19. Winter's Rest

The group descended the rugged mountainside from the ancient Temple of Air toward the quiet village of Winter’s Rest. Each step along the narrow path was weighted with foreboding. Gwen’s pulse pounded in her ears as she absorbed the grim reality—her uncles were somewhere in this very village. A silent panic clutched her heart at the thought that they might have been caught in the violent fracas that had scarred these lands. In the subdued gloom of early twilight, Ygwain cradled the unconscious form of an Uloon—a prisoner they had spared of those final, fatal blows. In a silent, unspoken pact, he and Lark agreed they would withdraw from the main company, determined to unlock the secrets hidden within this reluctant captive.   Upon entering Winter’s Rest, the group were confronted by a scene of ruin. Tall tendrils of smoke curled against a bruised sky, and the town square lay in devastated disarray. Gwen’s eyes widened in horror when she saw the ruined facade of the Honey Pot, the cherished herbal remedies shop run by her uncles. As if summoned by destiny, a striking blue Birdfolk emerged from the looming Heartwood Hearth Inn. With a swift grace, the Birdfolk balanced pots brimming with herbs and bandages, hurriedly mixing a poultice while tending to a wounded local quietly seated on a battered bench. Around them, injured villagers—each a testament to resilience—healed and consoled one another in the wake of calamity.   In a burst of relief and urgency, Gwen cried out, “Polites!” and dashed into the warm embrace of her uncle. Amid their reuniting embrace, soft words of reunion mingled with bittersweet news; her uncle confided that Norman had departed the day prior, urged away by the somber tidings of her late husband’s passing. Gently, he led them to a haven called the Rose and Frog—a small bakery and tea shop nestled next to the fallen Honey Pot—which still stood, defiant against the surrounding destruction. There, with kindness as their salve, he proffered steaming cups of drink, tasty snacks, and an open invitation to rest.   While the comforting murmur of conversation filled the Roise and Frog, Lark and Ygwain slipped away into a shadowed back lane. In the secrecy of that narrow passage, Lark leaned close to the silent Uloon and murmured that there was no need for waking—a covert reckoning awaited in the recesses of his mind. As Lark delved into the captive’s psyche, he beheld an unsettling vision: a tall, slender figure with otherworldly, lavender-hued skin and silver hair cascading like liquid moonlight. A formidable black crown perched upon the figure’s brow, and his outstretched hand conveyed commands that felt both regal and imperious. Then, without warning, the scene shifted into a half-forgotten memory—a dim, cave-like hovel, echoing with the frantic cries of two young ones calling “dad” in a tongue that twisted Lark’s mind with unfamiliar dread. Abruptly, the vision shattered, the description recounted to Ygwain up to the point about the children which for some reason stuck in Larks mind. Frustrated by the half-formed revelations and yearning for clarity, Ygwain, overcome by impatience, ended the Uloon’s life with a swift, final stroke.   That night, alone in the quiet of her room, Gwen sought answers in the familiar ritual of tarot. As she went to lie out the cards by the glow of a single candle, her mind reflected upon the Lovers card—a symbol both radiant and ominous. Before she could unpack its relevance, a knock shattered the silence. Opening the door, She found Ygwain waiting, his eyes alight with a fierce, unspoken longing that he fought to contain. Behind his steady, caring gaze stirred a desperate yearning—a raw impulse tangled with a careful, measured restraint that spoke of battles waged within himself. In the soft darkness of the room, they surrendered to a night woven with both tender solace and the lingering echoes of their shared burdens.   Dawn arrived with gentle light, and downstairs, Polites stirred to life. With steady care, he prepared coffee for the villagers, whose determined figures flitted about, labouring to mend their shattered home. He had arranged free pastries and freshly brewed coffees, reserving a secluded upstairs space where they could gather, share quiet words, and ignite hope for recovery.   While sat around enjoying a peaceful breakfast, a glowing message stone buzzed to life for Talon. The message from Rose was curt and brisk—she was off gathering supplies, she was concerned by his absence from the shop the previous evening. Talon quickly placed an order for new items, his mind already planning what was likely going to be happening as it didnt look like he would be back any time soon.   Meanwhile, Ygwain’s own device chimed with a message from Thathu: “Hey, hope all is well. There’s no rush for you to head back to Neuvoterre. I’ll update you if the situation changes, but we’re swamped here if I seem slow to reply.” The words, a mixture of reassurance and resignation, carried the weight of distant responsibilities.   Shortly thereafter, Lia’s message arrived, laden with urgent tidings from her Dad: “Isalume is holding steady—we’ve managed to relocate most of our people. But just to be safe, Neuvoterre guards have been sent to sweep the nearby mountains. Oh, and Falcor sends his regards; he’s stepped up as our new guard… in a manner of speaking.” In their separate corners of this troubled world, each message stitched a connection to lives far removed from the immediate chaos.   While the others were responding to loved ones and having a hearty breakfast, Gwen retreated to her room once more. Amid preparations for the day’s tasks, a nagging thought tugged at her memory—she had neglected to complete her tarot reading the previous night. As she pondered the cards giving herself a reading for the first time in an age, a sudden flurry of rose petals danced in behind her, just catching the corner of her eye. Confused, she turned to see a very perplexed Uncle Norman, his eyes wide beneath the weight of unasked questions and his hand clutching well-worn suitcases. “Could you not wait until I’d disembarked from the boat?” he grumbled. “This isn’t Mirrorvale… Why summon me back home? Why are you here, not mourning in Mirrorvale?” In response, Gwen wrapped him in a heartfelt embrace and began recounting the chaotic tapestry of events that had unfolded over the past months.   Norman soon hurried off to lend his strength to Polites downstairs—a sudden, sharp shriek and the crash of something hitting the ground punctuated his departure, clearly Polties was just as stunned by his husbands sudden arrival. As Gwen joined the group she explained the identity of the mysterious figure who had just left her room, Areria emerged with measured authority. Rising above the clamor, Areria invited the group to attend a village elders’ meeting that very afternoon, urging them to lend their hands in reconstruction until then. United by purpose, they spent the morning rebuilding Winter’s Rest, each act of repair a quiet defiance against despair.   Inside the village hall, beneath beams marked by age and trials, Aurora’s voice rang clear, imbued with sincere gratitude. “To the brave souls who safeguarded our temple, and to all who labored here this morning, we offer our heartfelt thanks. In recognition of your courage, our community has gathered donations for you.” Morgause then revealed an array of enigmatic, artifact-like items, shimmering with the promise of ancient mysteries and hope reborn.   Aurora continued, her tone both inquisitive and commanding: “Secondly, you were sent here by Faeythe—do you understand why this attack occurred? And thirdly, do you intend to oppose this looming threat, or was your aid intended as a solitary gesture?” Her questioning stirred a vibrant discussion among the group, who, though burdened by loss and uncertainty, declared their willingness to stand against the encroaching darkness—if only they could learn the truth.   It was then that Perrine, with a sense of urgent insight, offered his theory: “They seek to shutter the elemental portals, or perhaps to seize control over them. Rumor tells us the sun shrine is already under enemy command. Faeythe’s emissaries are at the Ocean Seat, yet no trusted guide in Iron Oak remains to lead us to Earth Sanctum. Hel’s silence only deepens our doubts, and our sole contact in Iron Oak has just departed Neuvoterre. We need one among you to travel to Ironoak and seek out the rebellion’s leader, to muster troops for Sanctum and ensure both Hel and the Earth portal survive. Alternatively, if you’re prepared, venture to Sanctum directly and assess their needs.” His words, heavy with implication, cemented the resolve of the group.   With the decision made to embark on the perilous journey to Ironoak the following day, the council expressed their gratitude by offering the group a sturdy boat and a crew of three, ensuring their passage would be as safe as possible. They were urged to rest and recover in the dwindling light of the afternoon, for the evening was theirs to reclaim however they wished.   That evening, seeking both respite and camaraderie, the group made their way to the Heartwood Hearth. Over clinking glasses and soft laughter, Gwen’s eyes met Perrine’s. In the midst of a quiet conversation about tarot and destiny, Perrine’s gaze softened as he recognized in Gwen the legacy of an old friend—the new wielder of the mystical cards. With a measured reverence, he gifted her the Air suit cards, a token meant to guide her on the uncertain winds of fate.   Just then, the tavern’s door swung open to reveal a striking figure—a tall elven individual with vibrant pink hair. A gentle swirl of soft pink petals trailed in their wake, mingling with sparkle-like pollen and the gentle buzz of bees drawn to the beehive elegantly fixed to their staff. Their delicate, androgynous features and soft, inviting voice lent them an aura of serene mystery. After exchanging a few words with the bar staff, the figure approached the group, explaining that a cluster of stray animals had been trapped in one of the dilapidated buildings near the dock. With compassion clear in their tone, they explained the animals needed to be rescued and taken to a sanctuary dedicated to the lost and forgotten. Moved by the earnest appeal, the group resolved to accompany their new ally to the Hydria, where the so-called linen dragons awaited rescue.