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She arrived with the wind, a semblance of white, of furs, of taffeta worn against the chill she brought. Blonde locks fluttered scintillant in the light that followed her. The whoosh regaled the room with a presence of the north, whirling in the drapes, extinguishing lights. Though her face was as immaculate as the reflection in a blade, her eyes burned of emberized cerulean where she panned her gaze. Fixity came unto the few gathered, a transient regard ticking to purview them and their accoutrements, weighing and measuring. From behind this tall maiden of the north stumbled and slightly tumbled a limber snow-goblin, it's skin more alabaster than even the furs that stoled it's mistress shoulders. Grumbling, the creature bumped into the valkyrie's calf, prompting a sneer to twist into existence upon the woman's porcelain features. Where the goblin lugged a backpack more sizeable than itself, she wore a frock and cloak of fur and a slender sword strapped to her waist by thick bands of leather, braided into one hip-mounted sheathe.

"Someone better tell me what I'm doing here." She spoke sonorous frost, voice haunted by her northron blood, impatience twining her words.

Can I join with lorfea?)

Garner is still in the middle of staring off into space, however he begins to notice how long he has been there, and begins wondering where this Dulrin character is and why he's waiting for him in the first place. He shakes this off, noting that Dulrin might be the person to talk to about getting to the next town.

He lays back on the couch he's sitting on, looking directly upwards into the ceiling as he ponders to himself again when he begins to wonder to himself about the fog, he hadn't thought of it too much prior due to his other questions thus he began to do so as he sipped water from one of his potion bottles. It was clear to him the fog was not natural, it was way too thick and the way it settled in the area within mere seconds suggested a more magical origin which led Garner to have a few suspicions about how all of that coincidentally led him to the tower of which he resides now.

While he was mostly certain that the reasons of his arrival here may be for a reason, he decides to keep it to himself for now, mainly to see what he is waiting for Dulrin for in the first place.

((Ingeborg, ok, cool. Ayelle, thanks for letting us know!))

As what appeared to be some kind of ice witch materialized out of thin air, Ayelle thought better of her idea and the illusion of Rinka blinked out of existence as the elf slunk back into the foggy forest, getting as far away from the castle as quickly as she could.

The small creature with the wide brimmed hat, whose name was Urir, startled noticeably at Ingeborg's sudden appearance and backpedaled behind the couch where Garner was laying. He eyed the snow-goblin nervously, as if expecting it to attack at any moment.

Upstairs, Dulirn smiled to himself while preening his appearance in a mirror, taming a few stray hairs and smoothing his beard and mustache. When satisfied, he strode down toward the sitting room where Garner, Urir, Ingeborg, and the snow-goblin awaited him, making hardly a sound on the carpeted castle stairs.

"Welcome, travelers," Dulirn said, giving a small bow as he entered the room. "It is not often we are graced with such fine and..." he gave a devilish grin to the lady, " ...fair company."

( im sorry to waste your time. )

A slender brow the silver of her fair mane, ticked up by a measure. "That's why," she said, voice catching half-way between quaint and mocking. The northron witch did not so much stare as purview and appraise, her eyes like pale sapphires glinting for interest. That devilish smile of his found ample match in her easy, wicked curve.

The snow-goblin was around two and half feet tall, entirely white save for the fur he wore, his arms long for the scale of his frame, knuckles able to graze the floor standing. A nasty look had twisted to his blunted features as the servant tumbled backwards to escape him. The full set of his teeth grinned across his face for the satisfaction. He inched himself closer, considering prey, when Dulirn appeared and stole the snow goblin's momentum entirely.

Moistening one's lips as intrinsically cold as her's left a glister of crystal, as if her tongue a catalyst for whence she had come, ice still a prickling haze in the aether around the northron witch; another facet of one nimbus. But her cheeks burned of warmth, a healthy roseate afflicting those soft-steeped marmoreal curves and her mouth was not blue for frostbite but painted a natural pink. Her teeth did drew an ivory blade from a velvet sheath when she slanted her impish smile at the wizard.

"I'm Ingeborg of the North. Of Valhalla! Valkyrie and witch. Naiad and Siren of the lake that gave birth to all other lakes. You are in the presence of royal blood, mortal," she hewed her words clear like pearls from one solid host of glacial authority and laughter was a sparkle in her arctic eyes.

((Cool! Is there anything I need to do or wait for, or is this a kind of weave-your-way-into-the-narrative sort of thing?))

((Yep! (Weave your way in, that is) Here's the general idea in case you didn't see the original interest check thread: https://www.rprepository.com/community/forumthread.php?t=59909 ))

Had his fog spell gone awry and somehow summoned this Valkyrie to him? She had not come through the forest like the others. That should definitely NOT have happened, but Dulirn was quite delighted with the result. She would make an excellent lure for the fire demon, her magic feeding it until was more powerful than he had dared to hope before.

And the other... the fiend... what a rare and fantastic catch indeed!

The snow-goblin was not of particular use. He would probably have to dispose of it later, but no matter.

"In that case, fine royal lady Ingeborg, we shall have a feast in your honor. It is rare that I may entertain guests in my humble home. Urir, do come out of hiding, please. There is a feast to prepare!" He was quite in seriousness. There was no reason not to fully enjoy the company of his guests prior to their main purpose.

((Thank you!))

In her dream, she was running.

It was the sort of run that you feel powerless to stop, your feet and legs sprinting away to who-knows-where, independent of your mind. It was the sort of dream that freezes your mind and weaves cold tendrils of terror around your heart. It was everything Sonny sought to repress in her waking life (for a lack of control over their body and emotions can get a hunter killed) and it reeked of betrayal.

There are only two ways to stop dreams such as this, and that is either to stop running (a feat that is easier said than done) or wake up (something which requires the dreamer to experience enough fear to send them bolt upright in their bed, or otherwise the help of another's hands, to shake away sleep's embrace).

Luckily, both methods were used on the hunter, who's wandering feet had taken her from her room in the tavern to the bar area downstairs and into the path of a miserable drunk. As she collided with the body left resting on the floor, she was sent tumbling, head first, onto the sticky wood. With a gasp she was awake, heart thundering, eyes wide. Stumbling away from the man and his unintelligible but certainly murderous mutterings, she made her way towards the door into the darkness of night. With her back to the wall she composed herself, eyes adjusting to the sudden darkness.

Discontent foiled by the cordial respect offered her, the northerner's demeanor softened. As did that impish smirk from her inviting lips. In it's stead claimed a genteel smile her features and what passed as acquiescence in her noble circles was nodded... "Thank you, such a gentleman, aren't you?" As per Ingeborg's habit, her chin lofted behind that yield of enticement. When her gaze was not icicle-sharp and her features no longer formed to match a mien fraught with barbed intentions, the valkyrie looked positively youthful.

The slyer than slyest of snow-goblins had yet to hearken to the wizard's invite, the creature's extremities fairly trembling in anticipation for a meal elsewise; it's gaze anchored to Urir, the smile quickened anew in all it's toothy, primal esurience.

"Shall we?" said the valkyrie, inclining her head to line the question into something more of a request.

((No, sorry, it's full.))

Urir inched his way out from behind the couch where Garner was and toward Dulirn, keeping both eyes on the snow-goblin the entire time. He ducked behind the wizard's robes, as if using them as a shield. "I will prepare it," the servant promised, then practically darted from the room, back toward the foyer, then straight across to the other side.

Dulirn glanced toward the fiend. "And you too, of course, good sir. You must join us."

He gestured across the dingy foyer to the other side of the staircase, where Urir had left the other door opened wide. A well-lit, formal dining area was visible just beyond.

The snow-goblin chewed on it's own tongue, slobbering quiet frustrations into the noiseless spaces left between the wizard's speaking. Such sound writhed ill omens to the valkyrie and she spoke on a brisk note, "Quiet. Or I will turn you inside out and carve your bones into chimes and flutes that you shall never walk silent again."

The creature fell silent with eyes saucered and a blankness turned inwards. It's thoughts floundered for want of purchase around long sentences more-so than in fear. But quiet had been instilled. The uncouth had been quenched. And the self-proclaimed noble of the north was already half-way towards the dining room indicated by their gracious host, her stride in equal parts regal and alluring. The snow-goblin startled into a bounding pace, padding hands and feet to catch up, a simian loping rounding it on the heel of it's mistress.

Garner figures the only way he can learn more about why he's here as well as the fog that led him here is to play along. "I would be most glad to attend" he states while getting up from the couch and walking into the dining area Dulirn had pointed him to.

Upon sitting at one of the chairs that of which circled the dining table, he began to go back to mumbling to him self about the fog as well as its unclear origin, similar to before he quickly shakes these thoughts, giving the benifit of the doubt of sheer coincidence or perhaps a less sinister reasoning to why he was there.

As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she began to notice something...different. The forest around her was filling with thick fog, choking and blinding; within seconds she could barely see the trees not five foot in front of her. Disorientated she stumbled forward, intending to make her way back into the tavern, though quickly she found it disappeared. Face burning with shame she moved rashly, turning her stumble into a stride.

As she walked, feet light and silent on the ground, she checked in with her other senses, trying to navigate the strange forest without her eyes. The fog surrounded her in a damp blanket, muffling all sounds and blocking all smells. The air wasn't completely still, however- there was a spark in the air, a heat which burned against her skin as she walked further into the forest, towards wherever her feet were instinctively carrying her.

The dining room was much cleaner than the sitting room, but still showed signs of disrepair. The carpet was faded and worn, the table legs were carved with intricate designs, but cracked and chipped.

Urir was already busy setting out plates, silverware, and goblets for their "guests", keeping his eyes cast downward at the floor, not wishing to look either Ingeborg or Garner in the eye as he knew full well the fate Dulirn planned for them.

"The fog?" Dulirn raises a questioning eye at the fiend's mumbling. "It is exceptionally thick today," he comments. "Did you lose your way?"

"Lady..." He gestured toward the chair closest to Ingeborg and it slid outward, seemingly on its own, so that she may be seated.

"The fog was rather thick, yes. However it is the time of which the fog showed up that eludes me, the fog settled in the area in a matter of seconds, which suggests a sorta 'magical' influence?" He looks at Dulrin whIle he mentions this, mainly looking for facial clues to suggest he may have a hand in it

Positively charmed by the example of superfluous magic, Ingeborg cooed her excitement and gracefully slipped into the seat, the splay stole draping the northern nimbus in fur tucked neatly for sitting.
Ingeborg was thawing to this strange, handsome wizard by the second. The nature of people possessing of powers and arrogance in equal abundance was often an imperviousness to worry and fear, so too in this case. Where Garner entertained the possibility of trickery, this particular magical lass from the north, had only eyes for the presentation. Her eyes sparkled for the whimsies of fate that had brought her to the wizard's doorstep to share such grand and auspicious a meal... This was what ticked her gaze up his standing figure, a brow quirking mildly to accentuate the query, "What is the occasion, mister Dulirn?"

Meanwhile had the snow goblin deposited it's cumbersome backpack against a wall, it's beady eyes widening into the parlor as the creature sauntered quite relieved and yet always so graven in his step. It was a strange semblance to behold, at once free from backpack and thus possessing of a mien of leisure, the next moment struck with acuity, it's stubby countenance worrying glances this way and that. It was in stifled alarm the little laborer took to it's mistress side, tugging at the folds of her long-dress to garner the princess' attention.

Though her surroundings were completely shrouded in fog, Sonny knew she was approaching something. Though she was without sight to guide her, she could feel the changes in the terrain under her feet as she moving from the uneven ground of the forest, with its sprawling and gnarled roots, to softer ground littered with jagged, slate-like stones.

Sonny didn't like the change. The forest was her home, a safe haven of familiarity, and even though she could barely see the trees around her the knowledge of their existence made her feel protected. Her feet, however, seemed not to acknowledge the wants of her head and her heart. Though she proceeded cautiously, she still proceeded, stepping slowly on the open ground. The sparks she had detected earlier seemed to grow in heat and number as she moved into the stony clearing. As her feet took her forward she found herself squinting with unsurety, head craned, brain trying to make sense of the gathering dark shadows in the fog. There seemed to be a sort of building coming into view. Instantly warning bells were sounding in her head- buildings meant other people, and other people were threats.

Though her feet were undeterred from their unknown route, Sonny still had wits enough about her not to storm forward to the looming structure standing in the near-distance. Despite the lack of visibility, the young hunter was committed to a guarded approach to new places, the first step of which required a full check of the surrounding area. Drawing a knife from her belt she continued to walk forward (for she knew somehow that she could not go backwards), adjusting her direction to a sharp diagonal in the hopes of circling the perimeter of the glade.

As Sonny circled the tower, she'd see the main entrance with a lit lantern. The surrounding terrain was rocky and steep, making any other approach difficult. Toward the back, almost directly opposite the front entrance was a short wooden door set into the rocks. It was hard to see until Sonny was right up near it. It was lower than the main door and set a few dozen yards away from the tower, so it seemed a reasonable assumption that it would lead to a cave or a basement under the tower. Those appeared to be the only ways in and out of the tower besides scaling the sides to the narrow windows higher up.

--

Dulirn's eyebrows raised and his thin lips tightened momentarily as he glanced at Garner, then smiled. "Perhaps it was. It is good indeed that you found your way here for a fine meal and a good night's rest."

"The occasion?" The wizard's eyes shifted back to Ingeborg. She seemed to appreciate the small display of magic, so he continued the show and pointed at a decanter Urir had just set down on the table, directing it to pour its red wine into 3 goblets. Once filled, he floated one gracefully to Ingeborg, another toward Garner, and the 3rd to himself, not bothering to offer any to Urir or to the snow-goblin. He lifted his goblet in a toast "Foggy days, good food, fine wine ...and better company."