Nadya's eyes narrow. "How did... yes. I do have a daughter. What's it to you?"
"In the Border Woods, back in Taldor, there was--a ghost, who looked like you, and said your name--she said her mother's name was Nadya and that she was in Irrisen and--she's in a better place now," says Eirikr, watching her past the fire. "I'm sorry. Both my parents died and--and sometimes, it's better just to know."
Nadya's jaw goes slack and she backs away a step. "No..." she whispers, her hands trembling. "No. I can't be. I was... I can't be too late..."
"It wasn't just a ghost. It was some sort of witch doll. It was a day or two away from the portal... so I don't think you were 'late'." she says, then realizes that likely that wouldn't do anything for the woman. "Eirikr made sure she was given a burial." she adds, looking quietly at the ground rather than the woman.
"She was trapped inside the doll... enslaved by a witch somewhere."
"I was the one who delivered the construct the last blow. And I was the one who destroyed the gem holding her soul prisoner" says Tiferet trying to keep her voice as steady as she can – and doing a very poor job of it. She falls to her knees right in front of the grieving Ulfen woman, bowing her head down, leaving her neck exposed. "You won't be denied your weregild. I am your thrall – ask and I shall see it done. A life for a life."
Her silvery hair falls down on her face, concealing her expression and muffling her words. "For what little comfort it could bring you" she whispers, "her spirit asked us to tell you she's in a better place now, right before... right before she disappeared."
Inire watches Tiferet with obvious confusion. She doesn't expect the woman to 'take her payment', but she's ready to move to defend the woman, regardless.
"She was already dead. It's the same thing as with the skeletons and zombies. But worse, because rather than using her body, she enslaved her soul." she explains, more terse than she'd normally be.
Nadya's entire body shudders and she hugs herself, taking a deep breath. The party can see tears forming in the corners of her eyes and a choked sob escaped her lips. "My poor Thora," she murmurs. "Gods... why?" She takes a deep breath, trying to stop herself from breaking down on the spot. "It's not you who took my daughter from me. It was the witch. Once the witch decided to take her, she was lost." Her fists clench and she drops onto a log by the fire, her eyes looking hollow and distant.
Nathara opens her mouth... and closes it again. She just doesn't know what to say to this. She looks down at her hands, the claws with which she fought the doll. How many souls do the witches have in their lockers, given willingly as the fey or unwillingly as the robbed children?
Finally she steps a little closer. "We cannot save your daughter. We can't even prevent the witch from doing it ever again, because we don't know how to get to her. But I send the witch a promise that she shall burn. And so she shall. I... I know that doesn't help... but we must stop them from doing this."
Nathara feels even more helpless than before she spoke up now. To promise to stop a creature is easy, but is much harder and it requires at least a plan. "Do you know the witch's name?" She reaches out with her hand a little but doesn't quite dare to touch her.
"Lady Nazhena," Nadya whispers. "Thora angered her when she was performing an inspection of the village. I was hoping to earn enough favor to get her back by offering her my cargo as a gift..."
"Then... we need to lure her out of her tower and end her. And that very soon, for she might do it again..."
Nathara still feels terribly awkward. This woman just learned that she lost a child and all Nathara has to offer is instant violence.
"I don't know if that's possible," Nadya says. "I would... I will help in anyway that I can, but luring her out isn't likely to happen. She's been holed up working on something for weeks. The only way to get at her would be to invade the Pale Tower itself."
"Could... how about we hide in a cart... and you go there saying you want to pay your tribute to buy your daughter free as you intended to... do you think you'd be able to act like you did not know?"
Now Nathara does carefully touch her arm, trying to give her comfort.
"I... that might work. The guards would want to check the cart before I brought it in, but maybe... We would have to get back to town and arrange for them to come pick it up first." She doesn't respond to the touch, looking down at the ground, her hair falling over her eyes.
At Morgraine's instruction, Kettu moves silently amongst the caravan, staying hidden as much as he can. The intelligent little fox tries to learn what he can as he observes the men and women from the outskirts as they go about their tasks and listens in on snippets of their conversations.
Morgraine herself was tight lipped as she helped setup the camp, and grew even more so the more her companions divulged. She did not interfere, however, for the die had already been cast.
"We can of course discuss this later," Morgraine hints. The woman Nadya was obviously deeply affected by the dire news, as any mother would be. Such a state of such anger and sorrow, if not numb shock, was hardly the time to be carefully weighing options for infiltrating a well appointed witch's fortress. "For what little it is worth Nadya, I am sorry for your loss." She finishes after a moment, feeling awkward and inadequate to the situation. She knew the words meant little, were just that, words - but said them anyway.
"Your daughter brought us together, I know we can't offer anything that would but you at ease but Nathara is right if you can help us prevent others from suffering the same fate your daughters death will not have been in vain."
Nathara nods. Maybe it's for the best to leave her in peace for now, and only make sure that someone she trusts is there for her to lean on. She lets go of Nadya and takes a step back.
Tiferet makes no move, speaks no word as the the events around her unfold. She's still kneeling in the snow when Morgraine and Eve offer their condolences – her grief but a pale echo of the mourning mother's, yet very real nonetheless.
Rationally, she knows Inire's reasoning is flawless; indeed, it very closely resembles her own rationale, when such a thing used to have meaning to her, at least. Her soul was just the catalyst fuelling the construct, nothing more. We didn't destroy her, only her prison. Yet those word's truth does not give them the substance she wishes they had. Only the rage she felt after the battle against the battle did, and here, naked in front of the Ulfen woman's sorrow, that rage has all but evaporated. She has heard tales of warriors who were forced to deliver a merciful death to their friends and companions, once their pain had become too great, and the chance of saving their lives too thin. She wonders if those warriors of old had felt like she does now after the deed; for delivering an innocent soul to the afterlife is a terrible, heart-wrenching thing, no matter how dire the circumstance, or how implored the act.
Still, Nadya seems to give us no blame she thinks; and that silences at least one of the two voices accusing her in her head. The other one still calls for what she has already offered out loud: to become an instrument of a mother's vengeance. A life for a life. If not me, then the Witch. She tries to once again turn her pain into anger, to summon back that rage that overtook her at the cabin. Finally, it answers her call. She stands up. The Witch dies.
Soon. But not now. There is a time and place for everything, and now, as evening falls upon a dark valley lost in the middle of eternal winter, it is the time for grieving.
Kettu doesn't pick up much of interest. The hunters mostly seem to be talking about getting home or hoping that the blizzard passes quickly. A few talk about mundane things, like their families or their homes.
Nadya doesn't seem terribly comforted after everything that's happened, but at least she doesn't seem like she might burst into tears at a moment's notice. Finally, she stands up. "Let's get some food on the fire," she says, trying to put on a strong face. Two of the other hunters move to unpack some supplies from one of the sleds and get dinner cooking.
The storms rolls in closer and the valley is all that protects the party as the winds picks up. As Nadya is turning a side of salted beef on the fire, one of the other hunters calls out. "There's someone out there!"
Eirikr gets up from his place at the fire, looking in the direction of the hunter who called out. The snow is fierce--but Eirikr's eyes and ears are sharp, and he has Ashen at his side.
Morgraine stands only moments behind Eirikr and peers out into the snow.
Inire, as usual in times like these, darts off into nearby cover... And then begins to make her way around toward whatever has spooked the locals.
Though it's beginning to get dark, both from the incoming storm and the late hour, the party is able to see the approaching figure fairly easily. She's rather tall, easily walking across the snow as if it wasn't there at all. A blue and silver cloak swirls around her as she walks through the winter wind. But her appearance stands out the most. Her skin is pale blue, with long dark hair and "Hello!" she calls out as she get closer to the camp. "Please, I mean no harm! I am merely a traveler trying to avoid the storm. Might you have some room around your campfire?"
As soon as the call came Nathara had pulled her hood and mask over again and went out with the others. She holds her longsword firm in her hand and only lowers it a little as the call comes.
The looks of the creature confuse Nathara. She is inclined to believe that it's another fey, trying to trick them, but she can't be sure. And as a tiefling Nathara knows what it's like to be shunned for what people think they know about you when they merely see you. "Does anyone know what she is?" she whispers.
Loudly she calls: "Be greeted traveller. That is not for me to decide, but, please, come closer and tell us your name. I am..." well maybe she shouldn't be using her real name. "Nathara." Too late.
In elven she whispers the invocation of detect magic and places two additional orbs of light left and right.
"I hope you'll forgive my inquisitiveness, but from your appearance I'd say your kind is adapt to what would be deadly cold to us, why do you seek the warmth of..." She interrupted herself.
The sudden commotion foreshadowing the stranger's arrival seems to wake Tiferet from her torpor. Her eyes scan the darkness, trying to discern what kind of strange creature this blue-skinned, hoofed person might be.
A creature tainted by darkness she instinctively thinks as her blood tingles. A quick glance at Nathara is enough for her to immediately banish the thought, though.
"A Forlarren, if my memory does not betray me. Half fey, half fiend. The traits of both, yet accepted by neither, usually" she whispers into the tiefling's ear as she moves to greet the unexpected guest. This isn't their campfire to welcome people to, but then again, neither is Nadya in the condition to take such duty upon herself. It appears it will be up to them to do the honours.
Eirikr recognizes her the moment she steps towards the camp--his father, strangely enough, had told her of such creatures wondering the icy north. He glances to the rest of the travelers--it's too late to tell them what she is--a forlarren, a creature of two worlds. She obviously has the touch of winter about her--he wonders how much of her desire to find refuge is a ruse. Still, she is a creature of two worlds--he can't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for her--and even if she is a spy, they still might be able to get information out of her.
But--they don't exactly look like locals, as Nadya had pointed out, and they hadn't had time to change outfits . A thought occurs to him--with Rohkar's cloak, he's impervious to the cold, regardless of what's he's wearing. Before approaching the forlarenn, he quietly slips off his shoes and the furs he had made in Ustalav, and then he approaches the fey woman.
"Of course, my lady," he says with a smile, making sure to show as many teeth as possible as he does. "I am Eirikr--this is the retinue of the Lady Morgraine, of House Tashanna. We were escorting these merchants when the storm hit, and they needed to make camp. What brings you to the domain of the Lady Nazhena?"
The traveler looks at Eirikr, then over at Morgraine. "It's is a pleasure to meet you my lady. It is rare to meet one of your house so far out in the wilderness. I am Mierul Ardelian, a simple traveling troubadour journeying wherever my feet might take me."
Upon that notion a shiver that has nothing to do with the cold. Kindred in a way. But half-fiend and tiefling is not the same; half-fiends are... Nathara takes off her hood and mask to let the other one see that she's a tiefling.
Tiferet says nothing as Nathara and Eirikr move to greet the unexpected guest. Instead, she simply sits honing her axe, a grim look on her face as she keeps herself close to the Varisian merchant and her half-elf companion she is supposedly well paid to protect.
Nathara detects a hit of protective magic around the forlarren, but not much. Simply a constant, low aura of abjuration.
"A troubadour? Perhaps you could trouble us with a song? The lady is quite fond of music--makes us all learn a little. I am merely a knight in her service and still she insisted that I learn the flute--she says song is the only thing that can warm an icy heart, after all," continues Eirikr, the lies pouring out with very little effort on his part. He'd once nearly convinced a noble's son back in Ustalav that his horse was haunted--a fond memory, even if he had failed. Hopefully he'd do better this time. To punctuate the story, he takes his flute off of the string around his neck and brings it to his lips--but he hesitates. The flute had been damaged in the fire and--it had been so long since he had played it--his fingers struggled to remember their places, his breath was too strong and too weak for the song to properly play.
"Alas, I am a much better soldier than I am a musician," says Eirikr--the disappointment in his smile at his performance is quite real.
"The pleasure is mine, I'm sure Mierul." Morgraine says smoothly, though inwardly wishing she had thought to have her companions use a different first name. "Come and warm yourself at our fire. No one should be out alone in this weather."
Still wrapped in her furs, Tiferet starts banging on her drums and accompanying Eirikr's flute with a melancholic, sorrowful song.
The mention of what the creature was brought tales to Inire's mind, she hadn't read many, but one had appeared prominently in a single chapter of a book. "The Forlarren in Frozen Mourning had difficulty with its impulses, but the hero was able to keep it from doing anything rash by staying near and being patient. They're probably more afraid of themselves than we are of them." she whispers to those connected by Tiferet. "Half-Nymph. So, she may simply be seeking the warmth of conversation and story, rather than of fire. she adds, from her position of relative safety.
"Thank you kindly my lady," the bard says, bowing her head. She steps into the light and takes a seat on a log not too far and not too close to the fire. She chuckles slightly at Eirikr's attempt to play the flute. "Only a little it seems," she jokes. "But I believe I can provide a song to pass the time." She clears her throat and pauses for a moment before she begins to sing.
"When winter comes
When life is frozen
When the moors they hide away under the snow
Fingers of doom
Will clutch the chosen
All beasts will shiver, from the lion to the crow
When winter comes
When times are starkest
When the wailing of the wolves fades with the sun
The wilds are numb
The days are darkest
The fates of many cease to rest on
Walls will not hold the winter
Over and under crawl
Walls will not hold the winter
All in the way will fall
When winter comes
When thrones are idol
When the brave they cower under eyes of blue
The rising roar
The endless cycle
Turns the darkest myths of yesterday to truth
Walls will not hold the winter
Over and under crawl
Walls will not hold the winter
All in the way will fall
Walls will not hold the winter
Over and under crawl
Walls will not hold the winter
All in the way will fall"
As the forlarren's song wanes, Tiferet picks up the melody and starts weaving it into another of her own, softly banging on her drums as she first hums, and then outright sings the lyrics of a tune similar to Mierul's own.
Brave the snow
Through the pillars of the pale
Rest your feet
Come and listen to the tales
Raise your mug
To the legends of the frost
Through our songs
They will never be lost
Once and always
A part of history
Long remembered
Warriors be
Distant thunder
Echoes of the past
Through our voices
Forever to last
So raise your mug to the legends of the frost
Through our songs they will never be lost.
"Welcome to our campfire. The Lady Morgraine is always keen on extending her hospitality to those capable of amusing her musical ear. My clients and I have similarly benefited of her generosity" she says, pointing at Eve and Inire.
Nathara puts her sword away and claps, but the woman's song makes her feel colder than she already is and thus she doesn't dance. Nathara slowly comes to the conclusion that deception and masquerade is a pretty annoying business.
"Yes, let's get back into cover."
So they had to lie all the way through the night? That would become seriously painful. Especially considering how outstandingly charming Mierul is.
Inire returns quietly, having listened to the songs, the first stanza being eerily reminiscent of their own recent history... though that was perhaps the intent.
Evelyn is much more wary of the newcomer than the others, she knew traveling meant inviting more people into her life but lately she had a bit more strangers around than she was comfortable with, for now she would just watch and listen but readied to attack if need be.
The caravaneers and Nadya all clap at Mierul's song and break out into cheers as Tiferet sings her own song. The forlarren grins and adds her own clapping to Tiferet's song. "Ha! It seems that some of you took to learning music better than others."
"Quite a song. Be careful, or Lady Morgraine might want to hire you," says Eirikr with a laugh. "Are you headed to the village as well?"
"I may indeed." Morgraine says with a small smirk before turning her attention to hear Mierul's answer.
Mierul chuckles. "I'm not quite sure where I'm headed," she says. "But I'm quite happy to at least travel as far as... the nearest town would be Waldsby, wouldn't it? I fear I must move on after that though. I do have some small obligations to fulfill on my travels."
"Yes, it is. I must confess I find myself jealous Mierul. It must be wonderful to have the freedom to come and go as whim and fancy take you... the odd 'obligation' here and there aside, of course."
Who is she working for, I wonder? And to what end?
"A few indeed my lady," she says, inclining her head to Morgraine. "But I am allowed the luxury of my travels regardless."
Nathara was torn by the Mierul's appearance. There was was myriad of questions she'd like to ask, particularly regarding her fiendish side, have a few words in Infernal or Abyssal with her, depending on her origin, but she could hardly ask them without giving away too much. Also, Mierul might take offence in them.
The notion of obligations made Nathara twitch.
Nathara keeps her armour on for now, but put off everything she did not absolutely need for now, so that she would be able to dance, should there be more music.