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Dennis is happy as the bear lumbers away, no longer controlled. "Hooray! We saved Teddy!!!"
Then he walks over to Zhamie looking a little confused. "But why were you hurting Teddy? Argoni and Oskar said it was the necklace." Turning back to the fleeing bear, he muses aloud, "I hope he's okay..."
While the group is examining the trinket, Dennis retrieves his healer's tools and tends to his wounds.
Healed enough, the lad packs away his tools and runs up to Ogthup. "That was fun! Where do we get to go next?"
"Still a few days' travel," Ogthup answers.
The following day, the Pathfinders descend from the mountain pass, and by nightfall they enter the forests of Irrisen proper. Dark conifers loom ominously around them, and nightingales sing above their heads. The next morning, trouble arrives just as Ogthup is finishing making a meal of snared rabbit and gritty porridge.
One moment, the forest is silent under its shroud of white. The next moment, humanoid figures rise and brush snow off their clothes. Two ruddy-faced individuals in heavy coats and fur-lined boots stand, breath steaming. Each one carries a full quiver and a strung bow, but more curiously, also what looks like a piece of piping with a spearpoint socketed above it and a wooden handle at the other end. A man steps forward and addresses the travelers. He wears a strange cloth uniform with red lapels and a tall sheepskin hat.
“Good morning, comrades! I see you are enjoying a bit of an unauthorized picnic, yes?” The mustachioed man smiles, but the expression doesn’t quite reach his sharp eyes. “A lovely stroll in the woods, looking for mushrooms, perhaps?”
He makes a small gesture, and the other man levels his curious weapon at Ogthup. The speaker continues, his words oddly accented in a manner that doesn’t match any of the languages of the Inner Sea region.
“You most certainly are not another group of the witch’s enforcers,” the man sa6ys, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “So, no murder is planned, no killing of livestock, no arson, nothing of that sort. Just mushroom picking, right, comrades?”
Resorting directly to violence would probably be a bad idea.
Estes silently looks around if there is something unusual. The angel finds none too.
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When Argoni checks in on Dennis after the bear encounter, the boy winces. "It still hurts a little." . He gladly accepts healing from Argoni or Zhamie later that evening.
Dennis' tummy is rumbling and is looking forward to breakfast when the visitors approach. He stands up to greet them, "Hi Mister. I'm Dennis. You talk kinda funny. I like it." When they mention murder and arson, Dennis proudly says, "Oh no Mister. We just saved a bear! But he ran away." He looks around.
Dennis points into the woods, and peppers the poor men with questions. "Are those your friends? Are they hiding? Did you all come here for breakfast?" He looks at the small batch of porridge and frowns, "There might not be enough. It's OK. You can have mine." Not sly enough to understand the mushroom-picking comments, he apologizes, "I don't think we have any mushrooms." He quickly adds, "But we can help you look for some."
The man who spoke waves a hand at the other, who lowers his weapon.
He seems a little taken aback by Dennis's questions. "Yes. They play hide-and-sneak. You saved a bear? Yes, our guns were very nice once."
He shakes a head, then raises an eyebrow at BakBat, looking between him and Ogthup. “I’m hurt you don’t recognize me. I thought Chesjilawa and I were friends now. I am Yesaul—you might say Captain—Semyon Gavrilovich Gubkin of the Don Host, formerly of His Majesty Nicholas II’s Imperial Russian Army, currently retired.” The man performs a mocking bow. “At your service. What is it you need, then, if it not mushrooms and you do not work for the witch?"
The man also seems open to questions.
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Oskar tries to recall anything he might know about this "Majesty Nicolas II" or this so-called "Imperial Russian Army".
As Oskar attempts to show the soldiers that they should be friends and allies, from nowhere background music swells up to accompany him as he begins to narrate/sing/rap their noble intentions as explorers and (new) friends. By the time his aria is finished the Captain can (hopefully!) envision himself with a starring role in Oskar's forthcoming hit opera!
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When the captain mentions hide-and-seek, Dennis exclaims, "I like hide-and-seek too!" He continues, barely pausing to breathe, "And yes, we saved Teddy. He's my new friend. We wrestled. A necklace made him mean. We destroyed it. So he's nice again." He smiles and then sighs, "But then he had to leave." Dennis thinks he's a great story-teller. Like Oskar.
As the talk comes to witches, Dennis chimes in, "I know some witches who are Pathfinders. They're nice. Is your witch mean?"
"Bear?" Semyon tries not to look impressed. "You are referring, I think, to the one we call Mishka.
"You’re quite certain you don’t know the witch?” He asks, arching a brow. “I shall humor you. The winter witch Chesjilawa Jadwiga Karina,
formerly ruler of this region. We are having a political disagreement with her at the moment.” He adjusts his weapon.
Oskar has never heard of any such nation or monarch. Semyon seems to notice. “It is, comrades, an exceptionally long story. Suffice to say this land is not the home of our birth, and we have come a long way. From that army, I am retired, but now we guard the town... yes, a patrol. We have few visitors, and fewer still who do not seek to harm us."
Semyon sighs. "Why don't you back to Zharchovsk with us for food and a night’s shelter. Though... it is quite a walk from here. Perhaps you would like to finish your breakfast first."
Ogthup nods vigorously and encourages the Pahtfinders to accept the offer, as it provides a stellar opportunity to learn about Irrisen’s internal situation.
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Dennis responds, "Mishka? Gee, thanks Mister. Teddy, I mean, Mishka, didn't tell me his name." He adds helpfully, "Also, I don't speak 'bear'."
When the captain says the witch's name, Dennis struggles, "Chesja ... Chesi-jaja-lala ...?" He shrugs and says cheerily, "I'll just call her Chessie!" He thinks and says, "Why is she mean to you?"
At the captain's offer to return to their city, Dennis says, "I like food. And shelter." He adds, "And don't worry about the long walk. I have these new snowshoes!" He runs around and skates in circles playfully to demonstrate.
Semyon smirks. "Yes, we come from quite far away as well."
With the Russians setting the pace, 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, Semyon inquires about the Pathfinders' backgrounds and purpose in Irrisen. In exchange, he relates an account of how he and his troops ended up in Golarion, but Semyon frames the story in terms that a Golarion local can understand, explaining that they 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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On the walk over, Dennis lets the grownups explain how the Pathfinders are on a mapping expedition. Arriving in town, Dennis wanders over where the children are skating on the ice. He's excited to try it with his snowshoes. He runs up to the edge. "Can I play?"
When he returns to the group, out-of-breath, he pants, "That was fun. I like it here. And I like feasts. Can we stay for the night? Can we? Please."
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"Wait, did the town all come with you? Or was that here before you arrived? And did you come with the new Queen?" Argoni scrunches his nose as he tries to think about this odd situation.
"So the town was the domain of the witch, but there's a new queen now. Wouldn't the witch have to pay fealty to her? Doesn't that solve the problem?"
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Oskar has been feverishly scribbling notes throughout and doing his darnedest to put it all too music. From time to time he tries a little melody on his flute and he appears to be looking for something suitable to convey the eerie strangeness of these polite and gracious hosts being from another planet!
When the discussion turns to the witch Chesjilawa he does his best to recall anything he can about her.
"No no, there are not that many of us Russians here. Zharchovsk has about 400 people, mostly Kellid. They have accepted us and we are integrated now. Forgive me, I have never known goblins who did not work for Chesjiwala--everyone on our world was human, we did not have this... diversity you have here. But I understand that people are also diverse among their own ancestry. I have also only ever known one winter wolf who did not work for the witches, but that one is Buryan and he is a protector of the village.
"Anastasia 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.
"In any case, we will make arrangements for you, but you have free reign until the feast tonight. Remember to meet back at Boyar's Hall this evening."
Ogthup nods eagerly. "Our job is to learn about Irrisen, so let's explore and talk to the locals!"
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Oskar is excited to follow Ogthup's lead and get out and explore the village. Since there doesn't appear to be any need for stealth, he envelops the group in musical accompaniment as they walk about, creating an even more festive and exciting atmosphere.
"Might as well head over to The Wolf's Oak first. Sounds like a pub. Perhaps we can get a frosty mug of something there. If these Rushyans even know how to drink..."
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Dennis looks unsure as Oskar mentions heading to the pub first. Then he grins, "If they let me in, I'll order a beer. A root beer!" He giggles. His humor is no better than his recounting of stories.
The lad runs off to leads the way to the Wolf's Oak. He takes several steps before realizing he has no idea where he's going. That rarely dissuades him. While walking, he calls back to the captain, "Um ... Mister? Which way is it?" When the captain points the opposite direction, Dennis quickly runs ahead to lead the way. Again.
Oskar has never heard of Chesjilawa specifically, but he knows that the winter witches specialize in magic related to ice and snow. Certainly that means cold, but it also means mirrors and obscuring vision. If the encounter foes that are resilient against the cold, they can shape their ice spells into jagged mirror shards to slice at them instead--though this does take extra concentration, so preparing to deal with cold can still slow them down.
Semyon points the way to the wolf's oak.
The Pathfinders head in that direction to find a pub--but before even reaching the rest of the village they come to a massive oak under which rests a wolf. Apparently the description was literal.
It is an enormous, gnarled oak tree, beneath which lies a giant, white-furred wolf, easily the size of a cart horse. As they approach, the Pathfinders notice that there is a small child playing with the wolf’s tail, so heavily swaddled in coats and furs that it’s impossible to tell the child’s age, gender, or for that matter species.
They aren't normally very nice, but Semyon did mention that one lives in the village.
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.
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"Goodness, a winter wolf! A real one! And working as a bartender, no less! Well I will certainly have to revise my script to incorporate these details - the narrative is getting more and more riveting, if I do say so, and I do!"
Turning to the wolf, Oskar realizes that it may not be the proprietor of the village pub after all, that this may not even be a pub at all! He looks around for a frosty mug or two and then shakes his head in disappointment before answering the wolf's question.
"Death? Aye many deaths we've seen, both foreign and domestic. Were they dreary? No, quite the contrary, everyone of them was romantic or courageous or tawdry or heartrending, each in its own way, as only great drama can show. Here, let me explain..." He hums a few bars to catch the tune and then launches into an impromptu song about death, with particular attention to all the deaths of villains that pathfinders have caused. The musical accompaniment surrounding him swells to meet the occasion and it isn't long before Oskar is belting out a jaunty death tune!
Reaching the end of the performance, Oskar makes a small but sincere bow, offers the wolf his calling card, and explains, "Oskar's the name. It may be a bit before the show reaches theatres in these parts but I would be so honored if you would attend the opening in Absalom - it's sure to be a smash and you will be equally smashing on the red carpet if you don't mind me saying!" He bows again. "What did you say your name was? I'll be sure to leave tickets at the box office for you."
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Dennis has never seen a winter wolf, and takes Oskar's word for it.
Instead of addressing the large wolf, Dennis feels more comfortable talking to a fellow youngster. "Hi! I'm Dennis. Is the wolf your friend? I met a bear in the woods. We had fun wrestling. He's my friend now." Turning to the wolf, he adds, "But Teddy, I mean, Mishka, didn't talk like you, Mister Wolf." He continues to the child, "I liked skating on your pond. Maybe we can play on the ice later. Do you like living here?"
"Hi Mennis! I'm Marta. This is Buryan. He's floofy!"
It's hard to tell how old Marta is under her many layers, but the answer does seem to fall somewhere around "too young for diplomatic efforts."
Still, Buryan seems pleased that Dennis tried it (though he tries to hide that fact, poorly).
"No, Mishka cannot speak. He is just an animal, though a puppet. Buryan is something far more dangerous, beast as smart as any man or woman, never tame, great and terrible monster. How foolish it would be to trust him around--oh careful, Marta!"
The child stumbles over his tail, and Buryan quickly rights her with his paws. She scritches him behind the ears as best she can with her thick mittens and hugs him around the neck, burying her face in his fur and uttering some muffled syllables that may be "I wuv you."
"Ah. Hm. Yes. Well," the wolf is a little sheepish, "Perhaps, retired monster and... most popular and trusted babysitter in town. Yes, living here is... peaceful. The other villagers let me ply the big bad wolf, and then ignore my threats and ask me to watch their children. It is nice to be trusted. It is nice to be asked instead of ordered. Being a monster makes for a more exciting story, but this is better.
“You want a tale of deadly villains, little one? Oh, I have a story. Now there is a tale fit for a chronicle,” The great wolf says, settling in to tell the tale properly.
“Once upon a time, there was a great-granddaughter of Baba Yaga Bony Leg, with ice in her heart and frost on her brow. She was not a good woman, but I think she was not as bad as she could be either. And who can say more for any of us? She ruled this particular land with trolls and goblins and wolves.
“Then came strangers from afar, servants of a younger daughter of Baba Yaga, her blood stronger and her heart not yet frozen. And there came men with weapons like magic and yet different, and Baba Yaga’s great-granddaughter lost her town and lost her servant, who prefers the warmth of the oven to the chill of the frost.
”Now she wanders the dark and seeks to reclaim what’s lost. Her fat tribute, certainly; furs and fish and casks of vodka, but more than that, her lost pride and lost certainty.”
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Young Dennis likes storytime. He's not keen on the details, yet tries to summarize anyway, "So the Baby Gaga witch got put on timeout for being mean? And she wants to come home. Probably to be mean again." He takes notes using his colored wax pencils in his coloring notebook.
He turns to Marta, "It was fun meeting you. Maybe we can play on the ice later." He continues, "But we have important Pathfinder business first."
Addressing the group, Dennis raises his hand excitedly, "Can we check out the Workshop next? Maybe there's fun stuff to play with there. Can we? Please. Can we?" Unless there are objections, he hurries off to lead the way. As before, he has no idea where he's going. But he makes up for it in enthusiasm!
"Yes, I mean myself. I was her servant, but I'm lost to her now. Being a villager suits me more, but if you'd like to know more about her...
"Didn't we already offer you food and lodging?"
The Pathfinders make their way towards the workshop next.
This sturdy stone building boasts two chimneys and is warmer inside than most other structures in the village. When the Pathfinders step inside, they encounter a formidable woman in her early thirties with close-cropped brown hair and a long scar running along the side of her face, providing medical attention to an ancient Kellid grandmother.
“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?”
"This is the clinic. I am the medic, yes. My husband has a workshop out back." Vera raises an eyebrow at Oskar's music. "Yes, Buryan took some getting used to--is he so strange to you, though? Mapping--did someone send you to do that?"
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Dennis is not super thrilled about this being just a clinic. But when he here's a workshop in the back, he perks up. "That sounds more fun." He starts to hurry out.
But when the medic asks about the mapping, Dennis stops and responds, "The Pathfinder Society sent us, Miss. We're on an important mission to chart the area." As proof, he eagerly retrieves his notebook. "Wanna see my maps?" They're colorful drawings of bears and wolves in the woods. And an ice pond. Alas, the lad's attention to detail is not his strong suit.
"The Pathfinder Society? I think I've heard of them. You're with the Pathfinder Society?" Vera looks at Dennis's notes a little dubiously, but it seems Oskar made a good enough impression on her to win her over. She seems particularly interested in the Society, and interrogates the Pathfinders with ruthless efficiency. She's not rude, just... intense, and clearly very interested.
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 the Pathfinders to assist her.
