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The Kingdom of Irrisen
Golarion
Two hours ago
In the area of Golarion known as the Inner Sea, the kingdom of Irrisen was commonly called “The Land of Eternal Winter.” Given its location in the northern latitudes, a casual observer might be forgiven for assuming that its perpetually snowy climate was an entirely natural effect.
Unfortunately, said observer would be utterly wrong — and forgiveness was no more a natural quality of Irrisen than its weather.
Irrisen’s climate had always been harsh, true, but its current weather woes could be traced back fourteen centuries, to the terrible Winter War: when Baba Yaga had descended upon the land with her armies of winter fey and other icy allies, intent on conquest. Since then, Irrisen had been a country of snow and ice; and while few had ever seen the legendary witch there since her triumph, her mark was sunk as deeply into the land as the frost which covered it.
From the chicken-legged sentinel huts which stood guard along its borders, to the winter fey and winter wolves which infested its woods, to the covens of winter witches that governed the kingdom — all of it answered to Baba Yaga.
And this was truest of all in the case of she who wore the Ice Crown of Irrisen, a personage no less than one of Baba Yaga’s daughters, though the identity of the queen had changed over time. Every one hundred years, Baba Yaga would return to Irrisen to place one of her daughters on the throne, taking the former queen and the eldest of her daughters with her when she left — presumably, to forestall dynastic conflicts.
No one knew what became of the former monarchs and their children. Some said that Baba Yaga taught them secrets of magic that she had gained in her travels; some believed that she gave them entirely new kingdoms to rule, having proven their worth in governing Irrisen. But on the other hand . . . Well, Baba Yaga did have a certain reputation — particularly when it came to children.
Elvanna, Queen of Irrisen, didn’t know the truth of her sisters’ fates — but she had suspicions, backed up by just enough proof to act upon them. It had taken years for her to assemble all the pieces necessary, but she’d finally gotten everything in place to remove the threat her mother posed — potential or otherwise.
And as with any good plan, there were redundancies and fallbacks in place. In the best scenario, she would usurp her mother’s power, end her mother’s life, and expand her kingdom far beyond Irrisen’s current borders. This would make her the dominant power in Golarion, to say the very least.
In the next best scenario, she might fail to expand Irrisen, or even steal her mother’s power for herself, but her mother would be imprisoned beyond any hope of escape or recovery. This would solidify her own rule for the remainder of her lifetime, and allow her some cachet among potential threats to her throne — overcoming Baba Yaga was no mean feat, after all.
In the worst scenario she had envisioned, she might fail to hold her mother forever; but the destruction of her power base, of her servitors and artefacts, would weaken her. Weaken her to such an extent, perhaps, that a few of Baba Yaga’s many, many enemies might dare to strike at her where before it would have been unthinkable. Elvanna was considered cruel, heartless, and outright evil by many (weak-minded fools, in her opinion), but all she was had learned at her mother’s skirts. Baba Yaga had few among the so-called good or evil that would hesitate to cut her down, if given the opportunity . . .
And at the very least, she could spite her mother by eliminating her choice of successor. It had taken a great deal of effort for Elvanna to uncover the identity of her replacement; Baba Yaga had hidden her well, and far from Golarion, indeed. However, her efforts had eventually borne fruit, and she had dispatched an appropriate response to the upstart sister who would think to take her throne.
Yes . . . Elvanna was pleased with how things were going. All was in readiness. All was prepared. And now, the time had come to move, beginning with a simultaneous strike against both Baba Yaga and her Three Riders — the Witch Queen’s heralds, as well as her most powerful and loyal servitors.
“You’d best prepare yourselves — Mother, sister, and riders,” she murmured, as she gave the signal to her forces. A thin, cruel smile stretched her lips.
“A snowstorm is coming for you . . .”
Another world
One hour ago
As the Class Card disintegrated, her own energy waned, and she could feel the chains settling upon her — dragging her down into the darkness. Once again, the disguise her mother had wrapped her almost from the moment of her birth enveloped her, strangled her; forcing her to do nothing but watch her life being lived by a person that answered to her name, but denied her existence.
It wasn’t fair, and she hated it —
“Wandering soul, plagued by strife;
If ye be willing, return to life.
To tread anew in flesh reborn,
The path from which you were torn . . .”
Coming from somewhere far off, she heard the words — and while she understood them, she wasn’t quite sure of what she was hearing. The words echoed in Japanese, German (her other native tongue), English (which she’d begun learning in school) . . .
It was logically impossible for the chant to be all those languages at once, but try as she might, she couldn’t conclusively identify the echoes’ source as being any specific dialect. But if she didn’t know how she was hearing it, she was still able to understand what it was that she was hearing. It was a warm voice, saddened by her fate, and gently offering to ease her pain.
More than that: it was an invitation, a chance to be free — to be Ilyasviel von Einzbern for herself . . .
Under other circumstances, she might’ve questioned things a bit further. Being offered the Third True Magic’s gift was unlikely, to understate the case, and any other means of manifestation that she knew of were far more costly — such as the fact that those who were capable of them were more often inhuman monsters than not.
But the relative freedom granted to her by the Archer Class Card was ebbing fast, and her re-imprisonment was imminent — there was no time for questions or debate. That being the case, she reached out to the source of the voice, to accept.
And though she had no real sense of her own body, never truly having been allowed one of her own, she couldn’t rid herself of the feeling that followed: the sensation of a warm, larger hand gently clasping her own, and tugging . . .
“Heed now the spinning wheel of Fate;
I entreat ye, REINCARNATE!”
Under normal circumstances, the spell would’ve functioned without issue, having been cast by a being who was the highest-ranking practitioner of the druidic arts on his world. However, these were not normal circumstances, due to multiple factors that were beyond the control (or even, in truth, the knowledge) of both the spell’s caster and its recipient.
Firstly, the caster of the spell was under a manifold enchantment, which had been cast by Baba Yaga. Among other things, it allowed him access to the druidic powers which had enabled him to cast the spell in the first place, but there were provisions in place that he was unaware of. The one most significant to the situation was a curse that would rebound whenever he attempted to use his magic to access other planes; such as, for example, the Ethereal Plane, which among others things was the realm of the dead.
When that happened, the curse aspect was empowered to make the spell’s results as inconvenient as possible — but only that. Baba Yaga didn’t want her victim dead, merely unable to interfere with her, at least, until she’d determined whether or not he’d be a threat or a help to her in the future (and if it was the former, of course, then she would kill him).
A second factor that would cause the curse aspect to manifest would be any attempt to tamper with Baba Yaga’s work. Mostly, of course, this was to keep her potential pawn under her control, but part of it was to protect him, as well. Her divinations were unclear (a rare thing for her), but it was possible he would be instrumental in aiding her at some point in the future, and she didn’t want that possibility undone by outside forces.
Both factors were currently in play; a large part of Baba Yaga’s enchantment was being unwoven by divine intervention, and a spell that reached to another plane had been cast by the enchanted one — and then been tampered with by an outside force. And as not even Baba Yaga could directly oppose a deity’s power, the curse focussed on the latter element.
It was a reincarnation spell that had been cast, but it was only a fragment of the whole. A significant one, to be sure, but a portion of its power and intent had been siphoned off for another purpose by the Holy Grail of another world — the spirit of Ilyasviel von Einzbern, with the rest thrown aside. And that was the crux of why it had come to this world. Orienting on “Ilyasviel von Einzbern” as the source of the problem, since it had interfered with the curse’s manifestation against the spell’s caster, the curse directed the remainder of the reincarnation spell to twist against her, instead.
As such, it selected a spirit to reincarnate that would cause her a great deal of inconvenience . . .
However, in the midst of this, the other aspect of Baba Yaga’s enchantment manifested — a portion which had gone untouched and unnoticed by both Ilya and the deity. The Witch Queen had vanished, and because the enchantment’s bearer had not been responsible, as she had feared her might be, the enchantment was directed to bring its bearer to her aid.
. . . And the one in whose fate he had been meddling (however unknowingly or indirectly) was dragged along for the ride.
As a result, when the reincarnation spell began to build a new body for the soul it had latched on to from the elements of the Material Plane, its composition would be wildly divergent from what she was accustomed to . . .
Kingdom of Arendelle
Same time
Not for the first time, Rohkar Cindren wondered how he could get himself out of this.
He’d been having a good run of luck, so far as things went. Banditry had been an excellent cover for the activities of his faith, and he was safe so long as he kept his worship a secret from his followers — not difficult, as most of them weren’t that bright. His god was happy, his men were happy, and he reaped rich rewards from both, which made him happy. Life was good.
Then they’d tried to ambush that Irriseni caravan — and how was he to have known that it was the troll that was in charge? He’d thought it had been the sorcerer, and those were simple enough to deal with when you played it cautiously; for all their powers, they died like any other man did when you put an arrow through their backs . . .
Really, you would think an “evil” ruler (though Rohkar himself found such a term naive and short-sighted) like the Queen of Irrisen would approve of his god — but instead, her minions simply used their knowledge of his devotion to press-gang him into service. After all, his own men would kill him if they knew who he worshipped, never mind anyone else. And now he found himself invading a foreign kingdom, to kidnap a princess for ransom.
Although, from what little he’d overheard of the plan between the troll and his faerie minions, he suspected that ransom wasn’t their ultimate objective . . .
Not that his men would care, so long as they got paid. Nor, frankly, did Rohkar; but having been caught unawares by them once, he was keen not to have it happen again. And when never knew what else he might learn. Perhaps something would be revealed that could be turned to his advantage, and get his neck out of the proverbial noose —
His thoughts were interrupted by a thunder of hoof beats, underlying which was the rolling rumble of carriage wheels. Having long since learned to spot and recognise arms at a distance, identifying it as the royal coach wasn’t difficult. Nor were the number of bodyguards, compared to the forces he had available.
Rohkar put all other thoughts out of his mind for the moment, to focus on the job at hand. It was time to go to work.
The sky was grey, and threatening rain — appropriate, Elsa thought, for the day of her parents’ funeral.
Not that she would be attending it, mind you. Like most events in her life for the last ten years, however poorly it might be seen to do so, the occasion could be avoided; and therefore, she would stay in her room. It would better, safer, for everyone if she did — especially Anna.
Anna . . .
The crown princess’ heart clenched. Right now, her baby sister would be out there, facing the other mourners and her own grief, alone — but what else could she do? Her powers were dangerous at the best of times, and this was far from that. It was taking everything she had to keep them in check; if she was out there, the odds of them going berserk were such that not even the most compulsive gambler would bet on its not happening.
No, it was far better that she stay here, where no one could get hurt, or worse, and there was no chance of her suddenly conjuring a glacier, or blizz —
Before the thought had even fully formed in Elsa’s head, oddly-coloured lightning erupted in the sky, heralding a terrible, howling wind that bore snow. More than that, it was swiftly-falling snow, heavy enough that what she could see of the castle courtyard from her window quickly resembled a frosted layer cake. And any view beyond the castle walls, she discovered with a glance, vanished in a swirl of hazy white after almost no distance at all.
The crown princess stared at the engulfing storm with a mixture of emotions that held varying levels of shock, disbelief, and panic, though the latter was quickly winning out over the other two.
I didn’t do it! Elsa thought, desperately trying to deny that her control had failed this completely, this quickly. I didn’t — I didn’t . . . I couldn’t have —!
Later, the princess would confess to having no knowledge of how long such thoughts had swirled in her head; only that the sudden pounding of hooves brought her out of them. From the sounds of it, it was a horse at full gallop — but only a single horse. Not Anna’s entourage, then; she had left a full contingent of guardsmen. Perhaps, she wondered, it was some form of courier . . .?
Her curiosity didn’t wait long to be satisfied. With a swiftness that implied the need to run at full speed, there was a knock on her door.
“Your Highness!” Kai called, his voice sounding as urgent as she’d ever heard the seneschal — verging on panic, in fact. “Princess Anna’s escort was attacked on the way back to the castle —”
“WHAT?” Elsa exploded, almost literally, a wave of frost surging from her position to every point in the room — but for the first time in her life, she didn’t care.
“What happened?” the crown princess demanded. “Is she all right—?” Icicles began erupted from the surfaces of her conjuration, as cold and razor-keen as her voice as she uttered, “Who DARED —?”
“We’re not sure, Your Highness,” Kai admitted apologetically. “The remaining survivor wasn’t entirely coherent, but he kept insisting that the attackers weren’t — that they weren’t human . . .” He paused, clearly taking a deep breath, and the tension in Elsa only climbed higher.
“They retreated into the woods, Your Highness,” the seneschal said quietly, even as his tone turned apologetic. “And, Your Highness — they’ve taken the princess.”
For a moment, Elsa finally understood what it was to be cold, because it felt like her heart had frozen solid. She couldn’t think — she couldn’t breathe — as a level of fear she hadn’t felt for ten years mingled in her soul with a terrible, seething fury. When she finally did speak, she did so in the same cold, sharp voice as her last words — and the icicles in the room lengthened with every syllable.
“Muster the guard — every man you can find, and equip them with all the weapons and supplies they can carry. Form search parties, and find my sister — and if they’ve hurt her . . .”
Several frozen objects in the room chose that moment to shatter violently, as the force of her power overwhelmed their brittle structures.
“We’ll do everything we can, Your Highness,” Kai assured her, even as his next statement betrayed hesitation. “But, in all this snow . . .”
Understanding struck Elsa suddenly, and she clenched her fists so tightly that her nails drew blood from her palms. The storm wasn’t her doing, it was theirs — it was to cover their retreat . . . A wave of despair washed over her immediately afterward, though, as she realised that there was nothing she could do about it. Her powers were similar, it was true, but she’d never been able to control those, much less someone else’s magic —
No, she suddenly realised, but I know someone who has . . .
“Leave that to me,” she said, in a tone that would brook no argument. “I know just who to speak to about the snow — and have a horse readied for me at once.”
“Understood, Your Highness,” Kai said at once. “I’ll have a contingent of guards assembled for you immediately —”
“No!” she snapped. “Don’t waste guards on me when they could be searching for Anna — I’ll make better time on my own.” That was true enough, to say nothing of the fact that she really didn’t want anyone to see her bartering with trolls, or worse — learning of her own magic.
“But, Princess!” Kai protested.
Even though he couldn’t see her through the door, the eighteen-year-old drew herself up to her full height, and spoke in as imperious a tone as she could muster.
“You have your orders, Kai — carry them out!”
There was a moment of silence, then a quiet, resigned, “Yes, Your Highness.”
As she heard the servant walk away, Elsa let out a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding, even as she forced down a twinge of guilt over speaking to one of her most loyal retainers like that. She would apologise, but later — right now, Anna was in danger, and she didn’t have time for niceties!
Instead, she went to a book she hadn’t looked at in years. She thought she knew the contents by heart, but with her sister at risk, she was taking no chances.
She couldn’t afford to waste time by getting lost — especially since she’d be travelling in winter conditions, unlike ten years ago.
As she worked her way through the runic directions, Elsa fought down the fear that lurked in the back of her throat. Hopefully, Grand Pabbie would be able to do something about the storm, so that her guards could do their work unhindered — but if not . . .
If not — well, the cold had never bothered her, anyway. If she had to, she’d save Anna herself.
And God help anyone — or anything, for that matter — that tried to stop her.
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Originally Posted by Xamusel
The problem is, I've seen it done before, and by a writer I respect - so I hate to feel derivative.
