Beware of Kittens [Day 6, 7]

Day 6: Catacombs

I woke before dawn. The day was much colder than yesterday as winter loomed closer, frost beginning to cover the stained glass windows of the pub.

Since the Sirin was dealt with, I decided to explore my warlock fortress a bit more. By peering into a deep crack in the wall likely caused by the dragon stomping around the village, I noted that the pub was built exceptionally well to contain heat. The old building’s structure consisted of three layers of well-set stones, an empty space and another layer of thinner stones held up against wooden beams. The round windows were made from clear stained glass, letting in plenty of light for my plants to enjoy.

It only took twenty minutes of a blaze within the fireplace to make the interior completely warm and cosy. Stormy woke up and relocated closer to the fire.

Having attained warmth, I took off my winter garb and started to meticulously sort through my dirt pile in an attempt to understand how exactly magic could have changed chemical properties of the mundane earth. 

I soon discovered a large rock that had apparently been lounging directly underneath my backside earlier. I washed the rock and cracked open one of its sides using a blacksmith’s clamp and steel hammer, revealing a crystalline, violet-tinted interior, similar to quartz.

Was this rock already crystalline or had my witch-magic affected all rocks in this manner?

I slid the crystal into a pocket and searched for more rocks. Upon inspection, all rocks within the pile were crystalline.

With a backpack filled with earth and my pockets filled with crystal gems I quickly ventured outside to the hole where my glade had been previously and dug a bit around it.

None of the rocks there were crystal.

My magic had indeed somehow crystallized perfectly mundane rocks!

I returned to the pub and examined the wooden floors beneath my earth pile using my water drop microscope. There were distinctive, crystalline micro-structures forming between wood fibres. Next, I examined the metal chests that housed my plants. The metal was slowly turning into some kind of a strange fusion between iron and micro-crystals.

Curious.

I pulled out my Codex and added a new entry:

Crystallization Magic: Ability to transform mundane materials into crystal-like structures through prolonged exposure to a warlock. Observed in rocks, wood, and metal.

Potential uses: unknown.

I spent the next few hours roaming the village to collect unique mundane materials to shove them into or near my magical pile in specific locations to track which things would crystallise faster.

First, I gathered various types of wood - pine from a broken chair, oak from a fallen beam, and birch from a shattered decorative lock-box. In what remained of a carpenter’s workshop, I found samples of exotic woods: a piece of dark ebony and a sliver of reddish mahogany. From a broken musical instrument, I salvaged a small piece of resonant spruce.

Metals were next on my list. I collected iron nails, a copper pot, and a silver spoon I found buried in the rubble of what must have been a wealthy home. In the blacksmith’s shop, I discovered scraps of steel, brass, and even a small nugget of gold which had likely been awaiting crafting into jewelry.

As I searched, I came across interesting fabrics. I cut small pieces from a tattered wool cloak, a linen tablecloth, and a fragment of silk from a priest’s vestments in the rubble-shaped remnants of Svalbard’s chapel. In another iron case, one which perhaps belonged to a seamstress, I found scraps of cotton, velvet, and even a small piece of leather.

Stones were plentiful, so I gathered a variety: smooth river rocks, jagged pieces of slate, and a small chunk of marble from a broken statue. I also collected pieces of granite, sandstone, and a curious green stone that might have been jade. A few iron lockboxes and piles of ashes, likely once wealthy matrons, provided me with the following jewellery:

A silver necklace adorned with small pearls and a teardrop-shaped aquamarine pendant.

A pair of gold earrings, each set with a round garnet.

A bronze bracelet inlaid with alternating pieces of turquoise and coral.

A delicate gold ring featuring a cushion-cut peridot.

An ornate silver brooch studded with tiny amethysts arranged in a floral pattern.

A heavy gold signet ring with a flat-cut onyx bearing an unfamiliar coat of arms.

A pair of silver hair combs, each decorated with small opals.

A gold pendant on a thin chain, set with a large, oval-cut citrine.

A silver anklet with dangling charms, each set with a different gemstone: ruby, sapphire, emerald, and topaz.

From the village’s mostly obliterated tannery, I gathered samples of animal products: a piece of cured hide, some horsehair, and even a small fragment of bone. In a potter’s workshop, I found clay, both raw and fired into ceramics.

I also got a sample of the dead tree's bark and nipped a branch from a somewhat alive bush.

As I brought all of my gathered materials into the pub and had a quick lunch, I considered Minnow's words. The nightborn had mentioned catacombs beneath Svalbard, remnants of an older, grander city that had existed before the "ice came." If true, these underground spaces might contain valuable resources and information.

I gathered my exploration gear: a lantern I'd salvaged from one of the houses, several torches, my backpack containing a portion of my domain soil, weapons, and basic tools. I hesitated, then decided to check on Vesna before leaving.

Moving the chest of soil from the cold well cover, I peered down into the darkness. The Sirin remained as before, motionless except for the shallow rise and fall of her breathing. She would be fine alone, I decided. If my domain made blind and confused she wouldn't be able to flee the cage and cold well, plus she now had no treehouse to escape to.

"Watch the fort," I told Stormy as I put on my bulky coat and backpack. "I'll be back before nightfall."

“Frrrr,” Stormy, who was grooming herself by the fireplace, replied and rushed up my body and settled on my shoulder.

“Or you can come,” I said. “That’s fine too, I guess. Just don’t fall off.”

“Mrrr.”

“Yes, I know you have claws, but they are very small.”

“Mrrrrrrr.”

I realised that I was arguing with a cat, shrugged and went outside.

The day was still crisp and clear. I made my way toward the village center, scanning the ground for any sign of entrances to the catacombs Minnow had mentioned.

After an hour of methodical searching, I discovered a promising lead—a heavy stone slab partially hidden beneath the collapsed remains of what might have been a temple or shrine. The stone bore weathered carvings, symbols reminiscent of those I'd seen in the books I'd collected.

With considerable effort and a long wooden board lever, I managed to shift the slab just enough to reveal a narrow stairway descending into darkness. Cool, stale air wafted up from below, carrying the scent of ancient dust and stone.

I lit the wax candle lantern, its warm glow pushing back the shadows as I began my descent. The stairs were worn smooth by centuries of use, spiraling down into the earth in a tight coil. The walls were lined with tightly fitted stones, remarkable in their precision given the presumed age.

After descending perhaps twenty meters, the stairs opened into a broad tunnel with a vaulted ceiling. The architecture was far more sophisticated than anything I'd seen in the village above—arches of precisely cut stone supported by columns carved with intricate patterns of intertwining vines and runic symbols. This was clearly the work of a more advanced civilization than the Viking-style wooden walls settlement above.

The tunnel stretched ahead, branching occasionally into side passages. I marked my path with chalk, leaving arrows indicating the way back to the surface as I explored.

The main tunnel eventually opened into what appeared to have been a grand hall or meeting chamber. Rows of stone benches faced a raised dais at the far end, where a massive chair—almost a throne—stood intact despite the passage of time. Behind the throne hung the tattered remains of a once-magnificent tapestry depicting what looked like a celestial event—a bright green star or comet streaking across a night sky above a great city.

I approached the throne cautiously, noting the intricate carvings on its arms and back—scenes of hunts, battles, and what appeared to be magical rituals. The seat itself was made of a different stone than the rest of the chamber, polished to a high sheen and inlaid with what might have been silver or some other precious metal, now tarnished with age.

On the wall behind the throne, partially hidden by the tapestry, was a large, circular design—a calendar or celestial map of some kind, with movable metal rings set into the stone. It reminded me of an astrolabe, but on a much larger scale.

"What were you measuring?" I murmured, tracing the faded markings with my fingers.

“Myarrr,” Stormy commented.

“Thanks for the input,” I smiled.

“Mrrr.”

Exploring further, I discovered numerous side chambers branching off from the main hall. Some appeared to have been living quarters, others workshops or storage rooms. Many contained rotted furniture, crumbling textiles, and rusted metal objects whose original purpose was now impossible to determine.

In what might have been a treasury or vault, I found small statues of animals and humanoid figued. I collected a few of the better-preserved items.

The most interesting discovery came in a chamber that appeared to have been a library or archive. Here, wooden shelves had long since collapsed, but some of the contents—scrolls and books protected by metal cases or sealed jars—remained intact. These were too numerous to examine thoroughly on the spot, so I selected several that seemed particularly well-preserved or featured diagrams I hoped to eventually understand.

As I continued deeper into the catacombs, the architecture changed subtly. The stonework grew older, cruder, yet somehow more impressive in its scale. The tunnels widened, the ceilings rose higher, and the air grew noticeably cooler.

I entered what could only be described as a necropolis—a vast underground city of the dead. Rows of stone sarcophagi lined wide avenues, each carved with the likeness of its occupant. Some depicted warriors in full armor, others showed robed figures holding staffs or books, and still others resembled the hybrid creatures I'd seen illustrated in the bestiary.

"The ancestors of modern witches and heroes?" I wondered aloud, my voice echoing in the cavernous space.

One sarcophagus in particular caught my attention—larger than the others, positioned at the intersection of four avenues like a landmark or point of reverence. Its lid portrayed not a single figure but a man and woman side by side, their stone hands clasped together. The man held what appeared to be a lightning bolt or spear, while the woman cradled a small tree or plant. At their feet, various animals and smaller humanoid figures were carved in bas-relief.

"Perun and Zemlya," I guessed, recognizing the motifs Grandhilda had mentioned—sky god and earth goddess, husband and wife deities of this world's pantheon.

“Mrr,” Stormy agreed.

I continued through the necropolis, feeling like an intruder in this sacred space yet drawn forward by curiosity and the promise of knowledge. At its far end, the necropolis narrowed into a processional way leading to a circular chamber whose domed ceiling mimicked a night sky, with thousands of tiny crystals embedded in the stone to represent stars.

In the center of this chamber stood an altar or platform of white stone, unmarked except for a circular depression at its top. The depression was lined with a metal I didn't recognize—neither gold nor silver, but something with an unusual bluish sheen.

I approached carefully, lantern held high. The chamber felt important, significant in ways I couldn't articulate. There was a weight to the silence here, as if the very air had been holding its breath for centuries.

As I neared the altar, my lantern's light caught something unexpected—a faint glow emanating from the metal-lined depression. It was barely perceptible at first, but as I leaned closer, the glow intensified slightly, responding to my presence.

Curiosity overriding caution, I reached out to touch the strange metal. The moment my fingers made contact, a jolt of energy surged through my body—not painful, but intense, like plunging into ice water. The glow brightened dramatically, pulsing in a rhythm that matched my heartbeat.

Suddenly, the dome above came alive. The crystal stars shifted, rearranging themselves into new patterns, while lines of light appeared between them, forming constellations and celestial paths. It was like watching the sky fast-forward through seasons and years, cycles of heavenly bodies compressed into moments.

Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the display stopped. The stars froze in a specific configuration, and a single point of light—brighter than all the others—appeared at the exact center of the dome. From this point, a beam of concentrated radiance shot downward, striking the altar precisely where my hand rested.

The light was blindingly intense, forcing me to close my eyes. When I opened them again, the beam had vanished, but floating above the altar was a three-dimensional image of a city. I guessed that this was Svalbard as it must have been long ago—a vast, walled city surrounded by green forests and fields, with a great river running through its center.

I stared in amazement as the image rotated slowly, revealing details of the ancient metropolis. White towers and gold domes rose majestically, bridges spanned the river, and ships with billowing sails crowded a bustling river harbor. Beyond the city walls, smaller settlements dotted the landscape, connected by roads that radiated outward like spokes from a wheel.

Then, a silver comet streaked across the dome-sky above the city, covering everything with its gargantuan emerald tail. Then darkness. When the day came, then the image began to change. Slowly at first, then with increasing speed, I watched as winter descended. Snow covered the land, ice formed on the river, and the forests retreated. The outer settlements and fields were abandoned one by one, their inhabitants presumably fleeing toward the city center.

The city itself contracted, its outer districts emptying as people crowded into the increasingly fortified inner zones. Walls grew higher, more numerous. The harbor froze, trapping ships in its icy grip.

Finally, a new element appeared—a wall of ice advancing from the north, unstoppable and implacable. It consumed everything in its path, burying fields and forests, crushing outlying structures. The city fought back, evidenced by flares of light that erupted along the ice wall's leading edge, but to no avail. Year by year, decade by decade, the ice advanced.

In the final stages, I watched as the once-great city was reduced to a fraction of its former size—just the innermost district, surrounded by wooden walls and magical barriers. This last bastion—the Svalbard I now knew—stood defiant against the encroaching ice, a lone pocket of civilization in a frozen wasteland.

The image faded, leaving me alone in the chamber with only my lantern's light and racing thoughts. What I had witnessed was not just history but prophecy in reverse—seeing how this world had reached its current state of slow dissolution.

I touched the altar again testing if the holographic would play again, but it did not. Either this was a one time, one person show or whatever was animating it had finally burned out.

"The glaciers are still moving," I realized aloud, remembering Vesna's words. "This isn't over. The process continues."

I stepped back from the altar, my mind reeling with implications. The old city of Svalbard had fallen gradually, fighting a losing, catastrophic battle against the Ice Age. And if the pattern continued, even the current village—reduced as it was—would eventually be engulfed by the glaciers.

Unless something changed. Unless someone changed it.

I searched the chamber more thoroughly, looking for any clues, any indication of how the ancient inhabitants had fought back against the encroaching ice. Along the walls, I found inscriptions and carvings—scenes depicting robed figures channeling energy into great crystals or pillars, others showing what appeared to be magical artifacts being used to hold back the frozen tide.

One carving in particular caught my attention—a circular design showing a central figure surrounded by eight others, all directing energy toward what looked like a star or comet overhead. The central figure held what might have been a staff or scepter with a distinctive spherical top with a snowflake-like pattern within it.

I sketched the design carefully in my journal, then continued exploring. Beyond the domed chamber, the catacombs became rougher, less maintained, eventually giving way to natural caverns. I followed these for a short distance before deciding to turn back—without proper gear and more reliable light sources, venturing deeper seemed unnecessarily risky.

As I made my way back through the necropolis, I paused again at the large sarcophagus depicting Perun and Zemlya. Something about it nagged at me, a detail I'd missed on my first examination.

Looking more closely at the bas-relief figures at their feet, I noticed something odd—among the various animals and humanoid beings, one figure stood apart, neither fully human nor animal, but something in between. It appeared to be female in form, with outstretched arms that transitioned into feathered wings with gold and red tips.

"A Sirin," I murmured, recognizing the avian-human hybrid shape.

But unlike the predatory creature I'd encountered, this Sirin was depicted in a posture of supplication or service, kneeling before the divine couple with wings spread in what appeared to be reverence.

I traced the carving with my fingers, wondering about the relationship between these ancient beings. If Sirins were once servants of the gods, what had changed? How had they transformed from divine attendants to the predatory creatures that now haunted the dying forests?

With these questions adding to my growing list of mysteries, I continued back toward the surface. The journey seemed shorter on the return, and soon I was emerging into the evening light, blinking against the sudden brightness after hours underground.

The village of Svalbard looked different to me now—not just a random settlement destroyed by a dragon's wrath, but a remnant of something great, something worth rediscovering, understanding and preserving. The dragon attack wasn't just a random tragedy; it was another nail in the coffin of a dying civilization.

A sad ending that didn’t need to happen. Surely, the villagers could have hidden in these vast catacombs from the dragon. Why didn’t they? Why did they all have to perish above? Yet again, I wondered why Grandhilda didn’t let Ioan’s family and friends survive by warning them to hide down here when she knew of their future.  

Lost in thought, I made my way back to the pub, my pack heavy with artifacts and books salvaged from the catacombs. 

Once inside, Stormy jumped off me and pawed at her plate.

“Yeah, yeah. Dinner time,” I agreed, setting down my burden and lighting the fireplace. "Just thinking how Svalbard has a much bigger story than we realized."

“Myarwr,” the kitten said. She clearly realised many things, unlike my inferior human self.

I gave her a pet with a smile and I poured the kitten some water. 

Then, I went to acquire preserved food from the second, smaller entrance to the large cold well below the pub that had the one-person wooden ladder leading down. The Sirin didn’t move, maintaining her feathery-sphere form.

Day 7: Empirical Sorcery

Day seven of my new life in Svalbard! Achievement unlocked–survived one week in the frozen land of witches and monsters.

I carefully finished arranging each sample in my magical earth pile, making sure to label them for future observation.

As the stained glass windows lightened, I made myself and Stormy breakfast, my mind buzzing with anticipation about what changes the days might bring to my diverse collection of materials.

I lit some candles to provide myself with light as the sky was extra-overcast today, snow falling heavily. Staring at the various jewels and crystals in my possession, I added more writing to the Codex, having arrived at an idea.

Hypothesis: Magical energy can be observed through crystalline structures that have been exposed to my domain's influence, similar to how certain materials can detect specific types of radiation or electromagnetic waves.

This idea wasn't entirely without precedent in the scientific world I remembered. For instance, scintillation crystals were used to detect ionizing radiation, converting the energy of incident radiation into visible light. Similarly, piezoelectric crystals could convert mechanical stress into electrical signals and vice versa.

If magic in this world operated on principles analogous to electromagnetic or quantum phenomena, it stood to reason that properly aligned crystalline structures might be able to interact with or detect it.

Experimental Design:

Select crystals of various compositions and expose them to my domain's influence for extended periods.

Construct a viewing apparatus.

Use the apparatus to observe various objects and areas:

a. My domain soil

b. Plants grown in my domain

c. Regular soil and plants

d. Living creatures 

e. River Glinka

Record observations, noting any unusual visual phenomena, colors, or patterns that aren't visible to the naked eye.

Create control apparatus with unexposed crystals.

I paused my writing. I didn't have a big variety of similar gems on hand. 

If anything, I could definitely compare regular glass to witch-irradiated glass. I've had a lot of that in my domain and outside of it. I returned to my outline.

Compare observations between witch-exposed crystals and mundane ones to rule out optical illusions or confirmation bias.

Vary crystal exposure times and arrangements to see if it affects results.

If successful, attempt to quantify the "magical" phenomena observed.

I went on to outline twenty more crystal apparatus ideas and how they might work in terms of magical tracking, filling the pages of the codex with a multitude of ideas.

Looking at the barrels stacked in the corner of the pub, I recalled the Sirin's words and Minnow's confirmation about how witches gain power: through their domain's gradual processing of organic material, particularly bodies.

"A bit morbid," I muttered to Stormy, who was batting at a loose thread on my sleeve, "but science demands sacrifice... just not mine, thankfully."

The shed where I'd stored the preserved bodies from the Sirin's tree was still there. Most bodies were in various states of crystallization from exposure to the Sirin's magic, but some remained relatively untouched—ordinary human and animal remains. 

I gathered several empty barrels from the pub's storage area and filled them with my domain earth. The soil felt warm between my fingers, alive in a way that regular dirt simply wasn't.

"For science," I reminded myself as I dragged the first corpse from the shed. The man had been one of the Sirin's victims—his throat bore the distinctive three-claw marks of her talons. Whatever fear had marked his face in death had long since relaxed into the blank expression of eternal sleep.

I laid him carefully in the first barrel, covering him completely with the violet-tinged soil. "Rest well. Your contribution to the Warlock thesis is appreciated."

By midday, I had prepared three barrels, each containing a different specimen: the adult male, a woman, and what appeared to be a forest animal—perhaps a fox. Each was completely submerged in my domain soil, like macabre flower pots awaiting an unusual bloom.

I labeled each barrel noting the condition and approximate age of each subject, and positioned them around my sleeping spot in an equidistant triangle.

The kitten watched with apparent disinterest, more concerned with a dust mote floating in a sunbeam than my necromantic gardening project.

With the barrels prepared, I turned my attention to the crystallized rocks I'd discovered in my domain.

"If regular rocks can become crystalline," I reasoned, selecting a particularly clear specimen, "then perhaps they can be fashioned into lenses that might reveal aspects of magical energy invisible to the naked eye."

I retrieved the metalworking tools I'd salvaged from the blacksmith's shop, particularly the modern ones with the crow logo. With these finer instruments, I began the painstaking work of shaping the first crystal.

Working with unfamiliar materials required patience. The crystallized rock was harder than glass but more brittle in certain directions. I discovered it had distinct cleavage planes—lines along which it would split cleanly-ish when struck properly. Using this property, I gradually began to shape a crude lens about the size of a large coin.

The process was tedious and time consuming. As the afternoon wore on, I lost myself in the rhythmic grinding and polishing. I also made sure to preserve all of the crystal dust in a glass jar.

By evening, I managed to make a single witchglass lens. It was somewhat lopsided and not very transparent. Looking through it did absolutely nothing except make the view blurry and purple-tinted. I definitely lacked rock-polishing skills and my hands felt wooden.

As I slumped back into my magic pile, I glanced at the cold well cover and realised that I had a potential assistant who was theoretically stronger than a human, someone with magic powers that could potentially shape rocks, not just break doors open.

"Hmm," I muttered, tapping my fingers against my knee. "Magic beast murder might be significantly easier than trying to become a master craftsman overnight."

Stormy's ears perked up at my voice, and she fixed me with what felt like a judgmental stare despite her milky eyes.

"Don't look at me like that," I told her. "It's purely pragmatic. I need better tools or assistance, and our feathery friend downstairs could help if I brought her something magical to eat."

The kitten blinked slowly, unimpressed.

"I'm not going to go on a magic critter murder spree," I said. "But something non-sapient wouldn't be the worst idea. I just need to know where to look…"

As if summoned by my words, a soft scratching came at the window. I tensed, hand moving to my knife, but relaxed when I recognized the small shadow pressed against the glass—Minnow had returned.

I opened the window, letting in a gust of cold air along with the little nav. In the cloudy gloom, Minnow was blurred halfway into the shadows, only those black eyes remaining distinct.

"Harbor-giver," the nav greeted, voice like rustling leaves. "I return with news, as promised."

"Perfect timing," I said, closing the window behind the small creature. "I was just considering a problem you might be able to help with."

Minnow tilted its head, waiting.

"Are there any magical beasts around here that I could hunt?"

The nav's black eyes widened slightly. "Many such creatures dwell in these woods. White Blight-touched wolves move in packs across the forest—their fur glows with frost-fire when moonlight touches them. Burrow-drakes nest in the western hills—small, lizard-like things that breathe steam instead of fire. Ghost hares leap between shadow and light at dusk..." It paused, studying me. "Why does the warlock seek such prey?"

I hesitated, then decided honesty might yield better results. "I need to feed my Sirin."

Minnow went utterly still. "You did not vanquish her?”

“How did you know about the vanquishing?” I asked.

“Her domain-tree feels dead, no longer casts its heartbeat into the Astral,” the little undead replied. “She was here and her blood was spilled all around this pub, presumably by you. Where is she? I cannot detect her.”

"She's in a magical healing trance in my cold well. Said she would wake if I brought her magical meat to eat,” I said.

The nav backed away slightly, its form growing more translucent. "You... you've kept the Sirin alive? The beast whose song binds souls and whose hunger never ends?"

"She's contained," I assured it. "Weakened, too small to be a major threat. And potentially useful."

"Useful?" Minnow's voice rose an octave. "Like keeping a viper in your bed for warmth! Sirins cannot be trusted, cannot be tamed. They are the oldest servants of Nox, collectors of souls for the final night!"

"She's not exactly a willing servant," I said. "More like a prisoner who might have valuable information. And skills I need."

Minnow's form rippled with what might have been agitation. "What skills could such a monster offer that would outweigh the danger?"

"She's lived for centuries. Knows things about this world that neither of us do. And," I added, gesturing to the crude lens I'd been working on, "I suspect she has greater control over magical materials than I do. Can you shape a rock into a lens?”

“No, I cannot.” The nav drifted closer to examine my handiwork, then made a sound like a small sigh. "The warlock plays with fire. But..." it seemed to consider, "perhaps fire is needed in these cold times."

I nodded.

“Oh! Before I forgets,” Minnow's voice dropped. "The Threshold has shifted its position within the village six times. Each time, it stands in a different place, always facing the sun."

“What? It moves? By itself?"

"Not while observed," Minnow clarified. “I suspect it hungers for new prey. It looks different each time, tries to draw me into its maw with a different prize that appeals to the curious.”

"Right, the creepy building creeps around. Anyways, magical beasts," I pressed. "Which would be easiest for someone like me to hunt? I'm not exactly a seasoned warrior. I need something stupid that mostly sees things via the Astral, no mundane eyes.”

The nav perched on the edge of a table, its black eyes glittering in the firelight as it considered my words.

"Ghost hares are plentiful near the southern edge of the forest—they hop between worlds, visible only when they wish to be. They are drawn to places where magic pools, like springs or stone circles. Their weakness is their curiosity—they will investigate strange sounds and can be trapped with simple snares. They have both astral and mundane sight."

Minnow gestured with a slender hand. "Frost weasels burrow through snow and ice as fish swim through water. They see magic and heat. They hunt in small packs of three or four, and can be lured with warm objects. They're dangerous only in groups but are easily confused if separated."

The nav's voice grew quieter, more cautious. "There's also a troll that lumbers through the northeastern woods—a massive, lumbering thing with skin like bark and moss for hair. It stands nearly four men tall but is slow and not terribly bright. Trolls rely almost entirely on Astral sight—they're practically blind in the physical world, feeling their way by scent and the vibrations of footsteps."

“Is a troll nutritious?”

Minnow's tiny form shuddered slightly. "A troll would provide much meat, much magic—enough to satisfy even a death-starved Sirin. Their weakness is their size and slowness. They cannot turn quickly or fit through narrow spaces.”

“I see,” I said.

"But," the nav added hastily, "trolls are dangerous, warlock. Even weakened, even slowed, they have strength enough to crush stone and uproot trees. A single blow from their fists can shatter bones.”

“Is that all the creatures?” I asked. “I expected more.”

"There are other beasts as well—wind-swept hawks that ride the currents above flitting between here and elsewhere, their feathers trailing ectoplasm like smoke; burrowing crystal-snouts that dig through stone as easily as soil, leaving tunnels lined with glittering mineral deposits; thorn-backed boars whose bristles secrete a poison that induces nightmarish visions. Crystal spine elks that can fry their enemies." The nav gestured toward the forest beyond the window. "This dying land teems with beasts born of Celestorms, warlock. The question is not what you can hunt, but what is worth the risk of hunting."

I nodded, considering my options. A troll sounded promising—if it relied on Astral sight and was slow, my domain-infused backpack might give me a significant advantage. I could potentially remain invisible to it while setting traps or preparing an ambush. I could leave some traps for the hares too.

"Tell me more about the troll," I said. "Where does it live and hunt?”

"The troll dwells in a cave near the old quarry, about an hour's walk northeast from here,” Minnow replied. “Trolls are solitary and territorial—this one has claimed much of the northeastern forest as its hunting ground."

It paused.

"Its other weakness is water—not that it harms them, but deep water confuses their senses. They cannot swim and fear drowning. They, like us, dislike sunlight for it hardens their muscles and slows their movements.”

“What about fire?”

“Fire will burn a troll, yes… but only for a bit, not enough to kill.”

“Hrm,” I pursed my lips. “Tell me more about the crystal elks.”

"They roam the northeastern forests in small herds, typically three to seven beasts. They appear as ordinary elk at first glance, save for their antlers which shimmer like blue quartz in the light. When threatened, the crystals pulse with blue-white light, and they can unleash lightning at their enemies."

"How dangerous are they compared to the troll?" 

"Less physically powerful, but more lethal in their attack," Minnow replied. "While a troll might crush you slowly, a crystal elk's strike could end you in an instant. They see with both mundane eyes and Astral perception—however, their thunderstrike requires Astral focus to target." The nav's voice lowered. "Many hunters have fallen to these beasts, thinking them easy prey until Perun’s fury was channeled through those antlers."

"But if I'm invisible to Astral sight within my domain..."

Minnow nodded. "They would struggle to target you with their power, yes. But they could still see you with their mundane sight and trample you beneath their hooves."

I paced the room, considering. "What about their weaknesses?"

"They cannot fully maintain their power in wet conditions," Minnow said. "Rain or snow dampens their ability to channel lightning. And like most magical creatures, they have a vulnerability—in their case, iron disrupts the flow of energy through their antlers. Arrows with iron tips might not kill them outright, but would cause them great distress."

This was promising. I had access to iron and arrows, and my domain-infused backpack might give me protection from their most dangerous ability. "Where can I find these crystal elks?"

"They usually gather at sunrise near the frozen pond east of the village," Minnow replied. "They come to drink from the small spring that still flows beneath the ice—one of the few unfrozen water sources remaining."

“Can you guide me there?”

“I can,” Minnow nodded. “Tomorrow morning, before sunrise. Wake up early or keep a window open for me.”