Session 4: The Empress Beckons

As the creature recedes back to its lair, the cold abates somewhat. The pain it brought on, however, remains.

The campfire Vasil prepared still burns, somehow Undiminished by the swirling flakes; Ragna sits beside it, seeming to have been unaffected by any cold. Her stomach grumbles as she prepares her bedding, readying herself to sleep, having watched over the campfire in your short absence.

Taft gnaws slowly on a piece of dried meat, and stares quietly at the fire for a long time before he looks up and notices that the others are nearby.

When he speaks, his voice is dry and cracked, like he has aged, or just woken from a long sleep.

"Old wolf. What is that creature? It has infected me with its venom, but I don't think I will die from it."

Moving with instinct, Vasil approaches each member of the party, placing his hands upon their afflicted flesh, and gently warming them - not too fast, and dissipating the supernatural frost. He is sure to stand near the fire, drawing strength from its lapping golden flames.

"Thank you, Vasil." Eirikr grunts as he warms up.

The wolf looks upon Taft with worry and snuffles at him, smelling the change in his scent. It answers, "That spirit is Frostbite. The winter's scourge. Every winter unless it is stopped, it leaves its cave to wander the land, covering it in a web of ice and death. Many have died to its touch... Humans, animals, even the pack I was born into. It is one of my pack's duties to keep it in its cave or herd it back where it belongs."

Vasil takes some of the hard Rye liquor brewed by the miller's wife, Klara, and applies it to his wounds by a small cloth kept in his coat pocket for this purpose. He clenches his jaw against the sting of the Rye, and inspects the frost burns, ensuring - to the best of his ability - that they are clean.The harsh alcohol stings. Really quite badly. Tears in his eyes, Vasil does not offer the small bottle to anyone else. Perhaps hard liquor was a bad idea on a frost burn.

Taft feels slightly numb and feels little pain - only a deadening ache across his entire body. Regardless, he checks himself for wounds and discovers no open wounds.

He stands and circles the fire and his companions slowly, rubbing his arms and moving to warm himself. The deep chill refuses to leave him.

"I have heard legends of the Wolves that chase away the winter spirit every spring, but I did not know where that spirit hid. Now we face that spirit, and so we face the death of winter head-on, with no shelter nearby, and no stores of food.

Winter's Third Bite - I think I have been touched by the Spirit, but I have not yet died. I feel darkness overtaking me, though. Look at us. We have lost almost everything, and gained nothing. The marauding pack wanders near here, and we are nearly weaponless. We bring nothing but our own flesh to feed them."

He falls deep into thought, oblivious to effect his bleak statements might make on his companions.

"Do you think the wolves would fear this winter spirit? Perhaps we should offer it the bodies and warm blood of the wolves somehow. Perhaps we could trick them into its lair, in return for the salvation of our own doomed souls?"

Vasil squats near the fire, feeling its heat. His burnes skin prickles painfully. "I don't think we're ready to take on the pack. We're tired, hungry and cold. Exhausted and injured is no way to start a conflict. Let's take a day, take another deer, get ourselves prepared."

Shadow recoils in horror from Taft, pulling its ears back. "Sacrifice? To a Spirit? That is not the way of my pack," it growls. "That sort of thing is the realm of Packs like the one we have agreed to deal with. Sending this enemy pack after Frostbite could even help their cause, as they have ways to bind spirits and make them obedient. Frostbite isn't our concern now, anyway. We need to deal with the other pack."

It glances towards Vasil. "On that note, I have been thinking. There are few of us and many of them, we cannot hope to beat them in a fight. But we could trick them and drive away with both your skills. Fire and Wind. We could scare them away, and not have to engage physically. What do you think?"

The fire burns some solace into Taft and Vasil’s freezing forms, but doesn’t quite eat away at the feeling of being cold right through the bones that fills Taft’s body. What Vasil had thought to be ice frozen into Taft’s hair, he can now recognise as a discolouration, as if Taft had spread his hair with berries and herbs in order to dye it.

Stomachs grumble, wounds ache, and the day is progressing slowly onwards to dusk.

Vasil looks at his friend, more closely than before. Taft looks hurt, cold and tired, just like Vasil feels. On closer inspection though, he looks cold, tired, older.

Vasil was never a leader. A quiet member of an entourage, independent and self reliant. He has served under leaders though, good, bad, mediocre. His years of military service come to mind now as he rises to his feet, touching the campfire with his mind, and having it flare to life with his movement - a move he once saw a middling officer use to assert his dominance over an unruly captain. Vasil intends to use this same technique to boost morale, rather than crush it.

He channels what he hopes were the good leaders of his past, speaking as though to Shadow, while intending his words for the group. "You speak words of wisdom, Wolf. Let us talk more on this plan of yours. Let us first feed and shelter so we may be at our best. A conflict should not be begun from a position of weakness."

Vasil continues, as though agreement was implicit. Inside, his stomach turns. Only some of that is hunger.
"Shadow, you will help us hunt, either taking game yourself if you can manage it, or driving the game toward traps we prepare under Taft's skilled hand.

Eirikr, Ragna, you will collect the resources to make these traps, while Shadow scouts the area. Taft, show them what they need to collect, while you teach me how to help you create these traps.
On your feet. The winter will not wait for us to catch our breath any faster."

Smiling as he realizes just how desperate their situation truly is, Eiríkr's stomach churns into a tight knot. He wants to help, but he hasn't had many experiences truly far away from Kalbacken. At most a day.

"I will help however best I can. I will not wait for winter to arrive and take us all."

The group seems frozen in place, reluctant to act. Vasil leads through example, digging through the snow, and pulling vines from the undergrowth. Is this what we need to get started Taft?
He will keep this group alive.

Taft Trapping Roll: Ob4: B3 Trapper, +1 FoRK Hunting, +1 FoRK Tracking, +1 FoRK Forest-Wise, +4 Help Rolls, +2D Working Carefully

Perception 4D + 2 for Help
-1D for Light Wound

Ob4 (2x2) Warmth-Taking: Will/Per: 5D +1Adv Frostbite +1 Persona +1 Help

Perception B4 + 1D - Beginner's Luck Ugly Truth
-1D for Light Wound

Vs Base Ob1 (beginner's luck doubled to Ob2)

Ob2 Bow: 3 +1 Adv +1 Adv