When Avonatha begins casting a spell, the soldier closest to Seymon points his weapon at her and yells, "Прекрати то, что ты делаешь!"
The captain raises a hand, palm out, and says calmly, "Perhaps there should be less sudden movements and more explanations, comrade?"
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Jayma notices Avonatha starting to cast Read Aura on the Russians' weapons . Shooting a look at the elf that would have frozen a volcano, she makes a curt cut-it-out signal with her hand. Turning back to Gubkin, she tries desperately to calm the situation before it gets out of hand. "Please don't pay any heed to my young colleague. She is apparently quite curious about your strange weapons and was merely trying to see if they were magical. No harm was intended."
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For the briefest of moments, Itka's eyebrows flash upward rather than down, an unusual look for her. She, too, recognizes the spell as harmless, but knows all too well that benign and malicious spells all look the same to those unversed in them. Her scowl-frown returns, aimed at Avonatha. "Hmp. We know you meant no harm, but they wouldn't." She stops there, realizing suddenly that piling excessive criticism onto her won't help anyone.
With a final "Hmp," she turns back to the soldiers, focusing her attention on what they said about the land of their birth. "Hmp. So you must know a thing or two about what newcomers to this land can expect."
"All is well, friends," Seymon reassures you as he gestures for the soldier to lower his weapon. "Our homeland is harsh, as is this one, and sometimes that makes harsh people. Perhaps you don't know that... or perhaps you do, and this is a trick?" He strokes his moustache thoughtfully. "You don't seem like servants of Chesjilawa, but maybe you will understand if I make sure of that before taking you to the village, comrades?"
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Jayma is in her element and enjoying herself immensely talking to the Captain. She really hadn't expected to run into anyone with even a jot of culture here in Irrisen and had resigned herself to eventually having to deal with a bunch of crazy witches, probably the hard way.
"As you can probably tell, Captain, we are clearly not people of the cold north. Why, I myself was dragged away from my comfortable apartments in Absalom for this mission. And, I can assure you that we are not associated with this Chesjilawa person in any way, especially not as her servants!" The last sentence was spoken in a rather haughty and offended tone. "Given that we've been traipsing through this frigid wilderness for many days now, I can't think of anything I'd like to see more now than your warm and hopefully welcoming village."
Semyon gestures to his troops. "Отойди. Я им верю, пока." He then turns to the Pathfinders. "Come with me back to Zharchovsk for food and a night’s shelter."
Ogthup whispers, "We should accept the offer. It provides a stellar opportunity to learn about Irrisen’s internal situation."
Assuming you accept the offer , the Russians set the pace, and it’s only a few hours’ march through the forest to reach Zharchovsk. Dark green conifers cluster thick around the path, tiny red berries glittering like drops of blood in the murk.
During the trip, he inquires about your backgrounds and purpose in Irrisen. In exchange, he relates an account of how he and his troops come from a faraway and war-torn land where magic is all but nonexistent, and that they’ve decided to make a new home here in Golarion.
In the early afternoon, the party crests a small ridge and sees the town of Zharchovsk sprawled out beneath them. Sharply pitched roofs of planed wood top rows of rough timber houses. An iced-over pond sits in the middle of the town. The settlement bustles with activity. A gaggle of shawled women talk near the hall, children skate on the pond, and workers clear snow from the roofs.
“Behold,” Semyon says, gesturing to the town below with a genuine smile. “Zharchovsk, free town of Irrisen, sworn to her Imperial Majesty, Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanova.”
A moment passes, and Semyon coughs politely. “I do apologize about earlier. Prior to Anastasia’s coronation and our arrival, Zharchovsk was the private preserve of one of Baba Yaga’s daughters, the witch Chesjilawa Jadwiga Karina. We’ve declared independence from the witch, but she has taken this poorly.
“Well, our political problems are no concern of yours,” Semyon says, turning back to his companions. “Would you do us the honor of staying for the night in Zharchovsk? We have very few strangers here, and fewer still that we are not obliged to shoot, so I expect you’ll be a nine days’ wonder. There will be a feast for sure, and warm beds as well.” Ogthup nods her head vigorously in agreement.
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It takes Itka a bit longer to reach the top of the ridge than everyone else; the cold is making her hips ache in protest. She arrives in time to hear the tail end of Semyon's speech. Hmp. Perfect. Too perfect. I have a rotten feeling those political problems will come to a head while we're here. She sincerely hopes trouble doesn't hit these people after the Pathfinders leave. "Hmp. Thank you. We'd be honored."
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Jayma listens to the captain's tales of political intrigue with rapt attention. "I find all this talk of politics quite fascinating, Captain. So, her Imperial Majesty, Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanova, is now the ruler of Irrisen and she also came here from Russia like you? How interesting. I don't doubt for a minute that Chesjilawa has taken the loss of this town badly. I'm surprised she hasn't made a greater effort to recover it."
When the captain invites them to stay the night in Zharchovsk, Jayma beams him one of her patented killer smiles. "That is so very generous of you, captain. A feast and a warm bed for the night will be a welcome change from the rigors of life on the road. I look forward to it with great anticipation."
When Jayma mentions the queen, Seymon seems almost wistful. “She is the daughter of the tsar of our world, may he rest in peace, and the granddaughter of Baba Yaga, may she rest far away from all of us. It is strange to see our young queen on the throne in this land of fairy tales, but we’ve dealt with stranger, and so far she seems to have a good brain in her head.”
He chuckles when the other Pathfinders seem more interested in the food. "You may have free reign of the town, and meet at Boyar's Hall at sunset for dinner."
Ogthup reminds you that your job is to learn about Irrisen and suggests you explore and talk to the locals.
The child giggles and tries to hide in the winter wolf’s enormous, fluffy tail when the Pathfinders approach.
“Hrrrrrmmmmmm,” the wolf breathes out, more a growl than any kind of comforting noise. Two black nostrils flare, taking in the strangers’ scent. “My heart smells foreign blood and foreign deaths walking in Irrisen’s snow.
“Tell me, little ones, were the deaths in your own land so dreary that you came to Grandmother’s Forest to find better ones?” the wolf asks, releasing a huff of breath that might have been a laugh. The child curled within his tail peeks up over the fur with guileless eyes.
“Unless it is an emergency, wait your turn,” the woman commands in a thickly accented voice. She turns back to her patient, packing a few herbs into a small pouch. “Steep this in boiling water and drink it mornings and evenings. It will help your joints.”
After the old woman leaves, the short-haired woman regards her visitors with narrowed eyes.
“You’re new,” she states rather than asks. “I am Sergeant Vera Alexandrovna of the Second Petrograd Women’s Battalion. Who are you?”
“Hello down there!” The old man says, briefly lowering his axe and resting his arms on it as if it were a rather martial cane. “You must be the guests at our feast! Welcome to Zharchovsk.”
“Ded Shurin, at your service! Help an old man out? As the saying goes, save your feast for tomorrow, but do your work for today! I had some helpers, but they ran off. Exhaustion, they say! Pah, youth these days, no stamina!”
If you want to help, you will need to make a series of checks - Athletics to climb onto the roof, Acrobatics to maintain your balance there, and then Athletics again to cut the branches. You are welcome to try creative solutions to any of these problems.
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Itka follows Krakazh, realizing that the buddy system is always best in unfamiliar territory. Once inside the building, she nods appreciatively at the warmth and scent of herbs, settling herself on a stool to wait her turn for the healer's attention.
Once Krakazh introduces herself, Itka stands, hunching over her cane. "Hmp. Itka Biklest. I'm beginning to learn healing. I had hoped it wouldn't be such a necessary skill. But you can't change reality by hoping."
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Jayma, not one to spend a lot of time out in the cold if she can help it, heads back to the center of town. Along the way she passes an enormous, gnarled oak tree, beneath which lies a giant, white-furred wolf. She freezes in place as soon as she notices the creature, but when it is apparent that a young child is playing with it unharmed, she approaches more closely and hears the wolf speak. "Well, that's not something you see every day." She tries to identify the type of wolf she's dealing with.
Twyl pokes his head out of her sleeve for a closer look. Her familiar is about to dive back into the relative safety of her clothing to escape the danger, but Jayma snags him and calms his nerves through their shared telepathic connection. "Not so fast there little one. I need you." She places Twyl in his usual spot on her shoulders where he radiates a feeling of calmness and harmlessness.
Stroking Twyl's head with one hand, she bows in greeting to the wolf. "Good day to you mighty white wolf. My name is Jayma and I too am a foreigner in these lands, though I hope neither to become a foreign death nor to cause any death in turn. My colleagues and I are merely explorers looking to learn about this great land. What might your name be and what tales can you tell me of this place?"
Stroking Twyl's head with one hand, she bows in greeting to the wolf. "Good day to you mighty white wolf. My name is Jayma and I too am a foreigner in these lands, though I hope neither to become a foreign death nor to cause any death in turn. My colleagues and I are merely explorers looking to learn about this great land. What might your name be and what tales can you tell me of this place?"
"In your tongue, my name, reversed, is what you hope to be.
"Once one death is on you, they all follow you until you join them. We can only hope for mercy when all are one."
You sense that the best wa to continue with him is to treat him with extreme courtesy, and that he will want to speak with your allies before revealing too much.
Once Krakazh introduces herself, Itka stands, hunching over her cane. "Hmp. Itka Biklest. I'm beginning to learn healing. I had hoped it wouldn't be such a necessary skill. But you can't change reality by hoping."
"Well," she says, setting down her tools momentarily, "we don't get a lot of visitors here. Not that I lack for work even when it's just the townsfolk. What brings you all the way to my frozen door?"
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Jayma frowns at the wolf's response "Ah, a riddle buried in mystical blather. I don't think I'm going to get much more out of this one." She then turns to the child. "And who do we have here? A very brave girl it seems. What might your name be, little one?"
Deciding that her work here was done, but that the wolf still had more to offer, Jayma calls to one of her more diplomatic Pathfinder friends and indicates that they should approach. She then bows deeply to the wolf. "It has been my pleasure speaking with you oh great white wolf of the North. Perhaps I will return later and we can talk again. I feel that you have much to teach us." As she leaves, she passes the beckoned Pathfinder and pauses a moment to converse. Choosing the most obscure common language they share, she whispers, "Keep buttering him up. I believe he knows more that could be of use to us."
Jayma then continues into town and enters the sturdy stone building that she'd seen Krakazh and Itka go into earlier. After a moment in which her eyes become accustomed to the diminished light, she notices the two other Pathfinders waiting for a formidable-looking doctor to finish treating an old woman. When the doctor finishes and turns to greet her new visitors, Jayma waits her turn and with her usual irresistible charm, introduces herself. "Pleased to make your acquaintance Sergeant Alexandrovna. My name is Jayma, and like my two colleagues here, we are visiting your fine town at the invitation of Captain Gubkin." With Twyl in constant motion on her shoulders, she looks around the infirmary. "You have quite an impressive operation here Sergeant. It is good to see that the residents of Zharchovsk are in such capable hands. If I have need of medical care while in town, I know precisely where to come."
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Hmp. A tough cookie. Fair enough. Realizing that she'd probably handle such an interaction with as much reticence, Itka tries to get her to open up by appealing to her professionalism. Recalling the patient Sergeant Vera Alexandrovna just treated, she dredges through her mind to recall which herbal remedies for aching joints could be found in a perpetual winter climate.
"Hmp. Which remedy do you prefer for achy joints? I've been using ginger and rosehip teas, but they don't seem to do much for my hips. Older than the rest of me, they are, and they hate the cold something fierce. Hmp."
The creature is a winter wolf, an intelligent beast that can breathe out a cone of air so frosty that it harms those it touches. Jayma leaves it behind and joins the others in the medical hut.
Their conversation is interrupted when a large, bearded Kellid man stumbles into the clinic, blood streaming down his face from a gash in his brow, the result of an accident in the nearby carpenter’s shop. Vera springs into action, directing you to assist her.
The Pathfinders outside hear the commotion. It sounds like an emergency!
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Ulrich follows Jayma and looks at the giant wolf being able to swallow him hole.
"In your tongue, my name, reversed, is what you hope to be.
"O hope to e rich, so should I call you Hcir?"
"You did not like my joke? Yeah, I am not good at those, Evila. We came to see what is in those forests as we have never been here. We dance with death, but never settle on their turns."
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Jayma watches as the Kellid man stumbles into the clinic bleeding profusely from his head wound. She takes a step back to avoid getting any blood on herself and is initially at a loss as to what to do to help. She had no medical training and she was hardly built to hold down a man of that size. She decides to consult with her ancestors to see if they can help her.
Focusing her concentration, she chants in a somewhat deeper voice than normal, "I call on my ancestors to aid me with their knowledge of Medicine." After a small pause, she adds "Maturin? Is that you? Perfect. I can't think of a better choice of ancestor for this job. So help me out a little here. How do I go about stopping this man's bleeding?"
After a pause as she communes silently with her ancestor, she says, "Really? That's all there is to it? This better work Maturin or I'll come find you in the afterlife, wherever you might be." Quickly grabbing the required medical implements from the tables around her, she gets to work on the man's bleeding gash.
Although Itka seems confused by all these bottles labeled паслен and окопник and тысячелистник, Dreadfang keeps the patient still long enough for Ulrich, Jayma and Krakazh to do their work. Vera seems convinced about both your competence and your good nature. Once the patient is well enough to be sent away, she beckons you to follow her out back.
In the workshop behind the clinic amid a bewildering variety of tools, chemicals, and half-disassembled rifles, the Pathfinders find a bespectacled man loading fine black powder into crude metal cartridges. Vera introduces him as Osip Abramovich, her husband, before taking him aside for a brief conversation.
"Эти люди говорят, что они из Общества следопытов."
"Действительно? Я не знал, что они когда-либо заходили так далеко."
"Я тоже. Но раз они здесь, ты должен передать им свои записи."
"Вы действительно думаете, что они могут помочь распространить знания и славу о Матери-России?"
"Вы должны спросить их, чтобы узнать, манекен."
Osip then turns back to you and asks you to deliver a package to the Pathfinder Society.
It does not seem like he is trying to burn down the Grand Lodge.
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Once they finally manage to stop the Kellid man from bleeding to death, Jayma's medical knowledge slowly fades away as she ties off the last stitch. "That was fun. I don't get to do that very often."
Looking down at herself, she notices that her hands are covered in blood and the front of her outfit is similarly splattered. "Ugh. I see now why I don't do this for a living." She cleans herself up with a wave of the hand and a "deterge".
“We hope to achieve the betterment of all the laboring peoples of this world,” Osip says, moving to a small chest in the back of the workroom and withdrawing a large sheaf of birch bark papers. “You understand we come from another world? It is a different one, with horrors of its own, but in certain ways a far more advanced one. These papers are all of the scientific and technological notes that we can remember from our world, particularly chemistry and medicine.”
“They don’t even know what sterilization is here,” Vera snarls the word, rubbing her forehead with one hand. “Take these notes to someone with authority. They do no one any good here in Irrisen.”
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Itka nods her thanks at the package, choosing to examine it for magic later, when only the Pathfinders are present. "We will of course deliver this to our superiors."
Hmp. More advanced, with its own horrors? ... "Hmp. It...must have been a tough adjustment when you first arrived." Her eyes soften somewhat, though her habitual scowl remains.
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“They don’t even know what sterilization is here,” Vera snarls the word, rubbing her forehead with one hand. “Take these notes to someone with authority. They do no one any good here in Irrisen.”
"Sterilization? Soon you will start speaking of some small invisible thingies that are dangerous to us. We have magicians, wizards, sorcerers, and witches for that. You should stand in the line of enlightened folks."
He looks at the package with interest "But I will gladly take a look"
There are indeed mentions of something called "germs" causing disease, and heating knives before use to kill them. While you think you could make some use of this information, you do not have the time to make a proper study of them now.
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Once Jayma's cleaned herself up, she exits the clinic, crosses the bridge and pauses to take in the frozen pond. It is beautiful and quiet at this hour . After soaking in all the beauty, she continues into town and passes by the homes of citizens who seem friendly and happy to talk to her but know of little beyond the affairs of their daily lives . She then passes by the large hall that is being prepared for the feast, but those working there are too busy to say more than a few words to her .
Finally, she reaches a stout building against which a large pine tree has collapsed . A fat old man with nary a hair on his head, hacks at the branches ineffectively. When he calls down in greeting, Jayma replies. "Hello up there! Yes. I'm one of the captain's guests. My name is Jayma." She examines the situation and realizes that she will be of little direct help to the man in removing the tree. "I'm terribly sorry, but I'm not strong enough to help you with the tree. I do know a few spells that might blast it to smithereens, blow it away, or incinerate it, but I suspect that your poor home would likely meet the same fate, not to mention much of the surrounding forest. I'll go see if my friend can come by to offer you a hand." She then goes off in search of Dreadfang, who seems to be the only one of the Pathfinders with any chance of climbing this tree to cut the branches.
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Krakazh wanders down to the wolf's area, though she is rather taken aback by the size of the creature, being a goblin of very little size. "Greetings to you. I am known as Krakazh and would be delighted to, er, delight your ears with a selection of music from this area. If that wouldn't come amiss, that is."
She is obviously a little off her game.
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”You mean it’s already slain? I don’t get to kill it?”, Dreadfang asks Jayma. He sighs. ”Fine!”
He follows her to where the old man is working. ”Coming up!”, he cries. With his tiny wings flapping, he springs onto the side of the building, climbing the rest of the way.
”She said you need help butchering this tree”, he says to Ded. ”Stay back!”
His claws rip at the trunk like a buzzsaw.
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Itka tags along after Krakazh again, mentally grumbling about the cold's effect on her aching hips. Approaching the giant wolf, she bows her head respectfully.
“Tell me, little ones, were the deaths in your own land so dreary that you came to Grandmother’s Forest to find better ones?”
Hmp. Nidal. "Hmp. Yes." Itka pauses. "Hmp. Though honestly, I left that behind long enough ago that I ought to consider my home elsewhere. Old nightmares linger in the mind. Hmp."
Although Krakazh thinks there is better instrument than a Vuvuzela to soothe the savage beast, she still manages to garner some interest. Buryan also recalls having enjoyed his brief interaction with Ulrich.
Dreadfang has no problem getting up onto the roof, though is having trouble actually cutting through the thick timber.