Harper Split-Party Thread

She rips the sword out of your weakened grasp, and with her own blood still on it, she slides it into her belt. Throwing you over her shoulder, she begins walking again. As she walks, she keeps you surprisingly steady despite the uneven ground. You notice that you are in a long natural cavern corridor. Periodically you pass a torch sconce, but not regularly enough to light the way well. The ceiling is high, but there are stalactites, and more than once you see one moving away from you that must've come precariously close to your head. The sound of trickling, dripping water and the smell of cold, wet rock confirm you are in a cave system inside the mountain. The vague scent of singed flesh confirms that you and your friends did significant damage to this foe.

After what's likely to be several hundred yards, the Cold Woman turns a sharp corner, and the tunnel becomes more of a hallway, intentionally formed. Walking another hundred yards or so, the hallway opens into a small room. She turns to face the hallway you've just come through, and, while hearing the sounds of ice crackling, you see the room for the first time. Given it's location, it's surprisingly comfortably furnished. There's a pile of animal skin rugs and blankets on the floor. A small padded chair and desk with a quill and inkpot and a few loose pieces of parchment sits in the middle of the room, and a small book shelf and a wardrobe are against the wall on the left. Across the room from you is another door-sized entry way.

The Cold Woman spins around again, and you notice the doorway you just came through is now solid ice.

The gingerly lays you down on the animal skins, and straightens herself. She looks directly into your eyes as a glowing ribbon of light begins to twirl around her, beginning at her feet, and swirling up. It engulfs her briefly, and then glides up to the ceiling, illuminating the room. The woman, in addition to being completely healed of her wounds, looks more like the version of herself that you recognize. In the stern tone of a parent putting their child in time out, she tells you, "You are only a prisoner until I can trust you not to misbehave."

She turns and strides out of the room through the other opening, beginning to build a wall of ice as she approaches the exit. By the time she reaches the doorway, there's just enough room for her to pass through, then it fills in as the ice crystals grow together to form a solid sheet.

You shiver, and notice that you are cold. It is, however, oddly comforting, as it's very much a natural chill since there's no fire in the room.

The desk shatters into a thousand shards of splintered wood, sending pieces, along with your frustration, all over the room. Your search doesn't return anything useful to your plight.

After a few moments, the ice wall leading deeper into the mountain begins retreating, and in comes the Cold Woman, bearing a tray of what look like fairly fine foods. There's even a warm bowl of a creamy stew. She sets the tray down on top of the bookshelf, then waves her arms creating a table and chairs out of ice.

"This behavior of yours is expected, although I had hoped for a bit more civility. I realize I haven't treated you very well. Please enjoy this meal. I would be happy to join you, if I'm welcome. And, I would understand if I'm not."

She folds her hands and waits for a response.

Although she had genuinely hoped you would want to talk, she doesn't indicate disappointment. Stoic, she hardly moves when she replies. "Very well, Mr. Harper. You may call me Illarastra. When you are interested in learning more about your mother, just call for me."

She turns on her heels and begins out the doorway.

She turns to you, and her face, while still stoic, has softened. "Eat," she says. You detect the slightest hint of compassion in her voice. She sits down in the icy chair across from your place at the new table, folds her hands in her lap, and says softly, "Your mother..." her thoughts seem further away, now. She clearly still has her attention on you, but, also somewhere in another world, another life.

"Well, she was my daughter, for one."

She pulls a plate from the tray and begins building a small sandwich.