Seeing Gunnar's concern as he checks on Arianna and hearing Scramsax's advice, Raseri moves closer.
"Yes, it would seem Old Margreve wished to keep young Arianna," she says with a note of sadness. "Hopefully that is all the forest wishes of us."
She stands up and looks to the villagers, then to the others.
"We should make for Levoca. Do we have someone wise in the ways of the treewalkers or that knows these wooded trails? They should lead."
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"I was a treewalker once. Here, move over, let me give it a crack..."
"Ah yes, there. See that climbing Peruvian Spidervine-er" catching myself almost repeating Burst's mistake of asking a question, I quickly changed course. "Look yonder at that Peruvian Spidervine. Behold, it clings only to one side of each trunk."
Kneeling, I snatched a pinch of soil, giving it a lick "Hmm...calcium acetate. Water runs off of those nearby hillocks through here, in a downward fashion just so."
Glancing up to a few boughs full of midnight-mantled ravens, I gave the universal bird introduction "*Squwak*"
They politely answered *caw caw caw* before flocking off towards the horizon.
Putting it all together, it was quite clear. "That means west is that way, let's go."
Even I wasn't sure if I was lying or telling the truth.
Raseri looks dumbfounded at Scram. Give her a forge and some metal, and she can tell you what she can make and even the quality of the stock if she has enough time. Out here in the woods she isn't quite helpless, but she certainly is at a disadvantage.
"Do you know of this Peruvian Spidervine," she asks Gunnar who she believes is the closest to a sage the group has.
Focusing on the transformation before him, Gunnar mutters, ”I always suspected those of elven descent to be genetically linked to plants in some way, but this is more likely to be ancient magic.”
Gunnar opens himself up to the magic of the forest carefully, focusing on the flowers before him and not the center of the old grove.
Caught off guard by Raseri’s question, Gunnar mumbles, ”I don't listen to half of his babbling half as well as I should like; and I listen less than half of the time half as well as Scramsax deserves—a Peruvian what?”
"Peruvian spidervine. I have never heard of such a thing called Peruvia nor a spidervine," Raseri whispers. "You seem to be the closest thing to a learned skald here, so I thought you might know."
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Ingryd goes over and offers watwr to Arianna and stifles a tear. She will cry later people need her help.
Ignoring Scram she begins ro look about. Mostly for game trails. This would help with movement through the Woods and not distrub it. From there they can make it to the village.
Luthael cautiously approaches the remains of Arianna. After examining the area, he prays to Khors for her soul.
The prophet pulls the dwarf aside and asks, "Gunnar, any chance the new girl had anything to do with Arianna's disappearance? Seems like a coincidence, no?"
The thought immediately vanishes like a sweet roll in a halfing hostile. Gone. Forever lost. Such are the whims of inspiration.
You do your best to try and answer the newcomers question. The only thing you can think of is the deadly white bloomed, carnivorous spider plants of Kush. The vines can grow as thick as a human's leg and as tall as an oliphant. Spawn of the Green Walker that haunts the jungle of the central southlands, the plants are terribly deadly. Poisonous and active hunters, a pod of spider vines can devour an entire expedition in a matter of minutes. In fact, that is what most historians believed happened to Sir Chester Waterbury of Malana and his entire entourage nearly twenty five years ago when he went to find the Lost City of Kanjacomore once known for its streets of silver and a grand ruby statue of Ptah.
As Scramsax points to the west, a clear and obvious trail appears among the trees. Whether it has anything to actually do with the halfling, none can truly decide. Nevertheless, it is there and all along its length the snow is packed and much easier to travel upon.
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”It seems the forest itself has accepted Arianna as one of their own,” observes Gunnar, ”And the fact that such a beautiful and peaceful replica was left behind bodes well for their interaction. However, ancient forests experience time much differently than we do, and I think it unwise to tarry here to await her return. Let us follow the path before us.”
On the matter of the spider vine, Gunnar sees no such thing nearby and assumes it to be another one of Scramsax’s fabrications. As they travel, however, he will describe the Spider Plants he is aware of (see spoiler) if anyone is interested.
While she is unnerved by the sudden abduction of one of their party, she is glad to hear that at least the young elf maiden would be unharmed. She hadn't known Arianna long, but she seemed to be a kind-hearted girl, and Raseri would not sleep easily knowing that something unfortunate happened to her.
Not that she is likely to sleep easy for a while anyway after hearing what Gunnar knows about spider vines.
"I would nearly fight that shade-fouled drake again than face a forest full of those things." Raseri grimaces at the tale of the unfortunate Sir Chester Waterbury. "Reminds me too much of the psoglav-haunted wood of the Courts of the Scathsidhe." She shudders at that memory. She was certain that she would be devoured by the demonic hounds, but somehow she had been spared. Even now, she doesn't know why.
When that path opened up I felt really in tune with nature, felt really peaceful. I was thinkin to myself, thinkin 'No way a chipmunk could ever survive this cold'. Was imagining little ice hyena cubs huddled up in some knotty brambles far away from my sweet halfling flesh. One of Burst's songs in iambic pentameter came to mind, and found its way to my lips:
~In frost-kissed woods where shadows softly fall,
Amidst the snowy cloak that drapes the trees,
I tread upon the earth, a whispered call,
To wander where the winter's secrets tease.
Each step I take, a verse in nature's tale,
Through crystal air and silence pure and deep,
In tranquil peace, the wintry woods unveil,
A beauty that such whispered secrets keep.~
When Scram starts to sing, it isn't long before Raseri is humming and then singing along.
"All woods of similar age are haunted with spirits and fey." Ingryd growled a bit at the last part. She then huffed.
" Well not all fey are bad. However the cold is not good even for trees this old. Let us get these villagers to a safe space and we can try and stop this unnatural cold." Ingryd said looking to Gunnar and the others. She was ready and trusted the wood to honor its bargain.
"Well, alright then." Luthael replies to Gunnar.
While traveling, he reflects on the connection of elves and Margreve wondering about his own elfmarked blood.
Leaving behind the little clearing and the petaled figure slowly blowing away with each passing gust of wind, the large group continues along the winding path. Travel along the path is easier than before. It seems this passage manages to miss the deep drifts of snow, the tangled hollows of thorn and nettle, the sudden bone freezing bogs just beneath a thin layer of ice and snow. Where ever the elf's or the forest's magic took her, it seems Arianna bargained well for her friends.
The day passes without incident. A small ring of soot blackened stones tucked against an outcrop of granite signals a spot well suited to stopping for the night. An icy rimmed spring bubbles from the ground just a few feet away. Tucked within the rocks a stash of dry wood waits for weary travelers, a welcome gift from those who came before.
Another night passes. This time no ghostly armies march through, but in the distance a scream echoes and is quickly cut short. The sound of large beating wings whooshes by. Their owner enveloped in the low, snow filled clouds hanging overhead. The Margreve can be a dangerous place.
Another gray morning dawns with snow falling. The path remains open, but even with the forest's blessing, the winter storm makes travel difficult. Several days have passed since leaving the cursed manor house. Days of exposure to snow, wind, cold, ice start to take their toll upon everyone, even with the brightly colored, thick down coats provided by Scramsax's magical paints.
The first to stumble is old Joshua, the former tanner of the ghoul devoured village. Midday is just passing when a startled shout from the other plodding villagers interrupts the march. Turning to see the trouble all quickly spot the handful of villagers struggling to lift up the shivering, bulk of the older man.
Though far removed in time and space from her home, Raseri shrugs off most of the ill effects of the march through the winter dusted forest. Still, even her hardy soul is beginning to feel the weariness setting in. When Old Joshua falls, she isn't surprised. She shifts her gear about and helps the old man to his feet.
"Come now," she chides him, mustering as much good humor as she can. "A lovely elven maid bought us passage to Levoca. Surely you're not about to make her cry by giving up now?"
It was cold as the Peruvian winds.
Gunnar struggles gamely onward.
Luthael tends to Old Joshua. "Gunnar, could you summon another stone house? We should we rest and recover our strength. The forest is too challenging."
Ingryd comes over and lifts the older man up and lets him use her as a prop.
”Of course,” replies Gunnar. He carefully selects and plans out a location for the stone shelter and casts his spell, shaping the bones of the earth into a secure shelter against the elements.
Raseri blinks and looks up at Ingryd after she takes Old Joshua from her. She doesn't know if the bearkin did it to help speed them along their way or because Raseri is much shorter than most of the people here. Either way, she is grateful for the help. Gunnar, though, appears to be full of surprises. The stone shelter will be a boon to everyone.
"I hope Old Margreve will not take offense," she says after Gunnar's magic completes its work.
After everyone is inside and warming up, the Thorsdottir pulls Ingryd to one corner.
"I beg your forgiveness for being forward, but I must ask, do you hate me?" She looks into the bearkin's eyes, hoping that her earnestness is getting through.
Ingryd looks at the woman. She raises a brow. She looks to Scram and then sighs.
" I dont trust you yet." She says gripping her bear claw ans tooth necklace. She fiddles with it and her other hand reaches for a flask and sighs. Still empty.
" Scram is a friend. I understand him..her. I know our journeys to living just to survive are not the same but Its an understanding" She admits as she pulls her hands away from her gear and then turns to look after the villagers and see if they are okay.
"Ah," Raseri says as Ingryd explains, at least somewhat, what is going on.
"Rightly, I cannot blame you for the lack of trust between us. I could blow and bluster, but that would not change what I did nor why I did it. If you do not trust me fully, then at least trust me in this. I mean you nor Scramsax nor anyone else in your party any harm. As I have said afore now, I wish to help on this quest you have undertaken, partly to atone for what I have done to your friend and partly in the hopes that you will aid me in finding some things that were stolen from me. It was in recovering one of those stolen items, Heiður, that I crossed paths with Scramsax, and the halfling came out the worse for it," Raseri explains.
Seeing Ingryd look into a flask and sigh when she finds it empty, Raseri frowns in concern.
"What is it that you seek at the bottom of a bottle," she asks.
Ingryd huffs and says simply "Numbness"
"Respite" was another as she then gave a hard stare
"I know not your story, but just know This hammer was not taken up for defense, for any note worthy deed. It is a tool of vengence, a punishment to those who wish to force others through MY PAIN" she growled at the end as she tightened her honey haired palm on the haft of her maul.
"Sorry I need to rest" she says as she crosses over to sit and make herself comfortable.
Raseri watches Ingryd as she moves. She wishes she could help the bearkin, but she doesn't know what to say, or if there is even anything that she can say that would help.
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Elder spirits of the mountain had no sympathy for The Green Man and his quest for the sun.
He first encountered the giantess Járnsaxa, cutting through her strange wind farm. Rolling rocks had been enlivened with near sentience, their tumbling momentum turning the jagged metal windmills covering the slopes with icy winds. The stink of scorched and dead livestock tainted the air.
The giantess beset the sapling holder with the Trial of Sacrifice. "...relinquish your most cherished possession," she promised "...and I will allow passage up the mountain, a respite from the winds Thor demands."
The Green Man sat and philosophized to himself for 100 days, seeking a true answer that would satisfy the bargain. The stink did not break his meditation. The mushrooms sprouting from his unmoving limbs did not break his meditation. The crashing stones, wintery breeze, the giantesses own insane ramblings...nothing could shake his focus. He finally took from his satchel his nascent Hearthstone shard, the growing drop of amber that would one day become the first grove on the western hills.
The sticky shard was offered, and taken.
But Járnsaxa had betrayed him, refusing to relent with either passage or winds despite her requested deed being done. The Green Man knew nothing of rage, or vengeance...nor deals, or defaults. Knew nothing of how to react in the face of mental and social disequilibrium.
The Green Man was thus forced to take an even more treacherous path, up a nearly vertical incline on the southern shores. Hand over hand like a climbing spidervine, more and more of the slippery, wet stones were left below...the sapling nestled close to the warmth of his heart.
The stone shelter proves to be a life-saving boon for the old villager and maybe even a few of the others. The ability to get out of the cold wind and actually feel the warmth of a fire and surrounding companions brings the old tanner back from the brink. The extended delay needed for everyone to recover their strength, takes up the rest of the day and well into the night hours.
After securing the villagers health in their new cozy stone structure, Lutheal steps outside for a quick breath of air after night's fall. Gazing through the darkness, he sees the various shapes of the surrounding trees and the clouds swirling overhead as they continue to cover the land in snow.
In the distance, back along their trail, he hears the long, low howl of a wolf. Close, but not so close as to be a threat. He shrugs off any real concern. That is, until another answering howl comes from the opposite direction. From the direction where they are heading. His concern grows deeper when another grim call comes from the east. North, South, and East. Coincidence? Possibly. Possibly not. Fortunately, all are still a mile or two away.
Speaking closely with his companions away from the villagers, the prophet offers, "You hear those wolf howls? They sound over a mile in every direction but west."
Returning to the warmth of the fire after a brief inspection outside, Gunnar responds to Luthael. "Yes, it seems that the wolves are herding us west, or will be soon. Good catch. I have also just discerned that the storm itself is not a natural phenomenon--is following us magically and dumping its wrath on us, and the strain on the nearby ley lines indicate that the power for this sorcery is being pulled from them," he continues.
"I am concerned that we will need to confront this hag before we make it to the village, or perhaps if we get the survivors to shelter, the storm will follow us and afflict the town as well," Gunnar concludes.
The poor fools were still going on about a hag, despite the chorus of ice hyenas all around.
"It would seem that whatever foe we face intends to corral us like sheep for the slaughter." Raseri looks out to the west and grins. She had hoped they could see the villagers to safety before confronting whomever is behind the winter storm, but it would seem that whoever it is has other plans.
"So be it. Let us meet and dance the red dance of battle and show this unseen foe that we are no sheep."
" So wolves. Stringy but not the worst Ive eaten
The pelts would do well to keep those warm that arent made for this weather." She says as she tosses the greatsword to Raseru.
"Dont make me regret that" She says then looks to Scram.
" And dont do anything to doubt you"
"We need options here." She says as she looks intense and seems to be thinking.
Raseri catches Heiður and laughs.
"What is there to think about? They are trying to herd us like sheep to the slaughter. I say we let them think that is what we are then rip their throats out."
Lightning dances in her eyes as she looks at the Bearkin.
"Come now, surely your teeth and claws aren't for show. Surely I am not the only one who hungers for a fight worthy of the skalds."
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"Yeah, I can get on board with that. The old fake out ambush. Now would be a good time to review the S.C.R.A.M. method..."
"S - Stay Stealthy. Keep quiet and avoid making sudden movements which might alert the ice hyenas (or other supposed threats) of my presence."
"C - Choose Cover. Exploit nearby foliage and rocks to use as a barrier between their approach."
"R - Ready Tools. Have defensive implements and deterrents readily accessible, such as sacks of imported peppers or exotic dynamite sticks available."
"A - Assess Area. Remember to scan the surroundings, identifying potential escape routes and advantageous positioning."
"M - Move Mindfully. Be aware the threat is functioning as a pack, pairs of foes might be working together to lead us into ambush."
I for one readied my climber's kit, strapping into the harness and tying off my grappling hook. Ice hyenas don't climb trees.
"Scramsax, you have fought me before. How stealthy was I," Raseri asks as she starts to stretch and warm herself up for the fight to come.
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"Exactly. Here, take this poisoned beef shank and rope it off to your thigh. Let them get a little taste, then I'll strike from my hidden position of safety..."
"It appears that you haven't forgiven me for that either, have you?"
"Eh, don't confuse heated passion for ace tactics. Gunnz sneak attacked me once and I'm not sore about it. And I get it, you've got a connection to those blades you're after...right?" I still wasn't letting on what I knew about it, but I also didn't know how well I was hiding it just then...what with the icicles growing out of my nostrils.
"That stone though...that's...odd. Used to shine brighter, like a sapphire...I think somethin's wrong with it. Have you fought with that blade since...since it held on?"
"I do not seek just the swords, but you are correct. I do have a connection to those things that were stolen from me," Raseri answers. She wonders what else Scramsax knows, but then he asks if she's fought with Heiður since the gem had become embedded into the blade.
"I have not," she answers. "Why?"
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"That gem...or stone now, er, well it has an essence from long ago. From when the first dryads walked through trees. It used to be something hidden from someone I love, a hidden forest...or a memory of one. A love of one. And then it became a gift like...when a thorny bramble bursts red with a rose, that energy when a bud pops in spring.
"It could bring transformation. No, I'm not explaining well..." It was a hard thing to define, psionics. "I found within it my own place, where I stole a power that let me walk in the dreams of others, and cripple the mechanus tumbling within. Within the minds of foes, I mean."
"But it could also bring me further within meself...let me connect with thoughts and dreams that my own blood or intuition couldn't allow. Impossible things that the universe wouldn't allow, some far away place within me beyond Mnemosyne. Now, like me, what does your steel see within the stone, I wonder...what does the steel see as the stone carries it beyond its forged fate, like the gem carried me beyond my born fate. Has the gem lost its grace completely or is the memory of that ancient forest still alive in there, somehow..."
What was left of Illarya in there after I had taken everything, is what I couldn't then find the words to say.
"Its ok. I get it. You don't have even the slightest idea what I'm saying, I'm used to it. Just remember its important to me too, eh?"
"You speak like a goblin who has gotten into some of the Black Prince's Reserve," Raseri says, "but I think I understand. The gem is important to you and carried some ancient power. I hoped you would help me with removing the gem from Heiður. It may give power to the sword, but it is not part of the sword. It also makes it feel ill-balanced, like a Zobecker who's tried mead for the first time."
"...you...you're the one that speaks like a goblin..." I said meekly, unable to think of a better return zing. I remembered why I never used to talk openly about it before...it just wasn't somethin' people could understand.
"I can't tell you how to get it out of the blade, I don't know how it got in there. I mean I'm guessin' it had something to do with the steel passing through my brains...but I didn't know a person's thoughts could come out like that, you know...by slicin' through. I've seen a lot of skulls sliced and never seen a thought stuck upon one that way. Maybe there's somethin' special about yours? You made it right, Heiður? Do anything special during the process? Like, sacrifice 40 virgins on the solstice as the crucible baked or somethin'?"
Raseri gives Scram a bleak look.
"No."
She gathers up her arms and opens the door.
"Enough, we have monsters to slay."
Gunnar climbs up on top of the stone walled shelter, trying to get a good look at their oncoming enemies. Once the howls draw close, he casts See Invisibility and watches carefully.
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The cold air struck wrapped around his body like a lovers arms as he rode silently through the depths of the Margreve. He had slept for too long. To feel the wind, taste snow upon his tongue, hear the wind howl across the plain, all reminded him of what it was to live. To embrace this mortal realm. To feed upon its very soul of existence. That is what send his own blood pumping and caused his own ancient flesh to tingle with anticipation.
He breathes deep of the air. Let's the air flow out in a long sigh of longing and desire. Even under a blanket of snow, he was surrounded by a feast that made his hungry mouth water. Made him salivate over the bountiful harvest of energy circulating through so much life. The slowly beating heart of a slumbering mother bear, a new family growing within. The flow of rich sap through the towering veins of pine, fir, and oak. The scuttle and churn of a thousand, thousand insects working the loamy soils and thick layers of centuries of fallen leaves and needles. So much, so close, yet, forbidden to him.
Forbidden. A term for which he has little experience. It's meaning a foreign concept to one used to simply taking what he wished from the world. But his mistress, her skin still showing the effects of her recent explosive and fiery experience, her pale, supple flesh red, blistered, puckered and peeling away had made it quite clear. He was not to touch the forest with his power. A bargain had been made. A price paid. Fortunately, there were plenty more priestesses filling the temples. Their lustful loins soon to produce even more fodder for the alters. This time, he would not go against his mistresses wishes. He could sense that doing so would lead to disaster. Would lead to his trying to devour the entire mass of the ancient Margreve. A task beyond even his abilities. For he strong and his appetites were quite deep, but he is not one of the mighty Dreadwalkers. Not one of the great gods from the void who nearly devoured all of Midgard.
Yet, to be surrounded by such plenty and unable to feed, well, it made him more eager than ever to reach his quarry. For that quarry was even richer in energy and power. So much gathered into so few, and yet, within all that power a great emptiness. A small void of nothing. A black boil among the juicy feast. A void which his mistress promised held so very much more.
Cracking his whip over the great six legged hound's head, he spurs it forward. A howl erupting from the beast's wide jaw. A call answered by multiple others. It had been too long since they'd all hunted.
Once again the deep resonant calls echo through the shadows and darkness of the thick forest. The wandering homeless of Blandezig huddle and clutch at each other within the confines of the stone hut. Despite the confident words of their heroic patrons, their eyes snap closed, their hearts race, and prayers for deliverance are offered to Khors, Lada, and Perun.
Outside the arcane dwelling, the most recent incarnation of the Narg Nasty Six stand ready. Eager eyes watch into the night, earnest ears strain to be the first to hear a betraying snap of twig by an approached foe. Clouds of chilled breath gather about each as they wait. But it is not sight or sound that warns them of approaching danger. Instead after several long moments it is a smell born upon the wind. The smell of cinnamon, incense, and rose. The scent of fresh blood still dripping from a warm kill. The scent of a night's pleasure fulfilled and spent.
Silence reigns. The only sound is the breathing and shuffle of the six, the soft mutters and worried sobs of those huddled inside the shelter, the gentle hiss of falling snow.
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Once outside, Raseri keeps warm by flowing though a few drills with her greatsword, Heiður. The cold reminds her of a home she never knew, but remembers though the memories passed down through the centuries. The smell of blood and pleasure spent, however, bring back other memories. The fear, the pain, the loneliness, and finally, the dagger plunging into her heart as her twin lay with father of the next pair of daughters. Her time in the Shadow Realm had changed her, and her time since wandering the stranger places of Midgard and the fey realms in search of the weapons and mask stolen from her had only furthered the changes. She is no longer human, though she is still Raseri.
Raseri.
Fury.
Well, it is a fitting name even if she had to question the wisdom of the parents that had chosen it. A fitting name for one who wields the power of storms as much as weapons of iron. A fitting name for one who claimed the title Lady of Storms.
"Láttu þá koma. Ég þrái fjandmann til að horfast í augu við reiði mína." As she speaks, small arcs of lightning crackle up and down her body and her blade.
"Let them come. I yearn for a foe to face my wrath."
Ingryd steps out. As she does she smiles her mual The Burning Buzz gleams in the moonlight as Ingryd lioks out into the woods. Her instincts slipping into a simple stance.
For her she learned much of her fighting in the thick of it. Save the normal Bearkin wrestling all bearkin learn while playing as cubs. So she crotched her hmer head dipping low but not low enough to make her strike soley an uppercut.