H'aanit knew Alaic was a blunt person. He wouldn't say anything that wasn't worth saying. He says things as they are.
So, she knew from his warning that he wasn't joking about the Whitewood.
Indeed, the snow here blankets everything in deathly white. The howl of the winds is occasional and brings with it the flecks of snow that blind one's vision. The trees here are all like small, white peaks themselves, set before the larger white scenery around. The Whitewood encapsulates the northern side of Stillsnow, but it is further bordered at the north side by pristine mountains.
Linde huddles down near a small ledge of rock that pokes out from the snowy ground, taking shelter from a blast of icy wind. H'aanit kneels by her partner, following the leopard's cue. It seems the most advantageous to wait out the blusters as they come in intervals, moving after the winds die down. These are not easily predictable intervals of violent winds, either. H'aanit observes as Linde's ears twitch to and fro when a wind is near.
"... Tis a precarious place indeed... One would not surviven long going against such frigid winds by head..." H'aanit sighs to herself. She is quietly glad that she came alone with Linde and left the others behind.
"Rowrr..."
Glancing up ahead, H'aanit sees more of the snow-blanketed forest. It definitely feels as if she'd made no progress. Hardly anything seems any closer, and the trees confuse one's sense of movement.
However, she does glimpse something small that gives her hope: A broken wooden sign.
It's clearly of human make, being carved and stabbed into the frosted ground. The sign itself is worn with the snowy wind, making it illegible. However, its significance is that someone had made it this far before.
Alaic said Susanna worried foolish people would come here and lose their lives seeking the herb of grace... Likely, these were vestiges of their efforts. However, seeing that they got this far somehow gave H'aanit hope.
Even though the signage is worn down, there is still the vague outline of an arrow carved into its face. H'aanit picks up the plank and looks on past the thick growth of trees.
"Ahead... It pointeth onward," H'aanit exhales a pale breath, "Surely, we musten be progressing."
"Rr... Hraaau..." Linde stretches and rolls in the snow a bit.
"Linde, we haven not time to laxen," H'aanit sighs.
Linde rolls onto her feet and shakes herself off, giving a catty smile at the huntress before continuing with a flick of her tail. However, after only a few steps in, she stops and crouches, hair standing on end.
"RRRR..."
"What?" H'aanit looks forward.
A mound of snows lining where undergrowth should be under the trees shudders and shakes as a wind blows by. It doesn't stop shaking, either. As the snow sloughs off, H'aanit sees what looks like a bush and a very large silvery mushroom.
"... tis plants," H'aanit says, feeling a little silly.
"Rrr- ROWR!" Linde only growls louder.
H'aanit notices the bush doesn't stop shaking and nothing comes out. The mushroom then suddenly wiggles, which is definitely not normal. It seems to slowly rise from the snows where it rests.
"... a new quarry, eh?" H'aanit draws her bow.
Moving mushroom men... H'aanit had never seen the likes of them near S'warkii. Z'aanta might have spoken of them once or twice, but they weren't the most impressive of quarry, so he would skip them. They were often seen near darker forests where deciduous discharges of trees were left for fertile ground. She had, however, heard and seen of a creature known as the wanderweed within the vicinity of trails west of S'warkii. They were often disguised as normal bushes, but were actually completely mobile creatures that used thorns as their weapons. Their primary tactic involves rolling straight at a target. H'aanit glimpsed one rolling around the undergrowth once while hunting near the infamous Path of Beasts. Such flora are "monsters" of a kind.
"It seemeth the snows haven their own kind..." H'aanit aims. She recalled hunters saying that, with most weeds, a blade would do best to expose their cores. However, you need a long reaching weapon, or at least longer than an axe. A sword would do better, which she does not have.
But a hunter caught without tools should be able to improvise, as Z'aanta would say.
"Linde, letten us hunten!" H'aanit declares. Linde runs forward with her claws out at the ready for a swipe.
"Rowrr!"
...
"Oh, you met the lovely bishop Eschard?"
Susanna is leisurely rocking in her chair by the fire. After Olberic and Ophilia returned, the cleric is quick to tell the seer what she learned at the chapel. Cyrus had not really moved from his spot by the books and Alaic is standing guard outside near the house in his original spot.
"Lovely is ... a word," Ophilia sighs, "He was hardly so kind towards Sister Nina despite her pleas..."
"Heaheaheahea... Did the sister tell you about his little trips from Northreach?" The seer looks to the pensive cleric.
Olberic nods, "He is currently covering for a past bishop, correct? And Northreach does not have a formal branch of the Flame established..."
"That is true but... he did not even bother holding a mass for the people in the chapel..." Ophilia thinks a moment, "He just immediately left. He didn't perform his bishop duties at all."
"Hmm, sharp, I see. You know what that means," Susanna leans forward on her cane.
"The answer is a ruby fruit! Eureka, I've got it!" Cyrus suddenly gives a shout.
The others all look at him. He glances up and realizes his interruption.
"Oh, ahem, forgive the outburst. I had just completed a riddle listed in one of these books," Cyrus chuckles sheepishly, "Carry on, pretend I'm not here."
Alaic sneezes.
"It means he's doing something else in Stillsnow...?" Ophilia looks to Susanna.
"Right. What it could be, well, I have my guesses. You can think on yours," The old woman cackles, "It is a thorough mess though, the higher powers in this town... Perhaps it's best you keep your nose out of it."
"Curious," Olberic frowns a little, "This town has indeed many secrets..."
"Wait, it couldn't be... the brothel?" Ophilia gasps.
Indulgence in earthly pleasures is not offensive in and of itself. However, the church of Flame preaches strongly against overindulgence. This would easily include seeking the pleasures of the flesh in prostitutes. For a bishop of all people to be doing something like this is not only scandalous but sacrilegious.
Suddenly, it made sense to Ophilia what sister Nina had mentioned so meekly about a town with dwindling faith. When the bishop of all people is seen patronizing such an indecent place, it only sets a bad example and degrades at the legitimacy of the virtues that they preach.
"Well, even as a bishop, a man is a man," Susanna cackles, "This town is not very receptive to your type, cleric. You should consider getting on your way soon. The Kindling, for all the bells and whistles, is far more important than this backwater place."
"I-I will. I just ... I just want to be sure H'aanit is alright," Ophilia nods.
Olberic glances out towards the portion of the town south of the frozen lake, "... I wonder what Primrose and the others are up to..."
"She took a good number with her. And she seemed a rather capable girl," Susanna seems to think a moment, "Still, her business with those Obsidians is very... ill-advised, to say the least."
"Whatever could this so-called banana slug be..." Cyrus can be heard muttering some arcane nonsense.
"Wait... If Prim is seeking the Obsidians and Father Eschard is also..." Ophilia is struck with realization, "..."
She seems troubled and unsure. Clearly, she wants to stay for news on H'aanit. On the other hand, this issue with Eschard is one she can't seem to ignore. And it may well clash with the aims of Primrose.
"... Perhaps you have enough time to go and check up on them, hm?" Susanna chuckles, "Alaic is back so I have little to worry about... and take the bookworm with you while you're at it. His muttering makes me think of dementia!"
...
Primrose is pretty confident in her ability and dress. Despite all their battles up til now and their travels, her dress remains a sight. On her body it is still very attractive and the fraying is not easily seen.
"I'll simply charm Oren a bit into giving me a ride," The dancer says confidently. She and the others are currently plotting their next move in the dormitory attic. Ariana is still sleeping off the medicine.
"Hm," Therion grunts without input.
"Prim, I do not doubt your beauty but... I can't think it a great idea to be going into this Parlor so brazenly..." Simeon sighs in apprehension.
"Well, that's where I come in!" Tressa says confidently, "If Prim's charm doesn't work, I can probably schmooze the guy a bit with my merchant skill!"
The dancer gives a patronizing chuckle and ruffles the eager merchant's head.
"Hmm... But Tress, ya ain't dressed the part!" Alfyn points out surprisingly, "You gotta be all... prettied up and stuff, right?"
"You saying I'm not pretty, Alf?!" Tressa huffs and goes to give the apothecary a sound kick.
"Ack, n-no! I mean, ya ain't dressed all nice like Prim!" Alfyn yelps.
"How much you wanna bet she has something in that humongous bag of hers," Therion scoffs.
"Well, let's see!" Tressa sticks her tongue at the thief and starts to rummage through her bag, "I got some spare skirts, a bit of trinket jewelry..."
"I think we can make you an outfit," Primrose chuckles, "Hmm... The question will be if you can bear wearing that in the cold."
"Huh? Don't we get a coat to cover up?" Tressa looks to the dancer.
"We have to seduce a man in the snows and convince him we belong so... It would be better to show more skin," The dancer shrugs.
"Ehh..." Tressa looks a bit discouraged. The skirts she dug up are mostly of shorter length. They were emergency clothes.
"Hmm... perhaps lady Tressa isn't very well suited for this kind of thing," Simeon looks to Primrose, "She is still very young."
"Of course. I am still perfectly content to pursue this myself," Primrose looks to them all, "Truth be told... if you all were to come, it might actually be a hindrance."
"Eh," Simeon blinks.
"I told you, this is my vendetta alone. You all might end up blowing my cover," The dancer folds her arms, "So it might be better for me to face this Oren fellow alone and secure my ride."
"Well, that doesn't stop us from following some other way!" Alfyn says stubbornly, "Hmm..."
"... I suppose you have a point, my flower," The playwright sighs, "Well, I don't want to leave you alone in a den of scoundrels either. So, we will try to find our own way in."
"Therion! You know this illegal stuff about breaking and entering!" Tressa looks to the thief, "Now's your chance to be helpful!"
The thief just clicks his tongue and ignores her.
"Unh..." Arianna stirs from her slumber and blinks, "Oh... you're all still here."
"Just discussing some things," Primrose smiles, "Are you feeling better?"
Arianna glances at the fire that still burns. She nods slightly, "It will be time to go soon..."
"I will deal with this Oren fellow," Primrose nods, "Then I will go with you to the Parlor."
Arianna doesn't mask the apprehension on her face at this plan. She just nods a little, looking resigned.
"... Are you ... feeling conflicted about betraying your newest employer?" Simeon asks with an awkward cough.
"...! No, I..." Arianna sits up, "It's just that... where will we go after this? All of us here... will we simply be thrown out into the streets again, penniless? It's... it's not so easy to pick oneself up again and again..."
Alfyn recalls the scene of the women being led like cattle in Sunshade.
"... Well, I mean, that's fair," Tressa sighs, "I mean, but that doesn't mean you have to give up! You can always pull yourself up a bit by your bootstraps!"
Therion rolls his eye, "Easy to say."
"..." Primrose doesn't look Arianna in the eye initially. She then just smiles a little, almost like an apology, "Do rest a bit longer if you need. I will go keep watch for this carriage."
"Ah, it is a sleek, black one with a symbol of a silver crow at the front..." Arianna offers, "Oren is a large man in dark blue... He is difficult to miss."
Primrose nods and descends down the stairs. Simeon holds back from following her this time. He instead walks over to the window overlooking the front of the house. He sees the dancer leave by the front. There are some carriages that pass by, between the east and west trails of the town. Primrose stands along in the snow, waiting. The playwright sighs onto the glass.
"Simeon... have you been traveling with Lady Primrose for this as well...?" Arianna asks softly.
"We met by sheer chance. Like I said, I am merely following Primrose a bit."
Tressa tilts her head a bit, "You both know Primrose from, like, way back, right? What's this whole thing about? She was saying something about going vigilante and hunting the guy that runs the prostitution place... What is that all about? She some kind of ... I dunno, anti-prostitution person?"
Therion drags a hand down his face a little at the shallow understanding of the merchant. But he doesn't offer any answers.
"Prim was a dancer down in Sunshade," Alfyn recounts, "It wasn't a great place. They didn't treat none of the dancers right when I saw... Maybe she thinks it's wrong. And golly, if they let ya catch a cold like this up here, it is wrong!"
Tressa glances around as if to verify his statement. She puts a hand to her chin, "I mean... You're not wrong. This place runs black, no matter how ya look at it..."
She looks to Arianna, "How much do they even pay ya for your time?"
Simeon and Alfyn almost fall over from such a blunt question. Therion almost wanted to laugh.
"Uh... It... it depends on the guest and... treatment they want..." Arianna says with obvious shame as she averts her eyes.
"Huh, service tiers... That's classy, I'll give 'em that," Tressa says, utterly unfazed, "But the cost between tiers and the labor consideration... not to mention the hefty commission I'm sure they take... I doubt it's enough. And they have you live in a place with poor heating, to boot! Your boss is a piece of work."
"Y-you're just saying that now, Tress?" Alfyn says in exasperation.
"Hey, be quiet! You gotta be very careful calculating these things!" Tressa says confidently, "Think about it! If we just do like what happened in Quarrycrest... we don't have someone like Odette to help us here! People depend on even black businesses... You saw how the inn ran."
The thief is mildly surprised that the merchant recalled the aftermath following the murder of Morlock in Quarrycrest. At the time, the town was on the verge of panic because their patron landlord that ran the mines was gone. There would have been a stampede of looting that would leave some worse off than others. Therion hadn't thought Tressa retained that lesson.
"Huh... That is a ... good point," Simeon sits up and looks to Arianna, "I apologize. We must seem very insensitive bursting in here and... possibly driving you out of your livelihood."
"... We all know the Obsidians and their dealings," Arianna says with bitterness, "Everyone in town does. Not even just us whores... the Obsidians have blood on their hands. But no one says anything."
"Oh, right... Murderers for hire..." Tressa folds her arms, "And no arm of law long enough to catch 'em."
"Perhaps we are also guilty accomplices, desiring so much to live that we abide by rules of utter rats," Arianna's weariness shows in a sad smile, "Perhaps this is divine retribution...?"
Simeon narrows his eyes slightly. The somber conversation is interrupted when they hear a bit of shouting and a horse's whinny outside, louder than the winter wind. Looking out, they see two men arguing, one clearly bigger than the other.
"That's Oren..." Arianna quickly gathers her skirts, "I must go. You all need to find your own way in."
"Just gimme a sec...!" Tressa pulls out a dress.
...
The cleric had considered the seer's words. She stands and bows, going to leave the house.
"Hm? Where are you going?" Olberic looks to Ophilia, "Are you certain you-"
"I... Cannot leave a matter of the church overlooked like this," Ophilia says with soft sternness, "This is something I feel I must do. You and Cyrus needn't follow, Sir Olberic."
"Nonsense," Olberic yanks Cyrus to his feet by his hood, "Come, professor."
"Huh?" Cyrus is yanked away from his book.
"I will try to return soon… If H'aanit returns first, please do let her know where we have gone…" Ophilia looks to Susanna.
"If you're going to where the dancer is, you can't go like that, dearie," Susanna calls out after the cleric before they leave the doorway, "They won't let a cleric out of town like you in so easily."
"Eh... but these are holy vestments!" Ophilia looks back to the seer.
"So? Holiness means nothing for this lot, do you not understand? For Eschard, perhaps they will make exception, as he is in cahoots with their ranks. But you are like a bright beacon that they can easily tell will not be a willing partner," Susanna sighs, "You will likely need to change."
"I... I don't have much other clothing..." Ophilia thinks back to the meager luggage of spare cleric robes she has.
"And you two," Susanna looks to Cyrus and Olberic, "You definitely will need to be a bit more patron-like. It is the easiest way for you to enter alongside the cleric. Perhaps as escorts of sorts."
The old woman hobbles over to one of her drawers and pulls out a chest. She opens its creaky latches and pulls out a white material cloth with sequins. There is also a darker dress, and even a blue one.
"Here we are... Still not too dusty," Susanna goes to lay it on the table, "These are old things that I picked up from down south. Try it, dearie. I have a couple."
Ophilia looks curiously over the cloths. They feel to be of expensive and delicate material, hardly appropriate for the frigid weather out there. And yet, it was obvious that they were meant to be a kind of appeal. Golden lace and sequins line some hems, while sheer material sprouted like thin sleeves from the shoulders. All these dresses have exposed midriff areas, making Ophilia blush.
"Uhm... Is this... really...?" Ophilia looks to Susanna helplessly.
"Oh, my, these are Sunland dancer's dresses," Cyrus takes a glance, "Unfortunately, this is not in my area of expertise... But it does seem quite authentic."
"You bought these yourself?" Olberic looks too Susanna in surprise.
"Only one, really! God's breath, I'm not so vain! Sometimes, a seeker of my talents may come with gifts. Luck would have it that they bring an old woman dresses for young girls..." Susanna grumbles with obvious bile.
Olberic chuckles, "They seem to also not know size."
He points at the blue one, which seems much wider in size than the others.
"My, this could well fit even you, Olberic!" Cyrus says with a measuring eye, "So... are we to wear these to the Parlor?"
"Good Gods, little miss cleric is to do it," Susanna shakes her head, "You both need to trim yourselves up. Look a little richer."
"That is... quite a tall order," Olberic folds his arms, "Would we be able to brute force our way inside, perhaps?"
Susanna sighs in exasperation, "The Parlor's exact location is one even I do not know. You're more likely to die in the cold than find it by wandering around like a blind ice bat. Even the tracks of their carriages get covered up quickly in this snow."
"Hmm, well, how shall we make ourselves more becoming?" Cyrus looks to Olberic, "I always assumed my scholarly garb was plenty..."
"I suppose my armor is a bit..." Olberic sighs, "I am always dressed for battle. Not for nighttime soirees."
"I-I think I'll try this one?" Ophilia says meekly as she picks up the white dress with gold and light blue pattern and sequins, "I'm not entirely sure about this kind of risqué clothing, though..."
"Go on and change," Susanna says with a huff.
"Hmm... Some of these seem a bit different..." Cyrus takes a closer look at the garments not chosen, "Are these... of male fashion?"
"Fashion in the Sunlands can be quite androgynous," Susanna points out, "I'm surprised you did not know that, scholar."
"Ahem, well, the studies of attire are not my forte," Cyrus clears his throat.
"Male dancers in the palaces were not unheard of," The old woman muses, "They would perform different dances from the women. But it was still a similar practice. Aside from that, the fabrics worn generally served similar purposes in a place of arid heat."
"Hmm… That is interesting. In the extremes of climate, the necessity of similar utility could contribute to convergence of design. Colder climates like here… men and women alike wear thick, long robes and head coverings," Cyrus thinks deeply on it, "Fascinating. The Flatlands are temperate, with changing seasons… so I suppose we have a luxury of adaptation."
"You must have traveled much to gain such wisdom and insight," Olberic looks to Susanna, "It is no wonder people mistaken it for a mystic power."
"Hmf, that just shows what dullards run about these days," Susanna shakes her head dismissively.
"You would be an excellent addition to our faculty at Atlasdam, I daresay!" A lightbulb goes off in Cyrus' head, "Such knowledge could be very helpful to so many students."
"Harrumph! Are your ears filled with parchment? I don't particularly like such large parties of company," Susanna huffs, "Not to mention I don't particularly relish the idea of needing to tutor children."
"Do you not like children?" Olberic raises an eyebrow.
Susanna glances outside at the snow, not answering immediately. The children playing out there have left by now. They left behind an unfinished snowman. It will likely be buried with the next snowfall.
"… They are such capricious creatures," The old woman says simply, "And besides… This chilly place is just the peace and quiet an old woman like me needs. I'm not a young goose anymore, nor do I have the energy to debate the young, snot-nosed scholars of that Academy."
"Snot-nosed…" Cyrus pouts a bit. Olberic laughs.
"I'm just content to live out the rest of my days in serenity here. Even if there are foul deeds afoot, I have no intention of running. Perhaps I am just that tired."
The old woman hobbles over to her kitchen area again and pulls out some ceramic containers, mixing something in a small cup. She adds some hot water and drinks it hastily, smacking her lips a bit at the end.
"Mmf, nasty as always."
"I-I think I'm wearing this correctly?" Ophilia comes down with her cleric cape wrapped around herself hesitantly, "I-It really is quite… revealing…"
"Oh, come down and show us already!" Susanna barks.
The cleric meekly steps down and opens the front of her cape. She's dressed in a flowy white dress split into a top and a long skirt. The top covers her bosom and has small little sleeves that connect across the back with sheer veil-like material. The long skirt is layered with a similar material over a thick, opaque cloth. Both the top and skirt have blue accents and golden sequins. Ophilia kept on her black gloves.
"Oh my," Cyrus arches his eyebrows, "My dear, you look wonderful!"
"Th-Thank you, I'm glad…" Ophilia blushes, "This is not what I usually wear at all…"
"I think you would be a rather welcome sight at some parties," Olberic chuckles.
"Please don't…" Ophilia mumbles, covering her red face with her gloved hands.
"Hm? You're still wearing those gloves?" Susanna raises an eyebrow, "They don't get in the way, but…"
"Uh, yes, I would rather keep my arms covered…" Ophilia nods, "I think this outfit scant enough that it shant be a problem."
"It's up to the fancy of the patron, I suppose. Well, it should do if gaining entry is what you seek. However, now the question is just how you or the dancer plan to achieve your entry," Susanna taps her cane, "Even dressed the part, you are clearly not a usual dancer around here. And the Parlor's guards will be aware of that."
"Hmm… How do they usually get such an entry?" Cyrus queries, "Is it some kind of list that one joins?"
"I can't be sure. The dormitory for the whores they employ is across the lake… It is a bit late now, but if you make haste, you may be able to find someone there that can aid you more than I," The seer sighs, "Just don't make a scene and draw attentions."
"Thank you…" Ophilia sighs and draws her cape about herself once more. She looks to Olberic and Cyrus, "I suppose you both can be my escorts… erm… How ever that works…"
"Actually, at the tavern, the keeper thought me and Simeon Primrose's keepers…" Olberic rubs his chin, "Perhaps this will not be so difficult, then."
"Yes, yes. We will simply be… er…" Cyrus seems at a slight loss, "Well, we will simply see you to the Parlor, I suppose."
"Ah, what about my staff... and the lanthorn!" Ophilia realizes, "I don't suppose I could take those with me..."
"That would look far too suspicious," Susanna sighs, "Very well, I will have to keep them safe here for you."
"Really? I deeply apologize for the trouble..." Ophilia smiles at Susanna, "And yet, I feel at ease that you will be watching over the flame."
"Don't get misty-eyed for nothing and get going!" Susanna barks.
The cleric nods and gives a small wave to the seer as she steps out into the wintry twilight with her two escorts. Alaic doesn't move from his spot as he watches them leave. Susanna steps out under her door briefly to see them walk off. She exhales a small breath of white into the air, glancing around the darkened town.
"Something will change from here, inevitably…" Susanna mumbles softly to herself.
Alaic looks to her wordlessly. She gives him a dismissive wave of his hand and he resumes his vigilant stance as she closes the door on the cold. Hobbling back to her chair, the old woman enjoys the quiet against the occasional crackle of the fireplace.
Despite her age, her ears are still sharp. In the far-off distance, in the direction of the Whitewood beyond the rear of her home, she can pick up a forlorn roaring sound that rumbles along with the wind.
"… You best not die before even trying to avenge your master…"
…
Bodies of various creatures residing in the Whitewood lie in the snow. As the drifts build, their remnants will be consumed with white. H'aanit has her axe drawn. Avalanche mushrooms, cleaved in twain, lie alongside fallen hoary howlers, sundered winterweeds, and pierced frostwing serpents.
Linde crunches on a wing she tore off one of the howlers in a fight. Blood flecks the fur around her lips and her claws. Crimson similarly stains H'aanit's fur and weapons. The huntress lets out a heated breath as they brace for another bluster of snowy wind.
"Tis bodeth ill if we aren to wander longer…" H'aanit mutters to herself.
The forest creatures use the surroundings to their advantage to ambush people. It makes sense that Susanna blocked this place off. It's too dangerous. The whiteness is making her walk in circles, erasing her tracks as she goes along. The cold saps your strength so you might eventually fall prey in a lapse of strength.
And yet, this is part of the thrill of the hunt, as Z'aanta would say.
The huntress recalls the old man telling one such story where he stalked some elusive quarry for nearly an entire moon in the Riverlands. It was something called a chubby cait. They are legendary for being evasive and hard to even see due to their ability to use magic. All caits have some sort of elusive nature and are infamous quarry among hunters. The term "caits have nine lives" was due to their seeming ability to always escape danger.
Z'aanta told her dramatically that he was mired at a traverse, with only nature to forage from. And she was a cruel mistress. The creatures that roamed the traverse were not solely diurnal, and so Z'aanta had to keep vigilant with Hägen even at night. Such vigilance wears on one's stamina, as you can't properly rest. Add the fact that food and water was limited, and you have a very grim picture.
"But I did it in the end, you know?" He said with a smug smile, "I bagged that thing before the full moon. And it took the utmost patience… which is your greatest weapon in a hunt. It can tame your thirst and hunger and sharpen your senses. Running in headfirst only means exhaustion. A hunter must always keep a level head, understood?"
H'aanit sighs. Her master likely exaggerated a bit, as he always does. However, his words ring true in lesson. She cannot let the dire situation make her lose her focus and cool.
"Rrr…" Linde growls as they pass near a fallen tree, one they had not passed before. It looks to have been snapped with great force. Perhaps the brunt of the storm winds.
"… We hath neared the mountains…" H'aanit glances around to the trees and notices the wind is just a bit weaker here. The trees seem to be less covered by snows. Looming nearby is the tall and insurmountable face of a peak.
"Rr… rowr!" Linde growls louder and looks at the mountainside. Her fur visibly raises as if anticipating a threat.
"What is it? Doth something lyen within?"
"Grr…"
"… Nonetheless… we must press forward. The chill be'en weaker here… Haven feeling I do that we aren close…" H'aanit's boots crunch in the snow.
The wind here slowly dies down as they advance further. The white here is still largely undisturbed, even from animal tracks. The stillness is strange, as if even the inhabitants in the wood had not dared encroach into this space. It has the same feeling of a dreadful calm before something terrible happens.
"...?" H'aanit glances to some snow that settled on what seem to be broken piles of more fallen trees and plants. The destruction seems to have been much older, seeing the height that snow has gathered on it.
"Rowwr."
Linde approaches as if to sniff a nearby pile. She paws at the snow to reveal a tangle of dead weeds and shriveled mushroom.
"Hmm..."
H'aanit pokes around at some other pile of snow. She sees something poking out and realizes it to be a broken spear when she gets closer. Using a skinning knife, she sifts away the snow to reveal a slightly humanoid skeleton. It has long fallen to pieces under the snow and the flesh has rotted away, leaving the bone. From the position, it likely died leaned against the broken tree. The head looks monstrous. From its teeth, H'aanit can tell it to be a lizard man. Many of its torso bones seem broken.
"... a fearsome beast doth lurken here. It hath others driven from its territory," H'aanit concludes, "Knowest thou what it coulden be, Linde?"
The large cat bristles and snarls at the direction of the mountains once more.
H'aanit sees the patterns of snow. They were not all settled evenly. There are ridges like what would be formed from wind sweeping. However, the wind here is far too weak...
The beast they are dealing with was able to whip up the snows and down trees, driving away other creatures with its own deadliness... A formidable quarry indeed. She can't think of any such creature she had encountered before. And it seems to be close to where the herb will be... will they be able to avoid a skirmish? Or is it inevitable?
The thunderous rumble of something echoing from afar sweeps over the scenery. It's not so shaking that the snows are disturbed, but the trees standing seem to tremble a little as if in fear.
H'aanit squares her shoulders. Above, the dreary sky has completely darkened. Even the dim starlight seems to be waning.
"... Letten us rest a bit here for light," H'aanit squats down by a fallen tree as she prepares some flint, "The beast likely layeth ahead. We besten be prepared."
"Rowrr..." Linde trots over and perches above the destroyed trunk like a watcher.
As H'aanit handles the flint, she has to mind her chilled fingers are shaking. Is this fear or a thrill of anticipation of the hunt? Sometimes, they run up against each other and become indistinguishable.
She can't let fear take hold now. She finally has a direction in which to go. She holds fast to her thoughts of Z'aanta as she creates her torch. Brandishing the flame against the chill, she forges onward.
...
Near the riverbank, just before the dormitories, there was a near collision of horse carriages. Primrose, who had been waiting for the carriage to the Obsidian Parlor, easily spots the symbol of the silver crow. Upon nearing the vicinity of the dorm building, a wagon going in the opposing direction comes barreling in from the direction of the tavern. The two nearly crash and the horses rear and whinny. Both coachmen struggle to maintain the reins. Primrose sees as the big man, presumably Oren, manning the Parlor carriage, seems to easily calm his pair of large, black, draft horses. He is indeed a large man. Arianna wasn't kidding. His skin is rather fair, and his face has a severe expression. He looks about as serious as Olberic is sometimes, but with a very piercing gaze that allows for no softness or uncertainty.
"..." The dancer hangs back as Oren dismounts his seat after his horses calm. Her eyes watch as the man's boots crunch in the snow and he approaches the other wagon. His steps are deliberate and without hesitation.
"Keep your damn horses under check!" The other coachman, a much skinnier fellow, shouts shrilly as he finally manages to calm his own steeds, "And watch where you're going!"
Oren walks up to his face and the other man pales immediately. Before he can utter any apology, Oren has already picked him up and tossed him down into the snow.
"OoF!"
Oren claps his hands of the spindly man. The other carriage's passenger pokes his head out and immediately withdraws back in like a frightened tortoise without making a sound.
"Oho..." Primrose remarks silently.
Oren pulls his horses in closer. He takes note at last of the unfamiliar woman standing before the dorm house. Narrowing his eyes, he doesn't say anything.
Simeon and the others descend just then.
"Prim! Has the carriage arrived?" The playwright asks.
"Yes, that's..." Primrose gestures with her head.
"Oh, great, right on time!" Tressa comes out with a modified dress from her stash. The sleeves have been altered to be shorter and a bit more puffed up by the shoulders. Leaving the skirt long, Tressa had made a slit up the side. It's a bit of messy, last-minute tailoring, but it definitely echoes inspiration from Primrose's wear.
"Oh, well, then," Primrose raises an eyebrow, "That's... an impressive last-minute work up."
"I know right!" Tressa grins smugly.
"Haha, Tress is actually real handy, huh?" Alfyn chuckles.
"Of course I am!" Tressa bonks him on the chest. Therion just rolls his eye.
"O-Oren..." Arianna steps out, "We're ready!"
The stern man raises an eyebrow as she steps out before him, "What do you mean 'we'?"
"Uhh..." Arianna looks to the party behind her, "We have... new workers..."
"I wasn't informed of this," Oren states bluntly, unmoving.
"Allow me," Primrose steps forward, "Good evening, sir. I hope it has been pleasurable for you?"
Oren practically stares down at her from his taller height with a look in his eye that is almost like contempt. It is not too different from men who see her as only sullied. Typical.
"... You a new girl?" He asks gruffly.
"Yes. Tonight will be my first under service of the new master. I hope to please," Primrose giggles softly for show.
The big man doesn't even budge. Therion coughs a little into his scarf. Tressa is sweating a bit despite her sparse new dress in this cold.
"I didn't hear anythin' about this. So you ain't getting in my carriage, got it?" Oren says with a partial scowl.
"..." Primrose decides to move onto the next step and presses her index and middle finger on Oren's shoulder, "You know, before I came here, I was a dancer for my previous master's house."
Oren is unmoved. Arianna now seems even more nervous.
"Men have said that, after seeing my dances, nothing else could satiate the stimulating thoughts running through their minds," Primrose leans up closer to the man's face, "Would the kind sir like a showing?"
Once again, nothing. Simeon and Alfyn look almost apologetic for the dancer's efforts.
Primrose daintily twirls a little, dropping her coat onto Simeon nearby with a dramatic flourish. Her slim figure and glittering sequins are revealed as she gives a slight shake of the hips and dances a small circle around the stoic coachman. It is a very obviously suggestive set of movements. Her steps around his pole of a body are not too far and not too close. Their bodies seem close to almost grinding because of her lithe and deliberate moves.
Her dance concludes once she finishes her little circle around to Oren's front. Alfyn swallows a little. An awkward silence ensues for an entire minute. Oren's face does not change.
"... Well?" Primrose gives in to her curiosity and bursts out with the impatient question. This man seems nearly unmovable!
"Are you finished?" He asks, unimpressed.
That blasé question visibly stings the dancer and she is forced to take a half-step back from the shock. Her dance had done nothing. She thought she felt herself pull the strings of his soul... but his eyes show no enthrallment with her.
Her power had failed?
"Y-yes..." She stammers a little, "Was it not to your liking?"
Oren doesn't answer and merely looks to Arianna, "Hurry up, are we going or what?"
"Uh- g-give us a moment..." Arianna says hurriedly, providing some space for Primrose to recover.
The coachman gruffly goes to stand by his horses, a suspicious eye always surveying around him as he waits. Therion glances across the road to see the other stopped carriage has not moved at all. The other coachman remains laying in the snow. The person sitting in the carriage peers out nervously, still not willing to come out.
"..." Primrose steps back to the others, looking a bit defeated.
Simeon drapes the dancer's coat back on, "That was a lovely dance, Primrose."
"Yes, indeed... twas a feast for the eyes," Arianna says softly in agreement.
"Thank you... but I wasn't seeking your praises, I'm afraid..." Primrose sighs irritably.
"That guy is a stiff board, isn't he?" Tressa whispers to the others, pointing a thumb at Oren, "He's a tough customer."
"Hmm... If he won't even let Prim in, I guess that's a definite no for us..." Alfyn scratches his head.
"He is a suspicious man of scrutiny and hired so for it," Arianna sighs, "And so he is quite good for that..."
"How unfortunate," Primrose grumbles as she pulls her coat back on, "We'll find another way ..."
"... Huh?" Alfyn glances towards the bridge, "Hey, is that Lia?"
The party looks to see a familiar trio crossing the bridge towards their side of the lake. Ophilia, Olberic, and Cyrus manage to spot the group by the dorms and wave as they approach. They convene a little away from the dorm and Oren's carriage, closer to the center of the town's south side.
"Uhh, are you wearing something different, Ophilia?" Tressa asks as they convene, noticing the cleric's skirt is definitely changed.
"I could ask you the same thing!" Ophilia looks Tressa over, "You're in a longer dress!"
"We're tryna get into the, uh," Alfyn takes care to lower his voice, "Parlor place..."
"What a coincidence!" Cyrus exclaims, "As were we!"
"Let me guess," Primrose points to Ophilia and then to Olberic and Cyrus, "You're the dame and these are supposed to be your escorts."
Olberic nods and looks to the others, "Have you planned something else?"
"Well, we gotta get the ride..." Alfyn scratches the back of his neck, "It's s'posed to take all the, uh, dancers to the Parlor so we gotta find another ride..."
He glances to Therion on the side and sees the thief glancing back to the carriage at a standstill, "Therion?"
"..." Therion points at the carriage, "That looks promising."
"You all can figure out your ways. That still leaves the carriage issue for us ladies, then," Primrose sighs and looks to Arianna, "Do you know of anyone in town with sway over the man?"
"Uhm..." Arianna seems to think hard for a second, "Ah, yes... I think there was a rumor among the other girls that Oren... owed a debt to the barkeeper, Kalv... Something about gambling debts?"
"Intriguing," Primrose seems a bit encouraged by this news and starts for the tavern, "I'll look into this, then."
Arianna looks a bit hesitant, but moves to follow the dancer. She pauses and then looks to the two other girls meant to accompany them, "I... suppose you should come as well if you are planning to enter with us..."
Tressa shrugs and nods. Ophilia follows as well, "Thank you, miss... I don't believe I got your name...?"
"Ah, I am Arianna... I assume you are friends with Lady Primrose as well?"
As the women leave, the men of the party look among themselves.
"Well then, gentlemen!" Cyrus gives a brief sigh, "It seems we must find an alternative than the fellow's carriage over there..."
Rolling his eye, Therion trudges up to the other carriage stopped on the road. He sees the frightened man inside. He looks to be a powdered wig gentleman type.
"W-what do you want?" The man asks shrilly when Therion raps a knuckle against the wagon window.
"Ahaha, hey there, sir!" Alfyn pops up behind the thief with a jolly smile, "Just, uh, checking on ya after yer guy over there, uh..."
They glance over at the motionless coachman, who groans.
"Ugh, God's teeth... I shall be late to the Parlor...!" The man laments, mopping his pasty, sweaty brow with a handkerchief, "And after I had such a perfect appointment made...!"
"O-Oh!" Alfyn's eyebrows arch upward as Therion gives him a nudging signal, "Uhh, you seem like yer in a bit of a bind!"
"Well, of course, you twit!" The man sighs, "My coach is literally sitting in the frost while my useless coachman is taking a nap in the snow!"
"Well, maybe we can help you out!" Alfyn grins and gestures for the others to come over, "I'll see to the poor guy and, uh, maybe we can escort ya into the Parlor place! It's mighty cold with beasts out and whatnot!"
The man looks Alfyn and Therion over. The other men of the party sidle into view and he visibly seems unimpressed with Cyrus and Simeon... but he looks more than satisfied getting an eyeful of Olberic.
"Hmm... I would like someone other than a thin reed..." The man pouts appraisingly, "But! There is the issue of price!"
"Oh, no biggie! I'm just lookin' to help a guy in a bind!" Alfyn chuckles.
"Oh, free?" The man clearly now seems more hooked, "Well... I won't have all of you crowding in marriage. So, the extra footmen will have to be comfortable at the back with the mudguard or something."
Alfyn glances over at the others and gives a thumbs up, "I think we can manage, sure!"
"... Very well, I'm desperate," The man sighs haughtily, "You're hired for the night."
"Alright, Berg, gimme a hand with the guy, eh? Can't have 'im freezin' to death in the snow!" Alfyn goes to check on the fallen coachman.
"Hmm... by footmen..." Cyrus looks between himself and Simeon and whispers, "Does he mean us? I... admittedly know little about the profession..."
"The man looks to be one of moderate wealth, to be sure..." Simeon rubs his chin, "All we need do is allay his worries... Sir Alfyn has already done wonderfully in building rapport."
"You two!" The rich man shouts over to them, "Go fetch me a warm mead from the tavern! I've waited so long in this cold box that my fingers are numb!"
"Uh... Yes, of course...!" Cyrus says, unsure as he and Simeon go to the tavern now, leaving Therion, Olberic, and Alfyn by the stalled carriage.
The thief hops into the front seat, keeping a hand on the reins of the horses. They seem calmed by now but plod a bit impatiently in place. He glances idly at Alfyn rousing the knocked-out coachman and sending him on his merry way. The man seems more than happy to be relieved of his duties, so he never has to face someone like Oren again. He runs off back to the town center.
"No bones broken!" Alfyn gives a thumbs up, "Looks like it was just a bit of the shock from the cold."
Olberic's eyes glance over to Oren's carriage, "... So that coachman is quite formidable, hm?"
"Oh, yeah. That guy just picked the other one up like a log and threw 'im!" Alfyn goes to scooch up onto the coach seat with Therion, "Hmm... Alright, now we gotta figure out how we're gonna all fit without sitting inside..."
"Hmm... I don't think the mudguards would be much room... I also don't think we should saddle the horses much more... But if one of us is lighter, perhaps we can take point and ride one of them," Olberic rubs his chin, "I am far too heavy, admittedly."
"Hmm... Therion, you look pretty light!" Alfyn says offhanded to the thief with an oblivious smile.
Therion wordlessly hands Alfyn the reins and just climbs on top of the carriage roof instead.
Olberic laughs, "I had not thought of that."
"Where is my mead! And when are we leaving?" The bossy man huffs inside, tapping the roof with a cane.
"Hm?" Alfyn glances back around now towards the tavern. He sees Cyrus and Simeon walking back over... along with Primrose, Ophilia, Arianna, and Tressa... and another person. He looks well-dressed, with black clothes and a goatee...
"Kalv...?" Olberic glances as well, "That's the tavernkeeper..."
Therion lazily glances over as well. Cyrus and Simeon return with a cup of mead, though it is no longer hot. The bossy nobleman makes a big stink about it but ends up drinking it anyway.
Meanwhile, it seems like Primrose brought Kalv to speak to Oren. They talk a bit away from the stalled carriage in quiet voices. The men watch as Oren seems a bit flustered around Kalv. Kalv gestures to the women and Oren seems doubtful at first. However, he nods and seems to grudgingly agree.
"Wonder what they're talking about..." Alfyn folds his arms behind his head.
"Ahem! I've have had my drink!" The nobleman taps his cane on the carriage wall again, "Now, let us be going! We've tarried long enough!"
Olberic takes one final look towards the women, who seem to now be allowed onto Oren's carriage under Kalv's watch. The warrior climbs onto the coachman seat, next to Alfyn.
"One of you will be at the back. The other will take point with one of the steeds," The warrior says to the scholar and playwright and then looks to the thief, "Be careful of low branches."
Therion gives a nonchalant grunt.
"Hmm... let us settle who sits in the back and who sits on one of the horses like gentlemen," Simeon declares to Cyrus, "Sword, spear, or axe?"