Bird tracks in the snow

The people of Snowcloak were a gruff, wary lot, but Jigano had made a number of sojourns to the town and Palace now, and he had brought with him tithes of fruit and grains, magicked together in the Hollowed Grounds and carried through the Portal (it still made him flinch to step through it, every time) to the other side. Most was left with the guards, but he kept some with him for bargaining purposes when he needed to do a little shopping in the ice-locked region.

Today, however, he had a few additional items to trade.

A different bookseller than the one he'd visited last time was his goal today, and he brought with him a couple books of his own in trade: one for children, one an epic saga more suited for adults, and a slender volume of songs for voice and simple instruments. New entertainments not heard before to help while away the long, cold nights of Deepfrost when the wind howled and the storms blew across the Tundra to trap everyone indoors for a few days at a time. As a bard he knew well the power of imagination and how important new tales could be to help pass the time.

He offered his trades to the woman behind the counter, middle aged and heavy-set (or maybe that was just the layers of sweaters) but sharp-eyed and with little patience for his charm. Still, he wheedled a couple books out of her in exchange, and paused to flip through them before he headed back out into the cold, too curious to wait until he was back home again.

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Seasonal Item Use: Broken Spectacles | These glasses can translate certain texts, however because of the damage they do not do so with any reliability. (OOC: Will translate one plot-related text per season)

She has been spending more time than usual in the market lately, often in need of some new supply or another for the Kraai. Though Sunjata helped procure the liquor, and they were well stocked for Deepfrost, she still kept finding odds and ends that she needed. Or things she simply needed more of. Though Korbin did most of their family trading, Weaver’s face is not unfamiliar here, and she finds trading easy enough. Particularly when you can offer free (and actually tasty) drinks in return.

Having successfully negotiated a pretty good price for some additional silverware and plates, Weaver turns to make her way back to the Kraai to get ready for the evening rush. They get some locals and travelers for lunch most days as well, but being a bar, the evenings were always the busiest for them. Which is fine by Weaver, because it means she gets to sleep in and stay up late.

However, a now familiar face catches her attention, one that she wouldn’t expect to see in Halo’s market. ”Jigano,” she says, closing the distance between them and nodding to the Sage in greeting. She’d run into him on many occasions, but they had never actually gotten to talk. ”What brings you to Halo?” she asks, stopping before him.

It was fascinating stuff, this book he'd found, and even when he exited the bookstore and headed back into the market he was distracted and lost in thought at what he'd learned. Something for the Council to be aware of, certainly, and likey sooner rather than later...

His name drew him from his reverie and he blinked, dodging around a grumpy shopper who had been ready to walk right through him if he hadn't moved. It took a moment of looking around through all the heavily-bundled crowd, but at least blue eyes lit upon a familiar form as she came right up to him and his face crinkled into a smile beneath his scarf. "Weaver, it's a pleasure to see you. I came to trade some books for Deepfrost, and I'm on my way to help Loren up at the Citadel in a bit. How are you doing today?" They had engaged in a few adventures together, sparred and assisted common friends, but the same thought struck the bard: he knew little of the warrior woman with the wicked scythe beyond those shared undertakings. "May I walk with you a ways?" No time like the present to fix that!

”Rather a long way for books and Loren,” she says with a playful chuckle, the teasing nature of the statement obvious enough. They did have some older books here, given that Halo wasn’t destroyed in the way the Grounds had been. She has no idea what sort of books had survived there, or really what one might even find in Halo, other than the fact there was some ancient stuff. Not that Weaver never picked up a book, but she could not say she devoured them with much regularity. [say]”Find anything interesting?[/say] she asks, nodding toward the book in his hand.

”Well. I’ve been negotiating for plates and silverware for Halo’s new bar. Thrilling stuff, let me tell you.” Clearly, it is not that thrilling at all. Plates, napkins, silverware, glassware. Though she was particularly pleased with the glassware she’d procured. ”Shall we?” she says as he asks to walk with her a ways, her hands stretched to the path before them and she falls into step with him. The Kraai was on the way to the Palace anyway, and even if she walked past it, she didn’t mind a little extra exercise. Besides, nothing in the Citadel was all that far away.

"Oh, it's not so bad, as the raven flies," he teased back, giving her a mischievous wink. "And Loren and Neron have volunteered some space at the Citadel if some of our Grounders want to take refuge here for Deepfrost. Considering how bad I can only imagine your winter is... you can perhaps imagine how dangerous our LongNight is, to make Halo's ice preferable to the danger of the Grounds during that week." His humor had faded as he spoke, a grim set to his expression beneath his scarf before he forcibly shook it off and patted the books he had found. "Treasures uncounted," he assured her. "Do you know if Halo has any contact with a capital city, off to the south?" Not as random a question as it seemed at first, given his thoughtful glance.

Mention of a new bar had him tilting his head in enthusiasm, blue eyes lighting up again at the more cheerful topic. "Are you the new mistress of it? I expect it will be quite a popular venue for warming up in - inside and out!" He chuckled, though it was one of his weaker wordplays. "If we have a chance to stop by, I can maybe offer some firewood in exchange for a future drink?" He fell in with her as they began to walk, glad for the congenial company on such a cold day.

She chuckles at the comment about the raven, nodding. It would be rather useful to be able to fly, a luxury she does not have though her brother does. Funny, how they each envied what the other had, though perhaps not surprising. Everyone always wants what they do not have, or in Weaver’s case, she wants what she has plus some. ”Yes, I have heard they invited everyone here. More business for me, really.” Which is to say, she doesn't care if others come. They would hide inside most of the time, but the Palace had plenty of unused space to house some refugees.

”I have heard nothing but horror stories about LongNight. I admit, coming from a place like this, I don’t really understand why it’s so hard to just stay inside. But we do it all the time here.” They are used to being trapped indoors, when the winds howl and the snows rage and there’s nothing to do but sit beneath furs and tell stories by the fire. It is a nice thing, in truth.

She gives him a curious look at the question, wondering why he would ask. It seems unlikely he’s asking for no reason. ”Not that I know of, though I don’t know everything that happens in the Palace. That said, it is very hard to get a message here, so if there is any contact, it would be infrequent.” With the storms that still rage, she cannot imagine many messages getting through. ”Why do you ask?”

Her smile grows as he asks about the bar. ”I am. A profession change for me, which is a little weird, but welcome. The Kraai,” she says, giving the name and pointing in its direction a few blocks from the market. ”I do hope you stop by, and I definitely won’t say no to some extra firewood.” She’d have given him a drink for free, but if he was offering, she needed all the wood she could get. ”We have a rather extravagant hearth in there, so it is a perfect place for warming up.”

"Has there been any discontent about it?" he asked, a little hesitant and a great deal curious how the Natural population of the Citadel was taking it. "I know it's a great deal to ask, even if we're sending them with their own supplies. I'm sure Neron has received the gratitude and accolades of the Grounders for allowing this, but we appreciate all of those who are willing to shelter our people here." Halo was more than just one Northhaven refugee, after all.

The bard nodded wryly at Weaver's points, but there was a bitter sadness in his eyes that spoke of painful memories. "Many reasons," he said softly. "The monsters can... get inside your mind. Play on your hopes as much as your fears. They can change their voices to sound like people you know, people you love. Your sister who went missing a year ago, begging at the door to be let in. Your father who lives down the street, desperate to bring help to your mother who was injured in a fall... A friend from a distant world who you gave up on ever seeing again, now crying at the threshold, confused and lost as you were when you first arrived, alone against the monsters in the dark..." He trailed off, swallowing hard. "Except that sometimes it's not the monsters. Sometimes it really is a neighbor, a friend, a loved one who ended up having to flee their home in the night. Every time that knock comes at the door during LongNight you don't know until you open it."

"Sometimes, even staying inside and hunkering down doesn't save you. The monsters will break in, if they can. It's happened to more than one family in the Outskirts."

He drew a steadying breath, slanting a wry smile at her, one that held a little more courage and a little more hope. "And then there are the ones the gods have given errands to. Tasked to walk the dark to save lives or souls." The Halo cold would kill just as surely as the monsters would, given the chance, but at least it would do so without malice.

He nodded thoughtfully at her response to his questions on the capitol, shrugging lightly and patting the satchel of books. "Something I read recently in an old book, but I don't know how out of date it is," he admitted ruefully. "If there's a way to communicate with other regions, one that doesn't rely on the Voice and her portals, I'd jump at the chance."

"A change?" His curiosity was piqued, but the name of the bar drew a cautious veil over his eyes. "Kraai... is that a regional word here?" It sounded like another language he'd heard snippets of before, though it didn't ring any specific bells. Just enough to raise the hair on his arms beneath his many layers. Nodding thoughtfully at the directions he managed a more relaxed smile. "Fair trade for a fair lady, kind Weaver. And I'll take any excuse to warm up when I'm visiting your lovely but very chilly city!"

”No more than the usual,” she says with a chuckle. There was always grumbling in Halo, but really, the people didn’t much seem to care. They went about their lives preparing for Deepfrost, too busy to notice as others trickled in. ”I gather it was largely Loren’s doing, not Neron’s,” she adds, keenly aware that Loren has been filling in gaps for his brother. Unexplained gaps that Weaver was still waiting for a decent answer for, other than ‘indisposed’, which was a pile of general bull.

He goes on to actually explain the LongNight monsters, and she listens, gathering more information that anyone else has ever bothered to give. It’s a good answer, one that sheds light on why they run so afraid, why they cannot simply stay indoors as the rest of Caido has been led to believe. If everyone gave even half this answer, maybe the rest of them would better understand. Because this is not the same as simply staying inside against a raging blizzard. This is making a choice, one that could far too easily be the wrong one for so many reasons.

”No one has actually ever explained that to me, so thank you,” she says, with a kindness she previously lacked in regard to LongNight. Not that she had issues with refugees coming here to pass the season (she’d offer the rooms at the Kraai, if they were needed), but rather that she simply never really understood. How could she, having never lived it, and never been told? ”It is made to sound far simpler than that. Though I understand many do not wish to speak of such horrors.” Weaver was the opposite, willing to speak of almost anything, because the truth was normally better in the long run.

Weaver’s curiosity perks a little as he suggests ways to communicate outside of The Voice. She honestly doesn’t care much about The Voice and what she does, as long as she leaves Halo alone, but still, Weaver is always wary. Wary of the old gods, who task people with risking their life during LongNight, and wary of the new, who are little more than powerful humans. ”What are your thoughts on The Voice?” she asks, no judgment in her voice. She liked Wessex and Samuel, and they loved their Lady. To each their own, but she may as well gather all sides.

”I have been a hunter all my life. Until now, anyway. It will be nice not to have to venture into the tundra every day though.” Not to risk her life just to get meat on the table. ”Korofi, like the VlamVloed and Slagveld. Sunjata is the bar’s benefactor.” If Sunjata had wanted that to be kept a secret, then he wouldn’t have suggested a Korofi name.

The bard visibly relaxed at the reassurance that the Halovians were taking the refugees from the Hollowed Grounds in stride, and made a note to bring more supplies soon, so their hosts wouldn't end up overtaxed. He nodded wryly as she placed the kudos on Loren's shoulders, not surprised to hear that his friend had been the driving force behind the movement to aid those who had once been his neighbors, and many of whom were still the Healer's friends.

Talk of LongNight was far more sobering, though, and Jigano spoke as eloquently as he could of something that plagued his nightmares throughout the year. So many dead, so many wounded, so many lost in the dark... He was glad to hear that his words had rung true with Weaver, and he nodded at her willingness to extend the benefit of the doubt to those she had spoken with before. "I don't mind talking about them, if you have more questions," he offered. He would hardly be a Loreseeker if he shied away from truths, even hard ones.

Jigano harrumphed quietly inside his scarf, slanting a wry glance to Weaver as she asked about his opinion on the Voice. "We don't get on, she and I," he said, his own voice dry as Longheat. "When she unleashed the Blight on the Greatwood and Grounders alike - myself included - I lost all sympathy for her. It cost the life of a unique Fae, the lady Arduinna, alongside the workings of the Old Gods to Heal the people she had sickened and the land she had destroyed. She certainly made no attempts to fix what she had broken. Then she desecrated a tree sacred to the Fae in their own territory and against their desires, just to build another of her portals there, where the Fae certainly did not want one. She had her Ascended kill the Mathair's Fae guardians to do it, spilling more blood. Another death was required, another ancient life ended, to allow the Ascended to pass through the Portal in the Spire." His voice was laced with a personal bitterness, though he kept his tone calm and even as he related the events of the past. "She is selfish and impatient, and has no care for consequences. I have enough friends among the Ascended to know that she shows them a very different face, but I have found that she is not really any different from some of the old gods in that regard; she has her favorites, and cares not at all what happens to anyone else." Struck a nerve, did Weaver?

Oh, very much so.

He listened with interest to hearing that she had been a hunter, but the lingering bile of the Voice's name on his tongue mixed with the mention of Korofi and Sunjata, and he kept himself to a simple nod of gratitude for the information as he found himself re-evaluating the huntress-turned-bar-owner with this new information. "Slagveld?" he asked curiously, not having come across the term - name? - before.

She probably ought to pick Jigano’s brain more regularly. He was a wealth of largely willing information, it seemed. More so than Deimos, who did answer, but in his way. Which is to say, with only five words and no details. Sometimes the details were helpful. ”Do you know what exactly they are?” she asks, curious what sort of monsters they might be. Halo was full of monsters, after all, but nothing like that. No, they simply dealt with hungry predators, beasties that lived in a state of constant starvation.

His information on the Voice is equally useful and interesting. Again, more than anyone else ever bothers to give her. She listens, more questions popping into her mind, though she doesn’t ask them until he finishes. ”Why did she unleash the Blight?” she asks, one of the many things she’d heard only in pieces. After all, Weaver had still been trapped in Halo, and even when the portals first opened, she’d kept to herself and ignored them. These changes seemed so unlikely a thing to stick that they’d just pretended it would all go away as quickly as it had come, though clearly, that was not the case. ”The Mathair? I’ve heard of it, though only in fairy stories told to children, so I assume they are largely tall tales now.”

He has very few comments to the mention of Korofi, and she cannot help but wonder at that. Sunjata is not universally liked, she is learning, though she cannot be sure here. Maybe there’s simply nothing to say. ”His new boxing ring in Torchline,” she says at the question of its name. ”Man seems to like to build and then leave others to run it.” Though he was running the boxing ring, at least for now.

"Ascended," he answered quietly, voice almost muffled by his layers. "Earlier... models, one might say. Creations that didn't live up to their creator's vision and were..." he paused, glancing over to Weaver with a wry tilt of his head in acknowledgment. "Abandoned, near as we can tell. They hate, they kill, they seek upgrades and magic in an attempt to... to make themselves stronger, I suppose. Strong enough to masquerade among the living again, beyond the one week a year they haunt the Grounds. But their resentment of living humans is a terrifying and terrible thing." And in three hundred years the Voice had done nothing to blunt their reign of terror during LongNight. Even in the charitable admission that she had only recently awakened, still the Night had been filled with blood and terror.

The Blight was a topic equally grim, and Jigano drew a breath at the memories of its blackness in his skin, his blood, his soul. "Why? One of her children claimed it was an accident. Collateral damage, so to speak. But she denied her part in it for weeks and months, and when the evidence became insurmountable and she was forced to admit that it was of her own making, still she did nothing to mitigate it. Only after sacrifices were made did she see fit to prevent its spread beyond the portals..." He paused, eyes narrowing. "Though come to think of it, that may have been less a gesture of goodwill than a way to prevent poisoning the wells from which she wants to draw new worshipers. Blighting their land a families would quickly turn a world against her. But the Fae and the Grounders? They were already biased against her machinations, so there was no need to be gentle with them." He slanted Weaver a wry look. "Though I'm sure the Ascended would tell the tale differently. All I can give you is my own experience with her." Give or take when she had threatened to kill him.

"The Mathair should properly be explained by a Fae," he admitted with a faint wince. "I'm only an outsider into their ways. From what I've been told, it housed the spirit of a minor goddess and was a sacred tree in the heart of their Greatwood. It still stands, with an Ascended portal in its heart... but the spirit that once called it home was destroyed by the Voice in the making of that portal."

Information on Sunjata's activities was welcome, and Jigano nodded thoughtfully, slanting a wry glance at Weaver. "As he's left this Kraai behind in your care? He must trust you, though, if he's left you in charge in his... extended absence." What else to call Sunjata's abandoning Halo for Torchline at the drop of a hat?

”Lovely,” she mutters in a way that makes it clear that lovely is the opposite of what she actually means. It changes the way she views the Voice, though only slightly. In truth, she views the Voice much as she views the rest of the gods, which is to say, with mixed emotions. They were neither good nor bad, necessarily. Though they all gave out boons to their followers, Weaver couldn’t help but feel as though it was like a cat toying with a mouse. After all, couldn’t the gods simply fix the mess that had been made of this world? Yet they did not.

Weaver listens to the tale, knowing it is one sided and appreciating that he knows it as well. To know both sides is to piece together the truth, after all, but still, that does not make his side less valid. ”Is it possible that she did not stop it because she could not?” Weaver asks, not defending the Voice or her actions, but rather considering the possibility that she is limited. ”She is not a true goddess, after all. She is nothing more than a human who turned herself into something other.” At least, that is what Weaver has gathered from others, if the stories are true.

Weaver can’t help but chuckle slightly as he suggests a Fae explain it. ”You say that as if the Fae are likely to explain anything.” At least so far, her experience with the Fae has been to discover how well they dodge questions and tell half truths. She would honestly enjoy a lesson from them in the art. She is good at it, but they are better. Still, she nods at his explanation, finding it sufficient, and tucking away the information.

Weaver laughs a bit more at the extended absence. ”He never intended to stay. The bar was always designed to be mine, not his. He simply gets a small cut of the profits for helping to supply the booze.” He’d also gotten Neron’s blessing, though she leaves that part out. And the guild, which she also leaves out. Profit cuts were explanation enough, and one that anyone would believe.  

Weaver's tone echoed Jigano's thoughts on the matter perfectly, and it was enough to leave it at that. The Blight was another tale entirely, though one that was linked through the Voice's habit of abandoning projects that no longer suited her and leaving others to clean up the mess after. A comparison the bard might make of Sunjata, were he feeling uncharitable. Weaver's point earned a dip of his head in acknowledgment however, and a moment of thought. "And yet, she was able to, once non-Ascended had paid a price in health and life to it, the Greatwood weakened, and the Old Gods forced to step in. Or at least, so she sent her children to proclaim on the Notice Board of Sanctuary. Even so, the evasions and the denials leading up to the eventual admission that it was her handiwork did not exactly engender goodwill when the truth finally came out." He grimaced and gave a light shrug. "Whether she was lying to make herself seem more powerful and try to garner back some goodwill after the fact or not, I don't know."

The Fae were notoriously close-lipped and Jigano grinned ruefully at Weaver's finely-honed point. "Ah well, it depends on who you speak to, I suppose. Some are certainly friendlier than others!" Which could be said of any race or region on Caido.

Hearing that Sunjata had never intended to stay earned a raised brow, a flicker of calculation in the bard's blue eyes. "I see," he murmured politely. And he did. He had known of the Guild when it had a different master, and when Sunjata had taken his place that had been communicated as well. Whether those ties still stood given how strained things had become between guildmasters, however, was uncertain, but the building of bases across the different regions, faced and linnked with names in a distinctly alien tongue, was not exactly subtle.

"What plans do you have for the future, Mistress of the Kraai?" he asked instead, tone light. "Do you see yourself still serving ale and wine and handing over your profits to a Torchline government official ten years from now?"

Weaver listens as he adds more to the story, nodding. It was too muddy to make much of a determination one way or another, and so she simply sighs slightly. ”It is rather a shame we cannot find some peace between both sides.” There was, technically, peace now, but even Weaver in remote Halo knew it was a tenuous thing at best. Though the actions of the Ascended affected her only inasmuch as the portal to Halo was open, she was not naive enough to believe that it was likely to stay that way. ”I admit I would prefer not to live through a war, though it feels...not inevitable, but certainly possible.”

Weaver chuckles at his optimism toward the Fae. ”The one I met most recently enjoyed pointed her spear at me regularly. Mind you, we were in Halo. I was not even trespassing in the Greatwood.” Though perhaps others would be a bit friendlier to outsiders who actually meant no harm. Weaver just liked to know things.

His words at the mention of Sunjata are rather clipped though, and she gives him a bit of a sideways glance. ”You seem...suspicious? I am not sure that’s quite the word I’m looking for. More like that you have a history with Sunjata. Don’t worry, you will not offend me. I wanted a bar. I found one,” she says, casually enough. It was true. She wanted a slightly easier life, and she wanted to avoid the Tundra on a daily basis. As it turned out, she liked booze, and was good at keeping her customers happy. ”My brother doesn’t like him either,” she adds, her tone easy and light enough.

His next question though is a good one. ”Unlikely, I suspect, though if I am I don’t think I would be sorry.” Though Weaver has never been good at sitting still for too long, and ten years of the same thing would be a long time. ”Though I cannot say I have plans. I rarely do. I tend to see what opportunities open and snag the ones that interest me.” Act first, think later. Sometimes it worked out very well, and other times, not so much. ”And you? What occupies your time?”