool that cripples her society, paralyzing them within her icy grasp just as well as the frozen lands that they call home. So she uses her most potent weapon, fear, without the knowledge that here, in this place where we have some measure of agency - control over our destinies, fear causes motion, not collapse."
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"What makes a man accept his lot in life? Hope, of raising himself above his station one day, and fear, of losing everything he has were he to abandon his duty" Tiferet muses in response to Inire's observations, waxing somewhat philosophical. "Still, if one wishes to rule only through the latter, he needs to display exceptional power and cunning – and the Witches are known for having both in abundance. The ease with which we've been penetrating through their defences troubles me too."
"And yet" she goes on, raising her gaze upwards as though a new-found hope pervades her, "they say we're living in the Age of Lost Omens, when Prophecy fails and the Fates are erratic and inscrutable. Those who have been deciphering the tapestry of Destiny claim that it appears worn out, increasingly frayed around the edges. Might it be that we're slipping through one of its cracks, an unforeseen variable even the mighty failed to account for? That an icy kraken has spread its tentacles far and wide, only for the least and furthest of them to meet an obstinate resistance which now threatens to cleave a fissure spreading all the way back to its frozen core?"
"Something is shifting in the ways of the world. And in the end, Inire has the right of it. A society ruled by fear is frozen and immutable – but change comes, sooner or later; and when it does, it's like a flood that feeds on all the resentment and mistrust that's been piling up for centuries. By trying to extend their icy grasps into the outside world, the Witches might have very well inadvertently invited it in."
Nathara listens to Inire's and Tiferet's comments. "Possible, and yet, I cannot help but feel that there is a whole lot more at work than we realize. 1400 years ago Irrisen was taken wy the witches and turned into an icy nightmareland. Henceforth it separated itself from the world. It appears like the concepts of mundane power does not interest the witches very much. Irrisen might be a part of a larger plan, evolving on incediblylong time scales. I would be very much interested to dinf out whether their operation here is a separate case or whether there are similar things happening all across avistan as well."
Eirikr takes a moment to examine the tracks, though they initially confuse him. They seem far to large considering the shape of the paw prints, but then he remembers the hunter's journal. It seems that the giant weasel he mentioned is very real and still around. It crossed the trail at some point in the last hour, heading into the forest a bit to the west.
"Weasel. But, a realyl big one. What the hunter was looking for. They're not native to the area. Must've come through the portal. If we run into it, be careful--they're rather vicious. It's headed west--which way is the portal?" says Eirikr as he gets back up from the snow.
"Weasels aren't usually good eating," says Eirikr to Inire. "But usually they're small. A big one might be. If we run across it on the way to the portal, we should kill it. Doesn't belong here. But we should keep moving otherwise."
The portal should be just a little bit to the southeast.
Tiferet only nods at Eirikr's suggested course of action. "Agreed. Our mission is the Portal, everything else is a distraction."
"We should be very careful if we set up camp in the forest, though. If it's as big as you say, it might see us as prey, and it might pick up Lily's scent."
"If an encounter is inevitable, animals – even giant ones – tend to have weaker wills compared to those of fully sapient beings. Attacking its mind might prove a better – and safer – tactic than simply trying to match its fury blow for blow" she cautions.
All the while, she can't help but feel Ashen and Kettu's offended look upon herself, real or imagined that it might be.
"Sounds like damage control." Evelyn said referring to the giant weasel. "Seconded, if it finds us then it saves us the time of tracking and if not we can deal with it when we get done."
Nathara lets her mind wander, thinking of what she knows about Irrisen itself. The nation is perhaps one of the strangest in the history of Golarion. Centuries ago, Baba Yaga arrived on Golarion completely unexpected. She allied with frost giants and armies of fey to conquer two of the Linnorm Kingdoms, reshaping them into Irrisen. She left her daughter in charge and departed again. Ever since, Baba Yaga reappears every one hundred years to place a new daughter in charge of Irrisen and takes the previous queen away. The bloodlines of the Jadwiga hold absolute power in Irrisen, with the bloodline of the current queen being in charge and other houses discreetly fighting among themselves for position and power. The local Ulfen population is little more than serfs and slaves and anyone outsiders are distrusted and carefully watched.
"Her mind tricks don't last forever, you know, and you can't lie to an animal the way you can to a person. People are easy to lie to--they're all liars, one way or the other, so they expect it. But animals aren't like that. Once the magic wears off, what will you do to it?" says Eirikr, looking back at Tiferet. Back in the Shudderwood, he had seen how even a little bit of magic, twisting nature in the wrong direction, could cascade out of control--one tree dies, and then another, and then another--a spark is lit, a forest fire starts--he pushes the thought out of his mind. There were other things to talk about now.
"A beast like that doesn't belong here. It's fine now, probably, because of the snow--it's got thick fur. But we close the portal--the snow melts, sun comes out, it gets hot again. Me, I'll just take off my furs. And maybe give Ashen a trim. But the weasel, it can't just go to the barber and ask for a hair cut, can it? Has to wait for its fur to shed, and when it doesn't shed it fast enough it'll get hotter and hotter, boiling from the inside. Maybe it finds a stream and drinks till its stomach bursts, or maybe whatever predators live in these woods find it and kill it but probably it just lays down until the sun kills it," he continues, giving Ashen a good scratch behind the ears as he speaks.
"But maybe it sheds its fur. Maybe it does just fine, and that's not good either, because it doesn't belong here. Up in Irrisen the things it hunts know how to avoid it, more or less--at least, enough of them do that it can't kill too many of them. But none of them do down here, and they're already confused from the snow. And if it's not the only one to get through the portal--well, then things get much, much worse." Eirikr considers that the people back in Heldren probably wouldn't want a giant weasel running around either, especially one that killed one of their own, but that seems less important to him, so he doesn't mention it out loud.
"You find it, you're welcome to try to--whatever it is you're talking about. Maybe you can walk it back to the portal. I find it though--well, Ashen and I are going to find out if big weasels taste better than little ones."
"In any case--we're close to the portal, and it's headed the other direction. We should keep moving."
"Then we are of the same mind" Tiferet replies softly. "Once the magic has worn off, I'd have a new pelt, and you and Ashen a juicy meal. But as you said, we should keep our eyes on the goal, now that it's finally in sight."
Nathara listens to the discussion without making a comment. "We better stick close together. I shall cover the rear... maybe Tiferet best goes first. With your heavy armour it is best when you give the pace. Would anyone else lead Lily, please?"
"I can lead her if you wish." Morgraine says and taking the leather lead from Nathara. She had been thankful for the elf's simple gesture of acceptance earlier and offers the other woman a faint smile.
Morgraine had remained silent since leaving the hut, and kept her opinions thus far to herself.
"Gladly – if that goes down well with Inire and Eirikr. Their scouting services have been invaluable – but with a grander danger approaching, I'll eagerly be your shield if they so wish."
Truth be told, her eagerness conceals more than that. Ever since the hut, her blood has been itching for combat, for vengeance, for glory – for the front-lines.
"If the other fey would use tricks or traps..." Inire begins, before looking to Vosi, "I think that the portal would be just as often guarded by the same. If I'm not a little in front, I should at least be near to the front."
The group continues through the woods, moving slowly through the snow. The snowfall just seems to get worse and worse and it's beginning to change from snowfall to snow storm as you make your way down into the valley in the heart of the woods. Just ahead, you see the woods beginning to open up and despite the heavy snow there's a faint light coming from beyond the trees.
Eirikr quietly shifts into his more feral form as he tries to get sight of the source of the light ahead of them.
As soon as her eyes are able to discern the faint light shimmering through the howling storm, Tiferet suddenly freezes in her tracks.
This must be it then. The heart of this unseasonably winter.
She makes no movement, speaks no word as the boy who is also a wolf taps into his bestial side, heightening his senses. The hunt begins.
Inire goes wherever the conversation eventually places her (I believe that is in the space she normally occupies), and moves not-nearly-as-silently as she can.
Eirikr and Inire are forced to creep forward a bit to get a better look at the clearing ahead. The snow becomes so deep that even walking becomes a difficult endeavor as he sinks nearly to his knees in snow , and he has to shield his eyes against the howling gale of wind and snow erupting from beyond the treeline . The trees are all frozen over, with slanted sheets of ice laying along their branches. Yet even with his vision clouded, he couldn't possibly miss what lies ahead. The clearing itself hosts four igloos built atop the heavy layer of snow and a single half frozen tree that seems barely able to hold itself up, but it is what's beyond that draws his eye. A bank of quill-like icicles spread outward in a ring, seemingly growing from a sheet of ice on the ground. A second taller ring of monolithic icicles stand straight up inside the first ring, surround a swirling vortex of ice and snow in a perfect circle. The vortex is easily ten feet across and the gale and snow blow out of it constantly, feeding the winter weather.
Nathara closes up to the front, her bow ready, as everyone stops. The tension within her has got bigger and bigger as they approached the target. There is a fear in her, but not so much the fear of what they are about to face or the personal consequences for her, but the fear that she might fail as an adventurer and prove herself worthy despite the demonic imprint due the circumstances of her birth. That there is actually is something she can focus on is a relief.
Her steps through the snow are not as graceful as she would like them to be as both an elf and a dancer and her armoured boots sink just like everyone else, but she does get along sufficiently well.
As she stands by Eirikr's the ash skinned elf, whose already white hair is now covered with a coat of snow, tries to follow his gaze.
She follows Inire and the wolf in their circle of ladies of the sword with lowered head, primarily focusing on keeping in her arrows' range Inire in range in order to give her cover.
"This is it, no doubt," whispers Eirikr to Nathara and Inire as he tries to scan the camp--the snow makes it nearly impossible. "There must be guards nearby--probably in the igloos--Nathara, can you see the portal?"
Nathara whispers back under her breath. "Rather guess than see..." It's definitely too far away to make an estimate of its magical properties, but right now she is mostly concerned about Inire. In a sufficiently close position she hides in the rugged terrain.
Slowly, carefully, Tiferet crawls her way right behind Nathara, her eyes fixed on the snowy maelstrom in front of her.
"It's quiet" she whispers. "Too quiet. Where's the troll? Where's this Hommelstaub Vosi spoke of? Where's Fawfein, for that matter?"