The White Lady

 In many ways the city of Novigrad and Fleatown right next to it were the embodiment of Slavia as a whole. Freshly fallen snow covered thatch rooves and covered the wooden palisades that protected the city. Outside the palisade, Fleatown stood unprotected, even though a part of Novigrad it was reserved for the less fortunate, those who have through many a calamity lost all that they have owned. Now their homes were crude constructions built around a single Inn in the middle. The only fortune these people could rely on was their proximity to the cities defenses, while they did not live within the palisade they could if needed hide inside the city.

Sickness and raids by the Tengrian folk have in recent years rendered the eastern princedoms of man into shadows of their former selves. Slavia is no different, it’s shrines lay in disrepair, it’s towns protected by elderly men who have seen too many a winter. Bolstering their numbers are the young, a sharp contrast to the former, barely seeing a battle in their lifetime. And so the people of Slavia look out for each other, while the many Boyars who rule the land and their Prince gather what little wealth there is in to their small fortifications. Like Krasniaks they hoard gold and silver, food and wine. Caring little for those who live beyond their walls. 

…..

There is a quaint beauty in fleatown, when dusk starts to settle and the night begins to hum it’s first songs. One would say that it is even charming, seeing the multitudes of candles lit by windows with the daily offerings given to the domovoi. And if you were enchanted by this sight enough you may well wander in between the slums, there are scarcely any roads to speak off, more like passages knitted together by neighbors who needed a way to pass. Yet once you arrive in the center of this web of slums and humble enchantments you would see a tavern and around it enough space to build yet another slum in between. The tavern was called the Merry Goose and its owner owned the plot of land around his establishment. So no one was allowed to build there, not even his poor brother who fled his hometown after it was raided some years ago. Everyone referred to the owner as mister Goose, due to the name of his tavern. And if you had not yet noticed he didn’t really like people all that much. He kept to himself in the basement of the tavern, brewing mead and other drinks.

Once you crossed his plot of land you could always hear a song coming from the mead soaked throats of the patrons. This was the one place where all of the slums of Fleatown converged. Here weddings were had, funerals and festivals began. What you could not hear as often were the angry ramblings of an old man. As most Slavians kept their thoughts and their troubles to themselves. And yet on this night one of the Patrons was shouting, spitting and rambling about the fresh snow that had fallen the day before.

The white lady description

“T…the snow…it has come, she has come, oh gods preserve us!” Rambled the unusual patron unfamiliar to most in the slums. And yet he was not the only stranger here this evening, and it was the stranger that answered “what are you talking about you old coot?” This response did not however have the calming effect the other patrons were looking for. “Leave him be!” said one of the patrons; “can't you see he’s drunk?” jokingly asked another.

“Drunk? D…drunk? no …that's not… i havent drank a drop i…i speak the truth!” The old man continued his rambling, stroking his long white beard and grabbing his ragged robes, as if he were trying to hide in them. “There we have it then, you need a drink!” one of the patrons interrupted this somewhat frightening scene, hoping to ease the tension building in the tavern. Mister Goose did not like rabble and troublemakers and neither did most of the people living in the slums outside. So this was quite in character for the broken people who lived in these parts of Viraj. “She…she has awoken..she will come…maybe i…no no…” to the dismay of all patrons present the ramblings continued. Finally the other stranger visiting the tavern stood up and slowly edged his way toward the troublemaker, before sitting at his table. “Who are you old man, and who is this ‘She’ you speak of? A deathly silence fell on the tavern probably for the first time since it opened. “The lady…of…of snow, the white lady…she is…no, no…it cannot be” The old man rambled on screaming some words and whispering others.

“The White lady? Those are old children's stories, you old fool!” irritated, several of the patrons spoke out trying to stop this unpleasant talk ruining their mead and food. “Oh…ooooh.ooooh…but all stories were once real…yes…yes that’s…right. She is real…I swear it on Triglavs golden eyes!” Shocked the patrons fell silent once more, rarely would a man swear on the name of Triglav, much less the protector's eyes. “Still you haven't answered my question old man, who are you?” the strangers spoke out, breaking the silence that had fallen on the Inn. “my…my name is… Rogoz sir… and I come from…I…come…the south” Answering the question the old man shivered as if saying his name aloud would summon a great evil. “Well Rogoz, I am Zacharius, now please tell me, what do you know about the White lady?” Revealing his face the other stranger revealed his name as well, before ordering a cup of mead for himself.

“She is…the devourer, the man eater…the devil of fresh snows…she is…awake” Rogoz continued speaking, far more calmly now as if he had spoken finally with a kindred spirit or at least someone who he felt was safe to speak to. “Yes, yes we've all heard the stories, old man Rogosh or whatever your name is, what of her? What do you mean she is awake?” Several patrons now agitated beyond the usual amount, threw question after question towards the whimpering man hiding in his robes. “She is awake!! I swear!...I …I saw her, I followed her….yes…i tried…I didn’t know…she was…” As the ramblings faded away the wind started to howl more fiercely outside brushing the young snow in the field between the tavern and the slums. Zacharius reached into his robes and pulled out an amulet, reciting a few verses into it quietly before putting it on. With eyes wide open and a shriveled screech the old man jumped up “ you!...you do believe me!...you’re one of… one of them!?” Rogoz jumped around in what seemed like pure elation, confusing most of the patrons, and bringing out a smirk on Zachariuss face. “Please everyone, remain quiet and listen to what the old man has to say, keep your wits about you!” Zacharius now stood and with a booming voice he breathed calm into the room.

“You…want me to summon her?” confused, Rogoz sat down, as if his life had already left him. “Yes, i need you to do so when you are ready” Zacharius answered calmly, before grabbing a marbled mace inscribed by some form of runes and putting it on the table. “Gromovnik!” several of the patrons gasped while others grabbed weapons of their own. “You really believe this man??” the patrons asked Zacharius now with far more trust towards the stranger. “I do, and I would appreciate all the help you can give me if she does come…now let Rogoz speak…” the gromovnik spoke calmly, as the room quieted and some of the patrons took their weapons out trembling.

“It was yesterday, when the…the first snow was falling, I saw a young woman in the woods outside Fleatown, where I was gathering some mushrooms. Her beauty…it was….heh…enchanting. I had not been with a woman, in all the summers of my life and… and yet she was prettier than all that I…had seen. I approached her and asked her what she was called…she said nothing but grabbed my hand….I…followed…fool… After a few moments she turned and smiled. I…had not been with a woman…I wanted…wh..what any man does. So i tried…kissing her. She resisted, I tried touching her…she resisted…finally I grabbed her and ....” Suddenly Rogoz froze, as if what he was about to say would be his last words on this good earth. 

“And, please continue” Zacharius edged on the old man. “Her…eyes..t..they…turned red…her mouth split open…the teeth…so many teeths…” Rogoz finished exhaling deeply as if it were his last breath. The wind howled forcefully outside, before blowing through the entrance of the tavern. Extinguishing the candles inside and in the darkness that fell on the room a set of red eyes appeared in the door. Zacharius stood up calmly muttering a song quietly before grabbing his mace. A dim glow came on to the weapon, the carving glowing white.

Fear the dark, and the young snow
Fear the animal that sleeps inside
Fear me…when your arms touch unwantedly

A shrill voice recited the verses as the sound of ripping flesh and breaking bone was heard from the door. “Leave…you have no place in this hall, no place in this world!” Zacharius answered, pointing his mace towards the doorway. “Leave now, and leave the Sons of Perun at peace” The Gromovnik continued calmly as to his side gathered several patrons, swords in hands.

Fear the dark, and the young snow
Fear his arrival and a new dawn
Oh Sons of Perun, the age of shades has come again…

….

Roosters signaled the coming of a new day. Those who had witnessed what had happened in the tavern the night before had not slept. Guarding windows and leading patrols through the slums, alerting the domovoi that a darkness had come. The only one that had slept through the night was Rogoz, who had passed out when the doors were blown away. An eerie silence lay upon Fleatown, no one was leaving their homes, no songs had no chatter, just a frightened silence like it was in ages past.

This would not, however, last as shortly after the sun peaked out behind the many hills of Slavia a rider came to the tavern. “Help, someone help! Svetlogorsk burns, thay have taken the village, help please!”