3. The Reflections

The Reflections

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    _The following posts are (or will be) a collection of chapters from a short story that details the events of Moira's return to Rashemen. I have been away from the server for OOC reasons for over 3 months, and during that time I took to conjuring some elaborate, in-character reason for Moira's largely unexplained absense.

    I haven't finished typing it all up in legible prose yet but hopefully posting my progress will inspire me to finish it, as well as avoid endlessly retconning things.

    For reference (as I always enjoy needlessly complicating things) Moira's given name is Moira Taerbruna. When adopted by the witches of Rashemen as a baby, she was issued the name Vhelskaya, which is what she is known by within Rashemen. She uses 'Moira' to mask her identity amongst any Red Wizards and to distance herself from her 'witch' identity outside of Rashemen. Much in the same way she adorns her arms with wild tattoos and jewellery - an attire she does not assume within Rashemen.

    To anyone who took the time read any of it - thank you._

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    The Barren Steppes

    Violent gale winds savage the barren steps of the North Country. The young witch paced herself across miles of steppe wasteland. Her stomach swollen with the pain of hunger; it has been a whole day since she finished the last of her food; an eyeball and half-heart of a hare she caught the morning Sasha died.

    Sasha.

    Her trusted palomino had saved them both from the Nars riders across the bridge. Their remains might still be roasting over the cannibal's spit had the aging pony not found a last gust of speed to escape that ravenous horde. The winter of Rashemen was too much for the exhausted horse and Vhelskaya had awoken to find her friend dead on his side. Salvaging Sasha’s remains as food was unquestionable. Horses and Ponies were part of Khelliara; to eat their meat would draw the anger of the great goddess of the forest - and when crossing such huge expanse of land in a fierce winter such as this, one did not need the ire of a goddess of the wilderness.

    No. Vhelskaya cast her old friend to ash and spoke the words of the gods as she offered Sasha's remains to the wind and to Khelliara.

    But now she was starving and her hands were black with frostbite. Her ice-blue Taerskin coat was keeping her alive enough to remain upright and walking, despite its incredulous odour. She had forgotten how far the Urlingwood was from the Falls of Erech. It had taken three days on horseback on route to Narfell, but she was already four days into the return hike and nothing yet looked familiar. The first time she had crossed these plains she had Jaska and Katrina for company and they exchanged tales of the great spirits of Rashemen. This time she had only her thoughts to engage with; thoughts of her frozen cadaver being found huddled in some makeshift burrow like the foreigner she had once found as a youngster. So many tourists succumbed to Rashemen's harsh winters, and this one had been driven so mad by the cold he had stripped himself of his clothes and began to dig. The ground was too hard, and when Vhelskaya and Jaska came across him he was coiled up like a housecat in a shallow hole less than a foot deep, naked with blood coloured icy slush encasing the hands frozen to his temples.

    Vhelskaya forced her mind to picture something else; someplace warm. It was temporary. Soon she thought again of the frozen dead man, how his lips, blistered and blue, peeled back to reveal blackened gums and yellow teeth. She rubbed her own lips; they felt dry and distinctly numb. Another flash of hunger soon distracted her.
    A few hours passed and she had progressed little. The short grass was layered with thick ice and was agony to walk on. At first the warmth from the burst blisters on her toes was welcome, but by now her toes were wholly numb. Her feet felt like foreign bodies to which her shins adjoined. She dragged them clumsily in their fur stuffed moccasins.

    I will not last long much longer.

    There, a short distance ahead was a familiar stone hovel, abandoned and overgrown by the small wood that surrounded it. Its vague, squat outline against the horizon was enough for Vhelskaya to recognise it. Krylova cannot be far.

    Breathing rapidly, she marched harder. She tired too quickly and dropped to her knees. The ground was hard and though they were numbed by the cold the sting still rippled up through her thighs. Her torso folded over and she stared watching her chest heave rapidly. Her throat felt raw and hoarse. She sipped at the last morsels of water from her skins but the ice cold liquid made her thorax tighten and she began to vomit. She tried in vain to hold it back but the bile squeezed its way through her teeth and fingers and spilled down her knees. She closed her eyes, embracing the tired sting around her eyeballs as she held them shut tight. Gently, still curled over her knees with arms gripped around her chest, she rocked back and forth.

    You’re a fool Taerbruna - a fool and a coward! You should’ve braved the riverbanks instead of this foolish detour through the wastes. The hag of the Fortress hasn’t been seen for a decade and for sure a death fighting demons is a better end than becoming another ice monument to the idiot travellers who dare take on Auril in the Rashemi wilds.

    True, I am foolish, but I am young. Perhaps I am a coward too, but I am not beat yet. If I am able to lie here and argue with myself then I can finish this hike.

    With three fast breaths Vhelskaya threw herself to her feet. She hurried along the hard earth towards the hovel. Her eyes watered against the wind and her knees soon ached but she soldiered on. Within two hours she had reached the frozen wood behind the landmark hut. The trees greeted her with welcome shelter from the vicious wind of the North Country.

    I cannot stop now, I must find the town. I must find Krylova.

    Frozen bracken and the wintered remains of shrubs entangled her feet and threatened to slow her already sluggish pace but her feet were still numb. She recklessly tore them free of the thorny vines oblivious to injury and continued her slog through the woods. Her Taerskin cloak too joined the struggle, grabbing every low slung branch it could but Vhelskaya felt renewed once out of the ice wind of the steppes, and fought off its efforts with ease.

    Voices ahead… Conflict!

    Her teeth clenched; she scurried down onto her hands and knees clumsily and sidled up to a tree, peering at the commotion ahead. Two burly men shouted in anger either side of a timid woman. Definitely berserkers – different tribes, but I do not recognise which.
    Vhelskaya watched from her huddle in the frozen brush growing ever impatient as the two men traded light blows before a growing crowd – until the meek woman intervened again. Enough waiting, I am starved and near frozen. I must interrupt…

    “Lend her a moment, Vhelskaya, this is her responsibility.”

    “Lady Zoya…” Vhelskaya stiffened, half exited from her crouch; wide eyes fixed on the tall and slender woman ten feet to her left.
    “Lend your sister the chance to settle this dispute herself before we intervene. I shall see to your renewal once this is settled.”
    Zoya stood barely distinguishable from the surrounding forest. She wore a shawl over her head and a fine porcelain mask through which a pair of dark amber eyes peered at the debacle ahead. Vhelskaya quivered at Zoya’s enigmatic tone, eyes scanning down the fine grey dress that hugged her sleek form with such elegance. Zoya throbbed with magical energy; Vhelskaya felt it eventually. Even with her protection spells she cannot be warm in such a thin dress?
    Vhelskaya’s eyes lingered on Zoya’s chest too long to go unnoticed and Vhelskaya’s eyes snapped to meet Zoya’s as her elder’s head craned slowly to gift the young witch a look of contempt.

    Vhelskaya turned to watch the commotion in the town.

    Man #1 flailed his arms fiercely at Man #2, who now stood encased by the meek woman’s arms that still seemed intent on thwarting their mounting aggression. Man #1, who from a distance might be mistaken for some kind of were-stag given the antlers that crookedly stemmed from the sides of his rusted metal helm, eased off and the woman relaxed. He raised both arms to the air and bellowed to the sky “BHALLA CURSE THE GREAT IMBECILE ETTERCAP!”
    Man #2 soon mimicked this gesture. “GODS LET NO CRETIN SULLY THY NAME!”
    This exchange generated more animosity and now the crowd began to heckle Man #1. From this distance their words were largely unintelligible, but they were no doubt distasteful.

    The quarrel spent another ten minutes growing in volume and ferocity. The crowd had near doubled and encircled the stag-helmed man. His initial sparring partner was now hidden from view, and the disagreement seemed destined to turn to bloodshed. When Stag-helm’s meek female interloper was at last tossed aside by the distended mob, Zoya finally flashed a hint of agitation.

    “What troubles these men?”
    “The crowd belong to the Ettercap lodge. The man in the stag-helm is of the Stag lodge; an envoy specifically. The envoy ventured here seeking diplomacy but it appears his arrogance and pretentions are misplaced, and his minor offence has now escalated. I had hoped Myesha might prove her worth and resolve this conflict without my intervention.”
    “Might I ask my lady-” Vhelskaya’s speech was stunted by the pain in her throat. She rasped at the remainder of her question as she soothed her neck with her numb, alien hands.
    “The Wizards of Thay have been active near to Krylova. Civil conflict will weaken our defences.” Zoya continued; knowing Vhelskaya’s question despite her truncated sentence.

    Zoya had grown impatient - her impassive expression now bore the smallest of frowns. She reached into the small purse at her belt and withdrew a stem of some dried herb. She muttered the words of the arcane beneath her breath and ground the herb to dust between thumb and finger. Vhelskaya looked ahead to the crowd. Everyone bar Myesha (the young interloper now resigned to the cold ground) relaxed, sheathing their weapons and milling about with placid expression. Stag-helm spoke again, this time with a serene, formal diction; requesting to speak with the Lodge chieftain as he placed his helm on the ground and knelt in respect. The crowd responded warmly, the recent scuffle was gone from their minds. They were clueless to Zoya’s influence, all except Myesha, who stared back to the woods to Zoya and Vhelskaya in a desolate gaze.

    The two witches were now gone however. Zoya lead her ethran counterpart deeper into the woods with a hurried gait. Vhelskaya ambled after her as fast as her frozen, alien legs could drag themselves through the forest scrub. Zoya disappeared through a passage beneath a huge tree stump. Amazement filled the young witch as she purveyed the stumps remains. Such a huge tree must have been severed by some terrible force…

    She gave it no more thought. Vhelskaya slumped down the sunken path and through the loose fabric door and stepped inside the hollowed stump.