The sun was well on its way toward setting when Aithwen finally returned to her home. Her breaths were ragged and she held her left arm tight to her torso as she passed the line of her protective illusion. To her surprise, and unexpected delight, Rhyldan was lounging under one of the flowering apple trees with not only Flurry and Frost snuggled asleep at his side but Myst and Isot were nearby as well.
'Mistress, are you well?' Greil padded softly to Aithwen's side, concern clear in his blue eyes.
Aithwen winced as she made her way across the glade toward her small orchard. "I'll be alright, Greil. Pretty sure I've pulled a muscle is all. Took more than expected to clear up the mess, obviously."
'Your wound?' Greil pressed.
"No, just a muscle strain, I'm sure. Don't worry about me. Anyway, it's good to see Isot out in the sun. A little surprised, but pleased." Aithwen smiled at the sleeping wolves.
'Yes, it is good for her to be out.' Greil left the druid's side and padded over to his mate, his stride decidedly miffed at how his mistress dismissed his concern. She never did enjoy any hinting at her old injury.
Rhyldan looked up from the book he was slowly perusing as the large wolf's shadow covered the diffuse but warm light of the sun. Crimson eyes darted back the way the wolf had traveled.
"Ah, you're back, pet." Rhyldan scooted his body up to lean more securely against the trunk of the apple tree that had been supporting his head as he lounged. "Everything go alright out there? You were gone longer than I'd thought you'd be."
"Yeah, sorry about that. Things took longer than expected. What're you reading?" Aithwen did her best to hide a wince as she stopped a few strides away from her lounging guest.
Rhyldan turned the book to read the cover. "Cover says 'Tales of Far Travels'. Not as entertaining as I had hoped it'd be. Downright deceiving title. All the wanker did was visit the countries nearest Calimshan. Far travels my arse."
Aithwen smiled at the look of disgusted disappointment he was giving the plain-leather bound book. "Yes, well, they do say not to judge a book by its cover."
"Shite advice there, luv. Title's the only part tells you if the book'll be worth the time to read, innit?" Rhyldan scowled.
"That's true!" Aithwen's hearty chuckle turned into a hiss as the action caused the muscles of her back to pinch and pull taut.
Rhyldan was on his feet in front of her before she even registered the movement. "You alright, luv?"
Aithwen schooled her face into a calmer expression. "Pulled a muscle this morning is all. Nothing to worry about. How was your morning? I see you made a few new friends." She stepped away from the apple tree she had been leaning against to walk toward Isot who had lifted her head and was watching them closely.
"Could say that, I guess." Rhyldan shrugged and followed the druid. "Feelin' a little anxious just sitting around indoors, especially with all the shenanigans the little vixens were tryna get up to, so we came out here. Figured they couldn't break much out here and it looked like a good place for a kip. After perching near that lovely big apple tree of yours the wolf cubs came out to take a gander, ran about for quite a while, your pregnant girl there followed not long after. She settled down quite some time before the little one did. Wolves are pretty quiet and pleasing reading companions compared to the foxes."
"Not hard to imagine. Those two are a handful. Always have been. I'm a bit surprised that Isot came outside, though. She hasn't been much for moving about lately." Aithwen carefully lowered herself to sit cross legged on the soft ground near the female winter wolf. "How are you feeling today, Isot? Has the pup calmed?" She reached out and stroked a hand along the blue-gray tipped fur of the wolf's back.
'Stronger today, mylady. The pup has quieted since you made your tincture for me. Thank you for that. I had missed the smell of the wind.' Isot's voice was soft and quiet like spring rain. Behind the pair Rhyldan sucked in a breath at the sound.
Aithwen ignored his reaction. "I'm happy to hear it, Isot." Her hand came to rest on the wolf's side as her head turned to face the stunned elf standing just behind and to her right. "Let me officially introduce you: Rhyldan, this beautiful lady is Isot. Over there is Greil, her mate and my partner. They are expecting a pup come winter."
"Um, congrats, and ah… good to meet you." Rhyldan sounded unsure, tension or something like it evident in his posture.
Aithwen smirked at his discomfort. "What's wrong, Rhyldan? Never met a winter wolf before?"
"Uh… sorry to disappoint, pet, but ah, no. Not really the kinda creature that would come strollin' down the lane next to alley cats and guttersnipes… didn't even know they could talk…" His last phrase was spoken so softly it would be out of a normal being's hearing range.
Both large wolves huffed, clearly amused as Aithwen laughed and leaned to rest against Isot's flank.
"That's true enough, I suppose. Southerners would likely run screaming to the nearest temple thinking denizens of Cania had come attacking if a pair of Winter Wolves came striding into town." Aithwen gazed fondly at the pair as she spoke.
'The little ones would not even have a chance to mistake us for such lowly filth before their blood would be in our jaws.' Greil snapped his powerful jaw to accent his point.
Aithwen tisked and flung a small rock at the beast. "Greil… Behave yourself. No scaring our guest. Although I do agree that being mistaken for something like a mere fiend is an insult."
"Mere fiend?! Insult?! Gods… is there anything in this world you think is dangerous?" Rhyldan asked, exasperated.
Aithwen carded her fingers lazily through Isot's fur and grinned up at the male elf. "Are you sure you want me to answer that?" A chuckled passed her lips as Rhyldan rolled his eyes. "Don't worry, there are things out there that I do find terrifying. Most of those things are humanoid, however. 'Civilized' is what they call themselves." She shook her head. "More damage is done to the world by those 'civilized' beings than is created by fiends and monsters alike." Another barely hidden wince passed over her face as a hot twinge of pain ricocheted up her side.
Rhyldan crouched down, his eyes traveling slowly over Aithwen. "Sure you okay, pet? You seem to be in a bit more pain than from just a pulled muscle."
"I'm fine." Aithwen insisted.
'He is right, mylady. You do seem to be in pain.' Isot said softly. 'Perhaps you ought to take some time to tend to yourself for a change? Her large head turned to look the lounging druid in the eye. 'You care for all of us so deeply you often forget yourself. We are safe within your spell. No ill-intent nor childish whims can touch us here. Or are your words wrong?' She bumped Aithwen's shoulder with her snout, a smile playing at her muzzle.
Aithwen rolled her eyes and shifted to stand, pain shooting through her at the movement, sharper than before. "Fine. I'll tend to myself. For you, Isot." She placed a kiss on the she-wolf's snout and slowly stood.
"Need any help, luv?" Rhyldan's gaze traveled over her suggestively as he smirked and swaggered closer. "I am quite good with my hands." He winked, drawing a chuckle from the druidess.
"I'll keep that in mind." She shook her head. "But I am a big druid and can manage just fine on my own." She patted his shoulder and moved away toward the door of her home. "If you want to be helpful, keep Isot company and think of something you'd like to eat, aside from apples." She waved and did her best to move smoothly across the ground, the slightest limp betraying the amount of discomfort she was truly in.
"Stubborn woman." Rhyldan muttered, his eyes following her as she moved away.
'You have no idea, elf.' Greil spoke over Rhyldan's shoulder, the elf starting violently at the suddenness and closeness of the male wolf's voice.
"Shit… Don't sneak up on a bloke like that! Sodding hells…" Rhyldan spun to face the wolf, his head tilting back to meet the sapphire blue eyes that stared down at him.
'Are your instincts so dull you cannot sense what approaches you? How sad for you, little one.' Greil's voice rumbled with a growl-like chuckle as he walked back over to his mate.
"Dull instincts my arse. See how sharp your instincts are after running for your sodding life for days on end…" Rhyldan muttered, taping the book he held against his shoulder. Turning away from the massive wolves, who he was quite certain were smirking and giving him dirty looks, he walked over to the end of the line of fruit trees and sat at the base of a flowering plum.
He could hardly believe that merely a stone's throw ahead of him was the most powerful and dangerous illusion he had ever heard of, let alone experienced. He had spent the day thinking about the odd woman who trapped him in a snare and then invited him into her home with barely any question or worry. Druids were beyond secretive about their ways, nearly as territorial and unpredictable as the beasts they love and protect, so the sheer amount of magical power she possessed was fairly easy to accept. The calming presence within her glade, and the strange way plants in all stages of growth existed within it, were also easy to accept on the common knowledge that all druids had a relationship with the natural world that was beyond the understanding of any non-druid.
Like most beings whose life was shaped by living within the walls of civilization, he had a preconceived notion that druids were little more than dirt covered, nature-obsessed conjurers who found conversations with animals and trees more engaging than speaking with their own species. He knew of course they could be dangerous, but most were simple people who tended to all living things.
Aithwen did not seem like that at all. She dressed incredibly well for one, no bird nests or shit stains on her attire, and her home was not a hovel. She used her magic freely, like it didn't matter a whit who saw what she did. She was snarky at times, there was an impishness behind her eyes and a sense of humor he was certain he would enjoy. And she was smart, incredibly so. The mere contents of her library proved that beyond any doubt.
Books from all over Faerun lined the hexagonal cavern from just below his knees to barely above eye level, their contents ranging from treatises on the schools of magic to studies of the anatomy of extraplanar species to legends and histories of all kinds. Some were difficult to decipher being in languages he couldn't even begin to guess at while others were in archaic forms of the most commonly spoken languages. She had racks filled with scrolls of magic, medicine, and rites both holy and profane. He even found what seemed to be an infernal contract locked behind a magically sealed glass. And there were the maps… Between each impressive shelving of books there were maps, both broad and detailed, of each region of Faerun. There was even one depicting Abeir-Toril before the world was sundered into the planes and a few diagrams depicting the planes beyond the material.
The greatest surprise in the library, and the most tempting to him, was a fairly extensive display of books on the study of necromantic life - specifically vampires and revenants. There were a few scattered titles on Liches and the creatures that came about when such magics failed, but the collection overall was based on the most intelligent forms of unlife. It seemed she had collected everything of true knowledge and study she could find. There were no books based off fictitious thoughts, theories or legends among the well-used but cared for bindings. The one that caught his eye, however, had been a beautifully decorated and massive tome apparently penned by the legendary vampire lord, Strahd von Zarovich. The whole display had the staticky feel of some kind of protection magic, so he forced himself to duller topics for reading, but his mind was constantly turning over what he had seen. Just what reason did a druid have for such a collection and what did that mean for him?
Aithwen closed the cottage door softly and strode as quickly as she could handle across the living area to the door to her room. Sliding the door open and closed in a swift motion she stepped over the threshold into her private sanctuary. With the click of the door she allowed herself to fall to her knees, her body shuddering with the release of the suppressed pain. Her hands thudded to the hard floor, gasping breaths ripping from her lungs as the pain radiated and burned across her back. Struggling back to sit on her heels she fumbled with the hidden ties of her sleeveless tunic, roughly yanking the soft leather off and tossing it a short ways away before grasping blindly at the tight cotton undershirt that bound her breasts and covered her back.
Clenching her jaw she fought a cry of pain as the cool cave air came rushing against the sensitive, burning skin of her back. Summoning a light covering of frost to her palm she shakily moved her left hand back to press against the skin of her lower back, her fingers seeking the rough patch of scarred skin over her kidney. The scar pulsed with heat at her touch, melting the frost at the contact.
Talos' balls! Damned scar is on fire… it shouldn't burn like this, not this hot, not just yet… Aithwen grimaced and staggered to her feet. Stumbling over to her wardrobe she flung the door open and shuffled through a drawer of scrolls one handed. Shoving aside the collection of message and sending scrolls, her trembling fingers finally closed around the heavy paper of her summoning scroll. Leaning heavily against the carved wood she broke the thin wax seal and shook the paper open. Quickly reading the incantation and sending a surge of magic to the parchment the spell activated. In a quick flare of blue frost a pair of Ice Mephits appeared before her.
"I need your assistance. I need you to force your cold into the enchanted tattoo on my back. The spell is faltering." She told them quickly, her voice strained as she fought the desire to scream.
The mephits considered the druid before them, their faces turning toward each other as they processed her request. Almost as though they were communicating telepathically, their wings flapped in tandem and they rose to circle around the druid's back.
Her tanned skin was decorated on the left of her spine with an intricate design in varying shades of blue, silver and black inks. Deep within the winterscape design of birch trees the druidic symbol of continuity, the triquetra, enveloped an old puckered knife scar. Decades past, when she had visited the temples and schools of Thay, she had been accused of spycraft or something like that and sentenced to death via trial by combat with a priest of Kossuth. It was supposed to be unarmed combat with no magic, but the bastard had snuck a cursed knife within the folds of his baggy pants. When it was apparent she was going to win her freedom, her extensive battle experience far outdoing the monk's training, the coward plunged the knife through her back into her kidney. A surge of elemental fire entered her body with the metallic intrusion sending her into unconsciousness.
When she woke, her wound had been treated and the monk punished for violating the rules of the trial, but the wound would not fully heal. She learned that the knife used against her had been imbued with elemental fire. The monk, who was a fire genasi, had apparently been taught as an assassin before coming to the temple and every knife and dagger in his quarters had the same spell-curse laid on it. The rest of the priesthood did not know how to remove it and could only offer apologies for the slow and agonizing burning death they were certain she would suffer over the next tenday. They were certain it would be excruciating, especially as she was an Aurilian and the complete opposite of the curse's source.
But it was an immolating death that did not come.
Aside from a slight burning sensation and random waves of heat from the wound itself, Aithwen felt perfectly fine. The priests were shocked and it was only after a month of their clerics trying to figure out why that they finally allowed her to leave their care. She made her way to the nearest Aurilian druid she knew of and she confirmed Aithwen's suspicion: her status as an archdruid and the physical alterations that came with that status had slowed the curse to a crawl. So what should've killed her in a manner of days would instead take years, likely centuries, to run its agonizing course.
By that point Aithwen had been in pain for nearly two months. By Auril's grace the druid she went to see was one of the most talented tattoo creators in her Gale. With a little teamwork they were able to put together the necessary ingredients to make and enchant the ink to help contain the and regulate the symptoms of the curse. With the blessing of the Frostmaiden the tattoo succeeded. Instead of burning little by little each day, the burning would be constricted to a single day and night each year, sparing her the pain in her daily life.
The burning in her back certainly felt like her curse, but it was not time for her burning day. This was something else, something new. Something worrying.
The mephits icy fingers swiftly replaced her own, their elemental magic surging into her burning flesh, cooling the fire just enough to bring it to a more… repressible level. Getting back to her feet, she gave the mephits a little smile over her shoulder.
"Thank you, that's much better. Can I request one last thing?" She asked of the mephits. Both blinked at her slowly. "Upon your return to the Frostfell, will you send word to Winter's Hall of the condition of my wound? I will not have the ability to do so until it calms and who knows how long that will be since it is not behaving as it should." The mephits continued staring at her, seemingly not understanding what she asked. Finally, both nodded and exploded into clouds of frost.
Once the frost cleared Aithwen took a deep breath and turned back to her wardrobe. Grabbing a message scroll and a loose dressing gown of pale green thin linen she hurried toward the bathing chamber. Along the way she let out a low series of growls and yips that echoed down the stone corridors. Upon reaching the chamber a pair of arctic wolves were waiting to aid the druidess with whatever she needed, which at the time was making sure she didn't collapse into the water if and when the pain came back.
Pulling a pillar of stone up from the floor, she sat and opened her message scroll. Whispering the incantation she concentrated on her apprentice and waited for the fuzzy feeling that told her the spell was successful. After a moment she felt the familiar sensation and sent her thoughts across the mountains to Sefa: Weather turn my fault. Angered Crythruxos, killed his kobolds. We have a guest, caught him in a snare. Wound burns inexplicably. Need you home soon.
Silence enfolded her mind and she slowly began removing her boots and trousers as she waited long moments for Sefa to respond. She folded her trousers and set them on the little stool, placing her dressing gown on top as a tingle touched her mind followed by Sefa's voice: Understood, I will return as soon as possible. Let me know if there is anything else I should prepare for. I will leave younglings here.
Aithwen nodded at her apprentice's words, despite knowing the woman couldn't see her and waded into the largest pool. The comfortable heat of the water was soothing on her battered skin. She may not be affected by cold, but her skin could still take surface level damage from sudden changes like what she asked of the mephits. Submerging to her shoulders she rested her elbows on the pool's edge and tucked her legs onto one of the submerged shelves.
She took deep breaths, a little frost escaping with the exhalation as she focused her magic to lower her body temperature and slow her blood - a trick she discovered two decades after the curse's placement that helped to dull the pain. As she concentrated on regulating her breathing, frost spreading comfortingly through her veins, the arctic wolves padded over to sit at the pool's edge and watch over their mistress.