LXXXII.
The trek across the Frozen Plains was a gruelling undertaking.
The shift of the moon’s corner, from its waning death to its slow and sharp
Rebirth, marked the passage of time which their thoughts did now usurp.
Both damp and freezing winds chilled to the bone and caused aching,
Yet never broke Ríona’s spirit. As luck would have it,
They obtained a horse in Med’Vetchya, which a demigod befit.
Indeed, to ease their travels and reduce the painstaking
Workload on the stallion, they sailed upstream with no backbreaking.
LXXXIII.
On the fifth day of travel, they passed a decrepit place.
A relic of a better time, the great fort of Bobryk,
Now a shadow of its former glory, standing on ice thick.
Thereupon, they reached the very edge of sophisticated grace:
The edge of civilization. From here onward they found
Only the discourteous embrace of the mountains’ high ground.
These peaks known as “The Guardians,” all north-land did encase,
And many believed they were the Innerworld’s treacherous staircase.
LXXXIV.
She prayed to her ancestor’s spirits, the clan’s Tribe Mothers,
For only they could lend her the necessary strength to pursue
Her goal. Despite never being one of such pious worldview
Back home in Kaës, she found comfort in a prayer’s smother
Before the final, arduous rise up from the Frozen Plains.
Alas, both a blessing and a curse, flowing in her veins
Was the only company she endured, one which stayed rather
Quiet. Such eerie suspicion did this slowly inwards usher.
LXXXV.
Yet other times, the Witch would show a great deal of compassion.
Her words were sweet as honey, and calm as a soft wind’s breeze.
Rekindling of a friendship that once brought joy and gave ease
To Ríona. Helpfulness and reassurances with passion
Would both help to rejuvenate the uneasy alliance
That had been crumbling between them due to bitter defiance.
Both parties in this isolation, now had to ration
With their ploys, and finally their fragile harmony refashion.
LXXXVI.
Then finally, on the eve of the eight day, the lake of Vransk
Emerged before their eyes. A tower piercing the valley,
Which was wrapped in a low fog, seemed ancient in its tally
Of years. Predating any mason’s style that one would bask
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In any of the great remnant cities on the Plawan coast.
This structure was a relic of a bygone era, an outpost
From a time when the now-frozen interior was still abask
With sunshine during the brief midsummer’s unenvious task.
LXXXVII.
Upon approaching the heavy oaken doors, she immediately felt
The abnormal circulations of the adjacent flow.
It acted like bloodsuckers, pinching her at a high tempo
From every which direction, coming in waves and would pelt
Her every so often. Nonetheless, she carried on with a stealthy
Pattern and attempted to carefully harness the wealthy
Supply of the matter. She made an effort to disguise and melt
Herself into the background, her movements graceful and svelte.
LXXXVIII.
The spell twirled only on the tips of her fingers at first,
However, upon another try, she began blending in
With the encircling colours. Her camouflage was akin
To that of a chameleon and made her appearance immersed
With the surroundings. This magick could offer some assurance
On this long awaited foggy night and with little deterrence,
The flow’s push opened the gate; a hall of candlelight dispersed.
Concurrently, crazed laughs were shut down by an anger’s outburst.
LXXXIX.
The silence of attentiveness inside their head was broken
By the goddess: “Dost thou hear it? That is the laugh of the man
Thou seekest, a long lost cause! With assiduity one can
Expect the unexpected, and though he might be outspoken,
He is likely harmless to us; likewise, he is kin-in-kind.
In spite of this, Balthazaran rage burns deeply in his mind!
It fuels his grapple with petty triviality as a token
To all his failures! For them he is now forever hagridden!”
XC.
In nodding accord, Ríona whispered back a query:
“Hath his vessel been torn in twain? Why doth he leap from essence to
Essence?” The queen smirked and indulged in these thoughts that only grew:
“He is what thou willest become if thou dost not follow thy dest’ny,
Young lass!” The girl left deep in thought, and creeped ever closer
To the origins of the laughter. The light shimmering about her
Was originating from the flow itself and was eerily
Aligned with the tingly bites it produced continuously.
XCI.
Whatever the Tsar was up to, he meddled with the bare
Lifeblood of the enigmatic power that was the flow.
The closer she got, the sharper the stinging misery would grow
And upon reaching the doorway, the flow that gave her chameleon’s wear,
Would begin to lacerate her skin, drawing gushing blood!
She quickly dispersed it for fear of injury. Her plan now in mud.
Upon this act, the laughs and grunts ceased. The Tsar was now aware
Of Ríona’s presence; and thus, of Aurianne’s devious snare.