Frost Bites - Part One

[rubyrubyruby]

The journey into shadow was made by ship. The Beast was rigged with her strongest sails and Ruby has promised a short trip to colder climes. While the vessel has been undergoing renovations to ensure quick access to cargo holds via overlarge hatches on the main deck, and the Rebman Merrisol has installed some unique organic beds along the railings (covered and insulated), what also can catch the eye is the metal covering at the bow. Looking like part of an enormous blade of grey metal, it shields the nautical figurehead of a kraken and Undine. Probably cuts down the Beast's top speed, but is bad news to things in the way.

The passage out of Amber lacks peril and is as easy sailing as it can be. But beyond her influence, the Beast is carried within the grip of the Pattern by her Captain. Shadow nodes of Golden Circles are avoided, though the course of the ship was initially headed for the path intended for New Kitezh. None of those scuffs-in-the-carpet are heeded though, and the Beast sets a new destination that's referenced from a particularly chilling looking charcoal drawing that a cabin boy holds for Captain Incarnate to reference. Then the passage upon the water gets choppy and far less easy.

The Beast climbs steep and treacherous waves, requiring most everything to be firmly lashed down, and people warned to have a place to anchor close at hand. Fog collects around the vessel. Then air becomes frigid, with frost threatening to form on the rigging and there's a bite to inhalations to the lungs. The trip goes through a number of turbulent phases as the canvas above flaps harshly with contesting gusts of wind. The ship barrels through it and the wind howls. The water below is as dark as the gloom above, though at least the stars are out, and they're wheeling beyond the capacity of a sextant to sight by, or the rational mind.



Seasoned sea legs and friendly relations with the Sea Itself do Merrisol not a hell of a lot of good while he hunches away from the prevailing wind only to be roughed up by the general assault of the gale from all sides. The multiple layers of insulation and waterproofing bulking out his form betrays his common Minosian blood in the storm, head enveloped in an ice-encrusted muffler but for green eyes and the crown of his hair whipping about like an indecisive windsock. Miserable as his situation may be, the Rebman is patrolling the length of the ship, to port then starboard, on the lookout for unlucky sailors flung overboard.

The wind icy wind blows through the hair of Chase DeMandrake, he stands at the bow a fierce smile upon his hace as he looks at the grey clouded sky. He is dressed in simple leather, his arms exposed, and elborate tattoo starts at his left hand and ends at his right, a Dragon of course. His field bag is set upon the deck near his feet.

Wynter finds herself aptly named this trip. Normally the woman is given to wearing tight clothing but today she, like most others here, is wearing layer apon layer of wonderfully warm clothing and hair tightly braided and tucked under a knit cap.
The wind, however, is her friend. Infact the wind around her seems to be almost null. Damn Pathians. Those desperate for warmth might slide abit closer to her for a time. Those fearful of magic shying away and embracing the gusting winds. And stranger still is the wide smile she has on her face, eyes alight with strange joy.

By the time they reach the shadow represented in the illustration, the ocean waters have become easier to travel upon, but now flecked with sheets of ice. Flat wide plates are bludgeoned through, carved with the makeshift ice breaker of the Beast, smashing through some of them like porcelain plates. Eventually, the wide frigate can slip within a coastal polynya.

Within signal distance of a village, the Beast slows and prepares to make landfall. Half entombed by snow, the stout little shelters are all interlinked. Boats have been pulled up onto the black rocks and pebbles that make up their harsh stretch of beach. Hardy looking bison creatures mill about within a partial igloo of rock and ice. Bleating amongst themselves, wafts of breath escaping their nostrils. The shelters themselves aren't quite so vocal, but they do give off smoke from vents in parts of their roofs. A great obelisk stands at the other edge of the community made of black glass. Volcanic threads run through it in random bloodshot veins. It looks old, and carved by diligent but inexact hands. An icon has been carved upon the side that faces the ocean: Wide at the bottom and curling towards the tip.

Chase strolls down to the others, icy decks not seeming to bother him in the slightest, "Well this is a pleasent spot." he grins, "I wonder how the locals feel about dragons." he says to no one in particular, "I could do some scouting if needs be." He claps his hands, "Why are we here?"

Merrisol stares at the weird points of interest which stand out from the bleak arctic landscape ahead. From what scattered conversation occurred during the voyage, his role may be understood to be advising the team in a naturalist capacity, though the severe environment will limit his usefulness on this particular jaunt. Fortunately, there are other ways he intents to serve, as it appears he has an adventurer's spirit and feels a duty towards Captain Incarnate's endeavors as well. He bundles away his heavy slicker and prepares to disembark in a parka and a harness of tundra-trekking gear. His chained harpoon looms over one shoulder, hooded like a waiting falcon.

Wynter turns her head to the speaker and nods to Chase with a wide grin. "It /is/ a pleasant spot, isn't it? And I couldn't begin to say how the locals feel about anything including dragons. As to why we're here, the captian was vauge and I imagine things will be highly interesting before we're done. The scouting idea has merit but lets see if there's any information to be had before we leave the ship?"
She chuckles softly and looks about for the current location of the captian.

The way ashore doesn't require a longboat, but it does require going over the side and lowering oneself to the uneven surface of frozen water. The Beast grinds up against the thick ice that's attached to the shore. The hull squeals as in odd pops and cracks until it's full stopped, and the sailor calling out depths registers a significant dropoff as an anchor is dropped...and rings like a bloody bell...when it 'bounces' upon the ice instead of penetrating straight through. It's So thick that perhaps even the mighty vessel could not crash through without a suicidal plunge towards the beach.
Ruby detaches herself from her position at the wheel and the illustration is rolled up and secured with her compass and maps. "Difficult tah say, Chase." She nods to Wynter in agreement. "There ain't anything 'ere tha flies, Chase. Somethin tells me we'll need eyes oop there soon enough though. S'good idea once we know which direction tah start our search." Ruby reaches up to wipe flakes of snow from her eyelashes, as more descend from the dark sky. "This place gots potential trade opportunities, an tha only way they broker with me, is if we solve a small problem. See, there be something picking oof their hhherd. Always somethin doo'n tha...wolves, bears, Fanguins...but they deal with it. They tough. But they've sent oot two parties, an they ain't come back. An there's rumours of a bloody...uh...a legend prowlin."

Ruby herself is clad in her usual attire, apart from an Arctodus pelt that flaps about dramatically. However, she's all 'Me-tuff' and eschewing more protective clothing. Relying mostly on her blood heritage. There's a curious set of bracers along the left side of her body when the cloak flappy-flaps open enough. A bright silver armature that runs on the outside of her shoulder-to-wrist, and hip-to-ankle. Attached to tight bracelets, it gleams coldly and rigidly, standing out in sharp contrast against her skin and making her movements harder to execute, and requiring more effort.

Merrisol leans sidelong over the rail, checking on the muffled compartments built upon the hull, that they have not been sheared away by all the ice-breaking maneuvers. Listening to Ruby's reply to the why and how of their presence in the frigid shadow, he grunts as though having expected as much. The last bit concerning the village's main 'small' problem gets a flick of his gaze to Ruby. "Their beasts disappear entirely as well, then? No corpses to inspect?" He follows Ruby over the side to hit the dense ice with big tromping boots.

Chase checks his gear, such as it is. He shoulder his medical kit, and adjusts his weapons belt, bein sure the sword, and pistol are ready should he have need of them. He then opens an oil skin case and removes an evil looking crossbow, well cared for but long unused. A case of iron barbed bolts are set to his right hip. Chase hops over the rail landing lightly upon the ice. He strolls along as though taking a stroll on a warm summers day. "So Ruby, we are hunting a legend?" a feral grin alights his face, "Do we know anything about this legend?"

Wynter sighs softly, breath misting like a thick fog. A deft and quick check of her weapons belt and the blade that hangs there before moving to the side and slipping over and down to the ice.
She kneels then and inspects the ice, slipping her glove off and letting her fingers run over the cold stuff. Another smile and she's back up and glove on, moving along to the shore. "What's a legend for she who had hand in a gods death?" She gives Ruby a coy look and adds in a soft chuckle.

Ruby directs a look to the railing to watch the descent, graceful or not of her companions. It's a big matronly ship, and plenty of places to monkey down or leap from. Her Quatermaster appears briefly at the railing and waves a small Trump card and secures it upon their person. This gets a stern nod from Ruby...and then there is a ~much~ warmer and cheerful grin to her companions. "Most corpses got dragged oof. But there be a few tha got torn oop an left loike throw rugs. See, in tha middle 'o tha noight, it be too cold for sensible folk tah pursue when it's noight. People die if you goo oot tah make dew or write yer name in tha snow. Grow strong bladdahs when ya gotta wait till tha sun rises." "Oh...an tha stink you smell be from fish an filthy animals.. An tha oil they get from what they capture an kill. Good stoof, burns broight and makes cookfires an lanterns last. Thick loike syrup an impossible tah remove withoot peeling oof yer skin. Add it tah their blood-moss an lurch-lichen, an it does queer stoof. Don't. Eat. Anythin. Red."
Ruby walks towards the village, and scents do carry erratically upon the fickle chill winds. "I just wanna 'ave a word with their chief gobbadagoop or whatevah, so they know we actually 'ere." She wrinkles 'er nose. "This probably some /im-balance/ 'o local preds. Wolves or Powdahbears. Echo-system all messed oop, an it doo too mooch damage if we let nature take its coarse course, roight? We sort it if we can scout their lair an kill'm or shift'm. I wouldn't listen tah any legends from 'ere, Wyn'tah...it bollocks. They 'ave somethin called a Wind-dingo. A fook'n dog, Truth! Bog save oos, when I afraid 'o some dog. An tha othah rumor is stoopid as well: There /ain't/ no bloody unicorns 'ere!"

Someone's late to the party, but no less prepared. A tiny silver-haired woman emerges from below decks, garbed in a black fur cloak that sweeps the deck in her wake, who knows what style of clothing underneath. There are two blades strapped to her back in dual sheathes, and half-hidden under the cloak, a bandolier of candles. "Ah, just in time, I see. We're hunting dogs, sweet Ruby?" A single eyebrow arches eloquently as Catriona comes to join the disembarkment.

Chase's nose wrinkles at the smell. He draws a breath and begins to run into the gusty wind, his legs bunch and he leaps, his form blurring as he does so, when he comes back into focus, a silvery white dragon begins to climb into the choppy winds, banking to take advantage as he climbs into the gloomy sky, Chase let's out a draconic ROAR! that booms across the barren landscape, soon leaving the village behind as his search begins.

Merrisol's interest lies herd-ward, inspired to study the animals and whatever of their dead remains frozen into the field, to make estimations as to the nature of the apex predator of these parts, separating it from the regular sorts of hunters. Size, strength, modus operandi. Naturally, his studies would include speaking with the herdsfolk for a tally of how many heads are stolen away and wherefrom. He stays in contact with Ruby by trump at least, lacking similar connection to the others.

Wynter can't help but watch the Chase-dragon transformation wistfully. But she shrugs lightly and moves into a small group of tribal folk. Mostly women and an elder shaman. She starts by calmly telling those frieghtened of the dragon they have nothing to fear. Working to set them all at ease. Soon enough she's chatting with those of the tribe. "Of course we'll bring back anyone we can find. Unicorn? You mean with a single horn and ..no I won't be touching it. Rest assured." She laughs brightly and inquires of the obelisks as she continues her chat.

Ruby tries to assemble the group near the obelisk before they start off anew. This time, it's all going to be on foot, unless there one can rely upon other abilities. Ruby has brought along a round shield and a large ugly hammer, her fingers sometimes sticking to the cold grey metal if she doesn't keep her calloused palms on the leather wrappings. Materials brought along, when exposed to the dropping temperatures want to do odd things as they contract or not. Waterskins are left behind, along with rations. She gives some a longing look if any brought any along, her stomach clenching and her face looking pinched.
"They say there be'ah big storm comin or somethin." Ruby squints against the cold wind and regrets the cloak doesn't help more of her body to blend into the snow. It nearly strangles her with the clasp around her neck when the wind gusts high. She waits for everyone to assemble.

"Hunting dogs in a storm," Cat drawls, bitter amusement in her voice as she assembles, having stuck close to the imposing Giantess and spoken to none of the villagers, perhaps wisely. "It would be too much to hope that they'll be black and easy to spot, wouldn't it?"

Wynter breaks off from the tribe-folk as Ruby starts to speak. She makes her way carfully over to the stone and sets a hand against the stone with a thoughtful look as she listens to Ruby speak of a storm. "A storm is a the percet time for a creature that hunts in the cold, is it not?" She gives Cat a wry grin and doesn't answer. Instead she pats the obelisk and mutters to herself. The wind around her dying down all together and warming slightly.

The wind howls high above the frozen tundra, Chase is forced to do some fancy flying just to stay aloft. He does spot something however several passes. The smooth snowy land scape disturbed, the ice drake makes mental notes of where, an odd Ice structure that would bare a closer look and the mountain of ice itself.
Chase glides in from behind the group swooping low enough to nearly hit Ruby beore settling his claws upon the snow. "Glorius!" He rumbles, his lips peeling back from his dagger toothed maw, "There are a few spots we should check...oh a blizzard is coming...gonna be a bad one."

Ailith ...has no winter cloak, just a fairly normal looking traveler's variety. She's pretty clearly not cold though, as she talks with the villagers and writes down what they have to say. It thus takes her a bit to catch up to the others, but her greeting may well make sense of her work. "Good eve!" she offers cheerily. "Are you also collecting tales?"

Merrisol has some kind of way amongst the critters that makes his CSI an easier thing, makes gaining the trust of the herders less of a process. And so he comes into view overland from the northern outskirts to join the team at the base of that righteous jutting finger of a landmark. He steamy-locomotes closer in time to hear the sundry remarks and reports, chiming in: "Here's the thing - I'm thinking it's form isn't so much beast-like as primate. Large, could be like a giant of some sort... big enough to drag a beast off into the night after the kill. Grabby mutilating marks. Given the rise in predation, we might be looking at more than one, possibly a growing family." He glances from Wynter to Ailith, quizzically. "Has anyone explained the presence of this thing?" Weird obelisk gets a craning nod. "Seems to have some significance to the people's perception of their bogeyman.. which might explain the unicorn talk you heard, Ruby." He has his aforementioned gear and readies gamely to set off into the blizzard.

"It's bloody nonsense." Ruby adjusts her garments in echo of everyone else, and she has to sling the hammer along her back, because letting it swing loosely isn't doing any good or expending enough energy. Ruby squints her good eye up at the monument. She blows on her hands and tries to wipe a greasy black substance from her fingertips. "Fook'n oil..." She snaps back to the here and now. "Great...a bloody Pack? If they re-pro-ducin, then we gotta cull. Shame they couldn't be brave enough an kill one while it was pickin at their cattle. Woulda been good. Storm or not, I ain't waitin now tha we 'ere. We busy people, tha quickest solution tha best, an I ain't afraid 'o lowerin tha numbers 'o critters."

Cat perks up, wiping roughly at the frost riming her nose from beneath the hood of her cloak. "Killing? I'm all for it." Her dark eyes trail the obelisk before them curiously, her fingers twitching to a black candle at her belt, almost thoughtfully.

Ailith offers Merrisol one of her books. "They are quite proud of it, and have no fear of it ever doing anything dangerous, it would seem. Their stories are not unakin to tales I have heard in the plains of Ghenesh - adapted for the colder climate, of course. You are welcome to see for yourself. The stories of the wendigo may be of interest? I wanted to bring some of the younger cousins on the trip, but as the weather cools, it becomes much harder to persuade young scholars to leave their warm fires and cups of cocoa. I am hoping returning with new tales will pique their curiosity." And speaking of, she sates her own by going to study the markings that Wynter has mentioned. "...I do not think it *is* language," she says, curious. "It may be art. Or perhaps graffiti."

Chase's tail slashes the sbow his wings flex, then tuck back against his flanks. "I might have spotted their nest." He looks off in the dirction of the ice structure he picked out, "assuming they build nests of ice. From the snow I'd guess we are dealing with more than one."

Merri looks at the book, accepting it with a nod and attempting to fumble its pages with his thick gloves a few moments, before giving up. "Remind me to read up later, when there's less chance of instant frostbite," he grumbles, though with a smile to his Solaris friend. "If there is a region with which to draw parallel myths, Kitezh.. New or Old. Our starting point from Amber suggests this to be a distant relative of that Golden Shadow. Plenty of monster tales from that region."